Hog-Tied & Electrified
3 in stock
Hog-Tied & Electrified by Lance Edwards
Another hard-hitting, no-holds-barred collection of Slut-Boy Stories, as beautiful, buxom, power-hungry females seduce and subject their willing or not-so-willing boyfriends, husbands, clients and lovers.
The collection begins… Uninterested in conventional sex, a raven haired bombshell keeps her hubby locked in a chastity belt, and after some rough anal, forces him to watch hog-tied as she masturbates in a cruel Bathtub Torment. She may be just a college freshman, but Jenae knows how to torment her high-school sweetheart with everything from pain, hot wax, cigarettes, ice, Atomic balm, electroshock and more, as her dutiful boyfriend faces Dorm Room Doom. Then Janae returns with her soccer pal, Trisha, in Dorm Room Done, where in an act of revenge, she wakes her boyfriend in the middle of the night for a torturous enema and a double fuck. And in Bought And Paid For, a turned-on needy male gets his fondest wish when he throws a party for three high-flying femmes, giving them the right to torture him all night long – any way they want! Better beCareful What You Wish For… this submissive male learns a hard lesson, when he asks his hot-looking nurse Linda for sex – turns out she’s a hard-core dominant, who’s more than happy to show him some fun with bondage, whipping, hard anal and electroshock. Then it’s a Honeymoon Horror, when Corey’s new bride gives him a surprise he never expected. Seems there can be only ‘one’ cock in this marriage… now Corey can expect a lifetime of service, denial, arousal and frustration at this hands of the devious beauty. It’s an extreme regime, an Automated Agony of fists, whips, shock and anal torture, when this sub male’s wife sends him to an institute that specialized in his freaky desires. Then finally, Girls Will Be Girls, when 18 year olds Alyssa and Briana gang-up on a helpless – but willing – male, with plans to torture, feminize and enslave him as their own personal Slut-boy.
All the hot, outrageous erotic turn-ons you’ve come to expect from Slut-Boy stories. In addition to the kinks mentioned, you’ll find branding, CBT, body modification, water sports, multiple partners, creative bondage and suspension. Not for the timid reader!
Cover Art Image © Maksim Shmeljob – Shutterstock.com
I’m lying on our bed, reading and watching TV, when my wife walks in.
“Strip, Slut-boy! Drop that book and kill the tube. I’m going to do you.”
With a complex yet familiar shiver of fear, lust, humiliation and anticipation I immediately rise to comply. While I do so, she steps into the wardrobe to change. Three minutes later, as I stand naked by the bed (except for my chastity belt, which I am incapable of removing) she emerges transformed.
Always incredibly beautiful and unbearably sexy, she’s now unsettlingly intimidating as well. Her waist-length raven hair is pulled back into a severe ponytail, emphasizing her high cheekbones and haughty expression. Her proud, generous breasts are thrust up even higher than usual by her black leather corset, and her strong arms and long legs are three-quarters covered by tight black gauntlets and stiletto-heeled boots. She carries a long coil of quarter-inch rope in one gloved hand and a riding crop in the other. But by far the scariest thing about her is her giant cock.
My wife is completely uninterested in conventional sex. This I learned to my dismay on our wedding night. Rather than eradicating my virginity in the unimaginable heaven of her vagina, I soon instead found myself locked into a chastity belt, then tightly bound and brutally buggered by a strap-on dildo. Whenever I tried to assert myself in the slightest, I had my bare ass whipped with my own belt until I cried, sniveled, appeased, and finally promised to obey my new Mistress in everything.
So here it is five years later, and I’m still a virgin. Mistress has accumulated any number of her own penises, of wide and varied shape, size, material and design, some for use on herself, but most for exercising her outrageous marital rights upon me. The one she’s chosen for tonight’s wicked fun is as black as the rest of her outfit, over two inches thick and twelve full inches long.
“Turn around and face the bed, you fucking slut!”
Meekly I immediately reply and comply. “Yes, my beloved Mistress.”
Right away she begins to tie me up. My wrists are bound together behind my back, and then to the back of my chastity belt. Next my elbows are pressed together and likewise bound. Long years of bondage have made me limber enough for this, and the fact that my musculature is rather underdeveloped helps as well. The rest of the rope is then wrapped all around my shoulders, chest, and back and finally tied off brutally tight, encasing my arms and torso in an implacable harness. Already my shoulders are protesting at their cruel contortion, but Mistress remains unimpressed by my conflicted whimper.
As always I obey her without hesitation. Standing directly behind me, she immediately proceeds to ball gag me. The hard plastic ball that fills my mouth is so large that my jaws creak to accommodate it, and the harness that holds it in place brackets my nose and straps over and about my head and jaw in every which way. It seems then that at last I’m bound to her satisfaction, for without further word or deed Mistress bends me over the side of the bed, shoving me brusquely facedown on the coverlet and spreading first my feet and knees and then my vulnerable cheeks.
Her enormous boner is already lubricated, and this act is as familiar to us both as breathing by now. So these days there’s rarely a pause for ceremony or preparation. “Here you go, you little slut!” she hisses at me. “Here comes my big hard cock!” And with that she pushes forward and forces it in.
My drawn-out groan of pain and invasion is as eloquent as any oratory. The flush of shame that burns in my face originates equally from what’s being done to me, and from my own uncontrollable reaction to it. For years, serving as my Mistress’ slut-boy was a terrible torment to me. But the dearth of sexual expression she allows me has finally forced my psyche to accommodate and embrace this act, just as years of brutal use have sufficiently trained and stretched my anus. Lately I’ve even grown (groan) to love being used this way. Thus as Mistress starts pumping pneumatically into me, I raise my ass as high as I can, reluctantly welcoming and accepting her unstoppable assault.
Within a dozen strokes her hips are slapping my ass. Her enormous cock is boring me to the core, bringing whimpers, whines, and finally agonized cries that not even that giant ball can completely squelch. It feels like I’m being bashed up the ass with the fat end of a bat. And yet Mistress’ rhythm is relentless. After all, she’s barely getting started. For nearly an hour she pants and pumps and pounds my ass at an ever accelerating rate, punctuating her butt-punching thrusts with taunts, insults, orders, urgings, and even uncontainable screams of glee. Helpless to do otherwise, I respond in kind: sobbing, squirming, and somehow enduring, all the while trying to tell myself that I really don’t like this; that her cock is only filling me, and not truly fulfilling me. But the futile attempt of my own cock to be constantly erect belies this, as do my tingle balls and racing pulse.
Mistress isn’t just in me; she’s onto me of course. She knows me far better than I do myself. And when she’s finally had her fill of fucking me yet again into slavishly servile eternal submission, she laughingly mocks me as she at last pulls that incredible club from my brutally battered ass.
“Quit your blubbering, Slut-boy! You know that you love being fucked! That’s why I’ve named you as I have: Slut-boy. You do love it, don’t you? You love it more than anything else in the whole wide world! Admit this for me, and you’ll get a reward.”
A reward? Might she actually, at long last, allow me an orgasm? Despite my inner conflict I nod eagerly, desperate to pursue any such possibility.
“Good boy. Good SLUT-boy, I mean. For that admission, I’m going to cut your nightly punishment from fifty swats with the crop down to twenty for tonight. I’m sure your ass is sore enough as it is!” Damn fucking straight! Still, my disappointment at this decree is twofold. First of course, my ridiculous hopes for an orgasm have been crushed yet again. Yet also my inner conflict, the incredibly deep shame that I feel at my arousal during involuntary sodomy, has turned me into something of a masochist. The truth is, after wallowing so unreservedly in such a debasing experience, I crave an ever harsher punishment afterwards. I deserve to suffer for being such a disgusting pervert, and only twenty strokes falls far short of the apotheosis I need to cleanse my soul of self-loathing.
Oh well. I brace myself to make the most of whatever pain my Mistress will allow me.
“One,” she calmly remarks, and slashes her limber leather crop across my ass.
My eyes squeeze shut, my teeth clamp hard on the ball between them, and my bound body jerks automatically. The sound that escapes me is somewhere between a grunt of pain and a bleat of need. Then that need is immediately fed.
“Two!” Again the crop bites me, this time at the tender junction of my ass and thighs. And again I suffer and savor the pain simultaneously. Then three, four, five, and each time the pain grows greater and my need incrementally less. By ten I’m sweating profusely, squirming futilely, and mewling piteously and yet still nowhere near the point where I’ll be able to face myself in the mirror. Perhaps sensing this, Mistress begins to strike harder, using all the power of her magnificently muscled arm to raise such fiery welts across my ass that I won’t be able to sit on it for days. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and once again I’m sobbing unabashedly, drooling around the ball and running snot from both nostrils as I struggle to breathe. By the time the twentieth stroke is reached – an unbelievably vicious blow along the backs of my thighs – my fear of an inadequate punishment is eased. Mistress has seen to my needs, graciously fulfilling my less pressing ones in lieu of that ultimate thirst she is most loathe to fulfill.
As I pant through my flaring nose and struggle to recuperate then, Mistress trades her crop for another long length of rope. “Up on the bed, all the way,” she snaps.
My legs are like jelly after tonight’s entertainment, but somehow I struggle all the way up onto the mattress. Matter-of-factly Mistress proceeds to bind my legs together at the knees and then ankles before bending them up and back until my heels meet my reamed out and lacerated ass. The rope is stretched up until it can be passed through the harness at my shoulders, at which point Mistress lifts my knees up high off the bed. She pulls the rope cruelly tight then, arching my back as far as it will possibly go before running the rope back down, passing it between my bound feet and then back up to my head. There it is passed through a ring at the top of my ball-gag harness, once again pulled mercilessly tight until my neck is stretched radically back, and at last knotted off.
Finally I’m as pitiless hogtied as ever, my body crying with pain in a myriad of places. Yet not even that is enough for Mistress. She rolls me onto my side, and I see that she has six clothespins in her hand. Two of these she clamps onto each of my nipples, bringing four more whimpers of misery from me. Then she applies the last two to the head of my penis where it protrudes through the small, down-curved sleeve of my chastity belt.
“There!” she declares. “I need a bath after a workout like that – not to mention about a dozen orgasms. But this should keep you from getting bored while I’m gone. Also, I’m going to leave the door open, as usual. I order you to watch me, Slut-boy.”
She marches away from me, stripping off her outfit as she goes. I watch in miserable longing then as this fabulous body I’ve so vainly and desperately desired for so very long enters the bathroom, fills the large, sunken tub, adds a generous amount of bath oil but no bubbles (they might obscure my view) and finally fills a large crystal snifter with brandy. At last my naked Mistress eases into the steaming water. She settles herself facing the open door and below the slanted, beveled mirror that not only gives me a perfect, unobstructed view from above, but also magnifies it enough to embellish every detail.
For a while then she just soaks, sighing blissfully every so often and sipping from the snifter. Eventually though she finishes the drink, and begins to slowly, leisurely, and sensuously bathe her body. Three times she lovingly lathers up every amazing plane and curve and intimate crevice before using the hand-held, pulsating showerhead to rinse the scented soap away. She finishes this extended process at her privates of course, and that’s where my Mistress’ baths always TRULY begin.
As I said, Mistress’ taste for conventional sex is non-existent. According to her, real penises stink, semen is messy and disgusting, and no man could possibly know how to pleasure her body as well as she does. She prefers to punish men for their failings and abysmally humiliate them by turning the sexual tables – this is what she considers foreplay. After that a long, orgiastic masturbation session with a variety of toys is as sublime an experience as is possible in this world. Thus once again I’m forced to watch, like a starving man at a harvest feast, as Mistress works her incomparably beautiful body to a seemingly unending series of ecstatic orgasms.
Squeezing her slippery breasts, pulling and pinching the nipples, she at first uses the powerful showerhead on her clit alone. Judging by the pitch of her cries, the jerking of her hips and all the expressions claiming her face – clearly visible in the overhead mirror – this twenty minute indulgence is good for at least two climaxes. After that she moves on to progressively larger dildos, the last even bigger than I’ve ever endured, thrusting away at herself until her legs and body make a capital T and her quavering cries threaten to shatter the crystal glass at her side. Only after at least an hour and a half of pleasing herself and torturing me this way does she at last find satiation. Then she pours another snifter and downs it as she gradually comes down herself, from whatever unimaginable heights she’s managed to reach. Then at last she towels off, dons a short silk robe and returns to me, lying hopelessly bound on the bed of my misery. She sits down next to me.
“Oh boy was that good. Did you enjoy the show, Slut-boy?”
Somehow in all my agony I respond with a tiny nod. Right away Mistress pinpoints my source of greatest pain, as she uses an educated finger to stroke and tickle the amazingly bloated plum of my cock head where it juts from the chastity sleeve.
“I guess so! Look at this! Even with my clothespins you’re as hard as you can possibly get! If not for your oh-so necessary and appropriate chastity belt, you might swell up to a whole three inches!”
She giggles at this familiar mockery of my penile inadequacy. Then she leans down, her gorgeous face tormenting me close to my own.
“How long is it since I’ve let you cum, Slut-boy?” she breathes at me. “Christmas day, wasn’t it? That was your present this year as I recall. And that was over six months ago now. Almost a new record. Well I’ll tell you what, my long-suffering husband. You’ve been a very good boy ever since then, I have to say. So I’m going to give you a choice.”
Her expression gleams glee at me.
“I know you’re in terrible pain right now. My hogtying skill is just that incomparable. So here comes your momentous choice. Are you ready for it? Here’s the deal: You can ejaculate tonight, cum your ever-loving brains out, right now in fact. But in return you’ll have to stay hogtied up like this through morning. Imagine how much pain you’ll be in by then! Oh, will you be hurting! Or, on the other hand, I can untie you right now, and welcome you into my bed. But in that case you’ll have to go another whole year in the chastity belt, without cumming, or without even achieving one of your pitiful little excuses for an erection. Poor deprived you! How blue will those bloated-full balls be by then? Quite a difficult choice, eh? So what’s it going to be, my pathetic little pet?”
Stuck wondering about the worst of these offered hells, I waver. Mistress sees my uncertainty, and again giggles gleefully.
“Having trouble deciding, Slut-boy? Maybe this will help…” She moves back and removes the clothespins from my swollen glens. Naturally this causes a rush of agony, but Mistress supersedes this by running out her tongue and licking me. Indeed, she rubs and scrubs the pulsing head of my penis with her oral organ so aggressively that my long-deprived nerve-endings send out messages of ecstasy as searing as skyrockets. Before she can drive me mad by closing her lips and sucking on it, I squeal plaintively and try like hell to nod my head – impossible of course in my comprehensive hogtying. Still, Mistress gets the message.
“Does that mean you want to come? Blink rapidly for me if yes!”
Of course I flutter my eyelids like hummingbird wings. Mistress giggles again and there’s a hint of hidden agenda in the tone of it. She gets up, and quickly dons a pair of latex gloves. She opens a wall safe, and retrieves the key that I spend every night unfailingly dreaming of. With a blithe lack of ceremony she unlocks the chastity belt, but due to my unprecedented attempted tumescence, she can’t quite free it from me. It takes a swatch of the lubricant she used on my ass, and a sizable fraction of the likewise pain, before I’m finally free to swell alarmingly large – at least by my own humble standards.
Now of course, if I had my own way, at this point we would commence a long, intense, gradually escalating, deliciously prolonged succession of sex acts. But Mistress is the boss here as she is everywhere else. With one rubber-gloved hand she grips my already well-slickened dick, and cups the other at its eye. Then she pulls down against its natural curve and starts jerking me so quickly and powerfully that, given my excessive deprivation, and my endless daily stimulation, I’m absolutely helpless to resist. Within less than five seconds my eruption is upon me.
I shudder from stretched back head to back bent toes, and keen like a dying quail as my long-denied orgasm rips through me. Mercilessly milked by that firmly gripping fist, my penis pumps and pumps and pumps, spitting out six months of hot, steaming seed like an oil well tapped for the very first time. Ah, Goddess, that gusher feels like it will never play out. But of course it does, and all too soon, alas. And when that happens, my Goddess giggles yet again, and releasing me to go limp, she brings her other gloved hand, the one that caught every last drop of that prodigious ejaculate, up to my face. Smirking smugly, she smears that stinky spew all over my humiliated features. Then she addresses me once again. “Did you enjoy that Slut-boy? Good! Because you know me – when I play games I like to stack the deck. If you think back, you’ll remember I said you’d stay bound THROUGH morning. That means you don’t get released until noon tomorrow. And even better, when I said that if you chose to be untied you’d go a whole year without coming, I never said that you wouldn’t go the year if you chose the alternative. So I’m going to lock back up your pathetic excuse for a penis now, and it’s going to stay that way for one full year. And that’s only if you continue to behave as well as you have lately. If you ever displease me in any way at all, I reserve the right to keep your puny little manhood under lock and key for the rest of your life.”
And with that she does as promised: locking me back into my chastity belt, and even reapplying the clothespins to my poor little dick’s still dripping tip. Then she kisses me tenderly on the forehead, away from both the smelly smeared seed and ball-gag straps.
“Goodnight sweetie. I’m going to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms tonight, so that your struggling and whimpering won’t disturb me. I know it won’t be easy, but try to get some rest yourself, ok? Remember, just because I torment you endlessly doesn’t mean that I don’t love you dearly. It’s just that we both know, deep down inside, that that’s what both us want and need the most out of our marriage.”
And with that she slips out of the room and is gone.