FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Allison never cared for them, and years later when she heard the song sung by the foxy Marilyn Monroe, she still found the saying to be unflattering. Diamonds were pretty, but cold. A companion that lasts only for its value to the world. But the song had a line that struck a chord with her. A line she still sings while prepping her husband for a nice session. Nice for her, in any case.

“But I prefer a man who lives, and gives expensive jewels.”

Her husband’s ears quivered. The thick gag hid his frown, and the leather blindfold covered his scared eyes, but the little ticks of fear seeped through. Allison drank them in like an emotional vampire as she latched leather cuffs into place, stretching his limbs to the four corners of the X-cross in their basement. She needed a stool for the hands, but Jack was patient enough to hold his hands there for her while she got it.

Several decades, three kids, a mortgage, and more. They’d been through so much and still he felt fear when she sang. Fear when she prepped his body, now chubby with age, for her desires in the soundproof dungeon. Fear that hindered his erection until her hands wrapped around that thick womb-breaker of his and started stroking. He knew damn well what she intended, but the body betrays the mind more often than not.

“You remember one of the first things you told me?” Allison asked, rhetorically as the rabbit’s husband couldn’t respond. The brown bunny tilted his head at the question to let her know she heard. “Something about how your cock was ‘god’s gift to women’ or something sexist like that? I think you had the right idea, just the wrong way about it.”

Jack was, to put it mildly, big. As a bunny he rivaled some equines Allison had the ‘pleasure’ of dealing with. A third leg that made tight pants impossible without making other parents concerned in PTA meetings. It was an ER visit waiting to happen. It’s a good thing Allison loved being a mother.

In her experience, most men overvalue the size of their dicks. She secretly suspected it came from gay men in the leather subculture, which bled into the biker subculture, which then spread into men in general because men couldn’t be consistent with what masculinity was. Neither could women but people were complicated. Regardless, the average dick was enough to satisfy most women. But not Allison. Allison loved big dicks. She loved huge logs with a nice hefty pair of balls that could be a pendulum for a grandfather clock. She didn’t advertise it much in her biker days, preferring to let a rumor spread in quiet so any peabrain with a huge cock would come her way thinking he was in for a good time.

But Allison loved big dicks for a much different reason than a man would like a big dick. It was still about pleasure, very few things with sex didn’t involve it. But if a sadist comes along and says they prefer a certain body part, any rational person would start covering that body part up. Men, when drunk, thinking with their dicks, or both, were rarely rational creatures. Men in love were less so.

Her knee drove into his crotch without warning. Jack’s voice rose in pitch behind the gag. His slumped forward, reflexively trying to shield his sensitive bits as the bindings kept him aloft. “Shh. Shh,” Allison whispered, cupping her husband’s chin. “Take deep breaths, hun. The fun’s just starting.”

There was no point in telling him not to close his legs. That’s what the restraints were for. Besides, watching the struggle was half the fun, like seeing a spider crawl after some of its legs were pulled off. A pastime of hers at the tender age of nine that, thankfully, none of children indulged in growing up. Her sadism didn’t need to be passed on, and if it did, she’d need to have a talk with her kids on how to deal with it. The kind of words she should have heard when she was younger. Thankfully she had the smarts to know she could hurt things that didn’t matter.

But Jack mattered. She buried her face in his fur, sniffing the sweat filled with every hormone released in fear and pain. Her fingers grabbed handfuls of brown fur and pulled, her teeth gnawed just enough to leave bite marks, clamping down when she brought her knee back up.

She’d brought bigger men down with less. She knew somewhere Jack wished he would fall. Some small voice of sanity pleading for him to lose consciousness to the onslaught. A voice that was drowned out by his love for her. So she rewarded him with other delights. Soothing his hardened nipples with kisses and massages, whispering how much of a good boy he was just under her breath but loud enough for him to hear.

It was true, of course. Who else but a good boy, a loving husband, would let his body be abused for his wife’s pleasure? “Gosh, when I put it like that it seems toxic, don’t it?” Allison said casually as she fished through her tackle box of torture. Nothing in there was too dangerous, at least in the hands of a skilled nurse like herself, but it sure made people’s faces lose color when they saw what was inside. Allison took out some clips on chains with little tighteners and plenty of thin silk rope. The box remained open as she set to work pinching her husband’s fat pecs tight to clamp the little alligator clips down, tightening just enough to make him shudder as he squirmed.

His dick was hard and proper now. Not so strong enough to balance anything on, but age robs everyone. First Allison pulled his nuts down to better divide them from his body, tying a tight layer of knots to keep them spaced from his crotch and, as a bonus, making them stand out more. Almost like one of those beards in ancient Egyptian death masks, except with a bulbous round bottom. When he got quiet she gave them a tight squeeze to ensure he was paying attention. Couldn’t let him get too comfortable.

Next she wrapped rope around his cock. The purple cords covered the thick phallus like a tube, binding the pulsating meat tight. The only thing peeking out was his drooling mushroom head, which she gave a soft kiss before pushing the whole shaft to his stomach and binding it to his waist.

She stepped back to admire her work for just a moment, chuckling to herself about how his precious jewels were dangling like grapes on a vine. Big grabs, maybe more like the crab apples that grew on the trees of the local elementary school. Regardless, they were nice and round for what she wanted to do next.

Everyone who visited the dungeon without a blindfold knew that Allison had a hammer. Not some rubber mallet to play pranks with but the kind of clawed hammer one would use to pry out nails or hammer them in. Now she’d never use it because that’s not the sort of hammer one can use and not break something. Flesh and bone don’t fit together as neatly as one might think. But what she loved about the hammer is letting people know it was there. Letting its cold metal head press against her husband’s shaft so she could watch him squirm in fear of what, despite knowing it would never happen, could come.

“Is today the day?” She said aloud, feeling the pulsing balls in the palm of her hand as she trailed the flat part of the hammer against them. “This the day we finally get rid of these? Not like I’m having a child again.” Not that they could give it, he had a vasectomy after their third kid.

Jack shook his head. His breaths shortened. In and out through his nose. His chest rising with every whimpering breath. She squeezed to make him squeal, showing teeth when she saw his digging into that thick ballgag. “No, it’s not today.” Nor would it ever be. But letting him walk the knife’s edge was half the fun.

She let the hammer back down on the desk with a hefty thunk and picked up a thin leather paddle. Smaller than a Ping-Pong paddle. Without warning she yanked his tied balls and smacked the tool across her husband’s precious orbs.

The first strike was always the best for her. And the worst for him. Bindings kept his body in place but his gag failed to stop his voice from leaping several feet. The most merciful thing to do would be to stop. The second most merciful, and the more fun option, was to continue in a constant rhythm to get him used to the strikes. So she continued, slapping his balls with the leather paddle with enough strength to hear the clap but enough restraint to not damage them too much. He writhed, as was natural, but her grip held him steady enough. Where was the fun if he just stood and took it? It’s why she hated most masochists, save for one special pitbull. Eventually they’d start flailing to get the most pain.

“Shh, shh,” Allison cooed once she finished, “It’s alright. You did good. You’re a good boy.” She massaged his sack with one hand, layering kisses across it as if her saliva could numb the dull pain. Her praises were cut short when she suckled one testicle into her maw. He held his breath when he felt her teeth brace that bruised skin. It's so easy to chomp down and take it. So easy.

The only blood on her lips was her own.

With his balls needing a break, Allison opted for her second favorite implement of penal torture; the humble sounding rod. There are several in her kit, ranging from the beginner friendly four millimeters to girthy twenty for only the biggest of cocks. All stainless steel and routinely cleaned with disinfectant to avoid anything nasty coming later. The bunny dragged her finger along the thickest rod in quiet contemplation. She hoped one day that he’d be able to take it, and had been steadily working him up towards it, but today was not that day. She needed to devote an entire session to spreading that forbidden hole. For now she stuck with a nice twelve millimeter one. Thin enough to fit inside, thick enough to make him hold his breath the whole way through.

“Remember when I first did this?” She asked, pausing her push to see him nod. “It was so small back then. Smaller than the four millimeter. And you kept telling me it was burning, like there were spikes on the rod that was as smooth as could be. Big mistake on your part.” She twisted the rod between her finger and her thumb, making him shriek like a little girl. It was like turning up the dial to an old radio.

“There’s just so many nerve endings down there,” She teased, sinking the rod deeper inside. It was long enough that she didn’t have to worry about it slipping inside and years of putting in catheters for patients made the whole process child’s play. So, like a child, she played. Twisting, pulling, shoving, all to make her husband sing like some trussed up instrument. The tears in his eyes were real and she grew drunk on the taste.

Yet all good things needed to end. Jack may love her, but she knew he had his limits. Respect of which was the only thing keeping her grounded, else she’d become a wild beast. That was the difference between her and the psycho or the murderer. She loved those around her too much to break them completely. Only bit by bit she allowed herself to snap them, and only with their consent. Consent which must be rewarded.

Of course, she could have fun with that.

Taking a vibrating wand up to his cock head, she braced its pink head to the stainless-steel tip of the rod. Jack’s chest stilled. “Oh, you know what this is?” Allison asked rhetorically, grinning like the jack-o-lanterns she carved on Halloween. “I know some people derive pleasure from pain, but I’m much more interested in those who get pain from pleasure. Don’t disappoint me now.”

With the press of a button the rod became her vibrator’s tuning fork. Vibrations rippled down his shaft, all the way to his bladder. Specifically built sounding vibrators didn’t have strong engines. Whether this was for safety or lack of space, Allison didn’t know. From how Jack reeled his head back like he was being electrocuted in the movies, she suspected the former. Didn’t matter, he could take it.

A fun little anatomy lesson Allison liked to bring up from time to time is that the discharge isn’t strong enough to remove a blockage like say, a sounding rod being held down by a vibrator. Since a discharge has to happen, where does the semen go? Into the bladder, which is medically known as a retrograde ejaculation. Some cultures tried to push this as a male contraceptive practice. The only downsides Allison could think of were dry orgasms, cloudy urine on his next trip to the bathroom, and infertility (but they weren’t planning on new kids anyway).

It didn’t stop or reduce orgasms in any way, including that oversensitive feeling men get after one orgasm. Allison made him squeal through four before stopping, she herself having one or two from the experience alone. When finished she took a stepping stool to reach his eye level, unbuckled his gag, and kiss him with such fervor that she was tempted to keep going.

“I love you. So much,” she whispered.

“Likewise, my bonfire,” he muttered.

Allison laughed. “You haven’t called me that in decades.”

“Really?” He said, weakly, “I think it all the time.”

***

“I still cannot believe you let me do all of that to your dick but you won’t let me touch your ass.”

Jack had been laid out on the dungeon bed with a cloth covered icepack over his cock and balls. “I let you touch my ass.”

“Not in that way.”

He shivered upon realizing what she meant, “No. Never again in that way. I learned my lesson after our last kid.”

A shame. Allison wasn’t obsessed with pitching like her friend Helga, but the urge came every now and then. For all the things Jack allowed, he had some lines he wouldn’t cross. She may own his cock and balls by way of their private wedding vows, but his asshole was the one place he preferred not to be penetrated. “It’s a one-way street,” he told her the first time they tried it. To his credit, he did try it and found it not to his liking. One would think Allison would find it more appealing that way, but thrusting into someone not enjoying it put her in a headspace she did not appreciate.

Thank god Jack was ok with her using other subs on occasion. Especially if he got to play dom. That was the secret to a long-lasting marriage, compromise and communication.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to pick her up from school today,” Jack said, looking at the time.

Allison snickered. “Not unless you wanna explain the funny walk again.”

He groaned, “For fucks sake, woman.”

“Alright, alright,” she slapped his thigh playfully, “I’ll get her. Figured I’ll get some groceries on the way. You good to cook for tonight?”

“You used my balls like a speedbag and you have to ask?”

“So is that a yes?”

After a pause he nodded. “Steaks. I want to make steak.”

Pricey. “Fine.” She crawled over and kissed him, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”