Girl on the Net

This is the second in the wank-tales series, in which I tell you some of the stories that play in my head while I’m masturbating. This is perhaps the tamest, and also the hardest to capture, because of it’s utter simplicity. It has no characters, no plot. No position changes and no speech. No need for content warnings. Absolutely no fancy shit whatsoever. This one is literally all about the exact speed, sensation and… OK yeah… girth of the fuckstroke. That’s it! But my God, what a fuckstroke. Zoomed in and turned up to 11. This is not one stroke among many, carried by a fuckawesome plot and some gruesome perversions. This is the purest fuck I ever have in my mind’s eye. I’m also hoping that those of you who’ve never been penetrated enjoy this detailed description of why (and how) penetration in itself can be so utterly and gutturally satisfying – that very first stroke that gets your cunt stretched out is not only often the best bit of sex for me, it’s also often an entire wank fantasy in and of itself. Let’s talk about getting my cunt stretched.

A quick note on girth

The other day, over a cup of coffee and a long-overdue catch-up, my good friend Molly Moore made a joke about me being – AND I QUOTE – a ‘size queen’. For the record, I am not a size queen. I was deeply and powerfully offended by her suggestion, so much that the fact I am mentioning it here almost counts as a subtweet (I love you Molly). I am absolutely NOT a size queen. While I have been known to wax lyrical about the odd individual’s exceptional dick, ‘exceptional’ is very much in the eye of the beholder, and shape/angle/how you use it is as much a contributing factor as size. Besides, as far as I am concerned, I’m extremely grateful for any and all of the dick that people are kind enough to dispense to me – big, small, or (as it genuinely standard, I promise, it’s literally the most common kind of dick for what should be obvious reasons) somewhere in the middle. I am grateful for any and all cock, no matter what the size or the shape. I am not a size queen.

*sheepish voice*

But…

There is something compelling about a cock that has girth. Just as there is something compelling about a McDonald’s when you’re hungover or a big warm hug from a friend when you’re feeling sad. Or the compelling urge to join in with the ‘Bah bah BAHHHHH’s when someone’s banging out ‘Sweet Caroline’ on the karaoke.

I don’t give a shit about length, and I find it baffling and weird when cis men tell me they have nine inches or whatever. Good for you, sweetheart, but my vagina isn’t nine inches long. My vagina is somewhere between four and seven inches long, depending on what position I’m being fucked in and how aroused I am. This isn’t a measurement as such, it’s more of a guesstimate based on dicks/dildos I have known and how often they have managed to slam themselves into my cervix. The length of your dick is only of importance to me when I’m riding you (the longer the cock, the more exuberant I can be when I’m bouncing on it – too short and I have to be more reserved lest it slip out and bend when I come slamming back down) and for general positioning logistics (you can do more fun shit with doggy or bent over if you have length, I think, but feel free to prove me wrong if you have tips), but girth is more of a headline. There’s a length range within which dicks work really well for me, but ultimately what matters is girth and shape. And today we’re gonna talk girth.

Feel the pop

This one includes a practical lesson, so let’s begin by wetting our lips. Make them nice and moist, feel how the saliva sits on them – how swiftly it evaporates from the edges, leaving a core of glorious moisture in the centre. Wet them again – stick your tongue out and keep it there. Just enjoy the way it sits between your lips for a second, providing resistance to prevent them from closing. Feel it. Got it? OK, now put your tongue away and close your mouth. You should have a lovely close ring of moisture in the centre of your lips left there by your tongue. Place a finger against it – the pad of your forefinger maybe, or your thumb if you prefer. If it feels dry (it might do), then lick/suck your finger first just to make it easier to slide in.

Pucker your lips and press that finger gently against them, like you’re about to push it in. Like you’re a seductress trying to tempt a stranger into a blowjob. I know, you feel silly, sorry about that. I hope you’re not reading this on the tube.

I want you to really feel every atom of your finger pressing against your lips. Feel the pressure, the slight friction if you push even slightly to try and penetrate. Don’t go in just yet, stay there. Just putting firm, wet pressure against the slit of your mouth. The slit that you know will open if you push hard enough. Imagine that the ring of your lips – the bit that takes them from a decoration on your face to an internal orifice – imagine that ring is hurting. Throbbing. Feel it. Delineate and demarcate the line: which part of your lips sits outside your body, and which sits inside? Where is that line? Feel it: press with your finger but don’t penetrate. Just make yourself aware of that circle of resistance – that boundary.

Now purse your lips tighter like you don’t want your finger going in. And do the previous paragraph again.

Feel how that line hurts. It’s like an itch, right? Like a powerful need. You’ve been thinking so long about getting that finger in your mouth that the line between outside and inside has almost started to throb.

Now push your finger in. Slowly.

Getting my cunt stretched

This is what I’m picturing during this wank fantasy, but with cock instead of finger and instead of lips it’s my very wet cunt. The whole thing happens in a really specific way. First of all, I’m on top. That’s important. The man beneath me is sitting on a sofa, still. Very still and very good and fuckdrunk-dozy with horn. Eyes semi-closed and lips parted slightly, staring down at the slit of my cunt as I squat just an inch or so above the straining tip of his prick.

His dick is as hard as it ever gets. It’s pointing straight up, ready for me to slide all the way down onto it. But ‘slide’ isn’t the right verb for what I do on his erection here, because it’s also incredibly thick. Girthy. Broad and fat enough to make sitting down a bit of a challenge.

So that’s the fantasy: the lips of my cunt lowered oh-so-slowly onto the… excuse me a moment… challenging girth of his cock. That initial sensation, as the tip parts my lips, of wetness kissing the taut skin of the head. Feeling myself lube it up, millimetre by millimetre, as I firmly and steadily sit myself down.

Once the head is past the lips, then it’s pressing against the hole – that ring of aching want right inside the entrance to my cunt.

Here’s why it matters that I’m on top: the pressure and force required to get it in means gravity helps here. It’s not just about the tension in my thighs as I gradually let myself drop further, enveloping more of his shaft, it’s about the fact that I’m subtly letting go. My hands on his shoulders, or on the back of the sofa, not pushing myself down but allowing myself to fall. His cock is straight and hard and thick. Solid like concrete. Full of blood. Skin practically bursting, it’s so full of it.

A guest blogger here once used the phrase ‘pipe-hard’ and that’s stuck in my mind. Sometimes I think of that phrase when I’m wanking over this story, so let’s go with that: pipe-hard.

This man is pipe-hard and dazed with horn and wishing he could fuck upwards into me. But he doesn’t: can’t or won’t, I don’t care. He’s probably not restrained, it’s not that kind of fantasy. He’s just sitting there and letting me do my thing. And he’s so horny for it that every atom of blood that it’s possible to cram inside the throbbing flesh of his cock is right there. Pulsing. Thrumming through it.

And I sit.

This fantasy is all about that first fucking stroke: the slide from tip to base. The brief second of resistance when I settle down onto him, and the subsequent satisfying moment when the ridge around the head of his cock pops past the aching ring of resistance at the entrance to my cunt. The way the swollen shaft stretches me out as I slide down further. The slow spread of my juice along the whole rigid length of him.

Further, and more stretched.

Down and down.

In my head, when I wank to this, there are three specific real-life dicks that flash into my mind: one long and thick, with a bulge at g-spot point. That rushes past my vision as I picture the way it used to feel when I got halfway down. Sometimes I’d pause there with my cunt stretched to max, just hovering mid-stroke, enjoying the almost-painful way the widest part of him would split me.

The second cock, someone else’s, gets a cameo for similar reasons though his bulge wasn’t quite as defined – that was more of a gradient. A gentle swelling from slightly narrower beneath the head to wide and satisfying closer to the base. When I picture this one, I remember the exact point at which that cock would become ‘too much’ during anal. Remember the way that guy used to whisper ‘good girl’ and ‘well done’ between grunts as he slowly and gently nudged it past the point of resistance while I mewled.

And the third one I think about is the fattest cock I’ve ever seen in my whole life. I shagged him once, and once only. It was like a full day at Alton Towers: magical and fun as hell but tiring – I couldn’t do it more than once a month. To this day, whenever I think of him, I’m so very, very grateful.

I picture these dicks, and sometimes new ones, and in my head this single stroke takes almost as long as the wank itself. There’s only one stroke, because that is what matters. The stroke that takes me from yearning and empty to full-stretch-then-a-millimetre-more.

Because it’s ‘full’ we’re after for the money shot here: I’m not going to tease you like I’d have teased those men, suspending the fuck in that precious moment before it goes all the way in.

When I wank about this I picture that first stroke – the sliiiiiiide – until I have managed to conjure the exact sensation of being so cunt-stretched that I don’t think I can fit any more inside. I mean that literally, by the way: I’m not here ‘picturing’ things like I’m trying to ‘see’ the image of my own cunt inside my mind’s eye – I’m tuning in to the muscle memory honed over years of sitting on cock to try and make my body feel the same. When I can finally feel that in my crotch, I allow myself to imagine going…

…wait for it…

…all the way down.

Watching his blissed-out, dazed-horny face in the fantasy, feeling that ache in my real-life cunt as I press a dildo ever-so-slowly inside myself, I feel what it is to slide all the way to the base of his pipe-hard, challenging dick.

Filled up. Split.

Right down: until the head is jammed against my cervix and the flushed skin of the inside of my thighs kisses the flesh of his bucking hips as he involuntarily jerks them, instinctively fucking up into me.

And then when I’m down to the base… I go down just that little bit more: forcing it a centimetre or so further, until I’m squatting down into his flesh and his prick is buried so deep that I can feel the bruises start to bloom around my cervix.

In the fantasy, I look him dead in the eye as he comes. And it’s so powerful and copious that I can feel each individual thick, hot squirt of it bursting from the tip of his cock.

Thudding into the deepest parts of my stretched-out, satisfied cunt.

Find more of the wank tales here, or support me on Patreon for a few extra stories. In the meantime, please note that I am currently unwell and taking a month off work. This post is pre-scheduled, as all the others will be until April, and I am not checking emails, comments or social media very often. Please click that link if you’d like to understand more. I would very much appreciate your patience if I cannot respond to you quickly.