She’s working diligently; head down, fingers bouncing off the keyboard, a small furrow between her brows. To the casual observer, she could be a freelance web designer or accountant, HR consultant or researcher – the millennial uniform of smart-casual jeans, ankle boots, tailored jacket would be out of place in neither a wine bar or a boardroom.
After a few frantic bursts of key-tapping, she pauses. Stares blankly across the bustling coffee shop, pursing her lips before returning her attention to the laptop screen with tunnel-vision focus.
The privacy screen hides her work from the eyes of passers-by, perhaps she is composing a confidential email or business report on which a career or a company’s future depends. An international treaty or human rights investigation with the potential to save lives or determine economic futures?
She smiles to herself as the words pour from her fingers onto the screen. Words of desire and debauchery; words of lust and lechery. Words she would not say aloud in the presence of her mother. Words to provoke desire, power arousal, raise the pulse and bring a flush to the reader’s cheeks.
Every time she shifts on the hard wooden chair, the uncompromising plug of glass within her makes its presence felt; sliding and stretching in its coat of lube, enclosed in the tight grip of her anus. The slick of lube in her knickers has long since been surpassed by the flood of her own arousal, if she reached into her jeans right now, her hand would emerge slippery and sweetly musky. There is a pleasant yearning ache deep within her, a longing to grasp and clench and slide, to feel filled and stretched and demanded.
When she’s finished this piece, she can go home and reward herself with release. 296 words done, only another hundred to go.
My sex toy collection is still fairly modest although possibly still larger than the average non-sex-blogger person’s. I have:
1 WeVibe Rave
3 Satisfyers (the Pro, the Pro for Couples and the G-Spot Rabbit)
1 Doxy 3
4 buttplugs (two metal, two silicone, of varying sizes)
1 Fun Factory Tiger
1 Nu Sensuelle remote control bullet
1 Mantric remote controlled vibrating egg
1 Ann Summers G-spot vibe
1 Bijoux Indiscrets diamond vibe
2 leather floggers (one large thuddy one and a small stingy one)
3 leather paddles of assorted size
1 leather tawse
4 pairs of cuffs (leather, canvas, knitted, silicone)
2 sets of nipple clamps
1 nipple suction/vibe device
4 glass dildos with various texture patterns
2 clit clips
1 eye mask (ok it was a British Airways freebie but I’ve only ever used it for sex games)
Several clothes pegs
Leather bondage collar with throat ring
Ok, that’s more than I’d expected! And I only use a small subset of these for wanking (mostly the poky things, the pinchy things and the buzzy things). What I use depends on a) how much energy I have to spare, b) how much time I have available and c) how kink-drunk I’m feeling.
When I go all-out for a kinky wank session, I’ll usually start with my collar, a buttplug and nipple clamps, then add a bullet and a dildo for as much sensation input as I can get. Usually, those don’t last very long because I’m greedy and impatient.
When it’s an emergency wank, I’ll jam the WeVibe Rave inside me and dial up the Womanizer to borderline-painful. Also, usually a quickie.
When I want to take my time, I’ll set aside the buzzy things and go low-tech with silicone buttplug, glass dildo and nipple clamps. Longest session so far; 90 minutes.
Sometimes I just need to stuff the biggest thing I can find inside me (that’ll be the trusty Tiger then) and other times I won’t bother with buttstuff.
If there’s one toy I don’t think I could survive on a desert island without, it’d be the Rave. It’s versatility as a g-spot vibe and a clit-pleaser is handy, it’s got a great rumble and intensity range, some of the patterns are even good fun and it’s rechargeable (I’d definitely need a solar charger after a couple of days!). With a condom over it, it’s also good for a butt-buzzing although I wouldn’t advise trying to use it internally. I haven’t actually used its app-based remote control features at all because I’ve been too busy wielding it alone but it’s definitely something The Fella and I have on the ‘to do’ list.
This evening, I think I’ll go slow, alternating between a glass cock in my cunt and the beaded glass Icicle in my butt. Sometimes it’s nice to do all the work myself.
Edging myself is not something I do deliberately very often. I’m terrible at self-denial (and not just when it comes to orgasms; I’ll eat chocolate until I feel sick and smoke until my lungs hurt because – well, why on earth would I stop?!)
I love being edged by someone else – not just the tantalising feeling of almost-but-not-quite, but mostly the delicious knowledge that someone else is in control of my physical sensations and that they are doing to me what they want. The cheerfully sadistic grin on The Fella’s face when he pulls his hand from my clit at the last second and watches me writhe in torment only intensifies my pleasure and longing. Despite my pleading and gasping for release, I’m almost disappointed when he finally gives in and allows me to come.
But when it’s just me doing me, where’s the fun in holding back? When I’m pleasuring myself, it’s all about the buildup to orgasm; in my mind the climax is the goal and the purpose of the whole exercise – why would I not take it to conclusion as fast and hard as I can?
This time was different. I had a whole evening alone in an anonymous and rather dingy hotel room, no mobile signal to speak of and no desire to spend my leisure time getting ahead on my work. Obviously, the logical thing to do was to have a wank. A nice, long, leisurely wank that would keep me occupied until sleeptime. How to make sure it would go on long enough? Clearly the answer was to indulge in some edging. An solution to be found lurking in the cracks, as it were.
I take off my clothes slowly and deliberately, folding each item neatly away in my suitcase until I’m standing naked in front of the full-length mirror. Appraising myself with the eyes of a lover, I run my hands across my breasts, up my legs, over my buttocks with a light sensual touch. Not the sort of touch I’d usually favour when bringing myself off – no pinching, grabbing or squeezing this time; I was taking it slow.
I lie down on the double bed, relishing the feel of cool crisp cotton sheets against my bare skin. Forcing myself to keep still and absorb the sensation, to keep my greedy hands under control and away from my hungry cunt.
As my nipples harden, I turn over onto my back and spread my limbs; imagining ropes around my ankles and wrists, securing me to the corners of the bed and restricting my movements. I hold myself there, straining against illusory bonds and feeling the breeze from the window caress my slick and swollen labia.
This is sweet torture. I want to shove my fingers inside myself and fuck myself hard.
But I don’t.
I reach to the bedside table for the bullet I’d placed there earlier and switch it on. Not my usual favoured medium-intensity steady buzz but a staccato pattern of long and short impulses. I tuck the bullet against my clit and close my legs, trapping it in place. No hands. Not yet.
The wait between each pulse seems longer and longer each time, the sensation heightened with each vibration. Before it can overwhelm me, I move the bullet to my left nipple then my right. It’s as though each has a direct line of nerves to my clit, in the absence of stimulation there, my breasts are super-sensitive. I want to twist, pinch, pull on them.
Not yet, I tell myself
Wait for it, you greedy slut
I circle the opening to my cunt with the bullet, never allowing it inside even as I buck my hips and groan to be filled with something – anything. I want to batter myself cross-eyed with the biggest dildo I can find, grind my clit against the throbbing bullet, choke myself until my orgasm burns though me.
But I don’t.
For hours, I keep myself teetering on the brink, keeping rigidly still with my hands by my sides and my legs spread whenever the rising tide of arousal threatens to overpower me, then starting again, with light gentle strokes, and fleeting pulses; trailing my hands over my quivering body, sucking on my fingers to taste myself, unwilling to let the tension reach its peak.
Finally, after the sixth – or was it seventh? – stagger back from the brink, I decide to allow myself to come. This time, I grab myself, slap my breasts, squeeze my throat, set the bullet to maximum intensity and grind it into my clit relentlessly, jabbing three fingers into myself with my other hand, abandoning myself to the overwhelming urge to climax and screaming into the pillows as an intense orgasm takes me over.
When the aftershocks have subsided – at least ten minutes later – I stumble to my feet on shaking legs and prepare for bed.
TW: some of these fantasies involve totally make-believe scenarios of non-consensual sex. Consent is definitely and always necessary IRL, but inside my head I am safe to explore darker themes without damage. If the idea makes you uncomfortable or distressed then this blog post is not for you, please don’t read on. Always take care of yourselves and each other.
What do you think about when you’re having a wank? Someone asked me this a long time ago and my response was erm; fucking, duh….isn’t that what everyone thinks about?
Since then, I’ve read a lot of sex blogs and books, talked to various different people – friends, online acquaintances, total strangers – and have come to realise that it isn’t anywhere near as much of a well, duh matter as Younger Me assumed. (Younger Me may well have been even more of a smartarse twerp than Present Me. I’m working on that, honest)
But what a revelation – wanking doesn’t have to involve picturing penetrative sex! Now there’s a ‘well, duh’ moment if ever there was one. My eyes have been opened and my mind broadened! In fact, now I really think about it, there’s only a narrow time window in my wanking during which I am actually imagining getting thoroughly pounded by ravaging cock (I pretty much always include that at some point though).
So what do I think about when having a wank?
If I’m doing the 5-minute power-assisted Utility Wank; probably not much except the feeling of whatever device I’m using on my clit. That’s for when I’m tired or ragingly horny but without time to spare. (Interestingly, the orgasms I have from those feel less intense and more functional than fulfilling).
When I’m wanking for fun, I want more than just a redlining rev count.
Starting off with the warmup…. usually prior to my actually getting my hands onto/into myself…
These fantasies have narrative, and detail, I switch from one to another as my arousal builds, seeking the flavour that matches my mood. Am I feeling playful? Intense? Darkly submissive? Let’s test which of these makes me horniest today…
I’m lying on top of my duvet on a sunny weekend morning, pyjama bottoms kicked to my ankles, top yanked up over my tits. One hand idly brushing my clit, the other sucking on my fingers. I look up and see the man at the window. He was supposed to be cleaning it but has stopped, transfixed and tumescent, at the sight of me pleasuring myself. I give him a cheeky wink and reach for a dildo. I’m going to give him a show he’ll never forget. He watches as I slowly slide my toy in and out of my wet cunt, raising it now and again to plunge it my mouth, holding eye contact all the while.
The hard-eyed, set-jawed look of intent hunger my boyfriend gives me when we sneak a moment together away from this party; the same expression he wears when he pins me beneath him and rips away my knickers. “I’m going to make you work so hard tonight” he growls softly into my ear. “I’m going to make you beg me to let you come”. He pulls me to him so that I can feel how hard he is then leads me back inside where he teases me with whispered threats and sly pinches until it’s time to leave.
All evening I’ve been coming onto this man. He’s just my type; articulate, authoritative and amusing. We spoke in hushed, anticipatory tones of bondage, of spanking, of dominance and depravity. He reaches up behind me and cups a firm hand around the base of my skull. “Come with me” he orders. He bends me over in the lift and spanks my bare arse, then pulls me up by the hair. In his room, he ties me down over the desk, spreads my legs wide and tells me in graphic, filthy detail what he is going to do to me and how much he will hurt me if I scream or struggle
Now I’m soaking wet, hunger sparks up from my core and tingles across my body. My face is flushed, my pupils dilated. My cunt is greedy, aching to be filled, my clit is swollen in readiness. Time to get hands-on.
From this point onwards, it’s all about sensation. Plot arcs dissolve, characters lose their features, detail becomes blurred. Now I just want input; fast, hard and filling
The sight of myself in front of the mirror, makeup smeared and gasping as I fuck myself
The mental image of three beefy guys in a warehouse, one is on all fours with his mouth and arse filled by the hard cocks of the other two. They slap his arse, pull his hair, make him gag, choke, buck his hips, struggle against their inexorable thrusting
The feeling of being filled; arse plugged, cunt clenching on the ribbed glass cock, mouth full of thrusting silicone shaft
Short, desperate breaths into the pillow; a race between orgasm and escape from suffocation
The taste of my hot cunt sucked from my own fingers
Picturing myself held down, tied, chained up; spread and helpless, beaten, choked, brutally pounded in every hole by dozens of faceless men and women
My own voice, or another’s, imagined or recalled – that’s it you fucking slut, come on you bitch, use that cunt hard, take it all, do what you’re told or I’ll really hurt you, oh you fucking bitch, that’s it, come for me now
The gathering fire of my orgasm as it builds and detonates, spills hot wetness from my cunt and helpless moans from my mouth.
The languorous afterglow of a satisfied mind and body.
My body isn’t conventionally ‘perfect’ – many years of SSRIs, fatigue, joint problems and desk jobs have taken their toll on my metabolism and my shape. But, I’ve learned to love my figure just the way it is. Thanks to my genetic condition (Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome), I have very soft skin which always looks tanned, courtesy of my mixed heritage. My favourite bits are my tits and my arse – both curvaceous and bodacious.
When I’m in hotels (which is a lot, for work), I like to play with the mirrors, looking for new ways to see myself and celebrate being just the way I am.
I’m pretty sure I actually saw this on the way home today. Even if my eyes deceived me at the time, it makes for a pretty damn hot fantasy. How lucky it just happens to be #MasturbationMonday!
So picture this. You’re on the bus on the way home from the station. It’s been a long and demanding day, so all you want to do is silence the whirling work-thoughts buzzing around your brain. You’ve been idly contemplating your favourite sexual fantasies on the journey so far, picking out which to play on your mind’s projector that evening when you settle naked onto your bed. You’re gazing out of the window, not really registering what you’re seeing as you picture scenes of dominance, restraints, floggings and hard fucking.
Then it happens. The bus jolts over a speed bump and you look up momentarily, to meet her eyes.
She has long brown hair and a sweet face. As she leans out of the open window, her unbuttoned blouse reveals a slender androgynous body. Are those…..? Yes, what you initially thought were pierced nipples are clamps with a chain swinging between them. Swinging in time to the thrusting of the unseen man behind her.
Oh my god
She’s getting fucked right there in the second-floor window in broad daylight on a busy street.
Her eyes are closed and she’s grasping the window sill with clenched hands. You can see her bracing herself against the pounding she’s receiving; her mouth falls open and you imagine you can hear her breathless cries
“Oh yes, please…..fuck me….”
You want to stay here and watch, but the bus is already moving on past the window and up the road. Suddenly, you can keenly feel the juddering of the old diesel engine beneath your metal-and-plastic seat. You want to squirm, to pinch and pull at your nipples, to press your fist hard against your clit. You want what the woman in the window is getting.
The walk home from the bus stop is brisk. With each step, you can feel your clit swelling and becoming more sensitive. Your knickers are so wet.
Back in the house, you race upstairs to the bedroom and pull off your clothes, rough with the urgency of your arousal. Standing in front of the full-length mirror you compare your body to hers. Yours is all lush curves and softness. Hers was lean and slender. Your skin is the almost-tan of your mixed heritage. Hers was white as milk.
You wonder what she’d feel like, pressed against you face to face. If you’d been between her and the window, your heavy breasts would brush against the clamps she wears on hers. Maybe the chain would attach her clamped nipples and yours – pulling and pinching harder as your bodies move apart; then a cold streak against your warm selves with each forward thrust.
You close your eyes and tug gently at your nipples, imagining.
You can’t see the man’s face, only a silhouette somewhere behind her in the darkened room. He’s breathing hard, grasping her tightly by the hips so that his fingers are digging into her taut skin. You hear the slap of their bodies meeting and and the slick, wet sounds of his cock delving in and out of her.
You reach for a dildo. A large, silicone mock-cock, warm and solid to the touch.
Maybe she’s wearing a strap-on harness. Maybe with each jerk of his hips against hers, he forces the dildo she’s wearing into you. Maybe her eyes gleam as she transfers to you, the pleasure of being taken.
You’re wet enough to push the dildo inside you, hard and deep. Picturing yourself, her, him, all moving together; you fuck yourself roughly, matching the rhythm you remember seeing.
She puts her hands on your shoulders, bracing herself. You grab her hands and set them around your throat instead. He is fucking her and she is fucking you and you are fucking yourself so hard. You reach down and rub your clit in circles, in time with the motion of the dildo inside you. Imagine you can feel her hands round your neck, her breath on your cheek. Her body against yours.
She’s close to the edge, gasping and tightening her grip, bucking her hips, arching her back.
He drives himself deeper into her, one hand now clutching a handful of her long hair, the other wrapped around her waist to pull her closer to him.
Your cunt is clenching around the firm silicone pounding into you. You’re going to come, and as you do, you picture her orgasm along with yours. You’re writhing together, clutching and grabbing, filling your hands and mouths with each other; breathless and weak-kneed.
He pulls out of her spasming cunt and grabs a handful of your hair alongside hers, pulling you both down onto your knees to receive his come. It slicks across your faces, drips from your mouths.