One night after a couple of glasses of wine she retired into the bedroom to iron something. I followed her and was in a particularly sexy mood, so I pulled out my extra hard cock and laid it before her on the ironing board. She warned me to remove it or she would burn it. I glared at her with a defiant look, and didn’t move a muscle. She warned me again. My eyes were glazed with a look of fear and lust but didn’t move. She quickly touched it with the iron. I didn’t feel it that much. She warned me again that she would really burn it if I didn’t remove it. I wouldn't, I couldn't. So she pressed down several times on the head of my cock. Of course it hurt like hell, but all I though about was her crushing out a cigarette on me instead.

Healing took a little longer than it should have because every time I looked at it I became erect. A short while later I told her about the cigarette torture fantasies.