There is something very sexy about you having your own room. I don’t mean your own bedroom – although there’s definitely a flutter of hot lust in my gut when I imagine you visiting my room for a functional fuck. Emptying your aching balls into me then disappearing into a den of your own for some proper rest. Like an entitled duke in some historical erotica. Using me because you can, then keeping the rest of your life separate and secret, so all I can do is lust from a distance and wish I could get closer.

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When I was young, I wore a dog collar. A literal, actual dog collar of the kind you could buy from any old pet shop. Black leather, studded: the kind you’d use if you wanted your dog to look slightly menacing. I desperately wanted my boyfriend to clip a leash through the metal loops and pull my face onto his cock while I sucked him. But he never did.

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“I gave in around six in the morning, and came all over my stomach thinking about fucking you bent over the bed and digging my fingernails into your tits.”

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Sometimes it’s obvious that a particular scenario will be hot to me. If it fits the template of most of my other fantasies – me in submission, being beaten or used in order to get someone off: tick. If it involves a vast quantity of spunk, or a belt, or a group of eager men: tick. I frequently embrace problematic fantasies – where ‘problematic’ roughly equates to ‘something I’d never want to happen in real life.’ Other times I’ll use fantasy to try out new kinks – in order to work out if something is going to press my buttons, I need to think about it for a while. Close my eyes, picture the scenario in my head, and thoughtfully frig myself off while I try a new fantasy on for size.

This post includes frank discussion of sexual fantasies that include extreme BDSM, and rape fantasies. 

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You can find filth anywhere if you keep your mind open to it… even on the back of a fag packet. The following story contains some BDSM, and is NSFW.

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