Girl on the Net

In this piece, the dominant narrator is going to tease you, frustrate you, and then eventually take you slowly. In this version, the narrator is voiced beautifully Stephen Carling. If you would prefer a woman’s voice, check out She’s going to take you slowly, read by Girl on the Net. 

Today, I want to take you slowly. That’s my plan. I’m going to explain to you, in detail, exactly how I’m gonna take you. And you’re going to stay nice and quiet for me while you listen, touching yourself if you want to, but not yet making yourself come.

Are you happy with that? OK. Let’s do this.

I want to savour everything I’m planning to do to you today, and that means that I want no interruptions. You’re going to switch your phone off and place it in a separate room, and I’ll do the same. Then you’re going to stand in front of the bed with your arms by your sides and your eyes closed, and just wait for me.

Wait.

As I say, I want to take you slowly. The first thing I want to do is touch you, all over. Put my hands on your body through your clothes, and squeeze all the parts of you that I enjoy the most. You’re beautiful, do you know that? I suspect you don’t, not really. You nod along when I say it but you don’t truly feel it. I want to make you feel it.

You’re going to be so very good for me: standing as still as you can, as quietly as you can, while I inspect and strip you. Peeling off each layer of your clothes so I can access the soft skin beneath. Kissing your neck – that gorgeous sensitive part just beneath your ear, before trailing the tip of my tongue down the curve to your shoulders where I kiss again. Maybe bite a little, ever so gently, just to see if it makes you shiver and squeak.

I’m going to take my time and make sure I touch every single inch of you before I even push you onto the bed. I’m going to watch your nipples stiffen in the cold, relishing the way they brush against the pads of my fingertips when I grope and play with you. I want to look up from them to your face to see whether you’re blushing with shame or grinning with pride. I’d like to hold eye contact with you while I pinch them – gently at first, then hard, then harder, until that delicious moment when you cannot bear any more and you give me a wince. Maybe a little squeal – ouch! – just to let me know you’re at the edge of what you can take.

Then I’m going to kiss each nipple with wet lips. So. Fucking. Slowly. Drawing them into my mouth, soothing the pain of each pinch with delicate flicks of my tongue. I’m going to hold your hands while I do this, let you squeeze mine in yours when you want me to suck a little harder.

As I say, I want to take my time with you.

Enough time that when I eventually lead you to the bed and push you down onto it, I’m hoping to see a little flash of triumph in your eyes as if you believe you’re going to get fucked now. You aren’t, and you’ll know that when I reach for the restraints.

I know some people like to fuck their lovers while they’re tied, but you know I’m not like that. I only use the rope when I want you to submit to everything but the fuck you’re so eager for. When I know I’ll be playing with you in ways that make you squirm and thrust up against my hands, urgently begging with your body for me to give you sweet release. I tie you up not because I’m planning to fuck you, but because I’m planning to deliberately and carefully and painstakingly not fuck you: teasing and edging you with my hands and lips until you open your mouth and beg me for more, please more, please just do it please fuck me.

But all the while you’re restrained, I’ll restrain myself too. Because to me it’s no fun fucking someone whose body is spreadeagled and tied down: when I do eventually decide to take you, I want you to fuck back.

For now, though, I’m still taking my time. While the ropes bind your wrists and ankles tightly to the frame of the bed, your entire beautiful naked body is mine to do with what I want. And what I want is to touch you everywhere. Paying close attention to the areas that are almost-but-not-quite the ones you really want me to touch:

Your chest, circling my fingertips around those eager nipples but crucially never quite giving them the attention you’re whining for. Maybe I’ll find it funny when you strain and writhe to try and manouevre them into my path. Maybe I’ll find it pitiable. Either way, I’ll be having such a lovely time. Not fucking you – not taking you just yet. Taking my time with every single inch. Your stomach, your feet, your shoulders and hands. Gropes that are almost like a massage, except the aim of it isn’t to sate but to frustrate you.

Your neck, too, of course. I don’t think even you know just how responsive you are when I wrap my hand lightly around your throat. Your eyes grow wide, did you know that? Even when I don’t squeeze at all. Your eyes grow wide and you look at me like you’re begging. I’ll put my hand around it so tenderly, cupping your jaw in my hand and feeling your pulse beat in your throat, then instead of squeezing I will pause there, admiring how prettily your eyes can plead, before I take my hand away.

Your inner thighs, let’s dwell on those a little. I want to explore that sensitive flesh where your thigh almost meets your crotch with my tongue. With gentle kisses and firm hands, reaching down beneath you to where your arse meets thighs, pulling you open and pawing at you as you twist and squirm to try and make me move to the center, where you fully hurt to be touched.

Maybe I’ll give you just a tiny bit of what you want. A lubed-up finger tracing circles around the most sensitive part of you, delicately like you’re fragile. Until you twitch and throb and mewl with need for me to just do the same thing but harder. Faster. More pressure, more speed, more contact. I want to treat you with such gentleness, while you’re yearning for roughness, that you find it almost upsetting. Outrageous. I want to respond to your upwards thrusting and begging eyes and eager frotting not by giving you what you want but by taking my hands away. Maybe smacking you lightly on the inner thighs, or the soft flesh of your stomach, just to let you know that it’s not time yet.

I’m taking you slowly today: I will fuck you when I’m good and ready. You’ll know when it’s time. I’ll release you from the rope. Because remember: when I finally decide that the time is right for me to take you, I want you to fuck back.

Are you enjoying this story? Or is it making you frustrated? As you touch yourself, are you picturing how it will feel to be restrained and toyed with, playing along with me as I whisper this into your ear? Are you squirming with an arousal so urgent it almost borders on rage? Or are you skipping ahead? Even now too keen to wait for me to say it, you’re conjuring the sensation of how it will feel when I pull on the cord to untie your ankles and let you wrap your legs around me and draw me towards you.

You’re so impatient. But I like that. OK. Have it your way. You’re ready to get fucked? I want you to do some of the work yourself here. As I slowly untie your wrists and ankles, what position do you put yourself in? Imagine it. Do you stay on your back, maybe raise your legs and pull your knees up to your chest to make for an easy, tight entry when I fuck you? Picture it. Do you flip over onto all fours, arching your back like a desperate little slut, pushing your arse out towards me in yet another attempt to beg me to fuck you properly? Luxuriate in it. Do you lie flat, face buried into the pillow in shame as you howl for me to give you what I’ve been holding back for so long? Which is it? What kind of fuck do you want?

Picture it. I am. I’m conjuring images of your body, naked and positioned for ease of entry – waiting patiently, sure, but also quivering with desperation to have me finally take you.

I’m imagining the way you’ll beg me – ‘please’ – as I lube up and run a gentle finger between your legs. Tracing the ache that won’t be sated till I fuck you. The throbbing centre of want that is your needy… little… hole…

Today I want to take you slowly. I want to take you so slowly that by the time I finally plunge myself inside, fucking deep into your wretched, writhing body, the noise that I tear from your pretty little throat is one even you don’t recognise. A howl of anguish and lust. Pleasure and despair. One that encompasses all the joy of finally getting the relief you’ve been longing for, and all the pain of the time I spent making you believe it might not happen.

I want to take you slowly today. So slowly that when I finally do it, allowing myself to slide into your body inch by satisfying inch, every other emotion you have is washed away in that first wave of blissful relief.

And the only thing that’s left to feel is gratitude.

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Merry Christmas, perverts. I fucking love you.

xxx