Tag Archives: femdom

Guest blog: ruined orgasm (part 2)

This is part two of an exceptionally filthy guest blog sent to me by Justine. In part one of this story, she suffered a ruined orgasm at the hands of her boyfriend. Distracted by a seriously hot fuck, she forgot his order that she should let him know before she came. After coming hard around his cock, she realised she’d broken the rule, and he later exacted punishment in the form of a ruined orgasm: working her up to the brink of orgasm then leaving her panting and frustrated. Read the first half of this ruined orgasm story, then pop back here to see how Justine gets her revenge…

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Guest blog: softcore femdom fantasies

This week’s guest blog is a bit different, because I’m going to publish it and then – like an irritating pop-up critic – I’m going to disagree with the author.

Meet Mr XY. He got in touch with a blog about his specific fantasies – softcore femdom that follows certain lines, but doesn’t go as far as much of the femdom porn that he finds online. Domination without humiliation. Edging without hardcore chastity. I’ll let him explain the details.

However, I also want to add a note for those reading this – his post discusses the ways in which femdom is portrayed in the mainstream media, as well as a lament about the lack of porn available for people with his sensibilities. If you think the same, please do read my response at the end, because I definitely think there’s plenty of porn that caters to these fantasies, and it’s perhaps not as rare as the author thinks. Sometimes it’s just a question of knowing the right places to find it, so I thought it’d be worth us having a bit of back and forth.

As a result of my insistence on disagreeing, this blog is less of a straight-out story, and more the opportunity to start a bit of a discussion. So massive thank you to him, for letting me post his blog along with my thoughts, and please do come and join in the comments.

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Guest blog: extreme orgasm denial, with latex and sobbing

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.

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Guest blog: Orgasm denial and female domination

She didn’t just have me at ‘hello’, this week’s guest blogger had me at ‘we won’t be needing this pathetic cock…’ Some people seem to have a natural knack and talent for domming, and I can’t help but watch in semi-envious arousal. This is one of those times.

Please welcome @EuclideanPoint, with an intensely hot guest post on orgasm denial…

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Someone else’s story: an angry hatefuck

I’m pretty bad at dominance. I enjoy it occasionally, and there’s certainly an incredibly satisfying something about making a guy angrily horny and desperate to come, then saying ‘nope’, and walking away while he lies whimpering in a sexy heap. Usually I prefer to be the one doing the whimpering – it’s more fun to tremble in excited anticipation of what might be done to you than to tremble in terror that your “who’s a naughty boy then?” will be met with a snort of derisive laughter.

So I was delighted when someone sent me this guest post, in which she provides what I can only very rarely attempt: some super-hot sexy writing with the girl very much on top. From our anonymous Africa correspondent, here’s some female dominance, hatefucking, and a decent dollop of rage…

Hate fucking capitalism

What’s a good horny lefty to do in a city filled with rampant capitalism?

A hot man, sat in the courtyard of my hotel, reading a book. It was nearly Christmas. And nearly six months since I’d got laid. I suddenly believed in Santa Claus.

I wandered over. ‘Hello are you here for the conference?’ (knowing damn well he wasn’t)

He told me he worked for a mining company. I accused him of destroying the planet. Apparently I also asked him how he slept at night, though I have no recollection of this.

I was probably too busy fantasising about him not sleeping at all, his legs wrapped around mine.

It’s warm here, men wear shorts. And he had fine, fine legs. And, you know, six months with no sex.

I had a dilemma. I wanted him. I hated everything he represented. But I wanted him.

Despite the scorn & contempt expressed, the lust must have been clear; he asked for my phone number. We arranged to meet when back on home ground. Maybe being talked to as if he was a lowly worm was what he wanted. He called.

And thus I rediscovered the delights of the hate fuck.

I end up on top when I’m hate fucking, literally and metaphorically. This is how it happened:

We met for dinner and spent most of it swapping sex stories. He told me about his Icelandic ex and their tradition of women’s day, a man is expected to do whatever is asked of him. They had gone out for a meal and she told him to come to the bathroom of the restaurant with her to fuck. He complied.

I briefly considered the place we were in – squat toilets only, complete with cockroaches. This could wait.

We went back to his flat, he asked if I wanted the tour, we got to the bedroom and BAM. We were kissing, angry kissing from me. A stab with the tongue. A hint of threatened teeth. His cock was hard up against me and I pushed against it, against him and against everything I hated.

I pushed him onto the bed.

I wanted him bound and helpless, I can’t incapacitate capital but for a few hours I could smash his system.

I was the boss. He stripped, to order. Lay back, to order.

And at that point the power went out. As we both cursed the electric company he found and lit a candle. And I had a new weapon in my armoury.

I ordered him to fetch ice. Watched his naked form leave the room and return, cock rock hard.

So pretty, over 10 years younger than me, fit, tanned, gorgeous. I wavered, just at this point, wanting to be held and stroked and loved.

Then I looked round the extremely plush room that my entire apartment would fit into and remembered that mass exploitation and pollution had paid for it.

From wanting to make love, I wanted to walk out of there. But, six months with no sex and extremely sexy naked man. With a very hard cock. And ice. And a candle.

I’m not proud, I was horny.

The knots I tied him with were tighter than was comfortable. The wax I dripped on him was hotter than was safe, the ice applied slightly delayed. I wanted to hurt him. I did.

Then I rode him, grinding onto him until I came, again and again.

Not letting him come.

For hours.

When I finally untied him he wrapped himself around me from behind and kissed my neck.

And I melted inside, the anger swept away.

You can hate fuck, you can shower in the morning¹ and walk away.

What I’ll remember is that tender kiss.

Humans are complicated.²

 

¹I actually showered when I get home as the water at his place was out when we woke.
²Complicated enough that we fucked again a couple of months later and I’m planning one last one before I leave here.