Smut Saturdays # 19: In This Fantasy…

Stock image of a white-painted brick wall with a title overlaid on it which reads "Smut Saturdays #19: In This Fantasy..."

It’s often very nice to perform a meticulously planned scene, with a neatly defined start point and a script for me to follow, having collaborated on a fantasy for days, if not cock-teasing weeks, with you as my devious co-conspirator. I enjoy being led to the bedroom, knowing that you’re about to play your part and I am about to play mine, line by line, blow by blow, perfectly executed and immensely satisfying…

But this fantasy is not that.

This fantasy rarely takes place in a bedroom – instead it’ll be set in a stairwell, a nightclub toilet, an alleyway, an office… anywhere, because in this fantasy, it is all but impossible to make it to the bedroom. 

In this fantasy, you or I or both of us snap. There’s tension in the air, a look or a touch or a too-long hug drawing out every painful second until snap, and then our mouths are together. 

We don’t stop to exchange Yes/No/Maybe lists. We barely stop to breathe. It becomes less like kissing and more like grinding our faces together, biting each other’s lips and all but fucking each other’s mouths with our tongues. Your spit, or mine, or both is somehow all over my chin.

Meanwhile, we have either found a wall or a horizontal surface to support us. At the moment, I’m favouring the version of this fantasy where you press me into a wall, your knee between my legs, pinning me as though I’m not still clinging to you, pulling you in closer by your hips or your asscheeks or the belt loops on your jeans with absolutely no intention of running away. Still, your body sandwiches me against the wall as your hands find my hair, my neck, my tits, my waist, and we still have our faces entangled. 

It doesn’t take long, in this fantasy, for us to start yanking off clothes – our own or each other’s, it doesn’t really matter – and for me to feel your skin against mine. I drink it in and apparently so do you, running your hands over every inch you can reach while your torso is still flush against mine. Your mouth soon follows suit, and you finally pull away from me enough to kiss my collarbones, my neck, my tits. While my hands try out their fingernails on your back, your hands find my nipples and pinch. Everything is rough grabbing and grinding and biting and desperately, so desperately trying to envelop each other, to sate the burning hunger we both feel all over our bodies.

Obviously in this fantasy your cock is already achingly hard. It brushes against my stomach while we’re groping each other, leaving a light smear of precum behind. I run my nails across your lower back, around across one hip, and then I finally give in and grab it, hearing your breathing shift as I squeeze it lightly. Impulse leads me to start stroking it, at least as hungry for you to feel good as I am to feel good myself, and your hips follow my hand, fucking my half-closed fist. 

Your fingers aren’t gentle when they replace the knee between my legs and I don’t mind at all, widening my stance to give you access to the aching, soaked slit of my cunt. You find my hardened clit with your thumb  in seconds as you hook one rough finger, or even two, into the entrance of my vagina. Wherever my mouth is, against your neck or biting your shoulder or fused back onto yours, I make a small but heartfelt moaning noise. You make one back, and one or both of us escalates the matter.

Usually, this is the part in the fantasy where you manhandle me into turning 180°, grab my hair or the back of my neck and bend me, supported by the wall or over a table, a sofa, anything. Your hands are on both my hips and I can feel the wetness from my pussy on the fingers of one of them, smearing haphazardly across my skin as you line me up. You don’t savour the moment your cock enters me, instead shoving it in with such force that if it weren’t for your grip on me I’d probably fall, and you press yourself flush to me so that I feel every millimeter of your dick, from the thick shift holding the entrance of my cunt open to the reddened, taut head pressing against my cervix. 

The moans and grunts and “Oh, fuck”s start in earnest from both of us as you rock back and forth, slamming into me and into me and into me as deep as you possibly can, your balls hitting my clit and your nails digging viciously into my hips. Your sweat drips onto me. You spit onto your dick without slowing down.

Maybe we switch positions, maybe we carry on like this, but you don’t stop when I announce I’m going to cum. Instead, you growl something like, “Then fucking cum for me, you dirty bitch,” knowing that hearing that will help tip me over the edge and make my cunt tighten around your dick, raising the volume of my moans as everything white-hot and intense in my pussy and abdomen amplifies into a thrumming supernova for long, long, long seconds, my legs shaking underneath me. It feels a little like that swooping sensation you feel in your stomach as you come over the peak of a rollercoaster and down again, amplified and hot and a little further down. I don’t usually squirt or drip when I cum, but sometimes in this fantasy I’m lightly embarrassed by the sound of a droplet of my cum hitting the floor.

You pause and ask, sincerely, “Are you okay?”

I nod shakily, feeling my cunt contract around your cock again. I know you feel it too, because as soon as you have my reassurance that I’m fine, the very second my head bobs affirmatively, you return immediately to pounding me with the ferocity of someone whose arousal has dismissed their coherent thoughts and is driving their hips into the source of their overwhelming pleasure: my trembling, hot cunt, attached to my trembling body, situated between my trembling legs that are streaked bright red by your fingernails.

My whole cunt is still inflamed, and I all but wail at the acuteness of the stimulation as you pump your dick in and out of me, satisfied enough with how hard I just came to start fucking me selfishly, hungrily, like you’re using my body to jerk off with. You ignore the increasing volume of the incoherent sounds coming out of my mouth and I know that you don’t care that it hurts. You like that it hurts, and so do I.

You call me a dirty bitch again. I can tell you’re close, so I beg you to fuck me harder (“please, it doesn’t matter if it hurts, I want you to ruin my cunt”). If we’re still against a wall, you reach forward to clutch my hair, still bruising the inside of my vagina nonstop as you do so. I tell you more than once how good your dick feels inside me, how much I love getting fucked by you. You slap my ass and thighs while you call me a desperate little slut with a tight, slick pussy that you’re going to cum in – and then you do. Hard, pulling me flush to you again and jerking slightly as your twitching cock fills me with your cum, and all that keeps it from dripping back out is the aforementioned hard cock.

After savouring the feeling of my cum-drenched vagina for a few moments, breathing raggedly, you slowly withdraw your dick and cum drips onto the floor, trickling over my still-hypersensitive clit in the process. The warm feeling of it gushing out of me and down my thighs is delicious, and it makes me feel like the little slut you said I was.

This fantasy can branch off in many directions from here. Maybe you ask me to lick up your cum, whether that’s the cum coating your dick, the cum dribbling out of my cunt or the cum that dripped onto the floor. Maybe I play with your ass, or you play with mine, or both. Maybe you drag me by the hair to the shower to rinse me off, or to piss on me. Whichever direction it takes, the theme is always the same: raw, rough and desperate, messy and hungry as we’re drawn together like magnets, irresistibly.

And uh, there’s usually a lot of cum.


If you liked this, you might like other Smut Saturdays posts of mine, and it might be worth following me on Twitter to be the first to know when I post something new! Which I’m finally doing a little more often! Yay!

Cum: The Devil Is In The Details

Selfie taken by Morgan where the top half of xir face is cut off and xir cleavage is covered in a lube which looks a lot like cum

Welcome to my new miniseries, The Devil Is In The Details, where I get unreasonably in-depth about certain aspects of sex or kink that fascinate me! This week, I’ll be talking about cum…


I have a complicated relationship with cum.

In theory, I love it. I fantasise about all the different ways I can interact with it – about being spitroasted and having cum squirt into my mouth and my cunt simultaneously; about being splattered with it in unrealistic quantities by one or more parties; about going for a walk straight after being creampied and feeling it ooze through the fabric of my pants and start to dribble down my leg. In all of these fantasies, I am enthusiastic about it, because in all of these fantasies, it isn’t cum-textured.

I might be alone in this, but I find there’s a particular squeakiness to cum on skin that gets my autistic hackles up somethin’ fierce. It’s akin to the creak of teeth against fabric – something I also can’t stand – and it turns my stomach every time I experience it. I love the sensation of being covered in or filled with something thick and wet and hot – but I can’t stand it on my skin for any longer than a few long, sexy moments. I can cope with it in my cunt, as long as I don’t have to touch my cunt, or have it touched by anyone else. I do, however, like the sensation of it dribbling out of my cunt, especially if it’s then caught up by fingers and fed to me (be they my own fingers or someone else’s).

The ideal place to put your cum, though, is my mouth. I love the taste of it – the way that some notes of it differ between each person while the bass line of human-tasting tanginess remains the same. (Forgive the weird music analogy – I have a lot of synaesthesia around tastes, smells and sounds.) I have no objections to the feel of the actual substance in my mouth, and I relish the moment that it hits my tongue, whether it be sucked out of someone and pulsing gently towards the back of my throat or shot hard into my mouth as a reward for someone’s handiwork – be it me, the person who’s coming, or a third party. I love letting it drip off my lower lip as I stare, dumbstruck by lust, at the person who put it there, but I also love dutifully swallowing all of it, including those last few drops that can be squeezed out at the end of an orgasm.

The other thing I love about cum is this: it’s tangible, physical proof of a job well done. It’s hard to argue that I’m not sexy or that I’m bad at sex when somebody has just ejaculated inside or all over me. Sometimes, in role play, I act as though I dislike or am indifferent to my partner’s cum, and that it only exists as a necessary byproduct of my obedience when ordered to suck them off or lay still for them – but it’s definitely acting. I definitely want the cum. I’m therefore far more comfortable in the role of desperate slut, whose sexual greed knows no bounds and who can only think about getting their holes filled, getting to come and getting covered in and filled with the cum of another person (or other people, plural) – which, to be honest, is kind of the case for me a lot of the time anyway. If you catch me daydreaming, there’s a solid 60% chance that you’ve caught me thinking about the tingle at the back of my tongue that cum can sometimes give me, or the way a dick looks when it’s twitching and spraying cum everywhere, or any other thing related to cum and how much I love it.

Who knows; you might even have caught me having that one recurring fantasy where I jerk someone off in the shower and then lick their cum off the tiled wall.


The pandemic and subsequent semi-lockdown that’s going on right now means that I’ve lost a lot of work opportunities (because every other fucker at my agency is snagging jobs before I can). If you also want to give me a birthday present four months early, consider buying me a coffee or commissioning transcripts or captions from me!

Cum Tribute Musings (For #KinkOfTheWeek)

A cartoon white splash, because I'm lazy and use stock photos but didn't get any results when I searched for "cum tribute"

I’ve never received a cum tribute.

Not because I wouldn’t like a cum tribute, but just because it hasn’t ever been at the forefront of my mind long enough to request one from somebody, and nobody has ever sent me one spontaneously, possibly for fear of being creepy. And, um, maybe it would be creepy… except it would be the exact kind of creepy I would find really fucking hot.

Let me clarify: strangers sliding into my DMs with unsolicited cum tributes would be the not-hot kind of creepy – the kind that gets you blocked instantly. But somebody I already knew, with whom I already had some kind of sexy connection, going out of their way to notify me that they’d wanked over my pictures? Oof. And providing visual evidence of just how much, how hard and where they came? Double oof.

There are two ways I think a cum tribute could be the hot kind of creepy. The first is the dominant way, the way that says, “I’ll use your photos however I like, and I’ll use your body however I like, too.” A spontaneous cum tribute sent by a dominant party to a submissive party can be read as a sort of sexy threat, an indication that the other party wants you so badly they’ll come all over a photo of you (even if that involves actually printing something, like people used to do in the olden days), with the implication that they probably won’t stop there. It’s the kind of gesture that says, “I am obsessing over every millimetre of your face and body,” and also, “Next time I see you, I’m going to pin you to any available surface and fuck you until you’re begging for my cum, then manhandle you onto your knees and milk my twitching cock onto your tongue.” It’s the somewhat entitled kind of creepy that fills me with CNC fantasies and tingly, erotic nervousness.

The other way in which a cum tribute could be the hot kind of creepy is, as you might have guessed, the submissive way. If I were to order someone to provide me with a cum tribute, it wouldn’t be creepy, it would just be very hot and possibly a little bit consensually humiliating for person doing the ejaculating. But if someone were, again, obsessing over me – but this time in an adoring, devoted-to-me sort of way – so much that they couldn’t help but wank about it, and then they also couldn’t help but send me a photo to demonstrate how desperate they were for me, my touch, my mouth… that would be deliciously creepy. It taps into exactly the same part of my psyche as my stalker kink does: I want to be lusted after to such a maddening extent that someone will do weird shit that flirts with, but doesn’t cross, my boundaries. I imagine this cum tribute would be offered timidly, apologetically, captioned something like, “I know this is really weird, but I just wanted to show you how hot I think you are,” and I also imagine there would be the greatest volume of cum a person could realistically produce in one sitting scattered across multiple nudes of mine, taken from my blog or my Twitter page. It would be charged with a very similar obsessive, “I want to pin you down and make you mine” energy, but tempered with the devotion and admiration inherent to this brand of submission. As well as being a display of lust, it would be a display of vulnerability and deference.

The cum tribute in the first scenario says, “I’m going to make you take my cum wherever I’d like to put it,” and the one in the second scenario says, “This is all I have to offer you, but I am desperately hoping you’ll decide you want it.”

There are all the other bits of a cum tribute that appeal to me too, of course: I love jizz and I want it in my mouth, like, always, and it would obviously provide me with the mental image of someone doing the coming in order to produce it… But, really, the thing that I find hot about cum tributes is their potential for creepiness. It’s one thing to say, “Oh, I jerked it to those nudes you posted,” and quite another to actually show me the proof. There are extra steps involved – whether or not you print an image, you still have to aim, to make sure the cum is visible, and then you have to take the photo of the results, and then you have to send it. It’s those extra steps that push it from sexy and flattering to sexy, flattering and the hot kind of creepy, and it’s the hot kind of creepy that motivated me to pick up this week’s Kink of the Week prompt.

(Speaking of which – thank you to Molly for running Kink of the Week, and thank you to Mx Nillin for inspiring this prompt! Make sure to check out the other Kink of the Week contributions, this time and every time – they’re always excellent.

Also, I totally wanted to name this post ‘This Is Not The Greatest Cum In The World, This Is Just A Tribute’, but I didn’t, for SEO reasons. Please applaud my sensible decision-making and strong resolve.)

The Kink of the Week badge, which is a red lipstick print with the words "Kink of the Week" on it


If you want to show your appreciation for my work but you’re worried about being the not-hot kind of creepy, consider signing up to my Patreon, buying me a coffee or following me on Twitter!