Girl on the Net

We’re making out. It’s smoking hot. We started off with me folded in his lap, feeling soft and small. Delicate. Unequivocally his. Then, after some firm kisses that resonated deep in my cunt, I got a little yearning to switch. To make him mine in return.

CN: smoking weed, breath play

I took his face in the palms of my hands and flipped the power balance: tilting his head back and straddling his thighs to show that it was my turn to be boss. He liked that, letting loose with a couple of small sounds that weren’t quite grunts or whimpers, more like purrs. His hands roamed all over my body as I started making good use of his. Clamping him tight between my legs and taking his lower lip in mine for a very gentle bite…

You join this story just as I’m grinding on his semi-rigid cock. I’ve nailed the angle. I can feel his hardness against my equally-stiff clit, enhanced by damp knickers and the buzz of a light, horny high.

I’m ready to build things from here. In fact, now that I’ve taken the reins, my head is fluttering with ideas for how to escalate. There’s a veritable library of plans that I’m mentally flicking through, because when I’m in the mood to be dominant I enjoy letting my creativity flow free.

I’m just about to launch in to the first idea when he shifts a little, takes one of my hands in his, and moves it to just behind his head.

Then lets go.

I can’t quite work out what he’s doing, so I continue kissing and grinding on him, but slightly slower now to give me time to work out what he might want. He does it again – taking one of my hands, fingers interlocked with his own and then placing it behind his head. He’s using gestures to try and tell me something but I have no idea what that ‘something’ might be. So I nudge him a little, and prompt him to tell me with words.

Soft voice. Slightly meek:

“I want you to restrain me.”

Fuck yes.

Some would call this ‘topping from the bottom’. They might frown upon it and imply that this behaviour makes you a bad sub worthy of punishment. Not me! I call it ‘communication’ and it’s what I expect from any boy who wants to become my very good one: tell me what you want so I can work with it. That’s not to say I’ll fulfil your desires straight away (or even at all), but knowing what you want can guide my decisions as I set about utterly ruining you.

Perhaps I’ll acquiesce – immediately and with relish – enjoying the flash of surprise and pleasure when you receive instant gratification. Maybe I’ll withhold what you want just to tease you. Perhaps I’ll make you say ‘please.’ I can’t do any of this if I’m in the dark, though: how can I control you if I don’t know which buttons to press?

As soon as he asks me to restrain him, the flutter of ideas in my head becomes narrower and more focused. It’s not that I want him to dictate the way I’m fucking, it’s more that he’s pointed in a particular direction and asked if we can go that way. Pretty please. The destination is clearer, but the pace and route is still in my hands.

I grip his wrists in mine and pin them down. We’re sitting on the floor, him with his back resting against the sofa and me in his lap, slowly soaking cunt juice through the crotch of my knickers to his pants. As I make out with him, I adjust my grip so that instead of clasping his wrists now I’m gripping the meat of his upper arms, pushing them further back so he has to strain upwards to kiss me.

When he asked me to restrain him, he wasn’t just expressing a desire (hot), he was giving me permission. If I were in any way unsure of taking over during our little switch at the start of this post, that uncertainty was swept away by his words.

“I want you to restrain me.”

He was actively handing me the power. And I was so so ready to make use of it.

The joint we’d been smoking was resting in an ashtray nearby. I stood up and slipped off my knickers as I lit it and took a deep toke. Exhaling clouds of smoke, I instructed him to remove his own pants to match me before sitting back in the exact same position. Against the sofa, legs stretched out, dick hard and presented to me, like a gift.

I knelt down and straddled him again, kissing softly – occasionally letting him suck the next wisps of smoke from my parted lips. Sometimes pulling away to take another toke. Gripping his jaw tight in my hand so I could hold him dead still and stare him down.

I could feel his cock pulsing against the wet slit of my cunt. I wanted so badly to take him inside me. To relieve the abject ache of being almost-but-not-quite fucked.

But I also wanted to restrain him and keep hold of the power.

“OK,” I told him, as I shifted position slightly. “I’m going to give you a nice deep lungful of smoke, I want you to hold it in for a count of ten while I pin you to the sofa.”

He nods. Wearing that startled-horny look that comes when you give someone a fun idea and they’re game: beautiful.

“If you make it to ten, then I’ll give you a treat. OK?”

More nodding. Hands behind his head. Lips slightly parted to show he’s more than ready.

I breathe in, and then kiss him, opening my own mouth slightly so he can suck out the smoke as I exhale. When I’m empty, I murmur “one” and keep kissing. Maintaining pressure on his wrists with one hand, reaching down with the other so I can grip the base of his cock.

“Two.” I grind myself against his shaft. “Three.” I do it again.

“Four.”

With each number I count off, I make one more slow, wet grind, pressing the lips of my cunt against his eager prick and sliding up it…

“Five…”

…and then down.

“Six.”

Never quite allowing the taut head to enter me, just toying with it as if I am about to.

“Seven.”

He looks determined. He’s kissing me back with tight, pursed lips, desperate not to let go before I make it to ten.

“Eight.”

I release the base of his cock, all the better to fulfil the request he made at the start: restrain him. Gripping in each hand now, I force his arms further back behind his head, so they’re stretched and tight, noting the gorgeous curves at his shoulders where a flash of armpit hair marks the transition point between bicep and delt.

I make one more slow slide up his dick until the head of it is angled almost perfectly for entry.

“Nine.”

He’s bursting to breathe now, and I contemplate slowing down the count, but fuck it, he’s struggling and I’m eager too. By now I am dripping so much into his lap that if I wait longer I won’t be able to perfectly angle the final slide down. I shift my hips so he’s pressing against the entrance, allow just enough give that he knows what’s coming next…

“Ten.”

He exhales. A deep, powerful whoosh of smoke, and I allow myself to fully envelop him. Dropping all the way down from head to base.

Taking all of him in, as he breathes everything out.