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.

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Remember those ‘Choose your own adventure’ books? Well, this guest blog is a bit like one of those, only it’s pornographic. And instead of turning to page 24 to decide what the characters should do with their shivering arousal, I’m throwing it open to you to write the next chapter of the story.

When Steve got in touch with me to share a hot story he was writing, the fact that it had a ‘to be continued’ ending opened up a whole bunch of possibilities. I had a fairly clear idea in my head of what I wanted to happen next, but it occurred to me that others might have equally strong, but completely different ideas.

So here’s the deal: read the filthy sex story below, have a think about what you’d like to happen next, and leave a comment at the bottom of the post telling us what you think should happen in the next chapter. The guest blogger and I will pick one of the suggestions, and pass the story on to you to continue. Then someone else will pick up where you leave off, and so on, until our characters have gone on a rollercoaster ride through different fetishes, perspectives, sexual experiences, and sticky fun. A kind of adult chain story. Sound good? Sweet. Read on…

A trip to the woods (part 1)

The car engine judders to a stop, the sudden absence of noise exacerbated by the stillness and quiet of the woodland where we’re now parked. We’d driven here so fast that the journey had seemed like a blur, buildings and trees flashing past as we sped out of the city and onto the country roads. We both knew why we were coming here, to this deserted clearing in the woods, so the sense of urgency and anticipation had been strong.

But now we’re here in this woodland clearing – no sign of another human being for miles around us. The woods are eerily quiet now that the throaty rumble of the engine had died away. There’s just the faint ‘tink, tink, tink’ of the car as the engine cools.

We step out of the car, blinking slightly in the bright sunlight. You turn the full force of your smile on me, a smile which has the power to quicken my pulse and start my brain racing. I lean back against the car door and take your hands in mine, pulling you close to me. I can feel the heat of your body through the thin, summer dress and there’s a mounting feeling of excitement as you look up at me with those big, soulful eyes.

I feel your hand slide down my body and come to rest on my belt buckle. You look deep into my eyes and give a look that says ‘shall I?’ but without uttering a single word. I give an almost imperceptible nod, and stroke the palm of my hand over your cheek, before kissing you on those full, tempting lips.

Your fingers fumble briefly with the belt, finding the fastening and pulling it free. Then you start to unbutton my flies, revealing the inviting bulge inside my boxer shorts. In the harsh sunlight, the light casts some appealing shadows across my boxers, outlining the shape of my cock, already swollen and hardening at the thought of your touch.

You softly brush your fingers over the contours of my hard dick and give a mischievous giggle as you feel me twitch. I slide my hand down so that it rests on top of yours and our fingers entwine, both gently stroking along the length of my cock through the boxers.

You lean in for another soft kiss. Then, very slowly, you bend your knees and squat down in front of me, your hands reaching for the waistband of the boxer shorts as I lean back against the cold metal of the car. You tug hard on the boxers and pull them down just enough for my cock to spring forth. The thought of your touch has worked its magic and the shaft is hard and engorged, ready to please or to be pleased.

You lean in even closer, so close that I can feel your warm breath on the tip of my cock. You look up at me, checking the reaction, as I stare down at you, desire written across my face. You place one solitary kiss on the tip, your lips soft and tender as you run them down the shaft towards my smooth, shaved balls. I feel the warmth of your fingers reaching up to caress my balls, and then your lips are around the tip, taking me into your hot, inviting mouth and making me tense my hands against the cool metal of the car door.

Your mouth feels so hot, your long hair brushing against my stomach and my naked balls as you delicately suck on me. I run my fingers through your hair as you slide your lips back up along the shaft and let the wet tip slide out from between your lips.

You stand up and lean in to kiss me, so I can taste my own cock in your mouth and feel the tip of your tongue gently exploring mine. Then you pull back and gesture that we should move to the back seat of the car. I take your hand and open the door, wondering what pleasures await us…

To be continued…

If you want to continue the story, drop a comment below with a brief explanation of what you want to happen next, ideally something that is both a) sexy and b) carries on the plot of the story. Where do these people go next? Do more people arrive? Is there a car chase or alien abduction? Whatever your imagination throws up.

Usual erotica/decency rules apply: nothing illegal, discriminatory, etc. If you want to be picked, you need to use a real email address (which won’t be published) so I can contact you to let you know the baton is being passed to you. There won’t be a deadline, though, and it’s not a test, so don’t be shy. And, of course, you’ll receive the same payment as all other guest blogs and (unless you’d rather remain anonymous) you’ll have the chance to plug your own blog/Twitter feed.

What would you like to happen next? Let us know.

A confession: sometimes I pretend to be asleep. He knows I’m pretending, and I know he knows I’m pretending, but as I breathe softly and try not to move, I’m pretending to be asleep.

I love to lie still and wait for him to come to bed. To slip naked under the covers and squash up to me. I love feeling his dick go from flaccid to solid as he rests it in the crack of my arse.

Best of all I love his hands. Tentative strokes at first – easing softly from a hug to a grope, building to very gentle pinches of my nipples. Like he’s trying very hard not to wake me up. Like he just needs to feel the texture of my skin, or squeeze the curve of my hips.

Like all he wants is to touch me.

I breathe in and out, trying to measure the movements and sounds so that my fake sleep remains convincing. His hands wander further, and he gets rougher in his movements. He knows what I’m waiting for, and he sighs with open lust as he pushes his cock up against my arse.

Grinding, squashing, pushing it against me, before he pulls away and grips it with his right hand.

His touches get more urgent. As he rubs himself slowly, his other hand wanders all over me – stroking me, grabbing my arse, using his fingers to push the thin fabric of my knickers deep into my crotch. Sometimes he stops, licks his fingers, then puts his hand back, this time pushing the fabric to one side so he can work them in further. All the time gripping the shaft of his dick and rubbing himself closer to orgasm.

I shift slightly, just the tiniest movement as if I’m stirring in my sleep, and he takes the opportunity to flip me over. With his left hand, he pulls at my shoulder until I’ve rolled onto my back, then his greedy hands are back again – pawing at my chest. His left hand gripping one of my tits while the bed shakes with the effort of vigorously rubbing his cock.

Lying there as still as I can, my cunt taut and aching with need, I suppress the desire to fuck him – to ‘wake up’ and turn over and slide neatly down the shaft of his dick. I want to do that, but what I want more is to lie in the stillness, hearing the shuffling and gasping and feeling the sheer, objectifying need of him. This one thing – this gulping, horny, compulsive desire to grab and swallow me up – is the single unifying feature of all the best sex I’ve ever had.

That lust. That desire. Those greedy, greedy hands.

I can hear his breathing getting faster. The little ‘mmm’s and ‘ungh’s that I imagine him making when I’m not there. His movements get faster too. Rubbing himself angrily and squeezing me tightly. He dips his head to suck hard on one of my nipples, grunting lustfully as if the only thing that will sate him is my body.

And it does.

In one quick movement he kneels up. With one hand still firmly gripping me – pinching a nipple with all the force he held back on earlier on, he leans over my still body. A short grunt, a sigh, and the lashing jets of spunk hitting my chest, my neck, my face.

As he lies back down, he idly rubs the liquid into my skin as it cools, then rolls over and settles down. With my clit throbbing and my knickers wet, it takes me another hour to get to sleep.

 

Note: The idea that he might touch me while I sleep naturally raises some questions around consent, so hopefully this note will answer them. There are two ways my partner and I deal with consent around sleep sex:

Firstly, I make it fairly obvious when I want this stuff to happen: I lie in a very specific position – on my stomach, one leg straight and the other bent to the side, giving him easy access to the crotch of my knickers and my dripping wet cunt.
Secondly, on the very few occasions when I actually am asleep and he hasn’t realised, I either wake up utterly drenched with arousal, and assume the position to encourage him to continue, or I wake up irritable and I growl, in which case he stops and wanders off to the living room.

I shouldn’t need to say this, but when I don’t I get comments from people saying ‘oh my god you’re encouraging people to just go ahead and do this’. I’m pretty confident that no one is going to read something like this and take it to mean that all women want to be touched up while they’re asleep, but this note is here just in case you think they might be. So, yeah. If you have sexy, greedy hands, don’t fuck things up by using them when they’re not wanted.

At about nine o’clock, most people are gathered outside in the garden, smoking loose roll-ups or cheap cigarettes that come in packets of ten. The supply of supermarket vodka has been depleted and someone’s started a whip-round so they can run to the shop to top up our stock with some clear, petrol-tasting cider and another pouch of tobacco.

While college-age guests scrabble for booze, the party host is surveying the damage and praying they’ll get it all cleared up before their parents arrive home on Sunday afternoon. Inevitably, as the drunken groping escalates to second or third base, one or other of us asks the host:

“Mate, which room is the sex room?”

“Front living room. But there’s four other people in there at the moment so you might want to take a blanket or something.”

“Ta.”

Sex parties that aren’t sex parties

There’s a huge difference between deliberate swinging and the kind of sex parties that my nostalgic self longs for. Parties where the main aim is to get drunk, but the side show involves hustling your giggling other half across a room full of silently copulating others – others too horny to wait until everyone’s gone home or fallen asleep. Others who are used to fucking in front of people because – hey! We’re eighteen! Life’s really fucking short so let’s not go short on fucking!. I miss those parties.

The casual ease with which you’d step over a friend, her legs twitching with pleasure as her latest squeeze buried his face beneath a blanket and deep into her crotch. The ‘sorry’s as you’d make your own room in a tiny sliver of space – feeling not just your partner’s eager hands but the clammy heat from couples either side of you.

At one party, I fucked my boyfriend on one of those deep tub-shaped armchairs. The duvet spread over the top of the chair provided a vaguely private tent, and I slipped my knickers to one side and sat down on his dick, burying my head in his shoulder to muffle my heavy breathing. Raising myself only ever-so-slightly with each stroke, I fucked an inch or so at a time, until his cock was swollen with desperation and his toes curled – visible by everyone else as they stuck out of the bottom of the duvet. It took me twenty minutes of this slow, controlled fucking to come, and when I did, the small shudder of our makeshift tent gave no indication of just how amazing it felt.

Not swinger’s parties

I miss this stuff as an older person – the sex you have to have right now because you’re so horny. The knowledge that there’s a room upstairs you can sneak off to, and still hear the chatter and laughter from the party downstairs. The quick, urgent, silent fuck you share on a pile of coats in the spare room, or over the bath, or – best of all – in a room with other people. All of you groping and kissing and fucking – not sharing each other, but sharing the experience.

I’ve had it once as an adult – a late drunken new year’s party with so many guests missing last trains that they spilled over into my bedroom. Mates I loved (and had probably fucked at one point or another) giggling and groping on the floor, maintaining casual conversation with me and my boy.

“Are you fucking?” One asked me, halfway through a casual conversation.

“Hmm?” I replied, clenching my cunt around the tip of his dick, which he’d inched slowly, cautiously inside me.

I made a quick shuffle that could be passed off as rearranging the bedclothes, and pushed my arse backwards to take the full length of him into me. He coughed to try and cover up his satisfied sigh.

I’ve been to swinger’s clubs, but never a party that’s explicitly labelled a ‘swinger’s party’ – the idea of group sex is deeply hot, but there’s something about the explicit planning inherent in the whole thing that turns me off. Perhaps it’s all the impromptu fucks I had as a youngster that have killed the idea for me, but sex parties seem far more fun when the ‘party’ comes first.

I don’t want to bare all and stride purposely through a group of likeminded people, picking which of them I might invite to join me in a slippery tangle of limbs. I want something spontaneous to happen when some of us are horny enough – no swapping or swinging, just a mutual desire to fuck, and an aching need to do it right now. Not because others are there, but despite it.

I want to slowly lower myself onto his dick, and have him stifle a gasp. I want him to work eager hands into my bra and pinch my nipples when he thinks no one else can see. To whisper and giggle and fumble in the dark.