Most of the night I spend bound spread-eagled on the bed, so that Goddess can alternately ride me, sodomize me, whip me, torture me with wax and electricity, sit on my face for c*********s and baptism and use her hands, breasts and mouth on my harnessed hard-on to her heart’s delight. Only the more momentous and extended heaven of the previous evening keeps this from being the most demanding experience of my existence. Even though Goddess manages to quit using me by three a.m. so that we (or at least I) can get an early start, I’m so wrung out by the time I’m hogtied for repose that I sleep like a stone despite the usual intolerable discomforts of binding and stuffing and the exaltation of being cuddled by a beloved deity.
When my handcuffs pop free a scant six hours later, I groan, roll
