I am anonymous.
I’ve written more pornographic works of fiction than you’d care to imagine. I want you to be anonymous too. I want you to log out of your blogger accounts and talk dirty to me. I want to hear your sexual fantasies and I want you to hear mine.
Fantasy can be a paler version of reality or it can be an end in itself, allowing us to imagine what we can't or would rather not try. Here are three of mine.
Sshh, gather round. Draw the curtains and promise not to tell.
I’m in a room like a large prison cell, all whitewashed walls and tiny, barred windows. I’m naked and hog-tied, suspended on the horizontal, my legs held open by the ropes. Leaning casually against the wall, a gang of mean, muscular soldiers are watching me. They’re grimy and shaven-headed, and they’re wearing camouflage pants and dirty combat boots. They’re waiting till it’s their turn to fuck me or stick their cock in my mouth. I feel exposed and ashamed, horribly aware that my cunt is on display and I'm wet.
One guy strides forwards, unzipping. He’s brawny and arrogant, and I sway on the ropes as he moves between my thighs. He penetrates me, gripping my hips as he pounds hard and fast. The other soldiers are smiling and sneering. Another steps forwards. ‘Make her suck your dick,’ says someone, and he does.
This fantasy doesn’t have an ending. It’s not that kind of narrative. More men fuck me. ‘Can she take another?’ ‘Yeah, she's a slut.’ Sometimes they leave me alone, or push me on my ropes. I sway gently. I might get impaled, mouth or cunt, on a cock or dildo. They laugh, making jokes and talking about me as if I don’t exist.
I’m a subject in medical research. I’m naked, strapped in one of those reclining, gynae chairs, my knees bent and fixed open. I’m hooked up to monitors and various bits of bleepy, flashy equipment.
There are two guys in white coats, one by my side holding a clipboard, the other standing between my thighs. They’re friendly but aloof - professionals interested in my reponses not in me. The guy between my legs examines and touches me – my breasts, cunt and inner thighs. He crouches down to study me, peeling my labia apart and holding me open. Standing, he deliberately arouses me, reporting his findings to his colleague: ‘She’s getting very wet’ or ‘I think she’ll come soon.’ Sometimes, he gives me a kind smile. ‘Is that good?’ he’ll ask, working his fingers inside me.
It’s night time and I’m walking down an alley in a seedy part of town. On the street I’ve just left, there are shabby strip joints, neon signs and narrow doorways. A man steps out of the shadows. Before I can scream, he slams me up against the wall, clamping his hand to my mouth.
‘Shut it, bitch,’ he hisses, fumbling with his fly. I’m fighting back, screaming into his hand, but it makes no difference. He’s strong, he’s horny and can overpower me without much trouble. He enjoys his strength and the fact he can torment me. He grins. ‘You’re going to like this,’ he says, slowly jerking his cock. He fucks me up against the wall. He’s rough and ruthless, grunting and panting. Sometimes he orders me to turn around and he fucks me from behind. Sometimes, he forces me to my knees, clutching my hair in his fists as he fucks my mouth.
Again, this fantasy is never ending.
So where will you to take me? What goes on in the murky corners of your mind? What are you thinking when you’re on the edge of coming?
I don’t care if you’re man, woman or undecided. I don’t care how pretty the writing is. Give me scenes, give me snippets, give me truth. Put your inhibitions away with your identity. Be anonymous. Be brave. Be yourself.
Let’s melt this blog.
What is it? Go on, I’m listening.