During this absolute trashfire of a year, many people turned to audio porn to distract them from life in lockdown – there was a distinct uptick in the number of people visiting the audio porn hub around the end of March, when suddenly we all became way more restricted. But what was everyone listening to? Here’s the most popular audio porn in 2020.
A while ago I wrote a post about how – and why – I love being called a ‘good girl.’ Someone told me recently I should write a pair post about ‘good boy’ and naturally I always aim to do what the fuck I’m told, so here goes. I have frequently used the word ‘good boy’ when I’m fucking someone, but as I’m not naturally very dominant, my reasons for using it and the ways in which I use it may well be very different to your own. Nevertheless, here’s how to get a ‘good boy’ out of me.
Note: this post is quite cisnormative, sorry about that. So far all the good boys I’ve fucked have been cisgender. Just be aware that you don’t need to be cis to be a good boy, and I’ve tried to include some non-dick-focused activities in here as well as the more cock-heavy ones.
Sometimes I sit down and try to write something good, but nothing good springs to mind so instead I write a 400 word poem about fucking. Enjoy! Or don’t! It’s entirely pointless and silly!
“Don’t call me ‘good girl’ unless you plan on fucking the Mario coins out of me.” Ever since I saw that excellent, excellent tweet, I’ve been thinking about hot new ways to ask someone to fuck me. Seriously: ‘Fuck the Mario coins out of me’ has to be up there as one of the best fuckbegs I’ve ever heard. Gold. I cannot promise to do quite as well as that (who could?!), but with big thanks to those on Twitter who chipped in, I’m aiming for quantity in lieu of quality. Here are 42 different ways to ask someone to fuck you.
Partway through a fuck, I realise something’s not quite right, and I mention it. BAM! I have killed the mood. I’m annoyed with myself and a little disappointed so I tell him. We stop shagging. We hug. We sweat. I say “sorry” a few more times, because “sorry” is the word I instinctively reach for when I have nothing else to say. “Stop saying sorry,” he tells me. “Stop saying you killed the mood.” But I can’t stop saying it, I’m stuck in a loop of it, and I don’t know how to escape. There are two paths open to him here…