Ballgags and Bits, pt.1

There’s some alliteration for you.

The big thing last week was the new bondage gear. The scary bondage gear.

Okay, the ballgag wasn’t so scary. The ball was like, light blue, and the leather strap that went across my cheeks and then buckled in the back was pink. It was actually kind of friendly. But the bit and the reins — still scary. Black leather, chrome buckles and snaps. My wife bought a bit that had a harness around it, so to straps went up the side of my face, met at the top of my skull, and then buckled down against the straps that went from the edge of the bit behind my head. There was also a chin strap. There were two big chrome rings near the edge of the bit, and the reins clipped to those.

I…cannot describe how much the idea of that bit and reins turns me on. I know I’ve talked about how much the normal accoutrements of bondage and leather play freaked my wife and I out at the beginning, but by the time I was buckled down into this contraption, I felt smothered. Immobilized. Bound. It hurt a little bit — the bit kept slipping and catching my lip against one of my teeth — but, it was just so sexy. When my wife clipped on the reins, strapped on her cock, and started fucking me while yanking back on them, I was in heaven. She didn’t like the smell of the rubber bit, so she doused the whole bit in mouthwash, and I hate the taste of mouthwash. It’s awful. And so as it flooded my mouth, I tried to remember if she had remembered that and was dousing the bit to torture me. My guess was she didn’t remember — but the idea that she might be that cruel made me happy and loved. I mean, it’s the little humiliations that make me happiest, like when she makes me walk behind her in public, or makes me ask permission to touch her.

Every time she pulled back on the reins, my head pulled up. Eventually, my back started arching and I had to stop resting on my elbows and start holding myself up on my knuckles. My arms straightened with each pull, until they were straight lines from my shoulders to the bed. I bit down on the bit, drool leaking a bit from my mouth, grunting as she fucked me, hard. (Drool is fantastic. I hate the idea of drooling, but when I’m gagged and I’m salivating, it’s the hottest thing in the world. Think about it — I have no control over my mouth. I’m salivating, I can’t wipe it, can’t fix it. She’s taken away one of those things that we don’t even think about, that makes us something other than a powerless infant. It cements the idea that she’s more than a partner, she’s a superior, and I’m an inferior, barely able to control the flow of my body fluids.)

I think she started one-handing the reins, because I felt her start slapping my thigh with her hand in time with her thrusts, and she was really bottoming her cock out on me. Every thrust and it felt like my penis got more swollen. I could hear her grunting and panting after about five minutes.

“How is it? You like this? How’s my cock feel?” I could only grunt around the bit.

Then she said it: “Who’s my horse? C’mon, who’s my horse?”

If there has ever been a moment in my life where I thought, “Those people into pony play have the right idea,” it was right then and there. If she had a riding crop and demanded I neigh, I would have. I have no shame in admitting this. My IQ drops to something like 10 when I’m horny, and my wife knows that if she wants something, anything, the thing to do is get me riled up and then toy with me until I give it to her. I have no will when I’m really horny, and I was beyond the normal levels of arousal at that point. I was in this zone of pleasure and submission, bound into this leather facial harness, my body in perfect posture as it was forced into this stress position, my ass getting pounded so intensely I thought I might come. (Actually, we both did — she was shouting, “Come for me, come for me, I know you can do it, come while I fuck you!” and I wanted to.) But at that moment, if she’d called me her pony and asked me to trot around the room, I have no doubt I would have done it. I wouldn’t have even thought twice about it. Now, sitting at home, I still think of pony play as weird, but I’m going to be honest: I would have done whatever she wanted in those moments as she pulled back on the reins and asked who her horse was. And it makes me hot to know she can take me so far outside my comfort zones.

Eventually she bored of the reins and bit and I tore them off as she continued to pound away. “Are you ready to fuck me, honey?” she asked, and I begged for just two minutes more of pegging. “Please, don’t stop this, just…pound me as hard as you can.”

She didn’t stop. She grabbed my hips and just began tearing me up, forcing my face and torso down onto the bed as she leaned into me. Eventually, when I couldn’t take any more, she let me spin around, we pushed off her cock, and then I got on top of her and had glorious sex. I was a machine, and I felt like it would never end. She squeezed and tortured my nipples as I rode her up on my arms, she slapped my chest, she grunted out in time with my thrusts.

She saw me getting to the edge but not going across it and said, “Lean in.” I knew what was coming, and I didn’t hesitate. I knew it was going to hurt, I could see it in her face she’d decided to hit me. I didn’t think, just obeyed, leaning my head down obediently.

She pulled back her hand and hit me as hard as she could across my face. It sent me over the edge, the pleasure from sex mingling with the shocking pain of the blow. My face was numbing up even as I was wracked with pleasure. I looked down as she struck me and her eyes were wide with intensity, her mouth tight, but now, as I emptied myself into her, she smiled at me. “Good boy,” she said. Her praise made my body melt into hers.

“I didn’t really like the bit and reins,” she said as we relaxed together a few moments later. “The ballgag is much better.” I nodded. If she likes the ballgag best, I like the ballgag best. The ballgag’s going to be our new friend, I can see. But that afternoon — the bit and the reins — led to tone of the best sexual experiences of my life.