I could’ve sworn I’d written about CFNM before, but I ran a quick search on the blog and nothing came up. It stands for “clothed female, nude male”, and one of my favorite producers of this type of content is Lilu, of Lilu’s Handjobs. Here’s an example video.

I’ve occasionally written scenes with CFNM aspects, but it wasn’t until recently that I wrote a full one. It’s for a story in my upcoming third collection. Here’s some of it:

“Kelly, what’s going on?” It was hard to concentrate — she knew exactly how to touch me, how to use her hands on my cock and my balls.

“I think you know.”

“I… what?”

She squeezed lightly. “That video?”

I had to think about it, but then I remembered. “Oh. Right.”

“Right.” She let go long enough to put some lube in her hand, and then she resumed stroking my cock, a firm and regular motion, almost mechanical. “You said it was hot. I figured you’d want to give it a try.”

“I mean, I won’t say no, but–“

“But nothing.” She tightened her grip, almost to the point that it hurt, but just for a moment. “Put your hands behind your back.”

I did as she said. This whole situation was based on a video I’d found on Reddit, one that had led me down a rabbit hole of something called CFNM — clothed female, nude male. Most of the videos were of exactly what was happening now: women giving handjobs to men while wearing nice clothes. There were a couple of content producers whose videos kept coming up, and I’d shown one to Kelly. I hadn’t realized it had made such an impression.

Kelly continued working my cock with her hand, the lube making it slick and slippery. The strange situation — me being naked, her being fully clothed — was a bit of an extra turn-on as well, and it was maybe three or four minutes before I felt my orgasm start to build.

Kelly knew it, too, and she stopped, just holding me, feeling me throb in her hand. “Why did you stop?”

“Because I’m not done yet.”

“Oh. Good reason.”

Once I’d calmed down, she started up again. She brought me closer to the edge, and then let go; my cock bounced and jerked, hard and thick, but I didn’t come.

She did it again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, it took fewer and fewer strokes to bring me just to the verge of coming; each time, it took longer for my orgasm to recede. I knew what she was doing — we didn’t engage in edging, but I was aware of its existence — and it honestly was starting to drive me a little crazy.

She took me in her hand again and I moaned, thrusting forward. That got a hard squeeze. “Not until I say.”

“Kelly…” It was half-moan, half-whine. “Come on, please?”

“Not yet.”

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait much longer. One more cycle of edging, and then she started stroking hard and fast, faster than she’d ever jacked my cock before. I groaned and felt my whole body clench, and just before the orgasm hit she let go.

My cock exploded onto her, spurts of come splattering on her clothes. There was an accompanying ache in my cock and my balls; I think it was called a ruined orgasm, although even though it hurt I didn’t consider it to be ruined. It still felt good to get that release, and seeing Kelly sitting there with my come all over her didn’t exactly make things worse.

When I was done, she inclined her head toward the nightstand. “Photos, please.”

Interestingly, there’s barely any spanking in this story. So far. It’s not done yet.