I’m riding his cock. It’s the end of a very long night, and he’s built up plenty of spunk. Not only do I really want that spunk, I also really want to come myself. So just before I hop onto his dick, he hands me one of the toys that I wish every guy I banged had in his bedside drawer: a Doxy. Grinding my clit against it while his rock-solid thickness stretches out my cunt is a proper treat, and combined with the porn that I chose, which is playing in the corner of the bedroom, I’m sure I’ll come in no time.

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We’re sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, legs entwined. There’s something chill and easy on the telly and I’m enjoying the sensation of his hand stroking up my thigh. He moves his palms in measured, predictable strokes. From my bare knee, up and over the fabric of my shorts to the top, and then back again. My skin tingles and my cunt starts to ache.

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If you’d rather hear this one read aloud, join my Patreon (at any tier) and go to this update: it starts at 14:45. If you want to catch up with the trilogy (though it’s not necessary to read them in order), here’s part 1 (cunt) and part 2 (ass). This is part 3 (mouth), and it’s my favourite. 

Shagging new people isn’t just a question of teaching them how I like to be touched, or which words make me squirm with desire. Sometimes I find myself having to school men on the basics, like ‘it’s not shameful if you can’t get hard’ or ‘you’re allowed to take some time to get comfortable before I start sucking your dick’. New guys often behave like sex is this thing which must be done correctly, immediately, or they’ll somehow lose points. This isn’t a criticism, my dudes, it’s understandable that some of you have taken this message from society, because society’s been shrieking bullshit at you for ages, telling you that this is how sex works. It even uses words like ‘performance’ when trying to sell you boner pills, as if fucking is a production you’re putting on, and I’m just the audience who will sit there and applaud.

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Fucking doesn’t usually work by just ticking off your desires in order, like crossing items from your shopping list once you’ve put them in your basket. But talking about ideas in the downtime, or the afterglow of the previous shag, can help plant seeds for the future. We don’t have enough time together, me and this guy. Not nearly enough. And because we are acutely aware of this fact, it turns out that both of us have been making mental lists of possibilities. Lying on the bed after our first cunt-ruining fuck of this 24 hour hangout, he reveals that he’s even made notes on his phone. Scattered ideas from flash-frame images he’s wanked on since the last time we hung out.

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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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