Tag Archives: ways to fuck
On erotic massage
Five years ago, if you’d asked me if I’d like an ‘erotic massage’ I would have told you to fuck off to Ann Summers and take your gentle vanilla sex with you. I used to think that ‘erotic massage’ was basically a cunning way to delay a fuck, and thus an unnecessarily cruel trick that a partner might play on me when he didn’t really want to shag me and hoped I’d fall asleep before things started getting sticky.
I think it’s partly because the word ‘erotic’ is, to me, anything but. It evokes a gentleness and romance that I don’t find particularly hot. Filthy? Yes. Hot? Yes. Erotic? Nah. It’s why I’d always rather say that I write ‘filth‘ than that I write ‘erotica’. For many people that word may well mean total cunt-throbbing power, but for me it sounds like soft strokes and feathery kisses and the tickling touch of a considerate lover. Erotic massage, to me, never felt like something I could enjoy with the all-out aching lust that I look for in a decent fuck.
I was wrong.
Erotic massage as powerful filth
It’s late, and as usual I’m in bed first. Face-down on the pillows and just nodding off as he comes into the room.
“Are you awake?”
“Just about.”
He grabs a bottle of moisturiser from the shelf and pulls the bedcovers down so that I’m exposed from the back of my neck to the tops of my thighs. He slaps me on the arse. He straddles me.
I’m tired – so tired. I’m struggling on the edge of sleep and torn between wanting to fall into it, and wanting to stay awake for his touches. I hear the slick squirt as he grabs a handful of moisturiser.
“Do you want a massage?” He asks like it’s a gentle thing – a generous thing, but I know in this instance it’s not. Because, over the course of a year or so, he’s changed my opinion of the ‘erotic massage’ – it’s become something exquisitely filthy, dirty. An excuse for him to touch me. It’s something he’ll only do when his dick is hard and he’s throbbing and he wants to coax my cunt into throbbing in the same way.
He puts his hands on my back. One at the top, pressing down just below my neck so my face is forced deeper into the pillow. The other slides roughly down, snaking from my shoulder to my spine, down below the line of my knickers and into the crack of my arse. The wetness from the moisturiser spreads. He pushes his hand back up to join the other at my neck, then pulls both down hard, dragging along my wet skin, forcing my back into an arched curve. His hands reach the small of my back, and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my knickers.
His dick is pushing into me – hard and urgent through my crotch. His hands work more quickly. Pressing, pushing, dragging along my naked skin. Not gentle: rough. Not generous: desperate. He squeezes me, presses me, moulds my back into willing shapes. Up again to the nape of my neck to push my face further into the bed. Down to the small of my back to force my stomach tight against the sheets. Up to grab a handful of hair and make me gasp. Down to my arse, squeezing at me, spreading the cheeks so he can shove his cock right up against me.
I’m awake now – wide awake. Arching and pushing against him, lifting my arse and spreading myself to guide his dick into me. He drops the moisturiser and grabs lube.
As he did with my back, so he does with my cunt. Moistening, pushing, shaping. Rough hands and slick fingers working lube all over me. Every inch of his cock and every line and fold of my crotch. He pushes dripping fingers into me, and uses wet hands to pull me open. I grip the pillow with my fists and push back, begging him to fuck me.
“Please,” as I can feel the tip of his dick stretching the entrance to my cunt. “Pleeeease.” A whining, desperate moan, and his hand is on my neck again. One hand at my neck, and one on the small of my back, holding me in the perfect shape. He holds still. Waiting. Twitching. Controlling.
I urge him forwards but he won’t move – he’ll never move. He’ll wait until I make it on my own, as I struggle against his grip and try to pull myself down right onto the shaft of his swollen cock.
“Please.”
I push harder, straining against his solid grip. Finally, I feel it – the rush and twitch in my cunt as I ease backwards onto him. As he fills me up with his lubed-up dick and tells me I’m a dirty girl.
Then – and only then – does he really start to fuck me.
Punishment fucking: fuck me like I’m in trouble
The best thing about getting fucked like you’re in trouble is that to get out of trouble, you have to do exactly what you’re told. Here’s a story about punishment fucking, written when I was incredibly horny for exactly this kind of fuck…
On fucking in the mirror
There is no mirror hanging in my hallway at the moment, and this is incredibly sad. My first task this weekend will be to put it back up – there is a direct correlation between how many mirrors I have hanging in my hallway and how likely I am to get fucked up against the hallway wall.
I can see you
Quick, sharp, functional fucks in various places around the flat are always best when done in a strategic place where I can watch him screw me.
In the hallway he usually takes me up against the wall. Often on a Saturday or Sunday morning – he’ll wake up later than me, hear me typing the latest filthy blog entry, and stride purposefully through to the lounge, dressing gown cord pulled tight around his erection.
“Do you fancy sucking my cock?”
Yes. Always. Please.
He’ll head for the bedroom but stop me halfway, in the long, narrow corridor that leads between rooms. I’ll drop to my knees, he’ll drop the dressing gown, and pull my head towards his crotch.
“That’s it,” he murmurs sleepily, as I take the full length of his dick to the back of my throat. “Get it nice and wet.” And I do, because at that moment it’s all I want to do. The wetter I get him, the more easily he’ll slip inside me when, inevitably, he tells me to stand up.
“Face the wall. Drop your knickers.”
I lean forwards, putting my arms above my head and pressing my face and chest into the wall, bracing myself and spreading my legs wide so he can get in nice and deep. Then I turn to face the mirror so I can watch him.
The mirror gives me something I’ll never normally get – a view of his arms, shoulders, hands and face in profile. The muscles tensing and clenching as he fucks me quick and hard. The dents around my hips as he grips his hands tight around me. The jiggle of my arse and the taut strength of his thighs as he pushes against me.
You can see me
I have mirrors in my bedroom too. Not on the ceiling – I am not a 70s porn star, more’s the pity – but a huge mirror that dominates my dressing table and means that fucking over the end of the bed provides the best view in the house.
I don’t just like looking at you, though. Although there’s an appeal in seeing a much greater view of you in the mirror, one of the hottest things is knowing that you can see me. That when you pull my hair back it’s because you like to look at the curve of my neck in the mirror – you want to be able to see my facial expressions, and the jiggle of my tits with each stroke. When you look down you can watch your cock sliding deep into my cunt, and when looking to the side you can see all the rest of me – every bit moving to the rhythm that you’re setting.
The view and the pace and the angle are all dictated by you, as you push one hand onto the small of my back to make me arch it further, raise my arse up. Or the slight wince as you slam your dick home more forcefully, bashing my hips against the iron of the bed frame.
And – God – the grin on your face when I catch your eye, and you catch me looking too.
Fucking in the mirror: we both get an awesome view. I’m just sad that there’s one thing I’ll never see as you see – the sight of your dick as you pull it out at the end, squirting spunk over, around and deep into the crack of my ass.
I hope you found this entry hot. If you’ve got time, please help me with a quick experiment: one of these stories was written when I was super horny, and the other was written when I was much calmer, directly after I’d had a wank. Please comment and let me know which section you think was the hottest: “I can see you” or “You can see me”. It’s for science. Answer will be revealed in a future blog post (subscribe using the box at the top if you want to get alerts). Oh, and if you like hot hallway fucking (and sex around the house), have a look at the latest post at SexBlogOfSorts – it is bite-your-lip-and-pull-down-your-knickers hot.
Sleepy fucking: a change of plan
“Nah, I’m knackered.”
I was too tired even for sleepy fucking. The kind of tired where I could barely open my eyes. Tired where I’d have been willing to pay a week’s wages just to get a day’s reprieve from work. Tired like I really didn’t want to fuck.
Someone else’s story: joyous abandon
Last week I wrote about cheese-sandwich sex. The kind of easy, everyday, sex-for-need that you have when you just need a quick fuck. Today’s exceptional guest blog is right at the other end of the spectrum: this is 12-course gourmet sex. The kind of sex you dream about, have, then think about for the rest of your life.
Both the story and accompanying picture are courtesy of @HigherKinks, who you should follow on Twitter if you love hot pictures, and the gleeful, lusty delight with which a pair of perverts go about enjoying each other.
Joyous abandon
One look from a lover can last you a lifetime.
She was kneeling in front of me, naked. This happens a lot.
She was breathless too. Not from thrashing about, I realised – though there had been an agreeable amount of the bouncy stuff prior to this particular moment – but from something more subtle. A tiny gasp, reminded me that some joys are so exquisite to contemplate, that you momentarily forget to breathe. This doesn’t happen as much.
She looked up at me, eyes wide, lip slightly bitten. And that was when I saw the look that I will carry with me into dotage. It was the look of someone who digs you, seriously fucking turned on. Like, stupidly, impossibly, nothing-will-ever-feel-quite-the-same-again turned on. But it was more than that even. It was a look also of acceptance, of longing, of trust and of urgent desires that needed to be quenched. Some folk call it the look of love, but unless you’ve been in this exact scenario I’d invite you not to consider me a twat for suggesting that. (Oh, and there was a gentleman sucking my cock two inches from her face. I maybe should have mentioned that). She moaned at the sight and orgasmed on the spot. This had never happened before.
Some context for you.
New Years Day. Two lovers with no obligation to anyone but each other that day. No work. No kids. No stress. A lot of fucking, obviously. There had been pillow talk.
“We could call him..”
“He says he’s a bit tired and hungover…”
“We don’t have to do anything, just hang out…”
“Yeah.. he’s texted. He’s on the way…”’
It wasn’t much of a gamble. He was her friend, someone we liked and respected, and was good company. But we weren’t sure anything would happen. Or even if we’d want it to. After an enjoyable evening, and perhaps sensing a moment alone was needed, our friend went to the toilet. We looked at each other. We both knew what the other was thinking. She grinned the grin that says “Can we?”. By the time he came back downstairs, she was kneeling over me on the couch, skillfully rolling her tongue around the end of my penis while I babbled something about inviting him to join us or something – I can’t remember exactly what I said because he agreed inside 2 seconds.
From this point on, my memory is jumbled. A highlight reel of joyous abandon and giggling depravities. We undress her. I watch her beguile his cock, watch him eat her out. I get so excited I have to slide myself down her throat as she stretches under us and for the next few hours it just feels like we are drawn from one intoxicatingly filthy scenario to the next like a little boat magically propelled to different islands, each lovelier than the last. That might sound twee, but one of the fantasy islands we visited was the island where the lady gives head while her lover fucks her steadily to orgasm in the ass. Always wanted to visit that one.
In between bouts, we smoke, drink and lounge around, marvelling at my girl’s beautiful body and the pleasures of consenting, carnal adult activity. We talk about other folk we’d like to fuck, of experiences and delights yet to be had. We get so randy we fuck all over again. It was a stupefyingly good night. We took lots of pictures. Like tourists on holiday.
But here’s the thing. When you find someone you love, who you never want to stop shagging, it’s amazing. But when that person sees no reason for you both to not fuck other people together too? How can I explain this to the nerd generation? It’s like levelling up while playing the best computer game ever.