{Content Warning: breeding kinks, forced orgasms, name calling.}

Instead of denying you, I could just demand you press that vibe to your clit and come for me, relentlessly until I let you stop.”

Orgasm control is exciting. Someone owning my cunt and having control of my masturbatory orgasms is incredibly hot to me. That control really magnifies my eager to please submissiveness and highlights a calculating and precise style of domination.

The primary mode of control he wields is denial. He expects that I will edge myself and edge myself often. I must tell him when I touch myself and I come only with permission or when he tells me to. He is firm in his resolve and I am afforded few orgasms but each one is better than the last, more devoted, more enriched by his denial.

Today, Sir had other ideas.

Today, Sir decided that I was not to edge mercilessly until I couldn’t bear it. There was no teasing, no working me up into a lather and cooling me off, rinse and repeat. No, no, no. Today he decided that he would show no mercy and force me to make myself orgasm over and over, until he was satisfied.

He pushed me to the edge and hurled me off, forcing me through seven orgasms. I obeyed his every direction and did as he said and it was so blissful and erotic in its intensity. He made me beg, he called me his filthy little bitch, and when I was spent and shaking he told me that he would have fucked me deep and bred me if he could. Sheer ecstasy.

As we debriefed afterwards it became clear that multiple forced orgasms pleased him deeply and that this deliciously sadistic, yet generous, approach would definitely happen again, if not regularly. As I was napping gently, recovering from the brain-melt of seven rapid fire orgasms, I remembered something that made me smile: seven has always been my lucky number.


Violet Fawkes

Violet Fawkes (she/her) is a freelance writer and sex blogger focusing on pleasure education, erotic fiction, and the intersection of identity, kink and mental health.