Masturbation Monday: Baby bird

Teresa put her arms around his shoulders while they kissed, then dropped her hands to hold his arse. She paid him no compliments, though she felt them, but she expressed those by kissing him. He pushed the robe off her shoulder and she shrugged, to let it fall.

He put his hands below her corset, to hold her bottom. He said, “Did I mention that your arse is perfect, generous like your breasts, but muscled: exactly the right mix of firmness and softness?”

“No, not in those words. Which you put way too much thought into. But I’m glad you like my arse. Oh!” His cock pressed against her belly, constricted by jeans. She let the kiss continue, but at last she said, “You’re still dressed.”

She meant it as an accusation. He took his jacket off and tossed it onto one of her chairs, but let his shirt drop to the floor after he’d pulled it over his shoulders and off. He undid his jeans and looked at his belt, considering. Again, Teresa wondered if he’d looked at her one-handed reading matter. But he left it in its loops and dropped and stepped out of his pants.

Teresa was a goth, so she kept her corset on during sex. Roland was a civilian; he could simply be naked, and he was. His cock pointed straight at her, and she took it in her hands, holding it like a baby bird, stroking lightly.  His voice was not honeyed, like Julian the billionaire’s, though it was a little impatient when he said, “Bed, girl.”

She turned to close her curtains, allowing him to admire her bottom – she wondered if he’d noted the squash racket in one corner – then sat on the bed. She beckoned him. As though he were a pet and she had a treat. But he came closer, to stand in front of her.

He stood over her, holding her shoulders, cock pointing in the general direction of her mouth. Teresa kissed the head approvingly, and opened to take him in. He was hard, with soft skin, and she gave him a warm, wet harbour, devoted to his pleasure. His hands tightened on her shoulders.

But at last she drew her head back and released his cock. Still sitting on the bed she put her hands on his arse, pulling him forward. “Darling, I like everything about sucking cock. Really, I do. Especially your cock, I promise you that. And I’m looking forward to swallowing your come. Also seriously. But right now, if it’s ok with you, I just want you to fuck me.”

Masturbation Monday: The Adventures of Amanda

Teresa led Roland by his hand to her bedroom, but excused herself, took a robe from behind the door and went into the bathroom, leaving him, she knew, to potter about her bedroom seeking clues.

One thing he’d learn was that she wasn’t a tidy woman. There were piles of clothes, similar to the outfit she was wearing, on chairs and a dresser. He could make what he liked of the old-fashioned, framed, drawing of a witch, nearly naked, resting after riding on a broomstick, and another picture, drawn by her, of a kitten with a knife between its teeth.

Sudden thought

She was freshening up the concealer on a spot above her left eyebrow when she remembered the books on the chest of drawers by her bed: two were the kind of novels that get considered for major literary prizes and the other three were steamy romances. Masturbation aids.

If he looked at those, he’d find they were by a woman who wrote as Cerise Nates, and concerned dominant men and virginal girls, far more innocent than Teresa.

Often their sexual education began after they’d lost an important file, been rude to a client, or faked the boss’s email. If he took Amanda’s Duties, for example, and swung it gently by the front cover he’d find that the pages naturally opened on:

“No,” Alexander said, implacably. “You’ve asked for this, Amanda. Now do as you’re told.”

And… after the spanking? The anal sex!

Amanda tossed her golden locks defiantly, but she knew she would always want to obey that honeyed, impatient voice. Her pussy moistened as she turned to face his desk.

When she had bent over as he demanded, and her nose touched the leather top, she felt a thrill, a surge of pleasure in her pussy. She arched her derriere, knowing she was presenting all of herself for him.

Amanda worked for Alexander, a handsome young billionaire with an authoritative presence, and she was about to be spanked and – to her shock and then pleasure – taken anally, still with her nose touching that desktop.

All Roland had to do was pick that book up and he’d know too much about Teresa’s sexual dreams. Any one of the other two Cerise Nates books would tell him a similar story. “Shit,” said Teresa, as a girl like Amanda never would. But she took a preemptive piss, took off her clothes and put the corset back on, and the robe over that. Then she flushed the toilet and hurried back.

Amanda just can’t catch a break. But a witch can always take a break.

Roland was studying the picture of the witch when Teresa returned. Of course, he’d have heard the toilet flush. She glanced quickly, not too closely at the pile of books. Had it been disarrayed? But she met Roland’s eyes. He was gazing openly, the male gaze, letting her know he was admiring and desiring her.

He indicated the picture. “Lovely tits, that witch. But nothing like as wonderful as yours.” He stepped towards her, and pulled the robe away from her body, crouching a little to kiss each of her nipples as they balanced just above the upper edge of the corset, licking, sucking and biting them thoroughly and in turn, and only then kissing her mouth.

Masturbation Monday: Why I don’t write eroticised rape scenarios – but can anyone?

This is a sequel to an older post I wrote, about what erotic writers who consider themselves to be generally on the side of the angels should and shouldn’t write. 

TC (Teresa) Dale wrote, on Twitter, that my rejection of forced sex scenarios was a bit hard-line, and inconsistent with my general principle that writers should be free to write fantasies that wouldn’t really be acceptable in practice. Readers, after all, can tell fantasy from reality, and can scratch itches in fantasy that they can’t in the real world. 

It’s a valid point, and it got me thinking more about forced and non-consensual scenes. 


I used the words “on the side of the angels” purely so I could use this image again. It’s by an artist drawing as “Schpog”, and I think it’s gorgeous.

Firstly, there are many stories about non-consenting sex written from the “victim’s” point of view. Those tend to be stories where the aggressor is incredibly hot, and the woman (could be a guy or transgendered person, but usually it’s a a woman) dutifully says no, but finds that the hot aggressive one overrides their objections and forces them into sexual acts anyway. And the “victim” shocks herself by being into it.  

And I have no objection to writing that at all. 

It’s writing from the other side, the “aggressor’s” side, that troubles me. If someone wrote a story that went, “she let me in after our date, but she didn’t want to fuck me, so I forced her, and she was, like, totally into it”, I’d find that kind of creepy. 

I don’t think reading that story would make it more likely that someone will actually commit rape. That’s far too simplistic.

But I’m not going to write that story, partly for personal reasons: I don’t want to spend any time in that headspace.

But also, I hate those “rapist’s POV camera, stalking the woman” scenes on tv and in movies. I don’t want to write the prose equivalent. I guess it’s the idea that rape culture is pervasive enough already, and writers shouldn’t contribute to it.

So it’s writing about non-consent from the aggressor’s point of view that I have reservations about.  

If you have a scenario like, “the auctioneer has to test every slave girl before the auction”, it’s rapey, but somehow less appalling because it’s so obviously fantasy

There’s another issue: realism. It’s one thing to write about a James Bond villain with an underground lair and a desert island, or an alien with a spaceship, kidnapping some woman (or man or trans-gendered person) and forcing her into various sexual scenarios. Somehow that seems like it could be written from the aggressor’s point of view and not trigger my concerns, because it is so obviously fantasy. 

Realistic stories seem much creepier. “I raped my girlfriend because she didn’t feel like having sex with me, and then she loved it.” Or: “I stalked her through the park, attacked her, and fucked her on the grass where no one could see us.”

The principle is the same – it’s all forced sex – but it’s “realistic stories of non-consenting sex, from the aggressor’s POV” that make me most uncomfortable. A writer who really was celebrating the way rape happens in the real world would strike me as an asshole.

Finally, this is personal. Part of my discomfort is simply that my persona, and my reality, is very clearly male dom.

I’m subject to some prejudice, based on the ignorant idea that bdsm is about cruelty, not consent. As a dom, particularly a male dom, I don’t want to do anything to encourage the idea that doms get off on non-consent.  


Lasshole fucker 5

Ngaire could feel Freddie’s hands on her hips, his body pressed against her while his cock moved, fat and no doubt happy, in her ass. She moved her body, rocking back and forward on his cock to respond to and drive its urgency. She could feel his body, half covering her, seeming to vibrate as if he was holding himself back as well as taking her.

She felt droplets on her shoulders and knew it was sweat shaken from his hair. Her hair hung over her face, wet with her sweat, though it wasn’t an especially warm night. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything but her own arms and hands and the sheet below her face, but she knew exactly what his face looked like at that moment, intent and anguished.

His sex face: she’d come to know his sex face.

Their fuck was getting faster, and she was driving that. Freddie was letting her lead, reacting to her desire. She could feel that ball of tension somewhere below her stomach, in touch with her spine, building and tightening on itself and getting ready to burst, and she grunted, loud, though her nose. He growled in response, and she felt his body flatten on hers, his chest on her back, his hands on hers. And he was no longer holding himself back. He battered her, and her body answered him, exultant. 

His movements were harder, faster, deeper and Ngaire fell slowly forward under his assault until she lay flat on her stomach, legs apart, ass still tilted up for him.

Their bodies moved together, needing more and pushing for it. Until that ball of tension burst.

She tensed and tried to raised her imprisoned hands from the bed and cried, head down, “Woooo-ohhhh”. He recognised her orgasm, since he’d caused enough that morning, and held her tight with his arms and thighs and came in her. He said something unintelligible when he came. It seemed to be pro-Ngaire, whatever it was.  

She wanted to say something loving, though declarations of love were to be avoided. but nothing came to her, not in the form of words. He’d know anyway, she decided.

His cock was still in her. He hadn’t started to soften, and she could hear and feel his heart pounding. She turned her right hand to hold his. He took her hand; palms together. They intertwined fingers. She had no words but she hoped that said what she wanted to say.  

Lasshole fucker 4

Freddie’s cock pressed against Ngaire’s asshole. That was not a position any other man had been permitted before, let alone the privilege he was about to take. Ngaire had reached back to hold herself open for him, both to signal her acceptance and, she hoped, to make this first entry less painful. 

Freddie said, “You’re ok?” 

Ngaire shook her head into the pillow. That meant yes. She remembered she had to speak. “Go on. Freddie. Please. Fuck me.” Then she spoiled it a little by saying, “I think.”

He put his hands on her hips, to hold her steady, or to let her feel that he was in control. And pressed forward. Ngaire felt the pressure build then, then suddenly it was gone.Her little muscled ring suddenly opened for him, without the pain she’d expected. Then there was a slight twinge, nothing more, as he moved further forward, so all of the head of his cock was in her.

She took several deep breaths, willing herself to relax. 

For a time he did not move, except for a slight trembling. He was holding himself back, with just the head of his cock inside her. There, her muscles were stretched further than they ever had been before. But there was no hurt, now it was done and she allowed herself to get used to his intrusion. He said, “I’m going to fuck you now. Ngaire, you’re to tell me if it hurts, or you need me to stop, or to withdraw. Is that clear?”

Ngaire considered. Being fucked sounded like a good idea. Her face and breasts pressed against her mattress. And her knees and feet. Her ass was up, and now partly full of cock. She smiled at that thought. Then she felt a sharp impact, his hand on the side of her hip. The smack rang in the room, in her ears. “Ngaire.” There was warning in his voice. “I need you to speak. You tell me if it hurts. Clear?” 

You just smacked me! Now you say you don’t want to hurt me? Ngaire thought that, but didn’t say it. Anyway, the smack had got her attention, and it hadn’t actually hurt. She said, “Clear.”

“That’s better, Ngaire. Good girl. So don’t forget. If it doesn’t feel right, at any stage I can stop and I will.” He held her hips firmly again, and pressed forward. Ngaire breathed out while the cock entered her. It was strange, and new, and not sore. The magic of lube, she supposed.

The sensation changed when he had entered her fully, and her ass pressed back against his lower belly and thighs. She’d thought this would be good for him, and do nothing much for her.

But when he was deep in her asshole, it was as if she could feel it in her cunt. it felt dark and strong.

They stayed pressed against each other, and by the time he started to move, to withdraw and then drive his cock forward into her, she had been desperate for him to begin. After a time she began to respond, to move with him.   

They were still moving excruciatingly slowly, It was Ngaire who sped up. She found that each withdrawal needed a returning thrust, and she needed that to happen over and over, and always faster. She was roused now, and, impaled on his cock, she rode it and him. At some stage she lifted her head from the pillow and moaned. Freddie smacked her again, but lightly, encouragingly, and sped up some more. “Good girl,” he said. 

She hoped he’d smack her again, but harder. She couldn’t find or speak the words to ask for that. She was not, in any sophicated or elegant sense, herself. She just wanted this fuck to end in the climax she was struggling for, and for it to last forever. 


Lasshole fucker 3

Freddie handed Ngaire the bottle of lube. Ngaire took off the top, watching as he raised himself to his knees and straightened his back so she could reach his cock. He was hard again, the penis pointing at her. She was surprised. He wasn’t twenty and she’d lost count of the number of times they’d fucked that evening.

Steve, her ex-husband, would have been asleep after the first. She hadn’t liked the sexual enthusiasm of boys, when she was growing up. Maybe that was why she’d married Steve. It was hard, in retrospect, to think of reasons why. But there was Freddie’s hard cock in front of her, and he’d put a condom on it.

Ngaire blew it a kiss, and poured out a handful of lube, and took his cock in her hand, slowly stroking it up, from tip to base, then back again. Freddie grunted, and his cock moved in her hand. It was somehow harder, a little bigger in her hand. “Is that slippery enough for you? I suppose I should say, for me.”

“Bit more on the head. That’s the bit that’s going to open you. You can’t have too much lube there.” 

Ngaire got up to her knees too, and poured more lube onto her hand. She took his cock in her hand again, and pressed her body against his. She kissed him.

He responded, putting his hands on her arse and pulling her close. His cock, slippery as an eel, though firmer, pressed between her thighs.She gripped it tight, and he gasped. 

Eventually he whispered, “I’ll take you slow, and you’re to tell me if it hurts. Is that understood?”

That, Ngaire thought, would be the voice he gave orders to Daphne and Shar. “I’m all right. I’m not a princess.”


“Heh. Then I mean I’m not made of glass.”

“You’ll tell me if it hurts. I need to know how you are.”

“What will you do if I don’t tell you it’s hurting? Spank me?”

“Heh. At least I’ll know that that’s hurting you, and how much. Also, I’d enjoy that, but in buttsex I’d hate to be hurting you. The goal is very much not to hurt you. But you, beautiful girl, should get back on your hands and knees, with that yummy ass up. Knees well apart.”

Ngaire felt the urge to say “yes, sir”. But she fought it down. Still, she did do as she was told. After all, they seemed like sensible instructions.  

She watched over her shoulder as he shuffled closer, until his knees were between hers. The head of his cock pressed against her perineum, and he put his hand on it to guide it to her little hole, about to have its first sexual experience.   

She remembered something she’d read somewhere, either in porn or some women’s magazine with twelve hot butt-fucking tips, and reached back with both hands. She held her own buttocks, and spread herself for him. 

He said, “Good girl.” She supposed those were the last words she would hear, as an anal virgin.


Masturbation Monday: Lasshole fucker 2

Ngaire had just said, “Come in,” to Freddie, or more specifically to his thumb, well coated in lubricant and tapping lightly at her asshole. 

He said, “Thank you,” gravely, and pushed forward. Because she was already slippery from his first insertion, and his thumb hadn’t hurt her even a little bit, she could keep herself relaxed. He slipped inside, the length of his thumb, so that the edge of his palm pressed against soft skin between her buttocks and her thighs. 

She held still, her ass in the air, slightly penetrated. He held still as well. He said, “Are you ok? How does it feel?”

She considered her sensations. “It doesn’t hurt at all. That kind of surprised me. It feels kind of strange, though. I was taught this is really unnatural, what we’re doing. I guess I’m getting used to it. Could you … move your thumb back and forth, like you’re fucking me? Please?”

“As you wish.” He was quoting some film, she knew, though she couldn’t remember which. But his thumb seemed to press deeper – she hadn’t thought it was possible – then withdrew a little, and moved back. The movements were tiny at first, maybe a centimetre forwards and back, but slowly each withdrawal was a little further.

She realised she missed that thumb when it was absent, and was relieved when, slowly, easily, it was back. She sighed, pleasured.

Then she felt herself blushing. That sigh had told him she was enjoying this. He must know she’s a pervert. She thought, Shut up, Mum. Fuck off, Steve. Anyway, Freddie obviously liked perverted girls. And he wasn’t exactly unkinky himself.

The thumb stopped moving then. “Now you,” Freddie said. “When it’s my cock, I’ll expect you to move. So. Now it’s your turn: fuck my thumb.”

She knew that if he were with Daphne, or the mysterious, missing, Shar, he’d have reinforced that order with a hard slap across her ass. Well, she thought, he’ll just have to make do with obedience. She raised her ass a little higher, and carefully moved forward, tightening her muscle on the thumb.

Then she rocked back, still slowly, letting her muscle relax as he entered deeper. She sighed again, but did not blush.

Then she moved again, taking him and almost-releasing him, and taking him again, fucking him. She knew, almost if she had a cock herself, how good that would feel for him. And then that the pleasure she felt wasn’t just in her imagination. That thumb, and her movements on it, felt good.

She said, “So, are you going to fuck my ass, or what?” 

She looked back over her shoulder, to catch delight – there was no other word – in his eyes. But he tried to look serious. “You can never have too much lube. So you have to lube my cock, too.”

He hadn’t moved. Ngaire waited. She said, “Well?”

“No, I mean you have to lube my cock.” 


Masturbation Monday: Lasshole Fucker

Ngaire had lifted her ass, to give Freddie access. She supposed that felt like submission. Daphne had talked to her a lot, about submission. Ngaire thought it had sounded like surrendering in order to work your way round and become assertive again. It seemed like a long way to go to back to where you were before. 

But she’d obeyed when Freddie had said to get her arse up and spread her legs. Now she could feel his gaze. The male gaze. It liked the look of her arse. She wiggled a little, to show him she knew he was staring. He muttered something that probably wasn’t a word, then, “Holy fuck, that’s hot. But now you keep still, Ngaire.”

She his hands on her buttocks, spreading them gently, and then his thumb, slightly gooey, pressing lightly against her asshole. She couldn’t help it; she tensed. Freddie put his hand on her left cheek. He said, “Relax, Ngaire. It’s easier if you’re relaxed.”

“That’s easy for you to say! You’re not about to get a whacking great cock up your arse.”

“I’ve had enough girls up the ass, though, to have a fair idea of what helps and what doesn’t.”  

“Hah! Lasshole fucker.” 

“Did you just say, ‘lasshole’?” 

“Yeah. You don’t fuck guy’s arses, do you?” 

“No. But ‘lasshole’. I like that. I’m going to use it.” 

“You’re going to use mine. If you can even get your thumb in.”

The hand on her left cheek squeezed her. It felt good, and she knew it was a warning. “If you don’t relax, in five seconds, I’m going to smack you. Hard.”

Ngaire said, “But you said-”

“Yes, unless you specifically ask me not to smack you. If you do ask me not to smack you then I won’t. But I’m relying on your sense of justice.”

“Hah!” said Ngaire. Then “Oh!” He’d used the distraction to press his thumb inside her. He paused, allowing her to consider the sensation. It wasn’t something she’d ever let another man do; not so much as a finger had been in her ass before. The idea had always disgusted Steve, her husband, now living in New York State, and she supposed she’d picked up some of his aversion.

But Freddie’s frank enthusiasm for her ass was charming. So was his tricksiness. He’d eased his thumb all the way in, in tiny, slow increments. She had to admit it didn’t hurt. Or feel wrong. Though his thumb was nowhere near as thick as his cock. She could feel herself trembling, very slightly, so she raised her ass a little higher. Just for him. The trembling stopped.

She felt him lean down, then his lips on her ass. He murmured, “Good girl.” Then he kissed her ass – the thought made her smile – then moved his face forward and sideways so that he could lick her cunt. His tongue pressed against her lips and they opened for him. She was so wet.

She heard him make an appreciative noise, low in his throat, and his tongue worked her, until she was slowly moving her hips, pressed against this face. 

Then his face was gone. There was a short pause, no doubt involving the lube. Then his thumb was back, pressing lightly against her little entrance. He tapped her lightly, as if politely knocking on a door.

Ngaire made herself relax. She whispered, “Come in.” 


Masturbation Monday: Making herself available

Freddie kissed Ngaire’s cunt. It felt, to Ngaire, that he was infinitely fond of her. One of those slightly careful things people say instead of declaring love.

His tongue pressed against her lips a little harder and she felt herself open for him under that pressure. She was wet as a ripe peach.

She could actually feel his smile with her cunt, as he cocked his head slightly, to taste and explore from different angles.

Her hand, still wet with her own fluids, from masturbating while he’d watched her, tightened in his hair. She pressed his head down, into her.

But after a while, despite his enthusiastic tonguing, she became clearer about what she wanted. “You’ve just fucked me all night. So I’d understand if… But do you think you could fuck me?”

“I seem to be committed to fucking your ass, don’t I?” 

“I liked the story you told me about it. Will it hurt?”

He looked up, surprised. Ngaire thought, that was a giveaway, wasn’t it? He said, “Ah. Am I about to take a virginity?”

Ngaire tugged at his head, and he came up the bed, and she kissed him. “I sort of thought I wasn’t going to tell you. Because I thought you’d get all smug. Are you feeling smug?” 

“Don’t think so. Honoured, though. I feel really honoured that you trust me. And I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t hurt. It’s a personal thing.”

“Personal? Really? You amaze me.” 

“I mean, people are different. Some women just loved it, and came the first time. Others – I mean two girls, in my experience –  found that it hurt and only hurt and that was that. So your reaction is is… well, I don’t think you’ll know until we start. Though you liked my story, so that’s promising.”

“I’ve got some lube.”

“Good. That’s essential.” 

Ngaire smiled, drily. “It’s from when Steve – my husband – used to fuck me when I wasn’t really into it.”

“Oh yay. Well, let’s give it some happier associations. Turn over.”


“No. Not ‘please’. Turn over, Ngaire, and get your ass up. Do as you’re told.”

“Daphne told me about this side of you. I thought you were going to keep it hidden. From me.”

“Then you know that even good girls can get spanked.” 

“If they ask nicely. And, note, I haven’t asked.” 

Freddie grinned. “You did tell me all kiwis are bush lawyers. Seems to be true. Of you, anyway. Anyway, ass up, Ngaire.”

Ngaire passed him the plastic bottle of lube. Then after a moment’s consideration, she turned over onto her stomach and lifted her ass.

She spread her legs. There was something hot about this, and she could feel it. She was utterly… available to him.


Masturbation Monday: Masturbation, on a Monday

Ngaire lay naked on her own bed. She had her thighs wide, and her own fingers, no toys, in her cunt. Her thigh muscles and her stomach muscles were taut. She was getting close. Her mouth opened, though she didn’t want to risk waking Melinda, her daughter, asleep – she hoped – in the next room. But she moaned, and then, when a fresh wave of pleasure took her, hard like a punch in her stomach, she grunted.  

Freddie had been lying beside her, but now he sat in her chair at the end of the bed, watching her.

An hour ago they’d lain together, having fucked more less continuously through their evening, and then, some time in the early morning, they’d lain, happy and relaxed with the other. Ngaire had stroked his cock lightly. It was down to semi-hard, and wet with her own fluids. She ran a finger nail along the underside of his cock and he’d grunted. His cock had jumped, and it stayed lifted, free of his body. Not erect yet, but on the way back.

She’d said, lazily, “I like to wank boys. I did it a lot when I was a kid.”

“To avoid getting pregnant?” 

“Partly. That was the reason at first, I guess. Then I got to like it.”

“A man with his cock in your hand is a bit like a bull with a ring in his nose. So long as you hold that, you’re in control.” 

“No! Well, all right, yeah, that’s true. And as an teenage girl, it’s always nice to feel safe around boys. But I got to enjoy it in its own right. I like the way men respond, how their cock takes them over, when you give them pleasure. I guess I still do like that. Would you like me to wank you off?”

“Ahh. Look, while I can still get it up, I mean this morning, I’d much rather fuck you. I love your cunt. And I’ve got designs on your ass.” 

“Daphne said you like to leave marks on her arse.” 

“Yeah, I do. But I meant I plan to fuck your ass. My cock. In your rectum. Me in control, you out of control. Out of your control, anyway.” 

“Yeah, I think you might be allowed to manage that. Hmm. No wanking you off. Would you like to watch me wank?”

“Actually, yes. I’m still going to fuck you up the ass, if that gives you something to think about while you’re wanking. But yes, I’d like to see you get yourself off.”

“It’s funny, there aren’t many women who want to watch men wanking. But all men want to watch women wank.” 

“You’re more beautiful. I think, anyway. And there’s not much mystery about men wanking. The cock’s sort of out there. But cunts are more inwards -“

“So profound, this man.” 

Freddie put his hand on her left inner thigh, and smacked her, just missing her cunt.

Ngaire knew that wasn’t the last time he was going to smack her, though he was hiding the side of himself that Daphne had told him about. “Ok. Freud: Off! But I think men generally all wank much the same. But women do different things. I’ve had girlfriends who wank lying on their front, others who lie on their backs. Which are you?” 

“I’m an on-my-back girl. And I’m going to wank while you watch. Do you want to see me actually working to get myself off, or do you want me to put on a show?”  

And he’d said the right thing. Ngaire had made herself a pile of pillow to lean back against, and began to stroke her inner thighs, not touching her cunt at first. As if she was teasing herself.