Forget all that stuff you see in those BDSM illustrations, drawings, and cartoons. You know: the trussed-up hunk being tortured in various ways by leather-encased, cinch-waisted Cruellas with twin football breasts? The guy's eyes are either ping-pong balls of shock or clenched creases of agony as his hide is being cross-hatched in juicy swipes, and yet, rising from between his legs is this engorged anaconda any pornstar would be envious of. Fiction. Cool fiction, but fiction nonetheless.

I've seen that same flagpole jutting out not just from inked victims of Dungeon-Dommes with enough chain and elaborate devices to impress the Inquisition, but on the rendered red-faced and even redder-bottomed husbands, boyfriends, nephews, et al. with stern-looking disciplinarians. Although these hapless guys don't quite ever rate getting the anaconda.........more like insistent upturned bananas instead.
"Hey. Where are you?"

"Over on the computer, Dear." Ben heard Trudy's steps and turned in his swivel chair.

"There you are. What are you doing?"

"I'm writing. Kind of an essay I guess......maybe more 'journal-like'?"

"On what?" Trudy leaned in curiously to read the screen. "Hey, this is about kink........" she observed at a glance, "and I don't see a pokey pad. You know the computer rules."

"Sorry, I just didn't think this was........."

But Trudy cut him off. "You're on the computer, the purpose is sexual in nature, specifically kinky, you need to be on your pokey pad. Now go get it while I read what you have here so far before I add on a no-fun spanking."

Ben obediently relinquished the chair and got the special rolled piece of plastic carpet protector cut to the shape of the seat out of his drawer and returned to find Trudy grinning. "Not bad." she admitted rising, 
"keep going and I'll check in on your progress." Trudy's approval inspired Ben. Unrolling the plastic wrongside up onto the seat, he yanked down his jeans and boxers and sat on the plastic spikes meant to dig into an office rug, feeling them dig into his bottom instead. Like a spurred horse, he began to write with renewed vigor.

Still, I can't relate. My psyche might be aroused by domination, but my organ tends to be meekly deferential in its actual presence. Now this isn't true for all things since ....if not denied little pecker will sprout at the mere thought of thorough body worship, cunnilingus, or even a foot rub. Even the threat of a spanking might cause a fleeting growth spurt...........but it won't survive the actual ordeal. So as sexy as all the trappings of BDSM may be, my Tops are never rewarded for their power and beauty with an anaconda to confront and tame. Instead, they get to smirk, giggle, or make that tilted-head, twinkling-eyed, closed, wide, 'isn't that cute' grin. For between my legs at these times, there resides a mushroom. And not a portabella........more like the basic white button variety, seemingly growing atop a high round taught bald scrotum.

Trudy stepped up behind so quietly that he hadn't noticed her reading. He jumped when she said, "Oh, so that's what this is about. I like the self-deprecating suits a sub.............but your comments seem a bit envious of those anacondas, dear. And they ARE impressive" she teased "but I like your mushroom." As she said it a thought popped into her head and she smiled behind her sub's back and continued in a slow revelation. "In fact............. I think that would be a cute pet name for you, dear: 'shroom. " Ben blushed and Trudy saw the red in his ears. "Oh yes. Definitely." she concluded before going about her business once more.

It sits there, a mere nub, seemingly contradicting my profound horniness. How much does the button-mushroom reveal about its host? The anaconda represents vein-popping power and danger, and when depicted ringed or shackled yet still engorged and is aggression held captive. The button represents humility, deference, docility, compliance, and while these are the desired traits of a submissive, I am still embarrassed at how tactlessly the mushroom declares them, leaving me no mystery, no illusion, no pretense. Honesty forces me to accept the truth.......but the mushroom tactlessly blurts it out for all to barely see. And when seen, women know. Their smile reveals their thoughts as blatantly as the mushroom reveals my nature. The captive anaconda might elicit a wicked grin, maybe an appraising eye, perhaps a nod of admiration, or even a leer...........but the mushroom only receives that sly knowing nod and perhaps a smug dominant grin. Instead of that raging anaconda screaming out desire for all to see, the mushroom meekly retreats, giving as its only clue to my actual arousal, a telltale trail of clear if a garden snail had recently visited the pink toadstool. The mushroom might not be so ridiculous if not for that blasted snail-slime. A sub might be cold. Perhaps justifiably fearful. But even if it is regarded more accurately as the button of defeated docility, the snail-slime mocks: 'all true.......but he likes it'. 
And that ooze arouses different reactions in different Dommes. Some smile knowingly, others are indifferent, some even look on in the mildly disgusted way one regards a clueless kid with a runny nose........

Noiselessly, Trudy was again beside him and looking down spied the self-same snail-slime described in the essay. She smiled and swiped it up with a sweep of her finger and held it up to his lips like a scoop of icing from the bowl. He wordlessly acknowledged the offered finger and sucked it clean. Snickering, Trudy sauntered off once more.

.....and still others find it the perfect opportunity to give their subs a taste of themselves.
The mushroom is not perennial. When chaste for a long time, there are plenty of times my ever-hopeful organ behaves more aggressively. Visual stimulation, physical stimulation, even hearing the right combination of words can have me pointlessly poking the air.........but nothing is more noticeable than morning wood. Penises must be the most optimistic organ on the male body, for even after weeks of no satisfaction, the little fella never wakes up defeated. Like a soldier at reveille, Pvt. Wood is at full attention, proudly puffing out his chest and showing me he's still ready for battle. News of the armistice and the chaste terms of surrender have not eroded his will to keep on fighting. It is only as the day wears on that he eventually succumbs to thoughts of retreat.

While merely reflecting on my status is usually enough to bring this on, there are those activities that guarantee this shriveling of manhood....and none is more devastating than being plugged. Being aware of my chaste submissive role might be enough to take me from flaccid to toadstool.....but being impaled by an unyielding invader whose girth dwarfs my own, inevitably produces the stemless button spoken of earlier.

But while butt plugs might be the most efficient means of shrinking a penis outside of ice, spanking must rank as the Top's favorite method. A guy can get turned-on by the prospect of an imminent spanking. Even an apologetic sub may show up for what he recognizes as well-deserved comeuppance with a full or partial erection. I certainly have. I have even managed to maintain that chubby once the action started, but not for much longer. 
I have been very fortunate in always having been the willing victim of some very determined Dommes.....none of whom viewed a spanking, for whatever reason, as anything other than a spanking. A stingy, erotic massage was never their goal even if the spanking was meant as a reward ...or requested. Therefore, I never left a lap looking like those BDSM illustrations. I always stood up to show off my mushroom....meek and contrite as a chastised boy's......and just as hairless. Irrefutable proof of the Domme's skillful application of paddle............and my utter submission.

As Ben finished typing the last line, Trudy stood over him beaming. "Well done 'shroom, but there's one more thing you need to make this article complete."

"What's that, Dear?"

"An illustration. A shot of your 'shroom, 'shroom. For all the world to hardly see."

Ben stood unpeeling the stuck spiked plastic sheet from his tortured rear. "But look! All that writing has you excited......not a 'shroom at all. We'll have to fix that." The wincing from the fresh rush of sting to the long-sat-upon points on his bottom as the pad pulled loose prompted Trudy to ask to see the pattern of golfball dots left behind. "Hmmmmm, a spanking over those fresh dimples would sure do the trick." The look of shock on Ben's face made her chuckle. "OK, OK, maybe that's a bit too severe under the pleasant circumstances of your literary achievement. How about we plug you nice and full with the extra large plug?" Ben saw that as equally unpleasant.....but nodded in consent.

Inserting their largest plug was not a quick one-step process. To avoid injury a tapered interim plug was used first. Well-lubed and strapped in with a wide strap once about halfway inside him, Ben could pamper his Mistress while his anus gradually relaxed and widened, allowing more and more to slide in. Trudy suggested he worship her feet since it would keep his impaled rear high aloft and receptive to the invader. Gradually the tapered plug reached its widest point and Ben nodded to Trudy that he was ready for the next step.

The final plug was tapered less and more parabolic with a very thick body. Even prepped, this plug also took time and required caution and slow, relaxed acceptance. Trudy helped this time, rather than relying on the harness for pressure. Pushing firmly the two worked in concert until Ben felt a telltale sensation. Up until now, the process was one of even wriggling and gradual stretching, but at one point, the pressured penetration and gentle burn of being slowly impaled triggered the rectum to finally rebel. Involuntarily a peristalsis contraction would refuse the invader and try to expel it. However, with Trudy holding the very slick plug firmly in place, the rectum's plan backfires and rather than push the plug out, the spasm engulfs the plug in a one quick swallow of odd sensation.

Once the anus takes this unintended gulp, all Truddy needed to do was firmly push it in all of the way and quickly secure the harness strap. Initially Ben would have to deal with a few futile spasms of his stretched self trying to spew out the stout chunk, but these cramps eventually subside in defeat as the pucker accustoms itself to its new UN-puckered dimension.

The process safely completed, Trudy was rewarded with a very fine specimen of mushroom to photograph. "Perfect!" she announced as she showed Ben the saved image. "Attach this to your essay, 'shroom, so everyone who reads it can see you aren't making up this mushroom effect phenomenon." 

Blushing, Ben did as he was told. Waddling to his seat with the enormous plug wedged into him like a log-splitter, he sat upon his spikes once more and loaded the JPEG. Once inserted, he looked from the image to his lap in comparison and admitted to himself that the image did add creedence to his story, even at the expense of now having so many more witness his embarassing idiosyncrasy. Before logging off he had one more thought. The essay now had an illustration, but no title. However, Trudy's last words inspired him to confidently scroll back to the beginning of the text. Previously untitled, he now had the perfect one, and after placing the cursor, typed:

The Mushroom Effect by Shroom, Dedicated to Mistress Trudy

                       -----------------------------THE END------------------------------------