This story was written based on a suggestion from someone over on Patreon. Come support me there if you’d like to make suggestions for other blog posts, and massive thanks to the person who suggested this topic. The ‘bottomless’ look is very popular in my house, although here we call it ‘top no bottoms’. Or rather, my partner excitedly yells ‘top no bottoms!!’ if I walk into a room wearing a t-shirt and no knickers, and plonk my naked arse onto the sofa. That’s why this one’s written with love as well as horn. Hope you like it.

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It’s Masturbation Month! You know what that means? It means that I get to spend a very pleasant afternoon cooking up dirty stories with which to entertain and inspire you to wank (if you want to), while simultaneously showing a bit of well-deserved love to the excellent companies that sponsor my site and support my work. Regular readers will know that a similar hot wank fantasies exercise last year turned out to be one of the most popular posts of 2019, perhaps because all the stories are short flash fiction so I can let my inner pervert run wild. I thought I’d do the same thing this year, with a few stories that have a lockdown-lust flavour.

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I know it’s irrational, I know it sounds silly. I know there is no ultimate benchmark of behaviour whereby one could draw a line that divides people into conclusive ‘good’ or ‘bad’ categories. I know that it’s needlessly patronising – infantilising, even – and that by accepting the label I put myself in a position that’s wildly at odds with the feminist principles that guide the rest of my life. But still: I want you to tell me I’m a very good girl.

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The other night, I missed the moment he came. It wasn’t the end of the world, naturally – I miss plenty of his orgasms, because most of them happen when he’s alone. The spaff goes unobserved, as he beats it into a tissue or one of the wank rags I bought for ecological reasons (and also pervy reasons – we’ll get to this in a second). But on this particular occasion, I was a bit sad about missing his cum shot. So he invented a new game for me to play: CSI: Wank.

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I know how much you like watching your dick slide in. I know it because I love watching you, in turn: on your knees above me, your eyes downcast as you focus on sliding it slowly inside, occasionally glancing up to look at my reaction as each inch of your aching erection stretches and fills up my cunt. But you can never quite get the right angle, can you? You can never quite get your face close enough to see the detail – the wetness that clings to the skin of your cock, for instance. You never get to see it from a distance other than the exact length of your torso: no more, no less. What’s more, neither of us ever get to see it from behind – how the prominent ridge on the underside looks bold and hard and beautiful, like it does in porn. There’s a solution for that now, though, isn’t there?

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