All hail people with cool fetishes. Splosh fans: I’m talking to you.

In case you’re not aware of the utter and delicious beauty of splosh, it’s essentially a fetish that involves getting extremely messy in gunge, custard, cream cake, and anything that takes your fancy.

Smearing it all over yourself, sitting in it, pouring thick gloopy liquid over your face and neck, and generally making the kind of mess you haven’t been allowed to make since you were two years old and smearing banana all over your high chair.

Amazing.

YKINMK but fuck me splosh is sexy

I have a mental list of fetishes which I’ve never partaken in, yet which I find deeply hot and really want to have a good go at. Splosh is one of them. Pony play is another. Furries…? Maybe not for me, but I’d love to watch someone who was really into it have a satisfying wank through a blue fuzzy costume.

Splosh is top of my list though, because not only does it often involve custard (second only to rice pudding as one of my favourite things) it also has an awesome air of genuinely gleeful play. When I ‘play’ it’s usually pretty dark: serious, straight-faced stuff where guys will stand sternly over me and I’ll pretend to cower as they whip me with belts and tell me I’m dirty and wrong.

Splosh, on the other hand, feels genuinely ‘playful’. Like, the actual point is that things just feel good, and damn whether you’re presenting yourself properly or maintaining the proper straight face: your face is probably an inch thick with cream anyway, so no one will notice. What’s more, it has overtones of the kind of messy sex that I rarely get to indulge in but that makes me properly happy.

I like sex where I get fucked up. Hair messed up, clothes stretched or ripped, eyes red from watering and jizz dipping from whatever bits of my body are available to squirt on at the time. Messed. Up. I like kneeling in the mud to give stealthy outdoor blowjobs, drooling spit down my chin and the front of my clothes after a throatfuck.

So when I met a guy who was into messy sex, I wanted to do something awesome.

Messy sex

“If you’re on your way over, drink some water,” I told him. “One hour before, then again half an hour before. Get really desperate.”

This dude was into mess, and the idea of getting to cover me with piss pushed a fair few of his buttons. He turned up at my door horny and bursting, so I led him into the bathroom.

“Kneel down,” he told me, between slightly bitey kisses. I stripped to my underwear and did. Staring up at him with a grin I couldn’t suppress. Maybe he wanted me to look more nervous.

“Are you ready?”

“Of course.”

I waited. Then a bit more. Then more. He held his stiff cock in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, and with my tits out and a weird grin plastered across my face, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of a dick.

“It’s hard to piss with a boner,” he told me, unnecessarily.

We fucked instead.

But because we’d failed so hard at the messy-fucking-while-covered-in-piss plan, I wanted to do something a bit cool for him at a later date. He loved messy things, and wanted to watch me get covered in something – piss, mud, custard, it didn’t really matter. The key thing was that he’d watch me as I tore my clothes, poured gunk all over myself, and touched myself until I was smeared and covered with slime.

Sweat, spunk and custard

Initially I thought a paddling pool might be a good purchase. But apart from the fact that I have no rooms big enough to accommodate even a small one, I think I’d end up worrying about splashing stuff outside the pool and ending up spending half the day after shampooing the carpet. The only option: a wet room. I looked online for hotels nearby that had proper wet-room bathrooms. I wanted to make a proper fucking state of things and be able to hose it all down with the shower head so the cleaning staff wouldn’t know, or hate me.

I found one or two, and began saving my money. For the room as well as a whole crate of Ambrosia custard – the stuff that comes in cardboard cartons and pours all thick and gloopy. I knew exactly what this guy wanted: he wanted to touch himself while he watched me, in knickers and a tiny top, pour custard from the cartons onto my face, my neck, my tits. He wanted to watch me writhe on the bathroom floor and squish around in it, getting sticky mess all over my body, and slipping in the splodgy stuff.

Watching from nearby, he’d sit touching himself, getting harder as I got dirtier. Pulling his dick out of his trousers as I opened the first carton, and gripping tighter as I poured. Frantically rubbing at himself as he watched the mess slip down my skin, and tangle up in my hair. As I sat in puddles of it and felt it squish between my thighs and in my crotch.

When I was good and sticky he’d stride across the bathroom, barking orders that I shouldn’t touch him: I was far too filthy.

‘Put your hands behind your back,’ he’d tell me, as he pushed his cock into my mouth. He’d grab my mess-streaked hair with one hand, keeping the other hand far away from the dirty creature he was holding, and face-fuck himself to completion, pulling out at just the right moment. Squirting come onto custard, then rubbing it in with the one hand he was willing to get dirty.

Then he’d push me back onto the floor, where I could lie satisfied, feeling humiliated, degraded, sticky and spent. Licking my fingers and squeezing my legs together, and running my hands through a mixture of sweat, spunk and custard.

If you’re wondering why this story is peppered with ‘would haves’, it’s because the guy dumped me before it happened. I still haven’t fulfilled this fantasy, and I often think of it with one hand down my knickers, and a sense of overwhelming regret. Still, it’s hard to get really sad about a break-up when you’re surrounded by delicious cartons of leftover custard.

Fetish fascinates me. It can be an incredibly difficult path to navigate – whether it’s someone enjoying the kind of pain that scares them or someone role-playing a situation you’d never want to happen in real life. Without it, though, life would be so dull.

I love getting guest blogs from people who have different kinks, desires, relationships and views to me- it makes this blog far more interesting. But this week’s guest blog may be uncomfortable for some of you – it’s about Mummy role play. I’ve published a guest blog before on daddy role play, and understandably it got a mixed reaction: lots of people are uncomfortable with the idea of age play, or the ideal of any role play that breaches the incest taboo.  If you’re one of those people, I’d advise you not to read it. But if, like me, you’re curious about fetish, and want to find out more about why some people incorporate these taboos into their sex lives, then read on.

The guest blogger, who wants to remain anonymous, gives a thorough and considered glimpse into his own desires, and the fun he and his partner have during Mummy role play.

(more…)

Listen up, people! I have googled around a bit and have been unable to find a word that sums up the level of knicker-moistening excitement that I experience when a gentleman lets me suck him off while he codes, so I invented one: Vimphilia. To mean: a kink/fetish for programmers.

(more…)

Today I want to have sex with a stranger. A quick, no-nonsense fuck with someone whose name I don’t know. Whose name I’ll never know.

I want to feel his hands tightly grasping my hips, run my hands over his body, and not care whether either of us really enjoys the experience. I want a fuck for function, a fuck for the sake of fucking: I want to fuck a stranger.

Sex with strangers

Most of the sex I’ve had has been with people I know. Even the one-offs usually happen with friends: a drunk night, a frantic fumble, a ‘thanks that was ace I’ll see you in the pub on Tuesday’ as I ran to catch the night bus. I love those fucks – the casual ones.

But stranger sex has been much rarer for me. Of course it’s often dangerous, and there have been times when I’ve reluctantly turned down an offer because I couldn’t quite guarantee that I’d make it home afterwards. On a couple of occasions, though, I’ve had that delicious knowledge that – even as we’re fucking – we both know that when we come it will be the end of whatever we’ve had.

Sex with people I love

Every day I get to fuck someone I love, which makes me lucky. Incredibly so. The easy curve of his hand around my arse, the exact pressure on my spine, pushing me to arch my back just right to feel the exact girth of him slipping into me: fitting. That’s valuable, and I love it.

But just because I’m enjoying my shower, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how fun it was to be dirty – sometimes I dream about sex with strangers.

Fucking a stranger

I imagine sitting on a stool at a bar somewhere (America, probably, sitting at the bar in England often gets you weird looks) when a miserable-looking guy sits near me. He’s wearing a suit, he’s dark and handsome, he’s a bundle of all the clichés I don’t normally go for. He wears a watch and it accentuates the strength of his arms.

I look at his wrists and imagine him wanking. Jerking himself off into the toilet: neat, functional, aggressively grunting throughout. I imagine the ‘unngh’ as he comes into the toilet bowl, thinking of me staring at him and wondering if I would.

I would.

I’d watch him drinking but we wouldn’t talk. Occasionally I’d catch his eye and do the flirting that I’ve read about in advice books. Well, a more exaggerated version, anyway – leaning over the bar to show him a bit more of my tits, crossing and uncrossing my legs until my skirt rides up so far he can’t help but think of my cunt.

Shooting him the raised-eyebrows-how-about-it look, and mouthing ‘fuck me’ just before I head to the bathroom.

In the cubicle, I pull up my skirt and lean against the cold tile with one hand down my knickers. I’m thinking about this total stranger – this no-named guy – and how desperately I want him to follow me. How rough I want his hands on my cunt, how I don’t want him to look at me as he fucks me: head over my shoulder, staring straight at the wall and grimacing with determination to come.

He comes in.

He rushes at me with a kind of blank need – no recognition or ‘I see you’ve been staring’, just straight in with a rough kiss. No tongues, no movement, just a hard, three-second stamp on my lips, as if to check I’m not going to object.

I don’t, of course. I whisper ‘fuck me’ and he nods.

I lock the door while he fumbles with my shirt – unbuttoning and pulling apart and ripping down my bra so my tits spill out and he can press his chest against them.

“Yeah,” he whispers quietly to himself as he squeezes me against him. I go to unbuckle his trousers and he slaps my hand away, taking a step back to stare at me – exposed in my hitched-up skirt and open shirt. His eyes are blank, as I wanted.

He never looks at my face.

One quick movement and his trousers are down just far enough to pull out his cock. I don’t care what his dick is like – make that bit up yourself. It’s just a cock, that’s all I care about. It’s hard and he wants it touched, and he needs to empty it into me.

He grits his teeth and grabs my legs, wrapping them round his waist as he fucks tight pain into me.

“Ungh.” Grunting, rasping, punctuating each fuckstroke with a kind of ‘that’s it’ approval. “Ungh”: sounds like “yes”. Sounds like “that’s it.” Sounds like the kind of self-comforting sounds he’d make to himself when he’s masturbating.

As if I’m not there.

I make no sounds at all, just feeling him shoving himself inside me is all I wanted – that and not knowing his name, of course. He’s pushed the crotch of my knickers to one side and I can feel the fabric getting damp as I drip lust down the shaft of his dick and onto the inside of my thighs. I grip him tighter and he shudders.

“Ye… eaaah,” a harder thrust – pushing deeper into me than he has before, and a long pause as his cock twitches. He rests his head on my shoulder, briefly, enjoying the feeling of being spent.

He pulls himself out of me, adjusts his clothes, and with a final glance at my tits, he unlocks the door.

“Thanks, stranger.”

And he’s gone.

 

This post is available as audio – click ‘listen here’ at the start of the post, and check out the audio porn page for more sexy stories read aloud.