The first spanking I ever had

my first spanking made me wish that handprints stayed for longer...

Image by the excellent Stuart F Taylor

You know how sometimes a particular smell evokes a really specific memory? Hot days smelling like childhood holidays, Baileys smelling like Christmas or – if you want to be less saccharine and cheesy about the whole thing – dick that smells exactly the way your ex used to?

I have a style of skirt that reminds me of my first spanking. No, really. It was grey, and patchwork – silk and corduroy and cotton and linen all sewn together in a rough pattern, draped perfectly over my hips and arse. It was one of the best items of clothing I’ve ever owned, and I can’t work out if that was because it sat just right on my bum, tight enough to cling so I could feel it when I walked, but loose enough that the material would billow out around my thighs when I walked somewhere, or if it was the best because it reminded me of spanking.

The first spanking

I’d been slapped before – occasional smacks on the bum as I walked naked to the bathroom. Boys who’d slap it when we were flirting after school, or boyfriends who’d give it a whack when they ironically ordered me to the kitchen for beer. But I’d never before had a proper spanking.

I arrived at his house at the usual time – what we’d have called ‘after work’ because we were students, but something far closer to 3pm. I’d been away for a week or so and I couldn’t wait to see him. This guy. This dream-come-true. This person I jokingly called The One when he was out of earshot.

He didn’t think much of me back then. We were mates who fucked, but while we were both equally enthusiastic about the fucking, I suspected there was a serious imbalance on the ‘mates’ front. He was my best and my almost-only – the one I’d seek out and chase and invite to every occasion. I was the one he ditched when something more interesting came along.

Still, we were pretty happy, not least because each time one of us came up with something new to do with each other’s genitals it would be greeted with an enthusiastic and husky ‘fuck yeah.’

When I came in he gave me a brief hug. We did some small talk. He told me to bend over a chair and flip up my patchwork skirt.

He could almost certainly feel the wetness through my knickers. He ran his hand over me quickly – not savouring the feel of my cunt through the fabric, just planning where his first slap would fall. He pulled down my knickers and settled for my left cheek.


Firm, stinging, perfect. I yelped.

He adjusted my skirt, hitching it higher to stop the hem falling back down over my thighs. I was bent almost double over the chair – the wooden back digging into my stomach, hands gripping the front legs to try and keep my balance.


He was testing us both. Trying something that neither of us had done with this level of seriousness. Playful slaps turned to full-on, powerful blows and I made enough of a racket that he asked me to sssh. His housemates weren’t in but that didn’t mean the neighbours weren’t.


I imagined him rolling up his sleeves.


One stroke fell slightly left of its mark, half of it catching me in the crotch where I was wet and sensitive and raw.


This time right in the middle of the cheek. Satisfyingly thuddy and good enough to make me wriggle.


Enough of this now.


I said ‘enough.’ I said ‘I really need you to fuck me.’


He held me firm – one hand on the crumpled skirt pulled up to the small of my back.


‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes. I like it. But I need you to fuck me.’

He paused for a while, and I could almost hear his indecision. Feel the stiffness of his cock pushing through his jeans and against my hip as he took a step to stand beside me. He ground his dick into me and my legs started to tremble. I asked again. ‘Please fuck me.’ Note the ‘please’. I asked nicely. I choked out the ‘please’ like if he didn’t fuck me, I’d cry. To be fair, I would have.

He told me I’d get six more slaps and that I’d have to count them. And he said they’d be hard enough to sting his hand.

After he’d delivered the spanking, I was a mess of arousal and emotions and red, raw pain. I pulled down my knickers as quickly as I could and pulled him into me, feeling his dick fill me up seemed to push the pain away. With each stroke I twitched and tensed the muscles in my legs, worried that I’d knock the chair over.

As he fucked the frustration out of me, and came hard into my aching cunt, his hands gripped the patchwork skirt around my waist, pulling my sore arse back to the base of his cock, to get the most pleasure possible with each angry stroke.

Guest blog: the joy of unexpected sex


I often walk down the street and imagine a hot guy (who probably looks a bit like David Tennant but with piercings and maybe a bicep tattoo) stepping out of a nearby shop and saying “hey there, you look incredibly attractive and exactly my type – do you fancy coming into my dungeon so that we can have all the sex?” Sadly my life is not a porn film, and the closest it’s ever come to one is that one time a plumber came over and I’d forgotten to put trousers on before I answered the door. That’s where the similarity ended, though, as he blushed a bit and I had to pretend that my boxer-brief/jumper combo was how I greeted all my house guests.

This week’s guest blogger has had far more interesting experiences, though, and he’s here to tell you a couple of deliciously exciting stories about unexpected sex. Take it away Simon…

Guest blog: the joy of unexpected sex

Sex is fun, exhilarating, a relief, all sorts of things. When it is unexpected it is even better – and I don’t mean when your partner suddenly decides that “Tonight’s the night, dear” when you’re settling down in front of Match of the Day. I mean when someone you know, but haven’t paid a great deal of attention to, surprises you with an out-of-the-blue session that leaves you completely sated. It’s happened to me twice and both times were mind-blowing.

I used to work at a hospital. A bunch of us would get together once a year to put on a show – all very silly and amateur but we took it fairly seriously and I had massive, full-on lustful cravings for one of the nurses who was part of this group. Very sexy, black wavy hair and a cracking smile and laugh. A real shame, as my amorous advances were never returned and she ended up with someone who I considered far behind her in evolutionary terms. What I didn’t realise was that another nurse in the group (I’ll call her Evie) had her eyes and ideas set on me and I was totally unaware of it.

We gathered one evening in my flat – I lived quite close to the hospital – was the usual messy, friendly  hilarious rehearsal for the show, spurred on with more than a few drinks and everyone (I thought) left quite late. I ushered them all out of the front door, dumped the empties by the bin, washed, brushed my teeth and jumped into bed to find Evie there wearing nothing but a chunky necklace. Genuine blonde, booby and a seriously gorgeous figure. This was well before the acronym “WTF” was invented but that’s probably what I thought at the time. (I should have written it down and patented it). However, being unmarried, unattached and certainly not one to look a gift nurse in the mouth, we had a rompingly good time involving massage oil, hands tied together, feet tied together, clothes pegs – use your imagination – and a pair of airline eye-shades. I am fairly certain I had four decent orgasms over the following hours and I am not sure I have managed that in one session at any time since. I know I was very late for work the next morning and several more in the following few weeks.

Wind the clock forward quite a number of years and I am on the way to deliver some training in the north of England. This is to an outfit whose manager I have known for some time on a purely professional basis – friendly, but definitely professional. I am due to be at her office between 8 and 8.30 a.m. but I get a call to ask if I can swing by her house to pick her up and drive us both in, then (she says) we can use her parking permit at work. So I drive up at about half past seven, ring the doorbell and she answers the door wearing a dressing gown.

That stopped me in my tracks for a start – I was expecting business attire and a “Let’s get the day started” attitude – but she had the gown open quite low, her hair was down and she did look absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and more than just a little sexy. Even more so when she reached past me to shut the door, then walked a few steps into the house, turned round and let the dressing gown fall away. It had the sort of effect that she obviously wanted. My jaw was probably following the dressing gown on its way down to floor level and my cock inside my trousers responded with a speed it hadn’t displayed for a while. I can’t remember if I actually said anything but, if I did, it was probably gibberish and pointless. She looked pleased at the effect she was having, climbed a few of her stairs and sat down, waiting.

I really didn’t need too much encouragement after that. Would any man? My jacket and tie came off remarkably quickly and I positioned myself at her feet and opened her knees wide, kissing and licking up the inside of her thighs as she lay back on the stairs and closed her eyes. I found she was extremely wet already – and extremely tasty, too – and the next few minutes were spent teasing her, opening those beautiful cunt lips to admire a swollen clitoris and to help it to swell even more. I slipped two fingers into her and she arched and shuddered and came hard and it was all I could do not to join her, though I was still mainly clothed. I stood up and started to undo my trousers and let my aching cock into the light; she turned her back on me, climbed another couple of stairs and stuck her arse out towards me, presenting me with a picture that most red-blooded men would like to frame and keep. Still with my trousers around my ankles, I slipped straight into her and she braced herself against the stairs with one hand and pulled me harder into her with the other. We fucked in that position harder than I had known for ages – the excitement of the situation, a new experience with someone who was almost a stranger made me rock hard with pleasure and I came like a train inside her, flooding her with my come for what seemed an age. For some inexplicable reason – guilt, pleasure, surprise? – we both collapsed and started laughing helplessly on the stairs and slithered to the bottom step in a sticky, tangled heap.

The trickiest bit was walking into her offices, washed and cleaned, over an hour later and keeping myself from smiling inanely while trying to train her staff with her present in the room.

The 3 best dating tips I’ve ever been given


People ask me for advice sometimes, and I find this a bit terrifying because ultimately I am just a bumbling nobhead, who stumbles through life trying to work out how to look like a grown up without anyone noticing that actually I am a ball of bluster and panic. I expect some of you feel like this too, but because I am human I think that I have it much worse: that I am surrounded by functioning adults who have brains and wisdom and the ability to fill out mortgage paperwork, while I still struggle with the concept of having to throw milk away when it starts to get smelly.

So when you ask me for advice, know that I am doing one of two things:

1. Making it up, based on ‘what I reckon’, and given that I often come home half-drunk and ‘reckon’ I should lie face-down on the carpet until my partner covers me with a blanket, my reckonings are unlikely to be particularly insightful.

2. I give advice that other people have given me before, which struck me as wise and thoughtful and far better than anything I could say.

Today I am doing the latter, and I present to you the 3 best dating tips I’ve ever been given.

Dating tip 1: say yes

A long time ago I had a horrible break up. I did that thing where you hide in your flat in your pants, crying to old episodes of Scrubs and eating cheese until you almost stop liking cheese. It was pretty serious. My life was never going to be good again and everything was awful and I couldn’t see myself doing anything at all because he wasn’t by my side.

Then my Mum called.

She told me to pull myself together and stop moping and all those comforting things that Mums are supposed to say. She told me I was beautiful and that I’d find someone else in no time if I wanted to, but that I didn’t need a man to complete me and yada yada etc. I cried some more, because all of this stuff was just clichéd and obvious bullshit which was instantly swallowed by the pit of my misery. I wanted something practical. Something useful. Something I could go out and do rather than just repeat to myself as a wishy-washy happiness mantra.

“Say yes,” she explained.


“Yes. Say yes to every single thing you’re invited to from now on. Evenings in the pub, trips to the theatre, weekends away – everything.”

“Why? To meet someone else?”

“Don’t be a tosser,” she replied. “You do it because it will make you that ‘fun’ person: the one who always says yes. The one who gets excited about life and wants to join in with things. The one who’s always got something exciting on the go.”

“Will it win him back?” I asked, like a pathetic loser.

“Who gives a shit? You’ll be too busy rock-climbing or something.”

So I did: I said yes to everything. And so followed one of the most enjoyable three months of my life. I was skint, of course – all this socialising gave my wallet a thorough hammering – but by God I was having fun. A few weeks after she gave me this advice I was having dirty tent sex with a hot guy, and drinking vodka with strangers on a beach. Thanks, Mum.

Dating tip 2: approach people you fancy

We focus so much on how to ‘capture’ the man or woman of our dreams, and how to entice other people, that frequently we forget that the whole point is that we should like each other. I’ve heard a few variations on this piece of advice before, but none so brilliantly put as that posted by @ArchedEyebrowBR yesterday. In her post – online dating tips for the fat babe – she laid down some pretty significant wisdom that I think is relevant to everyone:

Don’t be at the mercy of everyone else: ask out the people you fancy, not the people you think will fancy you.

Hell yes. Something I have repeatedly and miserably failed at for most of my adult life, in part because I see so many things that give me pause for thought. He won’t like me – I’m too tall. He’ll probably think I’m too common. He goes for blondes.

Why is this stuff in my brain? It didn’t fall in there by accident – it’s there because I’ve had experience with similar guys that has led me to be wary of a particular reaction. It’s also partly down to the media constantly telling us what we need to be like, and down to my youth, during encounters at school which made me believe that like should stick to like. Goth kids with goth kids, fat kids with fat kids, clever kids with clever kids, and God forbid you should have a boyfriend who plays rugby when you’re a glasses-wearing sportphobe.

Anyway. Sometimes this stuff will be true – sometimes the person you fancy really will turn you down because you’re too tall, or whatever. But that is because they may well be a douchebag. And how much fucking better to know that you’re picking from a pool of people you have a genuine attraction to, than ‘settling’ for someone you think you might be able to get because you’ve always been told you can only have one thing?

Imagine if you were vegetarian and you’d been told that the buffet was 90% meat. You arrive at the venue expecting to be fobbed off with some crappy spinach and ricotta bullshit and a measly side-salad. Then you discover, to your delight, that the meat is actually cheese and you can have your pick of anything on the table.

ArchedEyebrow has literally just announced that, but for dating – tuck in.

Dating tip 3: you will never be happy ever after

Please don’t think ‘oh God what a depressing tip to end on’ – this is actually one of the most positive and uplifting pieces of advice I have ever been given, and it applies to LIFE as well as dating, because dating is basically part of life and is not some special expert subject on which only people who tell you to ‘play hard to get’ are qualified to comment.

This advice was given to me by the amazing Justin Hancock, who is wise. He was explaining mindfulness to me, and talking about being present in the moment. I’m not an expert on mindfulness, but this bit really struck home (I’m paraphrasing):

We often think of happiness as this big end goal – like we’ll get to a point in our lives and we’ll be happy. We’ll have a nice home, family, job, whatever, and by that point we’ll have reached peak happiness. Then we get sad about something and think OH NO I’VE RUINED IT and WHY CAN’T I JUST BE HAPPY. But it’s normal: happiness comes and goes, and we’ll never reach this ‘peak happiness forever’ – it’s a myth.

Actually, happiness is always a temporary thing. It’d be weird if it was just a climbing scale and, at a certain point, we reached a state of irreversible bliss. Even when we achieve our ‘dream jobs’ we’re not stagnant – we’re usually not content to just turn up from 9-5 and work to rule every day for the rest of our lives: we have ups and downs, fights with colleagues, deadlines that are unreasonable or realistic, new ambitions or needs or desires.

Likewise with dating: you can meet someone you love so much you want to lick their used socks and snuggle so hard into them that your face becomes melded to the crook of their neck, and still you won’t be happy forever. That person will eventually piss you off, and you’ll piss them off, or you’ll have to go for Christmas lunch with their parents or something and you’ll be miserable because their dad makes shit gravy and doesn’t do the sprouts properly.

The point is, no one will ever be happy ever after. Knowing that makes me much happier today.

Win a Doxy massager – the love of my life


Earlier this year someone gave me a Doxy massager. I had never had a wand toy before, and had imagined that it would be a bit like any other vibrator, just a bit more powerful and with a much bigger head.

I was wrong beyond all possible belief.

The Doxy is to sex toys what the microwave was to home cooking. What the printing press was to education. What Galileo was to the motherfucking Sun. It is a seismic revolution in my pants.

When my dude first used it on me I went from ‘curious’ to ‘tearing down the walls’ within about three seconds. Yelping, gargling, moaning and shouting ‘jjjggg ammm ffffkkk’ until the neighbours must have thought we were performing some sort of terrifying Satanic ritual.

Nowadays, having owned this clit-battering pleasure-sceptre for around six months, I am torn between wanting to chain it to my person so it never leaves my sight, and hurling it into a chasm because hand wanking will never be the same again. I’ve opted for the former, because if I lost this toy my life would be empty and miserable and I would probably never love again.

Given my excessive enthusiasm for Doxy both here and on Twitter, this competition has clearly been a long time in coming (unlike myself, when armed with one). If you want to win one of these amazing fuckwands, you can enter via the widget below, and at 8pm on the 29th September I’ll pick a winner, and the ace people at Doxy will send one out to you.

You just need to give them your address, and let them know what kind of plug you need (Doxy comes with UK, Euro, Aussie and USA (works in Japan too) plugs) and what colour you’d like – I recommend purple because it’s the BEST, but it comes in black, white and pink too. Ts and Cs are in the widget, but you’ll be delighted to know that you don’t have to be UK based to enter this. If you’re from anywhere mentioned above, you’re more than welcome to enter.

And if you can’t wait, or if you don’t win the comp, you can buy a Doxy direct from my awesome sponsors at, and get 10% off if you type ‘GOTN10′ at the checkout. So there we go – click below to enter the comp, and maybe win a Doxy.

Not mine, though – you can pry that out of my cold, dead fingers.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

In case you’re not familiar with it, here are some FAQs about the Doxy:

How does the Doxy massager compare to the Hitachi Magic Wand?

I have no idea, because I’ve never had a Hitachi. But Erika Moen of Oh Joy Sex Toy has! Spoiler alert: the Doxy wins. Obviously.

I have a dick. Can I have a Doxy massager?

Sure – ANYONE can have one. Although I have a feeling you won’t get the same sensations as I did if you don’t have a clitoris. Have a go though, or just try to win it and then give it to someone you know who does have a clitoris, and is keen to try it.

I’d like to buy a Doxy massager for my female partner but I am worried that she will love it more than me. Any thoughts?

I feel your pain, and I understand that some people might be worried that a sex toy so awesome could usurp their own value.

But please don’t sweat it. I love my Doxy more than I love my right hand, but naturally it’s never going to fulfil the place that gentlemen hold in my heart (and knickers). In fact, if you apply the Doxy to your partner’s clitoris while you guys are banging, the resultant twitching cuntspasms may well cause you to fall in love with it too.

Isn’t it a bit TOO powerful?

I… I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.

Well, like, don’t the vibrations make your vulva feel a bit numb?

Not for me personally, but I cannot vouch for your vulva. If powerful stuff sends you a bit numb and tingly, I’d advise using Doxy on the lower settings. I usually have it at about 7 or 8, and I often use the ‘pulse’ mode, which goes from soft to intense in a cool pattern. Like this: “vrrrrrrrrrrrrrVRRRRRRvvvvrrrrrrr” but I have seen a fair few other reviews from people who say they prefer to use it on the lower settings – there’s quite a range. But I like my Doxy like I like my men: loud and powerful and next to my bed at all times. Or something.

I don’t suppose you have any audio clips of you using the Doxy, do you? For ‘research’?

Sure thing. Here are some audio clips of me using the Doxy massager.

Hmm mmm mmm!
Jjj jjjj nya!
Grand finale
Fuck yeah

Do you have a picture of a really hot lady using a Doxy massager?

Why yes I do. She also appears to be partaking in the kind of self-bondage with tight corsets that I have a bit of a thing for myself.

a picture of a really hot lady using a doxy massager


An important relationship principle, learnt via cock rings


“You’ve put it on the wrong way.”
“I… no I haven’t.”
“You have it’s… look, the vibrating bit goes next to the balls.”
“No it fucking doesn’t.”

I own a few different cock rings, most of them fairly simple rings with one bullet vibe attached. I mainly own these ones because, until the encounter mentioned above, I always thought that the WHOLE POINT of a cock ring was that I could grind my clit happily into the buzzy bit, then have an orgasm intense enough that my cuntspasms would induce orgasm in the gentleman I was grinding against.

When I discovered that is not necessarily the case, my tiny mind was blown.

It turns out that he’d used cock rings before during masturbation, and had particularly enjoyed the tingling sensation that comes from putting a cock ring on upside-down, and feeling it tickle his balls. This put me in something of a quandary, because I’d always thought that cock rings were meant for me. To discover that these joyful parcels of sexy sensation might, in fact, be something that I had to share gave me a twitch of selfish rage akin to a child being told she has to let other kids play with her Lego.

Four ways to use cock rings that won’t end in a fight

I have come up with four solutions to this problem.

1. Keep the cock ring on my way, grind against him and get him to play with my tits until the resultant orgasmic wave washed over me. After which point I’d take a short break to remove the ring and put it on his way (i.e. the WRONG way), then continue humping until he spaffed. This worked pretty well, but had the drawback that we had to stop shagging just after I’d come, when my knees were weak and wobbly and I was therefore quite likely to fall off the bed, thus shattering my illusion of erotic expertise.

2. Use two cock rings at the same time. I haven’t actually tried this one, but I imagine having two means not only that you can have one the right way up and one the wrong way, you also get an extra boost of a cock ring’s best superpower: the ability to get and keep a guy harder than he’d usually be, for as long as it takes for you to ride him like a horny pony. On the downside, as one commenter pointed out, it’s probably not particularly comfortable.

3. Turn around. I’m on top, so I can technically dictate exactly where my clit goes, and therefore by simply turning around I can make sure that it buzzes against me, and against his balls, thus keeping us both happy. Thing is, while plenty of guys I know are generous enough to appreciate the sight of my arse – even if they have their glasses on and are stone-cold sober – I quite like having my tits played with. In fact, my favourite thing about being on top is that I can grab his hands and place them firmly on my tits, feeling him squeeze and support them like an enthusiastic bra-butler.

4. Get one that has two vibrating bits.

The moral of the story

Relationships are usually about give and take - going out of your way to ensure your partner’s pleasure, and putting their needs first. But occasionally - very occasionally – they are about spending twenty quid on a dual-vibrating cock ring to ensure you have no further arguments on the subject.

If you’re going to get a dual-vibrating cock ring, here are a couple of suggestions: this one’s a budget version if you’re tight on cash, and this one’s a slightly more expensive version but I reckon has a few more possibilities depending on which way round you put it on. This one is out of stock at the moment, but I’d quite like to have a go because it has a sort of cage thingy instead of just a ring, and therefore I suspect is REALLY GOOD at the diamond hardness thing. Use the code GOTN10 at the checkout if you want to get 10% off.