Girl on the Net

He’s really cool, of course. Sweet and thoughtful and politically angry in good ways, not to mention kind and fun. He’s an excellent cook and he has lovely hands and he sometimes picks me up which makes me squirm. But I think, if pressed, what I like best about him at this very moment is that sometimes he makes me say ‘please.’

I’m bound and naked except for black thigh-high socks: pretty much one of my favourite ways to be. After a brief dilemma about whether to wear a slutty outfit or a posh frock, I’d settled for ‘mediocre dress plus The Bracelet which signals he can rip my clothes off’, and he rips my clothes off with admirable confidence. Swift and sudden. One long rrrrip down the back and the dress is no more. When he grabs the flimsy fabric of my thong and yanks it apart with bare hands, the flesh of my arse jiggles in a deeply satisfying way.

I am already wet by the time he picks up the rope.

Wait till you get to the part where he does the thing

It’s been a while since I was so thoroughly trussed up. The feeling of intense vulnerability – being entirely at someone’s mercy – is a lovely thing to be reminded of.

But it’s not the best part.

He whips me all over with a flogger he brought from home, and I close my eyes and focus intently on which part of my body is aching the most. The fleshier parts could be whacked harder – my arse, my thighs, my tits are all crying out for more. But the delicate inner thighs sting with even the lightest touch. It’s good to be reminded of how the flogger feels, and it’s fun to luxuriate in the stinging pain. Being mindful of each stroke, registering where it falls and how much each one hurts.

But that’s not the best part either.

I’m on my knees on the spanking bench, telling him ‘please fuck me’, and he does – grabbing on to the rope harness as he slides in good and deep. And although I get a little scared when the bench starts to tip over (note to self: my DIY spanking bench requires safety instructions) I enjoy the fact that he’s strong enough to grip the rope and yank me back, because I can’t stay upright when my wrists are bound behind me.

And we haven’t yet got to my favourite part. All this is foreplay.

He makes me say ‘please’

He hauls me onto the sofa – wrists still tied tight behind my back, ankles bound together with a short rope – and he folds me in fucking half so he can shove his cock inside.

It hurts. Really nicely. He doesn’t quite get this yet, so sometimes when I tell him ‘fuck yeah that hurts’ he pauses to check that I’m OK. I remind myself, yet again (when will I learn?), that I need to append ‘don’t stop’ to ‘it hurts’, so I can show him the difference between good hurt and bad.

When he’s fucked me hard enough that I’m struggling to move, we pause for a break. I’m panting, and each deep breath I draw in pulls a little on the chest harness and reminds me how limited I am in my movement. Looking down all I can see is my own naked flesh and the black of the rope and the dark socks that reach partway up my thigh. The framing of the black fabric makes my pale skin seem more vulnerable. He’s tired, and so am I, and I’d be happy to lie here for a while just enjoying the moment – the sensation of the rope around my ankles and the memory of the sting of the flogger. The throbbing satisfaction in my well-fucked cunt.

I suggest a break, and he nods, and I move slightly to let him get to the knots to untie me. We can eat dinner now: fuck more later. Store one in the bank for when we’re even hornier later on.

But instead of untying me, he decides he’s not done.

He grabs the rope, and me, and pulls me onto his lap. Like I weigh nothing. Positions me over his cock and slides inside, holding me upright on top of him. I’m off-balance – my knees either side of his hips, ankles tied behind me with a short rope that pins his legs to the sofa. My wrists are still bound behind my back, and I have to rely on my thigh muscles and his controlling hands to keep me in position.

Then, finally, as promised: here’s the best part. As he holds me in a kneeling position, perched on his straining dick, he fucks upwards into me with quick, short, harsh strokes, looks me dead in the eye and tells me:

“Say ‘please’ again.”

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