I walk in on him wanking, that’s how this fantasy starts. I’ve just got out of the shower, hair tousled and body lotioned so it’s nice and smooth with a slight slippery residue that makes everything shine. I open the door to the living room with half-formed notions of asking him to touch my tits to warm me up. Maybe invite him to come to the bedroom with me, roll around naked on the big bed in all that post-shower softness. But he’s already masturbating when I go in: hunched over on the sofa beating at his dick like it’s urgent that he drains out all the spunk.
In reality, he’d probably stop if I were to walk in on him like this. Go all shamefaced and rush to put his dick away, because even though he knows it isn’t bad to wank, there’s an inbuilt defence mechanism – if he gets ‘caught’ doing it, he instinctively stops, no matter how enthusiastic I am to ‘catch’ him in that private moment. But this is fantasy, not reality, so in this dream world he does not stop. He clocks that I’m there but refuses to acknowledge my presence initially. Just continues to stare at the big screen playing porn (the more hardcore, the better) and grip his dick tight as he rubs it with rapid strokes.
I stand and watch, naked at the doorway, nipples hard in the chilly air. Mesmerised by the sight of him touching himself with such vigour.
After a while, he decides to notice me. Slows a little in his relentless wanking and turns his face to me, with half-closed eyes that say ‘God I need to come’, and a voice that croaks with desperation.
“Get over here,” he says. Then nods towards the porn on the TV: “This isn’t working. I need to use you.”
I walk over to where he’s sitting on the sofa. And while I do that he turns his gaze back to the screen. Continues touching himself like I am not there, as I arrange my body how I think he’d like it best: face down, ass up, directly in front of him. Back arched and head propped on my forearms so I can watch the porn too, of course, because I like to listen to the shuffling of him stroking his cock behind me. I want to understand which parts of the scene best turn him on.
His only acknowledgement of my presence is to open his legs a little wider so I can position myself directly between them. Easy access, so if he decides to shift forward in his seat he can slide his cock straight into the aching wet hole of my cunt.
Or my ass.
Both are positioned perfectly for ease of entry, crushed temptingly between my thighs and ready to be used.
He doesn’t choose to use me yet, though. Not for fucking, at any rate. The sight of him wanking has already got me dripping wet, and he starts by scooping some of the telltale droplets from my cunt up with his spare hand, then tasting them. Smacking his lips like he’s appraising the flavour.
The fantasy here is not about whether he uses me or how, it’s mostly focused on the squirmingly desperate sensation of waiting for him to decide. Of wanting to be used, but being unsure exactly how that will happen because he’s so casual about the prospect. He’s horny and he wants to come, but he isn’t driven by a desire for me so much as a desire to just do things that feel great on his dick. Being given the time and permission to select from a range of options.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, then, that the next part of this fantasy involves him shifting forward, putting the head of his cock into my cunt, and sliding it all the way in with a satisfied grunt… before withdrawing to get back to the wank.
Maybe he murmurs “Let’s lube this cock up a little” before he does it, like he’s talking to himself. I am not there, I am just an object. And lube-dispenser is exactly the kind of object I get off on being.
He dips his fingers in a few more times too. Tasting, or perhaps continuing to use that wetness to get his dick a little more slippery. The final time he does this, he uses those slick fingers to trace a circle round the entrance to my ass. Offering ‘hmmm’s of casual curiosity, like he’s weighing up the value of fucking me there instead.
Decisions, decisions. Assessing every possibility.
All the while he’s continuing the wank. Building himself up at points so I think he’s about to come, and sometimes I’m hoping he’ll spray it all over my arse and cunt. Rubbing thick ropes of spunk into my burning skin, maybe pushing some inside one or both of my holes as he does it – like I’m no more than a receptacle for his trash. But just as I start to squirm with excitement that I’m going to get this reward, he slows down again. Maybe skips forward or backwards in the porn to get to a point that makes his dick throb.
And then continues.
By this point my cunt is aching to be fucked, though I know that as an object I don’t get a say in the outcome. I can hope, and wish, and dream, but ultimately all I can do is stay as still as possible and wait for him to make his eventual choice.
As I say, this is what’s hot. The tone of this is all about imagining him considering his options. Decisions, decisions. Ass or cunt. Come on her, or inside? Finish the wank, or start a fuck? Fuck her fully, or just use her as a handy place in which to dump this load?
To help him assess, he pulls slick-wet fingers out of my cunt and pushes one experimentally into my ass. Grunts softly, in a way that makes me wonder if that’s pleasure or disapproval. Am I getting fucked like this, or did he decide it wouldn’t be worth the hassle?
I watch the porn on the screen for clues – maybe if one of the people in that gets fucked in the ass it’ll seal my fate. If something more cunt-focused happens, then that’s what he’ll do. Except really, it’s hard to predict what will happen in his head – that’s part of the joy of this. The casual, experimental fingers exploring both holes can only give hints about what he wants. The rest is up to me to imagine and hope for.
I hear his shuffling speed up behind me as he pushes his finger nice and deep into my ass. I hear his breathing become more rapid, feel him shifting on the sofa to move forward.
My whole body tenses in anticipation as I wonder: cunt, ass or dumping ground for spunk? Will he come in me or on me? How will it feel as he slides it in? Or will he decide to just spray it all over me instead?
This piece is a fantasy. At the moment I have no one to walk in on while they’re masturbating – naked or otherwise. But the beauty of that (I have to try and see the beauty in that) is that where and how he comes can all depend on my own imagination. This time it’s my ass – one stroke, lubed up with the quim from my cunt – nice and deep and tight so I can feel every twitch as his dick starts to pump it.
Later tonight when I roll out this fantasy again, I might choose to have him come all over me instead. Making a point of painting the outer lips of my cunt with his cum, of aiming a shot or two directly at each hole so he can rub it in and around for bonus humiliation.
And now I’ve given this fantasy to you, I guess you can choose too. The hottest thing about this one, to me, is not the act of being used itself but the way he goes about assessing and weighing up options.
Decisions, decisions.
To be the subject of those decisions, with no knowledge or control over which way he’ll lean, is what gives this particular lustful dream its intensity. I do usually add an ending when I wank about it, but even when the cum shot hits the part I’m zooming in on in my mind is not where he comes or how, it’s the way he made his choice.
Grunts of approval for my ass, or ‘hmm’s of appraisal as he tasted my cunt. Curious gazes flicked between the porn and my holes as he made his choice.
Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.