Girl on the Net

Snippet one comes to me almost in a dream – that edge of wakefulness where you’re aware that you might still be dozing, but the solid feel of your own hand on your skin trips a neuron that reminds you of fucks-in-times-gone-by. In this cock-hungry fantasy, I’m face-down-ass-up on the carpet, in my bra and pants, covered in smears of paint. Someone’s got the crotch of my knickers hooked to one side with his thumb, and he’s sliding himself oh so slowly inside me, growling that I’m a dirty fucking girl.

The second comes that evening, at the opposite end of sleep. The podcast that’s meant to be entertaining me fades into the background, is eclipsed by a vision of two people fucking in front of me. I’m secured to the bed so I cannot move, and he bends her over the edge of it while he fucks her with vigorous strength. I am squirming and aching to be filled the way she is, but neither of them will let me have a turn. She makes solid eye contact with me as she comes, and gives me a wicked grin.

It’s been so long since I fantasised. Wanks come from memories of past fucks, as if my imagination has been hibernating while I get on with the rest of my life. But then one day, all of a sudden, with snippet one they start coming: new dreams. New fucks. New possibilities.

In one of them, two people are fucking over my face. I lie back with my mouth open and listen for the pre-come grunt as he yanks his cock from her cunt and shoves it down the back of my throat.

In another, I am kneeling on the floor, looking up into someone’s eyes as they grip their cock and beat hard at it. They ask me “what do you want?” and I spit at their feet and say “ruin me.”

I arrive at one guy’s hotel, a pre-arranged date where he’s left me a keycard. Having briefly pondered the idea of raiding the mini bar, I decide instead to just go to sleep: naked and spreadeagled and hoping that when he comes in, he’ll say “sssssh” and start fucking.

Two men take it in turns to slap my face until I’m disoriented and stinging. One asks me “enough?” and I tell him, firmly, “no.” He grabs my hair and pulls me towards him, choking me with his dick. And as I splutter and gag he gives me a single second’s break before his friend takes over. And that phrase comes back here too, because as one of these guys grunts and twitches and comes, the other tells me I’m a cock-hungry slut. I’d tell him “I know” if my mouth weren’t so full of dick.

Someone else, a different cock. This time pointing solidly towards the ceiling as the person it’s attached to relaxes into oblivion, getting his dick sucked like I’m giving him a massage. I put on some slow, thumping music and take the whole thing right down my throat. Spitting and lubing and working at it, with a languid pace that makes him whimper for more.

I slide right down a granite-hard dick all the way from tip to base.

Someone holds my nose clamped tight so I cannot breathe as he pours spunk into me.

I spread myself good and wide as two different people cover my exposed cunt with thick, white jizz.

And at the edge of sleep and waking, I feel my own hands on my skin, and I remember what it feels like for other hands to be there. And lips, and tongues, and the patter of droplets of cum.

This post of cock-hungry fantasies is inspired by On Queer Street, who once wrote an exceptional piece in a similar vein. Check it out on his blog post summer fucking, where you can also hear the audio porn version.