The New Black Lace Book of Women's Sexual Fantasies (25 page)

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 near 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.'