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On religious perving

Update 2017: this is one of those blog posts that I really regret writing – at least regret writing in this way. Bear in mind it is a very old one, and the views in it may well be shit. I don’t write these ‘beware’ intros for many posts, because I figure you can see the date stamp and realise I may have been ignorant years ago. But this one is insensitive to people of a variety of different religions, and as an atheist it’s probably not my place to get all publicly pervy on stuff like this.  

It’s not always the obvious things that get you off. Unless you hadn’t realised it already, I’m an atheist. Organised religion alternately bemuses and horrifies me. I find the suppression of sexuality (which seems to come packaged with most major religions) terrifying. The idea of taking a large group of people and forbidding them to act on their sexual instincts seems to me a recipe for misery and trouble.

Yes, we should exercise some sexual restraint. We are, after all, highly evolved enough that we don’t need to go around rutting on street corners and killing each other over who gets the biggest share of antelope. But by cutting people off completely and telling them that their sexual desires are not only sins but some of the worst sins we can commit, we end up with groups of people who have a warped and not entirely healthy attitude towards the perfectly natural contents of their pants.

That’s the tedious moralising over and done with, let’s get onto the sexy stuff. Alongside my worry that sexual repression causes untold misery and heartache, is my genuine conviction that religious paraphenalia can not only be sexualised but that religious fetishes can be deeply, cunt-wettingly hot.

It’s obscene in one of the truest senses, because some of the things that I masturbate over are things that I have a genuine moral objection to. Take this as your disclaimer for this entry – some of the things I am about to describe are horrible.

My secret shame – I don’t love God, but in the degraded fantasy playworld inside my own head, I love some of the things he makes people do.

Mormon underwear

Did you know that Mormons are required to wear what are called ‘the garments’? Long underwear beneath their clothes, with special stitching and markings to remind them of their duties to God?

Well, I only know this because I also know that there are a number of websites dedicated to explicit shots of Mormons in these garments.

Why is it hot? Well, boys in their underwear are especially sexy anyway, but with the Mormon garments there’s the added thrill that they’re not supposed to be thinking of sexual things. The garments themselves are ones of purity and chastity. And there’s nothing quite like a garment of purity and chastity stretched to almost splitting point by a nice thick dripping erection.

Christian spanking

Oh yes. There’s a group of people who believe that the man’s role in the house is to maintain order and discipline by physically chastising his wife. My initial reaction on discovering this was one of disgust – is it domestic violence? In some cases perhaps it is, and that’s horrific – something that is less likely to arouse than to terrify me.

However, having come across quite a few of blogs, forums and discussions about it, it seems that it’s mostly a front for Christian couples who really like a bit of corporal punishment play. And men spanking women who deliberately play up because they want to be spanked? Couples that do it feeling so guilty that they need to invent special reasons to justify it to their imaginary god? That is hot.

Many of the women’s posts read like the posts on BDSM forums – anticipation, delight, the joy of submission. One woman even asked “does God think it is wrong that I am sexually aroused when my husband spanks me?” the resounding answer from the boards: no. God loves that you’re in a loving relationship, and as long as you don’t disobey your husband just to get a spanking, God’s pretty happy with the whole situation. No doubt he gets an excellent view of your nice pink arse from his throne somewhere up in the sky.

Inappropriately cut burkhas

I once had a 4 hour stopover at an airport in Hong Kong, at the same time as a large group of people who were obviously travelling to or from a strongly Muslim country – burkhas everywhere. Usually the burkha is a sign of oppression – women are forced to wear them so that men don’t see any of their good bits. Or, in fact, any of them at all.

But on this occasion I saw a burkha-clad lady who shattered all of the rules. Her burkha was a light beige in colour, and slinky as fuck. Cut from beautiful silky material that skimmed her slim hips and showed a waist Cosmo would hold up as a shining example of womanhood, she sashayed down one of the airport walkways in 4 inch heels like she was on her way to fuck a superstar. Her husband, a suave, rich-looking gent, couldn’t help but hold the smuggest grin in the entire world.

I got wet just looking at them and imagining the filth they’d get up to as soon as that burkha was off.

The silver ring

The ultimate. The final. The key ingredient in all religious pervery – the silver ring. The ring represents a pledge someone has made to Jesus – a pledge not to fuck before marriage. Some young ring-bearing couples take it even further – to avoid temptation they don’t give handjobs, they don’t kiss, they only cuddle from the side (to avoid that awkward moment when the guy pops a boner because he can feel his lady’s tits smooshing against his chest).

These are hot because they represent a challenge. They represent the desperate, trembling need of young twenty-something virgins to fuck and be fucked. They represent the beauty and joy of instant ejaculation on first touch. To Christians they might look like symbols of chastity and purity, but to me they look exactly the opposite. A silver ring says not ‘I love Jesus’ but ‘I am positively bursting with sexual anticipation. Touch it. Go on. Touch it. Pretty please.’

I won’t, of course, but I’ll have a good wank about it later.

On bad things my mind does when it’s unoccupied

Suffering from painful and embarrassing writer’s block, I set to Twitter to ask people what they wanted to read. Rather unsurprisingly, the answer was ‘porn’. But some people specifically requested a fantasy. A wise choice – there’s only so much of my own sordid sexual experience that anyone can take. So for only the second time in however-long-I’ve-been-doing-this, here’s an untrue story.


On fucking in the toilets

I need to clarify – if only because at some point my Mum might read this and be disappointed in me – that I don’t confine my toilet-based sexual activity just to wanking. I’m a big fan of risky sex with other people too. Here is a trilogy of stories about fucking in the toilets.


Wanking on the train: I can’t be the only one…

One of the most difficult fears to overcome is the fear of being weird. That’s partly why I write this stuff – I want people to read it and say “Oh, she does that as well. Perhaps I’m not abnormal after all.” But far greater than that is my need for people to tell me that it’s OK. That I’m not odd. That they do this sometimes too. And by ‘this’ I mean ‘wanking on the train.’


On throatfucking

The best position in which to give a blow job is flat on my back. Flat on my back with my head hanging off the side of the bed – mouth stretched out, wide open. Hands pinned beneath me, or in the grip of the guy whose cock is jammed nice and hard into my throat.

Blow jobs are fun, don’t get me wrong – the playful control of having someone in your mouth is good. Experimenting with varying levels of pressure, using my hands differently, swallowing as much of your cock as I can. All of it’s good, but none comes close to the sheer passive joy of being fucked in the throat.

It’s rough, and it’s painful, and it makes my eyes water. There’s something deeply satisfying about a guy who makes me choke – a guy who makes me feel like I’ve never been treated so abysmally.

Giving a blow job is a fun thing to do – being throatfucked is something to endure. A challenge offered by the guy – can you take this? Can I do this for as long as I want? Will you choke down on my dick until I spray come so hard down your throat you barely need to swallow?

Men make more noise during throatfucking than they do when you’re blowing them. They grunt, they moan, if they’re particularly brilliant they might occasionally interject with ‘that’s it’ or ‘oh, good girl‘.

Because I pick the boys who like the power.

As ever, it’s about being used

One of my friends likes to greet me by pushing me to my knees as soon as I get inside his front door. He’ll get me at just the right height, push my head back so it’s braced against the wall, then shove his dick into my mouth until I can feel the head pushing against the back of my neck. Until my eyes water and I’m drooling down onto my tits. He doesn’t even hold my head – he uses his hands to casually lift his shirt – keeping it away from the mess he’s making of me. And he’ll keep his cock there and keep fucking, and fucking, and fucking until I cry, or he comes, or both.

The reason I like throatfucking is that it makes me feel like I could be anyone. This guy doesn’t want me – he doesn’t think I’m cool, or interesting, or witty – he just wants somewhere – anywhere – to put his dick.

It’s not romantic, it’s not controlled – it’s a nice, quick, easy way to get off.

The hard part

The tricky thing about throatfucking is that guys are generally pretty nice. No one you’re fucking actually wants to kill you. They always start off gently – afraid that you’ll choke, or vomit, or become horrified and run the fuck away.

But with enough patience, and enough time, I can get a guy to understand that if I lean my head over the arm of the sofa and really stretch myself out, he can fuck my throat as hard as he’d fuck my cunt. And when he looks nervous and eases up to let me breathe I can look up at him with pleading, red-rimmed eyes and moan like I can feel it, like I want him to come. Moan as if all I want in life is to be a passive toy for him to fuck. As if the taste of his come is the only thing that can make me happy at that exact moment. Like I want it more than I want to stop choking and be able to breathe again.

Because… well… it’s true.

This post is available as audio – click ‘listen here’ at the start of the post, and check out the audio porn page for more sexy stories read aloud. 

UPDATE 2019: Since it went live, this post has gathered a huge number of comments, many of which are quite disturbing and involve people talking about *non-consensual* throatfucking. FYI, doing this without the consent of the other person is assault, and you should never do this kind of thing without first establishing whether the other party is willing. Every single guy I have done this with has understood it – I would not have done it with him if he hadn’t. If you want to do extreme sexual things, you need to pay extreme attention to your partner – listen to them, discuss with them, and make sure that they are happy to partake.

If you read the comments below, do bear in mind that many of them were posted before I implemented commenting guidelines, and you may find some quite disturbing. 

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