The Lesson He Didn’t See Coming [FDom, Orgasm Denial]

Alright, you lot, I’ve got a story that’s been simmering in my mind since last weekend, and I figure it’s time to spill it here. I’m 28, a gym junkie who lives for squats and the Stairmaster, and I’ve got a wardrobe that swings from grown-up scene girl to full-on dungeon queen. Blonde hair, shoulder-length and dyed to perfection, a diamond stud in my right nostril, 1-inch hoops in my ears, and a double helix piercing on both sides. My body’s tight from hours at the gym, with a perky 34C chest, a waist that turns heads, and legs that could crush a watermelon thanks to my squat obsession. But last Saturday? That was when I took control in a way that left my Bumble match reeling. Let me paint the picture for you.

It started with a swipe. His name was Jake, 30, some tech bro with a jawline that promised trouble and a bio that screamed “I’m fun but clueless.” We’d been chatting for a week, flirty texts that hinted at more, but nothing too deep. He suggested coming over for drinks, and I thought, why not? I gave him my address, told him to be there by 8 PM, and left it at that. He had no idea what he was walking into. I spent the afternoon prepping, slipping into my dungeon gear. Thigh-high leather boots that hugged my toned calves, a black bodysuit that clung to every curve with a neckline plunging low enough to tease, and long gloves that stretched up my arms like a second skin. My riding crop rested on the dresser, a silent promise. I checked myself in the mirror, blonde hair falling just right, freckles peeking through, and felt that rush of power I only get when I’m in this mode.

The doorbell rang at 8:02. Jake stood there with a bottle of cheap wine and a grin, wearing a button-up shirt and jeans that did nothing to hide his nerves. “Hey, you look… wow,” he said, eyes widening as he took in the outfit. I smiled, all teeth, and ushered him inside. “Come on in. Drinks can wait. I’ve got something else in mind.” His confusion was adorable, but I didn’t explain. I led him down the hall, my boots clicking against the hardwood, and pushed open the door to the spare bedroom. The dungeon setup greeted him: a sturdy chair in the center, ropes coiled on a table, dim lighting casting shadows. His breath hitched. “Uh, what’s this?” he asked, but I just pointed to the chair. “Sit. Now.”

He hesitated, then obeyed, sinking into the seat. I moved fast, binding his wrists with the ropes, pulling them tight so he couldn’t wiggle free. His ankles went next, secured to the chair legs. He tested the knots, realized he was stuck, and looked up at me with a mix of fear and excitement. “Tay, what are you doing?” I leaned in close, my gloves brushing his cheek, and whispered, “Teaching you a lesson.” Then I stepped back, picked up the riding crop, and let it tap lightly against my palm. His eyes followed every move.

I could see the bulge in his jeans already, and when I unzipped them, his cock sprang free. Seven inches, decently thick, hard as steel. He groaned as I wrapped a gloved hand around it, stroking slowly, watching his face twist with pleasure. “You thought this was going to be a quick hookup, didn’t you?” I said, my voice low and steady. He nodded, panting. “Please, let’s just…” I cut him off with a flick of the crop against his thigh, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to startle. “No talking unless I say so.”

The game was on. I teased him mercilessly, running my fingers along his length, circling the tip until he squirmed. His hips bucked, chasing more, but the ropes held him firm. I added a twist, using my other hand to cup him, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. “You’re doing so well,” I purred, stepping back to admire the way his chest heaved. His cock twitched, a bead of precum glistening, and I knew he was close. That’s when I stopped. Completely. His groan was almost a whine. “Please, Tay, let me…” I tilted my head, crop tapping my chin. “Let you what? Finish? Not yet.”

I circled him, letting the boots click with each step, the sound filling the room. I bent down, my bodysuit stretching tight, and blew a breath across his skin. He shuddered, begging now. “I need you. Please, inside you.” I laughed softly, standing straight. “Oh, no. You don’t get that tonight. This is about me deciding when you get relief.” His eyes widened, desperation creeping in. I resumed the teasing, slower this time, dragging a gloved finger along his shaft, then stopping again when his breathing hitched. Over and over, I brought him to the edge, watching his muscles tense, his pleas grow louder. “Tay, I can’t take it. Please!”

I ignored him, picking up a feather I’d left on the table. I trailed it over his chest, down his stomach, then along his cock, light as a whisper. He thrashed against the ropes, sweat beading on his forehead. “You’re so pretty when you beg,” I said, voice dripping with mock sweetness. I set the feather aside, used my hands again, stroking with purpose until he was trembling, so close I could feel it. Then I stopped, stepping back to watch him fight the frustration. His cock pulsed, needy, but I didn’t touch it. “Not tonight, Jake. Maybe next time, if you’re good.”

He slumped, defeated, muttering curses under his breath. I untied him slowly, letting my gloves brush his skin as a final tease. When he was free, he rubbed his wrists, staring at me like I’d rewritten his world. “You’re insane,” he said, half-laughing, half-shocked. I shrugged, handing him his jeans. “Maybe. But you’ll think twice before assuming anything with me.” He dressed, still dazed, and left with that wine bottle unopened. I locked the door behind him, smiling to myself. The power of denial is a beautiful thing.

So, what do you think? Should I invite him back for round two, maybe push the denial longer? Or bring in a new toy to up the ante? Drop your ideas in my DMs. I’m curious to see where you’d take this, you naughty minds.