Fantasies


Content Warning: Sexual Violence (Consensual)

Inspired by the 6 Nations, a few years back, I wrote about a Changing Room fantasy where I’m bound and helpless and the local rugby team get to have their way with me. Essentially, I get well and truly fucked in every hole, get cum splattered all over me, and then, with the absolute minimum of cleaning up afterwards, I have to join them in the club bar where they all talk very loudly about what they did and how I took it.

The key elements of this story are:

  • restraint/helplessness
  • being used by multiple men
  • having numerous loads of cum shot on my face/boobs/arse/skim
  • public humiliation

The truth is, while the setting and the premise may vary, the above is pretty much a recurring theme of my fantasies. They almost invariably involve me being tied up, naked in some semi-public location where there is an invitation for any who find me to use me as they please.

It could be the changing room as described above, it could be me bound and helpless in a hotel room, where the door has been deliberately wedged open, it could be me bound over a style or a gate on a country footpath or, in some sort of public stocks, being punished for my wanton behaviour by the good citizens, and my punishment is to endure their wanton behaviour.

Wherever the fantasy is located, I am always naked, always restrained, always helpless to resist and there is always the “invitation” for whoever encounters me to use me in whatever way they see fit.

What follows is an indeterminant number of people, both men and women, doing what they want. Fucking my mouth, fucking my cunt, fucking my arse, whipping me, thrashing me, my cunt is fingered, licked, fucked with numerous implements/toys and I simply have to “endure” it.

Usually, but not always, the men choose to punish me by denying me the satisfaction of having their cum released inside me; they shoot their loads on my skin, their cum sticks to my face, drips down my boobs, coats my buttocks. By the time I am finally released, every hole has been fucked countless times and I am a mess of dried on cum.

As if the humiliation of the public sexual torture and cum-soakings weren’t enough, there is always some sort of “walk of shame” element, where my slutiness is displayed for all to see. Those who have fucked me, feign outrage at my deplorable wantonness while congratulating themselves on how they used me, both individually and collectively.

The final act in my fantasy is the redemptive element. The overseer of my punishment/public humiliation (almost always some fictionalised version of Master C or “The Other Guy”) fucks me, rewards me with their cum in my cunt or mouth and tells me that despite being a filthy slut, they are proud of how I stoically took my punishment, how I held my head high, proudly, despite the humiliation, how I have proved myself to be worthy.

It’s probably fair to say that my fantasies are born somewhere within the darker side of my subconscious that I wrote about recently. I can’t deny there is a roughness bordering on violence about them that I suspect some may find disturbing. The thing is though, when my mind goes down these particular paths, the intensity of the orgasms that such mental images help to produce is something else altogether and I’m left feeling as drained as if the scenes playing out in my mind had actually happened.

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Force feeding


Master C tilts my head back, grips my neck and forces His cock down my throat. This isn’t a blow-job, I am not in control; Master C is fucking my throat and using me for His pleasure.

It is rough, it is hard, it hurts my throat, it makes my jaw ache, I choke, tears well up in my eyes, I am being used and I fucking love every second, every thrust; from the first moment when Master C pushes his cock between my lips until the moment when I am choking down His cum.

I love being helpless. I love being utterly at His mercy. I love how uncomfortably wet my count becomes as Master C takes me as He pleases, using my mouth and throat as simply another hole to fuck and take His pleasure from. I am powerless, restrained, unable to resist Him, even if I wanted to; and I don’t. I am His to be owned; used as Master C chooses.

The head of His cock plugs my throat. His hand tightens around my neck. Breathing is almost impossible. Master C tells me that I am “a filthy slut” and He slaps my face hard as He fucks it.

I can taste Him… I can read the tell-tale signs…

“Filthy slut!”

“Dirty whore!”

Each word accompanied by a slap to my face; a thrust of His lovely cock in my throat. Each word reminding me of my place; a confirmation of my belonging to Him.

My cunt aches almost as much as my mouth.

Master C pulls out abruptly, and then I feel it; His warmth exploding over my skin. His cum trickles over my face, down my neck, over my boobs. I long to be able to rub it into my skin, to gather it in my fingers and taste it.

Master C unties my hands, strokes my hair. “Good girl” He whispers as He kisses me softly on the lips that, mere seconds before, were being abused by His cock.

I am His slut, and I am content in the knowledge that I have served Him well.