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I wake up in the morning to the feeling of you sliding your pussy down onto my hard cock. This isn’t as pleasurable as it sounds. My dick is usually as hard as wood in the morning when I wake up, and about as sensitive. But I am happy to please you, and I love waking up to the sight of the blissful expression on your face. You usually only use me for five minutes, and cum six or seven times. Feeling your spasms of pleasure on me is so much better than any cup of coffee.
When you climb off of me, I go into the bathroom to clean your cum off my cock and balls and even parts of my thighs. I love the way they smell when they’re covered in your scent, but it’s too distracting to go to work like that.
Still naked, and still hard, I go downstairs to make you a cup of coffee while you do your hair. When I give it to you, you greet me with a hug and a kiss and tell me what a good boy I am. Hearing that from you makes me feel like I’ve been lit up a little from the inside. I sit with you at the table while you drink it and we both read the news, while you occasionally distractedly reach out to caress my cock in a possessive fashion.
Eventually, I beg you to stop touching it so it will go down and I can get dressed and concentrate on my work. I give you a kiss as I leave and you put your fingers in my hair, staring at me meaningfully.
“Mine,” you say.
“Yours,” I agree.
I head to work. Partway through the morning, as always, I start to get actually horny. When I get bored, my dick gets hard, and when I get a break for lunch, I go to the bathroom to text you. “Please may I touch myself, Mistress?”
Somewhat to my relief, you text back immediately, “Are you willing to suffer for it later?”
I look down at my insistent erection, sigh, and text back, “Yes.”
“Good. Then you can touch yourself while thinking about getting your large butt plug kicked into you, and then fucking me with it in until I cum ten times.”
I’m not actually allowed to cum unless I’m inside you. Standing in the bathroom at work stroking my cock with no hope of giving it what it really wants is in some ways worse than sitting at my desk and leaving it alone. Thinking about the pain that’s in store for me makes me question the wisdom of what I’m doing, but at the same time, it only makes me more aroused.
I’m careful not to cum. Once I accidentally did cum when jerking off, and you didn’t let me cum at all for three days. I thought my brain and my balls were going to explode.
I give my dick a few minutes to calm down before I go eat my lunch and get back to work. It’s still boring, and I’m still horny and impatient to get my dick back into you. Finally, the day ends and I have a few minutes in traffic to think about how many ways I want to fuck you when I get home.
You’re home before me, and you’re already in the kitchen making dinner. You’re so small that I greet you by easily picking you up and carefully slam you against the wall with a kiss as you wrap your legs around me. My dick is already hard as you slide down against me and it, your feet back down to the ground. I get down on my knees, slide your panties aside, and bury my face up under your skirt and in your pussy lips. I slide two fingers up inside you and feel you cum around them several times while I lick you. As always, it strikes me as truly perverse how easily I can make you cum, even though you say that you’ve never been able to make yourself cum, ever.
The rules say I never have to ask permission to finger you, or lick your pussy, but I always have to ask for things that are for the benefit of my dick. I look up at you from the floor imploringly. “Please can I fuck you, Mistress?”
“Oh yes,” you say, looking down at me. You seductively pull down your skirt and underwear, while I frantically undo my pants.
I leave them down around my feet and pick you up again, this time sliding your pussy down onto my dick. I groan as I feel you instantly cum around it once, twice, three times, your legs trembling around my hips as I hold you up, bracing you against the wall. “Don’t you dare cum,” you hiss into my ear, and I bite my lip to try to distract myself from the pleasure of your pussy.
“Please, Mistress?” I beg.
“Oh, no,” you grin wickedly, sliding off of my dick. “I’m saving that for later.”
I need to cum at least twice a day, and it’s easy for me to cum three times. But more than that, and my dick gets a little less responsive, so you’ve forbidden me from cumming more than twice a day except on special occasions. You don’t usually give me a choice about when those two times happen.
This whole encounter has only lasted a few moments, and, wearing just your shirt and bra, you go back to stirring the food that’s cooking on the stove while I lean against the wall. Panting, my hands touching the back of the wall behind me to help me resist the temptation to touch my hard dick which is soaked with your cum, I desperately wish you’d do anything to make me cum. Instead, you bring out my collar and put it around my neck, and I gasp as you rub your body against me seductively as you do, just to make me want more. I appreciate the comfort of your collar, but I’m too aroused to be able to concentrate on much except my cock.
Eventually, I step out of my pants, and, still slightly hard, start helping you make dinner. When the timer says we have to wait two minutes for the food to cool, you mercilessly get down on your knees, suck my cock (which is still covered in your cum) fully hard again, then lean over the counter and order me to fuck you. “Slowly,” you instruct. “All the way out, and all the way back in, again and again.” I can actually watch your pussy lips become more swollen as I do this, and in that two minutes, I feel you cum four times. I have to pause twice for longer than I know you want me to so that I won’t cum, and I’m worried that you’ll punish me for that.
“Good boy,” you say, when the timer goes off. “You are the best sex toy.” Even though I love hearing that, I still want to cum so much that I actually feel a little like I might cry. And that frustration itself is so arousing that it keeps me a little bit hard all through dinner, as we sit at our little dining room table, both still wearing our shirts and naked from the waist down.
Afterwards, you insist that we cuddle on the couch for a bit and watch a TV show. You casually reach over and touch my cock occasionally throughout, always keeping me at least half-hard. “Please, Mistress,” I finally say, not wanting to do this much longer.
“Please what?” I ask, playfully.
“Please may I cum?” you beg.
I laugh. “Well, I warned you there would be a punishment for touching yourself earlier. This is the first part of the punishment. Are you going to ask for the second part?”
You hang your head in shame. “Please punish me,” you whisper.
“Look me in the eyes when you say that.”
You lift your head, and your pupils are so dilated that it’s hard to see your irises. Your cock gets harder with mortification as you say a little louder, “Please punish me.”
“I’d be delighted to,” I say, feeling myself getting wetter from the look of humiliation in your eyes. I pull you upstairs by your collar and throw you down onto the bed. I lube up your biggest butt plug, which is very big indeed, and without any preamble, I begin gently working it inside you. You gasp, and your eyes and dick both get bigger as it goes completely inside.
“Please touch my dick,” you plead.
“No,” I say, and I grin as I watch you deliberately place your hands under yourself to keep from touching yourself.
“Mine,” I say, nodding at your dick.
“Yours,” you half-gasp, half-scream as the butt plug goes in all the way.
I give you a moment to adjust, then stare into your terrified eyes as I pull my foot back. “Count for me from 5,” I say. You do, and on 0, I kick the plug into your ass. Your whole body flexes in pain from the impact, and you groan. I do this four more times until you’re crying.
“Now fuck me,” I say, laying on my back, with my legs spread. “No cumming until you’ve made me cum ten times.”
You look a little hopeless, and we both know that the odds of you succeeding at this are not high–and what the punishment will be if you fail: me forcing you to drink your cum from my pussy while I sit on your face. You’re very bad at not cumming once something is in your ass.
You almost gingerly insert your cock into me, barely moving it. “Even I can’t cum from this, little slut,” I laugh. “You’ll have to do better if you want to make me cum.”
You close your eyes. “Please count while you cum?” you plead.
“Alright,” I say. You surprise me by pulling all the way out and slamming completely inside me, instantly making me cum. “One.” You wriggle your cock around for a moment, and push again. “Two.” You pull out, and repeat the whole process. “Three, four.” You pull out completely, and I watch you pause so you don’t cum. You push in, pull out completely, then grit your teeth and push in again, moving inside me longer this time. “Five, six, seven.” This time you pull out completely and simply pant while a couple of tears slip down your cheeks and sweat flows down your chest. You pause for too long, and I say again, “Fuck me, toy. Your cock is mine.” Really crying this time, you thrust in (“eight”) pull out, thrust in again (“nine”) and pull out. “Now cum,” I order. Sliding back inside me, I’m awed by how long your entire body spasms. My own body responds from the intensity of your orgasm, and it seems like we cum for ages together, until you collapse on top of me.
“Mine,” I say again.
“Yours,” you agree.
I feel your prodigious cum start running out of me before your cock has even gone soft. “I’m impressed you lasted until ten,” I say, and I feel you beam with my compliment.
“Me too,” you laugh.
I reach around you and gently pull the butt plug out. Then I reach up to kiss you. “I love you, slut.”
“I love you, too, Mistress.”
We lay like that for a while, then go downstairs to take a shower together. We wash the dishes and cuddle on the couch until it’s time for bed. We brush our teeth, lay down together, and turn out the lights.
Without saying a word, I start stroking your cock until it’s hard in my hand, then straddle you to ride you. I cum a few times quickly before you beg me to cum. I make you ask three times, but I know how important it is for you to cum before you go to sleep, so as usual, I tell you yes.
There is no pleasure as great or as simple as being rocked to orgasm by the intensity of yours, then falling gently asleep in your arms with my pussy still dripping.
No actual dildo could ever make as much of a mess of me as you can, but no dildo could ever cuddle fuck me to sleep as well either.
“You are the best toy,” I murmur sleepily into your chest before drifting off.
Preface: For the last couple of months, I’ve been toiling away on a novel that is erotic metafiction (it’s why I haven’t been blogging as much). Expect a much abridged version of the following exercise to make it’s way into the novel, as written by my main character. Part 1 gives you the day of a male dom and a female sub. Part 2 gives a very similar day with a female dom and a male sub.
And yes, before you ask, some of this actually happened.
In the morning, I wake up, go to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. I come back to bed, and arrange myself in a kind of yoga child’s pose, with my ass in the air and my pussy exposed. I keep my face hidden this way. This isn’t about my face. This is about my pussy, which is a substitute for your hand.
I hear your alarm go off moments later, and you immediately roll over and slide your dick all the way inside my waiting cunt. Your dick is always biggest and hardest right when you wake up, and it feels a little like I’m being fucked with wood. I can’t say this is pleasurable; I don’t really like being fucked before I’m really awake. I do this for you. You never say a word to me during all this, and this morning, as usual, you don’t even touch the rest of my body while you almost lazily fuck me. You don’t care if I enjoy this, and I don’t either. Every morning, I bite my lip because I’m forbidden from making any noise and reminding you that I’m a person as you hammer your cock into my pussy, cumming inside me after only a couple of minutes. I feel your cum dripping down my pussy and onto my clit as you pull out in an almost careless fashion.
The rules say I’m not allowed to clean up until after I’ve made you coffee downstairs and stood by you while you drink some. You always joke that you don’t like cream in your coffee, but you love the sight of cream dripping down my leg while you drink your coffee. That’s when the day starts as your girlfriend, and not just your hand. You come into the dining room in your boxers and kiss me when I hand you your coffee, and you tell me I’m a good girl. I smile, and stand near you, reading the news over your shoulder as you look on your phone. Occasionally, you reach out casually to gently caress my wet pussy, and then you clench your hand on it and say, “Mine.”
“Yours,” I agree, loving feeling so tangibly possessed by you.
When finish your coffee and stand up, I go to the bathroom again to get cleaned up, then get dressed for work. It’s only a five minute walk for me and a five minute drive for you to our workplaces. Mornings are always dull, and I always start counting down an hour before lunch when I get to see you again. “I’m leaving now,” I text as I walk out the door.
“Sofa, leave all your clothes on,” is all I get back in response.
“Yes, Sir,” I text back.
I get home and enthusiastically throw myself over the sofa arm in the living room, my crotch digging into it. The rules say I’m allowed to jerk off whenever I get permission, but I’m only allowed to cum with your cock inside me. Being told to bend over the sofa counts as permission, and I writhe against the soft hardness of the sofa arm while I wait for you. As I become more aroused, my underwear gets a little bit wet, and I suspect that some of your cum from the morning has slipped out in my excitement. I only stay like that for about five minutes before I hear you get home. I stop moving, although I’m already so close to cumming that it’s a little painful to stop.
I’m still not allowed to look at you, but I hear you come into the living room. I hear your footsteps as you walk up behind me and drop your pants, and my pussy clenches with anticipation as when I hear your belt clank against the floor. You move closer to me and move my underwear to the side, sliding your cock into me. I try not to gasp at the delicious combination of texture and friction that happens as I get pressure from my underwear pressing against me, your cock thrusting into me, and the sofa arm pushing up against my clit. I keep carefully writhing against the sofa a bit while this happens. The rules say that I’m allowed to cum as long as it doesn’t interfere with or distract from your pleasure. Once I writhed too much, and you didn’t let me cum for three days. Another time I made too much noise, and you stopped fucking me to throw me over your knee and spank me until I cried. It hurt to sit down at work for the rest of the afternoon, which hurt worse because my pussy was so swollen from the way you viciously fucked me afterwards.
But a minute or two later you surprise me when you order, “Cum for me, slut.” I don’t even have time to say anything as I finally can release myself, my hips bucking against you as I feel you cum inside me, with me. You collapse a little behind me, over me, kissing the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
“You’re better than my hand, slut. My hand can’t cum.”
I feel indescribably happy from this praise. You slowly pull out of me, then carefully arrange my panties back across my cunt. “Keep those on until we’re done with lunch, slut.”
I follow your orders, of course, even though they’re soaked in five minutes.
There are always too many meetings late in the afternoon, when they feel the most tedious. When I get bored, my dick gets hard because I always start thinking about sex. But I don’t actually like jerking off that much, and you begged me a long time ago not to cum unless I was inside you. You do so many things for me that I’m more than happy to give you that. I love jerking off inside you. And when I let you cum, you pull my own cum out so effortlessly. Your cunt is much better than my hand.
At 4:55, I get your text. “Leaving work in just a minute, Sir.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that the day is almost over. You relax me even as you arouse me. “Bent over the bed. Naked.” I text back.
“Yes, Sir.” That simple phrase puts a smile on my face, even as it makes my dick start to get harder in anticipation.
I make the short drive home, the whole time imagining the way you’ll look bent over the bed. I open the door, go upstairs to our bedroom, and feel my dick tighten inside my pants at the sight of your gorgeous naked ass up in the air, obediently waiting to please me. Your succulent pink pussy lips are still closed together, but I’ll fix that in a moment.
I quickly unbuckle my belt and drop my pants to the floor. My dick is already so hard and has been for so long that I don’t bother to take them off. I spread your pussy lips with the head of it and shove it inside you, observing the tiny gasp that slips out of you.
I love not having to worry about pleasing you. I love that you love for me to use you. I love the arch of your back when you’re bent over like this, and I love the tiny flutters of movement you can’t help but make whenever I pull too far away from you, as if your pussy just can’t stand to be separated from my cock. But most of all, I love the wet way your pussy grips my cock. It only takes a minute for you to make me cum, and then I love the way my cum drips out of you as I pull out.
I let you clean up while I get dressed again. Then I caress your gorgeous naked body downstairs in the kitchen when you come downstairs, rewarding you by putting your collar around your neck as I kiss the back of it. “Mine,” I murmur into the back of your neck.
“Yours,” you breathe in happy agreement.
It’s a pleasure to make dinner with you and eat with you and simply enjoy your company. But watching you eat naked with a collar on while I remain clothed just makes me want you all over again. “Come here,” I say at the end of dinner.
You obey, sitting on my knee while I grip your breasts. There is a daily ritual here, and it says that when I fuck you after dinner, you’re not my hand.
“You’re my beautiful slut,” I whisper into your ear, already feeling myself get hard inside my pants. I unbuckle my belt, and unzip my jeans, sliding them all the way off. My dick is already completely hard, but I want to feel your mouth on it. “Suck it, slut,” I say, pulling my shirt off and then putting my hand in your hair. You move from my knee to the floor, while you take me into your mouth. I groan with pleasure, but I don’t let you do it for long before pulling you back up by your hair. “Ride me,” I tell you. You straddle me across the chair and carefully slide your pussy down onto my cock. I savor the feeling of you sinking down onto me, and I love the way you close your eyes in pleasure. I let you keep going until I’m close to cumming myself and then I pull back your hair, ordering, “Cum for me, slut.” You immediately reach your hand down to your clit and start rubbing. I grasp your hips with both my hands to help you continue riding me, and not long after your whole body shakes as you cum all over me, your pussy spasming and your eyes glazed.
By force of will, I manage not to cum and hold you tightly, standing up with my cock still inside you as you wrap your legs around me. I carry you the short distance into the living room, and put you down onto the couch. I reluctantly pull out of you, but I spread your legs so that your hips are at the edge of the cushions, while I kneel on the floor in front of you.
“Sit on your hands,” I instruct you. “I want you to last as long as possible, but when you want to cum, beg for my cock.”
“Yes, Sir,” you say, your eyes still glazed.
I start gently licking your swollen clit, moving around your aroused pussy lips. I love the way you taste, and I love the way your hips arch towards my face. I don’t last long at all before you beg, “Please, Sir, please fuck me so I can cum.”
“No.” I deliberately slow down, blowing on your clit while you wriggle and writhe underneath my face. I laugh at your agony, then go back to licking again.
“Please!” you squeal.
“No,” I say, looking into your terrified open eyes. I back off again, only touching you with the barest tip of my tongue. Then I go back to sucking in earnest, my cock aching to be inside you again.
“Please!” you say. There are tears in your eyes now.
“Please what?” I ask, standing to position my cock just outside your pussy.
“Please fuck me so I can cum!” you practically scream. I slide inside you, and I feel your pussy spasm in desperate relief around me, which immediately causes me to cum as well. I readjust you so that I can lay with you on the couch, cuddling you and enjoying the feel of your body against me.
After showering with you, I spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch with you, watching a movie. It’s as relaxing as cooking with you is, and I love the way you hold me.
“I love you, Sir,” you say, nuzzling your head into my chest.
“I love you too, slut,” I tell you, kissing the top of your head.
But eventually, it’s time for bed.
You go upstairs before me, and I hear you brush your teeth and get in bed. After brushing my own, I come into the dimly lit room and see you on the bed, your ass in the air, obediently waiting to service my cock one last time before we go to sleep.
My beautiful slut is so much better than my hand.
This is erotica… There are probably many things in it that are inadvisable for real life. But that’s why it’s called a “fantasy.”
“Where can I touch you?”
“Anywhere that’s not covered by my underwear.” I don’t think it’s the response you were looking for; I know that Look. It’s a look that speaks volumes in desire. A look that wants to ask for more but is afraid to do so. “Look, just seduce me,” I say.
“What does that mean?” you ask in optimistic confusion.
“Show off and convince me to fuck you… If that’s what you want,” I add, as if there’s a question. There’s no question. “And if you’re persuasive enough, I’ll say yes.”
There is already rope in your hands, and I watch with amused arousal as you stroke it without realizing you’re doing so.
“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop,” I say, in a voice that is intended to sound more like an invitation than a reassurance.
“You’re fucking with me,” you say. You try to make it sound like a joke, but I can hear the reluctant desire in your voice as you say it.
“It’ll get worse before it gets better,” I say wickedly. There’s a charged moment when I feel you try to decide if you actually want to play with this shit… and then decide that of course you do. You start pulling more rope out of your bag and half-throwing it onto the mat in front of you. I’m not used to watching riggers placing rope feeling like foreplay, but this does. This feels exactly like throwing down a glove to challenge someone for a duel—but your rope is thrown down over my verbal challenge.
Once you’ve done, you stand up and look at me expectantly, hesitating for a moment before saying, “Take off your clothes.”
“If you want them off, take them off,” I say, still challenging you.
I watch you one more time make the decision to do this. Then you walk up to me until your lips are just an inch from mine, look straight into my eyes, and inform me, “You want me. And you will beg me to fuck you.”
I say nothing as you reach your arms around me, as if to embrace me; but instead you pull me violently towards you by my hair with one hand, and slowly and deliberately unzip my dress in the back with the other. It falls down around me into a pool of satin at my feet. I’m not wearing a bra, and I instantly feel exposed and stripped bare, my nipples now colder and hard.
You turn me around roughly so that my back is to you and begin ungently pulling rope around my chest and arms. I don’t fight you or struggle as you quickly build a TK tie, but I am still impressed by how quickly you can constrain me. You’re moving so fast it feels like I’m being tied by an aggressive whirlwind. I hear you panting behind me, and I deliberately rest my weight gently against you, my ass against your crotch. I want to know if you’re panting in exertion or arousal, but I can’t tell if your dick is hard through your jeans. I move my hips against you in a way that almost could be accidental.
Since I’m now solidly ensconced in your chest harness, you reach around and yank me by the front of it and push me up against the side of the rig, your lips against my ear as you whisper fiercely, “Stand still.” …Apparently, my wiggle didn’t feel so accidental after all.
You pull me back to the center, and start throwing lines from my back to the ring above me, and at this point I’m pretty well caught standing up. I watch you decide whether or not to tie a hip harness on me, and then reluctantly decide to do so. Down on your knees, with your face in front of my crotch, I know that it’s inevitable for you to smell my pussy and inevitable for you to smell how turned on I am. But I deliberately keep my legs closed to see what you’ll do. You could tie them closed after all, but what would be the fun in that?
“Spread your legs,” you order. It’s an order that makes me wet under most circumstances, and I wonder what state my underwear—now in front of your face—might be in. Your hands go around my waist and my thighs, and rope drags through my crotch. I try not to show how arousing those fleeting brushes are across my covered labia, but at this point I’m so aroused that faint brushes of your fingers, rope, or anything else only makes me harder.
“I could just slide my fingers up under your underwear,” you inform me, looking up at me.
“It’s true,” I say, as if I’m unmoved by the prospect. And I think, tie me, hit me, pull my hair, step on me—but I still have the power of this “yes.” That control feels so good it is almost literally a sweet taste in my mouth.
You shake your head in irritation, and quickly bind my ankles. Then you stand behind me and start throwing lines from my ass up to the rig. But the entire time, you’re running your lips slowly down my shoulder and my back, and biting the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. You don’t actually let go with your teeth until the moment you start hoisting me into the air, and the transition from being held onto by your teeth on the ground to painfully floating in the air in your ropes is so sudden that I gasp.
In no time, you hoist my ankles up high, and I find myself floating in mid-air in an excruciating upright back bend. You stand in front of me, my face level with the base of your neck, which is literally dripping with sweat. It’s very hard to breathe with my chest pulled up so high, but the temptation to lick that sweat off of you is positively tantalizing anyway. You unbutton your shirt right in front of my face, and the combination of your smell and my dizziness from not being able to breathe is intoxicating. Stripped to the waist, still standing in front of me, my face pressed against your chest, you start tying my hair, but you leave it free. Only as you walk behind me do I realize that you’ve left my crotch at the perfect height for yours, and that you’ve left my legs splayed open.
Standing between my legs, with the heat of your hips against my crotch, you grab hold of the line attached to my hair and yank my head back towards you. It is nearly impossible to breathe with my head pulled back so far. “Are you going to let me fuck you?” you demand.
“I will if you can make me cum,” I gasp out.
You snort and roughly let go of my hair. You let down the line on my chest so I’m level with my hips, which gives me a moment to catch my breath a bit. You lie underneath me on the floor, looking up at my face and inform me, “Your underwear is a mess, you greedy fucking slut.”
“You’re the one trying to get into them,” I say, able to talk again.
You sit up and smack both my tits simultaneously, which makes the ropes shake, and makes me scream. Then you stand up and untie the lines holding my ankles up, leaving me caught in a strange position, with my toes just barely brushing the ground, and my hips and chest still levelly suspended. You come up behind me again, and I realize you’ve still left me in a new perfect position to fuck me. But you don’t offer this time. You just let the realization sink in.
Instead, you lay down underneath me again, a couple of the ropes that are tied to me in your hand.
“What do you want, slut?” you ask me.
“Your hard cock poised just outside my pussy and you begging to fuck me.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
You pull on the ropes in your hand, and I abruptly plummet down to just two inches above you. The impact is intense, and it’s like you’ve punched my chest and my hips with your ropes. I scream, completely disconcerted. You slowly lower me until I’m lying on top of you, no longer tied to the rig at all. And I realize through my pain and endorphin rush that this is, unquestionably, the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me in rope.
You roll me over, taking your weight off me, and ask me wryly, “Am I allowed to put my hands under your underwear to make you cum?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I agree, enjoying the stupid haze I’m still in, feeling your ropes still digging into the bruises on my skin from the impact of the drops.
You push two fingers into my pussy, my underwear pushing up on my labia, and your other hand playing my clit. I try not to cum for as long as I can, but it takes no time at all before I’m convulsing all over your fingers. You laugh in triumph as you lean down towards my face and say, “Are you seduced now?”
I smile lazily and say, “Yes.”
You turn me over and haul me back onto my knees, my ass in the air. This is awkward since my hands are still tied behind my back, and I have no way to hold myself up. I hear you unbuckle your belt and slide your pants to the floor, and the sound makes my pussy contract in desire. “I’m going to rip your underwear now,” you inform me. It seems reasonable, since the ropes from the hip harness are still in the way of getting it off. “Go ahead,” I agree. The sensation of the fabric ripping along my pussy lips makes me scream, and I feel the fabric clinging wetly to them in spite of the tear.
I hear you put on a condom, and then you use the ropes on my back to pull me up a semi-level position. I realize that you’re about to use me as leverage to fuck me, and I know this is going to hurt.
But I scream anyway as your cock enters me, because it’s much bigger than I expected, and because the position I’m in gives me no way to adjust to the sensations inside me. Through the haze of my pain, I realize that there’s something almost extravagantly sexy about the fact that your cock is now bruising my cervix, but I’ve never seen it, felt it, smelled it, or tasted it. The intensity of your desire has driven you inside me without any conventional preamble, but there’s part of me that still wants control. I feel you trying not to cum, I feel you trying to get reign in your desire, but I deliberately clench my pussy down around you hard again and again. It takes no time at all for you to cum, shuddering inside me while I continue to scream from the intense sensations.
You pull out of me suddenly, and I’m surprised when the next thing I hear is your belt coming off. My hips instinctively fall to the ground now that you’re not holding them up, and when your belt connects with my ass, I can’t help but grind my crotch into the mat beneath me in masochistic delight from the stinging pain. “You bitch,” you say, hitting me again. “You deliberately made me cum too fast.”
“Just to make sure you’ll fuck me again,” I gasp, pain and pleasure going through me as you hit me again and again. You turn me over so that I’m lying on my back, and it hurts to have my weight on the fresh welts on my ass. And my hands still trapped underneath me. You’re between my legs, and you start hitting my clit with your belt too. Even though I try to move, there’s not much I can do to stop you. I can almost cum from this, but not quite, and you laugh at the way I writhe.
“Why don’t you cum, you greedy slut?” you ask.
“I can’t quite cum from this,” I squeal.
“Did you even cum from me fucking you?”
“No,” I admit.
You hit me harder, and I scream. You pause for a moment in these exertions to finally take off your boots and your pants and even your underwear, adding it to the wrinkled pile of dress. “Will you untie me while you’re at it?” I ask.
“How’re your arms doing?” you ask.
“They’re okay,” I say. “But I’m better at sex if my hands are free.”
“I don’t think I want to risk that. I think I’m not going to untie you until you’ve cum on my cock.”
“My hands are really helpful for that,” I say helpfully.
You glare down at me. “You cumming was the price of me getting in, now it’s the price of you getting out.” There is something so unquestionably fair about that logic that I don’t bother to argue.
“It’s hard to make me cum with just your cock,” I warn.
“‘Hard’ is not the same thing as ‘impossible’.”
“I think that means you’re just going to have to tell me some secrets.”
I feel strangely trapped by this line of reasoning. “It’s no great secret,” I say. “Leave me on my back. Go slowly for longer than you think, and keep pulling all the way out.”
I take a moment to admire your naked body for the first time, now in front of me, covered in sweat, before you stick your cock in my mouth. It gets hard quickly, and I wriggle with desire, wanting it back in my pussy. You put on another condom, and then deliberately leave your cock just outside my pussy.
“Beg,” you say. This was not how this was originally supposed to go in my head.
I say nothing, even as my hips seem to move upwards of their own accord.
“You want me inside you, and you want out of those ropes sooner rather than later, right? Beg.”
“Please fuck me,” I whisper.
“I couldn’t really hear that.”
“Please fuck me!” I say louder.
“I think you could make that more believable.”
“Please fuck me!” I beg. I hate you a little bit right now, until you thrust inside me and all I can think about is the way you are filling me up.
You drag this out. You’re following my directions perfectly. I actually give an involuntary scream of aroused frustration when you don’t quite fuck me fast enough, but that’s what my pussy perversely likes. I whimper and moan, and finally, my body gives in, and my orgasm is deep inside me.
“Do I get untied now?” I ask, a little bit stupidly.
You grin at me. “I didn’t say how many times you had to cum before I’d untie you.”
I moan, my pussy aching as you relentlessly plunge your cock into it.
“I guess I earned this, didn’t I?” I gasp.
“No. I did,” you say, plunging your cock into me so hard that I scream in pleasurable agony, cumming for what feels like forever as you lean down and kiss my mouth for the first time, your tongue going inside my mouth as your cock goes further into my pussy, cumming with me and filling me.
One of the pernicious mainstream heteronormative cultural assumptions that the kink subculture can’t seem to let go of either is the idea that penetrating = being in control and penetrated = out of control. In an effort to fight this obnoxious notion, I’m encouraging pornographers and erotica writers out there to come up with sexy tales of being penetrated (any gender) and being in control. Please feel free to link to any good ones you know or wrote yourself at the end of this post. Then I figured, hell, if I write my own story, I can contribute to the process and I can plant a seed in some sexy young man’s mind and make him want to do these things to me. And so…
“Please, Mistress, may I worship your pussy with my mouth?”
“After you’ve made me cum twice with your cock.” You look so pleased by the idea, and I love how I can reward you by cumming on your face. I grab your hardening cock in my hand and look you straight in the eye. “I want to use your entire body.”
You close your eyes as a shudder runs through your body, your cock suddenly much harder. “Your pleasure is my pleasure, Mistress.”
“It is my pleasure for you to fuck me and make me cum as hard as you possibly can.”
I lay on my back, and obediently, you move between my legs, your cock poised teasingly between the outer lips of my pussy the way I like. “May I enter you, Mistress?”
“You don’t need to ask when I’ve already told you to fuck me.” But I enjoy the way you relax when I tell you that you can, and I know there’s a part of you that likes asking, and loves hearing me give you permission.
You shove your cock into me the way I like, and I gasp with pleasure. I writhe against you, enjoying the warm feel of your body above me and the way you fill me. But I love the sensation of you shoving into me more than anything, as you well know. “Pull all the way out and come back in,” I order. You do so, and I enjoy the look of deprivation on your face that not being inside me momentarily causes you. Then I arch my back in delight pleasure as you push your way back inside me. “Again.” I tell you. “Again.” “Again.” Until finally, the fifth time you enter me, I cum around you, clutching your cock with my pussy.
I sit up, shoving you onto your back as I do, so I can ride you astride. Then I deliberately turn myself around, never pulling myself off of you. Ever so slowly, I bend onto all fours, reaching back behind me at an improbable angle to pull your chest towards me by the nipples. “Get on your knees,” I instruct. “And don’t pull out of me.” Very carefully, you re-arrange yourself so that you can fuck me from behind. Your cock is very large for this, and I pant as you begin banging into my g-spot.
“Please cum for me, Mistress,” you beg, as my panting becomes more like screams. As I moan “yes,” you reach around me to play with my clit, fucking me and rubbing me at the same time. The sensation is agonizing and intense, and I cum on your hand and your cock simultaneously, feeling the orgasm wrack my entire body.
Panting, I roll onto my back and smile up at you. “You’ve worked very hard,” I tell you. “Now you can worship my pussy with your mouth and lick up all that cum. Show me how delicious I taste.” Looking like a cat that got the cream, you bend your face down to my pussy, staring up at me worshipfully as you grind your own crotch into the bed, looking on the verge of cumming yourself. So sensitive and swollen from being fucked, it takes only a few moments of you licking and sucking me before I begin convulsing against your face. You gasp and moan into my pussy, still looking like you might cum with me. But I know you’ll only cum if I order you to, and so I simply enjoy the sight of you, looking slightly tortured, and literally writhing in desire.
You keep licking me, my hand grasping your hair to hold you in place as my hips tremble, and one orgasm melts into another, and another until I feel light-headed from the rolling sensation of cumming on your greedy lips for so long. The feeling subsides somewhat, and when I have my breath back, I tell you, “The next time I’m close to cumming, enter me. I’ll tell you when.”
I see you reach down to stroke your cock, making sure that it is hard enough to satisfy me at the right moment. I let you build up sensation in me again, letting it mellow, plateau, build, plateau, and finally begin to peak. “Now!”
Without hesitation, you thrust all the way inside me, and my body convulses in confused pleasure as the sensation changes abruptly, creating a totally different orgasm. I scream in delight, and I see your face become almost tortured with desire as my pussy squeezes your cock.
“Please, Mistress, may I cum?” you plead.
“Not yet. I want to torture you.” You bite your lower lip, and I can see that this is becoming difficult for you. Your dilemma arouses me, even as you are forced to fuck me more slowly in order to follow my command. Although you stay above me, I begin doing more of the work, wriggling my pussy up and down your cock as I savor the way you gasp helplessly every time I clench around you. “Please, Mistress…” you moan.
“No,” I say cruelly, and denying you is arousing enough to push me over the edge into cumming again myself, as I rub my clit, while your cock moves gently inside me. You are almost crying now with the effort it takes you to stay hard and not cum as I do.
“Please, Mistress, may I cum?” you plead.
“No,” I manage to respond coolly, pushing you off of me, and trying not to miss the feel of you inside me too much as your dick also slides out of my pussy. I push you onto your back and sit astride you, your cock positioned tantalizingly in front of my pussy lips. You whimper, and I chuckle. Ever so gently and ever so slowly, I graze the soft outer lips of my pussy along your dick, sliding up and down. Your hips instinctively move so that the tip of your cock is thrust inside me, but I quickly move away from it and slap your chest.
“Naughty!” I exclaim, grabbing the back of your hair, and moving myself so my whole weight is on top of you, and my face is directly in front of your face. “You only get back in when I tell you.”
I tease my tongue on your cock, not really sucking it, so much as feathering it with the lightest of wet sensations. I enjoy tasting myself on you, and you groan in what looks like agony. I run the tips of my fingers along it, then trace the same lines with the outside of my pussy again. Your entire body actually quivers underneath me as I tease you. I do this all again, and finally, relishing the way your hands dig into the mattress, clutching it as if for assistance in coping with this torment.
“Please make me cum, Mistress!”
“How shall I make you cum?”
Your voice is choked and gasping. “However you like.”
“Tell me how much you love my pussy, and I’ll let you fuck it.”
This is entirely for my own amusement. You can barely put three words together. “I live to… please you. I eat your… orgasms… I dream about… About worshipping your pussy… With my whole body…” But you can’t finish as you groan while I tease your cock mercilessly with my pussy lips. Sitting just above you, I say simply:
You don’t sound like you’re speaking in sentences anymore, just a repeated jumble of words moaning, “Please let me fuck you please let me make you cum please let me inside you please let me show you how much I love your cunt—“ until I abruptly slide all the way down your cock. You gasp, instinctively moving your hips up to meet me, pushing deeper inside me. Without separating us, I roll you on top of me. You look almost afraid as you fuck me, and I can feel the desire you have to be totally pulled inside me, and the way you fear it too.
“Please, Mistress, may I cum?” You plead.
“Will you promise to fuck me again in less than an hour?”
“Then you can cum the next time I do.”
I feel your body both relax with relief and tense with need. I actually feel your cock get larger inside me, straining with desperation. There is a vein in it that throbs as you get closer to cumming. I spread my legs further so that you are so deep inside me that it hurts, and clench my pussy around you to make you harder. You pant and sound so utterly desperate as you beg, “Please cum for me, Mistress. Please.”
I laugh. “Just so you can cum?”
“No, so I can feel myself pleasing you when I do.”
“You are a very good boy. Fuck me harder.” You obey, and I reach down to touch my clit, deliberately stroking the base of your cock in between thrusts, feeling how wet you are with me. I clench my pussy around you and revel in your gasp from the sensation, enjoying as always the look of surprise on your face from the feeling, and pleased by the sight of the sweat pooling at your brow as you work so hard to please us both.
I feel your entire body becoming focused on mine, lining up every thrust to the quivering of my hips. I consider counting down for you, but I know I don’t need to, because your oversensitive cock will know the moment I cum. You fuck me harder and then automatically slow down just as I’m climaxing, knowing it will make me cum harder. As my hips arch, I feel you surrender helplessly to my pleasure, cumming uncontrollably because I am.
Your whole body collapses on top of me, but your obedient cock stays in me as my pussy continues to tremble with the aftershocks of orgasm. “Don’t you dare slide out of me,” I whisper fiercely into your ear, licking it gently for emphasis. You moan.
As the aftershocks start to subside, I begin deliberately squeezing my pussy lips around your softening cock. The feeling occasionally causes me to aftershock again, trembling underneath you in slight orgasm. The combination is too much for you, and I feel your dick hardening inside me again. You groan in what I know is a cross between pain and pleasure, and you rise onto your arms again, yielding to the instinctive desire to begin moving your dick inside me.
I reach up and pinch your nipple hard. “You didn’t ask permission to fuck me again.”
You look at me with mock innocence. “But Mistress, I never stopped.” You bend your face down to kiss me, and the feel of your lips on mine, and your tongue deliberately sliding into my mouth as your cock slides in and out of my pussy is more than merely mollifying. You continue kissing my neck, my shoulders, and licking my nipples, while my over-fucked pussy remains just on the edge of climaxing.
“You can cum whenever you want,” I offer, pretending to be generous. “As long as you clean me up very thoroughly afterwards.”
“Mistress, you know that I can’t cum without you.” It is the correct response. I smile, stroking your cheek, kissing your lips, and deliberately clenching my pussy around your cock in praise.
I chuckle. “I know. You are very well trained.” Even when I suck your cock, I have trained you not to cum unless I am. I re-position myself so that my ankles are against your shoulders, and your cock is excruciatingly deep inside me. I gasp with every thrust, opening my eyes and looking straight into yours to tell you, “You are such a good boy. Now cum for me.”
You know this cue. You know that sometimes I cum harder when I feel the helpless thrusting of your cock inside me, and obediently, you fuck me as I scream with orgasm. I actually feel your cock throbbing inside me as I cum, still surprised that it somehow got harder.
“Please Mistress, may I pull out?” you ask in abject exhaustion.
“Well, you were very good,” I say, gently rolling myself out from under you. I see the look of disappointment in your tired face as you pull out of me. And almost without thinking, I grab your hand and position it just over my clit. “Beg,” I hiss.
Suddenly alert again, you obey. “Please Mistress, may I please you some more?” I slide your fingers inside me, clenching my pussy instinctively around them, and feeling your cum run out of me and onto them as I do.
“Why yes, yes you may,” I say, cumming all over again.
As I open the door of the room, you grab me by my hair, turn me around, and slam me against the wall, tits first. My cheek is pressed up against the wall as you deliberately lift my dress and reach down between my legs, leaning in to my ear, and whispering fiercely, “Why are you wearing underwear, slut?”
It’s a question I can easily answer. I know the rules. “So you can tear them open.”
You laugh in satisfaction, then use both hands to start tearing at the top of the back. The sound and sensation of the fabric ripping down my ass crack and between my legs makes me gasp. I pillow my forehead against my arms so I can steady myself on my shaking legs. “Don’t move,” you order.
I stand perfectly still, with my dress hiked up around my waist, my legs spread, ass out, and my pussy slightly swollen in anticipation. I can’t see you, but I hear you take a step back. I hear you take off your belt, and you laugh as you watch my pussy contract in response to the sound. I am well-conditioned, and you clank it a few more times just to watch. I think about the last time I stood like this, and how you beat me with the belt, then wrapped it around my crotch as leverage while you fucked me. Your cock is nowhere near me, but I can actually feel it get hard as you think about it too.
“I know what you’re thinking,” you say, stepping out of your pants and sticking the head of your cock into me.
“I’m not really thinking much,” I gasp.
You lean your whole body against me, your face again behind my ear. But your cock is still barely inside me. “I could just use your pussy while I jerked off,” you tease. You slide your hand up and down your cock, and it bangs against my pussy lips as you jerk yourself off into me. “Clench your pussy around my cock, slut,” you order. I do.
Instinctively, my whole crotch starts to lean back into you, but you cleverly pull back. You laugh. “You could,” I whimper, “but please fuck me.”
Instead, you pull your cock out of me and replace it with your finger, sliding it all the way inside of me. “Cum, slut,” you order.
“I can’t!” I wail.
“I can’t cum standing up.”
“Then why do you want my cock inside you?” That question is also easy to answer. This is a ritual.
“Because when I can’t cum, I can feel every stroke of your cock going in and out of me. I can feel you getting harder inside me. I can feel your veins twitch when you cum. And when you pull out, your cum drips down my thighs and onto my feet.”
You laugh. “Later. I want your cum.”
You grab my hair again and pull me off the wall, yank my dress off, and throw me onto the bed on my back. Your cock is completely hard, but you still only slide one finger inside me.
“Cum, slut,” you order, as you fuck me gently with your single finger.
Obediently, I reach down to touch my clit, but you knock my hand away with your free hand. “If you touch yourself, I won’t fuck you.”
“I can’t cum from only one finger!” I gasp.
“You said before that you couldn’t cum standing up.”
“I can’t do that either… I need your cock.”
“What do you need it for?”
“So I can cum! You said you wanted you wanted my cum!” I’m pleading now. I deliberately clench my pussy around your fingers, wanting you to want to fuck me.
You lean over me, pinning my wrists to the bed. “I will make you cum with only one finger.” I moan and wriggle my crotch against the tip of your cock. You laugh as we both get harder from it. “But I might fuck you first. Will you promise not to touch yourself if I fuck you?”
“Will you promise to cum from my cock?”
“Will you tell me every time you cum?”
“I can cum more if I don’t have to tell you,” I say truthfully.
You laugh, still teasing me with the tip of your cock. “Then dig your nails into my shoulder every time you cum.” No longer able to think, I stare into your eyes and nod my agreement.
Eyes locked, you have mercy on me, sliding inside me, and my entire body shakes. I gasp and writhe against you, and cum, digging my nails into your shoulder. I never really stop cumming while you fuck me, but I feel us both peak when I actually feel your cock twitching inside me.
You pull out immediately, and I whimper. You reach behind my head, and pull me up by my hair. You stand just behind the foot of the bed, and force me to my knees, ordering me to spread my legs over your foot.
Your cock is still hard, and it’s wet with both of us.
I drag my dripping pussy lips across the top of your foot, leaving it wet. I start by gently licking our cum off your cock, but you grab the back of my head and thrust your cock down my throat. Every time you choke me, my pussy clenches. Every time you pull back, my pussy drips a little onto your foot. I can feel my knees getting slightly rugburnt, and I look up and notice that there are deep fingermarks in your shoulder from my orgasms. We have marked each other.
Eventually, you grow impatient, and throw me down onto the floor by my hair, my ass in the air, and my sore knees digging into the carpet. You wind my braid around your wrist, and yank my head back, staring into my upside down eyes.
“Does this hurt?” you ask, thrusting your cock inside me.
I make an inarticulate scream as you fuck me, my back mercilessly arched.
“Does this hurt?” you demand again, pounding into me.
“Yes,” I gasp weakly, and as you finally let my braid go, my head flops forward onto the floor. I feel your cock get harder inside me when I say that. When I start sobbing at the pain of your thrusts, I feel your cock get even harder inside me.
“Does this hurt?” you say again.
“Yes,” I say, tears streaming down my face that you can’t see. “Please don’t stop.” And I mean it.
You keep pounding into my pussy, and say, “You can’t cum from this, can you?”
“No,” I say. “But it feels better that way.” I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. “Please cum.”
“What was that?”
It’s really hard to talk. I mostly just want to scream. “I said please cum.”
“I didn’t understand what you said.”
“Please cum!” I wail, feeling my entire body shake with the not-quite-orgasm that wracks me when I can feel the tiniest subtle pleasures of your cock cumming in me.
My pussy is positively sodden as you pull out of me, and I turn over to face you.
“You are a very wet slut,” you inform me with satisfied amusement. I nod, wondering if my legs will ever work again. You slide your finger inside me again instead. “Cum,” you order me.
I laugh. “I’m far too wet and fucked to cum from just one finger.”
“Is that so?” With no warning, one finger becomes three, then four. Then you start adding fingers from your other hand, and in no time, you have eight fingers inside, both thumbs poised tantalizingly at my clit. “There’s room for my cock between my hands,” you say.
“You said you wanted to use me to jerk yourself off.”
You laugh. “I did, didn’t I?” You drag your dick along my clit between your thumbs, letting it get hard against my pussy until I am almost screaming to be able to cum. But you don’t make me cum. Instead, you shove your dick inside me, between your eight fingers.
I have no idea how there is room in my pussy for your large cock and so many fingers. I am so filled that it feels like I have no room to orgasm. Instinctively, I clench my pussy around them all, and you gasp. I do it again, and you gasp again. Your thumbs bump against my clit while you fuck me. As I squeeze again, I know that this hurts you too, and that pleases me. It takes only a few thrusts for me to cum. It feels strange, as if the orgasm is so deep inside me I’m not even sure it’s in my pussy any more. But it is deeply satisfying, as if you’ve just fucked my entire body, not just my pussy. You don’t stop fucking me after I cum, though. You keep fucking me, then pull your cock and your hands out at once, and shove your cock into my mouth.
I scream a little when you pull your hands out, because my pussy is so sore, but my screams are drowned out by your cum. When you take your cock out of my mouth, I whimper.
“You are such a tease!” I moan.
“How am I a tease?”
“You didn’t cum in me!”
“Yes, I did. I came in your mouth.”
“It’s not the same,” I say, hating the way I’m almost whining. “Not after you’ve fucked me.”
“But I like teasing you. And I like making you drink my cum.”
I make an inarticulate sound of desire and frustration, then stumble slightly from the floor to the bed, still feeling the aftershocks of orgasm—my own and yours–going through my body. You get up with me, laughing at my inability to stand properly as I flop helplessly onto the bed. My pussy is so sore, but that just makes me want to cum more. So I lay in a wet puddle, trembling and cumming while you grin evilly at me and occasionally stroke the lips of my wet cunt to encourage it.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and grab you by the hair and push your face into my pussy. I am so sore that it is almost embarrassingly easy to cum. A slight lick on my clit, a gentle thrust of your tongue into my pussy… I can no longer tell the difference between when I’m cumming and when I’m not, and you barely have to do more than breathe on my swollen clit to cause me to cum.
But as I’m still cumming, you pull your face away, and slide your finger inside me, your knuckle barely brushing against my clit. Your single finger hurts so much inside my overfucked pussy that I actually scream a little. I realize that you’ve been blowing on me to dry me out, and that you’ve restored sensation to me in the most excruciating way possible. It hurts so much it causes my pussy to clench in masochistic desire, which hurts more… and as your knuckles gently brush my clit, I cum on your single finger inside me.
“It hurts so much,” I moan.
“One finger? One finger hurts so much?”
“It hurts so much I came,” I confess.
“I thought you said you couldn’t cum on one finger?”
“I was wrong! I’m so sore! I could cum on anything right now.”
You lean in closer to me. “Are you saying that you cum harder when you’re sore?”
“Yes,” I whimper, still trembling slightly. “But I can’t take any more. Really.”
You laugh wickedly, haul me up by the hair, and pull me off the bed. You throw me over a couch arm with my legs straddled open, my clit rubbing against the cushions of the couch arm. You know I jerk off like that, and my traitorous clit responds impossibly by getting hard again.
“You can’t fuck me again,” I plead.
“You said you wanted my cum in your pussy.”
“You don’t have a choice.” And it’s true. As you thrust inside me, I scream, and it hurts so much I see stars. “Next time I tell you to cum with one finger, are you going to do it the first time?” you ask as you punish my pussy with your cock.
“Good girl.” And I feel you cum inside me again.
I want to fuck you until your cock is so sore that you beg me not to touch you, for fear that the sweaty touch of my skin against you will arouse you again. I want to laugh, reminding you even as you protest that you have a safeword, and find that you can’t make yourself summon the will to use it as I sit my swollen pussy lips on your face, cumming on your equally swollen lips again and again. I want to hear your agonized groan as your cock inevitably and painfully gets hard again when I stick your fingers inside my pussy and clench around them, tempting you to fuck me again. I want to scream as you finally acquiesce, thrusting your sore cock into my bruised pussy. I want to feel you get harder inside me as the sounds of my screams and the sight of my agonized tears only arouses you further. I want to beg you for your cum, pleading with you to hurry and have mercy on me. I want you to laughingly ignore my pleas, and I want to not quite regret my decision to have asked for this.
The next morning, I want to wake up feeling like you’ve kicked me in the cunt because I’m so sore from your violent fucking. And I want your cock to be harder and swollen from your night’s sleep and from the memory of our pleasures than it was the night before. I want to plead with you to fuck my mouth and spare my pussy. And I want you to do it… For about a minute. I want you to laugh at my wriggling hips as my body betrays my desire even as–no, because–my pussy aches and trembles. I want you to pull out of my mouth without warning and shove your cock inside my pussy. And I want it to hurt you as much as it hurts me, our bodies screaming in pain even as the fleshy wet memory of so much shared pleasure comes rushing back to us. I want you to almost regret your decision, until we both forget how much it hurts. I want to get lost in the hard and unforgiving thrusts of our shared desire, until we are nothing but a pool of panting sweat and cum.
…Until, of course, the pleasure wears off, and we are both left laughing at how much our genitalia hurts.
All I want for Christmas is you.
I decided to challenge myself to write “cuddle erotica.” This is what I came up with:
It’s easy to seduce me with kisses… The Right Look… Words of desire whispered into my ears… But you have the right touch, and your cuddles are as effective now as when I first succumbed to them long ago.
When you hug me, my heart doesn’t race; I don’t feel my body trembling with desire; I don’t feel fire or electricity flickering across my skin. I have felt these sensations before with others. But you are not seducing me with that aching trembling flash cotton of desire. You are seducing me with the impossibly sexy comfort of the long steady burn.
From the moment I first let you really touch me, your flesh confidently informed me that our bodies belong together. Though my brain futilely resisted it, your body kindly, but insistently, told me of the corporeal certainty of me it already possessed. Your simple embrace embodied the very idea of carnal knowledge, as if your body had already had a conversation with mine about what I longed for. Even with all our clothes on, laying together, I know now that my flesh wondered suspiciously if you were molding yourself to me, or if you really were so well molded to me that no adjustments were necessary.
Your hugs are a paradox of feeling: firm, but gentle; possessive, but open; desiring, but not insistent; loving, but a little nervous. Ironically, I know that hugging me does not arouse you as it arouses me, and yet I feel your desire down deep in my bones when you embrace me. Whether clothed or naked, when you hold me, in that moment, even if just for a moment, I am yours. Everything else holds still so that I can marvel again at the way you know exactly the way I like to be touched. Yet in my heart, I know that it is much more than just my skin that you are touching so thoroughly. You hold me. You hold… me.
At first I worried that you merely tolerated me twining around you in my habitual sinuous fashion. You gently mocked my perpetual need for constant physical contact. But then I saw you energized from it–a glow in your eyes from sharing space with me. Holding your hand is strangely intimate because it feels like you share your entire body with me when you do. Putting my arm around your fully clothed waist in public feels queerly like an excessive display of affection, as though we are actually standing naked with our entire bodies pressing in the middle of the street. I worry that you will feel over-exposed from these simple caresses, and that you will become tired of my curious, fascinated, and revealing touch. But every time I am afraid that I have outstayed my welcome, and think that surely I must have exhausted your patience with my clinging, you literally pull me back to you. You don’t have to force me to stay, of course. I want to; but I also want to be pulled. I feel captured; but I also feel captivated.
With my arms around you, alternately pillowing my head on your chest, and pillowing your head on mine, I am aware of the simple fact of our bodies. Not only that we have bodies, but that we have bodies. I feel how effortlessly our bodies occupy that space together, in spite of how much our brains fret. My wrist can share your back, your thigh can share my thigh, my knee can share your hip. Our bodies intuitively know and understand a shared language of skin, and their fluent communication would take my breath away if I weren’t so busy being relaxed by it. That sentence of skin to skin creates an entire story that I long to hear whispered and shouted again and again.
Ironically, of course, it is perpetually arousing to be so relaxed. Our lust is cozy because it is so easy, a simple fact of the universe of our mutual space. Your body cleverly charms me into letting down all of my guards, and leads me on with the tantalizing whisper, “you get this from a hug… What could you get from a fuck?”