Casual femdom, and sex that’s not sex

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is there anything more humiliating than a penchant for michael gove?

Image by the genius Stuart F Taylor

Text: For every minute you’re late, I’m going to make you put an ice cube down your trousers.

I was quite proud of that one at the time. He still hasn’t done it though. The pub was a bit exposed and to be honest, it felt like maybe that one was a bit sexual. Ice cubes? Cool. Casual femdom? Fine. Trouser-based activity? Probably pushing it.

I have a friend who is super-sub. The kind of submissive you find in clubs wearing just PVC panties and an expectant grin. The sort of guy I’d playfully ask for a foot rub if my pointy shoes were killing me. A sub who does whatever you ask, then looks at you with those puppy-dog-eyes I’ve heard so much about, eager for you to issue another instruction.

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Guest blog: Paying for pleasure with a male escort

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AnthonyByNight - male escort

Pic courtesy of Anthony

Meet Anthony – Anthony is a straight male escort and researcher of intimate desire. Currently he flies between Melbourne and Sydney but he is available wherever you are. Get to know him on his website Male Escort Diaries, and on Twitter @AnthonyByNight.

He’s here to talk to you about shame, pleasure, and sex work. You all know I love a good theory about sex, and I’m fascinated/frustrated by the way we have certain gender-related taboos when it comes to sex. The fact that female sex toys are encouraged while men are often shamed for using them – that kind of thing. Today Anthony’s going to talk about our gendered shaming when it comes to paying for sex.

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Breath play and weed: breathe in

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“Breathe in,” he says. “Take it out of me.”

He slides his fingers into my hair, smoky-smelling from the bonfire and the weed. He leans in closer and I look into his eyes and my stomach throbs with longing. I want to do more than just breathe in. I want those sucking, desperate kisses. I want his hands all over my hazy, tingling body.

“Breathe in,” again – a request that’s almost an order. He takes a long, thick drag on the joint, pulls his hand away, and squashes his lips onto mine.

I breathe in. Of course.

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Wallowing in spunk

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ah to be young and drunk and spunky

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

Ten minutes after we’ve fucked, I cough. Inevitably, thick teaspoons of lukewarm spoodge dribble down into my knickers.

I.

Love.

This.

Feeling.

It is not for the physical sensation: a very similar effect is released when I’ve put my pants on after a bath. The wetness gushes slightly quicker, but as it seeps through my crotch the feelings I get are more annoyance than delight.

When it’s spunk, though? I am down with that: it’s like a souvenir. Continue reading…

Guest blog: So I found out my boyfriend liked sploshing…

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Sometimes you don’t share someone else’s kink, and you just want to leave it at that. Other times, you don’t share someone else’s kink but you really love exploring it with them because you want to find out exactly why it gets them so hot under the collar. This week’s guest blog, by a filthy girl who wishes to remain anonymous, is about the latter thing, and it’s an example of sex writing so powerful that as soon as I read it I had to have a vigorous shag to work through my horniness. What I’m saying is that this guest blog – about sploshing – is hotter than the actual sun.

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