Girl on the Net

This bored and ignored scenario is the next in the wank tales series, which I tried to write up to balance out some of the more aggressive and brutal ones. There’s still a lot of desperation/urgency in this one, but way more consent. In the spectrum of what I tend to find hot, this is at the cutest end. 

I’m reading a book. It doesn’t need to be an erotic book, and in fact it’s probably better if it isn’t. Just a book that I’m really absorbed by: perhaps a re-read of one of my favourite page-turners or something brand new by an author I adore. I’m lying across the bed on my stomach with my nose buried in a Kindle. He comes in and lies next to me on the bed.

First he tries to prompt conversation – asking ‘whatcha reading?’ and receiving a short answer and a wave of the hand as if to shoo him away. Next he tries to tempt me away – smacking or stroking my bum, maybe gripping his own dick through his jeans as it gets slightly hard. Almost like he’s presenting it to me.

The dynamic here is not one in which I am horny myself, but I’m not… not horny. I’m not averse to the idea of getting fucked, I’m just really absorbed in this book. I would be more than happy for him to fuck me, as long as I can keep reading while he does so.

This fantasy is all about how desperate he is to get off, regardless of whether I’m joining in. You might say it’s the ultimate lazy fantasy, but I think really it’s just a cosier, cuter and more consensual framing for some of the other things I wank off to: the coerced and non-consensual fucks which are taken because a misogynist guy’s really hot for it. This ‘bored and ignored’ scenario, like those more aggressive scenarios, isn’t about me, it’s about the guy. How hot he is for a fuck and how hard his cock is. In my more aggressive fantasies the men don’t care if the woman doesn’t want it. But in this one, the bored and ignored boyfriend would definitely stop if I said ‘no’. What turns me on in this one isn’t a lack of consent, but lack of participation. He’d stop if I said ‘no’, but even in the absence of a ‘yes’, he’s eager enough to get off that he’ll swallow the humiliation of fucking me even though I don’t fuck back.

The first thing he does is hook a finger into the waistband of my yoga pants. I’m lounging around on the bed reading a book, so of course I’m wearing yoga pants. If we’re in a relationship and you’re hanging out at my house, yoga pants are usually a tacit signal that I want you to yank them down and sling a quick one up me.

So. He hooks a finger into the waistband of my yoga pants and slips them down to just below the crease of my bum. Determined to stay silent, he stifles a little moaning noise in the back of his throat when he realises I’m not wearing any knickers. He reckons if he keeps quiet, and moves slowly and gently, I’ll barely notice what he’s doing. He’s entering into the pretence that if he fucks me as quietly and quickly as possible, I won’t casually swat him away. He needs to minimise disruption and avoid distracting me from my book if he wants to succeed in his mission to dump all his cum in my cunt.

I stare at my Kindle, still utterly absorbed. I can feel him shuffling on the bed next to me, sliding off his jeans and pants and tugging gently at his now-solid cock. But I ignore him – touching the screen to jump to the next page, and allowing myself to remain buried in the story.

As he straddles my thighs, the bed sinks a little, slightly changing my position. I shift a bit against him, arching my back ever-so-slightly but otherwise continuing to read. Again, he stifles a moan. And he stares down at the pale, smooth skin of my arse, and the crack that leads to where my cunt is getting wetter, and he rubs gently at his cock – getting ready to slide in.

There’s an aura of curiosity about him, as well as a sense that he’s desperate. He sucks on his fingers, quietly wetting them with saliva, and they tremble a little as he presses them into the slit of my cunt. Feeling them meet more wetness when he’s there, he bites back another of those lovely little moans, and fucks his hips forward ever-so-gently so he can slip the head of his cock in.

My legs are closed, so it’s a tight squeeze, but my back is arched to make the angle more inviting. I’m still reading the book, not acknowledging him at all. And the furtive nature of what he’s doing makes his cock throb harder. He knows he’s allowed to do it, but for some reason the fact that it’s totally unacknowledged makes him far more desperate to see it through.

The more stoically I ignore him, the more urgently he wants it.

He’s kneeling up, straddling my thighs, and the head of his cock is pressed into me. The tight ring of the muscles at the entrance to my cunt clutches wetly at the coronal ridge of his dick, and that feels good, but he needs to get some movement going if he’s gonna be able to come. So he leans forward, hands planted wide on the bed to take his weight without causing too much of a dip in the mattress where I’m lying, then – slowly and gently – he fucks all the way in up to the hilt. Buried in me, tight and wet, as I completely ignore what he’s doing.

From where he’s positioned above me, he could almost read the Kindle over my shoulder if he wanted to. I touch the screen to turn the page, eagerly devouring the story as he eagerly speeds up the fuck.

In my head, when I wank to this, I can both see his face and feel his desperation. That gut-wrench, crotch tingling horn that seems so powerful it’s like it scrambles your brain. He’s humping with increasing urgency – a move as necessary as it is extremely counterproductive. The harder and faster he fucks, the more likely it is that he’ll disturb me and be swatted away. But the longer he takes to come, the more likely it is that I’ll get frustrated and tell him to stop.

If you want to turn up the dial on this urgent/cautious/can’t-believe-his-luck tone, imagine that he’s not her boyfriend – he’s just a horny friend. He’s lusted after her for ages, but she’s always said no. Yet for some reason on this day, while she’s reading the book, she decides to let him take what he wants as long as he can do so without disturbing her. Every thrust of his cock comes with danger, that if he fucks too hard and makes her lose her place in the text, the spell will be broken. She’ll bat him away say ‘nah, get off me’ and he’ll have to swallow his disappointment and shame, pull out with an aching erection that he’ll have to force painfully back in his jeans before slinking away.

However you like to imagine it, though, imagine him like this: right on the verge of terror that I’ll turn round and tell him to stop. He’s being ignored for now, and he wants it to stay that way. He isn’t hoping for me to moan beneath him, or clench around his cock, or whisper ‘let’s get into this’ before rolling over and spreading my legs… he needs and wants me to keep reading and ignoring him. Not so much fucking as allowing him to fuck.

At one point I cough when I turn a page. He interprets this as a noise that shows I’m growing bored and inevitably, panic sets in. He starts to move faster. Fucking deep into me with hasty, clumsy strokes – building to the kind of rhythm he’d be using if he was beating a lonely one out and thought I might walk in at any moment. I know he’s there fucking me, and yet the fact that neither of us has acknowledged it makes him feel furtive. Dirty. Perverted.

I turn another page and he prays internally for me to keep reading keep reading just one more page please just one more page or two more please and he’ll be there. He keeps going, relentlessly like he’s fucking a Fleshlight, and now he can feel the orgasm building and building and building, until he’s so close that he doesn’t know if he even could stop, if I asked him to. Looking down at my body, shifting slightly against the bed with every stroke he fucks into me, my bum jiggling with each of his desperate thrusts, he realises just how far he’s strayed from ‘stealth’ mode. Reasons ‘fuck it, in for a penny…’

As the waves of orgasm start to build in the base of his cock, he pushes himself up and sits back, straddling my thighs once again. Cock slick from where it’s been inside me, he grips it in his right hand, and presses his left against my arse as he spreads my cheeks wide.

Abandoning all pretence at furtive fucking now, he allows himself a grunt of satisfaction and release, and as I touch the screen of the Kindle once again to turn the page, he unloads a generous – and heavy – portion of spunk all over the flesh of my exposed arse.

One shot, two, three, and more. Thick ropes of it cover me, warming my skin and starting to drip down the crack. The second the final wave crashes over him he looks up at the back of my head, still absorbed in what I’m doing. He feels a vague sense of shame that he’s done this, without really any idea why. I didn’t get into it, but I didn’t object. Although now that he’s gripping the head of his deflating cock and staring in post-nut horror at the mess he’s made all over me, he has a creeping sense that perhaps he’s done something wrong, and he’s in trouble.

Still reading my book, never turning round or making eye contact with him, I touch the screen to turn another page and sigh in a bored monotone:

“Clean that up now. There’s a good boy.”