I was thinking about my vaginismus over the weekend, and found this erotica piece half-finished in my drafts folder. The idea of a dominant, particularly one in a nurturing, care-giving role in our dynamic, helping me use dilators to help me work on putting things inside my vagina is hot, especially they also use orgasm control to motivate me.
Content note for consensual non-consent play, Daddy kink, and a character with vaginismus.
I love it when he holds me like this, pinning me tightly to the bed with a hand on my throat. A hand that tightens as the fingers on my clit move faster, teasing me closer and closer to orgasm. I’m not allowed come without permission, so I look up at him with pleading eyes and choke out the words.
“Please can I come, Daddy?”
He pretends to consider my request without stopping playing with me. “Hmm, do you think you’ve earned it, Bunny?”
“Yes. Yes I do. Please can I come, Daddy?”
“I don’t think you have little one. You’re so cute when you’re all squirmy like this and I don’t think you’re asking properly.”
His words are taunting and he rubs my clit harder, in the quick circles I love so much. I writhe underneath him and try to gather my thoughts – which are scattered and drowning in my own sticky arousal – so I can use the right words to beg.
“Please may I come Daddy?”
The word is sharp, and he takes his hand away. My own instinctively creep down, to finish the job and appease the ache between my legs, but that is not allowed either. He pins my hands above my head.
“You ignored your most important task, and you thought you’d got away with it too, didn’t you? I was going to give you a beating that you wouldn’t forget in a hurry, but you’d probably just like that, wouldn’t you? Such a little slut for marks. Instead, you aren’t going to have another orgasm until I say you can.”
I pout, and he grins sadistically at me.
“Actually, that’s too easy. You’re not going to have an orgasm until you can take that dilator you promised me, and you’re going to come with it inside you.”
My face screws up in pain and my legs try to close, but he moves quickly and there is suddenly uncompromising pressure on my thighs.
“Dad-dy…” I whine, drawing the second syllable out, but his expression doesn’t change.
“Want me to do it now? You’re dripping on to my sheets like a little slut, I’m sure the little one would slip inside you really easily right now…”
I shake my head desperately, struggling to free my hands and close my legs. His grip only gets tighter, making me struggle more. I hate how his teasing, the threat that he might just do it, just force me to push through the pain right-fucking-now, is so hot. I hate how it makes my cunt wet, and I hate how he knows that.
“Such a slut, so wet and eager for your orgasm. Want me to do it now, little girl? I know you want something inside you, and I shouldn’t be so patient with you. I should fuck you with my cock right now, hard and fast and ignoring your pathetic little cries. It would hurt you but it would feel so good to me. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”
He puts the forefinger of his other hand against the entrance to my cunt – not pushing in but with enough pressure that I can feel it. Enough pressure that it hurts and makes me hold my breath. Will he really push inside me?
“Want me to do it, little girl?”
I can’t close my eyes or breath or even think as he looks down at me. I plead with my eyes, with my half-open mouth, but I don’t know what I’m begging him to do any more. The moment stretches out and I imagine him stretching me out. Part of me really, really wants it, even though I know it will hurt.
And if I’m not going to be allowed another orgasm until I can get something inside me, I should maybe get it over with, right?
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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.