The most dominant thing you can do? Don’t fuck me

Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor

If you want me to ask for a spanking, all you need to do is text before our date and tell me exactly that. If you want me to suck your dick? Likewise. Just issue an order and I’ll drop to my knees the second it’s convenient to do so. But if what you want is to have me eating out of the palm of your hand, the most dominant thing you can do is not fuck me.

I know that sex doesn’t have to equal PIV – we say this in sex-positive circles so much that they should sell it on t-shirts or something. Blow jobs and hand jobs and fingering and kissing, frotting up against each other and playing with sex toys and lube… all these things are just as much ‘sex’ as putting a penis into a vagina. It’s narrow-minded to conceive of sex in such a cisheteronormative way and… OH GOD FUCK IT THOUGH. PIV is kinda my thing. It’s my THING. It’s just… my… THING.

The release of penetration

I love when I get to suck your cock, and I adore it when you finger me. I get off hard on really good kissing, and makeouts done right will make me whimper and shake and hump up against your thigh like I’m trying to grind out an orgasm through two layers of jeans. But the bit I like most – the reason I bought my ticket to the You Show – is when you put it in me.

So if you want to have me purring at you like a kitten, or begging you frantically for release, the most dominant thing you can do in that moment is insist that you will not fuck me.

Hold your cock in your hand, kneeling between my legs and looking down at my naked body, spread and eager and shining wet for you to plunge it in, then ask me ‘how much do you want it?’

Oh I want it. But right now I only want it with the fervour of a woman who believes she’s about to get it. I want it like you want a Big Mac if you’re on a road trip and someone suggests stopping at the drive-through. My stomach growls for it, sure, but if you want to be really dominant you should not fuck me yet. Make me wait.

Stroke yourself as you look down at me, gripping your dick in that casual, practiced way that makes me picture you sitting in front of your computer alone. Holding yourself with a kind of lazy ease, with the confident security of a man who can touch this dick whenever he wants. Remind me that I cannot. Remind me that each morning I wake up uncertain whether I’ll be given access to dick. Make me remember that these days I have no dick on demand, only the dick that I earn.

We are not the same, you and I. You have cock everywhere you go, and the miracle of this will never fail to delight me. You don’t just go catch a train, you catch a train with your dick in your pants. You don’t just make lunch, you make lunch with a cock nestling between your legs. You don’t just have a shower you – my god, my fucking godthoroughly soap the glorious soft-yet-thickening length of your whole, mouthwatering prick.


You want to be dominant? Try not to fuck me. Hold off on it, just for a while.

Tell me ‘I don’t know if you deserve to get fucked tonight’ and watch the light of hope flicker out in my eyes. Watch my face contort from excitement into nervous panic. See the way my muscles tense and my mouth turns down in a faux-playful grimace of disappointment. Hear me say it once, twice, three times:

Please. Please please.


You want to be dominant? Make me babble ‘please’ like a greedy, miserable, abject pervert while you hold the tip of your dick at the throbbing entrance to my cunt, rubbing the wet head of it back and forth just ever-so-slightly out of reach. Put your other hand on one of my thighs, digging your fingers in forcefully to hold me down so I can’t fuck up to meet the fat, hard length of you. Or place both your hands on my hips, pinning me to the bed, while your twitching cock hovers one heartbreaking centimetre from where I need it to be.

Tell me I’m a filthy girl. Tell me I’m greedy and slutty and pathetic. Don’t humiliate me with how much pain I can take, humiliate me with how much dick I want but cannot have.

Don’t buy me a burger as we’re rolling past the drive-thru, wave one in front of my face when I’m starving, then tell me I can’t eat it yet.

Patience is hard and so is your cock

The hottest kiss I ever had in my life – barring a few that occurred when I was a teenager, when the cocktail of hormones acts like drugs to enhance even the wettest washing-machine snog – is a kiss that was delivered so slowly I thought I might die partway through. I was lying on the sofa in his flat, and he came over to kneel down next to me. Side-on, he turned my face towards his, then put his lips upon mine: feather-light, so I almost couldn’t feel them. I closed my eyes and pressed my own lips up to meet his, at which point he softly pulled away. Keeping his touch light and calm, he put a steadying hand on my head to stop me from leaning upwards. Then, slowly, so so fucking slowly, as ice caps melted and generations were born and then died, he pressed himself down onto me until his mouth was firmly on mine. The glacial pace gave me plenty of time to wonder what would happen at the end of the kiss. Gave my body plenty of time to flood me with those sweet sweet hormones. Gave my legs time to start trembling and my cunt time to throb and gush. He pinned me firmly to the sofa with that kiss, and by the time he pulled away I’d forgotten how to speak. I was blind with it. Frantic and shaking and unable even to muster the dexterity to properly remove my jeans. I lay on the sofa like a whipped puppy and let him strip me, before oh-so-slowly kissing me again. I cannot remember how we fucked, but we did. At that point it was inevitable, almost like the kiss had left me drugged.

That same thing can happen today, if you make me wait for it. Make me believe – genuinely believe – that you are not planning to fuck me. Tease my cunt with the promise of the granite-hard erection you’re showing me, then make my brain believe that you’ll take it away if I’m naughty.

‘I don’t think you deserve to get fucked today.’

Make no mistake: I am absolutely not telling you not to fuck me. On the contrary, I really want you to. At the moment just before you do it, I am blind to all other desires – just a white-hot rock of throbbing cunt and babbling eagerness, desperate for the relief that’ll come when you slide it fully inside. So I’m not saying don’t fuck me, I’m just saying that not fucking me is the most dominant thing you can do.

I’m saying that – wait, OK no sorry please hang on, don’t actually not fuck me.

No! Please!

You can’t just… but you had it right there at the entrance to my cunt and no you can’t take it away! I… please! Who wants to be dominant anyway? Give me that fucking dick. Please! I came all this way! I sucked you for hours! I’ve been so so good, so good, please. I’ll squeeze so good and tight around it, I promise. I’ll make such good noises. I’ll do whatever you like. If you fuck my cunt right now, just once, one stroke, one single stroke, I’ll let you put it really hard in my ass.

Please? Please. Please fuck oh God oh fuck yes yes yes yes please.


I wouldn’t normally add audio for new posts immediately, but I read this one to Patreons the other day and it went down well, so it’s also available as audio. Click ‘listen now’ above, or head to the audio porn page for more sexy stories read aloud. 

Also, this post contains a link to a shower-wank scene on FrolicMe, because it’s so hot I couldn’t resist. If you buy a sub to their site I get kudos with my sponsor, which helps keep this site running. Also you get to watch an extremely hot guy masturbating vigorously in the shower. Unngh. 


  • Purple Rain says:

    Oh, this is fabulous.

  • SC says:

    Im speechless and dripping

  • Anon says:

    > I know that sex doesn’t have to equal PIV – we say this in sex-positive circles so much that they should sell it on t-shirts or something. Blow jobs and hand jobs and fingering and kissing, frotting up against each other and playing with sex toys and lube… all these things are just as much ‘sex’ as putting a penis into a vagina. It’s narrow-minded to conceive of sex in such a cisheteronormative way and… OH GOD FUCK IT THOUGH. PIV is kinda my thing. It’s my THING. It’s just… my… THING.

    This really struck a chord with me. As I man I feel really guilty for wanting PIV as much as I do when there are so many women out there who can’t enjoy it for physical or PTSD reasons, including my own girlfriend. There is so much more to sex of course, but I feel really guilty when we have some great non-PIV sex and there’s still some piece of me that keeps wanting that additional thing that she can’t provide, as badly as she would like.

    I know it’s as silly to feel ashamed of wanting PIV as it is to feel ashamed of any other kink, but I do. :’(

    • Girl on the net says:

      Hey, thank you for commenting. I wanted to give your comment some proper thought before replying so apologies this is coming a little late. Firstly, I don’t think there’s anything to feel ashamed of: you like what you like, and what you like isn’t something that is inherently harmful, it just happens to be something that some other people (including your girlfriend) aren’t into in the way you are. I know it’s really tricky to hear and internalise the message ‘please don’t be ashamed’ when you’re feeling shame already, but for what it’s worth I hope that you can have a good crack at banishing that shame, and accepting your desires as perfectly valid and a part of who you are.

      It’s not silly to feel ashamed though – again, that makes a lot of sense, especially now that we’re pushing back (rightly!) against the idea that sex always has to equal PIV, I too feel a bit silly sometimes for going ‘awwww, but I LOVE PIV!’ The standard, natural state of humans is for us to be a bit silly, and grappling with this stuff, and what it means, is broadly a good thing I think even if it throws up weird feelings.

      I guess the tricky thing is how to fulfil that desire/kink (cos I think I’m going to go out there and say that maybe when we’re having sex for fun rather than procreation, PIV can technically be a ‘kink’? More thought on this required, but I’m going with that for now) in a way that’s fun for you and your girlfriend. Because I’d feel like a failure if I didn’t offer some practical tips, I’m gonna ask if you’ve ever tried something like this…? (NSFW) You get a lot of the fun of the fucking motion as well as penetration but without penetrating someone’s actual vag. Likewise something that’s sometimes known as ‘intercrural sex’ (least sexy term ever) which basically involves sliding between the thighs (or slightly higher so you’re clamped between the labia but crucially not penetrating the vagina itself). Here’s a sexier telling of it: Both these things can be super fun and might hit a couple of the same ‘oooh’s as PIV, without actually being PIV.

      If I was an actual advice columnist here I’d also ask if you’ve considered sex counselling together or opening up your relationship so you can meet this specific need, but I’m not one of those, and I also find it kind of troubling how swiftly ‘open your relationship!’ is offered as advice without knowing anything about people’s backgrounds. So yeah, I’m not qualified to actually give advice, I am just a horny fucker who also likes PIV so I wanted to offer some support and horny stories =) Thank you for commenting, and I hope that this can help to dispel the guilt a little – if you’re having awesome non-PIV sex then you are doing sterling hot work, and I hope you and your g/f continue to enjoy all the other fun that’s out there.

  • slave sindee says:

    very nice, fantastic , fabulous

  • Patrice says:

    PIV? PIV?? Eh???

    Must be a Dutch political party, this old codger (and GOTN fan) concluded – at a pinch, a Dutch (Belgian?) breakdown-assistance organisation.

    (I spent much of the Seventies following working in the Euro-Parliament and following Dutch politics – when Dutch PM Joop Den Uyl and his PvdA were mooting radical, now-utterly-unthinkable ideas like a rule that no-one’s post-tax income should exceed anyone else’s by a factor of more than five).

    Then, there was the PPR, PSP, ARP, PvdA, D66, VVD, CHU, and more.

    So what could these new thrusters of the “PIV” stand for, I mused, trying to fit a plausible Dutch – even English – name or political slogan to the acronym.

    Should have twigged a lot faster, of course. After all, it was a few years back that I eventually learnt that neither “WTF” nor “FFS” were Low-Countries campaigning organisations I could sign up to (pity).

    Perhaps my blind-ish spot happened because, in my long-gone double-bedding days, non-penetrative sex was usually more pleasurable (for both), and far less stressful (for me) than (go on, Patrice, say it): PIV.

    Sorry to ramble, even witter. Anyway, thanks, amazing GOTN, for your characteristically unranty wisdom, and your quietly bold tackling of all-too-easily-dodged issues. Incidentally, I do like your voice on the audio files – all the laid-back, gently expressive subtlety of a C18 pianoforte, if I may say so – hope the comparison doesn’t offend.

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