We’ve been fucking for what feels like a while this time. I’ve sucked his dick, he’s pounded me from behind, pulling my hair and tentatively slapping my butt. I’ve sat on him and come pretty quickly – a glorious return to form. It’s hot outside and the breeze comes in through the open window. 

He’s inside me, me flat on my back, legs raised. 

“What do you want me to do?” 

I burst out laughing, I can’t stop. My brain is a fuzz of pleasure, his question amuses me. 

He continues; detailing that he could pull out, I suck him again or he could go down on me. I’m feeling lazy and don’t want to get up.

“You can come inside me” I dictate, like a member of the aristocracy.

Once the words are out of my mouth, he’s thrusting into me, grunting wonderfully. And then he’s still. 

The weight of him lying on top of me is weirdly delicious. I don’t want him to move, I’m trapped but as happy as I’ve ever been. 


” You taste different” he remarks, looking up at me from between my legs. 

“Huh? ?” I moan, wedging myself up on my elbows – having not expected a review, a critic at this particular juncture. 

“I dunno, I can’t put my finger on it”

I laugh and jokingly tell him to get on with it. His tongue slavers around my swollen clit,  then he stops lapping again for a moment. 

“Do I ever taste different to you?” His face is creased, he’s genuinely asking me this. 

“Baby, no”. I lie back and think about all the cocks I’ve sucked. Could I set them apart by taste alone? Musky, salty, smoky, buttery? Could I identify my past lovers in a sexy line-up of anonymous dicks? 

No, I decide. 

Although, god. How much fun would that be? 


He was driving me crazy. I hadn’t even met him yet. 

He was a Dom. I had recently been propositioned by a slave and decided it wasn’t for me anymore.

Up until now, I hadn’t had what the old school call “cybersex”. Oh I’ve been asked for Skype wanks, sent the odd incredibly dodgy amateur footage of me fapping to someone and of course utilised Snapchat for utter, utter filth. 

He had a particular penchant for telling me what to do, and I was ridiculously willing to participate. I didn’t have much on that week. 

I’d get home and await his instructions. He’d ask for a series of videos, sent in rapid fire, with varied subjects. Undressing. On my knees in front of a mirror. Inserting a buttplug. Wanking with or without a vibrator. 

It was a turn on, I’ll admit – but also a strange mixture of that and shame. What I was doing felt dirty but hot. He enjoyed everything he saw of course, reciprocating with pics and videos of his own. 

It got to the point where I was wet before I’d even left work thinking about what I’d be asked to do. 

The climax, metaphorically and physically came when he insisted I call him on FaceTime when we were both about to orgasm. Against all of my rules and hang ups about this method, I did. 

The screen showed his hand pumping his dick furiously, with my face tiny in the right hand corner. My vibrator, his groans and furiously red cock did the trick and we both came instantaneously. 

And what was said, on this inaugural “meeting”, this first visual and aural feast and meeting of minds and bodies 

“Oh shit, I’ve got to get ready now. bye!” 

And that dear reader, was my first “cyber shag”. In 2015.

 I need to get out more, don’t I?