Is That a Thing? – Forced Orgasms

When I first signed up on Fetlife and filling out my fetish list, I stumbled upon a fetish named ‘Forced Orgasms’. I still remember my initial reaction, I genuinely snort-laughed out loud. It must be a joke right? I didn’t believe that anyone or anything could force me to have an orgasm against my will or intention. Especially for me, I can hardly have an orgasm when I’m not alone, and that’s with me trying my hardest to cum. I had written about my difficulties and challenges concerning the big O, you can read it here.

It surprised the living daylight out of me the first time Sir Atticus and I met and played and He made me cum with His fingers only. I didn’t plan it, I didn’t even attempt to cum, but it came out of nowhere and I found myself asking for permission to cum. It was like a wall of some sort broke during that very first time, it was like my problems with orgasms never existed. I am able to get an orgasm in all the ways I didn’t think possible, like vaginal penetration, anal penetration and fingers. Or even toys, excluding the vibrator. I wouldn’t say that every time Sir makes me cum, I would call it forced. The second time we played, those many times I exploded on my own bathroom floor, those were definitely forced. I have no memory how many times I asked for permission or even if I asked for permission for every orgasm I had, because to me it was just one after another, some smaller, some more intense. The amount of pleasure got to a point where it was too great for me to handle and I broke down, sobbing and incoherent. It was damn near that I didn’t safe out, cos I was pretty sure one more forced orgasm would indeed drive me crazy. But Sir must have sensed that I had had enough so He stopped just in time.

Let’s talk a little bit about these forced orgasms. They feel completely different from the ones I create myself with my favorite vibrator. The ones I create, they have a certain pattern, I have learned to recognize the steady rise of the heat between my legs, the climb. I know the amount of seconds I usually spend on the top, balancing a little while before falling over. And that is me coming. Pretty standard I would say. And orgasms I used to have in vanilla sex, or later even in sessions, they are in the end just like orgasms I create myself. With the exact same pattern. That’s why counting before I cum is not easy but still possible. The orgasms Sir Atticus had given me, the forced ones and the others, none of them follow my pattern. There is no recognizable climb, because the level of arousal I’m constantly in when I’m with Him is so insanely high already. It feels like that from the very beginning, I would already be near the top, and the smallest trigger (the sudden increase of speed, intensity or just something more, like choking coming into play) would push me over the edge. Most of the time without any kind of warning. And the most effective trigger of them all is me asking for permission, sometimes just in case, and getting the permission would be enough to push me over. So far, I had been able to pull it back if I don’t get permission right away or I had to say the alphabets (I know… the motherfucking alphabets). But I know for a fact that one of these days, I wouldn’t be able to pull back and I would just come with or without permission. I wouldn’t be able to stop it. The thought of it is terrifying and arousing at the same time… The thought that Sir is capable of making me lose control, is equally terrifying and arousing at the same time…

Photo courtesy of Fabio Selvatici Artwork, ‘Mirage’

Then let’s talk a little about what forced orgasms mean to me. There are layers of control within me. I’m a passionate person, I dive into things with all I got, but in the midst of all that might seem chaotic, I have a tight control of everything that I do. When I submit, that’s the first layer of control I’m willingly giving up, and that is already a lot to me. The second layer is me, all of me, the girl, the fangirl that is under the submission, and Sir Atticus had that fangirl at Deadpool. By being everything that He is, He broke that second layer easily. Then there is the third layer of the affection-hungry kitten, and all that kitten wants are cuddles and kisses and hugs, she wants someone to genuinely care about her, and for her, not for the submissive. After all those three layers are broken, and my control on all three of them willingly let go, He had me, body, mind and soul. And at the core of it all, I couldn’t do anything else but submit. All of me, in complete submission. At least that is my theory of why He, and only He could truly own my orgasms. Not just controlling when I’m allowed to have my orgasms, He took them from me. My orgasms are no longer mine but His. And that, in my opinion, is what orgasm control really is.