Girl on the Net

I’m rarely guilty of lying – at least intentionally. While I probably fuck up a fair few of my stories, and invent dialogue where I forgot the actual words, I lack the imagination to tell a properly whopping lie. But I am definitely guilty of editing stories depending on the audience – usually when I’m talking about watching porn with a partner.

In articles for other people’s websites, you’ll often see me advocating porn as a great way to come up with new ideas, or explore them with a partner. I’ll conjure an image of you and your partner (or partners plural if you’re polyamorous and have a bigger sofa than me) sitting together in front of the TV, taking it in turns to choose hot porn scenes, then quiz each other on what you liked.

“How did you feel about the hands thing?”

“Do you reckon we could achieve that position?”

“I really want to try that thing with the pumpkin.”

You get the idea. And I do watch porn like that occasionally. Usually on a lazy Sunday evening during when we’re too tired to go to bed and actually shag. But that’s not the way I prefer to watch porn together.

Watching porn together: the truth

Let’s start with the most common scenario: we put something on and I sit between his legs on the floor. He runs his hands over my shoulders and down into my top. I sit on my hands, arching my back and pulling my shoulders back to try and tempt him to pull my top down and start pinching my nipples. It’s clean, neat, obvious, and the easiest way to get me tipping my head back and feeling the first stirrings of arousal in my cunt.

Then we fuck, doggy-style, so we can both stare at the telly.

I know, you wanted more than that. But this is the most common scenario, remember? It’s functional and quick. Typical sex. The cheese sandwich of watching-porn-while-fucking.

My favourite scenario, though, is much weirder. And it’s the one I don’t mention when I write guides on how to introduce your partner to your porn tastes. Because, fuck it, it’s really specific to me. It’s so specific to me that the following scene evolved over not days or weeks but years. Years of me explaining my fantasies to him in detail. Him experimenting with different words. Both of us testing the nuance and tone of each action, throwing out the ones that didn’t work and keeping the ones that did.

Watching porn together like this has been an iterative process.

Watching porn: the best way

We’re in bed, and he’s scrolling through a few videos. Hand clasped tight around his dick, shuffling occasionally but never quite getting fixed on something he likes. I’m semi-asleep and I can hear his breathing. He eventually settles on a video, starts wanking harder, before getting to that frustrated, anger-wank stage when he needs something extra to tip him over the edge.

“Get over here,” he mutters, still rubbing at his dick. “Quickly.”

I slide over the bed as he kneels up, again still rubbing at his dick. Phone in one hand showing something vigorous – all slapping and sweat and high-pitched moaning.

“On your front. Open your legs.” I do it, but slowly, because I want to be scolded.

“Fuck’s sake. Now.”

And I spread my legs and bury my face in the mattress. I can feel it shaking slightly as he continues behind me. Pumping his fist up and down his cock – faster as the scene on screen gets more intense. Pausing occasionally to skip the video forward or back.

Having found the right moment in the porn scene, he puts his phone on the bedside table.

“Move. I want you right here, head down: so I can watch the porn while I use your cunt.”

Use. Your. Cunt.

Those three words are everything to me: the perfect distillation of what this scene’s been building to. The moment when I can close my eyes, bite my lip, and do nothing other than stay perfectly still – a hole for him to fuck while he watches porn.

“Get your head down.” It’s not really a command – his hand on the back of my neck is pressing me down so hard I couldn’t lift it if I tried. The only way out is to tap him gently to stop the scene. But I don’t want it to stop. I want to stay rigidly still, holding my breath so as not to disturb him while he fucks out the frustration he was building before. I want him to whisper “that’s it” and “hold fucking still” in my ear and grunt along with the porn we’re watching – or not watching – together.

I want to behave.

I want to be good.

Compliant. 

In fact, more than compliant. Compliance suggests a conscious decision to do what I’m told, and I don’t want it to feel like a decision. When he tells me “squeeze your cunt tight around my dick” I want to do it instantly, before I have time to decide – I respond to his order in the same way a light turns on when you flick the button.

Automatic. Simple. Useful. Clenching around his fat, pounding cock in just the way it should to most efficiently milk spunk from him. At the same time as the guys on screen spray jizz, he’s filling my cunt and grunting with a casual satisfaction. The way you’d sigh happily after draining a pint glass when you’re thirsty.

So when I write about watching porn together, this is how I want to do it. From the outside it looks distant and selfish and borderline creepy.It looks less like ‘watching porn together’ than ‘him watching porn while he uses my cunt.’

But in fact it’s a carefully honed play – each word and sound scripted to cater to exactly my personal kinks. Each movement timed and rehearsed to create the most efficient, pinpoint pleasure. And when he does it I feel closer to him than I do during a straight-up fuck.

Because it’s my fantasy, in all its weird and sexy detail. And he’s burrowed so deeply in my head that I can barely tell the reality from the scene I dreamed up years ago.