A grad student gets some unexpected help with her paper.
It’s Friday night, and I’m on a hot date with my laptop. Sitting alone at my kitchen table, I’m tapping away at the keys like a madwoman between sips of crisp white wine. The topic I’ve chosen both scares and fascinates me, so I have a lot to say. At this rate, I’ll have no trouble hitting the deadline.
This week’s paper is on the practice of forced orgasms — particularly women who enjoy being forced to orgasm by their male partners while actively trying not to.
The concept had always seemed bizarre yet fascinating to me. I didn’t know why a woman participating in consensual sexual play would want to actively try not to orgasm despite a partner’s determination to make her come, either through vaginal, anal, or clitoral stimulation — and often with the help of a strong vibrator. Where was the motivation there?
As a self-professed feminist and independent woman who worked her ass off to support herself through college and then grad school, I often struggled with the seemingly contradictory nature of submissive fantasies. My curiosity about the meaning behind these types of sexual desires eventually led me to my area of study. The plan was to earn my psychology degree so that I could eventually practice as a licensed sex therapist.
And the more I learned about sexuality, the more I wondered: Can a woman who got off on relinquishing control of herself to a man call herself a feminist? That would be the main focus of my essay.
Some of the women I’d read about in studies loved to be brought to involuntary orgasm while bound in physical restraints. They cited that the added feeling of helplessness, of being deprived the ability to control the onset, intensity, and number of climaxes, intensified their pleasure intensely.
As I write, I text Ethan bits and pieces of my findings. We’ve been seeing each other for almost a year, and he loves hearing about my work. But I’d yet to confess to him my own feelings about our sexual relationship— that I’d like us to explore more…adventurous things. I’m not sure how to initiate my desires, or even what, exactly, my desires are. I sure as hell knew how to write about it, though.
Two hours into my paper, there’s a knock at the kitchen door. My lips curl up in a grin. I know exactly who it is, and I welcome the distraction.
I’m not wearing much — just a black camisole top and tiny gray silk shorts — so I lift the curtain to double check, not at all surprised by the face I see.
When I open the door, Ethan’s eyes drink me in, from the top of my curly brown hair to the toes of my bare feet. He’s Ubered here after a few happy hour drinks with the boys, and I can tell just by looking that he’s nice and tipsy. His tie is loose, the sleeves of his white button-up are rolled to his elbows, and there’s mischief in his dark brown eyes.
Before he’s even walked through the doorway, Ethan’s on me. His fingertips dig into my hips while his lips find my neck, kissing the spot just below my ear. I feel his cock through his gray slacks as he presses his groin against mine; it’s already starting to get hard.
“I thought we could do a little research,” he says. “You know, for your paper.”
“Oh you did, did you?” I manage to ask. I’m breathing fast, already turned on by the feel of his crotch rubbing my clit through my silky pajama shorts.
“You’ve been purposely turning me on all day with your writing, Eva, and you know it.” His lips brush my ear as he speaks, his deep voice sending a delicious chill down my spine.
I step back and let him in, shutting the door behind us. I’m definitely up for a little bit of research.
An hour later, I find myself sprawled on top of the kitchen table, my wrists and ankles bound to each table leg with the majority of my scarf collection. I’m topless, wearing nothing but my neon pink panties. They are lace, with a tiny silver heart charm sewn into the center of the thin waistband.
My table isn’t long enough for the entire length of my body, so Ethan positioned me with my knees bent over the edge, my thighs spread wide. He’s wrapped two long scarves around my calves and ankles multiple times, so there is zero slack. I couldn’t close my legs if I wanted to.
My arms are stretched above my head, the nipples of my full breasts pointing toward the ceiling and my back slightly arched.
In my limited sexual experience, it’s the first time I’ve trusted a man enough to give him complete control, and from the look of Ethan’s beaming smile, he’s enjoying himself as he checks his handiwork.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he says.
I tilt my head and attempt to shrug, lifting my shoulders as best I can in the position I’m in.
“I feel…a little uncomfortable,” I admit.
“Look at you, Eva. You are incredibly sexy.” He glides his hand over each of my breasts, brushing the palm of his hand against my nipples until they grow hard.
“I’m more cold than turned on,” I say, despite the tingling sensation his nipple play is sending between my thighs. “And this table’s not exactly relaxing.”
What I don’t tell him is that I feel self-conscious being so completely exposed and on display. I’m nervous, too. I know I’m safe with Ethan, but I really prefer to be in control. My favorite thing to do is to ride his cock, spreading my legs wide and controlling the speed and depth of our thrusting, grinding my clit against his pelvis until I come to a shuddering orgasm.
He walks to the fridge, takes out the opened bottle of white wine, and brings it to the table. “You’re pretty cocky, thinking you’re going to win our little bet,” he says.
I smile broadly, my grin devious. “I know I can control myself, especially when I’m all trussed up like this. It’ll be easy enough.”
“You’re the smartest woman I know,” he says, taking a sip from my wine glass. “And you’re also the most stubborn. But in this case, your overconfidence will be your downfall.”
He chuckles as I roll my eyes. Ethan thinks he can force me to come while I’m bound in under five minutes. The idea is laughable, so I’ve accepted his bet. If I can’t guide his hand, tongue, or dick to just the right spot, he doesn’t stand a chance. And even if I do start to feel the urge to come, I’m certain I can control those muscles by the sheer act of willpower. If I simply lie here and don’t tense up, I’ll keep the orgasm at bay.
He takes his phone out and sets the timer, showing me it’s at the five-minute mark. He then sets it on the kitchen counter and taps the screen to start it.
The first thing he goes for surprises me. It’s the wine bottle. He dribbles a small amount between my breasts and I suck in a short breath at the freezing sensation. He quickly warms my skin, however, his tongue trailing along my skin from my rib cage to my neck as he licks it up.
Next, he takes a sip from the wine glass and hovers over me, his lips half an inch above my left nipple. He lets the wine fall from his pursed lips, then quickly laps it right back up, swirling his tongue around and sucking the hardened bud like it’s the sweetest fruit he’s ever tasted. He cups my other breast in his hand, takes another drink, and does the same maneuver, dribbling the crisp wine over my pink, taut tip. This time though, he squeezes my breast and flicks my nipple over and over again with his tongue.
I pull against the restraints on my wrist as my pelvis tilts ever so slightly, shifting upward of its own accord. His lips smile around my nipple, still in his mouth. He takes it in his teeth and bites gently before pulling away.
“For a man with five minutes, you are spending an awful lot of time on foreplay,” I whisper, my breath coming quicker.
He places a finger over my mouth. “Shhh. It’s all part of the plan.”
His hand slips inside my underwear, and we both know he’s made me wet when he glides two fingers easily inside me. A small moan escapes my lips, and I look away, doing my best to ignore the pleasure of his fingers buried deep in my cunt. I may not be able to control my arousal, but I can certainly control my ability to orgasm — I’m sure of it.
He wastes no time pumping his fingers in and out of me several times, then removes them. Lubricated with my juices, he slides them up my slit, then begins slowly massaging my clitoris.
My breath catches, and he leans down to kiss me. He forces my lips open and massages my tongue with his in the same rhythm that he’s stroking my clit. Again, my hips lift involuntarily, craving more pressure, more friction. I moan in frustration, and he chuckles deep in his throat as he continues kissing me.
He rubs me harder inside my panties, turning up the speed. Not only that — he also starts playing with my nipples with his free hand, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger.
He’s working my mouth, my nipples, and my clit simultaneously, and the multiple sensations elicit electric currents of pleasure that jolt down my belly and to the center of my core. I moan again and try to clamp my legs closed, try to stop the pleasure slowly building, but of course, the binds keep me from doing that.
As much as it goes against every basic instinct, I force my hips to still, will the muscles in my vagina to unclench. I usually bring myself over the edge by tensing and tightening pretty much every muscle in my body — especially the ones between my legs. When I force myself to completely relax, the sensations are still there, but their effect seems slightly muffled. I’m still riding the waves of pleasure, but they aren’t building as quickly.
I can do this, I think, cheering myself on. It’s maybe been three minutes, three and a half. I know I can last.
Suddenly, he stops rubbing my clitoris. Stops kissing me and fondling my breasts. He takes the delicate lace of my underwear in both his hands and rips the material right off my body.
I yelp, surprised by the unexpected aggression. Surprised, but not at all turned off. Quite the opposite, to my annoyance.
He responds by taking the bottle of wine and pouring the chilled liquid directly onto my clit. He allows a generous amount to trickle on my exposed mound and I wriggle my hips reflexively. It’s so cold against my labia that it almost hurts, but it’s also glorious.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he says, his words quiet as he thrusts several fingers inside me once again. “I’ll buy you two pairs to make up for it.” He barely gets the words out before his lips are on my clit. He makes his tongue pointy and gives my bud a round of repeated hard flicks. Then he alters the pressure as he flattens his tongue completely and slides it back and forth at a frenzied pace. As he licks, sucks, and swirls the mixture of my juices and the wine over my clitoris, he presses his fingers inside me up against my vaginal wall.
He pulses his fingers up against my G-spot as he tongues my clit furiously, giving it all he’s got. He doesn’t tire or slow down for a single second.
I moan, because I know it’s coming. I’m coming.
“No,” I whisper. “No — nooo.”
But “no” is not our safeword. The word we agreed on is “turquoise.” When he hears that, he will stop and untie me immediately. But I’m not about to fucking say it now…
“I think yes,” Ethan quips, pausing with his tongue while his fingers keep fucking me. His tone is victorious. “You’re about to come. I can feel it.”
And he’s right. He puts his mouth to my clit and milks the last remaining bit of resistance from my body. My inner muscles suddenly tense for a beat, without any effort from me. It’s automatic. It’s unstoppable. And it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.
“No,” I breathe out, just as I’m pushed over the edge.
“Yes,” Ethan mumbles, his mouth full of me.
I close my eyes and want to scream, but I gasp in a silent O as the orgasm courses through me. My inner walls pulse around his fingers, squeezing them. Just as the spasms slow to a stop, the timer goes off.
“It doesn’t matter how quietly you come,” Ethan whispers. “Your pussy gives you away.”
I hear a buzzing sound and open my eyes. Ethan’s holding my small silver bullet vibrator. Apparently, when I let him search my closet for scarves to bind me, he picked up a little something extra.
“I can’t,” I moan. “Not so soon.”
“I think you can.” Ethan’s eyes are bright with challenge. His smile is that of a mad scientist, but these are the terms of the bet we agreed to. If he gets me to come before the five-minute mark, he gets to keep going…
He lowers the rounded silver tip into the wine glass sitting by my hips. I watch, transfixed as the liquid ripples and splashes up the sides. The toy is small yet powerful.
Ethan presses the dripping wet vibe directly to my overly sensitive clit. His pressure is firm, and I moan at the discomfort, bucking my hips. He reads my body language and lets up on my clit, circling the bullet above and gently massaging my clitoral hood. He then traces it down the lips of my vulva and presses it inside my vagina.
I tug at the restraints binding my legs and my hands, not sure I can take another second. Just before I decide to scream turquoise, the sensation somehow slowly crosses from discomfort into pleasure. I’m climbing the precipice once again.
Ethan removes the vibrator from my entrance, and I see it shining with my come and the wine. He slides it upward, pressing again directly on my clitoris. While doing this, he wets the fingertips of his other hand with the wine and gently pinches my nipple. He squeezes then releases the pressure repeatedly, keeping time with the pulsating vibration pattern.
This time, I let my ego take a back seat and run toward my growing climax with open arms. Ethan’s eyes settle on mine, and I don’t look away as I thrust my hips, grinding my cunt against the bullet as much as my binds will allow. He takes the cue and presses down harder. Not two minutes after my first orgasm, I crash into my second with even more ferocity. I shut my eyes tight and scream as bliss hits my body, sending wave after shuddering wave of pleasure from my cunt outward, through my shaking hips and legs.
Somewhere in the background of my mind, I hear the sound of a belt unbuckling. Then a zipper. This second orgasm is longer, more intense, and the waves of pleasure are still racking my limbs when I open my eyes to the sight of Ethan’s hard cock lining up with my entrance.
His enters me in one swift, hard motion, and I cry out in sheer ecstasy as his thickness fills me, stretching out the length of my orgasm even more.
He fucks me hard, pounding me again and again and again — and I shout with each thrust. He suddenly reaches out and clamps a hand over my mouth, muffling my cries, but I continue moaning uncontrollably into his hand.
When I feel the vibrator on my clit again as he continues penetrating me hard and deep, my moans turn to muffled protests. I try to say, “No…don’t…I can’t!”
He doesn’t understand a word I say, but that doesn’t matter. I know he’ll stop if I throw up a peace sign with two of my fingers, because we also agreed on a hand signal should he decide he wants to gag me. My words soon turn to mush, melting into one long, low wail of pleasure.
“See how you love when I control you?” he says, his voice breathy as he pounds me so hard the table shakes. “You love when I take your sweet cunt and force you to come over and over again.”
I push my ass up, meeting each one of his thrusts.
“Don’t come,” he says. “Don’t you dare come.”
I shake my head in protest, barely able to move with his hand crushing my mouth. I’m soaked with my own arousal, and his dick fills me up as he fucks me relentlessly.
For the briefest moment, I deliberately try to resist orgasming, just to see if I can. But the harder I struggle against the urge, the more pleasurable the friction becomes — the more my muscles tighten like a wound-up coil about to spring.
A third orgasm crashes violently through me, and I let out a muffled scream into his hand. He’s forced my body into a glorious climax when I thought I had nothing left, and the spasms deep in my sex are prolonged as he mercilessly rams into me.
Seconds after he’s made me come, he groans loudly as he drains himself inside of me. The feel of his hot liquid filling me makes the muscles between my wet thighs twitch.
He pulls his hand away from my mouth, and I find that my lips are curled up in a smile. I didn’t even know I was smiling.
Ethan smiles back, then lowers his forehead to my stomach as he catches his breath. After his breathing slows, he kisses my belly button and looks up at me.
“Wow. That was certainly the hottest fucking sex I’ve ever had in my life.”
I giggle, nearly delirious as I slowly come back down from the high. “I think…I have to agree with your assessment.”
“Have I managed to help you with your research?” he asks.
“I’m thinking that having an open-minded attitude towards sexual exploration is inherently feminist,” I say. “Obviously.”
He bursts out laughing, and I join in. Still inside me, the movements of our laughter spark another delicious ache of desire in my core.
“Now untie me,” I say. “I’d like to see how it works from the male perspective.”
Ethan raises an eyebrow, then grins and nods his approval.
