There’s a guy who pops up occasionally in celebrity gossip articles, or tweets, or various pop culture ephemera in which I have only a passing interest. I have absolutely no idea who he is. However, I do know that he wears extremely tight trousers, has piercings and tattoos that have sunk hooks into my very soul, and lips that I would fight wars to have wrapped round my nipples. So. I don’t know this man from Adam, but here’s what he can do to me.

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We all know soaking is filthy, right? For the uninitiated, ‘soaking‘ is a sexual practice attributed to horny Mormons. The logic goes that having sex before marriage is forbidden, but it’s only technically – technically – sex if you actually move it in and out, so you’re allowed to put it in if you make sure to stay really still. Thus, horny Mormon couples who really really want to put it in do exactly that, then lie as still as they possibly can to ensure they don’t summon the wrath of the heavens.

This post is likely to be thoroughly blasphemous and probably offensive if you have religious sensibilities. It’s also going to embrace shame in a way that totally works for kink but does not work as the basis to build a society. Sex is not shameful, but shame makes things filthy. And soaking? Soaking is the filthiest thing since Genesis. 

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Today’s guest blog got me so fucking horny. I’m not going to give it a much longer intro than that, but when this week’s guest blogger – Jocket – sent it through to me I was very annoyed that there were people in my house so I couldn’t immediately go and wank. It’s about skin hunger, and lust, and not making eye contact. Yearning and aching and relief. I adore it.

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Snippet one comes to me almost in a dream – that edge of wakefulness where you’re aware that you might still be dozing, but the solid feel of your own hand on your skin trips a neuron that reminds you of fucks-in-times-gone-by. In this cock-hungry fantasy, I’m face-down-ass-up on the carpet, in my bra and pants, covered in smears of paint. Someone’s got the crotch of my knickers hooked to one side with his thumb, and he’s sliding himself oh so slowly inside me, growling that I’m a dirty fucking girl.

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I would love to know how many people, since the beginning of 2020, have started having intense fantasies about videoconference fucking. I bet it’s quite a few of us. Personally I’ve reignited some of my conference call sex fantasies from back in the day. While I would never recommend actually getting it on (alone or with other people) when your work colleagues are on the line, that doesn’t mean you can’t dream about it. Wank about it. Write about it. Today’s guest blog is by Fajolan, who has written beautifully before on hands and surreptitious touching, as well as a unique solution to the problem of ‘getting a room.’ Now she’s here to share her own unique take on videoconference fucking, and I adore the detail of how it’s set up – the thought that’s gone into how it’d work as well as the hotness of the shag itself…

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