It is perhaps one of the most common laments in sex writing, or at least it has been in my experience: we don’t give enough time and attention to fingering. The joy of getting fingered deserves way more love – not just on this blog, but everywhere. So if you like fingering or being fingered, LM (who has written beautiful BDSM love stories on these pages before) is here with a stunningly hot guest piece about it.

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The second I walk in the door, he’s all over me. Soft lips and firm hands. Rummaging under my clothes and kissing me passionately, before I’ve even had the chance to take off my boots or unclip the panniers from my bike. It’s hurried, urgent, eager. Exactly as I’d seen it in my idle daydreams. I’ve been thinking on this for the last two days, ever since the possibility of it was first floated. A tentative ‘if you’re in the mood for sexy ideas…’ followed by a fantasy of such powerful dominance and laser-targeted kink accuracy it had me squirming in wet knickers at my desk. You bet I’m in the mood. How are you fixed for Sunday? 

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At one point, mid-fuck, with his wet fingers circling my clit, the man who knows how to fuck me growls something into my ear. I can’t remember the exact words and I hate myself for that, not least because I’m sure if I could conjure them precisely, that particular sentence would make for some truly epic wanks. Forgive me for paraphrasing, I’d fallen deeply into a fuckdrunk haze, but it was something like ‘aren’t you a dirty fucking girl?’, with extra resonance on the ‘girl’, just how I like it. Whatever he said and however he said it, it caused me to absolutely gush all over his hand. Yeah I’m a dirty girl: QED.

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This gorgeously impulsive fuck is written and read by Molly Moore.

“Quick!” she said as she took my hand and pulled me into the cubicle with her latching the door behind her and quick she was, a flurry of hands and bodies, her lips on mine as she pressed me up against the wall. Her tongue snaking into my mouth, her kisses urgent and demanding, her body pressing into mine, grinding up against me as if she just couldn’t get enough of me.

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Sometimes I feel like part of my body still belongs to him.

Throughout my life I’ve been fucked in so many different ways: like I’m precious; like I’m trash; like they’re hungry and I’m the nearest hot meal… but only one or two men have ever fucked me like my flesh was theirs by right. Fucked me like they owned me. As if my body – my cunt, my thighs, my hands, my mouth, my heart – belonged to them exactly as much as their own. He was one of them.

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