This is the second in the wank-tales series, in which I tell you some of the stories that play in my head while I’m masturbating. This is perhaps the tamest, and also the hardest to capture, because of it’s utter simplicity. It has no characters, no plot. No position changes and no speech. No need for content warnings. Absolutely no fancy shit whatsoever. This one is literally all about the exact speed, sensation and… OK yeah… girth of the fuckstroke. That’s it! But my God, what a fuckstroke. Zoomed in and turned up to 11. This is not one stroke among many, carried by a fuckawesome plot and some gruesome perversions. This is the purest fuck I ever have in my mind’s eye. I’m also hoping that those of you who’ve never been penetrated enjoy this detailed description of why (and how) penetration in itself can be so utterly and gutturally satisfying – that very first stroke that gets your cunt stretched out is not only often the best bit of sex for me, it’s also often an entire wank fantasy in and of itself. Let’s talk about getting my cunt stretched.

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This is the first in a series I’m going to call ‘Wank tales’ – some of the stories I see in my head that get me off when I’m wanking. This one – Free use secretary (The interview) – has elements of free use, power imbalance, and I think some elements of non-consent. Not sure on that, though. I’m consenting to this scenario, because I created it, and none of these people are real – they’re just manifestations of my own perversions as they play out in my head. They’re not real human beings, they’re my fuckpuppets. Were this sort of thing to happen in real life I would be straight on the phone to HR. As explained in detail in last week’s post, I have a kink for misogyny. I get off on scenes and behaviour that I abhor in real life, so while this could make for a hot (consensual) role play, it should never be taken as an instruction manual, or a desire I would like to fulfil in any way other than as play. As I say, it’s hard to judge whether this needs a warning, so here’s a summary instead: this is a story about a dismissive boss interviewing a woman to be his secretary in which he aggressively fucks her like he’s using her holes while she has to continue with a job interview as normal. Dunno where that falls on the content note scale.

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Dirty little secret time, people: I have a kink for misogyny. An intense, horny, fucked-up passion for men who will treat me like shit. And before I delve into some of my more detailed treat-me-like-shit fantasies, I wanted to do some preamble to explain why this is only ever hot when I’m playing life on ‘sandbox’ mode. What’s horny in my mind and during roleplay is actively horrifying in real life. In case it wasn’t screamingly obvious: that’s why it gets me really wet.

Note that this post includes examples of violent misogyny, non-consent and rape – both the fantasy versions (hot!) and real-life ones (not!). 

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This is ‘Inspection’ – part 2 of a fantasy written and read by Molly Moore. Click to listen to Inspection (part 1): He appraises me if you’d like to catch up before you dive into this. Note that this story has elements of consensual non-consent and coercion, as well as fairly graphic debasement, humiliation and clinical medical play.

It’s surprisingly comfortable. The metal of the stirrups is cold on the back on my calves but is the only real discomfort. Physical discomfort that is. Everything else about this is uncomfortable though. As I lean back and he finishes tightening the straps across my legs I realise that the leg supports have a kind of ratchet system so when you slowly guide my legs apart the supports lock into place holding me open. I cover my eyes with my hands. I can feel the heat of embarrassment burning on my face. He is busying himself over to the side. Moving things around, getting trays. I listen but can’t bear to watch or to see him inspecting me like this.

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This is ‘Inspection’ – part one of a 2-part story written and read by Molly Moore. Note that this fantasy has elements of consensual non-consent and coercion, as well as fairly graphic debasement, humiliation and clinical medical play.

“Open your mouth.”

I part my lips and drop my jaw. He has his back to me. I hear the sound of the gloves as he pulls them on. Snap. Snap. He turns to face me. His eyes meet mine and then a frown plays across his face.

“Wider,” he says firmly.

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