You know how you get certain words stuck in your head, and they proceed to crop up in all your fantasies? No? Is that just me then? Oh…
Last night I was texting a friend who I’ve previously shared fantasies with for the purposes of mutual masturbation, and I realised that the words I want to hear right now are different to what they were a week ago. The little nuances in the words that currently turn me on amused me enough that I wanted to share.
A few months ago, I was all about panties, but in the last few weeks the urge for knickers is back. I want frills. I want lace. I want ruffles. I want bows. I want dominants to tell me to drop my knickers so they can spank me, or to stuff my knickers in my mouth to keep me quiet while we fuck. There is something beautifully innocent-but-corruptible about the word that currently fascinates me. Knickers!
Like panties, previously I loved the word arse. Admittedly, that word still does a lot for me, but right now I will get way more turned on if you talk about my bottom. If you tell me how much you want to see my bottom turn red when you beat me with a crop, I will wriggle. If you describe how you want me to bury my face in a pillow and present my bottom for you to spank or so you can fuck me from behind, I will probably make a little whimpering noise.
I want a cute subby boy to do mean things to. I want to take him to the lingerie department of a big store and watch him try on all different styles of knickers until I choose which pair I want him to buy and wear for me. I want to lube up butt plugs and work them into his arse, teasing him because it’s a tiny pink plug. I want to spank him and make him give me all the orgasms and call him a pretty boy. Also, I’m pretty sure giving blow jobs would be an excellent form of stress relief, and I could order him to try and stay still while I sucked his cock, which would be fun.
That said, why limit things to a gender binary? Right now, my fantasies are full of cute humans who I flirt with and make a fool out of myself in front of, and with whom I engage in platonic kink. I want all the humans, giving me head pats and cuddles and spankings and telling me that I’m a good girl.
Oh please please please call me a good girl. Tell me to spread my legs so you can fuck me; make me get down on my knees so you can fuck my face. Give me orders on how to please you but make sure you let me know that I’ve done a good job – because I am a good girl and I will do a good job. Tell me you’re proud of me when I take care of myself and give me the spankings I need to relax. Call me a good girl for taking it. Ask me if I’m going to be a good girl for you, and let me prove that I can be. I will be such a good girl for you, especially if you stroke my hair and give me forehead kisses and tell me that I am.
Tell me I’m a good girl, such a good girl.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.