Girl on the Net

Sorry to be a pain, gang. I am writing yet another fucking blow job story. Do you like blow jobs? God, I hope so. I think I’m becoming something of a one-trick pony. If that pony’s trick is sucking cock. Join me my friends, my loves, my ever-patient pals, as I regale you with a tale of yet another fucking blow job.

Yet another blow job (a submissive one!)

Don’t get me wrong, I adore giving blow jobs. That’s part of the problem, if I’m honest. A blow job is a very easy thing to relax into, no matter what mood I happen to be in.

Like the other day, when the mood I was in could be summed up as ‘keen to get fucked, do not care which hole’, and the guy I’d cycled round to see (the Bracelet Game guy, if you care about characters) grabbed me in the hallway and pushed me to my knees so I could eagerly take his cock into my mouth before I’d even fully stepped across the threshold.

Image by the awesome Stuart F Taylor

On that particular day, I revelled in the ease with which he pushed me down (*swoony voice* he’s very strong) and found myself hoping he might push me a little further. The odd moments when he slipped from ‘enjoying the blow job’ into ‘actively fucking my face so that I had to twist my head to make sure my hair cushioned it from banging into the wall’ were delightful. So delightful that I tried reaching through his legs to grip his bum, yanking him towards me to encourage him into a little more vicious brutality. Hoping hoping hoping that he’d grab my skull and fuck my throat till I spluttered.

Another fucking blow job story there, sorry – I’ve got hundreds.

Yet another blow job (a dominant one!)

Here’s another recent blow job with a different guy – one that I’d hoped to be able to write up in detail as a kind of teaching moment. A blog post that might encourage people to make more noise while you’re giving them head. This dude (the toyboy, for those who keep track) was having a fairly quiet day, sex-noise-wise, to the point where I found myself wondering if he was losing the mood. So calm and chill and silent was he that I couldn’t ascertain whether my efforts were bearing fruit.

“Are you OK?” I asked him, and he replied with a rapid “yes!” – the one that means “don’t stop!”

Image by the fantastic Stuart F Taylor

Before I continued, I asked him to give me a little more feedback. One or two moans and groans lapsed all-too-swiftly into silence, so I had a go at testing a less verbal method of communication.

“Hold my hair,” I told him, grabbing his hand and placing it on the back of my head. “If you want me to go harder, push down. If you want more, push faster. Try and guide me a little bit – give me feedback.”

He seemed either bemused or terrified by this. He held his palm on the back of my head tentatively, like he was scared to interrupt a magic spell, as I sucked and slurped and choked and wanked and all but drove myself mad trying to wring a bit of noise out of him. I sat up for a brief pause, sweating so much from the effort expended, the atmospheric humidity, and the powerful heat between his thighs that I (genuinely) had to pop off for a mid-shag shower (I am a very sweaty person).

While I was enjoying a nice cool soak, I came up with a better idea. First I did some consenty stuff, establishing that he really did want me to suck his dick again, then put my new plan into action.

“Listen up you little fuck,” I barked, romantically. “I want you to make some fucking noise so I know that I’m on the right track. When I start sucking your cock again you’re going to give me some vocals. That’s the deal. Understand that when the noise stops… I stop too.”

That gave him enough impetus to start whimpering beautifully (I know I’m telling this story with my domme voice on, but I need you to know that the domme thing is performance, so I’m sliding in an aside here to let you know that I treasure him and he’s a truly good boy). My good boy made just enough noise to keep me going for a few more minutes, before he once again lapsed into silence – so in awe of my cocksucking mastery that he’d apparently lost the power to speak or even squeal.

True to my word, when he shushed I stopped sucking. Then I sat up, looked him dead in the eye like a teacher bollocking him for not completing his homework, and he crumpled into panic before mustering a lovely little whimper.

Then I got back to business.

And then he came in my mouth.

Fuck. Got distracted there, didn’t I? Another fucking blow job story, huge apologies. My bad.

Yet another blow job! This time an egalitarian one!

There are so many tones that you can layer into a blow job – you can suck dick as self-care, suck dick as part of a threesome, suck dick dominantly or submissively, as above. More recently I’ve embarked on a couple of blow jobs that are purely for show-off purposes. One I can’t tell you about, because the guy doesn’t know about my blog and I have principles. And frankly you all should be glad of that: do you really need yet another blow job story? On top of the ones above? And the ones that the next paragraphs are inevitably about to detail?

This next one was inspired by a discovery I made on a previous date with a different guy – I had my head hanging off the side of the bed and he stood over me, then fucked deeply and slowly into my throat. He made this amazing noise – the unngh of sexual satisfaction with an extra layer of ohhh surprise – like he’d never truly fucked somebody’s throat like this before. Loads of people think they’ve throatfucked when they’ve never truly fucked somebody’s throat: the latter requires a very specific angle, one which I cannot personally achieve when kneeling with dick at mouth height. You can get a feel for it right now though: tilt your head backwards on your neck so there’s a straight line from your lips down your gullet, like you’re swallowing a sword. Straight line, so any long, firm object won’t be stopped when it hits the back wall. Do you get what I mean?

Anyway. He’d made this noise on a previous excellent date. So the next time I was sucking him off, I wanted to try it again. Not just suck him deep but fully swallow. There’s potentially a short, funny blog post to be wrung out of his confusion about the importance of position. The break in proceedings as I told him to shuffle over to one side of the sofa and sit at a slight angle so I could kneel up and swallow his cock from above rather than in front or from the side (straight line from lips to gullet: see?). As there’s probably also a blog post in the satisfaction of getting that right – being in the perfect position to tease his dick with short strokes and wet kisses round the head, before opening wide and tilting forward, sliding all the way down the shaft, till the tip of his dick slid neatly beyond my soft palate and right into the depths of my throat.

But – all together now! – it’s yet another fucking blow job story, isn’t it? Yet another cock sucked, another moment captured that – while shining with beauty and horn and ideas inside my head – does not translate onto paper when you don’t know all the back story. Absent the tones and textures of the banter and vibe I have with each of these glorious people, these events all merge into one. The fucks seem far too samey. That fabulous session of head just reads like yet another blow job.

Why do I keep writing about yet another blow job?

It’s because I keep doing them, that’s why. There’s no way around it. I keep giving blow jobs. All the time. Like… loads. More than any other sex thing.

The problem is partly that I don’t see any of the men I’m shagging often enough to build the kind of intimacy and creativity that’s required to indulge in something truly weird. Some of my most exciting fuck adventures – the things that have you all yelling ‘pervert!’ and hounding me through the streets with a Bell Of Shame (hot) – are the things I have done with men I’ve known well. The ones I see often enough that I can take a risk, knowing that if this particular trip to a sex cinema or escapade with a fuck machine or genius use of a belt and a Fleshlight doesn’t hit the mark, there will always be another fuck tomorrow.

But when you only see someone for a single night once every few weeks, it’s tempting to just play the classics. Stick to the in-and-out. The suck jobs. The feels-good-but-writes-badly fucking. Occasionally I’ll dip into the making–out-and-banter that comes before and after (which if I’m honest is one of my favourite bits – right up there on a par with blow jobs!) but no one reads a sex blog purely for the pre-and-post-fuck bants.

Besides, those bits are private.

Indulging in infinite suck jobs isn’t great for my career, to be honest. You don’t build traffic off yet another blow job story. You don’t get new Patreons or sell sex toys or receive invites from journalists to contribute to a podcast if you only ever write about the joys of sucking dick. People also do a LOT of searching for anal, and I haven’t done that in over a YEAR!

I really want to give you what you want, but I never want to lie about my life. Or – worse, far worse – shape and mould the way I shag just to please an audience, instead of the person I’m fucking.

And besides, I really do love doing this. I bill this as a sex blog, but it’s mostly about what I love. And right now what I love just happens to involve a lot of suck jobs.

“What do you want to do tonight?” these brilliant, sexy men ask me. And so often, almost always, my answer comes back the same:

“Yet another blow job please, my lovely.”