Tag Archives: fun sex

On CFNM (clothed female, naked male)

You’re hot when you’re naked. Not quite as hot as when you’re semi-naked, of course – we’ve discussed that before. But there’s something deeply satisfying about your nakedness against my clothes. Me, in jeans and a soft jersey, sneaking into bed and pressing the whole of myself up against your sleeping flesh.

I’ve had a few people ask me to write about CFNM (it stands for Clothed Female Naked Male – presumably there’s also a CMNF, but that might have to wait for another day). For some people it’s a very specific fetish, and they can’t get off without it. For me, it falls into the same category as most fetishes: I’m not obsessed with it, but I can more than understand why other people are.

It’s often a FemDomme thing, a submissive guy bares all but is denied the pleasure of seeing tits in return. I certainly know a few submissive men who like the idea of being stripped bare and used by a clothed, powerful woman who answers only to the name of ‘Mistress’. But I think it’s more than possible to get tingling hot feelings the other way round too. Whether I’m on top, on the bottom, or floating lazily somewhere in between, having a naked guy between my jeans-clad thighs is a very hot thing indeed. I’ll show you what I mean:

CFNM (Submissive girl, dominant guy)

If you’re naked and I’m not none of the usual things occur. You can’t squeeze my tits or bite my nipples as you call me a dirty girl and ask what I’m hoping you’ll do to me. There are fewer words. Naked and needing release, the only thing for you to do is push me down onto my knees, hold my hair and smile as I suck a fresh erection into your waiting dick.

If you’re naked and I’m not then as I wet the tip of your cock I’ll spread my legs wider, letting the seam of my jeans push tightly against my clit. I’ll hold my hands behind my back so that my tits stretch out my top. And I’ll feel the wetness soaking into the crotch of my knickers.

If you’re naked and I’m not I’ll feel dirtier than I would naked. Because I can’t shower off whatever you cover me in.

I’ll feel the wetness in my knickers, and feel ashamed. If you hold my head still and fuck my face, the spit will run down my chin, my neck, and onto the front of my shirt. And I’ll cross my fingers and will you to call me a messy girl again.

Other way round (Dominant girl, submissive guy)

I like to curl up behind you in the morning, when you’re still asleep and I’m awake and dressed, and fit my body neatly behind yours, my thighs touching the back of yours, my tits squashing against you through my t-shirt. It’s CFNM, but with a different tone to that above.

I like, as you stir ever so slightly, to slip one of my arms under your head and around your neck so that I can pinch your nipples and stroke your chest, the reverse of what you do for me when we go to sleep.

I enjoy the moment as you wake up, roll over and see me there – wide awake and eager for you.

When you’re naked and I’m not I have more of the power. I like being able to look at you exposed and cold, and take my time to run my palms over all of you. I like taking your flaccid cock in my hand and squeezing gently until you’re semi-hard.

But best of all I like to keep my knickers on – sliding them just far enough to one side that I can sit slickly down onto your dick while you place your hands behind your head and wait for me to come.

This post uses affiliate links, which means if you buy things from the shops you visit, I get a small cut which helps me keep this site running.

Say goodnight: fuck me in my sleep

Despite giving the impression that I go through life humping men on an almost hourly basis, the time when I’m most likely to have sex is just before bed. Not particularly surprising when you consider that I, like most people, have to work during the day, somewhere far enough from the nearest willing boy that I can’t nip out at lunchtime for a post-sandwich quickie.

Sex before bedtime feels like the natural thing to do – you’ve just taken your clothes off, you’re lying next to each other enjoying the skin-on-skin contact and the post-workday sweat as you bury your face in his armpit: of course a lot of sex happens at bedtime.

But do you want to know what’s even better? Sex after bedtime.

Wake me up

I have a rock-solid and trembling desire for guys who wake me up for a fuck. I love the feeling of being stroked and dragged awake at two, three, four o’clock in the morning by a guy with a raging erection and a desperate need to be inside me.

In fact, so acute is my desire for a guy with a hard-on in the middle of the night that I often don’t even need him to fuck me. Just knowing that he’s almost whimperingly desperate has me flooded with lust, and struggling to pretend to keep my eyes closed.

The other night I woke up lying on my stomach. I could feel him running his hand tightly over my arse, smoothing the silk of my knickers into the crack, and sliding his fingers down my crotch through the fabric. The bed was shaking slightly as he rubbed his cock with his other hand.

After a couple of minutes, he pulled my knickers to one side, dipping his fingers into my cunt. When he felt how wet I was, he moaned, and started rubbing himself harder. I lay as still as I could, breath catching occasionally despite my attempts to maintain the illusion of sleep. I wanted him to fuck me.

Sleep sex

He’s done it before – fucked me in my sleep, I mean. Despite my having issued an open challenge (£50 if you can finish without waking me up) he’s never quite got to the end without me moaning and giving away that I’ve been wide awake for a while. But still. The fact that one day he might makes me quiver with desire, and when I twitch into consciousness to find him touching me I can’t help but tense up, and start throbbing, and hope that he’ll roll on top of me and slide his cock inside.

This isn’t one of those creepy ‘I’ll fuck her while she’s asleep just because I fancy it’ things. He doesn’t fuck me in my sleep because he thinks he can get away with it – he does it because I have emphatically and enthusiastically begged him to.

Because the feeling of waking up, woozy and confused and wet and aching at just the moment he slides his dick inside me is so hot it makes me crosseyed.

Tonight I’ll dream of him fucking me in my sleep

But sometimes there’s no release for me at all – and this was one of those times. There was no need for me to battle a sigh of relief as he pulled my knickers to one side and slipped into me, no feeling of satisfaction as he grunted and thrust.

As his hand reached my knickers he just sped up, rubbing his dick harder and faster – holding his breath to avoid making tell-tale noises in the back of his throat as he got closer to coming.

When he was near, he gripped me harder – fingers digging my knickers into the slit of my cunt, feeling the flooding wetness soak through the silk. And then, just as he was about to come, he pulled at the waistband so that they were bunched at the bottom of my buttocks, exposing me just enough as he rolled over, pushed the tip of his cock up against me, and squirted sticky rounds of jizz directly against my skin.

Having finished, with a gentle grunt and a sigh of satisfaction, he absently rubbed it in – covering me in stickiness with quick, solid movements. He pulled up my knickers and gently patted my arse.

“I’ve been awake for a while, you know.”
“I know. You were pretending to be asleep, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Good girl.”

I got almost no sleep of my own that night.

Update 2018: this post is now available as audio porn (click ‘listen now’ above and see more audio porn here). I wanted to add, as I was revisiting it to turn it into audio porn, that this should never ever be taken to mean that any individual might enjoy this like I do. I can only do it, as explained above, because my partner and I have discussed this in a lot of detail and carefully negotiated how we want to do this consensually. 

GOTN Avatar

On sex without coming

OK, so I wasn't actually wanking in this picture, I was just asked to pose as if I was. I might have overdone it a tad.Someone once told me that sex without orgasm is completely pointless – like a party without booze. My response was that there are many different kinds of party.

Sex without an orgasm is like wine without cheese. Celery without hoummous. A massive fuckoff slab of cake without a cup of coffee to wash it down – these things might be better when they come together, but they’re undeniably fun to have even without the extra.

I don’t always come when I’m fucking. Likewise, believe it or not, guys don’t always come when they’re fucking either.

Almost every single thing we see and hear about sex tells us a story that begins with a male erection and ends with a male orgasm. From biology classes at school which focused on fucking as a disgusting yet crucial baby-spawning activity to the mainstream porn films which fade out about five seconds after someone’s jizzed on someone else’s tits/face/arse/knickers/feet. In fact, porn is a classic example – the fact that male porn stars who fail to ejaculate are nudged to one side by willing and jizz-ready ‘stunt cocks’ shows that we generally view orgasm (or rather – male orgasm) as a rather crucial part of sex.

How do you know when you’ve stopped?

I suppose the key reason we believe this is that a spunk-stream in your eye acts as a handy visual and physical point at which to show the coupling had ended. Like a full stop. It’s as good a point as any in which to roll over and fall asleep, because it’s trickier for men to keep going after they’ve come.

But although feeling someone’s prick twitching a couple of spoonfuls of jizz into your aching cunt is by all means a nice way to end sex, that doesn’t mean it’s the only way.

In the past I’ve had sex sessions aborted (or aborted them myself) because:

a) he’s just too fucking knackered to come. At which point I will either render blowjobs or solitude, depending on how pissed off he looks.

b) I’m too twitchy to continue. It’s often the case that if I come a few times in a row, my thigh muscles start contracting like some phantom clit-genie has attached electrodes to me, and my cunt freaks out. At this point any further sexual contact is a bit like being tickled, and not conducive to further fun.

c) my cunt is sore. No guy has ever been upset to stop for this reason – usually because he doesn’t want to inflict genuinely uncomfortable pain, but partly because it’s a well-earned badge of honour.

d) he just can’t come. Whether the mood’s not right or he’s fucking too soon after a wank or he caught a glimpse of my face in the wrong light and I looked startlingly like his sister – there have been a fair few occasions when a guy has just stopped and decided we’d be better off playing Scrabble for a wee while until he gets hard again.

In these instances, one or other party often feels the need to apologise. I’ve heard occasional apologies and, slightly rarer, admissions that ‘I’m awful’ and ‘you must be so angry with me.’

This is not in any way a sexy thing. Giving it ten minutes then guiding my head back down to your dick is a sexy thing. Growling in my ear that you’ll take your frustrations out on me later is a sexy thing. Spanking me to let me know that you’re displeased is a sexy thing. Begging my forgiveness? Not so much.

My orgasms aren’t 100% crucial either

Likewise, whether I come or not is not an issue at the forefront of my mind when you’re pounding seven shades of fuck into me. It’s something that will probably happen, because I’m lucky enough to find it relatively easy to come when I’m being fucked. But that’s not to say that if it doesn’t happen I’m going to cry in a corner until you see the hurt you’ve caused me – I doubt that would stand me in good stead for the next time I wanted to sit on your dick.

If I’m honest, I’m far more likely to actually come – you know, for real – if you chill the fuck out about it. I’d prefer a quick, messy, satisfying, grunting, orgasmless fuck which leaves us both grinning like teenagers in a sex shop than a long, drawn out shag during which I can feel you thinking ‘why won’t GOTN come? What’s wrong with her? What am I doing wrong? Oh Christ I hope she comes soon I’ve got cramp and my dick’s going limp and please please please just come on my fucking cock you fussy bitch’, at the end of which I might end up coming but only out of a weary desire to get things over with and put you out of your misery.

Disappointing parties

My opinion might be freakishly abnormal, though – I occasionally find I that it is. Being unable to enter other people’s minds I am depressingly restricted to judging solely based on what I think and what other people have said to me.

There might be people out there for whom sex without orgasm is a horrible, horrible thing. For them, sex without orgasm may well be like a party without booze, and they may think both of those scenarios sound completely pointless.

But for me there are many different types of party, and many different types of fuck.
Having sex without an orgasm isn’t pointless, odd, or even particularly unusual. It’s actually reasonably common – whether through a difficulty orgasming during sex, through tiredness or, most frequently in my experience, because I occasionally find it hilarious to edge a guy until he almost comes then leave him writhing in erect discomfort for a couple of hours until he begs me to suck him dry.

It’s not a party without booze, it’s a party which ends early: still fun while it lasts, and at least when it’s done you can rub one out in the kitchen.

On whether I’m good in bed

Being a sex blogger is great, because people assume that I’m fucking dynamite in bed. People sometimes email me dirty stories that I star in, and – I have to be honest – in these stories I am always good in bed. Occasionally I demonstrate a level of sexual prowess that would stun even the most avid pornography fan. They’d certainly surprise the fuck out of any guy unfortunate enough to have been at the receiving end of my incompetent humping.


On nice surprises

Role play, like having a threesome, is incredibly tricky to do in a way that keeps everyone happy. Whether you’re a fireman, sex slave or naughty schoolgirl you’ll always have a certain idea in your head of how the scene will play out, and your partner(s) will have their own ideas. Very rarely does everything combine perfectly, meaning that there are often surprises.

Usually I rage against surprises – I have very specific fantasies, and the best sex is usually that which comes closest to the things I imagine when I’m alone at home with my knickers halfway down my thighs, scratching an itch I’ve been thinking about since a very specific scene popped into my head. But sometimes surprises can be good – things I’d never have considered doing or imagined could be hot. The right kind of person can show me things I’d never have wanted to do in a way that makes me achingly desperate to do them.


It started exactly as I’d imagined it would. They came to the bedroom – a boy and a girl – and accosted me, berated me, called me a bad girl. They bent me over the side of the bed – she beat me with a leather strap, while he held me down, pushing my face into the bedclothes so I wouldn’t scream too loudly.

They took me downstairs into the lounge, where they had an array of equipment laid out – straps, whips, floggers, and (shudder) canes. They took it in turns to punish me – one lifting my skirt and pulling my knickers down while the other held my head in their arms and crooned words of comfort.


You’re a good girl. You like this, don’t you?


Don’t you?



They stripped me and examined me, touching me all over, and hitting the parts that were softest.


And I loved it. I felt her hands all over me, and I saw his cock throbbing and pushing against the tightness of his trousers. I was wet and burning with pain, and desperate for him to fuck me. For her to fuck me – for someone, anyone, to push something solid into me and let me clench my cunt around it as I came.

They dragged me back upstairs to the bedroom, and I thought I’d get what I wanted.

‘Please. Please fuck me.’

He slapped me in the face and told me no. And she giggled with laughter that genuinely scared me. She was dominant and cruel, but did everything with a twinkle in her eye. She did things not because she was playing a game, but because she liked doing them. She liked scaring me with stinging cane-strokes that were just a bit too hard. She liked to show me that being submissive wasn’t just about taking pain that felt good. She’d beat me into a trembling pile of arousal and fear. She was, in short, spectacular.

‘Please fuck me?’

‘No.’ Said with conviction and more than a hint of cruel delight.

‘We’re not going to fuck you. Lie face down on the bed and pull your knickers down.

‘I’m going to give you an enema.’

I didn’t believe her. I didn’t really even know why an enema was supposed to be hot. I was horrified and humiliated and horny and confused, but that didn’t prevent me from being desperately curious. So I did as I was told. I lay face down on the bed, pulled down my knickers, and she gave me an enema.

I’ve never been so disgusted with myself and so aroused at the same time. When she’d filled my ass with water, she told me to stand in the corner of the room with my hands on my head. My legs shook and my stomach turned over and I counted down the agonising minutes while the two of them chatted. They discussed me, they dissected me, they contemplated beating me again. They appraised my tits, my arse, my thighs, the fresh, stinging whip marks across my buttocks and my back.

And I waited, and waited, and waited until I thought I was going to faint.

When they finally gave me permission to go I could barely walk. The stress of keeping everything in, holding myself straight and tight and still for what can’t have been more than five minutes, made it hard for me to move and gave me an agonising throb deep in my stomach that told me I needed to come.

When I finally made it to the bathroom, I sat in shame and miserable unsated lust, listening to her giggling outside the door.