Persistently insistent? Seems like an exaggeration? A question followed by a relatively short response?
I keep saying I couldn't do it the way he asked me to, and even clarified that I didn't want to figure out some other way, and emphasized that he didn't merit the effort. You keep saying I could, and the effort is minimal. You're *still* doing it. (Do you like asterisks better than caps?) You're doing it right now. It's not an exaggeration. Not at all. (Still tedious. I like *you*. If you were anyone else you'd be on my ignore list because this conversation is obnoxious.)
I was talking about the pure physical aspect. To step on. The act of stepping.
And you're still wrong. The exact scenario is:
- Step on penis
- Penis must end up between ball of boot-clad foot and floor
- Penis is shorter than ballsack
- Ballsack is very full, like a big pillow for the little penis
- Ballsack must not be incorporated and does not tolerate pressure
- Human male is not flat, and short erection does not reach floor
- As much of my weight as possible should be transferred to the foot on the cock.
It isn't possible. Full fucking stop. Could I have thought of some way that wasn't exactly what he wanted? Maybe. But it wasn't what he asked for. In my mind, I considered different positions that might afford the necessary access, but then I quickly drew the conclusion that I was thinking too hard about something I didn't care about, and told him so in a way he found titillating.
if there was one, it's a bit silly don't you think? We don't have basic furnishing or common geometric shapes immediately on hand but we do have this really expensive device that suspends people safely...and you can spin them around on it
Aren't you making assumptions about the layout of the club? Yes, they had a Catherine wheel, a St. Andrew's cross, some four-poster bed frames, different kinds of benches for bondage and discipline in a variety of positions, a table with stirrups, and much more. But I just fuckin' got there. I barely had time for my eyes to adjust to the dim, amber-red light. I hadn't even decided if I was purely an observer, or willing to interact. I hadn't even given my juice to the "bartender". The wheel was way in the back on the lower level. The cross was the first thing at the top of the stairs on the upper level. My first impression was of a lot of activity. I went with a similarly curious female friend. Other than sticking to each other like glue, we hadn't decided where to go, what to do, what to watch.
We arrived, showed ID, and were allowed in far enough to pay entrance. We opened our winter coats to reveal that we were eligible for the female/female-presenting, dressed in fetish attire discount. We paid, and may have checked our coats. Memory is fuzzy on that, but I don't remember having my coat when I was approached by a man who slithered up to me on his belly, then rolled over onto his back to make his request while referring to me as a Goddess and himself as a worm. I was only a few feet into the room, talking with my friend about what we should do at that point. That's the scenario.
You should learn to take me at face value. Honoring the specific request made Was. Not. Possible. I quickly learned about myself that I didn't want to find some work-around to accommodate him. End of. Even if I had allowed my thoughts to get as far as equipment (I stopped at potential body positioning.) I hadn't seen anything. All my mind had time to register was 'activity from a few dozen entities in dimly lit space, wall with windows to left, large bed with large crowd to right, "bar" ahead and to right, what the fuck is this man on the floor about'.
I say over and over it was impossible. Couldn't do it. You keep insisting that there was a way, yet none of your suggestions actually get his dick between my foot and the floor. It was impossible. And I didn't want to. Are you done yet? Or are you going to persist and insist and then continue to claim you are not?
Later on, I could see how my actions probably served to make him feel worse.
Same. I often think I may have caused harm in that situation, and wish I had been more mature and talked to him frankly about things. Instead, I talked to my equally immature friends who assured me I was doing the right thing. Ah, retrospect.
icky, icky, tickytacky.
