In my previous life I must have been a spider. There is nothing I like more than luring men into my trap then binding them tight so that they cannot escape. Luring and binding. It reminds me of a session some years ago that was billed as ‘tantric massage’. If you don’t know, ‘tantric’ is a type of Eastern massage that begins with a whole body relaxation. Muscles are gently squeezed, flesh stroked and the mind relaxed with soft and dreamy music. After around 45 minutes, the tantric masseuse begins to stimulate the cock and balls. Gently and oh so slowly. Then stops. Then starts. Then stops. The idea is to build a wall of sexual desire that once released sends shock waves through the body like a surging current of electric pulses. One after another. The skilled tantric can induce an orgasm that last longer than the subject has ever had.
And so I lured in a man with an offer of tantric massage to blow his mind, body, soul and empty out his balls like a fire pump. The customer arrived in my lair which was a darkened room with massage table, soft towels, softer music and scented candles. All very relaxing. A relaxing spider’s web.
I asked him, gently, to undress and get on the table. He did so, closed his eyes, and I began. I was wearing a rather fetching kimono – the picture of the demure tantric. But this was a lure. Of course.
After about 30 minutes of total relaxation I started working my agile fingers on his groin, moving ever closer to his testicles and penis. My little finger would get ever so close and then pull away. Closer, pull away, closer – within a millimetre – then pull away. I could hear that he was getting excited as his breathing came in shorter and shorter spurts. I asked him to close his eyes tight and my pinkie finally engaged with his aching balls. Aching is right. Aching is what they would do.
Imperceptibly, I took off my robe – underneath I was wearing a tight leather thong, black basque, seamed stockings. I quickly slipped on a pair of black shoes with killer heels and a pair of soft leather gloves. I had transformed from tantric to dominatrix in the time it took the poor fool to take five short breaths. Still with his eyes closed, my now gloved fingers started playing with his balls. At first a gentle squeeze. Then tighter. Then like a vice, my fingers clamped so hard round his balls that they bulged and separated. I pushed a gloved finger into the valley between the reddening testicles. The man gave out a yelp and asked me what I was doing. Before he knew it, I had tied leather straps around his chest and legs. He was going nowhere. He was mine. A fly trapped in my cruel web.
He protested, cried out, threatened even but soon I had him whimpering for mercy. Mercy he did not get. Now strapped and bound in the leather web I had spun, he had to endure an hour of cock and ball torture, grasping pegs on his nipples and vicious pins in his battered balls.
After I had had my fill of torture, I decided to give him a present. I took off my thong and lowered my hot, sweaty arse on to his nose and mouth. I ordered him to lick. To thank me for my attention to him by cleaning me out with his worthless tongue.
He did as he was told. The customer had become a willing slave. Trained, beaten and transformed. The spider had trapped her prey.