OK so hear me out: ten condom fucks. Fucks which require a large number of condoms. Fucks which start at about 2pm, are interspersed with drinks and chatting and playing Beat Saber and slow-dancing sexily in the middle of the living room. Fucks which ebb and flow between oral, penetration, and naked touching, meaning each time you decide you’re gonna get down to it, you slip on a new condom. Fucks which mean you have to scatter condoms throughout the apartment so there’s always one easily to hand. Ten condom fucks.
Give me your marketing budget, condom manufacturers, and let’s get stuck in.
Condoms are usually sold (in corner shops, at any rate) in packs of three or twelve. Not since I was a broke student have I ever bought a three-pack. It’s just… not enough, is it? Like… let’s say you’re hanging out with a hot person, and you’re definitely going to bang them, you’ll probably want to fuck them at least twice, right? One condom for ‘safety’, in case you mess up putting it on or it splits or something, and you’re left with two measly condoms with which to enjoy however much sex the pair of you have the energy for.
Ten-condom fucks. That’s where it’s at.
Here’s how it goes down: when I arrive at his house, we drink coffee. It’s cold outside and coffee will help warm me up. Next: a shower, for more warmth and the removal of all the sweat I’ve poured out on the cycle ride over. I am both cold and sweaty: fuck winter. Perhaps I’m just procrastinating though, because I have to do something quite tricky today: I have to get a guy who I’ve bareback fucked for the last nine years to feel comfortable switching back to condoms.
Yeah. I know.
It’s not a question of him throwing a tantrum or being grumpy – as soon as I suggest it he says, sadly, “yeah, good point.” And we look at each other for a minute to centre ourselves, and silently acknowledge what this means. I tell him I’ve brought a selection of different condoms so we can choose which ones are best. And I’ve also brought ideas about how to make this really hot.
It’s no lie: I’ve been thinking about it all week.
When I emerge from the bathroom I’m wearing tiny shorts, a black top and no knickers. I bend over the kitchen counter, ostensibly to get my short-sighted eyes closer to the mirror to do my make-up, but really to make sure the shorts stretch tight over my arse, so he’ll see it from the corner of his eye and come over and fuck me.
He sees it, he comes over.
I tell him “touch me. Really gently, I’m doing my eyeliner,” and he does. Runs his hands over the smooth fabric of the shorts, squeezes my arse gently. His dick starts to swell in his pants, and I can see the outline of it in the mirror.
“Now smack it. Gently.”
“Now pull down the shorts. Slowly.”
“Feel how wet this is making me,” I tell him, and he moans slightly as he slides his fingers along the slickness between my legs.
“Put your thumb in my cunt,” I continue. He does. All the while I’m focusing on doing my make-up in the mirror, occasionally making eye contact with him as he explores my clit and cunt. “Now show me your dick.”
He pulls it out, stands slightly to the side so I can see in the mirror just how hard it is. Squeezes it when I tell him to, so I can see how much blood there is flooding to fill the meat of it. I really really want him to slip it in. And before he does that, I need him to slide on a condom. I need him to do it without feeling awkward about the break in the action as one or other of us disappears to pick it up.
“Do you want to fuck me?” He nods. “So go get a condom, bring it back here.”
He does, and he is awkward for a second – his trousers are partway down and retrieving the condom requires some shuffling. He makes a comment about the awkwardness, which I completely ignore. I’ve put down the makeup but maintained position – bent over the kitchen counter, cunt wet and ready, one hand now eagerly rubbing circles around my clit. When he returns, I make eye contact with him, and tell him:
“Put it on, then slide inside me really fucking slowly. Just the head at first, make me want it. Make me squirm for it. Make me fucking feel every inch of it.”
That first time, when we’re fucking, he comes. Just a couple of minutes into the day, after my strict instructions that he fuck me good and hard, enough that the kitchen counter slams against my hips and makes them bruise. He asks “do you want my fucking cum?” and I tell him “yes, fuck yes, please please please.”
One condom. Done. But this ‘one condom’ fuck at the start of our hangout means he’s drained and empty, all ready for nine more goes…
The other nine condoms
For the rest of the day we ebb and flow between fucking, not-fucking and almost-but-not-quite fucking. There’s the bit of the evening where we have drinks and a smoke. Another bit where I kneel down to suck him off, and he decides that what he wants more is to stuff it into my cunt. The bit where we watch old episodes of Taskmaster. Another bit where I express a desire to be fucked firm and slow, while I put the AMO bullet vibe on my clit, so I can close my eyes and concentrate as I come good and hard round his cock. The bit where we play Beat Saber on Oculus and I get annoyed that he’s beaten my high scores. And in between there’s the bit where I ride him on the sofa and partway through he places hands on my hips and tells me “no, don’t move, stop. I don’t want to come just yet.”
The bit where we gather condom packets from around the room, marvelling at how many we’ve managed to get through.
Six condoms. So far.
Sex isn’t all about jizzing
Sometimes I beat myself up for being the kind of person who cares more about a guy’s orgasm than my own. For thinking that sex has to end in spunk in order for me to truly count it as ‘successful.’ But sometimes – like this day – I realise that in practice I don’t actually behave like that. In practice I’m happy to fuck once, twice, five times without spunk, because this isn’t multiple short-and-aborted shags, it’s a single ten-condom fuck that lasts an entire afternoon.
As the day wears on, and we make it through three different brands, he starts to get a feel for the ones which work best – which fit best – and I glow with the knowledge that I’ve taught him this valuable thing. Ten condom fucks and experimentation means next time he bulk-buys he’ll know which to order: the ones he can slip on most easily, which don’t interrupt the overall tone of the two of us utterly ruining each other.
Later, there’s the bit where we slip into bed, and he touches me all over because he isn’t done yet – hasn’t come yet – and I straddle his now-condom-clad cock and ride the way I like it: all grinding and clit-touching and my-pleasure-first. He grins to watch me roll my eyes, yet again, as I come on his cock, then pounds me with relentless, urgent need that results in him not quite getting there.
Seven condoms, maybe eight, because I think we took a break.
The next day, we use more, because there’s still time. And besides, there’s now an ocean of spunk backed up inside him and there’s no way I’m leaving without draining him completely. At one point he pulls out and whips off the condom, splattering me from head-to-stomach in thick, white jizz. Then later, another condom, another go, as he decides he wants the fun of coming inside me. Safely and comfortably, because we know which condoms work best now: we’ve tried out enough of them to know.
By the time I’m packing my stuff to head home, his flat is strewn with little squares of foil: ten of them, at least, though maybe more. And although each one does not denote an orgasm for him, it marks one more hot moment in this ten-condom fuck. One more instance when one or other of us said ‘let’s fuck’ or ‘go get a condom’. One memory of the instant when we switched from ‘fucking about’ to ‘fucking’ – one more peak on the graph which charts our horn over the last 24 hours.
Ten-condom fucks: get involved.
Condom manufacturers: normalise ten-condom fucks
I’m not a condom manufacturer, which means that all my ingenious marketing ideas which center around normalising ten-condom fucks are liable (unlike my condoms) to languish unused forever. So if you do happen to be a condom manufacturer, or seller, and you’d like to nick this concept for your latest campaign, please feel free to do so. I’ll be happy enough that someone is peddling the message that sex can last for a full day if you want it to, and that fucking can ebb and flow between ‘casual touching’ through ‘vigorous penetration’ and include a round of ‘cocktails and Beat Saber.’ Feel free to credit me by linking here, or handing me a huge pile of cash when the inevitable bulk orders start rolling in.
And if you’re just a standard person who likes to fuck and uses condoms, feel free to block out a full day in your calendar, brainstorm all the filthy things you’d like to do, and get stuck in.
Check out this post about trying different condoms to see if you might want to test out a few rather than going for the first ones you see in Boots. You should also have a look at this guide on how to use condoms properly from Bish. You’d be surprised how many people – even some who’ve been using condoms for years – don’t know all of this.
And consider buying from the links below if you’d like to support my site.
These lovely people sponsor my website, and sell a range of styles/types that you can try…StuffGoodies
These links are affiliate ones, so if you buy stuff through them I get a small cut of the money…
If you’re in the UK, I also always recommend checking out the Freedoms Shop – an NHS-run sexual health initiative where you can bulk-buy condoms, lube and other treats.