Girl on the Net

This fabulous first time femme domme story is written and recorded by Robyn of RobynEatsEverything. This piece contains BDSM including impact play, nipple clamps, and a pinwheel.

As my finger hovers a centimetre away from their skin, threatening to make contact, they start to beg; they whimper and whine and plead with me to touch them. Their face is contorted, their eyes crumpled closed, as though the lack of touch is causing them excruciating pain. I study them and consider gently pushing my finger into their chest, granting them the relief they’re so desperate for, but only briefly; it is far too delicious watching them tremble and quake. As my finger continues to float its way across their naked body, closely following the contours of their chest, they let out an anguished groan as they realise they’re not going to feel it.

As soon as they entered the room, I’d ordered them to strip naked. They had asked if they could kiss me first, but that would have to wait until they’d proven themselves worthy of my lips. As they peeled off each layer of clothing, I relaxed across the bed, fully clothed, to watch them, to study every inch of flesh that was being revealed to me. It’s the first time I’ve ever been completely in control of someone else. Normally, I switch between sub and dom and top and bottom and relish the journey. But when they got in touch to politely request I use them as my fuck toy, asking me to dominate them, use them, hurt them, I saw a tantalising opportunity. I know all the constituent parts, I’ve just never stitched them together into one piece before. For a brief moment the thought hit me that I could stitch them together wrong, but then, even if I do, isn’t it worth it to learn how to mend it? It was the right time, for me, to exert some control and lead, to subjugate and compose, to design an experience for them and for myself. I wanted to play.

Standing in front of me now, with their hands obediently clasped behind their back, I continue to not touch them. My fingertip circles around each nipple before hovering down their chest, down their stomach, and traces the length of their hardening cock. My hand turns to mimic cradling their dick, while still neglecting to touch any part of it. At this point they’re almost weeping with need.

To prolong it even further, I ask them to recite what we’d agreed: red for stop, yellow for slow down or not so hard, green for more. And if their mouth is full? A hand in the air to stop, a thumbs up for harder, please. I hold their wide-eyed stare to ensure they completely understand, then I sweetly tell them what a very good boy they are, as I lightly wrap my fingers around their length; their entire body shakes with near-orgasmic relief, even though my skin is barely meeting theirs.

Their dick is abruptly released as my attention turns to the bag of toys they brought with them, its contents scattered on the bed. There is a delicious array of things designed to cause pain: a surgical-looking pinwheel, pegs, a heavy flogger, a cane. Out of the four, I was only familiar with the flogger; it was actually the same one that was sitting patiently in my drawer at home. I play with one of the pegs, slowly opening and closing and sliding my fingertip across the wood as I seductively ask where they most like having their skin pinched; their eyes follow the peg intently as they answer.

The first peg snaps closed around a tender pinch of stomach, causing them to whimper. My love of symmetry determines where the next one nips. Then my hand caresses the softest part of their breast, underneath where it meets their chest wall, before I grasp and snap. The sensation makes them briefly double forward, grunting, before they compose themselves. Our eyes meet and I can tell from their expression (pleading with a hint of worry) they know exactly what’s next: nipples. I can guarantee the palms that are still gripped behind their back are starting to sweat. Their nipples are already stiff, which makes it easier to pull and twist them away from their hot pink cradles before I brusquely attach each torturous little sting. Their knees weaken instantly.

It’s cruel of me, but I observe how much they seem to enjoy being on their knees and strongly suggest they stay that way. Hearing them respond “Yes, Robyn” makes my chest flutter. I make sure their attention is on me, on my hands, as I pick up the flogger. Asking them what they want to do next is a cursory, benign question, since I already know the answer will be that they want me to hurt them, but I like hearing them breathlessly trip over the words out loud.

I push their face into the side of the bed and order them to spread their hands across the duvet in front of them. They tip their peach of an arse up towards me; I’m not sure whether it’s a conscious movement or not. I tell them exactly what I’m going to do and where, so they have the opportunity to respond:

“Yes, Robyn,” yet again.

My first strike sounds worse than it is. The strands of the flogger thwack into the globe of their cheek, causing their whole body to judder forward, but it doesn’t even leave a mark. I stroke the area that was hit, before giving it a little slap for emphasis. The movement gets repeated on the other cheek, then the back of each thigh, while they squirm and moan underneath it. I realise with a touch of sadistic satisfaction that as each strike pushes their body into the side of the bed, the pegs are crushed further into their flesh.

I ask if they want it harder, do they want it to hurt more?

“Yes, Robyn.”

In response, I tell them how much of a desperate little slut they are. This time, the strands leave lines of red soreness across their arse. I flick the flogger around and slice it through the air again and again, until the lines glow; feeling the fluid movement of the flogger is always my favourite part. Their face is buried so deep into the duvet I can’t determine what noises they’re making, whether they’re words or just guttural sounds; lifting their face upwards by their hair, I make a point of asking them if they’re enjoying themself?

“Yes, Robyn.” I tease the leather across their skin, draping the strands over them, as they mewl with pleasure.

It’s at this point I notice how wet I’ve become. I am suddenly the desperate one, the little slut needing release. I order them to get up off the floor and stand in front of me, and they’re such a good boy they do, immediately scrambling to their feet just to please me.

“I think you’ve had enough of this,” I say, as I slowly release their skin from the pegs one by one. Well, except the very last one, the one on their left nipple, which I rip from its place; their reaction is a mix of relief and pain and rapture and they stare intensely into my eyes. When they’re all removed, they take the deepest breath, as though it’s their first. I tell them that it’s time for them to act up and become my fuck toy; I need them to make me cum. Their wide smile and vigorous nodding is so adorable, it’s like I’ve announced I’m taking them to Disneyland.

I efficiently strip and lie back on the bed as they watch redundantly. Their hand hovers above my stomach, as they ask permission to touch me; I give it enthusiastically and widen my thighs expectantly. Something unknowable flickers behind their eyes and their hand moves up to gently caress my breast. Their fingers move delicately to clench and roll my nipple between them, as they watch my face for permission to continue. They dip down and replace their fingertips with their skilful tongue and it becomes apparent that they intend to worship me, my body. It’s then my turn to moan and writhe beneath them, as they start to suck and nip.

As their mouth worships each breast in turn, their fingers finally find their way between my thighs and into my soaking wet folds. They exclaim at how wet I am, as if they can’t believe that I would be, that I’d be so turned on at their pleasure. I can’t quite believe it myself.

Their fingertips massage my clit hard. I let myself be controlled; maybe it seems to them as though I’m directing this scene, but really I’m under their spell. They release my nipple from their mouth and sit up to watch me, watch their fingers. They look so proud of themself, so in awe of it all, I think it makes me even wetter. They lean forward and slide two fingers into my cunt and I cry out. Continuing to rub me with one hand, their other fucks me hard. In between gasps of breath, I tell them how fucking good it feels. They grin as they do everything even harder. As I cum loudly, I can just about hear them tell me in disbelief how hard my cunt is clenching down on their fingers.

I pick up my discarded knickers from the floor and shove them roughly into their mouth, then fix a silken blindfold around their eyes and order them to lie back; they’re ready for the next part. Except, I can’t resist teasing them first by dipping my nipple into their open mouth; as soon as they clamp their lips around it, I pull back, causing them to groan in disappointment.

It’s the first time I’ve ever rolled a pinwheel across someone’s skin. Initially, I’m not sure how much pressure there should be and the pricks don’t leave any marks as I drag them across their chest. As their moans deepen, I push the wheel down – harder and harder – until the tiny craters form paths and their torso becomes a map. My hand becomes bolder and the trails lead across their nipples, down their inner arms, just above their cock, up their inner thighs; all the sensitive bits. Now, their jaws are clamped around my underwear as they try not to scream. I take in what pretty patterns I’ve created and step my fingers across them all, feeling quite smug, while they take a few minutes to recover.

I roughly pull the knickers out of their mouth so they can answer my next question:

“Where do you like to feel the cane?”

Their response: the soles of their feet, their inner thighs, their arse. I adoringly caress their face as I thank them, before shoving the knickers back in. I notice they’re breathing heavier than before; I like to think it’s excitement. They lift their legs up and present their feet to me as soon as I ask them to. Leaving them there like that for a moment, leaving them growling in anticipation like the desperate little slut they love to be, I study the cane. Moving it from hand to hand, I try to assess the weight, the width, how hard it’ll hit, how much it’ll hurt. Even though they’ve begged me to cause them serious pain, I don’t actually want to hurt them. And with this cane, I really could. As their feet are in the air, I tell them again what they need to do to signal me to stop. They nod in acknowledgement.

The first strike lands directly in the middle of the sole of their foot, the most tender part. They squeal into my underwear. The next ends in the same spot. Their first instinct is to bend their legs back, to move their feet away from me, but then, driven by desire, they change their mind and regain their position. I move my attention to their other foot, another couple of strikes. They react in the same way. I reach down to stroke their inner thigh before I line up the next hit, so they know where it’s going to happen. The flesh there is so much softer and the cane immediately leaves a raw, angry mark, and the other side acts the same. I can see their fists gripping the duvet, hear them weeping, and I ask if they liked that?

“Yes, Robyn.”

I continue to strike their thighs, first one side then the other, increasing the speed, until their skin is glowing and hot under my touch. Every impact makes their body crumple inwards, their head thrash. I decide that they’ve had enough; removing their blindfold and the underwear, I coo at what a very good boy they are, how well they took it, how much they’ve pleased me. Lying down next to them, I rest my head on their chest and cover their marks with my hand. We lie there like that for a while, chatting and cuddling, and I cover their chest and neck and cheeks in tiny kisses.

The kisses grow and grow until we’re holding each other and our lips are one. It’s time; they deserve it. In a whisper, I ask them if they want to cum now?

“Yes, Robyn.”

I touch their dick and it’s as though they’ve been hit by lightning; their whole body stiffens and they let out the biggest sigh. They harden as I wrap my fingers around them and begin to stroke. I continue to kiss them, on the lips and neck and chest, as my hand works up and down their length. I want them to feel a different kind of pleasure than before; pleasure that isn’t tinged with pain, pleasure that’s all theirs. This is the pleasure I know I’m good at, what I’m confident with.

Their groans intensify. I briefly remove my hand to spit on it, before returning to coat their dick in moisture. They swear and tell me how close they are; I once again let them know what a very good boy they are. I talk them through their orgasm, telling them how much I want to see them cum, how good it’s going to feel, how proud I am of them, how sexy they look. There’s gentle encouragement: come on baby, cum for me, good boy, you’re going to love this. They begin to convulse and fuck my hand and I cheer them on as their cum splashes up their stomach and chest. I sweeten it all by slowly licking it off them.

Later, as they’re about to leave, in between thanking me, I ask them what was going through their mind as I was hurting them. They tell me it flicked a switch somewhere deep and they were transported to a different place inside them, somewhere safe and restful. It makes me feel warm, comforted, that it was the experience they wanted, that I could give them what they needed. They certainly look serene and I then get a jolt of envy; maybe my sub mode has been activated once again. They thank me, for a final time, and delicately kiss my hand before the door closes.

 

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