This stunning piece is part 7 in a series written and read by Sundial. You can catch up on the rest of the Sunday series here, and you absolutely should because every single episode is fire. 

You’re thrusting your hips, my head clamped between your hands and you fuck me hard. Your dick stretching my mouth wide, saliva pooling on my chin, and I’m hyper aware of my discomfort. Knees pressed as they are against the cool, bare hardness of the floor and the angle you’re keeping me at. I’m neither able to sit back to my heels, nor properly rise. My balance is a mess and my thighs are straining.

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It’s late, and I’m tired. So tired, in fact, that I’ve just slept through the last twenty minutes of the film we were meant to be watching. You can’t blame me: it’s not often I get to snuggle up on a sofabed with my head in somebody’s lap, sinking into the duvet and enjoying the gentle, rhythmic stroke of their hand on my bottom and thighs. It is blissful. Beautiful. Like stepping into a shower that’s set to the perfect temperature, or hugging a loved one when you meet them off the train. I am safe, cosy, happy. This scene is tranquil as fuck, so you can’t blame me for falling asleep. I am also a horny bitch, though, so I hope you can also understand what happens next.

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I roll on top of him first thing in the morning. He’s awake, but pretending not to be. As I grip his dick and squeeze gently just below the coronal ridge, it pulses hotter and harder in the palm of my hand. When I start to stroke it, a smile flickers briefly at the corner of his lips. He suppresses it, then feigns a still-sleepy half-stretch to make the angles easier for me to straddle him and hop aboard.

This post is not consensual non-consent. Everything that happens is extremely consensual. However, the fantasy I tell this guy while we’re in bed does have notes of CNC, coercion and fucking-as-punishment. I maintain that it is not a CNC story, rather it is a consensual story about two people who enjoy playing in this fantasy space. It’s a hill my career will probably die upon at some point, but for what it’s worth I think it’s more than possible to present these fantasies in an ethical way, and part of doing that means warning you that you’re about to read something in this vein. 

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This fabulous story is written and read by Sundial. This is part 4 in a series that covers a whole range of hot adventures over the course of one day. You can check out part 1 ‘a mouth and a cunt full of cock’, Part 2 ‘just for a moment‘ and part 3 ‘sex on the beach‘ to catch up with the intensely sexy story so far.

You get the ingredients out of the fridge for our dinner. Quick and light tonight. After today’s teasing, we mean to get down to business as soon as we can. The randiness of all three of us is off the scale. He takes up a knife and helps you.

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I learned a new word, team, so now I’m going to inflict it on all of you: interoception. It refers to the sense by which you perceive what is currently going on in your body. How do you feel physically? Are you hungry? Does the tickling, dry sensation in your throat mean you’re thirsty? Are you horny, perhaps? Is your left elbow itching? Interoception is perception of your internal physical needs and wants. Even though I’ve only just learned the word, I have actually written about interoception before: this piece on drinking water was deliberately crafted to manipulate your interoception into convincing you that you’d love to drink a nice, cool glass of fresh water. One of my favourite ever posts, about the ache that settles at the entrance to my cunt when I’m desperate to get fucked, is also about this kind of perception. Quite a lot of the stuff I write here is designed to trigger horny feelings, so to heighten those feelings I often lean in to words or phrases (and sometimes specific instructions I want you to follow) to make you tune in to the way your body is feeling, and pay a little extra attention to those parts of it that are yearning to come. I think it’s this kind of perception that helped me learn how to orgasm during PIV sex.

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