Girl on the Net

This is a story about a woman having a wank. I know I’ve already told you one story about a woman having a wank, but this one’s very different. Imagine, please, a woman lying on top of the duvet on her bed, sometime around midday, curtains closed so she doesn’t shock the neighbours, rifling through her memory banks for a sexy idea that’ll help her get to a quick orgasm before she has to sit back down at her desk. She settles on something that fits the mood, so brings her fingertips to her mouth – spitting on them gently so as to start warming up her clit.

Unlike the last one, I probably don’t need to make it clear to you in this post, that it’s a story about a woman wanking. In this piece the fantasy she conjures while she’s wanking is not one that would require any kind of content note. In fact, although the things this woman sometimes dreams of while wanking are deeply aggressive, non-consensual, and sometimes even violent, this particular daydream is utterly rooted in consent and enthusiasm. In fact, when you get down to brass tacks on this one, consent is the topic over which she masturbates. Not just consent – enthusiasm.

She’s remembering a fuck she had with her boyfriend. Now ex boyfriend, but he was hers at the time this happened. Maybe she shouldn’t be telling this story? Would he be OK with her telling this story now? Hmm. Let’s hope so.

He was lying on the bed, mid-blow job, raging hard. She’d been toying with his cock for a while already – enjoying the taste of his pre-cum, and the way he’d sometimes twitch when she got the suction pressure and placement of her lips just right. As she has a wank, she remembers how rigid he was. Pictures the exact girth and shape of his perfect dick.

This is all just build-up, though. It’s the picture book she flicks through while she’s spit-lubing her clit and warming herself up until her cunt aches for the dildo. The main event happened a little later, as she took his cock out of her mouth, looked up at him, and grinned. Slid up his body until she was close enough to kiss him, straddling his erection and whispering – as she often does – about how this next part is her absolute fucking favourite.

Although this is how so many of their fucks began, the woman having a wank remembers this particular incident with greater clarity than most. The first stroke of a shag, especially when she’s on top and gets to slide down someone’s cock slowly enough that she can really make a meal of it, is undeniably the best one. So most of the time, if she gets the chance, she’ll pause before doing it. Build a little anticipation. Look down at him and whisper that he’s so hard and she’s so wet and she fucking loves this bit. Feeling the pressure of the head of his dick just before she takes it all the way in…

On this particular occasion, that moment has been enhanced even further by something that he said afterwards. In the wake of the shag itself, when she’d ridden out a couple of orgasms on top of him and lay – panting and shaking – beside him in bed, she told him how much she’d enjoyed it and he agreed it was fun.

“Which part was your favourite?” she asked.

Blushing, semi-shy, he replied:

“I really liked the bit where you told me how eager I was.”

And ohhh fuck yes. This is the bit that she zooms into now, the woman who’s having a wank. She remembers exactly how he said it to her – tentative, nervous, like he wasn’t sure if this was the right answer. She’s hot for the fact that he even said this at all. Without this piece of information – he liked the bit where she told him he was eager – this particular fuck might have disappeared into the swirl of other, similar shags, blended into one single montage: her making the most of that very first stroke, then riding his dick till she came.

“I really liked the bit where you told me how eager I was.”

That one sentence, uttered after the fact, is what elevates this one from ‘fun way to pass the time’ to ‘top-class masturbation material.’ Knowing exactly which bit he liked means that now, when she’s wanking, she repeats that line in her head a number of times, fixating on the details that are still attached to it in her memory.

The way his hands trembled as he placed them on her hips, and the fact that he gripped her more firmly than usual. As she was teasing him with her wet cunt just kissed gently against the head of his cock, he was trying to pull her down onto it. To make that first stroke happen sooner. This man who usually had patience was suddenly, uncharacteristically needy. And it was so fucking hot.

So hot that she teased him for a little longer, compelling him to slightly fuck his hips up towards her impatiently. So hot that she felt herself get wetter as his hips and hands collaborated in trying to urge her to sit down – quick, quick, right now – for that first deep satisfying stroke. So delighted was she by his enthusiasm that as she relented and gave him what he wanted, sliding all the way down his cock till it pressed hard against her cervix, she let out a sigh and told him:

“Fuck. You’re so fucking eager for it.”

This is what she thinks about when she wanks. The stroke itself and the way that felt, plus the thing she said about eagerness. The tremble in his hands and intensity with which he tried to pull her down onto him too, of course. But most of all the thing she wanks about is the feeling that he’s put inside her head. The knowledge that as she sighed those words and revelled in his hopeful fuck-hunger, somewhere inside his head there was a kick of lust for the way she’d recognised his eagerness specifically.

“I really liked the bit where you told me how eager I was.” He liked this part, so she’s made sure to fix it in her mind. And above all else it’s that which draws her focus as she presses the vibe more firmly to her clit and grips more tightly onto the base of the dildo that she’s thrusting in and out of her cunt. Plunging it in with greater speed and more intensity, she zooms in on both the word ‘eager’ and the concept of eagerness itself. The pure, unadulterated need that causes someone who is normally a little reticent and happy to be led to try and drag her down so he can fuck back up into her twitching cunt.

Angling the toy so the head of the silicone cock rubs against her g-spot, she pairs that with even 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. 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…

“You’re so fucking eager for it.”

Whoosh. Fuck. Twitch. One final stroke with the dildo, to mimic that very first stroke when he eagerly dragged her onto him, and her body starts to spasm around it. One throb after the other, as her cunt starts to gush.

“I really liked the bit where you told me how eager I was.”

She works the clit vibe and the dildo together to milk out the last few thudding waves of her climax, then lies for a second in the afterglow, still grinning at the memory of how his hands trembled when he touched her.

Then she pulls the dildo out and throws it – along with the clit vibe – haphazardly onto her bedside table. She’ll clean them a bit later 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. Registering a few new messages that need replies, she pulls up her knickers and jeans and heads back to the computer.

This is a story about a woman having a wank.

As per last post, I promise you I’m going somewhere with this – explained in a Patreon update, will be properly detailed in a blog post coming soon. I also assure you that the guy in question is actually happy with me telling you this story. I have his consent and I wouldn’t have told it if I hadn’t.