I’m clearly on a dominant roll with guest bloggers at the moment. No sooner has @EuclideanPoint sent me a gorgeous blog on female domination and orgasm denial, then another pops into my inbox, from a gentleman’s point of view. This particular gentleman wants to remain anonymous, but regardless of his name, some of the mental images he’s put in my head with this story will stay with me for a very long time.
Extreme orgasm denial, latex and sobbing
His moan as she removes his blindfold is somewhere between bliss and deep dismay: during his last stint left tied to the bed, she has changed into *that* outfit.
The achingly tight red latex shorts, matching bra top, gloves and platform boots leave no room for interpretation: she is dressed to fuck.
The room is warm, stifling with the smell of perfume, lube and rubber. He’s been tied down and spreadeagled for some time now, intermittently left in deprivation between rounds of inventive discomfort at her hands.
By now he looks thoroughly used. His chest and thighs are hatched with livid impact marks and streaks of hardened wax, and his mouth is smeared with lip gloss around the painfully tight bit gag.
His spread limbs twitch in exhaustion among the implements of his ruin: the paddle, the crop, the tape and the slim red plug she spent oh-so-long easing in and out of him, to squeals and gasps of girlish discomfort.
She takes a moment to admire her work, as he groans and shakes his head weakly in protest. She gently reminds him of his lack of choice in the matter and, keeping her eyes fixed on his, peels off the hotpants.
Sure enough, despite his protests, his cock responds.
The base of his erection is firmly tied with a red silk ribbon, to keep him hard through the bouts of torture but more importantly – as she had remarked earlier while tying him off with a neat little bow – to make his boy parts look more pretty.
The poor thing, already sore and sticky from her earlier vibrator games, quivers as she kneels onto the bed and takes it into her glossy red palm.
She rolls a thick condom onto him with nimble fingers, and smiles knowingly. Dirty fetishist as he is, the addition of the lubed rubber sheath will only make things all the more unbearable for him.
Her knees press in on either side of his hips; his breathing quickens as she lowers her slickened crotch to bump against his head. She guides him to sit parallel to her cleft, and presses his cock against his belly, rocking slowly back and forth.
After a while, his little choking groans become whispers. He is begging her, pleading through the gag. Begging her to ride him, to let him have just one orgasm inside her, rather than ripped out of him with a gloved hand or a vibrator.
To his evident surprise she reaches between her legs, takes him gently in her fingers, and pops him into place. With one forceful slide of the hips he is taken all the way inside, and all the breath leaves his body at once.
They stay like that for a long moment, his expression hard and hungry, her smile calm as she clenches against his twitches. He flexes in his bonds, but he has no purchase – all he can do is look up at her and fuck her with his mascara-smeared eyes.
“Hmmm” she says, pursing her lips, “maybe later, darling.”
She is unable to resist breaking into a grin as his face floods with panic; his scream as she pulls away is simply delicious.
The sobbing starts just as she gets his blindfold back on.