Girl on the Net

Last Sunday’s instalment of ‘sex blogger life’, in which I was watching my boyfriend masturbate to porn and trying not to move, ended on not-quite-a-cliffhanger. Me, dripping with horn, sitting on an office chair in the corner of the room while my boyfriend did his best to pretend I wasn’t watching as he beat one out to an especially hot porn video. Today we’re going to pick up where I left off, just as he declares that it’s time for a break in the proceedings…

“Let’s pause for a while,” he says, letting go of his rock-hard cock and turning to acknowledge me. At this point I’m almost a puddle in the corner of the room, having been staring entranced at the sight of him wanking for the best part of half an hour.

I’m a bit sad about taking a break, because I was having such a good time watching him. But I’m also glad, because it gives me a chance to check in. The point of last week’s blog post was to show you how hot the whole scene was, and hopefully give you something to have a wank of your own to if you’re that way inclined. The point of this week’s is different: I want to show the difference between real life and sex blogger life, via some of the moments that usually get written out of the story.

“That. Was. Awesome.”

First thing, of course, is the post-fuck analysis (or post-wank analysis in this case).

After declaring he needed a break, my partner turned to face me, and I could see a look of trepidation on his face. Nervousness that he’d gone too far, perhaps, or that I hadn’t enjoyed the show he’d put on. Despite my constant reassurances that I really really love watching him wank, he’s still somewhat shy about it. I don’t know how many years of work it takes to undo the societal stereotype that masturbation is dirty and wrong, and watching porn will make your girlfriend jealous, but in our experience it’s at least eight years and counting. So he was nervous. He wanted to be sure that I wasn’t jealous of the women in the porn or turned off by the eagerness with which he cracked one off to it.

Luckily, I am not a subtle person.

“That. Was. AWESOME.”

“Haha, w… was it?”

“Yes. The parts where you rewound the scene to replay your best bits and the parts where you got lube to soothe your aching cock and the faces you pulled and the movements you made and and and…”

I trailed off into a haze of lust and he smiled, relieved, before offering:

“Do you want to have a wank while I do it some more?”

I was upstairs and rummaging for my sex toys faster than you can say ‘Zumio.’

An awkward hiatus

Unfortunately, rather than grabbing stuff and immediately returning to the hot scenes downstairs, I actually spent five minutes muttering ‘fuckfuckfuckfuck’ as I tried to locate my Zumio, then a whole load more ‘fuckfuckfuck’s when I realised that my favourite dildo had fallen off my bedside table and onto the carpet. That’s a detail I rarely include in a story – it’s usually far sexier to say ‘I grabbed the dildo’ than ‘I spent a boner-killing five minutes in the bathroom washing off the fluff my dildo had picked up from my rarely-hoovered bedroom floor.’ Sex blogger life is not as glamorous as I sometimes make it out to be.

By the time I returned, my partner was back into the rhythm of the wank: lying on the sofa, cock in hand, staring at the screen and pretending I didn’t exist. Yum.

I watched him for a while, allowing my libido to get over the shock of the dildo dash, and settled back into the ‘basically-I-could-come-just-from-watching-him’ tingle that I’d been enjoying only ten minutes before. When I was ready, I took off my jeans and knickers and started to wank along with him. There was absolutely no need for lube, or spit: my cunt was so wet it almost felt like I’d pissed my knickers – if anything I felt guilty for the damp patch I was about to leave on his office chair. That’s another part of sex blogger life you tend not to see: the stains. So. Many. Stains. Hit me up with recommendations for cleaning products, and maybe one day I will tackle them.

I knew he’d forgive me for any mess. And I hope you lot are in a forgiving mood too, because I’m not going to go into detail about my own wank today. Suffice to say it was excellent, and despite the simple functionality of it, I managed to come so hard, and for so long, that I wondered if I all my previous orgasms had, in fact, been false alarms. It was pretty intense.

Will he won’t he

Naturally, the second I’d come, I switched my attention to the guy who’d been rubbing his dick for forty-five minutes and was clearly in need of relief. He’d been edging himself to the point of genital chafing primarily – though not entirely – for my entertainment, so it felt only fair that he should get a grand finale of his own. Though I toyed with the idea of offering him some direct support, via the medium of my cunt or mouth, I decided against it: he knew me well enough that if that’s what he wanted he’d have just asked for it, demanding ‘get on your knees and spread your cunt for me’ if he’d prefer a bigger finish. Besides, he looked incredibly focused, and I didn’t want to distract him.

He frowned in concentration, a few beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. His chest shone with sweat now, too, and I revelled in a glorious post-orgasmic kick of horn when I realised just how arduous this was for him. How much his dick hurt after so much play. What started as performance, then gradually became indulgence, had now tipped over into outright frustration. And as I may have mentioned before, frustrated anger wanks are intensely sexy.

So I stayed as still as I could, naked from the waist down and just watching, as he skipped the scene to one of his favourite parts and tried – over and over – to get to the climax he so desperately needed. Fist clenched tight around his cock, muscles in his arm taut with effort, sweat now pouring down the sides of his face…

Until eventually he let out one big, intense sigh, then stood up from the sofa. With his dick still throbbing a bright, angry shade of red, he turned to me with a resigned look and petulantly declared:

“Fuck it, I’m getting an ice lolly.”

To those of you who will end this post concerned that sex blogger life kind of sucks for my boyfriend, I assure you that once he’d eaten his well-deserved ice lolly, he did eventually settle back into the wank and achieve an orgasm so powerful that … well, honestly, we really could do with your recommendations for cleaning products that’ll get spunk stains out of soft furnishings. 

Want to read more about what happened on that evening? Check out the rest of the five blog post night series here.