Girl on the Net

Recently I wrote up some instructions on kinky DIY: how to turn your coffee table into a spanking bench. This post is the inevitable write-up of the first time we used it. It’s filthy, because this table was made for fucking, so probably best not to read it at work or in front of your grandchildren.

I don’t get tied up that often these days. As I might have moaned about seven thousand times before, the bed I have at the moment is shit for fucking in. It doesn’t have any struts or headboards or footboards to which I can reasonably be tied. It’s incredibly frustrating.

But because I’ve not been tied up for a while, I’d forgotten about my favourite part of getting tied up: the fact that I can see and feel him getting hard as he works over my body with rope.

I’m kneeling on the floor, bent over the spanking bench I made for just this purpose, naked from… well, just from the knees up. When he ordered me to strip and bend over the bench, my knickers didn’t quite make it all the way off in my eagerness to comply with his order.

My arms are stretched out in front of me, and the first thing he secures is my wrists – locking them in cuffs and clipping those cuffs to the far end of the table, so I have to turn my face to the side and stretch my arms out in front of me. I can feel the cool, smooth fabric pressing against my cheek, and my tits squashed flat against the surface of the bench.

It would be quite relaxing, if I weren’t so eager to be fucked.

He paces around me in bare feet, threading rope through different rings and then pulling them taut against my skin. Everywhere the rope touches me, he strokes me carefully – guiding it around my body and pulling it tight to cinch me more into position. I can see him getting hard inside his shorts, and there’s something deliciously pleasing about his dick twitching against the fabric of his pants each time he pulls the rope tight around me.

He pays close attention to my waist. This, as I told him a few times while I was making the spanking bench, is the key. I want to be strapped down with the rope biting hard into the small of my back – pushing me into an arched position, for ease of entry into my cunt.

So he orders me to arch, and present my cunt to him, then tightens the rope around my waist a few more times. I suck my stomach in and he yanks hard – stretching it as tight as possible and making it hard for me to relax without getting that amazing, hard-to-breathe, pit-of-the-stomach sensation that you get from a tight corset.

By the time he’s finished, I’m laced to the spanking bench from wrists to waist, and even though it’s not too tight, it’s as if the rope magnifies every sensation. Each point where it touches my body throbs to the beat of my pulse.

He walks around me, making the most of the fact that now I’m naked and exposed and helpless, so I can’t just rush things like I usually would. I can beg and whine and say ‘please please please get your cock in me now’ but he gets to take his time. Stroking and touching and smacking as he inspects me, deciding which parts of my body he wants to use.

I pretend to be frustrated – wriggling against my bonds and making whiny little ‘please fuck me’ noises – but I’m not that frustrated, really. I’m revelling in the fact that with no way to move, I can absolve myself of all worry and panic and pressure and just enjoy whatever he’s about to do. I’ve done my part – making a bench I can be securely strapped to so I can’t escape, and pulling my knickers down to my knees.

There’s something satisfying about the fact that my work here is done: now I just have to be.

Before he fucks me, he kneels behind me gripping his cock for a while. Pressing the tip of it just against the entrance to my cunt. Whether he’s teasing me or just taking his time I don’t really know or care. All I know is that when he finally decides it’s time, I am wetter than I’ve ever been and I need the hardest of fucks.

That was the point of making the bench, mostly: I wanted to be fucked so hard that if I weren’t strapped down I’d have slid away. I wanted a fuck so aggressive and vigorous that he needed solid ropes tied to hard metal fixings which he could grip with his hands and pull on while he pounded me. On a surface of just the right shape and height that he could shove forward with his crotch and pull back on with his hands at the same time, to slam his cock as deep inside me as it would go.

In my fantasies, no matter what the scenario, there is always this element. The depth. The hands pulling at straps or flesh or rope to yank me back onto his dick. As if the pleasure isn’t just about how much cunt he can feel surrounding him, but in the active delight he takes in using his cock as a weapon with which to punish me. Deeper. Thicker. Harder. Fucking me so hard I wince and cry out.

I try not to cry out at first, because I don’t want him to stop. I want him to know that this – this hard, deep, angry fucking – is exactly what I want. And if I let on that it’s not just pleasure but a sexy mix of pleasure and pain, he might ease off and go gently.

I didn’t spend hours building a fuck bench just for ‘going gently.’

So I bite my lip and squeeze my cunt and wriggle slightly against the ropes so I can feel them bite me more deeply. And when he uses the rope around my waist to pull me back onto him, I relish the slap of his flesh on mine and the kick of pleasurable pain deep in my cunt when his solid dick punches the back of my cervix.

The only better feeling is the one right at the end, when I can feel spurts of his come pouring out in the same place: as deep as he can get inside me.