500 Word Friday Femdom Fiction: Pent Up

When they went to the couch, he automatically took a place with his head in her lap, his favourite spot. And her fingers combed through his hair, before setting in a curl that rubbed the sensitive spot at his hairline. In the kitchen, the dishwasher swooshed and squirted, cozy evening noises after dinner.

He was naked, but she was not, and he scrubbed his face happily into the velvety corduroy ribs of her pants. His cock was spending a lot of time erect this week, but the thickness had resolved itself at half mast after dinner’s teasing session.

Under the table, her feet had wandered, bare and squirmy, into his lap and she’d rubbed and teased just enough to get his attention. It was a particular kind of torture because he wasn’t allowed to talk about it. No begging, not even a thank you, not since Monday. It was Sunday now and she’d been keeping him from coming all week long.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done denial games, and even when he was free to touch and rub himself as much as he liked, she loved to find ways to tease him. She knew he loved the look of her in cotton panties, so she was always finding reasons for him to see up her skirt, sliding his hand up there or even, memorably on Thursday night, leaving a pair at the bottom of the lunch she made him for work, neatly ziplocked in their own bag under the snacking cucumber and ham sandwich on rye. And he hadn’t even been allowed to take them into the bathroom and edge himself to almost there. Or even text her the frantic feelings that had popped up as surely as his cock had started shoving against his khakis.

She brought a novel to the couch, but although she opened it to her place from last time, “Hard to believe that it’s been a week, hasn’t it?”

“Mmm?” He pressed his lips together, remembering how firmly she had told him not to comment. She told him she’d liked watching the struggle in his face.

“You may talk about how much you want it.” She laughed, “It’s printed in your eyes. But you know, I almost sort of miss seeing the way you usually grope and touch yourself. So, stand up!”

The instruction was punctuated with a nudge from her thigh, hinting he needed to get off the couch. He was up and in front of her, hands hesitating, his whole posture begging to touch. He hadn’t been allowed to for any reason but hygiene, and since they showered together a lot of the time it meant she’d been taking over even the opportunity for something furtive had turned into another tease from her he had to moan and squirm his way through without saying a word

But now her hands reached out, cupped his balls, balls that had ached to empty, and looped her index finger and thumb around the root of his cock’s shaft. After many months of cohabitation fuelled sex romps, she’d gotten really good, stroking and tugging in ways that could stretch the delicious torture out until his voice was pushed high up out of its normal range in desperation.


She liked the velvety feel of his cock in her hand, liked the man-musk-smell, clean but deep and heady, and loved the slippery precum that beaded up. There’d been a lot of precum this week. Her smile widened, giving that little wrists twist that she knew he liked, letting the hood of his foreskin slide, slippery against the head of his cock.

“Miss! Miss! Please! Miss!” He was getting increasingly more incoherent, no longer able to keep his knees unbent.

“That’s it, kneel down, slut,” she said with mean-affection wrapping her voice into a purr. To get closer to her work, she was off the couch now, novel somewhere on the floor. “Go on, come for me!”

The hoarse burst of a thank you marked the end of coherence, as her hand tightened just enough to drive him over the edge and past the point of no return.

Hot cum, pent up, milky, half clear and half opaque, in glistening ropes shot up. It struck her chin and startled, she did react more than to turn her head as the second pulse landed half on the corner of her mouth and half above it. She laughed.

“Come kiss me, slut.”


Cum tastes kinda like baking soda.

Sorry, that’s the non-erotic truth. Porn (especially cartoons, which have a lot of artistic licence)  generally go in for creamy, squirted cum shots like it had the consistency of slightly diluted dish soap, a couple of gallons at a time… Often it is things like soap when you see it in real person porn, and actors speak ruefully of getting a mouthful of Cetaphil more often than they’d like. Real life? Not so much.

I like semen. On me, on him.

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Wait And Touch (Stockings)

I asked, to a free drawing prompt: “How about a gentleman in the process of pulling off a stocking of the leg of an indulgent woman with his mouth, while his arms are bound?”

He waited with his head dipped, about a foot or two from the widest sweep of the door’s path, so it could swing open (unlocked) without running the edge into his bare feet or bashing the corner into him. He was folded over into something resembling a collapsed Z, knees bent, head down, sort of meditating with his back to the door, feeling the uneven hardwood boards, where they had buckled and warped from a few century of tenants, and not seeing much, courtesy of the blindfold.

It was one of those kink shop deals, with the dark leather look, and a careful shape to stop any light to come pouring in around the edges. He owned a hood, much better for sensory deprivation, but this was a gift from her. For now, he was tucked up small, listening fro the noises of the building. In the about thirty minutes since he had parked himself, naked but for undershorts and with his arms held behind his back as if by invisible ropes, he’s gotten familiar with the little creaks and thumps of a weekend afternoon.

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