Some sex stories will play in my head forever

इस कहानी के बारे में

A conversation, late one night: “What do you want to do that we haven’t done yet? What fantasies do you have that I could fulfil?” A slightly more sensible question than the ones I usually ask , and it gave him pause for thought. Before you read on, I should tell you that this post contains dirty sex stories and fantasies that aren’t in any way safe for work. Naturally, his first response to my question is “sea of tits.” This fantasy sprung from a picture I painted during a boring car journey. I raised the idea of a room filled by a group of women he fancied, topless and with arms clasped behind their backs. He’d have ten minutes in the room to touch, play with, and generally fondle all the ladies, after which I’d frantically wank him off. You know, the kind of thing you postulate when someone’s driving and you’re playfully trying to give them a no-hands erection. Problem is, though, it’s one of those probably-unattainable bucket list fantasies that’s unlikely to get ticked off. I doubt we know enough women, let alone enough women who’d be keen to do this kind of thing. It’d make a cracking porn scene, though, consisting as it does of hot naked people and enthusiastic, rapid masturbation. “Sea of tits is a given. But that’s tricky. Are there any fantasies that don’t involve other people, which I could fill a horny Sunday afternoon by enacting?” Pause. “I honestly can’t think of any. I’m pretty happy with the stuff we do, to be honest.” Sex stories – and my own answer What do I want to do? Hmm. There’s no pause here, really. No moment of anguish while I rack my brains to come up with a new idea. Just an instant flash of one thing that spills quickly into another. If he’d asked me the same question, I’d have had to reply like this: More buttsex. Buttsex with toys. Anal fucking while I’m lying on my front and grinding my clit into the Doxy. And that’s stuff we’ve done, but we could do more. Degradation of the kind we’ve never gone for with vigour – you belting me while ordering me to come , offering toys and objects which I wouldn’t normally use, just for your pervy amusement as you watch me try to come with them. Standing over me as I chug a pint of milk and then throatfucking me till I puke. Loaning me out to your friends to give suck-jobs … OK, no third parties allowed. In which case – telling me you’re going to loan me out to your friends. Even if you’ve no intention of doing it, hearing you whisper the words in my ear while you push me face-down into the pillow is… unngh. Putting nipple clamps on me and making me hold the chain between my teeth. We’ve done it? Let’s do it again. Only this time, let’s do it while I’m on my knees, and you make me touch myself, feeling the pull of the clamps on my poor sore nipples with every stroke of my arm. Gritting my teeth as I try to come just to make the pain stop. Wrapping a belt round my neck to use as leverage when you pull my face onto your cock. Again. A bridle, maybe? A collar and lead that you can pull on to get more traction when you fuck me. You handing me glass after glass of water and watching as I drink them down. A corset cinched around my waist, tight and low to squeeze my bladder until I don’t know whether to piss or pass out. Spitting . In. My. Mouth. Taking me over your knee and pulling down my knickers, holding me in that position while you casually watch porn, dipping your fingers occasionally into the wetness of my cunt as I squirm. Fucking me in the toilets the next time we’re out for dinner. Tying my wrists to the doorframe so I’m stretched naked in front of you, you fully-clothed and in control, flogging me until beads of sweat form on your forehead and your dick’s rock-solid in your pants, then pulling it out and coming in the naked crack of my raw, whipped arse. And more. So much more. Because while some people will go on holiday to the same place every year, I’ll turn my nose up if I think I’ve seen it already. Making obsessive tick-box lists of the things I’ve not yet sampled or the places I’ve not yet been. It’s not a complaint – never a complaint. I’d only complain if I wanted to fix it – to stop the whirring, whirling slideshow of quick-shot hardcore porn that plays when I ponder new stuff. When someone says something specific to fire up the perv section of my brain. I want to be satisfied – I am satisfied. But just because I’m satisfied doesn’t mean there’s nothing more.