Over the course of my BDSM education, I have from time to time experimented with butt plugs. I often like to wear one while playing with my partner because the pressure it exerts on my prostate gland make orgasms more intense. But I also like to use them to test my boundaries and, when the fancy takes me, simply because they can be enjoyable to wear.
I first wore one so that I would in theory be better equipped to enjoy anal sex. But I soon found that butt plugs had many other sensory uses. Aside from the obvious pleasure to be derived from the feeling when ones sphincter closes around the base on insertion, there are many other sensations to be experienced depending on the size, shape, length, and material of which the plug is made.
To be added to these elements is the issue of ones own body and how it moves while wearing a plug. In my experience the ideal environment for wearing a plug while moving around is to do the housework or some other activity when naked or at least unrestricted by clothing between the thighs and the waist. I find this to be an erotic experience and not at all uncomfortable, since my body dictates the movement of the plug inside me. As a bonus, the slight rubbing of the plug against my prostate serves to increase the erotic sensation.
A bigger challenge is to wear clothes, especially outdoors. The restrictive nature of clothing limits the body’s ability to dictate the movement of the plug. Depending on the sort of clothes worn, their tightness or otherwise, and the size and length of the plug one is wearing, the sensations to be experienced can range from pleasure, through mild discomfort, to considerable pain.
There is of course the added element of risk of exposure, or at least the feeling of paranoia experienced by the wearer who can never be entirely sure that those around him or her are completely unaware of the activity being undertaken. So there are many ways to enjoy, or endure, playing with these wonderful anal toys. And yet for all my experiences with them, I feel there is still much I need to learn.
One of my biggest faults is impatience. Not so much with other people or events, but in my desire to experience too much too soon. So it has often been with the various experiments I have carried out on myself over the years. There have been far too many occasions when I have been in the middle of one activity only to allow that experiment to lapse before its conclusion because I have been distracted by a new idea. This is most certainly the case with butt plug play.
I have never truly found my anal limits. I have before now managed to wear a large butt plug for four hours but I feel I have the ability to do much more. I have tried self fisting but have only managed to insert my hand up to my second set of knuckles. Despite trying to learn from the techniques demonstrated by those who have posted their self fisting videos online my arms just won’t stretch far enough for me to insert my whole hand.
I have also found difficulty in comfortably accepting a full thrusting length of a large cock. If the thrusting is slow and gentle there is but a negligible discomfort. But some months ago I was playing with three guys, one of whom was about 8 inches in length. While taking the other two men was no problem, I found that when the guy with the bigger cock thrust into me hard and deep I experienced an intense pain in my stomach. Suffice to say, I was most disappointed that I was unable to accept him in the way that I wanted to.
So over the last week I have started to wear a plug again. Finding the time has proved to be a little difficult. Between work and children the opportunities have been scarce. In my old job I was able to wear a plug without any real concern because I was never far from a public convenience where I could re-lube or, if wearing the plug was becoming too uncomfortable, to remove it. In my present job I am often in the position of being away from the office. So regular lubrication is out of the question, and any “emergencies” leave me no escape route.
If I’m at home I can wear a plug while the children are at school. And although it’s extremely unlikely that they’d notice anything if I were to wear one while they’re home, I just wouldn’t feel comfortable sitting down to dinner with the children present while I’m wearing a plug in my ass! To add to these restrictions on time and opportunity, today they break up for the Easter holidays which means that for the next two weeks I won’t be getting much practise in butt plug endurance.
Nevertheless, I intend to persevere and hope to graduate from wearing a medium plug to a large plug within the next month. And after that, who knows? I’ve not tried an extra large plug yet so I feel that this would be a realistic medium term target.
In the mean time I shall find what time I can to build up my endurance with the medium plug I am wearing as I write, and which has been inside me (aside from re-lubricating and re-inserting)for almost four hours of the six I intend to clock up today.
I will hopefully find the time to write more over the Easter period, but that will depend entirely on family commitments over the next two weeks. So in case I am unable to find the time to post I’d like to wish anyone who happens to stumble upon my ramblings a very happy Easter.
I suppose if I’m to do this properly and produce anything that is in any way readable I should begin by recounting my early experiences. There are those that keep a journal of their life and some who have done so since a tender age. It is at these moments I regret not being a diarist. Through a combination of laziness and the fact that the advent of the internet never occurred to me, I am left to rely on an increasingly inefficient memory as my only source of information. Not that I could have put some of the events that spring to mind on paper anyway. At least not without the risk of discovery and the resulting fallout that would have been sure to follow the disclosure of episodes of teenage lust, not to mention having to explain a propensity for what would have been considered at best, ‘strange habits’ and otherwise lurid behaviour.
I was very fortunate that my sexually formative years were spent partly in the company of teenage girls on our council estate who were as inquisitive as I was. Having the good fortune to know two girls who had no siblings and who’s parents would spend evenings out to dinner meant that I experienced a good deal more than I would deem appropriate for my teenage girls. (Oh, how differently we look at the world when we’re parents.)
My introduction to BDSM began with a liaison I had with a girl we’ll call Kelly. Her parents owned the pub almost opposite our house. (Actually it wasn’t a house but a maisonette, but we always called it our house.) While romping around in a secluded spot after her horse riding lesson she unexpectedly smacked me on the ass with her horse whip. At the time I was so angry I wanted to punch her in the mouth. But being a gentleman I registered my objections vocally and stomped off home. It was only a few minutes later when I began to appreciate the warm glow emanating from my cheeks that I realised I had in fact enjoyed the experience, and that my objections lay more with age old male dominance conditioning that those of my generation will be familiar with, than any pain or humiliation I may have felt at the time.
The experience got me thinking. What else would I like to be spanked with? Or more to the point, what other pain might I enjoy? Living in a crowded environment meant that any activity involving noise was entirely out of the question. So I gave the problem due thought and began to experiment with mild cutting. With a mirror borrowed from the bathroom, a needle from my mum’s sewing box and a knife from the garden shed, the latter pair ‘sterilised’ in Dettol, I drew pretty patterns on my ass behind a locked bedroom door. The adrenalin rush was incredible. I had no understanding of why I felt compelled to abuse myself in such a manner. But days later, when my ass was sore and I had to go to great lengths to hide the lines I’d carved while in the changing rooms at school, I never ceased to be glad I’d done it.
