Anniemc, age 46
Heterosexual
Celibate
Separated
Children
Associate's degree
Nurse
Ohio, USA
I enjoy fantasies about submission to a 'daddy' male – male domination/female submission themes – a take-charge man with a willing female partner. I enjoy male control of female sexuality by means of bondage, discipline or demands, with the male being committed to the female (of course!) and caring for her outside the bedroom too. The best sex I ever had was when my husband held my arms down and sucked, pinched and bit my nipples, when he forced my legs apart and spanked my pussy, when he played at being my daddy. We never went far enough with this, but I loved it when we did. He would sometimes gently fuck my face with his cock; if it got too rough and I wasn't aroused it was awful, but the few times I was turned on and he slowly thrust I loved it. I wish I could go back and tell him how much I loved these acts of sex. It's too late now. The opportunity is long past, and I now realise what I had but lost thanks to not communicating my desires to my husband. We rarely spoke of desires. We both lost out. Before we divorce (for the second time I might add) I think I will just tell him my desires. Really, what do I have to lose? Only my pride – and he isn't likely to embarrass me over my desires.
I will just ramble on with ideas that usually occur in my daydreams. I realise this is a fantasy, so these situations will likely never occur in real time. Ahh, but my heart desires . . . Any- way, I daydream about a male with power, a sound mind, strong body and universal knowledge. He sees me for what and who I am. He is accepting. He doesn't speak falsehoods about my body, but he does find things to praise about it. He overlooks cellulite, less than ideal muscle tone. He likes touching my body everywhere. He teaches me how to please him, he guides me so I learn how best to give him what he needs. His cock is large enough to fill my large pussy. He takes the time to give me orgasms (as I am slow to peak). He binds my smallish breasts so they swell. He bites, sucks, pinches, spanks, clamps my nipples. He will tease and love me with gentleness as well. Our sex is not always rough and painful. He pets, slaps, spanks, sucks, licks, bites my pussy and clit. He talks to me using crude, specific, graphic and descriptive words. He knows female sexuality is very brain-based – he exploits this knowledge to the max with me. He will at times drive my desire to a fever pitch, just to leave me pulsing with desire but without release. He takes the time to train me to take his cock down my throat, up my ass, to take a beating with a belt when needed, to take the enema he gives me, to suck off his friend if he so desires it. I learn to love and accept it all. I learn to love my tongue up his asshole. I learn to hold my orgasm until he permits me to come. I crave his touch as he craves mine. He finds joy, peace, contentment and satisfaction with me as I do with him. I don't call him Master, but at times Sir or Daddy are the names I use (depending on the situation). I think about being exposed to someone while my man is having sex with me. I think about bondage. I think about vibrators, plugs, paddles, no costumes other than bras.
Risky Business
Crystal, age 25
Bisexual
Single, moderately sexually active
Children
A levels
Student
Wales, UK
I fantasise several times a day. I like to fantasise about 'rape', bondage, restraints, humiliation and group sex (where I'm used by several men, unable to escape or stop them). I discovered BDSM about a year ago and kind of 'grew into' my sexuality. It had always been there, I'd just never known why or understood why I liked certain things (like sex with clothes on, a struggle, blindfolds, etc.). I'm turned on by people in control, filthy language when I'm aroused, dominance. I have written my fantasy as a short story.
Her breath quickened as she heard him pace around the bed where she was laid, wrists bound together and above her head, legs tied apart, one to each bedpost, and blindfolded. She could hardly move; so tight was the rope that even the slightest pull on it chafed her skin. The only way to keep it from hurting was to remain perfectly still. She had no idea how long she'd been lying there.
The footsteps paused at the foot of the bed, where her skirt had been bunched up to her knees to allow her ankles to be bound. She was acutely aware of how vulnerable she felt, not even sure whether her knickers were exposed to him. She shivered.
'Nervous?'
She jumped a little at his voice, unused to the noise; it had been silent forever. She nodded her head, knowing full well that her voice would fail her if she tried to speak.
'Thirsty?'
Again she nodded. She heard the footsteps approach her left side, heard the chink of the glass on the bedside table, and almost immediately felt the straw being pushed into the corner of her mouth. She sipped on the iced water gratefully, feeling her throat calm as the cool liquid washed over it. She nodded when she'd had enough and he removed the straw and replaced the glass.
'Thank you,' she croaked, unsure whether it was arousal or fear that cracked her voice so.
'Good girl.'
She felt something drag softly across the top of her thigh, moving down slowly to her knee, down her shin, down to her foot. She remained silent as he repeated this in reverse on the other leg, starting at her foot, up her shin, over her kneecap, up her thigh . . . she felt him encounter the hem of her skirt and she tensed up momentarily before calming herself, remembering that she trusted him. He continued tracing his finger across her skin, moving under the skirt and upwards . . .
She could hardly keep from gasping as his finger met the crease at the top of her leg, trailing the line of her black cotton underwear. Gently, so gently, he touched her through her knickers, feeling her dampness through them. He murmured his appreciation before leaning in towards her core and inhaling deeply. She baulked, suddenly feeling very helpless and exposed. He stopped dead where he was, waiting for her to relax, but she couldn't. Having someone that close was too intimate – it was way past her comfort zone. Her breathing became shallow; she would tell you it was panic but her cunt would disagree, becoming wetter and hotter with every passing second that his face remained in its proximity.
He smiled. He loved that he could still make her feel so defenceless, so ashamed, so apprehensive. He exhaled a long hot breath directly onto her pussy, making her moan involuntarily and writhe against her restraints. She hated that she wanted him this much. Hated and loved it.
Suddenly, he was gone. Disappointment coursed through her but, determined not to show it, she bit her lower lip and remained silent. Unfortunately, biting her lip was a betraying sign – he already knew how aroused she was. And how very frustrated.
Silence. She strained to hear him, but could no longer work out where he was, arousal having disorientated her senses further. From nowhere she felt the cold scratch of metal across her collarbone. She froze, half afraid and half aroused. She felt him move inside her blouse and slice upwards, heard the slash as the flimsy material tore and fell to either side of her chest, felt the cool air on her skin . . .
The knife (she assumed it was a knife, anyway) was on her skin again, playfully drawing circles across her cleavage before finally dipping inside her bra and again slicing upwards, freeing her breasts from their restraints as it fell away. She shivered, but wasn't cold. It was the blade, now resting on her erect nipple. She realised she was holding her breath.
'Are you afraid yet, little one?' he teased.
She didn't respond, knowing that any motion would jiggle the knife. She just lay there, naked from the waist up, blade at her nipple, her cunt becoming more soaked by the second. God, she needed this.
She felt the warmth of skin, his hand she thought, on her knee. The knife hadn't moved. He moved his hand upwards, dragging his fingertips along the insides of her thighs. She moaned and couldn't help rotating her hips as he approached where she needed him most.
'Now, now, slut, you know you shouldn't move while I'm holding this nea
r to you,' he scolded, tapping the knife against her breast and removing his hand from her thigh. She whimpered. 'Would you like to try again?'
He didn't wait for an answer, just replaced both the icy metal blade to her nipple and his soft warm hand on the inside of her knee. This time he moved his hand up slowly, deliberately, and yet she remained still. He stopped millimetres from her, feeling the heat from her aching cunt already. He knew how badly she needed to come, but he wasn't about to give it away that easily. Not just yet.
Her breathing slowed as she regained control of herself. The knife vanished from her breast, leaving her free to inhale deeply. As she did so, she felt her skirt being lifted and pulled around her waist, leaving her in just her underwear. She immediately flushed with embarrassment, knowing that she was drenched and that he would now see it, too. She pulled her wrists vainly against the bonds, trying to stop him from moving himself down between her legs. He smirked and pos itioned himself between her thighs, face close to her crotch again. He made a show of breathing in deeply, savouring her scent as well as her shame. He knew how difficult she found this, and was slightly surprised that she'd not called amber yet. Still, learning not to question a good thing, he scratched the knife against the side of her now-soaked knickers.
'I think we should take these off. You've drenched them – they're not really fit to wear any more.'
She blushed scarlet, humiliated at his words and reddening further as she accepted that he was right. He sliced them away in one swift move, and pulled them from under her ass. He threw them at her, landing them on her face, much to her shame. She tried to shake them off but the cool of the knife against the inside of her thigh stopped her in her tracks. She lay there, feeling him inches from her pussy, her drenched pants draped over her face, forced to breathe in her own scent. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye.
He extended a finger and traced the outline of her perfectly smooth pussy, waxed that day, as ordered. It was soaking.
'You really are a dirty little bitch, aren't you? This cunt is absolutely drenched. I wonder, is that because you're enjoying your own scent? The scent of your aroused, open, aching pussy? Tell me . . . is it?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Good girl.'
She sighed, desperately frustrated and highly aroused. He got up and removed the underwear from her face, moving them close to his face and breathing in deeply once more before discarding them. He lowered himself until his mouth was right by her ear and, as he started to whisper exactly how he planned to make use of her sodden cunt and hungry ass, he began touching her nipples, circling around them before kneading the whole breast. He assured her that he would make the very best use of his slut before the night was out. She whimpered again, crying now with frustration and utter lust.
'Something you want, slut?'
'Oh, God, I want you, please, fill me, please, I need you, I need something inside me . . .' she begged.
He knew she was in a state – she never begged. Ever. He moved around, putting his face close to her again, making his intentions blatantly clear. She didn't even object, despite finding oral too intimate to be comfortable usually. He smiled. This is what he loved about dominance – the ability to change someone's reactions.
He leaned forwards and planted a kiss right on her clit, sucking it into his mouth gently as he slowly pushed two fingers inside her pussy. She grunted immediately and tried to push her hips up into his face, but the restraints prevented too much movement. He released her clit and started licking in long delicate strokes up and down, before returning to it and circling it softly with the flat of his tongue. He removed his fingers from her dripping cunt momentarily before jamming them brutally back inside her, adding a third, and thrusting repeatedly against her G-spot as his tongue continued licking and suckling at her clit. He could tell she was close – she'd been on the brink for what felt like hours.
Her stomach started tensing and she recognised the almost-discomfort of impending orgasm. He moved his head up and jabbed at her insides faster, furiously, until she groaned loudly and started to shake, orgasm now inevitable. With a final few thrusts he plunged his fingers deep inside her as she came so hard she actually released fluid, and moaned so loudly she even startled herself. She shuddered as he relaxed his touch, the thrusts becoming light strokes now, more to comfort than to arouse. She wept openly as he finally removed his fingers and offered them to her to clean She licked and sucked until she could no longer taste any of herself on him. He cradled her and smoothed her hair, telling her she'd done so well coming that hard and that he was so proud of her. She settled, the tears soon replaced with words of adoration and gratitude.
'Good girl. God, I love making you come like that.'
She was rarely comfortable to let go like that; she'd gushed maybe twice in her life. She was instantly embarrassed and began to fret, but being bound there wasn't a great deal she could do about it. He climbed off her and stood at the foot of the bed again, staring right up at her.
'Oh, my God, you should see the mess you made. God, that's horny. You're fucking soaking, slut. Your thighs are drenched, your cunt is open and hungry . . . I will need to fuck it soon I think.'
Even though she was still in the throes of her orgasm, she felt her cunt clench as he spoke. She had never wanted anyone quite this much.
'Oh, God . . . please . . .' she cried, 'Please fuck me. I need you inside me, please?'
'We are impatient, aren't we, slut?'
She felt him at her feet, her ankles, but couldn't make out what he was doing. It was only once he'd undone the second one that she realised she was free. She thanked him immediately, but should have known that it was never that simple with him.
'On your knees, fuckslut. Face on the mattress. Arse in the air.'
It was the most degrading position for her, she hated it. So exposed, so open, just ready to be used. She turned herself over, the wrist restraints being flexible enough to turn around even if they didn't let her move away much. She pulled herself up onto her knees with difficulty, knowing that he was watching and enjoying the spectacle, more so knowing how embarrassed she was. She lay, arms outstretched in front of her, face down, arse up in the air, and waited.
'Good girl,' he said finally, before she felt him touch her dripping cunt again.
To her shame, she felt moisture dribble down the insides of her thighs, and she flushed crimson knowing that he, too, could see it. He scooped some up and smeared it over her arsehole, slowly massaging her puckered hole until she was relaxed enough to accept his finger as it probed inside her. To her shame, she found herself grunting and pushing back on him.
'You dirty, filthy little bitch. You want me to fuck your arse!' he exclaimed, unable to hide the elation in his voice.
She whimpered in reply, pushing her face harder into the pillow as he continued his invasion. Finally she felt him withdraw his fingers – she wasn't sure if she was relieved or not, but she felt desperately empty. He rubbed his cock all around her drenched cunt, smearing it in her abundant juices before holding it steady at her tight opening. And then he just stopped. She moaned in frustration, but still he remained frozen. Calmly, eventually, she heard his voice.
'Beg for it, little one. Beg for your Master to use his slut's arse. Beg to come with my cock inside you. Make it convincing and I might allow you to . . .'
'Oh, God, please . . . I need you . . . I need to come, please, please fuck my arse, Master, let me feel you inside me . . .'
She was still pleading when she felt the first thrust as he plunged his cock deep inside her hot tight arse. She whimpered in pain, and then in pleasure, then in pain again; she hated not knowing whether she loved something or whether she hated it. He fucked her slowly, speeding up just when she started to panic and slowing down just when she started to come. She tried to move a hand down to touch her cunt but the restraints prevented any movement. She cried out in frustration before feeling his fingers there, the pads of his fingertips tapping gently
over her engorged and throbbing clit.
'Come for me, slut. Come with me buried in your arse. Come for your Master.'
Her orgasm had already taken hold, and she contracted violently around nothing, the emptiness in her cunt only emphasising the contractions in her arse. Feeling her spasm around his rock-hard cock was too much, and he began spilling his seed deep into her bowels. He grunted into her ear as he came, called her a dirty fucking bitch, telling her he loved her, that he owned her, that she belonged to him. Her own orgasm was still rife, and, with these words and the feeling of him spurting jets of hot come into her, she came again, tearfully sobbing as her body reached its limit.
Finally, after forever, they collapsed onto the bed, him still inside her and both their bodies racked with sweat, come and tears. He slithered out of her arse, and they soon fell fast asleep with his come dribbling slowly out of her. It was her favourite way to sleep.
J B, age 30
Homosexual
Single, moderately sexually active
No children
College degree
Occupation unknown
Arizona, USA
I would like to have six women at once (one on each hand, one on each foot, one on my mouth, one giving me head) while underwater. This is obviously a fantasy because of a human need for air.
Maggie, age 18
Heterosexual
Virgin
High School student
Ohio, USA
When I was young (er, I'm not old now), I was very closedminded. Everything offended me, especially bondage, which was ironic considering my idol for both my confidence and my body was Bettie Page. When I discovered she was popular for her bondage work (naive, much?) I was a little disturbed, but I started to become more accepting. If Bettie did it, then it must not be as evil/weird as I'd been led to think. Then, a few years ago, I saw the movie Secretary and found myself distressingly turned on. So I started poking around the internet, reading related books (Story of O, Venus in Furs; I avoided, and still do, Sade, because I find him tasteless), and finding whatever movies I could on the subject. I went from missionary, vanilla, maybe a few strawberries thrown in for good measure, to chains, whips and leather in a matter of months. Now anything with a touch of domination to it is enough to get me a little hot. Maybe it's the alpha male in the vampire romance book, or maybe it's the possessive lover in the vanilla ones. Movies, too, that reference bondage or D/s, are huge turn-ons. And leather clothes, of course!
The New Black Lace Book of Women's Sexual Fantasies Page 20
