So I’m on PornHub getting wet over Ryan Madison vids, as you do. I come across one where he’s up to his usual shit, but according to over 230 likes in the comments, this one somehow stands heads and shoulders above the rest. Why?
Because this time, the chick “reaaaallly seems into it!” “Great chemistry!” “I think she really wanted him to cum in her!”
I re-watch, thinking I’d missed something, but nope. This chick remained one of the worst fakers, and these poor bastards didn’t know the difference.
I’m here to put you niggas on.
How to Tell a Woman is Faking: General Rules of Thumb
1.) Loud, Staccato Noises
This chick’s (and so many others’) tell was a litany of loud moans that all sounded the same in tone, pitch and volume. To the untrained (i.e. typical male) ear, the volume and consistency suggested intensity, when in reality it was just bad acting.
Her entire focus was on MAKING NOISE bc there was no PHYSICAL pleasure to preoccupy her. A woman headed for a real nut does not have the mental capacity to make sure she sounds “good”
A pleasured woman releases (notice I didn’t say “makes” as that suggests manufacture) a varied series of sounds – grunts, groans, sighs, coos, whimpers, screams and swears – all at different intensities, pitch and volume. The sounds are unchecked bc she’s too preoccupied with cumming to give a damn.
And let me tell you, if a woman’s cumming hard, she can sound every bit as guttural as a man. If all you’re ever getting is gentle, Princess Peach sighs, your stroke is likely lacking.
*If she sounds like she’s giving birth, running a marathon, enjoying a delicious meal, or reacting to a gift of money or jewelry, you’re doing it right.*
Note: A lot of ladies make little or no noise at all, and that’s fine. She will still give you physical cues. If she starts grabbing at your hair, shoulders, ass or arms, she’s into it. Rubbing her clit is a good sign too. (Watch how she rubs it, then pull out and replicate her movements with the tip of your dick. Thank me later.) Means it feels good and she’s trying to make it feel even better.
2.) Limp Feet
If she’s not a.)driving her heels into the mattress (or into your back), b.) flexing her feet, or c.) curling her toes, odds she came are SLIM to NONE. If you are a girl who can cum hard without getting your feet involuntarily involved, please let me know bc you are a rare and beautiful bird.
3.) Talking Shit
Dirty talk is great in the beginning, but if she’s doing it non-stop, she’s probably nowhere near cumming. She should’ve at least paused at the moment of climax. When it’s on, I can’t even remember my own fucking name, much less encourage you to fill my dirty fuckhole with your hot man mustard. If you’ve done your job right, your girl should barely be coherent, much less conversational.
4.) Excessive Smiling or Giggling
Same idea as above. Getting fucked to within an inch or your life is no laughing matter. If you’re really about to make me cum hard, my only concerns are grabbing onto something and trying to survive. I ain’t got no time to be flirty or cute with you.
5.) Blank or Unchanging Facial Expression
One of the last vids I watched was of a flawless black goddess clearly enjoying every stroke she was getting. Her noises were genuine and sexy, a natural expression of the pleasure she was feeling. Her expression looked a bit like she was going to cry.
Some dumbass comments, “Boy, she makes it look like it hurts.”
I’m not mad at dumbass. Just disappointed at how grossly mislead some of you guys are.
Understand, good dick humbles us. It makes us want to be better people. Makes us appreciate life, love and God’s beautiful creation. It makes us want to water our plants more consistently, suck our man’s dick better, adopt a puppy. And when we feel this way, we sometimes look like we want to cry a little because maybe sometimes we do. A lil.
An authentic female orgasm face can also include:
a.) look of actual outrage at how good the dick is,
b.) look of tender awe like we’re seeing Jesus at the Transfiguration bc your dick has saved our soul
c.) look of mild disgust with ourselves bc we know we’ll now put up with anything to keep getting such quality dick
That’s about it. I know some fellas are savvy enough to have put all this together already, but I’m shocked and saddened at the number of men are totally fooled.
Please support your pornstars. They are earning a living, and it’s not their fault the sex is garbage. Like a lot of girls irl, they just wanna make you cum, even if they can’t:(
Please take these cues to heart. If you spot your chick faking, do better.
TL;DR Too loud, monotone, smiley and consistently so – she’s faking. Looks and sounds slightly mournful, lightheaded or surprised, exhibits little control of body and voice, she’s cumming.
Hey, I wrote a smut. I’d tag people, but I’m not sure if Tumblr fixed that annoying tagging glitch yet.
Based very loosely on a real life thing. Or at least the fantasies from it.
The lights are dimmed. At least the telltale flush blossoming along my collarbone will be less visible.
In the silence her heels click on the floor. She seems to sense my discomfort, which probably radiates from me in waves. “This shouldn’t take long,” she reassures me. A small nod jerks from my neck and I wonder why this is all very much doing it for me. I hate it. I kind of hate her, other than the fact that she is clearly very nice and has a good bedside manner.
She asks for my glasses, which I place on her extended palm. I accept the small paddle she proffers. “Please cover your right eye.” I gaze at the eye chart that is projected on the opposite wall. “Can you read the fourth line from the top?” Her body settles on the wheeled stool and I can sense but not see her steering herself closer to me. It is reasonably easy for me to take in the full line of letters at once. I am unable to speak. This must be a joke.
“Are you able to pick out the letters? Just do the best you can.” “D…” I squeak. I clear my throat and race through the “E…E…P.” “Good!” she practically purrs at me. I am fairly sure that the letters are supposed to be random and are not supposed to form actual words. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and there. THERE. I imagine that I feel a slickness developing and plead with my body not to betray me in this way.
“How about the next line?”
I squint a little and am entirely incensed. And turned on. I bark out the letters: “R – E – L – A – X.”
It sounds like a reasonable suggestion. It occurs to me that I haven’t really breathed in a while, and I direct my shaky inhale all the way down until my abdomen rises.
“You’re doing very well.” It probably is just my imagination, but her voice seems a little lower and more resonant. In response to her praise, my nipples beginning to harden in my thankfully well-padded bra. I find myself nodding again, though my neck and shoulders are significantly less tense. That’s probably a good sign.
“The next line, please.” The shape of the letters are certainly less defined here, and I feel the limits of my vision. I can still manage if I focus very intently. I blink a little to clear my vision for each letter. “T”. My voice has an odd faraway lilt to it, which I find a little puzzling. “R”. “A.” I pause as my eyelashes flutter. “N? It’s either an N or an M. C…E.”
Yeah, it was probably an N. My skin feels electrified. I can feel my hips shift up imperceptibly. There is definitely a wetness that tingles just at the edge. A finger tracing along it would likely pull some of it away. I have the distinct urge to check, but the only free hand grips the arm of the exam chair.
“Can you read anything on the next line?”
My eyes try to make sense of it, but I’m somewhat fatigued. “D?” I manage, and fall silent. Nothing else comes together. My breaths are long and slow.
We run through the series of letters with my other eye, and she thankfully takes back the paddle. My arms feel very heavy at this point. She pivots something in front of me, and I notice a chin rest and a bar along the top. She directs me to place my head against it, so I nestle my chin down. I am not quite forward enough, so her hand snakes between my neck and hair and she gently pulls me forward until my forehead meets the plastic. I’m not sure if I detect a faint squeeze before she lets go or if it’s just wishful thinking. My skin prickles at the feeling of being restrained. I push forward a little more, eager, and train my eyes on her. She smiles and something drops in the pit of my stomach.
She directs my focus to a sparkling earring that I hadn’t noticed before, as a pinpoint light dances at the edges of my vision. Everything seems to slow. I just want to close my eyes, but I am captivated by the jewelry that spins so delicately from her lobe. I allow myself the momentary thrill of imagining how it would feel to close my mouth on this part of her ear and to flick my tongue along it. I swallow, with effort.
I am slightly disappointed when the chin rest is removed, but she positions a broad piece of equipment in front of me with two lenses. I understand from previous exams (that were significantly less erotic) that this will determine my current eyeglass prescription. I bring my head forward.
“Can you focus again on the fourth line of text?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a little far back, can you rest your head here?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now I’m going to flip the lenses back and forth. Let me know which one is clearer. Can you do that?”
“Yes…”
“Do you remember what the fourth line says?”
“Deep.” Desire burns in me. I no longer push it away.
“Very good. One?” I hear a pleasant click. The second click brings the word into sharper relief. “Or two?”
“Two.” I squirm a little in my chair. Deep.
“One…or two?”
“Two.”
“One…or two?”
“Two.”
The lenses flip back and forth more and more quickly. It occurs to my dull mind that it’s usually not this fast. In fact, the options are not getting progressively sharper as the test progresses. One is always slightly blurry, and two is always perfectly clear. Deep. My mouth repeats “two” almost robotically. By the time her voice deepens and her instructions change, I realize too late that I am already hypnotized. But it is OK. My only job right now is just to focus on the word and to tell her which option is better. It is two. Her words meld together and spin around me until I can no longer track them. She could be saying anything. Please. “Two.” I feel my legs spreading apart slowly, but I understand that there is no need to feel embarrassed. I’m just doing what makes me feel better.
A flash of realization hits me. My eyes are closed. And yet I’m still parroting back the only word I seem to know.
Something in her tone calls me to whisper “two” again as I spread my legs wider. When I speak it I feel a flutter between my legs which dissipates very fast. I want it back. My skirt presses against the outside of my thighs and I can vaguely hear her amusement at how exposed I am. I nod. Please. I need to feel it again. How…
I remember.
“Two,” I croak, and this time I feel the pressure of fingers pressing against my underwear. I’m not sure if it’s real or imagined. In an instant it’s gone again. A moan escapes me. I tip myself up in desperation, which is helpful because I feel the distinct tug of my underwear being removed.
“Please.”
No.
“Two.”
A gasp charges through me as a finger barely moves to separate me. Words tumble out of me. They are wrong. I feel the absence of touch and almost lose my mind.
No.
I forget. My hips reach up to find nothing. My back arches deeply. I beg for help. Sweet words move around me and I understand that it’s the arousal that’s making me a little dumb right now. But I have the right word now. Thank you.
“Two.”
Something moves inside of me and I cry out. All I hear and all I can see is that number. All I feel is a finger moving rhythmically inside and out of me. I find that the faster I speak it the faster it thrusts. My nails dig into the side of the chair and in the back of my mind I think that this is wrong. This is WRONG. But still I pant “two” and still the finger splits me apart. A thumb begins to circle at my clit even as the pressure builds deeper within me. I stop speaking. I am on the very edge of something and my whole body shakes in anticipation.
I barely feel her lips graze my ear as she murmurs, “one.”
Ladies and gentlemen (and everyone else) of the jury, the defendant claimed via internet message in the month of July that she, and I quote, “never really [has] ideas” for smut, and has generally promoted the idea that she was unqualified to write erotic fiction. I submit the above story as evidence of her OUTRAGEOUS LIES.
(Mmm that’s some good smut.)
(Also whelp now my next eye exam is gonna be uh. Interesting.)
That’s it, keep crying. Whimper. Beg. Beg me to move faster. Beg me to let you cum. You thought i was going to use a vibrator when i said i would finally let you cum tonight… Poor thing. You CAN cum, if you’re able to, of course. I’m just going to keep moving my hand over your clit slowly like this. And i’ll slow down even more when i see you’re getting too much pleasure. I wouldn’t want you to stay on the edge, so i’ll bring you down from it. Tease your clit until you edge then never let you get over the edge. Never an orgasm. But remember, you CAN cum… if you are able to.
Pro tip for mean doms: Allow your sub to touch themself but set a time limit so you can watch them rubbing their parts desperately fast and rough, trying to get off in time.
And afterwards you can either enjoy the pathetically releaved look on their face with cum dripping down their filthy hands or hear them whine and beg for just one more minute.
