On Dick Pics

It’s not for everybody, I know. Some people just don’t need or want to see your bits and pieces other than when you’re getting down to business, and some people don’t want their junk committed to the memory of their Samsung Galaxy.
Some girls like to be sent photos of your cock – and they will always let you know if this is the case.

This isn’t a cry to start taking arty shots if either person in a sex-based situation isn’t entirely up for it. You do you.

There is a belief amongst some people that if a woman expresses a positive interest in sex (even if that sex explicitly does not involve a penis), there are men who are sure that what these women really want is cock; they remember that they have a cock, and they pass on badly-taken photographs of that cock, patting themselves on the back because they have ‘cracked what women want’.

These men are incredulous when we are disgusted, when we ask them what the fuck they’re playing at.

Conversely you can be the quietest, modestest, bible-studying femme on Twitter and still some arsehole will show you his junk because…. Oh I dunno, they think their penis is the one true cock to turn you into the rampant erotomachine you were born to be?

Continue reading

Advertisements

Photo Finish

He’d never taken a dick pic before, or so he said.

Me, I scoffed.

“Unlikely. Not even to check for lumps and bumps, assess a decent shave job?”
He seemed offended that I asked. The only millennial who had not got to grips with phallic photography. Incredible.

I changed tack.

“May I see it, please?”
“Why?” He replied, cagily.

“I like dicks. I like you.. Stands to reason I might like whatever you’re packing in those boxers. You don’t have to say yes, obviously. But the idea of your cock turns me on.”
And I left it at that for a few days whilst he percolated his answer.

Continue reading

Night Bus

You already knew I loved being filmed and photographed; watching back on clips of myself being violated or made love to makes me wet, almost instantaneously. I love the weekends when, if I’m good, you set me up at the computer and make me watch them without touching myself – sometimes you even tie my wrists behind my back so I can’t, whilst you edit the best bits and then email them to your colleagues as a reminder of just how good I am. Just enough of my face to see the come dribbling down over my lips. Unrecognisable at office functions in my grown up dresses and cocktails and mild political views.

There was one evening. I replay it a lot when I’m alone. There were only minutes, a brief meeting in wintry darkness, midnight in a cab rank. Me leaving a team building works night out, you leave a gig.

We agreed to meet before we travelled home. You stood with your hands in my pockets, pinning me in place, drawing my thick winter coat around us as we kissed and I worked my knickers down as surreptitiously as possible and as soon as my cunt was bare one of your hands was reaching out, teasing me.

Continue reading

Gone to Earth

“Let’s go for a walk,” he had said.

“It’s cold.” I protested.

He looked at me evenly.

“And?”

He laced me into my boots. bare legs, a summer dress that was too small. No bra. No knickers. My breasts threatened to escape. I didn’t protest further. “Go and put on your parka.” he ordered.

I was stood by the front door when he came back, dressed warmly.

“Don’t you look adorable? Let’s go.” He held out his hand and lead me out into the street, and into the car. There were grey clouds gathering in the sky.

“It’s going to rain.” I said, looking out of the window.

“That doesn’t matter.”

We drove for over an hour. Halfway through, as the roads became narrower, the scenery greener, he put his hand on my thigh and pushed the material of my skirt up to my waist, lingering briefly at my cunt.

“You’re wet.” he said approvingly.

Some minutes later, he slowed the car and parked up.

“Here we are. Time for some fresh air.”

Continue reading

If

If you were here, Sir, and you were wearing your suit, I would kneel. I would ask you if I could have your cock. If you thought I was good, you would present your engorged cock through your flies. I would work the spit up on my tongue and lick the head first.

You’d push on the back of my head so I took more of you in my mouth. You want me to choke on you, prove that I need your cock more than air.

I’d take more, working my tongue as much as I could, one of my hands on the shaft but the other travelling between my thighs without permission because I’m so wet just at the feeling of you in my mouth, at hearing your voice

You know I’m doing it and you let me feel how wet I am before you grab my hair and make me choke more as punishment, calling me a filthy, wet slut.

I was dressed when you came in, as punishment you remove your cock from my hungry mouth and you strip me, taking off my dress, my underwear, everything until I’m naked. Before you can even continue face fucking me, you bend me over the sofa and I know what’s coming and the sting of your belt makes me yelp

Ten strokes

Bruises

I deserve it

Continue reading

Hold me, Thrill Me, Kiss me

The cuffs were her birthday gift, so in a twisted way it was appropriate that the first time they used them was during another person’s birthday party. His father’s.

The first instruction came as she bared the nape of her neck so he could fasten her necklace.

“At 11pm you’ll go to the bathroom, remove your knickers, and give them to me. If I’m busy, you will wait with them in your hands until I take them.”
She nodded, committing this to memory as she turned to face him and straighten his tie.
“And then, when all the guests have gone and we are all alone, we’re going to take off that pretty dress, and cuff you to the bed, and I’m going to eat that wet, desperate cunt of yours.”
She blushed crimson, the first of many pretty blushes that night.
“Yes Sir.” She said in a small voice.
“That’s my girl.” He took her arm and they made their way downstairs.

Of course, he tormented her that evening. Putting his arm around her he would palm that exact spot on her back which made her melt; trace his finger along the creases of her palm and she would try to hold it together in front of his aunts and uncles. Simple, unobtrusive gestures which no one could possibly think were turning her insides to jelly. His mother served kir royale, and he whispered “Who’s my wet little slut?” into his girl’s ear when passing the glasses round.

Continue reading

Game Face

In honour of today being derby day in Liverpool

***

I take it upon myself to be match day servant.
During the warm ups and pre-analysis I start lunch, and bring drinks. Sometimes I glance up at the screen.
“Are you winning?”
“No.” He frowns
At half time I rest my head in his lap and he absent mindedly strokes my hair but still distracted.
“I hope you win.” I say into his stomach
“Go and check on the pizza.” he replies, gently pushing me.

From the kitchen all I hear is the dull hum of the crowd, punctuated by his subdued yet anguished cries, and swearing.
When I come back in, all is quiet. My customary brief look at score gives an explanation;  2-0 down.

I look at him. He’s still frowning. He knows it’s only a game. Only it isn’t, it’s something binding him to his brothers, his father, no matter how far away they are from one another.
I look back at the screen, then back at my love, bereft.

Continue reading

Birthday Call

It’s his brother’s birthday. No gifts to exchange, but a phone call. A ritual of fraternal love which must be obeyed.

The TV is on and I’m half watching it, half idling on my phone with one hand on his thigh, proprietary. He smiles at me, and I slide over, cuddling up, my face against his shoulder as he dials.

The call connects and without a single gesture to me, he begins to unbutton his flies, easing his cock out and stroking it almost without thought. I watch, mesmerised, and here is my hand on his thigh again, creeping closer to his shuttling fingers.

I reach out to touch him as his cock hardens but he pushes my fingers away, and as he commiserates on football woes, his hand is now on my shoulder, my cheek is soft against the rigidity of his thigh, his cock is in my mouth and he’s stroking my hair as the football chat drones on above my head.

He’s hard now, I’m using my hand to guide his erection further and further into my mouth, expanding in my throat and his hand is on the back of my head, holding me in place as I begin to gasp and struggle and he takes the phone away from his mouth just long enough to whisper “Shhhhhhhh. Don’t make a sound.”

I could be naughty and use my hand and my tongue and make him moan and what a happy birthday that would be. The sound of him exhaling slowly through his nose as he gently fucks my throat is tantalising; I wonder how it sounds to the caller.

“She’s fine. She’s just relaxing at the moment.”

I do feel oddly relaxed; he’s moved his hand a little so he can fuck me harder and I can breathe through my mouth if I want to. I reach over with my free hand and wave in the general direction of the handset.

“She says Hi.”

“Habby Buthhhhday!” I enunciate with difficulty and something in my tongue forming the ‘th’ makes his hips jerk violently. I take this as permission to use the free hand on his heavy, straining balls even though it probably isn’t and the only thing I hear is the phone dropping to the floor with a hurried “Bye” before both of his hands are gripping my face, he’s using me violently now and muttering how I’m naughty and filthy and couldn’t help myself and as he comes down my throat without warning I’m so contented it might as well be my birthday and I swallow my gift down gratefully.

***

 

Masturbation-Monday-badge-1

 

Pool

I had a dream last night. This is a version of it.

I’m lying on my stomach in the shallow end of the pool. It’s barely a pool really, it’s a complex – a simulated beach with a funfair thrown on top, I am hidden far away but still the screams of children hurtling along the chutes and slides above my head filters through. It is hardly peaceful here.

Still, I am alone. I am serene. I half-know what is going to happen as I lie in the gentle waves, pert bum sticking out of the water, breasts thrusts out of my two piece swimming costume. As I am thinking about this, They arrive. Two men, the handsome, gregarious, laddy type. Thick around the neck and upper body, they approach me, talking amongst themselves but looking over again and again.

“Look at those tits.” one says, talking at me, not to me. He has dark hair. There are noises of agreement.

Continue reading

Fuck You [Redacted]

That there are, at this very moment, molecules of me in your atmosphere, makes me laugh.

If you reach into your handbag, sitting innocently on the passenger seat, you are within millimetres of me, of my cunt. Of the time I sat, dripping wet and writhing with anxious arousal, with my bare backside nestled neatly next to him as he drove us home. This I know, but you do not.

Continue reading