This post was inspired by someone on Twitter a while ago who objected to the phrase ‘toxic masculinity’ and wanted to know if there was such a thing as ‘toxic femininity‘. I don’t know that there is, but this is the scenario that leapt to mind.
I don’t hate men, but I do hate this man. We race together towards a red light. He’s not far behind me, but he definitely is behind me. We yank on our brakes to come to a halt, and he pulls up next to me. Then, side-by-side, we sweat. We pant. We eye each other up. Then amber, green: go – we’re off. Another futile race which he cannot possibly win. He’ll try anyway, why not? And I don’t care if he tries – I like that he does. I swallow his attempts to beat me like shots of tequila and cum, delighting in how bitterly they burn as they slide down my throat.
It’s chilly, and we’re outside. Leaning in to each other for warmth, but delighting in the cold as well. My shirt is unbuttoned slightly and pulled down below my shoulder to expose one of my tits. He licks the tip of his finger slowly and runs it around the nipple. Wet spit meets cold air and hard nipples, and I shiver with longing.
So many of you will know that delicious, aching joy of wanting to shag someone but having nowhere to do it. Surreptitious touches in pubs and parks which just wind you up even more when you realise there’s nowhere to hide while you vent your frustrations on each other. This week’s guest blog, by Fajolan (who has written before about similarly delicious handsy-horny frustration), is all about that kind of horniness, with the bonus of an innovative way to ‘go get a room’ when there are no rooms to go to.
This post came from some improv erotica suggestions over on Patreon. Sometimes we play a game where Patreons give me a name, kink, location and object, and I try to work them into a sexy story – like this gang bang erotica or this one about being pegged by a stranger. I enjoyed writing the following story, because it combines my two favourite activities – kinky DIY and getting brutally fucked. The prompts I had to work into the tale were Josh/bondage/Homebase/drill.
I am fuckdrunk yet again. My legs are limp and my muscles weak and my throat is parched and all I can feel is the throbbing satisfaction in my cunt. For a split second I wonder if I’m making poor decisions, then I realise that fuckdrunk me could not possibly care less. Thinking straight is not as fun as being high on dick.