Girl on the Net

Confession: I secretly want you to fail in your wanking endeavours. OK, perhaps not fail exactly, but struggle. I have a vested interest in you rubbing frantically at your dick with a kind of angry determination – balanced seemingly forever at that tipping point just before you come. I like to watch your face while you’re struggling during an anger wank. I like to see the look in your eyes: rage and frustration and desperation all rolled into one. I like to see your hand gripping harder, feel the bed or the sofa shake as you speed up to try and push yourself over the brink.

Recently I walked in on a guy having an anger wank: lying fully naked on the bed, dick gripped firmly in his right hand, phone screen held close to his face. His forehead was creased in concentration, the head of his dick a bright-red colour, as the blood filled it and pushed the skin taut, and his hands rubbed frantically at himself.

It’s OK: this guy knows I like to watch. He did his best to pretend I wasn’t there. Bedsheets hurled to one side, legs wide enough to give him good purchase, and that shuffling repetition as he beat harder at himself in a desperate effort to come. Occasionally he’d pause to scroll further forward in the video he was watching, or click back to watch a particular sequence again. I couldn’t see the video but I didn’t need to: all I needed to see was his busy hand rubbing away at his twitching dick, and the tension in his shoulders as I realised he’d been going for a long time.

Why is this hot? I don’t know: I know how frustrating that feeling is myself, because I’ve experienced it many times before. When you’re shudderingly horny yet your cock/clit/whatever just won’t participate. When you feel like you’re climbing a mountain and if you can just make these last few steps you’ll reach the summit, but that summit still feels tantalisingly out of reach.

Naturally I’m too nice to leave someone struggling for long, and after ten minutes or so I hopped on to see if I could fuck the frown off his face. But the minutes I spent watching him grit his teeth and beat away with the tight grip of his right hand gave me horny thoughts that carried me all through the next day. As I walked to the shops, I’d occasionally be stopped in my tracks with a flash-frame vision of his tortured face. As I sat on the train, I’d get a kick of lust in my stomach as I remembered how hard he’d been and the speed with which he’d rubbed himself.

And finally, just before I got home, I remembered where I’d seen this before. The first time I realised that it wasn’t just the wanking that turned me on, but specifically the desperation. This combination of an anger wank, a semi-public sex show, and a seriously satisfying orgasm.

It was Henry VIII.

If the video above disappears, there’s another version of the Henry VIII wank here. And if you’re interested, I think the whole of The Tudors is currently available on Netflix, and it contains a fair few horny sex scenes. Like Game of Thrones and Weeds, it has some delightful surprise TV filth.