Other prepared or preserved meat, offal or blood

I had met her in a meeting with friends in a bar. She was a self-proclaimed Domme. She always had a kind and gentle way of speaking, but she had a look and an ironic and mocking smile that conveyed an idea of being capable of many "perversities". We got along very well, we exchanged phone numbers, but nothing worked out.
A few days later, we spoke on the phone, and she invited me to lunch at her apartment, and even though we hadn't made any arrangements, she was sure that we both wanted a section, what could happen between me and this very experienced Queen? I had no idea. Expectation and fear excited me. I tried to control as much as possible expectation as I went to meet her.
We had a few cold beers while we were having a lively vanilla chat. She was sitting on a couch. Without saying anything that a nun couldn't hear, I sat cross-legged on the floor, gently put her feet on my lap, took off my sandals, and began a gentle massage. The queen just looked at me with that smile of a cat looking at a bird. When I started kissing her feet, she said,
If you're gonna do this, do it right, take off all your clothes.
I stood up without saying anything, and struggling to imagine that I was alone I took off all my clothes. My dick was hard and drooling. I sat in the same position and kept kissing my feet. I felt calm doing something after all very light, calm as someone who drives a comfortable car right on the edge of a cliff.
The peace was broken when she got up and walked towards the room. I was waiting, naked and sitting on the floor. These are eternal seconds, sure that something (scary?) is going to happen and have no idea what it will be.
When she came back, she made me kneel and blindfolded me with a black cloth. She went round and round, so that I couldn't actually see anything at all. She tied a cloth around my neck as a leash and with a guide made me stand on all fours and walked out of the apartment. Like a blind puppy, I paraded through all the comforts. I'm sorry to frustrate any readers, if any readers I came to have, but I didn't find that at all exciting, to tell you the truth I found it boring. (Laughter) I began to fear that the joke would become something boring. But when the spirit is embodied the spirit doesn't question orders very much.
Finally she made me stand up, tied my hands firmly to my back with a long handkerchief, held my shoulders by my back and was pushing me forward, by this time I had no sense of direction and was taking very short steps for fear of tripping over something. Until I felt my cock hard against the wall (I thought: it's a good thing it came before the belly). She lovingly put her hand on my forehead so that I wouldn't hit my head against the wall and pushed me completely against the wall. She left me there. Naked, tied and glued to the wall. And nothing happened for endless seconds.
I thought, what's going to happen now? I remembered I didn't talk about limits to torture or pain or anything. I remembered we didn't have a safeword. What's going to happen? Is she going to take off her blindfold and I'm going to run into all my co-workers who are going to shout in unison, "Surprise!"? Is she going to give me a lacerating whip?
My daydream was broken by the sound of something cutting the air, and then simultaneously a bang and a shock that went through my whole body, only half a second later I noticed my butt burning, but before I had time to think about it another bang filled the apartment. I think only those who have lived the experience of a spanking know the dubious feeling that it is. An intense mixture, the desire to enjoy and at the same time the reflex to escape. The instinctive attempt to escape crashed into the wall. My whole body hit the wall while my butt burned with the blows (the tightness against the cold wall was pleasant). Suddenly she relieved. She stroked my butt, rubbed it on me, her fingers ran risky on my skin drawn on each stick. It was nice to receive so many compliments, after the texture of my new skin, she screamed more and more violently, and after my new skin, she whistled in my face.
She turned me over and backed me up against the wall, another eternity of seconds of silent waiting.
To feel something thin (like a bar) squeezing the base of my dick. and squeezing more, and more, and more... I couldn't understand what it was. But because it was extremely hard the squeeze caused a bearable pain. then came another squeeze just like it more towards the tip... and then another... and then another... and suddenly it was the bag that was suddenly squeezed by the stick, and then squeezed between the testicles. I didn't understand exactly what was happening, but despite the relatively strong pain, I was able to bear it well, thanks to the erection I felt, but I was very curious, my breath was gasping.
So she took off my blindfold, and the fact that I didn't know what was going on was scary, and when I finally got to look at my dick and see the decoration applied to it, I was even more scared.
Several rings made up of these little rubber bands, each with several turns, in order to tighten it very tightly, adorned my bingolim, the first one right at the base, the last one separating the glans from the body of the stick in a total of about five rings. The tightness was so great that in each rubber the diameter of the stick was almost half of the normal one, so that it looked like a set of pump-up balls put together.
Another rubber enveloped at the same time the sack and the stick, another one held only one of the testicles and the stick, another one held the other testicle also together with the stick. Also these rubbers were with several turns consequently squeezing strongly. In this way each of the eggs was on one side of the penis, both tightly squeezed, red and half swollen.
I never thought I'd be able to handle it, but our boundaries are always so elastic (whoa!) I don't know if I would have seen her put all that stuff in if I had let her. The weird thing about the sub attitude is that with all the shock and fear, I was still excited about the situation and enjoying being there.
She gave me little taps on the stick, but in that situation, any touch was torture.
The Queen took the shackles from my hand and made me kneel on the floor, sat on the couch (I was naked) held tight my hair for ever and pulled me to her, looked me in the face and told me something that surprised me:
When I do this (and squeezed my neck one way) you suck, when I do this (squeezed another way) you just lick!
And as she said that, she stuck my face in her skirt. And I, who always thought I was a good sucker -- (Laughter) -- I sucked this time with a remote control, and she was determining exactly where and what I was doing in her skirt, which she didn't read, but I thought it was more weird than exciting. And as my queen got excited, I would squeeze my neck harder against her, and sometimes it would take my breath away. And when I couldn't take the shortness of breath anymore, I would force myself far enough to breathe, and then she would quickly squeeze again, and then she would stop, and she would make me face her, and she would say,
It takes me too long to make fun.
And she stuck my face between her legs again.
Another pause and this time he said to me:
It swallows everything.
At the time I didn't really understand what she meant by "get it all". After some more time (I have no idea how long it lasted, but it was a long time) I realized that she was joking. And then there was another surprise for me, something happened that I had only seen on the Internet and I had my doubts if it was true.
I felt my mouth being flooded with liquid, it wasn't urine, it "ejaculated" into my mouth. Not the squeaks I'd seen on the Net, instead it poured into my mouth as I pressed against it with all my might. I tried to swallow it all, but I couldn't. Until it relaxed and let me go. A stain on the sofa documented what had happened.
I understood that the surprises would end there, but in disbelief, I heard a bombshell determination:
You're going to make lunch.
Then we'll have fried egg with rice.
You don't know how to cook, so you're a useless little whore.
But in addition to my culinary talents, there were some serious operational problems. For starters, the rubber bands were not removed. After so much time and with an activity not as erotic as driving pots, my dick withered. Then I began to discover how truly sinister the blisters are. So far they were squeezing the stick and the stick trying to inflate was pushing them. Without the stamina the grip was getting worse, and moreover as the rings got smaller the blisters were wrapping and pinching the skin (ui...iii), even worse, some of them were clinging to the hair and stretching. Did you think all that bad? It's not all bad. She determined that I dress cooks.
I put on my underwear writhing, and then, with the caution of someone trying to cross a pit bull kennel carrying meat, I put on my jeans.
She had a bottle of wine opened and served to both of them.
Put some water in the pan, some olive oil, put the pasta...
I was doing everything, and at every movement the friction of my trousers, the pulling of hair, the squeezing were torturing me. I worked arched in a vain attempt to avoid the punishments. She pretended that none of this existed, but she could not disguise her typical sarcastic and amusing smile. Once again I am sorry to frustrate the most lively, but I did not find this little part exciting or amusing.
Now I'm going to reveal the most surprising fact of all: (suspense...) being able to make a very reasonable spaghetti al sugo.
Food ready, table set, glasses full, finally I discover the great suffering that the section had in store for me: taking off the caps!
It's kind of like being in a fire and having a door open to escape, only the door is on fire.
She told me to go to the bathroom and remove the subjects. I had no way. It was a mixture of latex, skin and hair, which I simply had no way to hold and pull, leaving my entire penis on my body. Shit! And now? I couldn't stand it anymore, I couldn't even remove it. What to do?
After a lot of thinking, the only solution I could come up with was to ask the expert on the subject. I went back to the room and told her about my problem. She laughed a lot, told me to be quiet, and with an impressive mastery of "grabbed" one of the straps stretched and pulled.
Get the fuck out of here!
It hurts more than to put, it hurts more than to keep squeezing. It made me nervous when I saw that she was going to take out another one. The reflex was to take out the stick, but I had to get rid of it. After much suffering the last of the clamps released my trembling body.
Sitting at the table, savoring my artwork, tasting a 2004 Periquita Cabernet Sauvignon, I felt elevated to a new level: that of being human.