ruined orgasms

Femdom Life: Orgasm Denial for Him

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Psychological shackles are the bestI like to make him beg.

Wildcard is into con-non-con, but as much as he has fabulous instincts as a top/dom (he’s really fucking AMAZING to watch), he’s comparatively handicapped in submissive explorations. He’s not someone who could attribute his sub fantasies to being a naturally passive, meek person. As a sub, his erotic charge comes from resisting, and, as a full sized adult male, this makes orgasm denial the perfect lever to bring him to his knees.

As a straight femdom, your partners will usually be bigger, stronger and heavier than you. A good tease and iron clad willpower is your friend for subs who need a little push back. I adore humiliating him with my power. With so much cultural baggage around masculine virility, it’s like a metaphorical ring through a bull’s nose. No matter the muscle, some of the best feelings out there are making a man obey with the lightest of tugs.

Before meeting me, his fantasies focused on three things: forced orgasms, spankings and forced nudity.

All these are pretty hot, but I brought something more to the table he’s never done before, good old fashioned restrictions on when he could come, laced with lots and lots of sneaky sabotage stimulation.

It might be a femdom porn standard, but also a huge kink of mine. I love it, and I love to tease men until they go insane. I love the way it turns my body into a tool of control. And hooray, guess what? Because I kept talking about it, he started getting into orgasm denial just as much as me! Blame my sexy talk and my apparently phenomenal, edging focused hand jobs. since I brought the subject up, he’s been devouring copious amount of denial based erotica even without my encouragement. Score! Guess that means it was time to start locking him up to make that desperate feeling last! Right…?

Nope. Orgasm denial is a slow burn build up.

First of all, he’s a kink-is-part-of-my-life and not a kink-is-my-life person. Precisely because orgasm denial makes him feel submissive, marathon, months long orgasm denial sessions aren’t his thing. Heck, he finds the idea of more than a week without coming too intimidating (for now). That rules out play built around “never letting you come ever, mohahaha!” But beyond that, as much as he likes non-con, feeling forced even by the presence of sexual potential is also potentially triggering. Wildcard’s dealt with some shit in the past and has bristly, bite-y boundaries. So on the one hand he just wants me to take control, on the other hand everything has to be carefully negotiated to make him feel safe. People are complicated.

Orgasm denial, once you throw in the edging and teasing, is something you’ve got to work your way up to. When I first started with him, what was supposed to be a weekend long denial session lasted less than 24 hours. There may have been an oopsie after an extremely erotic suggestion from me. To combat my devilish ways, he’s had to train his dick to know just about when he’s going to come… and he’s still had more than his fair share of ruined orgasms by accident.

So even in 2015, this was a work in progress. Then we moved house, and Christmas happened, and our sex life cum hobby (heehee) of being kinky libertines took a holiday around stress, packing and  some pretty serious relationship growth. And we honestly communicated about stuff. You know, needs and boundaries. Life taught us to have some shitty trust issues that take a lot of deprogramming. You guys endured a blogging hiatus and I’m still tidying up after it.

Six months after the move, I’m happy to say that teasing and depriving him has stayed a mainstay in our sex life. Oh, and edging. I’ve edged him for an hour at a time, making him go just to the point of coming over and over and over again until he was thrashing and begging. And the orgasms he gets from them are some of the intensest he’s ever had.

We do it, over and over again, slippery oil on my palms, or his cock pushing over my tongue. Making him beg. It might not be the rule for daily life, but in the bedroom I make Wildcard work for every orgasm. Last night, after a sound spanking, he even showed how good he’s getting at holding it when I took him to the edge and he managed to hold off for a good thirty seconds of me forcing him. And sneaky truth- he might not have taken on orgasm denial as a full time calling, but when we’re together, even on a vanilla night, he hasn’t come a single time without asking for permission.

Femdom Life: Fingering, Negotiations & Ruined Orgasms

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Friday night, we have sex.

He reached for me, nestling the length of his body into the roundness of mine. Even when he’s no longer the skinny boy I started dating, and has filled out into muscle and robust health, he’s still made of stiff lines and delicate details, like an origami figure someone folded out of starched silk. Now there’s a solid weight to his arms and legs that I find pleasing. I liked it when he was so light that I was the heavy one, but I like this new sign of remission in his health problems.

Thursday night I was unbridled honest with him, even more so than I ever am with you, dear reader (of course you get a curated window into my life, but you know that). I asked for things put aside between our move and his many hobbies. You cannot mandate desire but you can make people aware of your own wants. So now, Friday night, he seeks for me.

He feels for my cunt, touching either side of the furred lips, not tor hard, not too soft. Fingering, remembering that my genitals and my pleasure are not some sort of buried secret that takes a cave diving expedition of plunging and rooting about inside. There’s a whole zone of sensitivity, inner thighs, vulva, buttocks, brushing, pressing just with the pads of his fingers. I feel arousal as the motion of tiny muscles and an awakening in nerves that I’m usually only subconsciously aware of.

Earlier we’d played all silly, miming tying me up so I could pretend my outrage, promising dire things even as I held my arms still to maintain the illusion of the invisible ropes. When he was done, his fingers flipped a switchblade made of nothingness and slit the bonds. Make believe demands support. Playfulness is a key thing I need in a partner.

I don’t let him control things, even if I can play at it. I don’t want to lie back and be pleasured, I want to rip off his armor and expose his vulnerabilities for me to play with. I lean up from my nest of blankets and roll over, pinning him down. I tell him precisely what I’m going to do to him, how I’m going to tease him as restrain him and toss him about like a rag doll.

He asked for that, to not rely entirely on my whims, but know what to expect when I take control. It is a challenge. Dominance for my is embracing the capacious moment of my fickle fancy, but I will not let that get in the way of enthusiastic consent. If he needs more scene pre-planning, than it can only expand the submission he can do with me.

Pinning him down I find his cock, already mostly stiff, and with a right palm slathered with sweet almond oil, lathe the root to the tip with curl fingered, dragging strokes, all the while shoving my hand over his mouth and sometimes pinching his nose. He knows he’s not going to come, knows exactly how far I’m going to go, and can rely on that certainty.

Tuesday night, similar to this, I threw him straight out of his comfort zone by staring intently at him. I’m past feeling self consciously silly about my so called dominant aura. It might be cliche, but when I wish I can pull up that cloak of control. And yet… indomitable Miss Pearl terrifies him, leaving him paralyzed and rattled. I’ve never had to deal with it before. I’ll never claim to be some master Mistress who can make a man into a puddle with a look, but in my near decade in a half of fucking around with kink, I’ve never dealt with someone trying so hard to run towards me while desperately trying to run away.

This time though, no hitches. Just saliva and oil making a slickness, alternating spidering my fingers up the ribs and the side of his stomach. I see him slip into a better place, until I’ve tugged and teased him straight into one of those ruined orgasms that are intense enough I worry I mucked up and made him cum.

When he gets his bearings back, he keeps trying to roll towards me and I keep inching away. Groin to chest is a splatter of semen that I hardly want squashed into my body in the middle of the night. I’m amused as he plays out the part of mobile wet spot, earnestly trying to please me by going back to touching me.

I do not want an orgasm. 

I have had way too many orgasms, because I was supposed to, because it was expected of me, because my partner’s ego demanded it or even for the entertainment value. I don’t want to relive those choices. I am not ready to come yet, not relaxed enough. The threads of arousal are there, but the weight of duty to reassure him with one snaps them, and I gently puts his hand on his chest where it isn’t gloopy with sex leftovers.

Neither of us come. It’s funny, I feel more in control without one, while he feels more out of control when he loses the option. Again, among his limits, no long term orgasm denial. It’s unusual, usually men are wild to be denied or get no pleasure from it, nothing of this in between wanting and not wanting.

So, always negotiations, always touching and dancing around the meta narrative of our sex games, where we are still two incredibly contained people. Some people fuse into one in a relationship- we’ve both learned to recoil from that. Instead everything is two little boats bobbing about in a big ocean, nudging our hulls, neither sure enough to abandon our craft and jump ship.

It’s not the story that sells, dear reader, not where I know that people are here for the ruined orgasms, not the psychological intimacy puzzles. But it’s the truth, so there you are.

Spank, Ruin His Orgasm, Make Him Scream

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The hickey made a trail up my neck, a line of purple-red dots showing where an evening of pure pleasure for my body had left a very obvious and unprofessional mark on his Miss. Wildcard was in trouble. Big trouble.

We’d had a lazy, sexy Sunday evening, and I only discovered the result the next day in the office bathroom. At the time I warned him to be careful, so spotting the marks, my urge was to take down his pants and paddle him pink as soon as I got home. Nonetheless, I decided to save it up for his official punishment day, to give him a chance to anticipate. And of course, give Wildcard time to contemplate his own fate and you can cue the smart mouth. I think it’s instinctual, since this is the guy who can end up in the hospital with internal bleeding and crack jokes with the nurses. Nevermind, more things to ‘punish’ him over! >:)

He likes it best when it feels like he deserves the spanking. I’d never actually hit him if I was genuinely upset, but we play with funishment, mock scoldings and unavoidable consequences. “It can’t be helped, rules are rules!” is his kind of dirty talk.

But when Tuesday happened, despite an ever increasing aroused warmth in my genitalia, his backtalk was gone and he was a little small feeling asking for pettings first, that’s not a bad light ramp into a nice dominant buzz. I’m opportunistic- I don’t need to beat the crap out of someone to feel in charge. A little snuggling and some positive affirmations and the sass was back. He actually swatted my butt! That was the last straw. I shoved him face down on the bed and began to wallop him, pulling down his black boxer briefs.

I intended to make this a long session, so I started light, escalating until even my palm was starting to burn, switching off hands for maximum coverage. You can go two ways with a spanking, vicious and hard for something quick, or a gradually building heat. I wanted to really get his attention and leave a lasting impression, so I aimed for the latter.

With a good warm up, his bottom needs a little extra encouragement. After he’d got a rosy glow going, I switched to the concentrated snap of a crop. That pink in his cheeks became a decided red, and his customary insolence was, for once, silenced.

After the wicked punishment on his ass was done, I made him stand in the corner with his underpants around his ankles while I snapped pictures of him on my cell for some extra humiliation and some later nostaligic enjoyment. While catching some close ups, I noticed he seemed a little inflamed, and because I’m a nice femdom it was time to do a little care and restoration.

I made him get on all fours and put his pert ass in the air on display, to rub a palmful of cool baby oil oil onto his griddle hot, reddened ass. Of course his dangling cock and balls became too difficult to resist and very quickly I had him spread legged and milked erect until he was moaning. Every time I noticed his breathing getting heavier I taunted him that he could lose control, but I would only ruin his orgasm for him.

What’s a ruined orgasm, femdom fans? That’s when the cum spurts but the stimulation is cut off, leaving the victim still horny, often with a long wait until they are desensitized enough to come again (or at all). I made Wildcard lie on his back with his legs hanging off the bed, to give me better access to his vulnerable body. I have a technique I developed: just as he tenses up, I take my hand away and then spider them up his stomach and ribs.

Alternating tickling fingers and brisk but slippery stroking I managed to not only get him so rampantly erect he’d put a porn star to shame, but milk his thick (sorry guys, no sph here!) cock into spurts of cum all over his belly- ruined orgasms without the wait between. By the time I finally gave him his release he was screaming, drenched in his own semen and completely and utterly drained dry.

And that was a perfect #PunishTuesday. Yum.

“Don’t Make Me Come!” AKA Forced Orgasms

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slavestatueSo Wildcard and I continue our happy domestic little nest of kinky libertines together.

Recently Wildcard had a mild fuck up while we were playing that left me slightly pouty. This being conduct unbecoming of a Gentleman Nemesis, a forfeit was in order. And I picked a favourite of mine. Endless edging, for a week. Every night, until he literally is begging and pleading for me to stop and he worries for the structural integrity of his cock he gets teased. And used. And teased some more. And I don’t “let” him come, I force him to, in big shudder-y orgasms that leave him convulsing and weak.

It’s so bad he’s coined the term ‘orange balls’ for the opposite of sexual frustration. But there’s a dirty little trick I have hidden up my sleeve.

You see, Wildcard loves non-con. He’s not the sort of guy you degrade and reject. I’ve made no secret he’s a decorative- my sex slave not my domestic help (or my wimpy source of income like a weird porn cliche). So as long as he has no choice I can make him get horny. He has no control- I can use him how I see fit.

Of course you know limits and safewords and yadda, yadda. We take care of all that mutual loving respect stuff just dandy. And then… he’s a toy I get to torment on my terms. And I adore seeing him come as much as I like edging him. So he begs. And he pleads “Please don’t make me come! Stop! Stop!” and sometimes I just don’t listen.

Sometimes I use him with my cunt, forcing him rock hard- he’s always a bit to big for me- even when I’m wet onto my thighs it’s a tight squeeze. But I like it that way and I like how he simply can’t control himself inside me. Sometimes I use my mouth, letting my tongue and nerve rich lips enjoy him while he has to keep his arms out of the way and all he can do is plead.

But much of the time my hand ends up around his cock. Sometimes still slippery from my mouth, sometimes slicked with a palm full of sweet almond oil, so I can make it last.

The head of his cock gets so tender, even touching it makes him gasp. And night after night for the last week I play, sometimes taking my hand away at just the right moment while he struggles to compose himself and his cock pulses- often he’s tough and fights for control, the first few times just getting to the edge. But I don’t just use my mouth to suck and lick. All those dirty thoughts and fantasies you guys enjoy reading come out, coaxing him into squirting all over his thighs with my words alone.

And sometimes, when he’s finally too sensitive to take much more, I bear down and I squeeze with my hand, forcing a real orgasm out of him, even as he pleads for it to stop.

He thinks one of these nights I’m going to milk him so much he comes dust.