This is the first in a series I’m going to call ‘Wank tales’ – some of the stories I see in my head that get me off when I’m wanking. This one – Free use secretary (The interview) – has elements of free use, power imbalance, and I think some elements of non-consent. Not sure on that, though. I’m consenting to this scenario, because I created it, and none of these people are real – they’re just manifestations of my own perversions as they play out in my head. They’re not real human beings, they’re my fuckpuppets. Were this sort of thing to happen in real life I would be straight on the phone to HR. As explained in detail in last week’s post, I have a kink for misogyny. I get off on scenes and behaviour that I abhor in real life, so while this could make for a hot (consensual) role play, it should never be taken as an instruction manual, or a desire I would like to fulfil in any way other than as play. As I say, it’s hard to judge whether this needs a warning, so here’s a summary instead: this is a story about a dismissive boss interviewing a woman to be his secretary in which he aggressively fucks her like he’s using her holes while she has to continue with a job interview as normal. Dunno where that falls on the content note scale.

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Dirty little secret time, people: I have a kink for misogyny. An intense, horny, fucked-up passion for men who will treat me like shit. And before I delve into some of my more detailed treat-me-like-shit fantasies, I wanted to do some preamble to explain why this is only ever hot when I’m playing life on ‘sandbox’ mode. What’s horny in my mind and during roleplay is actively horrifying in real life. In case it wasn’t screamingly obvious: that’s why it gets me really wet.

Note that this post includes examples of violent misogyny, non-consent and rape – both the fantasy versions (hot!) and real-life ones (not!). 

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There’s an ache that I have not yet told you about On Here. It throbs beneath the surface of my every other need. I have no idea if it’s something I’m legitimately allowed to feel, or if publicly acknowledging it is silly and self-defeating. It isn’t something I can actively chase, and it will definitely scare a few men. But let’s have a go anyway: what I ache for is decades of sex. With the same person. I am up for being open, being polyamorous, whatever relationship structure best fits my own needs and his. But fundamentally, powerfully, deeply, I yearn for long-term intimacy. As my life marches on, I find myself growing colder and colder at the thought of sex with total strangers. These days I dream of a man who I can fuck for decades.

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This is ‘Inspection’ – part 2 of a fantasy written and read by Molly Moore. Click to listen to Inspection (part 1): He appraises me if you’d like to catch up before you dive into this. Note that this story has elements of consensual non-consent and coercion, as well as fairly graphic debasement, humiliation and clinical medical play.

It’s surprisingly comfortable. The metal of the stirrups is cold on the back on my calves but is the only real discomfort. Physical discomfort that is. Everything else about this is uncomfortable though. As I lean back and he finishes tightening the straps across my legs I realise that the leg supports have a kind of ratchet system so when you slowly guide my legs apart the supports lock into place holding me open. I cover my eyes with my hands. I can feel the heat of embarrassment burning on my face. He is busying himself over to the side. Moving things around, getting trays. I listen but can’t bear to watch or to see him inspecting me like this.

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This is ‘Inspection’ – part one of a 2-part story written and read by Molly Moore. Note that this fantasy has elements of consensual non-consent and coercion, as well as fairly graphic debasement, humiliation and clinical medical play.

“Open your mouth.”

I part my lips and drop my jaw. He has his back to me. I hear the sound of the gloves as he pulls them on. Snap. Snap. He turns to face me. His eyes meet mine and then a frown plays across his face.

“Wider,” he says firmly.

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