Creative Wanking

Gripping the little leather paddle, I gave my swollen clit 10 rapid slaps. A pause for an exhale, and then 10 more, firmer this time. Opening my bedside drawer with one hand, while the paddle rested on my cunt, I reached blindly for a dildo and triumphantly pulled out the 6 inches of silicone. A couple more slaps, before I slid the dildo into my sopping wet hole and tensed onto it. 

Halfway through writing Use Me, I became desperate to feel the sensations I was writing. Writing releases my thinly veiled subconscious; I write about all the kinks, emotions, and memories that are sizzling just beneath the surface, wrestling to break free. Writing frees them from their fragile containment and they crawl across my skin and seep into my speech and guide my hands and tears. That release is always preferable to them remaining in captivity, either frantically scrambling around my head or languidly weighing down my limbs. 

They also often make me intensely horny. 

I had written about my clit being accidentally spanked and then my clit desperately needed to be spanked. Perhaps it felt a bit left out. More likely was that the memory of the last time someone had done that to me sparked free following the words on the page and all I could do in that moment was feel it again. It was a mixture of “Oh yeah, that felt really good that time” and “FUCK I NEED IT RIGHT NOW” as I ran upstairs. 

I built up the rhythm of slaps and thrusts together; dildo deep, clit becoming sore. My imagination was focused only on who I wanted to be there, doing this to me. Five more firm slaps before I paused, allowing the air to rush around my cunt. I took the break to rapidly fuck myself, my hand almost blurring at the speed in which I thrust it inside myself. I was so wet it met no resistance. My ankles crawled up the bed underneath me as I brought myself closer. As the paddle returned to my clit, it only took three more hard spanks before I started to cum; hips bucking against the dick inside me, the paddle quickening into smaller, softer, rapid slaps. I think I shouted “YES FUCK” out loud. 

And then I returned to writing. 

The night after finishing Making Her Cum, I dreamt of someone with a vulva bent on all fours in front of me, offering me their cunt to eat. Not only did I spread their lips with my tongue, I also swirled it around their tight arsehole, before fingering both their holes at once. When I woke up, I had a rare morning wank (normally, I’m an afternoon or nighttime slut). It was simple and sleepy, two fingers slowly rubbing the wetness into me. 

I took a break from Top to Bottom to beg my nesting partner to fuck me. To roughly roll me over on the sofa, pull down my shorts, and shove their cock into me. I didn’t want any tenderness or to be touched just then, I only wanted the feeling of being filled by my dom, for their pleasure. I wanted to be used. Unfortunately they couldn’t do me as I wanted, so once again I ran upstairs to fill myself.

I don’t feel any shame for being turned on by my own work. While I don’t wank every time I write about sex (I do sometimes write in non-sexy company, for example), there is a definite pooling of moisture in my cunt. I figure, if this turns me on, it’ll turn someone else on. And if it doesn’t turn someone else on, hey, it’s given me a thrill at least. Since what I write usually involves a real-life story, a memory, either in full or as an inspiration, for me it’s incredibly intimate and real and close. Even when the sex was disappointing overall, I can usually ferret out a detail of pure horn. Perhaps it was the way they undressed, or who else was watching us, or how sore my throat was after trying to deep-throat them. 

Both of the posts in the I Love Hotels series made me horny, but in different ways. 28 Minutes had me re-watching a video I once shot of myself squirting over a dildo. I can’t remember who I shot the video for, but in it I tell them how wet they’re making me, how much I want to be squirting over their dick for real. While watching, I had my rabbit vibrator firmly lodged inside me, its tender ears buzzing. The Getaway gave me more of a sense of longing for something that currently feels somewhat lost. A bit of a dull ache deep within me. It is one of the more intimate pieces I’ve written recently, among a sea of rampant smut, and so my horn was more for the feeling of someone close, for something tender and loving. I didn’t wank while writing that one, but my cunt felt needy. 

Summers in Pub Gardens forced me to log on to Tinder for the first time in months, to go trawling for a match who will accept an offer of a date to that particular pub garden before the summer is over. I long to once again feel a breeze on my face while a dick pierces it. The dark of night is already drawing in earlier, which would provide perfect cover. If you have a pretty dick and you see me there, swipe right, please. 

My current works in progress include a piece on how much I love cum soaking my face, how fun it is to watch or listen to porn while fucking, and my first real-life experience with a sex worker; plenty of inspiration to lubricate my fingers and bring myself to the brink once again.  

One of these posts will be a Patreon exclusive, so if you too have felt a dampness or hardening while reading my blog, join me there and I’ll slide some filthy, hot wank-motivation in your direction.

A close-up of between my thighs, with black see-through material covering my cunt. You can see a glimpse of my arse cheeks.

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