Every time Hans Christian Andersen had a wank, he would put a mark in his diary. “Today I had a visit from such-and-such a person, they’re so sweet,” he would write. “When they left, I had a double-sensuous ++.”

In Denmark, Andersen is regarded as a national hero with a whiter-than-white image. His fans argue that the reason he never married or had sex was his desire to remain pure. Most biographies about him are very boring. But there’s one, Hans Christian Andersen: The Life of a Storyteller by Jackie Wullschlager, that is fantastic. Wullschlager approaches aspects of his life that have never been discussed frankly and openly – not only sexuality but other shady sides to his character.

When he visited Paris, for example, he would go to brothels in the Porte Saint-Denis area, not to touch the women, but to speak to them, return to his hotel and wank off. Then he would write about it in his diary.

Robert Lepage
Bedtime stories

Boys and their games

July 27, 2019

They’d skive off games on Wednesday afternoons, bunk-off to the cinema, three or four of them together. Sometimes, though, there’d be just two, David and Paul. They’d go back to David’s house and muck about, more often than not taking turns at feeling each other up. As soon as one of them was near to ejaculating, he’d hiss ‘STOP’, grab hold of the other’s stiffy and start rubbing like there was no tomorrow. They’d edge each other this way for an hour or more. One time they did it for three full hours.

At some point during the proceedings they’d strip off their kit and lay together on Dave’s bed. Eventually, inevitably, each rubbing the other slowly, they’d both shoot copious loads of cum over David’s quilt – which they’d then have to try and clean-up before his mum got home.

c’est la vie.

Exploring Sensitivity

March 3, 2019

Freeing his cock I lean down and lick. He is so hard the foreskin had already rolled back and he’d drenched a spot of precum through his shorts. So slick and needy I craved a taste, so I sate that hunger. Eager for the attention his hips jump, his cock fat and insistent as I grip it in my hand. Pulling up my skirt I wiggle a little closer and give his hands a very obvious target.

This time… oh this time when I wrap my lips around his cock and bathe his exposed head with my tongue he grips my ass hard, anchoring himself to me and whines, “Your mouth…” I’ve had my lips and tongue all over his cock and he has yet to have precisely this reaction. Pursing my lips, I flick my tongue over his head and he cries out like I struck him with lightning. Intrigued I suck his cock down and with hard suction and a twist use just my mouth. Nope. I add my tongue and he moans a little but the reaction isn’t the dramatic need I am fishing for. So I let my hand pump his thick shaft lightly and just circle his cock head with my questing tongue and there it is… whimpers and his thigh trembling in front of my eye line. Oh yes.

“Sensitive, is it?” I ask quietly, my hand moving patiently as I kiss the protruding bone of his hip near me.

“Such – such pleasure I didn’t!-”, he cuts himself off with another long moan as I draw my hand up and over his cock head.

“So… not just my mouth then is it?” I ask, my voice coy as I bring my hand down and let my thumb circle and watch his hips quake.

“N-n-n-n-n-oooooooo.” The answer manages to make it out, broken but there though the verbal confirmation is hardly necessary.

I smirk and play with the sensations; my tongue…my finger pad, my lips and listen to his lovely sounds as his fingers dig into me and he gasps and whines my name. “It sounds so good for you, love.” He fights for the “yes”, between panting breaths and harsh heaving whimpers. I wrap my fist around his cock and smile to myself as I nuzzle the crease of his thigh…and then slide my hand up and rotate fast and firmly over the head of his cock over and over.

He squeals for me. Squirms. There are no words and all his leg muscles tremble while his arms and hands lock. I’m torturing him with exquisite pleasure and it feels like home. I’m so wet listening to the sound of his cries, so aching feeling him cling to me. He isn’t cumming, he’s on edge and while I’m fascinated and wondering how long I can keep him there on this precipice…I relent. I let go and turn and kiss him softly.

“Such a good boy. Letting me play with you. You can have a break now.” I nuzzle him, nose to nose and his fingers tremble on my arm as he holds on to me and thanks me. I check in with him, see how he feels, if he needs anything, and when he says he’s good I kiss his lips lightly and run one index finger over his nipple.

“Ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he shivers in my arms.

“What’s this now? All that made your nipples sensitive?” I sit up a little higher against him and he blinks owlishly while he processes the sensations.

“I guess so?”

I lean over and lap at his nipple and he moans. I suck and he moans harder. “Hmmm… how about teeth?” I graze lightly with my teeth and his body wracks under me again with shudders. I play with him, my beautiful toy. Experimenting with pressure, with sensation of cold air on wet freshly sucked nipple, with slightly harder teeth, with touch and nails, and like his cock my tongue lapping steadily makes his hips leave the bed.

I look up at him, my left hand on his cheek I let my thumb affectionately trace his jaw. “Look at me.” He does, his head lifted and framed a bit by my hand and I bring my right hand to my lips near his chest and smile…and then lick my palm. “Now take it”, I snarl. My right hand goes directly to his sensitive cock head and massages, my mouth returns to his nipple and his whole body jerks like he’s being electrocuted by sensation. I nip quickly and lift my head, “take it all, just a bit more” and jerk his cock and tongue his nipple and watch him burn and dance in my arms.

Den of iniquity

the kiss

‘It’s such a grey, impossible day,’ she says. She looks at the window, at the cold slanting rain. ‘I’m bored. You should entertain me.’


‘Strip off for starters. I want to see you nude.’ Smiling in that way she has, like a mischievous little girl who’s stolen some sweeties from a forbidden cupboard. ‘You know what I really love?’


‘Submissive men and boys who’d do anything to please me. I love that sound they make, that breathy little moan when they’re trying hard not to cum because I’ve told them they mustn’t. I want to hear you make that noise.’

I pull off blue tee and jeans and stand in front of her in the living room.

‘Make it stiff,’ she says. ‘It’s only half-erect. Rub it hard…Come on, harder!’ She wears purple lycra and black shoes. ‘You mustn’t cum. You understand?’

Yes, yes. I rubbed for her in earnest, rough, rapid strokes. I knew well the games she likes to play. She raises her head on slim neck and laughs gently. Her huge eyes are on the blur of my fist.

‘I’m going to cum.’

‘No! Stop!’ She is staring at my cock which is throbbing and feeling slightly chapped. ‘Lay on the floor in front of the fire,’ she says.

I lay down as instructed. I know what is coming next. She crouches over my face and gently lowers herself. I forget what it’s like to feel anything but fire. Feeling myself now a beastman, an eater of sweet girl flesh. She loves the gasping, desperate way in which I take in air each time she raises her bottom – gulping lungs trying to inflate like a lifejacket in this sea of pussy.

And while she squirms on my face, she rubs my cock, edging it over and over. Repeatedly she leaves me on the brink of ejaculation. Talking all the time. Always these illicit words. Praise and mischief rolling off her tongue. Driving me closer to cum. The she takes her hand away, leaving me feeling raw as a newly slaughtered lamb.

Finally, my Queen, following her fifth climax on her fleshy throne, rises from me. My face is soaking, awash with tidal flow. My poor jaw aches. Here, the antelope’s respite from the lioness. My cock is a frustrated, inflamed swelling, abused in her hands, misused to the point of madness. She has raised a terrible tumult in my circuitry…

I watch her at the window, her stretch. Arms akimbo, she bends from the waist.

‘Come,’ she says. ‘Time to lick out my arse…’

Sunday cum

July 16, 2017

I’d been married five years when I learned my husband was cheating on me. After the inevitable confrontation with him and the all the usual recriminations, I told him I couldn’t forgive what he’d done.

I couldn’t!

I was seething inside and wanted payback like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life before. I started cleaning the toilet each morning with his toothbrush. I put laxative in his food…but that wasn’t enough!

I’ve had this fantasy where multiple males would ‘take’ me repeatedly. I’d never mentioned it to anyone. Nor had I done anything to make fantasy, reality. Until now.

It took a lot of organizing but eventually I arranged a fourteen man gangbang which I had my best friend film. The action went on for most of one weekday. They had me four times each, and Gloria (my friend) filmed the ‘highlights’.

When hubby came home from work I told him ‘If you want forgiveness you get down on your knees and lick my pussy…’ I was sore down there, you know, but I hadn’t showered or anything, and not only was I a little swampy, I also had a stink in my panties like four day old anchovies. And it was all going to be for him, the bastard.

Anyway, down he got on his knees. I took my panties off and spread really wide. He buried his face deep in my vertical smile and started licking…An hour (and three orgasms) later, I told him, ‘Okay. That’s enough for now. There’s a homemade DVD beside the player. Watch it and see why you’re forgiven for now…I’m going for a shower.’

While he went off to watch his ‘film’ I fixed myself a stiff drink. A little later I looked round the living room door and he was watching me take two cocks simultaneously, front and back – but not only watching. He’d got his dick in his hand and was rubbing it like it was Aladdin’s lamp. Only instead of a genie he eventually shot a load of thick cum over his suit pants leg while I stood there silently watching…

What the hell! I should be surprised at this man who’d screw anything that moved – including the venetian blinds! One thing I’ve learned from the whole sorry experience – in future I’ll be the heroine of my life, not the victim!

Mary T

Iris Parker
True sex confessions

6th May

Morning: gradually easing into sentience; emerging from my all too familiar Ligottiesk like nightmares, a nihilistic bug escaping from the pages of some forbidden grimoire. In the next room the girls sleep on, labyrinthine mazes of flesh and blood, both set going by simple acts of love. Dreaming, perhaps, of diamond dust or brick forests? Or vases of dead flowers? Farewell flowers, possibly? Who knows? Who can say?

I desperately need coffee.


Pornography is a male invention, and is mostly misogynist by nature. Women submit to the urgencies of a stiff penis and the stringencies of ritualized erotic performance. A quick search of the internet will expose film and photographs of millions of women, both amateur and professional, in poses that would bring a blush to the cheeks of the most seasoned gynecologist. Here female bodies are stripped, bent over, spread apart, twisted. Labia wear clothespegs or are pieced. Breasts are tightly tied to swell to an abnormal size and colour. Nipples are pinched by clamps. Buttocks gape wide. Wannabe virgins metamorphose into groveling, cum dribbling nymphomaniacs. Lesbians eat pussy with the rapaciousness of half-starved cannibals. Cocks pump powerfully into cunt, mouth or arse, spurt streams of thick cum over upturned, rapturous female faces. This subjugation and denigration of women is there to enable assorted males to wank off while viewing the women’s contorted and tormented bodies. These impossible, sadomasochistic scenarios exist to excite and appease male masturbatory lust. That, and nothing more.


Girls skipping in the street. Such an early memory, this one. Sunlight in their hair, glowing on their skinny legs, as they skip to a chanted rhyme:

“Teacher! Teacher!
I declare!
I can see your underwear!
Is it black or is it white?
Oh my God it’s dynamite!”

Such sure-footed girls. Where are they now? What’s become of them? Such beautiful, sunkissed, skipping girls. Wonder what finally tripped them up?

Beware of Self-Pollution…

August 21, 2016



June 3, 2016


Masturbation is not only an expression of self-regard: it is also the natural emotional outlet of those who, before anything has reared its ugly head, have already accepted as inevitable the wide gulf between their real futures and the expectations of their fantasies. The habit fitted snugly into my well-established world of make-believe.

Quentin Crisp
The Naked Civil Servant