Making My Submissive Fuck A Fleshlight For Me

Caption: making my submissive fuck a fleshlight for fun.

The Fleshlight is mounted to the glass surface of the desk, in an improvised hold with tape, and I am watching the pink length of my sub’s cock slide into the clear barrel of it. Making my submissive fuck a fleshlight is a mutual fantasy realized from one of my Friday Femdom Fiction stories.

He’s standing to angle a bit up as the height of his desk is ergonomic for typing, not sex. This only adds an extra frisson of sexy for me as to fuck the fleshlight means a struggle.

I am doing this to make him practice fucking for me. Some of this is to make do in the pandemic enforced distance, but I would also do it with him aa well. Today was no frills #SundayWorship, our weekly webcam date, anticipated all week around jobs and volunteering and other adult concerns. The only prop on my side was an old timey pocket watch necklace that sways in my hand while I repeat commands for him to follow. 

That gets him in an already autonomous drone head state, although he was smiling ear to ear when I called him.

As a toy, Fleshlight really goes out of it’s way to market itself with women holding the product. Maybe to make it less lonely or fight the current stigma, a real difference between the vibrators and dildoes for women which make no pretense of being for private masturbation first. It really feels like femdom porn is the only place I have found where I see fleshlights deployed as a couple thing, which is a crying shame.

Because of this stigma, there is an aspect of possible humiliation in what I am doing to him, but it doesn’t feel like I am degrading him. I think it’s fucking hot, all the voyeuristic glee of watching the line of his body undulate to thrust. He’s learning to fuck for me.

It’s so much harder for himthan edging with his hand because the sensations are all new, different, less in his control and he is focusing on a rhythm and also on me and my voice and reactions. Which is a good metaphor for sex: overwhelming and intimate.

That’s the purpose of this operation, other than pure gratification: training him to fuck before we do it for real, so he learns other sensations than the buzz of a vibrators or the excessive firmness of his hand. It isn’t because I think our first time will be crap. I actually want that awkward moment of him learning the intimacy of being inside me and having little idea of what the hell he is doing.

But I also want him to have a degree of readiness, because my objectification isn’t humiliation, it’s programming a prized possession.

The tape creaks and the desk bumps, the lube making a wet sucking sound. I see him get the hang of judging depth quickly, only one mis-thrust that throws him off, and he’s back at it. A good boy. I tell him that, calling him my fucking machine.

After I get him to pump away for a while from standing, I decide to make him change positions and hold the fleshlight so he is first half, than ¾ in and then keep it steady, thrusting up while I watch on camera.

Every time I instruct him to go deeper for me and hilt for me he gives a yelping kind of whimper and we have to take a break, a fact that owes at least a little to his up and down seated thrusts pushing a buttplug I had him fit himself with in and out as he presses back against the chair. I think the other part is the mental connection of being commanded to please me that way is just all too much.

Whike this happens, I am pressing and rubbing my clit in its hood, slick enough my panties are soaked through, black cotton with lace edges. I always dress up for these webcam dates, all stockings with bows and garters, seeing myself as well as him.

Each whimper and abrupt stop after a few strokes is like a mini, pop off orgasm in my chest, something between romantic butterflies and lust.

I look amazing, with my loose dark wavy hair, pale as milk skin and dark eyes. I did my eyes with light wings, and my lips on an almost black purple I know he finds visually compelling. It’s nice to feel powerful from something so simple and natural to my personal style.

He’s naked, but for a collar. He started on pyjamas, which had such a sweet weekend vibe I left him dressed for longer than I usually do. I crave that mix of kinky, raw filth and mundane normal.

Fleshlight had to send the wrong sleeve to make it on time for my birthday last month, but they did manage the clear model I wanted, so this too is letting me see the engulfed outline when he pushes his cock into the toy all the way. I like to imagine what it feels like, with the slick of lube and the soft tightness.

Unlike my cunt, the suction really kicks on the more he fucks it for me. It’s not a perfect pussy replacement, it’s a pussy compliment, a facsimile that puts me to mind of making a stud breed for you.

Some day in the absurdity of double income, no kids, I want a dream dungeon set up so I can auto milk him that way, but for now this is endless edging, over and over, struggling to please.

In all, a good purchase in our collection, and a favourite to use on him. Maybe I will upgrade later to the featureless, no fake orifice sleeve later, but for now, he will fuck this one to please me.

My Property Fills and Sucks At My Command

He’s bent over the table, the largely featureless black dildo well engulfed into his mouth, base steadied with one hand while the other edges himself at my command. Around his waist, straps further anchor an inflatable plug, sitting with a ring set such around the root of his cock and behind his balls that both are delivered up invitingly.

Silver is American and lives somewhere in awkward, but plausible visit distance from my own base in Vancouver. This was perfectly ok for a weekend long visit, until Covid19 happened.

The border has sealed itself to non-essential travel and it is thus months before we can expect to satisfy our mutual yearnings. A global pandemic doesn’t care for young love, much less the kind that stubbornly won’t call him my boyfriend but uses the L word, and professes to own him.

Pretty much from the word go, or honestly beforehand hand, based on his behaviour, he handed control of his orgasms to me. For Silver this has a distinct psychological effect, taking him from a dry sort of delivery of witticisms and reserved fiestiness to a more open and needy state. Both versions blush easy, but Priapus doesn’t have anything on the eager, thick erections a week or two of nothing but edging gives him.

Covid19 nailed both of us at about the same time, despite being apart long enough to have gotten it from separate sources, and what had supposed to be a little interlude ending in an orgasm at the end of March hit a hiccup where lust wasn’t really something either of us was inclined to feel. Now it has passed through and so a game I had started in mid-March got an extension.

He has dutifully banged out over 10k words in the last short span, the price to be set for consideration for an orgasm. I am happy with him.

I told him that regardless of completion of the goal, on Sunday he would be filled up at both ends and edging – I prefer tasks like this, that help improve my property but also aren’t a chance to fail as much as a chance to succeed. In the meantime, after we cleared our respective cases of Covid19 he has been locked in a cycle of getting turned on by me and edging himself silly.

I test him with sadistic talk, asking what if I didn’t let him come until quarantine was lifted? We don’t know when that is, and the border prevents even the least contact until then, so we are already luridly imagining that intense moment. Until then I am using technology to social distance, amused by my governments explicit suggestions that you can still be together, even apart through video chat.

My remote control ravaging of his body is the patriotic thing to do.

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Me and My Webcam

Something…something…performative space… something… self objectification?

So I have been livestreaming daily life activities. Mundane stuff like me doing the dishes or yack-yack-yacking to people about safe anal sex.  Despite my reticence to put up static images, I actually enjoy interacting in this way.

It’s not precisely exhibitionism  because even though I’m under a barrage of sexual attention, it’s stimulating the upstairs not the downstairs, if you get my drift. It’s also rather interesting because I feel like I’m nudging up against the thorny issue of asking for attention.

I want positive attention. I mean, seriously, I wouldn’t be blogging and writing and talking to people if I didn’t adore hearing “Pearl, you’re the coooo0ooolest!” This isn’t even just a gender thing. Sure what I do is gendered, but guys who get attention deal with odd stuff too. But asking for attention has a certain degree of… I don’t know, social hazard?

Celebrity, even wimpy 10 person celebrity, is fun. I get a similar degree of fun being the person who organizes munches. As a nerd, I tend to be the GM in rpgs, or I admit a certain perverse desire to play characters that are different. Not different as in Mary Sue-esque “Oh my family was murdered!!!”  but characters with a reason to interact with people. Often i try to create underpowered character or other people’s villains.

Thing about getting attention is that it’s kinda like the double standard around beauty. You’re not supposed to put exceptional effort to get there because it’s supposed to be an anointed blessing from the gods. On the other hand it is supposed to be a good thing to be attractive, but being able to say “actually I’m kinda hot!” is a social faux pas.

You’re allowed to acknowledge your own cleverness. People polled generally see themselves as being slightly more intelligent than average, regardless of where they land on an IQ spectrum, as well as being a bit nicer than average. But if you say you’re more attractive than average… ouch! Prepare for a world of hurt. People are just as quick to assign people 4/10, would not bang scores as the are to croon at people calling themselves unattractive that they’re the contrary.

My hotness, incidentally seems to be one part context and one part related to the vagaries of how bloated I am and what my adult acne is doing. I can effect it in small part by what I wear and the application of makeup combined with the removal of eyebrows, but other than that…

Mostly I’m trading on nubile-ness, ultra pale skin and personality. Camming seems to have a positive effect on my perception of my looks even if I’m deeply distrusting about the actual nature of what people are perceiving. When I had an OKcupid account I got filed in the top 25%, but I still can’t trust it- I was generally considered “not hot” in other circles.

But give me a room to work and I start feeling more attractive. So there’s a definite push-pull going on there. There’s also a control issue. Which I will try to expand on.

Helen Mirren, of all people, talked about it pretty well

“I’m still trying to wriggle out from under that label. […] Being a sexual object is mortifying and irritating, yet it’s giving you power–an awful power that you’ve done nothing to deserve, a powerless power. I think some young women fall in love with that power, and it’s really objectifying.”

What she’s talking about is how when you put yourself out there to be desired, you’re simultaneously suffused with the ability to draw people in, but it encourages possessiveness on the part of the beholder. I don’t just mean the guys who project submission fantasies onto me, it’s that the attention other people give you is never really in your control.

My approach to camming generally comes with the caveats that I want to be able to limit it. It’s exhibitionism without vulnerability. But even beyond the persistent guy asking me to look at his penis… (and there’s always one without a fetish context) there’s the issue of always watching the crowd as much as they watch you.  As soon as you make yourself visible you need to be more conscious. On the other hand… I over thinka and…