Cunnilingus is not a hugely sexy word, as much as I wish I could make it so. My current fantasies right now – as you can see from this post – are going down on a girl and getting spanked. Oh, and being used…
Content note for being used (consensually) at a sex party.
My hands are tied behind my back, so I am reminded of my place with every movement. Getting to my feet is possible, but requires great concentration; so luckily, as Hattie put it at the start of the evening, I’d be spending most of the night on my knees.
It was only a small gathering, as had been agreed when the idea moved from whispered filthy threats during sex to negotiating the practicalities, and if I thought about it I could probably have named everyone there. I didn’t want to try though: whether or not it was true, it was hot to imagine that my girlfriend had invited woman who didn’t know tonight, who would see me purely as a toy whose purpose was to bring them pleasure.
Thus, I keep my head down as I was ordered to, not meeting the eyes of the gorgeous women in pretty dresses and stylish lingerie. In my white shirt, boobs spilling out, and ruffled black knickers, I’d feel awkward and out of place even if I wasn’t on my knees. That’s the idea, of course, to make shame flush my cheeks and for Hattie to know, and tell others, that being used as a sex toy is only making me more turned on. It’s a feedback loop of embarrassment and arousal, and it’s wonderful.
I can taste wetness of five different women on my lips.
Arousal is not only soaking my knickers, but I imagine there is also a trickle of wetness visible on my thigh as I feel the hand in my hair tighten as the woman whose clit I have my mouth on shudders with the first waves of orgasm. Her short burgundy dress and lack of underwear had given me easy access to her cunt, and she directed me with a hand on the back of my head and directions that interspersed the conversation she was having. I stayed in place until she’d finished shaking and her grip on my hair loosened.
I allowed myself a moment to give a satisfied smile, which develops into a deeper grin as the woman I’ve just made come calls across the room to Hattie.
“She’s good, your little pet.”
It’s so hot when people praise Hattie, as though it is her skill that got them off somehow, rather than my own efforts. It’s also a little insulting though. I open my mouth to protest and tell her that it is me who she should be praising – and I’m cut off by a sharp smack to my arse.
“Such a cute wee bum,” I assume it’s the one who spanked me who is speaking, “But I want to see if her mouth is as good as everyone else is claiming. Can I have a turn with your toy please, Hattie? And some more wine.”
I look up, just for a second, at my girlfriend, but she doesn’t break the scene. She meets my eyes only for a second, and then looks at the woman on the sofa behind me.
“Be my guest, and if she isn’t a good girl for you feel free to bend her over the arm of the sofa and give her some more spanks.”
Hattie winks at the unknown woman behind me and doesn’t look down at my pleading eyes; not that I have any idea if I’m asking for the spanking or to be protected from it. Either way, Hattie ignores my pleas and there is a hand tugging on the back of my shirt.
I dutifully position myself between yet another pair of thighs, finding that her white lace underwear is crotch-less, giving me easy access to her cunt. I lean in and breathe in, inhaling the heady smell of her arousal. Then her hand is on my neck, pushing me closer, and I set about my task. I hear her accept wine from Hattie, and then turn to continue her conversation about Simone de Beauvoir as though I wasn’t between her legs. Suddenly, I want to make sure that she is paying attention to me. I pull back a little and bite her thigh, and her reaction is instant. She grabs my hair and jerks my head back.
“You do want that spanking after all, don’t you pretty toy?”
She’s right; I really do.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex blogger. He’s a sex nerd with vaginismus who writes about his adventures in learning to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks. For his less explicit content on trans inclusivity, check out whatsinyourpants.co.