Can I interest anyone in a story about a guy getting his dick milked in a cold, clinical manner by person or persons unknown? That’s what this post is about. I hope you enjoy it as much as I vigorously masturbated over it. I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of people getting their dicks milked at the moment, mostly thanks to a particular twitter account I follow which consists of amazing videos of exactly that. Scroll to the bottom for the link to it, and be warned that just like this post, it’s NSFW. 

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This is an erotic fiction story I wrote while I was on holiday. A holiday during which I went for a lot of long walks across some very muddy terrain, so inevitably over the course of these walks I nurtured a fairly detailed fantasy about getting dressed up in my best clothes, then utterly trashed by a horny guy who pushed me into the mud and fucked me. So yeah: this is a story about getting fucked in the woods, with a heavy emphasis on how messy and trashed you’d be at the end of it.

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Damn right we’re gonna talk about Fleabag. This post contains spoilers, so catch up on Fleabag on iPlayer if you’d like to see it before you read on. But unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably already know that the audience of Fleabag is dripping lust into sofa cushions across the country, because we’re desperately willing her to fuck a priest.

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Some kinks my partner and I do because they come naturally to us – all we need is to hear about them, see them in porn, or get flashes of them in our minds when we’re wanking ourselves to sleep at night, and our guts lurch with a desire that screams “Yes! This one’s for us!” But there are others that take time to consider, or to practise, or to fully understand. To shamelessly paraphrase Kennedy: some kinks we choose to do not because they are easy, but because they are hard.

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We’re chatting about fucking, and all the bucket list sex we’d like to have. Recently we’ve been trying to plan more kinky sex, so this sort of stuff is occupying our thoughts, but it’s hard to think of anything enticing yet possible: we’re pretty good at ticking new sordid kinks off the second they cross our filthy minds, so most of the fucking we want to do has already been done. I ponder the issue for a while before suddenly it hits me. There’s one really significant thing that I’ve never done with this particular guy: break up.

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