This was a test piece for my series Queer Sex Diaries, writing in which I recount recent sexual escapades with my partner Buster. We both consent to be eroticized by readers in this specific space, so feel free to leave a comment to let me know if you enjoyed this piece!

(Content Notes: consensual power play, choking, smacking, orgasm denial.)

Last night my boy was a very good boy.

They wanted an orgasm, so we settled in bed and got out the wand, which they held firmly against their dick while I played with them. I choked them lightly, but they restrained their own breathing anyway; whenever I removed my hand from their throat, they’d suck in big gulps of air, hoarse and grateful. I wish I could have kept choking them properly the entire time, but I didn’t want to limit my hand use.

They arched their chest into my hands when I gripped their tits and kneaded. They moaned “your mouth feels good” when I bit and sucked at their nipples. Truthfully, they weren’t all good: they whined a little every time I decided to move away to do something else – though maybe that was out of fear for what I might get up to instead.

They know me so well.

I made them turn up the wand even though I know from experience that it’s perfectly fine on its first two settings. They knew this was coming – I never really let them stay comfortable – but the fitful little whine they made when I told them to turn it up made me wet. When I slid my fingers over their inner labia, they were wet too, and swollen – exactly how I like them. At one point, I fed them some of their come, and they sucked my fingers like maybe they thought it was mine. My boy is a greedy boy.

I would have loved to push my fingers into their cunt, but I nicked them with my nails the last time I fucked them (we were trying out a new plug, the biggest they’ve ever taken, and I got too enthusiastic while listening to their pleased mewls) so their pussy needs a break. I knew this isn’t their fault, but I ached with how badly I wanted to fuck them, so I decided instead to take away the wand when they got close to coming.

“Tell me you love me,” I told them, and then I smacked them across the vulva. Every time they whimpered it out, I smacked them again. I let them put the wand back in place after, knowing they’d be hot and oversensitive – and it was almost an adequate replacement for forcing their cunt wide around the top of my hand. Almost.

I made them put their free arm beneath their back, keeping their chest raised for me to play with. I love to squeeze their tits. I also love to leave bite marks, which I took my time doing, sucking a pretty bruise on the underside of one breast so they’d feel it beneath their bra the next day. I sometimes stopped to scratch and smack at their thighs or drag my hand over their belly, reminding them that every inch of their skin belongs to me, to mark however I may want.

Twice more, I brought them to the edge of orgasm and made them tell me they were about to come, their strained whines and trembling thighs showing me just how badly they wanted to keep it a secret. Both times I made them take the wand away so I could smack them. Both times they cringed in anticipation of their pleasure being taken and replaced with pain, but they did as they were told, because they’re my good boy and they know they’ll get to come. I’ve never taken an orgasm away from them completely.

Which, now that I’m thinking about it, is kind of a shame…

Hmm.

When I finally did allow it, I reached down to pin the wand against them, asking if they’d like to come again. I already knew the answer, I just wanted a little bit more from them, a few more of their agonized whimpers as they writhed under the distressingly intense vibrations. I didn’t make them beg for long before I stopped.

They had been, after all, a very good boy.

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