Tied Up and Used

I’m addicted to his cock now

Photo by Artem Labunsky on Unsplash

There is this guy, Dylan, who has been staring at me, trying to talk to me since his first day at college. He is a Freshman and I’m a senior year student, I’ll graduate this year. What I want right now is a long-term relationship with an older guy who’d support my dreams. And even though Dylan is cute and smart, I thought he was not the guy for me. I used to think he was soft. That was the problem.

I like to be wrecked. And he didn’t look like someone who could wreck a girl, not in the way I needed. He had this sweet, low-key energy, all gentle nods and respectful space. He is the type of guy who apologizes if your hands touch accidentally. He is too polite, too patient, too… nice to ruin me.

So I ignored him for three months. I knew he liked me. That was kinda obvious, but I filed him away under “not my type” and moved on.

Until one night, I had this dream. In the dream, I was naked, blindfolded, and tied to his bedpost.

God, the dream, it still makes me wet just talking about it.

It came out of nowhere. I went to bed alone, the way I always do, a little wine in my system, a half-hearted scroll through TikTok, and then lights out. I remember tossing, turning, something buzzing under the surface. And then he was there.

He was not soft, not sweet, not sorry.

I was on my back, my hands were tied, my eyes were blindfolded, (could he really do that?) but I could feel him climbing over me, straddling my chest like he owned me. None of us spoke a word for a second, just his heavy, dangerous, and immersed presence was what I felt.

When he finally spoke, his voice was very calm and quiet, like we were discussing dinner plans.

“You can’t look. You can smell. That’s it. And if you touch, it’s over.”

He said it like he knew I would break the rule, as if that was the game. But the piece of cloth he used to blindfold me had loosened slightly, and through the gap beneath my eye, I could see a bit of his room, dimly lit with a red glow.

I saw him wearing these ridiculous pale pink panties. The kind that I would have found stupid under different circumstances or maybe in waking life. But actually, it didn’t look that stupid on him. Not with his scent right there, soaked in the fabric, pressed against my face. I could smell him. His warm, earthy smell mixed with a little sweat and a lot of hunger. It lit something up inside me. It made me primitive and desperate.

I remember fighting myself, muscles tensing against the ropes. I wanted to bury my face between his thighs and inhale until my lungs collapsed. He kept teasing me, grinding, lifting himself to let his lascivious scent drift, and then dropping back down, cutting me off. Same thing over and over.

Tease. Stop. Tease. Stop.

But all I could do was whimper.

There was this music playing. Something low, bass-heavy, vibrating through my ears. I couldn’t see anything that clearly, but I could feel and hear the sound and scent and the warm, slow friction of fabric against my mouth. My whole body was on fire.

He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear, and whispered, “Look at you. Fucking pathetic. Just breathing me in like a good little slut.”

I whimpered, my wrists pulling instinctively against the ropes.

“You’re not allowed to touch,” he said, dragging the fabric slowly across my lips. “Not yet. I want you ruined by want before you even earn me.”

His voice was low, intentional, and it slipped under my skin and stayed there, not moving. “You’re going to ache for me. You’re going to beg. You’re going to thank me for making you wait.”

Then softer, crueler, “Don’t even think about coming. That’s not yours to take. Not until I say.”

He slid the edge of his panties that were still warm and damp from his sweat, up to my cheek like a reward I hadn’t yet earned. Then he leaned in and kissed my temple, deceptively soft, before sinking his teeth into the side of my neck. Hard. Possessive. It was painfully delightful.

I gasped, my hips bucking.

“Be a good girl,” he growled against my skin. “Stay needy. Stay empty. That’s the way I like you.”

But my body betrayed me, it didn’t listen to what he said because I was already shaking, panting, my pussy dripping with desire, completely his — and he hadn’t even touched me yet.

Every time I bucked my hips or let out a moan that cracked through the silence, he’d pull back, still straddling my chest, and laugh.

“You’re not even close to breaking yet,” he murmured, circling my nipple with a single fingertip through my bra. “You’re just starting to beg.”

Then, when he licked my nipple with the tip of his tongue and gave it a slight nibble, I arched, desperate to grind against something. The ropes burned at my wrists, and the blindfold turned everything into heat and noise and scent.

“Please,” I finally rasped.

He leaned closer, the soft cotton of his panties brushing my mouth again, and said, “You think begging gets you anything? You don’t even sound wrecked yet.”

Then he grabbed my hair and tilted my head back.

“Open your mouth.”

I obeyed instantly, panting.

He lowered himself until the soaked gusset was just barely brushing my tongue.

“Taste it? Good. That’s all you get for now.”

My whole body trembled.

He ran his fingers along the edge of my underwear, slipping just under the fabric, but not enough to satisfy. Every time I got close, every little moan that threatened to tip me over, he stopped.

“You’re gonna come,” he whispered, “but only when your brain’s nothing but static. When you’re destroyed. When you’re sobbing for it. Not before.”

I knew he meant it. He was evil like that. He backed off every time I neared the edge. Let me simmer. Cool. Burn again. Until I didn’t know where I ended and he began again.

He made me beg with words, with sounds, and with everything I had.

And when I finally held out long enough — when I bit down hard on my own moans and didn’t come without permission — he sounded almost proud.

“Good girl,” he said.

He let me taste him. He slipped down those pink panties and took out his long, throbbing dick from underneath. I didn’t expect him to be that huge, but my expectations were ruined once I found my mouth full of his meat.

I gagged at the reflex as he untied my hands and positioned himself on top of me. His mouth found my aching pussy, already dripping with desire. The flat of his tongue slapped the soft curves of my honey pot, and the tip teased along my slit — so close, but never quite enough to give me release.

I whimpered around his cock, sucking harder as I took him deeper into my mouth, desperate to distract myself from the delicious torture below. I gagged again, cupping his saliva-slick balls in my hands.

I felt him take my lips into his mouth, sucking them with wet, slurping sounds, his head moving side to side in contrast to the steady up-and-down rhythm of mine as I sucked him harder.

I felt myself close to coming as he entered his fingers inside me, two in my pussy, and one in my ass, and flicked my pussy walls with his tongue. I let go of his cock and let out a resounding moan as I felt myself getting close, but Dylan knew it; he knew that I was gonna cum, so he withdrew his attention from my hungry holes, and told me to ride him raw.

“Please!” I cried, “Let me cum. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please let me cum.”

“You want to cum? Then cum in my dick, you cum-loving slut!”

Of course, I did it like my life depended on it — I desperately needed a release. I put myself on top of him, his dick sliding easily between my inner lips, the delicious friction instantly sending me to paradise. My nails dragged down his chest, my teeth sank into his neck, and my hips ground against him until I finally snapped, screaming, crying, my whole body shuddering with pleasure.

I woke up moaning, with my hand between my legs, sweaty, my whole body was shaking, gasping his name into the darkness of the room.

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

And I thought that was the end of it. A weird fluke. Some subconscious glitch that slipped through the cracks. Embarrassing, but I thought I’d forget about it soon.

Until he looked at me the next day on our college campus, and that too, not in the usual shy way. Not giving his usual soft smile. He just looked at me like he knew what I dreamed about, what he did to me, and how good I felt when he was devouring me whole.

Sensing my nervousness, he approached, giving me the same smirk that he gave me in my dream — so casual it nearly killed me —

“I tied you up. Your whole body was shaking with lust. You begged me to let you come. I remember everything, Amber..”

I gulped down my own saliva, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I managed to say, suddenly scared that it was not a dream that I had had last night.

And if it was, he probably dreamed of it too. We both had the same dream.

He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t act so innocent, now. I know you. You smelled me, didn’t you? You were so good for me.”

His voice was so deep and seductive, I almost came in the hallway.

We didn’t talk for a week after that. I avoided him like the plague. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, though. I replayed the dream in my head every night, every time I was in the shower, and in every quiet moment. That dream played on a loop. And I came each time, touching myself the way he did, whispering the things he said to me.

He was in control, he was cruel, he was evil, he wrecked me, and I felt myself obsessing over him no matter how hard I tried to suppress it.

And now every time I saw him around the campus, I couldn’t look at him without remembering the scent of his panties pressed to my face, the taste of his approval, the heat of him under my nails, the way his long, hard, my saliva-slick dick felt inside me when I rode him ravenously.

Last night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted him more than ever. I sent him a text with three words.

“Can we talk?”

“Meet me after college tomorrow. D.”

The next day after college, we decided to meet at his place. When we found each other after class, we didn’t exchange any words, only looks, the looks conveyed everything we were feeling inside, everything that we knew about each other, and everything that we wished to do to each other.

Dylan asked me to follow him. He didn’t say a word — he spoke with his eyes. I slipped into his sleek convertible car, and he drove me to his place in silence. His hand slid under my skirt, carrying a delicious conversation with my already-soaked panties, and I moaned softly into the open sky, my head tipping back.

Once I was in his room, I undressed myself, standing there in my black sheer lingerie in front of his hungry eyes and wicked smile.

“Tie me up,” I heard myself say.

And just like that, the dream came true, and I could feel my body shaking with multiple waves of orgasm, with his dick buried deep in my honeypot.

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