Second only to blow jobs, I think the most-covered topic on this blog is the joy of watching men wank. I am a masturbation voyeur: there are few things that make me hornier than seeing someone I fancy rubbing vigorously away at their junk, with a precision born of years of practice coupled with an urgent need to come. Recently, I got to watch an extremely hot guy do this and just after he’d come I tried to explain to him – with breathless and grateful awe – the exact moment when the wank he’d shown me turned from ‘hot’ to ‘transcendent.’

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You know those meditation apps which show a circle increasing and decreasing in size, which encourage you to breathe in and out in time with the animation? Sometimes I like to fuck like that.

CN: drug use, minor references to panic attacks. But broadly this is a super-hot one, I promise. 

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This erotic story about fucking the boss is written by Scorpio Appetites, and read by Girl on the Net. Note this story contains brief use of ‘daddy’ as an honorific.

‘Hey, who’ve I gotta fuck to get another beer over here?’ I smile sweetly at the customer and put another Stella on the counter. I’m wearing a checked shirt tied low enough to show a flash of black bra and as much cleavage as I can muster, and I enjoy feeling his drunken gaze rake over me. I drink his impotent desire like a shot of cheap whiskey. The two feet of bar between us may as well be a trillion miles.

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This stunning masturbation erotica is written by Spencer Pritchard, and read by Luke. 

I study your portrait and read your words with breathless anticipation. Study every letter and imagine them rolling off your tongue, dancing from your sultry mouth to the erotic Southern Hemisphere cadence of your voice, showering me in their implied filth.

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I love dick, it’s brilliant. Unfortunately, I don’t love it all the time on a 24/7 basis. As a sex blogger, my work is a constant background throb throughout my life: even when I’m not feeling horny, my Tweetdeck spits out pre-scheduled posts from ‘this time last year’ in which I wax lyrical about my love of blow jobs. About a year ago, I got frustrated with the fact that this painted a picture of me as constantly horny for cock, which men (understandably) responded to in the moment, without realising that at that specific point I was actually in the middle of extremely stressful work and probably not up for sexting at that moment in time. All this to say, I wrote a silly poem called ‘your dick can wait, I’m working.’ Don’t take it too seriously, especially if you and I are fucking.

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