Smut Saturdays #4: The Orgasm That Made Me Cry

Every fourth Saturday, I’ll be posting erotica I’ve written, based loosely on my own real life experiences or fantasies, for your wanking enjoyment. If you’ve got any feedback or requests, put ’em in the comments or hit me up on Twitter @KinkyAutistic!

It was meant to be a quick one. It was a reward for dragging my greasy, depressed self into the shower – my Doxy wand pressed against my clit, wiggling against it until I came once, or maybe twice. I had asked for a bribe when my Daddy had ordered me to shower, and he had (naturally) suggested an inexpensive, easily-obtained orgasm.

It all started simply enough. I lay on my side with the head of my wand wedged between my legs, my hair still damp and my skin smelling of citrusy shower gel. My Daddy acted as my big spoon, alternating between fiddling with my nipples and changing my wand’s intensity whilst murmuring filth into my ear. I humped my wand lazily, wandering towards orgasm, and asked permission in a whisper, in my ‘little’ voice.

“Daddy, can I – can I –?”

The word ‘cum’ wouldn’t leave my lips. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but it was no problem – my Daddy growled into my ear, “Let it happen, baby. Go on, cum for Daddy.”

My toes curled as all the tension in my lower abdomen was eked out of me by the spasming in my cunt. I shook a little, and whimpered, and curled in on myself. It was good.

My Daddy pointedly refrained from pulling the wand away from my clit, and I didn’t have my wits about me nearly enough to move it on my own. I whined, writhing, and tried to form the words, “It’s too intense,” but my brain was soup. My words weren’t coming.

Until I blurted out, “I’m too small.”

It came out a little pathetic, somewhat pleading, but it wasn’t a safeword or anything resembling one so my Daddy didn’t move the vibe. “You’re teeny,” he whispered. “You’re safe. Daddy’s here.”

I felt safe. I knew logically I was safe. But I also felt psychologically tiny, and somewhat worried that the intensity of the sensation in my clit would rip my body in two. It almost burned. I squirmed, and pushed at the handle of my wand, and managed to roll onto my back.

“Too small,” I said again, in my soft, high-pitched little voice. “Daddy…”

He pulled the wand away from my bits but didn’t turn it off. I heard, more than felt, him kissing my damp hair, and he reached down the side of the bed.

“Would you like your metal toy?” he asked, one of his seemingly huge hands finding the box.

I sort of shrugged. I didn’t want to concede that I knew what he meant. I didn’t want to be someone ‘big’ enough, wise enough, worldly enough to know what a dildo was, let alone want one (and especially let alone spend my own money on one, or several…). My Daddy, knowing the look in my eye and the spread of my legs well enough to judge my receptiveness, opened the box up and held the curved rod of metal out towards me.

I held it close to my chest and examined its shininess as he found my silicone lube and slathered his right hand with it. I pretended not to understand what the lube meant, too. I was deeply in little space – my elaborate performance of vulnerability was turning into real vulnerability. I was unphased by my own nudity and all the things I usually disliked about my body. I lay on the bed with my boobs squished under my arms, still studying the toy I’d been given, warming its steel surface with my hands.

Daddy had shifted so that he was sitting next to my legs, one arm hooked over my thigh, lubed-up hand hovering near my clit. He glanced at me again to check I was still onboard (I was) and then his fingertips made contact with my clit.

For someone who regularly beats me up, chokes me and makes me bleed, my Daddy is capable of being otherworldly gentle when he wants to be. He stroked gently up and down the full length of my vulva, starting at my clitoral hood and sliding his wet fingers all the way down to just above my anus. I twitched every time he made contact with the head of my clit itself, still able to feel my heartbeat in it after that first orgasm. When he was satisfied that I was relaxed enough, or that his fingers were soaked enough, or maybe just that I was sufficiently desperate, he sunk one thick finger into my cunt.

I sighed, my eyes flicking between his adoring expression and his disappearing finger. Still feeling infinitesimally small, I frowned at his hand between my legs. “Where’s it going?” I asked, as though I didn’t know full well. “What’s inside there?”

My metal dildo still rested in my hands, on my chest.

“It’s just you,” Daddy said simply, starting to fuck me a little more firmly with his finger. “It’s just… your parts. Is it nice?”

“Mhmm,” I managed, trying to suppress the ache for more.

He must have known somehow, because he pushed a second finger into me. “Is this still nice?”

“It hurts a little,” I gasped, which was not untrue. I have some connective tissue problems which make tearing a regular concern, for one, and my cunt was still swollen and incredibly sensitive from cumming just minutes ago. “But it’s good.” That wasn’t untrue either. His fingers were stroking my G spot, which he knew full well, and bringing me near to wanting to cum again, which I’m sure he knew too.

He slid his fingers out after some slow but deliberate fingerfucking, and, ignoring how soaked his hand was with lube and my wetness, held out his hand for my metal toy. “Give that to Daddy,” he instructed, and I did.

He took the time to line it up perfectly with my hole, so it just sank in effortlessly. I couldn’t keep a low moan from slipping out. He held it still for a moment, and it took me a moment to realise why – with his other hand, he was finding my Doxy. When had he turned it off? Where had he left it? I stopped thinking about the logistics as soon as he pressed its head, buzzing again, against my clit.

I took it from him and shifted it so that it was making contact more with my clitoral hood than my clit itself, otherwise I might have screamed. This way, the vibrations were pleasantly diffused, and I could focus on my Daddy starting to rock the toy in my cunt back and forth, back and forth. He’d found my A spot with more ease than I could have done myself, and he was massaging it like it was a knot in my back.

Naturally, it felt so much better than a knot in my back.

“I can’t –” I babbled between moans, “make the noises – ah! – stop – I keep just – oh, Daddy, I –”

“It’s okay, little one, the noises are natural.”

His tone, and his face, and his mastery of my body made me feel so small and so safe. My orgasm was inevitable – like he was drawing it directly out of my cunt. I was powerless. I just watched, and felt, and shook, until it started.

“I’m –” I began, but I never finished. He looked me in the eyes and ordered me to cum, so I did. Hard. For long, long seconds that felt like minutes. It ripped through me, irresistible, enormous, uncontrollable. I just shook and whispered as my Daddy slowed his movements, knowing I was nearing an end.

He smiled at me. Not a condescendingly domly smile (though I love those too), but a heartfelt, gleeful one that lit his eyes up. “That was a big orgasm,” he told me softly, as though I might not have noticed.

“I feel like I’m gonna cry,” and as I said it, tears did start to sting the corners of my eyes, “and I’m not even sure why.”

“It’s okay! Orgasms are big, and intense, and you can cry if you need to.”

It was all the permission I needed. Sobs shook my chest, and tears dripped down my cheeks, and my Daddy eased the dildo out of me and then held me until the crying subsided.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, which nearly started me off again. “You did so well.”

I think maybe part of the reason I started crying was because, after reaching that hugely vulnerable part of my psyche and enjoying it, I was proud of me too.