I don’t realize how heavy my sigh is, how slumped my shoulders are. It’s been a long week and I’m grateful to not have plans on a Friday night. I’m glad to be in pajamas at 7pm with my feet tucked under his thighs, curled into the couch, idly scrolling through photos on my phone. I’m comfortable but I’m not content; I’m restless and it’s showing.

Whats the matter? His voice is generous, he sets down his phone and puts his hand on my thigh. I meet his eyes. Nothing’s wrong, just a long week. His fingers knead my thigh and he watches me for a moment. What do you need? I look down, blushing, knowing what he means, what he’s making me say.

I’m fine, just tired.

But what do you need?

I need …


I need you to …

Say it.

I need you to fuck me.

Now ask nicely.

Will you please fuck me like I need you to? Like I need you to, Daddy?

That’s better.

He nods towards the bedroom. I’m suddenly flushed, like full body pins and needles, the sudden awareness of the stress I’m carrying is offset by the anticipation of release and my head swims. I laugh at his nod to the bedroom and dart away but he has me in his hands by the time I’ve crossed the threshold and then my shoulders are pressed to the mattress under his hands and he’s sitting on me, growling and unbuttoning my pajama top, peeling back the soft flannel, pupils dilating in the low light of the bedside lamp.

His head lowers and his face presses into my chest, hands crushing my breasts into his cheeks, rough kisses and rougher beard rasping over and between my breasts. I can hear myself moaning as I press up into his mouth as it finds my taut nipples, I’m breathless and needy all of a sudden and I’m arching into him as his hands grip and yank my pajama bottoms off.


Please what?

He’s sitting up now, between my knees. His hands slide up and down my thighs playfully but his gaze is unrelenting. He’s still fully dressed but he’s stripped me. The implied power imbalance is delicious. I need more of him. I need to give him more of me.

Please what?

Please fuck me?

Should I fuck you with my fingers? Or my cock?

One hand undoes his belt and pulls out his cock. He’s fully hard, twitching and straining. I’m mesmerized as he strokes it before turning his focus back to caressing my thighs, fingers walking, teasing, nearer to the heat between them. They slide in easily. Any form of cat and mouse play makes me almost instantly wet and the way he’s making me wait, making me think about him fucking me, I’m sopping . I’m momentarily bashful that I’m so ready so soon but shame and coyness is lost as soon as he reaches full depth. His palm presses to my mound and he rubs and thrusts greedily. I’m whimpering now, lusting and needy.

Ohhh … you like that, don’t you?

I can feel him grinning, I can hear it in his voice, but my eyes are rolled back as he strums that spot inside, just so. I’m immediately so close to orgasm that I grip his wrist to tap out, I don’t want it to be over.

Say it.

Not yet! Don’t let me cum!

Tell me what you want. Beg me.

Those two little words nearly tip me over the edge. Through gritted teeth, only my heels and shoulders grinding into the bed, writhing as his fingers taunt and tease my dripping cunt, I gasp and beg. His rhythmic fingering and the throbbing pressure inside as he touches me makes me abandon hesitation and beg him to finish me.

Please let me cum! Please? Please, Daddy? Let me cum for you?

Like this? You can’t wait for my cock? You made me so hard.

Before I erupt, his fingers retreat and I catch a few ragged breaths. He’s patiently stroking his cock, watching me. I desperately put my feet on his shoulders and he leans in just enough to run the head of his cock between my lips from bottom to top, the smoothly sculptural underside gliding up over my clit and back. His hips move minimally but the sensation is almost overwhelming. I’m near the edge so quickly again. I’m squirming against his hardness, mewling and writhing.

Oh please … please just make me.

When I’m ready I will.

But I’m ready now!

Keep begging then …

Oh fuck, please!

Suddenly, he’s deep and I’m taking the impact of his thrusts with lusty groans. I can feel his urgency but I know he’ll outlast me. He’s pummeling into me and my body is drinking in every pelvis crushing thud, my deepest flesh bruising as he folds me in half to get just that little bit deeper.

I’m howling with pleasure and I’m a hair’s breadth away from cumming. His gaze is unchanged,  deep, intent and steady. I’m babbling as I near the crest of my orgasm.

Please, please, please, please … please!

Yes. Now. Cum for me.



It tears through me. I can hear my own voice and it’s in that distant, disembodied moment of release that I realise he’s pulled out of me and his cock is in his hand, directing his release onto my clit. Him looking at my cunt and plastering it with his own orgasm is too much and another wave over takes me.

Good girl, give it all to me.

This is the last thing I hear a he untangles our limbs and lays my legs back down on the bed. My head is swimming as the second orgasm subsides and I pull him down onto me, the weight of him is an instant comfort and the tension of the week, the restlessness, is well and truly gone.

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.