There is approximately six hundred different ideas for erotica blog posts flying around my head this week, but this one is the one that forced itself out of me and on to paper. (Is that expression still relevant when I do almost all of my writing on a laptop.) This filthy story includes corsets, piss and blow jobs.
He’d told me to be ready when he got there, in my blue jeans, make-up on, and my tits out. I let anticipation build as excited butterflies in my stomach as I did my make-up just the way he likes: easy to smudge and make a mess of me when he’s using me later. Although I didn’t intend to be a bad girl, I got distracted with filthy thoughts about what he might do to me later… and I might have subconsciously misbehaved so I would get spanked.
That’s certainly what he tells me he thinks when he catches me with my knickers around my ankles and fucking myself with a silver-turquoise dildo.
“Such a stupid slut, unable to obey even the simplest instructions.”
I blush, embarrassed that he has caught me touching myself, but also getting even wetter because I know what’s coming next. He pushes me back on my bed and pins me down with a heavy hand on my chest. I struggle, just a little, and am delighted to find that I cannot get away from him.
“You know I have to punish you now, don’t you?”
I nod, and he drops his face to mine. The kiss is quick and light, but it serves its purpose: to tell me that I am loved.
“Over my knee, slut.”
I scramble to obey, but am clearly too slow because he grabs me and pulls me into place. I squeal, off balance with my knickers still around my knees, but he just laughs. I’m expecting a harsh spanking, but instead it seems that he is being playful. The spanks are hard and fast, but they’re accompanied by quick rubs of my butt and squeezes of my tits. He’s groping me, and letting me grind against his knee as hits me.
Then it hits me that this can’t be the punishment.
I’m wiggling and getting wet, and I can feel him getting hard at the sounds I’m making. It hurts, but it’s the kind of pain that gets me off. That means that he has something else planned, and that realisation makes me tense so the next smacks really hurt. He pushes two thick fingers into my cunt, and uses them to fuck me thoroughly until my cunt is clenching on the edge of an orgasm. For a second, I believe he’s going to let me come, and then he pushes me gently off his knee and end up in a heap at his feet.
“Get up, slut, and go to fetch us both a glass of water.”
I start to pull my knickers up once I’m standing, but a stern looks from him stops me. I feel his eyes on me, maybe admiring the redness of my arse, as I walk away. When I get back, he is sitting in the chair at my desk – the one he bent me over before caning me last time he was here. He beckons me, and takes one of the glasses. I stand in front of him, feeling strangely embarrassed.
“You must be thirsty, slut. Have a drink.”
For a second, I look at him in confusion for a minute, but he just stares back, expectantly. I take a sip, peeking up at him, but he only shakes his head.
“Down it all, little slut.”
The man sitting watching me right now has seen me a hundred different kinds of exposed and ashamed, but I feel very vulnerable as I stand in front of him naked and throw my head back to drink down half a pint of water in one gulp.
“All of it,”
I shiver at the command in his voice, and tip my head back to finish the glass.
“Good girl. Now put the glass down and stand up straight.”
I obey, and he walks slowly around me like a hunter circling his prey. I want to remind him about the time he did this while using a crop to correct my posture, but I feel he would just class this as bratty behaviour that will get me in more trouble. It’s hard not to turn around and look when he’s behind me, especially when I hear his footsteps move away from me. He knows making me wait will only make the punishment worse when it comes, especially when I can’t work out what he’s doing.
“You were going to get this as a gift, so I could show off my pretty girl tonight. Instead, you’re going to have it used against you. Turn around.”
He was holding a beautiful corset – like the one I’d looked at longingly on a cute sub when we were out at a kink event a few weeks ago.
“That’s gorgeous,” I tell him.
“So are you, little slut, but tonight I’m going to make you remember that you’re mine.”
He comes closer, and slips the corset around me. I reach down to do up the laces but he bats my hand away.
“Put your hands above your head and keep them there. I’m going to lace you into this nice and tight.”
“Yes sir,” I say, and then wince a little as he pulls it in tighter than I expect.
“Oh, is that pressing on your bladder, slut?”
“Yes sir,” I tell him, and he smirks at me as he pulls it tighter still. He laces me into the corset and steps back, admiring his handiwork: a girl with wetness dripping down her legs and her tits all but slipping out of the too-tight corset.
The too tight corset that makes me painfully aware that I need to pee.
“I think you should drink another glass of water, and then I might tell you what we’re doing tonight.”
I look over at the dressing table, where his still-full glass of water is sitting next to my empty one. I look back at him, but he shakes my head as I open my mouth to tell him no.
“Oh yes, little slut. And all in one go this time, or I’ll hold your nose and pour it down your throat and you won’t like that, will you?”
I turn my back to him, knowing he can still see me in the mirror as I pick up a glass. Closing my eyes, I gulp down the water. He’s smiling at me as I look up at him, as I wiped away a dribble of water and some smudged lipstick.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I need to pee.”
“Good. Now get down on your knees and suck me off like the slut you are.”
I dutifully get down on my knees. His dick is hard, and his hands curl in my hair. With his fingers tangled in my curls, he can control me, use me exactly as he wants to. He fucks my face until my eyes water and drool runs down my chin. And while he uses me, he talks.
“When I’ve finished using you, I think you should have a glass of water, don’t you? I want you bursting and desperate when we go out tonight. And if anyone asks you what’s wrong, you’re going to be honest with them, aren’t you? You’re going to tell them that you’re a horny slut who really needs to pee. You’re not allowed to go to the bathroom without my permission, and when I think you can’t hold it any more, when you’re begging me, I’m going to watch you make yourself come before I let you pee.”
I whine around his dick, and feel it twitch as he comes deep in my throat. He wipes his dick on my face and buttons up his fly, grinning at the sight of his stupid, messy slut on her knees in front of me. He turns to walk away, but stops to look back at me.
“Oh, and slut? You can either redo your make up or put on your jeans – either way, everyone’s going to know what a little slut you are.”
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.
