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This is a question The Wank Bank

What experiences have you had that you've stored in your wank bank - share them so we can start a mutual wanking building society

(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 14:15)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

we met in a Boots
I asked her if this cream would help my genital warts. she said she'd ask her teacher the next day. She was my ideal woman, hair like ripe avocados, and an anus that could hold a beach umberella in a gale. I knew that a woman like that would have to be romanced, so I asked her if she'd like to have my fuck missile explode in her ham silo. She said she wasn't into star wars, but she'd give me a titwank for an oyster card.
As soon as we got in the door she had her hand down my pants. I had to walk back and force her to drop my wallet. She asked me if I had ever made love to the Bolero, I said I preferred Dale's Supermarket Sweep. She was like a gymnast in bed. Fourteen. We started with a rusty trombone, then a cleveland steamer, and finally a kidderminster shagpiledriver that dislocated my wrist. She asked me to treat her mean so I told her she had the dress sense of a bosnian refugee. I gave her multiple organisms and she made me sleep in the wet spot. She touched me in places no woman had touched me before, like my duodenum. Sometimes, in some situations, I'm instantly transported back to that night and I can't help but touch myself, such as when I see a woman choking on mayonaisse
(, Fri 24 Aug 2012, 3:23, Reply)
I don't know why
but when ever i see some cunt get thier comeuppance i start masturbating like a dervish. This is why I claim to be innocent your honour because i don't want to add indecent exposure to the already staggering list of charges......
(, Fri 24 Aug 2012, 0:02, Reply)
I like a wank to that scene in The Diceman,
you know, the bit where Dr. Rhineheart murders that fat paedo Osterflood.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 23:59, Reply)
I went to my local Nationwide branch and asked the pretty lady behind the counter if I could make a quick deposit
I also informed her I would be making a swift withdrawl shortly afterwards.

She didn't appear to show much interest when she pressed the red button and called for security and I was immediately escorted out of the building. That's my current account of events anyway. You see,men. Sometimes you have you really have to cheque your word use as ISA found out out to my discredit.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 23:49, Reply)
In the case of most of these stories:

(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 23:45, 1 reply)
Wanking is a waste of fucking time.

(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 23:42, 7 replies)
I girlie mate of mine used to live in a house full of hot girls
All except one were stunning. Fit girls flock together, I don’t know why but they do. Anyway I’d been in the pub for the afternoon watching City vs Liverpool with my friend when she invited me back to hers to do some Uni work whilst sitting in the sun in the back yard. I knew there was a chance the swarm of tottie could be sunbathing when we got there and what a result when they were. Being an outrageous flirt that I am, full of beer confidence and never thinking they would accept, I jokingly offered to put cream on all of their backs and to my surprise they accepted. One by one. With great care and attention. Sometimes dipping below the agreed lines and the occasional cupping. That was the closest I ever got to any of them but for me it was enough.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 23:31, 2 replies)
squawk squawk squawk
Yeah, this crow sits on the window and shows off her arse to me.
I fucking love black chicks, right proper fucking dirty.
I'm not racist mind, pricks.

(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 23:27, 2 replies)
impressive ballgowns (Gowns you go to a ball in, I mean), the power of life and death, snogging skills, brittle smile, laughter like the tinkle of silver bells and 1970s unrestrained nipples. That works its way into a 1971-born boy's subconcious.

When the internet brought me the opportunity to see her without her kit on, many years later, time had taken its toll and it wasn't the candy I was hoping for (White Mischief). Doh.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 22:35, 7 replies)
The cat's good for a guilt-wank and a handy wipe afterwards.
If your cock looks like a mouse he might even join in.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 22:19, 2 replies)
On the train!
When I was at college I spent a lot of time on the train.

It was a shit journey which saw me listening to my Walkman (remember those?) or hurriedly completing coursework on the day it was due.

The climate meant most females showed as much flesh as linda mcartney's fridge.

One day a young lady sat down in front of me. Slight of build and flame of hair she looked like Shirley Manson's younger hotter sister (I know the attractiveness of a ginger like Manson will polarise opinions.)

Given the lack of any "stimulus" apart from her face I didn't really pay much attention.

Then I smelled an unmistakeable aroma. 

I looked up and sure enough! The dirty bitch had cracked open a packet of monster munch.

I had hit the bottle a bit hard the night before and was feeling a bit ropey. The stench of chemical sprayed starch snacks with a helping of acidy vinegar nearly made me lose it all over her. No double entendre intended. I nearly yahrged.

So, I didn't really appreciate her presence at this point but luckily she soon polished them off and crumpled the packet.

Then it happened. 

One. By. One. She slowly and delicately sucked and licked her fingers clean. A bit of eye contact thrown in and I went from dodgy guts to raging, angry erection in about 3 seconds.

Then she brought out a chunky kit kat and didn't so much eat it as much as she felated the ever loving shit out of it.

The Bank of Onan was treated to a considerable deposit that day.

Not quite the "and then i took a wrong turn and ended up on the set of Shaving Private Ryan" type stories expected this week.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 21:56, 2 replies)
We used to get a couple of proper scrubbers round to babysit.
The missus made me drive them home but I drove up to the edge of the moors instead and fucked them both over the back seat of the car. Became a regular thing. I even shagged one of them in the school toilets when she was supposed to be doing P.E.

All got a bit messy later but worth it just for the gang bang.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 20:40, 19 replies)
It was long ago, it seems now...
I met a woman with rather large breasts and short reddish hair and was immediately smitten, but was unsure of whether or not the feeling could ever be mutual. I'm not a large man by any estimation, sometimes described as weedy with glasses and a receding hairline. I could but hope.

As we spent time together I could see that she was becoming more interested in me. Maybe it was my witty commentary on the people around us? I couldn't say. But as I prefer bigger women, I was in heaven as she laughed.

One thing led to another and we ended up back at her place, as I didn't feel right taking her back to my mum's house. I tried being on top, but the angle was wrong. "It's not your fault," she assured me. "You know, I've never had an orgasm with another person."

"Well then, maybe you should be on top?" I suggested.

She climbed on, straddling my hips, and took me into her growler. That seemed to do the trick, as her hips started bucking wildly and I could feel my nadgers just about drowning. She moaned and heaved, the flesh of her belly making squelching sounds as she gushed over me.

She leaned forward to grind her clit against me, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. Her belly was pressing the air out of me. She collapsed on top of me, still grinding away and making sounds like Beth Ditto at a seafood buffet, and I felt the blood rushing to my head as I tried to gasp for air. Just as I was about to pass out I came, the most powerful orgasm I'd ever had. It was like being hit by lightning and knocked me unconscious.

I woke to her sitting up on me, shaking me. "Are you all right? Say something!"

I gasped for breath, feeling the blood drain back from my face as the pounding in my head decreased. "Yes," I wheezed. "I'm fine. My god... now I know why people choke themselves when having a wank. That was incredible!"

"So I didn't hurt you?"

"No, not at all. Just give me some time to catch my breath, and then let's do it again!"

She lay down next to me, odiferous and oleagenous, and cuddled up close. I caressed her curves, everything that I touched feeling like tits as I searched among her bulges for the real thing.

"Oh Badger," she sighed, "I'm glad you're so amorous..."
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 20:00, 13 replies)
It was September 1998,
and I had two tickets to be in the audience at TFI Friday. Not just any tickets either, mind, cos my dad's mate's daughter was a runner on the show. No, I had purple ones that meant no queuing and definite entry, which made me feel slightly special. I took my brother.

Being in the audience at TFI Friday is shit. You have to whoop and scream and dance about on order, and if you look even a little mopey you're thrown out. It was a bigger pisser for us than most as, both being 6'3", we kept getting shoved right off to one side by the floor manager so we weren't decapitated by the boom camera.

I think Richard and Judy were on that week. The Cardigans definately played 'favourite game'. Him off the Eurhythmics also played, with Sinead O'Connor, Kylie Minogue (when she was still shit) and Natalie Imbruglia on backing vocals. The girls all wore blonde wigs and 60's style dresses. I watched this performance shoved off to one side under the meshed metal walkway that you could look up and through.

Him off the Eurhythmics and the girls walked up the stairs and along the walkway overhead to go back backstage, or talk to Chris Evans, I can't remember which.

Natalie had white pants on.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 20:00, 5 replies)
Wow. So this weeks QOTW is basically 'tell a sexy lie for the next person to wank off to', making QOTW a big online homoerotic circle jerk.
Business as usual then.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 19:47, 8 replies)
For various reasons...
I haven't seen my other half for nearly a month, we've for the last week due to her being on holiday (stupid roaming was turned off as she only recently upgraded) we have only been able to text, and even that was costing a fortune.

I digress, we do send dirty texts from time to time, but not really. I've never done it in the past, so I had to dig into my wankbank history. My other half is very kinky, so I now have a string of texts of the utmost filth. This now forms my modern digital wankbank, when we're not together I can read through all the utter degraded grot and remember, that when I see my girlfriend we're not going to be able to walk for a week.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 19:31, 2 replies)
Les Dawson
He was on Blankety Blank.

Wait, have I got this right?
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 19:06, 1 reply)

(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 19:02, 4 replies)
This is going to have to be a post which I don't answer with my main account
as I have been lax and let 'real world' people including family know what my main account ID is. I suspect I am not the only one so I predict this will be a low uptake QOTW.

But anyhew.

BBC2 dramas. C4 dramas. Usually Dennis Potter.

When still young but allowed to watch BBC2+C4 plays because they were drama and so almost like going to see a play at the theatre to my parents' reckoning, a young me got to see some sights.

The Singing Detective, something that I recall as being called 'Beyond The Limit Of Navigation', the Buddha Of Surburbia, Lipstick On Your Collar, The Bluebells. There was certainly a lot of story between the nudes and they weren't always tasteful, i.e. nude dead woman dragged out of the Thames in Singing Detective not so wankworthy. I believe "I, Clavdivs" was also a source of filth although I never caught it myself.

That would be enough to be going on with.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 18:54, 11 replies)
i like breasts

(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 17:58, 6 replies)
Overdrawn at the Royal Bank of Wank
When I was 15, I had an early-morning paper round. It took me from the posh end of the village (Telegraph, Daily Mail) to the rough end (Daily Star, Daily Mail) along the length of one road. I'd be up at ten past six, on my bike and home bay half past seven, giving me an hour on my homework before getting to school.

Of course, being up that early, you'd often catch glimpses of people shambling around their houses in various states of undress, some of whom were filed away for later, while others were sent straight to the mental dustbin. In the posh end of the village, there was the girl in the year above me at school who had teen comic Jackie delivered every Wednesday, and she'd wait on the other side of the front door in a short nighty, waiting for it to arrived. Memory duly filed for later use, even if she was the most terrible horsy type of the kind I despised.

Several doors down was the lady who took the Daily Express, who waited at the top of the stairs in an nighty shorter than Jackie Girl as I thrust my Red Hot News into her slot. Alas, the nobbly front door glass made her exhibitionism all for nought, her nadge looked like an aerial photograph of the Black Forest. Top marks for enthusiasm, nothing at all for presentation, but she gave me a fiver for my Christmas tip, so all was not lost.

And then, down the poor end of the village was Pete's Mum. Pete was - and let's not beat about the bush - the school git, who lived permanently under the wing of his over-protective mother, a twenty stone harridan who had no qualms about turning up on your front doorstep and punching you round the ear if you rose to young Pete's baiting. Which was often, because he was a git who lived for winding people up knowing that his old mum was his (enormous, sweary)shield. The sight of Pete's Mum stomping along London Road with Pete ten yards behind was something to behold, because you knew that some poor sap was in for a hammering.

Every morning for a year, I would turn up at their house at 6.45, rolled-up Daily Star held before me like some ineffectual sword, as Pete's mum got dressed in the living room window. The milkman would also be there, leaving his two pints of silver-top before fleeing back to his float to poke his eyes out with broken milk bottles. EVERY MORNING FOR A YEAR. That enormous bra. Those huge bingo wings. The back-tits.The knickers disappearing up the flabby arse-crack. Every detail filed, never deleted, still there three decades on. You can guess which of these memories stayed in my wank bank, corrupting it for ever.

No wonder I'm fucked up.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 17:43, 3 replies)
Upstairs, Downstairs
I used to live with my girlfriend in a flat with a sort of mezzanine floor with a galleried bedroom. I used to let my girlfriend have the first shower every morning and night, like the true gentleman I was. What she didn't know was that In the morning the oriental woman in the flat across from our bedroom window would parade around naked getting ready for work, back from the shower with no towel wrapped round her, she'd sit and brush her hair at the dressing table, it was a pleasant sight every morning and I banked it before heading for my shower a few minutes later. In the evening, from the kitchen window downstairs I'd frequently see an older teenage girl dancing around her bedroom naked with the lights on and curtains wide open, I don't know why she did it, maybe she knew she was overlooked. Either way that went in the bank for my evening shower. It was really quite a good system.

I felt slightly guilty standing in my kitchen with the lights off so as to not draw attention to my voyeruism, but what the hell. I even toyed with the idea of popping round to tell any responsible adults living there what I'd seen but I realised that could probably get me into more trouble.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 17:30, 6 replies)
Public Nudity
I'm wandering around in the arches under Kings Cross station, where various rooms are playing all flavours of banging dance music, while other caverns have chill out, film shows, circus skills and so on. A veritable underground Glastonbury.

I turn a corner, and I am presented with a sight that stays with me: a large hot-tub full of naked rave chicks. And probably some men, too, I don't remember them if there was.

Well, can't really stand there and spectate, so off comes the kit and in I go. Spent a very pleasant time chatting to gorgeous naked women, including one who arched her back out of the frothy water to ask me my opinion of a tattoo she'd had done just above her pubes.

All assisted by bucketloads of MAHOOSIVE DRUGS, naturally. A very happy memory, and one I conjour up frequently...
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 17:09, 8 replies)
Not my wankbank
But an old friend from school it seems - used to have the email address [email protected]. To keep with the times, he then changed it to [email protected]. I imagine it's been changed since the need for a C.V. though.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 17:03, Reply)
the fuck is this?
my bank doesn't accept those kinds of deposits
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 16:47, 1 reply)
I have a wank thinking about the people I work with.
I'm an undertaker.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 16:37, 13 replies)
Slightly off-topic here but lots of people, of course, have odd but elaborate devices and methods that they use for masturbation.
Imagine my shock when I discovered that my particular method, which involved putting my penis into a sleeping volunteer got me into ALL SORTS of trouble.
(, Thu 23 Aug 2012, 16:26, 5 replies)

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