Girl on the Net

This is a story about a woman having a wank. It’s important that I tell you this clearly right at the start. I would like you to imagine, please, a woman lying in bed with sex toys easily to hand, eyes closed and a sleep mask on for relaxation. Picture the corner of her mouth twitching slightly as she realises she’s conjured a sexy idea, then imagine the way she brings her fingertips to her mouth and spits softly, so she can start gently warming up her clit.

I want to make it very plain to you that this is a story about a woman wanking, before I tell you the fantasy that’s got her hot and bothered. I want you to know for certain that none of the events I’m about to detail below ever happened, or will ever happen. None of the characters in that story exist. The only people who exist are you (the reader) and me (the writer: the woman who is having a wank). If I didn’t make that explicit, I would have to tell you that this is a story about a scenario that some people might consider to be ‘consensual non-consent’ – i.e. one in which people have agreed to play-act reluctance or outright resistance in order to conjure a horny scenario, or in which a writer conjures a scenario like that and you – the reader – consent to reading it on the understanding that this is not a fantasy anyone would wish to live out in the real world. If this were not primarily a story about a woman having a wank, but a story about the fantasy she happens to be wanking about, I would be ethically compelled to make it clear that it’s one – like other wank tales I’ve told you in the past – that includes themes of consensual non-consent.

That story is not about the fantasy, though. Any details of what’s going on in her head at the time are just textual representations of the specific pattern of neurons that were firing in her brain at that particular moment, during that specific wank. But she’s the only actual character you’ll encounter. The masturbating woman is the only real person in this story.

As she masturbates, she dreams up a scenario that will help her get closer to coming. It features a woman, a man, and a stranger (also a man). The scene is set on a train, in a carriage that’s empty save for our man and woman (who are sitting together) and the stranger, who sits nearby.

The woman in the scenario looks relatively average, but with some exaggerated physical characteristics like large, firm tits and a round arse that’s perfect for smacking. Next to the woman sits the man – likely her dominant husband but potentially her boss, someone who’s in a position of power over her. He’s looking calm and quiet as he reads a book, she looks meek and deferential, occasionally stealing glances at him like she’s worried she might be in trouble. She’s wearing an absurdly tiny skirt which she keeps trying – and failing – to pull down towards her knees, and a top that’s tight and cut in a very low scoop-neck. In the cool aircon of the train, her nipples are rock-hard and humiliatingly visible. She shuffles one time too many in an attempt to yank her skirt to a more modest length, and earns herself a stern look from her husband/boss, plus a quick, sharp smack on the thigh. It makes her jump.

And it makes the stranger stare.

The stranger is no one important – he could be older than our couple, or younger, or about the same age. A well-dressed businessman on the way home from a late meeting, or a young lad in his mid-twenties wearing a tracksuit and playing music out loud from his phone. It doesn’t really matter who this stranger is – the woman who’s having a wank changes his persona a few times throughout the fantasy, trying on different skins to see if they fit. All that matters is he’s been alerted by the slap, and now can’t tear his eyes away from this weird couple at the other end of the train. The chilled-out, authoritative guy and the slutty woman sitting next to him. You can see the outline of her nipples in that shirt! And her skirt’s so short that, fuck, you can almost see her cunt. Now he fixes his gaze on that red, palm-sized mark on the top of her thigh, where the man slapped her.

Over the next few minutes, the stranger stares at that mark. Occasionally flicking his glance upwards to where her tits threaten to burst out of the front of her far-too-tight top.

The woman can sense him looking at her, and shifts even more in her seat. This is what she signed up for when her dominant boyfriend/boss laid out this particular outfit and asked if she was up for being shown off and shared, but the reality of it is so much more intense than she’d imagined – it’ll take a bit of courage to see this through. The thought of being ogled by this well-groomed/scruffy/old/young/eager/semi-bored guy (the stranger’s still in the process of being imagined by the woman who’s wanking, she hasn’t quite settled on his tone yet) causes her blood to run hotter and harder in her veins. Fear and arousal: the perfect combination. She stops tugging down her skirt, and instead crosses her arms over her stomach – pushing her tits up so they’re even higher on her chest. Even more perilously close to bursting out of the top of her low-cut shirt. She crosses, then uncrosses, her legs. The stranger’s eyes widen.

Her dom notices, gives her another casual smack, then glances across the carriage to where he catches the stranger staring. The stranger, flustered, looks away but the dom calls out to him affably:

“Don’t worry, you’re welcome to look. If she didn’t want anyone to gawk at her she shouldn’t have dressed like such a fucking slut!”

The stranger is taken aback, he can’t work out if this is the start of a fight or something entirely different. The dom continues, to put him at his ease:

“Stare away, be my guest! She has to learn that if she goes out dressed like she wants it, people are going to be ready to give it to her.”

And with that, he reaches casually to the side and tugs down the front of her top. The elastic easily slides down over the skin of her pert, taut breasts – getting only briefly delayed as it catches on her ice-cold, rigid-with-arousal nipples. She looks down into her lap and wonders if she’s blushing. The stranger gapes, open-mouthed.

“Do you want to touch them?” The dom guy casually asks, like he’s offering the stranger a spare copy of The Metro. “Come on, don’t be shy. She wanted you to see them, after all. And she knows that men very rarely want to look without touching.”

She’s still looking down at her lap as the stranger approaches, but when he stands in front of her, from the corner of her eye she can see the outline of his semi-solid cock in his trousers. He grips it, lewdly, with one hand. Squeezing in much the same way as he wants to squeeze her.

The good thing about telling yourself stories, the wanking woman (who, remember, is the only character who exists in this blog post) thinks to herself, is that you can put thoughts in anyone’s head. Know exactly how each imaginary character is feeling at any given time. The woman having a wank tells herself that as the stranger steps forward in a state of eager, lustful delight, he’s thinking ‘can’t believe my luck.’ He views the woman on the train as no more than an object – a toy that he might be allowed to briefly play with, if the other guy lets him. He doesn’t give a single passing thought to how she might feel about it.

At the same time, the woman who’s having a wank experiments with various different thoughts for the dominant man: lust, of course, is at the core. Pride, perhaps? Like he’s pleased to own a woman whose tits appeal so much to strangers, and he’ll feel a sense of victory in showing her off. Makes him feel like the ‘alpha.’ Disgust might be in there sometimes, instead: a genuine sense of distaste that the woman who belongs to him is shamelessly exposed to this stranger in a train carriage. Why didn’t she fight it more when he tried to show off her breasts? She probably wants it, the filthy slut.

And the woman? Ah, yeah. She imagines many different feelings for the woman, before she finds a tone that fits.

The stranger stands in front of her, gripping his dick. Aching to take it out of his pants so he can cover her tits in cum. But he’s holding back because he knows that this woman belongs to the man who’s showing her off.

“You want to touch?” he asks. His tone is incredibly casual, and she can almost feel the excitement radiating from the stranger as he reaches forward to squeeze and paw at her. Meanwhile the dom leans back in his seat to take in the show. Smirking as if to say ‘see? This is what you can expect if you go out dressed like this.’

The woman having a wank finds this important – the blame. It’s not just a fantasy about a stranger being offered her body to paw at, wank over and (maybe?) fuck on a train, it’s about the attitude of the man who owns her. Just as the woman on the train sports exaggerated physical characteristics like larger breasts and a fuller arse, so her dom displays a wildly exaggerated attitude of outright threatening misogyny. That is as much a part of the fantasy as how hard the woman’s nipples are or how copiously the stranger’s gonna come.

“Go on, squeeze them hard. Get your dick out if you want to – why not cover them in cum? She’s got to learn, after all. Fucking slut.”

The stranger does – with relish. Unzipping – or just tugging down his pants if he’s in tracksuit bottoms – and pulling out his cock. Which is thick. Girthy. Exaggerated physical characteristics, see? Maybe he also has some of that turned-up-to-11 misogyny, because he doesn’t ask her if she really does want it before he starts jerking off in her face.

She keeps her eyes downcast, looking into her lap where the red mark from the slaps is slowly fading, but her short skirt still leaves her vulnerable and exposed. Even without looking directly, she can see the power and urgency with which the stranger beats at his cock – choking it tight so it’s bright red and taut. Pre-cum lubricating the tip – he’s clearly ready, having been staring for so long. Perhaps this is exactly what he was thinking about when glancing over. Now that he’s actually allowed, he can’t believe his luck.

He grunts, and that’s how she knows he’s getting close to coming. She flinches in anticipation of being covered in spunk.

At this point, the woman who is having a wank might switch things up a bit. If she’s close to coming too maybe she’ll just imagine this stranger grunting once more as he dumps a load of cum all over the fictional woman’s tits. She’ll zoom in, mentally, on the sight of the tip of his fat cock shooting thick, heavy ropes all over those smooth, firm breasts. Maybe also try to conjure the way it would feel to have someone do that to her – the way the liquid would drizzle down in rivulets, channeled either side of those taut nipples. Drip down in fat, wet globs onto the too-short skirt.

Perhaps she imagines the stranger grabbing the woman’s hair and tugging her face up so she has to watch him cover her in spunk. Maybe instead of her tits, he squirts the first portion into her face, making her flinch again.

Maybe it’s the dom guy who grabs her hair, directs her to watch. Noting the volume and thickness of the cum appreciatively, he turns to her and growls: “look what you made him do.”

If the woman who is having a wank wants something a bit more intense, maybe this is the point at which the stranger tells the dom: “I’m not getting there, I’m afraid. I’m gonna have to fuck her.”

And things build from there.

But that’s not how this particular story ends, because – remember? – this is not a story about something filthy happening on a train. This is a story about a woman having a wank. So the ending to this story is always roughly the same: at the point when she’s built the fantasy to an intense and hot enough conclusion, the woman who’s having a wank grips more tightly onto the base of the dildo that she’s thrusting in and out of her cunt, and starts to plunge it in with greater speed and more intensity. Angling it so the head of the silicone cock rubs against her g-spot, she pairs that with more pressure on the vibe that’s working her clit.

Eyes already closed, she now screws them up more tightly as she builds to climax – just a reflex thing, really. She’s so focused on the fantasy that she doesn’t care what faces she’s pulling. Or what noises she’s making. Although she’ll usually be very responsive when fucking a partner, when alone she’s almost completely silent. Though if the flat is empty and she’s feeling it, she might allow herself a very occasional grunt of effort. Once in a blue moon she might even whisper one of the lines that’s helping her to come – “look what you made him do”, or a simple “slut” or “bitch.”

When she’s built right up to the edge there’s usually a moment of calm one heartbeat before the climactic storm – she presses the clit vibe firmly in the perfect place and stops moving it, holds the dildo halfway in and at just the right angle so her cunt’s got the ideal shape to clench around then… whoosh. Fuck. Twitch. In time to the shots of cum fired by the stranger she’s imagining, her body spasms around the dildo – or is it the other way round? No matter, the orgasm is far more intense for this matched-sensation – his orgasm is hers, and vice versa. One throb after the other, as her cunt gushes fluid. It drizzles down in rivulets, channeled either side of the dildo which remains inside her until she’s ridden out the last of those waves.

Then she pulls the dildo out and throws it – along with the clit vibe – haphazardly onto her bedside table. She’ll clean them tomorrow morning when she can be bothered, but first she’ll roll over onto her stomach and reach for her phones. Checking Mastodon or WhatsApp to see what she missed in the two minutes since she started wanking. After picking a nice, soothing podcast to fall asleep to, she plugs in both her phones and adjusts the sleep mask.

This is a story about a woman having a wank.

I promise you I’m going somewhere with this. I’ve explained it in this Patreon update, and it’ll become apparent in the next couple of posts. Meanwhile, I hope you found this one sexy despite the weird framing.