I’m not a fan of No Nut November (the month-long challenge where people try not to wank for reasons that vary from ‘fine’ to ‘oh God please stop spewing falsehoods about wanking harming your brain’). I like wanking and I dislike people who try to make others feel ashamed or broken because they enjoy a hand shandy. However, there is one huge benefit to the end of No Nut November that I haven’t yet dwelled upon for fear I’ll end up trapped in a horn spiral for the whole of lockdown. Namely: how much fucking jizz there’ll be when everyone who is partaking in it joins a massive beat-one-out party at 12:01 on December 1st.

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Recently my Patreons and I started a fun game where they give me prompts (name, kink, location and object), and I use them to try and write something that ticks the boxes and (ideally) is nice and wankable. This month I am working busily on a super-secret project that only they know about, so I hope they won’t mind if I borrow a little story from behind the paywall and put it up here for you to enjoy. This is a piece of gang bang erotica which was written off the back of the following prompts…  Name: Laura, Kink: Gyno chair, Location: Swingers’ club dark room, Object: rope, tied to chair.

Note: contains piss and, obviously, a gang bang. 

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This fantastic masturbation voyeur story is written by Quinn Rhodes, and originally appeared on hir website. A quick and important note from hir before we begin… “Writing this actually challenged me more than I expected it to, and it’s a little more cisnormative than I would like my filth to be. For the record, not only folks with dicks are guys, and not only men have dicks. I also realised that writing this kind of scene is very different from experiencing this sort of pervy voyeurism, so I’m open to invitations from anyone organising a cock-stroking and cocktails party.”

Your invitation gives you a time, an address, and invites you to a night of debauchery where you can ‘watch cocks being stroked while you sip cocktails’. Upon arrival, the invitation grants you admission to a narrow ballroom – or possibly a conference room – with a well-stocked bar on one side and a long two-way mirror down the other.

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I miss getting cum in my eyes. I miss the delicious final moments of fucks spent with men who want to choose where they’ll splatter their load. I miss those split-second ‘inside or outside’ decisions during which they’re thinking about all the different places to jizz – face, tits, arse, cunt, hair, feet… I miss looking up at a guy’s face, twisted with pleasure and effort as he beats his cock for the final few strokes, before letting go and splashing cum all over my upturned face. Yeah, I miss facials.

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“What was the plot of that porn, then?” He asks me, twenty seconds after we’ve both come. We’re sitting side-by-side on the sofa, him covered in spunk and me casually discarding the dildo and Zumio I used to get there myself. On the TV the porn scene we were watching still plays: porn with no plot, just a couple of people having a vigorous and sexy shag. He reaches for the controller to switch it off as I try to put into words what ‘the plot of that porn’ really was.

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