Category Archives: Filthy ones
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.
This post uses affiliate links, which means if you buy things from the shops you visit, I get a small cut which helps me keep this site running.
On the prettiest things
Are you a tits man or an arse man? Or, perhaps, a leg man? Guys are often asked, for no rational reason that I can identify, to shoehorn themselves into one of these boxes. But what’s the alternative for girls? We aren’t asked if we’re ‘cock’ or ‘arse’ women.
Perhaps it’s because we’re trickier to categorise – we have a tendency to sexualise bits of your body that aren’t obviously sexual – your eyes, your hands, your arms. Lovely though your penis is, it’s rarely your hottest feature.
This point was hammered home fairly solidly to me recently when I watched Cindy Gallop talking about female desire. In what I think is a desperately sexy accent, she goes misty-eyed about men’s forearms. I mean, forearms, for crying out loud. Filthy bitch.
But she’s right – sometimes the things that turn us on are bloody odd. I’m a big fan of chipping in, so in no particular order, here are some of the sexiest things about boys.
Hands
Beautiful hands – long fingers, chubby fingers, rings, fingernails cut or bitten to the quick that mean you can slide them into me eagerly and easily.
Even better – big hands. Hands that you use to touch me, grab me, restrain me. Hands that you put flat on my tits and squeeze. Hands that you can place on my waist when I’m beside you, that you can use to squeeze and control me.
Hands that fit neatly into the back pocket of my jeans.
Final note: boys wearing nail varnish: yes please. Please. With sugar, a cherry, and a massive helping of girljizz on top.
Armpits
Naked men lying on my bed with their hands either gripping or tied to the bed posts. These men are not hot because they’re vulnerable – they’re hot because they’re showing me their armpits.
Guys have hairy armpits and it’s wonderful – beautiful. They’re dark, and dirty, and provide definition against your powerful, masculine arms.
Ideally they smell musky and sweaty, like fucking in a sauna. If you promise not to freak out at my perving, I would love the chance to lick them.
Shoulders
It doesn’t matter if you’re fat, thin, skinny or muscular – your shoulders are sexy. They’re what I’ll bite and drool and dribble over while you’re fucking me nice and hard.
They’re male and strong and defined and so so different to my own. The things that make the two of us different make you especially hot.
I once fucked a guy with tattooed sleeves, the designs ended just at the tip of his shoulders – essentially an arrow to highlight and point at what my eye’s already drawn towards. Apparently I wasn’t paying the requisite amount of attention to his face, because he stopped halfway through that fuck to ask: “are you perving on my tattoos?”
Yes. I most definitely, definitely was.
Hipbones
Ungh. Yes. This only really works with very lithe, skinny boys, but I love to play with your hipbones.
If you’re lying on your back and I can see the definition of your hipbones at your waist it will take as much restraint as I can muster not to just grab your hips with my hands and push my thumbs into the little dent above them, ideally while taking your cock in my mouth as you moan like a desperate, wriggling teenager.
The dimples just above your arse cheeks
Why is this beautiful? It’s beautiful because if you’re wearing pants, staring at these dimples is the closest I get to your arse without actually seeing your arse. It’s a tiny bit of definition that hints at what’s below. And is usually even sexier than your arse itself.
Bonus points if you also have soft, wispy hair in the crook of your back that I can stroke when I’m reaching down behind you.
The back of your neck
I want to bite it. I also want to sniff it, kiss it, lick and nuzzle it as I sit behind you on the sofa with my legs wrapped round your hips, one hand steadily rubbing your ever-hardening cock.
Incidentally, the back of the neck is one of the reasons why fucking guys in the ass can be so spectacular – if you have a guy lying on his front, you get a stunning view of his neck as you push yourself into him.
This is one reason why I try to avoid hugging guys I’m not sleeping with – being that close to their neck just feels pervy, like I’m violating them with my thoughts.
No matter who you are, if you hug me I will take deep breaths in – sampling exactly what your neck smells like and what it feels like to rest my face there. Out of courtesy I’ll refrain from actually licking it, but I’ll probably be imagining what it would be like to bury my face in it while we fuck.
Being unclean: I don’t shower after sex
One of the lies I tell most frequently is this one: “I’ll have a shower when I get home.” I almost definitely won’t shower after sex. If you’ve just nailed me into a sweaty, jizz-covered mess, the last thing I’ll want to do is rinse it off and go home smelling of shampoo and roses.
Why I won’t shower after sex
Why? Because fucking smells fucking good.
Not just the smell of your cock – the smell of your cock mixed with sweat and come. The smell of your come mixed with the scent of my own cunt. This smell, by the way, is utterly unique to every guy. Transport me back in time to any post-sex, jizz-dripping haze and I’d be able to tell you just from the smell exactly who I’d been shagging.
Smell is deeply evocative. The smell of a searing-hot day can take me back to memories of Florida, even though I haven’t been there since I was fifteen. Certain markets smell like Korea, tangerines smell like Christmas, there’s a particular washing powder that smells like my ex…
And your spunk drying on my sweaty, naked tits smells like decadence, happiness, and utter filth.
You smell fucking good
Apologies to the boys who might be upset to hear about this, but if you leave your clothes at my house I will do bad things with them.
If you leave your boxers I’ll hold them over my mouth, pinch my own nipples, and masturbate to the memories of burying my face in your crotch. If you are one of the rare few who I’ve let sleep in my bed, chances are I’ve slept on your side the next day, with knickers pulled halfway down so I can touch myself while breathing you in.
Is that creepy? Maybe. Probably not quite as creepy as the fact that I still have a t-shirt a boy left at my house many moons ago that no longer smells like his sex-sweat because I’ve sniffed it all out.
Certainly not as creepy as the fact that, while I’m writing this, I’m occasionally taking deep, long breaths of my right hand, because it smells like jizz and lube and one particular boy.
I hate washing that smell off my hands.
It’s probably not totally hygienic, but the idea of showering all that away – the sex sweat and the come and the lingering scent of fucking – seems like a total waste: I’d no more rush into the shower than I’d spit instead of swallow.
Spit: all the ways I love using spit during fucking
We all like this, right? Saliva? It’s nature’s lube. It occurred to me this morning, as I was giving a boy a sayonara blow job before I ran off home, that it’s not just good because it makes things wet – it’s the sound of it, too. And the look and the sensation and – oh, everything. I fucking love spit.