This story was written based on a suggestion from someone over on Patreon. Come support me there if you’d like to make suggestions for other blog posts, and massive thanks to the person who suggested this topic. The ‘bottomless’ look is very popular in my house, although here we call it ‘top no bottoms’. Or rather, my partner excitedly yells ‘top no bottoms!!’ if I walk into a room wearing a t-shirt and no knickers, and plonk my naked arse onto the sofa. That’s why this one’s written with love as well as horn. Hope you like it.
It’s easy to write about the big things that are sexy: anal sex, spanking, throatfucking. The kind of things you’d add to your bucket list, as you tense your muscles to try and work out the discomfort of extreme arousal. The pervy blog staples: Threesomes. Bukkake. The vision of you pulling your knickers to one side and sliding neatly down onto a strap on. Right to the hilt. Hard.
I’m sure I’m not the only person who goes through sexual phases. One week I’ll be all about mutual masturbation – vigorously rubbing a guy’s cock while I push my tits into his face, and twitching as he matches my speed and pressure stroke-for-stroke on my own clit. At other times nothing will satisfy me except a doggy-style fuck – arse in the air, back arched, and face pressed down onto the mattress as he pounds me with a quick, rapid force.
But my current phase has been with me for over a month and shows no immediate signs of abating any time soon.
Right now I like being grabbed, in a very specific place.
Put your big arms around me
I’ve always liked big hands. In fact, sod it – any guy’s hands. They’re beautiful, and strong, and the unique feeling of being touched by someone else can barely be bettered.
When I’m wanking, I can’t come unless I use one hand to grab at my tits – pinch my nipples and squeeze and grab myself, as I play out whatever scene is in my head and imagine the guy squashing the girl nice and tight. But it’s not quite as good with my own hands – they’re not big enough, they’re not strong enough and, most importantly, they’re not different enough.
What I like right now, what I want right now, is a man’s hands. Gripping me solidly about the waist, sliding down to grab at a handful of backside and – here’s the crucial part – right down the crack of my arse, squeezed into tight jeans. I want to feel his middle two fingers pressing strongly into the seam.
I want him to grab my arse, not cup it, in a traditional ‘getting away with a bit of touching at the school disco’ way. I don’t want both hands on me, holding one arse cheek each like they need sharing around. I want one big strong hand grabbing right in the middle, spreading his fingers out to reach as much as he can, and tipping me slightly backwards as he runs his hand down between my thighs.
Occasional drooling slip-ups
The problem with having a particular desire for this type of thing, though, is that it’s an activity far too easy to do in public. I need only cling to the boy while one of his hands is busy holding a coffee or a cigarette and press myself up against him, and his left hand will automatically snake down my back and along the seam of my jeans. He holds me tight like that, burrowing his fingers just a bit deeper between my legs, and pulls me up on tiptoe so he can reach further down.
Although he wouldn’t wank me off on a crowded tube (no matter how nicely I ask) or fuck me doggy-style in Tesco, the boy is more than willing to do the arse grab whenever I cosy up next to him. It’s good for me, because I get what I want, but it’s not an ideal situation for the rest of society.
This is my way of saying that if you’ve spotted a couple recently in a London beer garden looking a bit too close for polite company, with a guy burying his hand in the back of a girl’s jeans while she drools sleepily on his shoulder, I probably owe you an apology.