Next in the wank tales series, a fantasy I have about being a tavern wench who is dragged forward to service a medieval king when he demands ‘wine, food and women.’ Note that this story features aggression, brutality and sex that can best be described as ‘only very dubiously consensual.’ In my head, when I wank to it, ‘The King’s Men’ is a rape fantasy (these are extremely common, and they do not mean that those who have them wish to be raped!). Here I have tried to subtly weave in a bit more consent than I usually would when I’m masturbating, but it’s still fundamentally non-consensual/extremely coerced. I also want to flag that while these things are extremely fun to enjoy in my mind (I have a kink for misogyny and I’m into consensual non-consent play), you OBVIOUSLY shouldn’t rape anyone in real life, or indeed play with this dynamic unless you’ve discussed limits and preferences in a LOT of detail beforehand. If you don’t understand that, or if you just know that these types of fantasy aren’t for you, please skip this one.

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Next in the wank-tales series, in which I tell you some of the fantasies that I masturbate over (and which are precious to me, please don’t kinkshame), I’m gonna take you forward to an unspecified point in the future when most of humanity has been wiped out and the remnants are trapped in huge communal bunkers. This piece includes some dubious consent (potentially non-consent, but I’ve tried to write a few consent cues into the text so it’s less brutal than it is in my head). As explained before, I have a kink for misogyny, and fantasies about being used fit the bill for that kink pretty well. As per previous stories like free use secretary, this is not a how-to manual for life, it is only fun in fantasy and role play. Features some BDSM/beating, aggression and coercion too. Here’s a story about being on post-apocalypse relief duty.

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This stunning story about being cuckqueaned by a sex doll is written and read by The Barefoot Sub, and originally appeared on her website. 

In the cocoon of my blindfold, bound to the bed, with just the sound of my chosen porn scene for company, I’d been nervous at his absence. But that didn’t stop the arousal from warming my body. The anticipation at what was to come began to seep out of me as I feel his weight shift the mattress. The movement settles, tipping me in my bonds ever so slightly towards him. But just as my body cranes in that direction two hands reach in from above to hold my head steady. Again the mattress sighs and a third body climbs on.

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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 ‘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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