This fabulously hot story about kink, ownership, longing and a shirt is written and read by the brilliant JM Seaborn of WrittenInKink. Note that it contains ‘Daddy’ as an honorific, all participants are over 18. 

She doesn’t have to be up yet. She’s still in bed. One leg hanging invitingly outside of the blanket. I have to ignore it because I’m late for work and there is no time to climb back into bed and add to the bruises I gave her last night.

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I did my hair nicely today. I wanted you to love the way it looks so much you’d grab a fistful and yank my head in for a biting kiss. I feel pretty today, I made myself pretty today. And I only did it because I want you to fuck me up.

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The other day you asked me “what’s so hot about men in fishnet tights?” and I don’t think I gave a good answer. I nodded when you asked if it was something to do with them being ‘femme’, implying that men in fishnets are hot purely because they’re fucking with gender norms. That’s part of it, but it’s not the whole truth because your question took me by surprise so I had no words. Forgive me, I was distracted by the fact that you were wearing them at the time: naked save for black net that clung to your thighs and cupped your junk in ways that trashed my attention. Today I want to try and give a much more accurate answer. What’s hot about men in fishnets? Let me count the ways…

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She puts on the fishnets with no knickers. The tights are medium gauge, with holes just wide enough that you can easily stick a finger through to rip them. She’s never worn them like this before, and the cool air on her cunt feels strange when it’s also flimsily caged. Strange but good. Next she puts on the t-shirt he left on her bedroom floor last night. A faded black one with the logo of one of his favourite bands. If you’re joining me in this fantasy, feel free to pick whichever shirt has most resonance for you: maybe it’s the home kit from your football team, a flannel one that you wear around the house on lazy, happy days, maybe it’s merch from your favourite festival, whatever. Pick whichever you’re most likely to leave on your girlfriend’s bedroom floor. Whichever shirt you’d most like to dress your partner in before you fuck them. She puts on the fishnets and that shirt, then angles the mirror.

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It’s a special occasion, so I dress up fancy. I toy with the idea of wearing my standard ‘slut’ outfit (thigh-high socks, tight black top, Doxy butt plug) but ultimately chicken out. What if he wants to chill out when he arrives before we get down to the fucking? Maybe he’ll be overwhelmed by an immediate and clear demand that he get it in me right now please please get it in me? What if the special occasion dictates that we should spend some time on wine and chatting first? So I, a wuss, eschew the slutty outfit in favour of a lovely posh dress – one I wore to a good friend’s wedding before Covid, which I hope to wear to dance at other people’s weddings when the After Times arrive.

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