Guest blog: Sex with an ex


Some writing makes me horny, and some writing makes me cry. Some brings me to a weird horny-sad place where the only appropriate thing to do is curl into a ball of lustful anguish and imagine all those times I’ve felt the same.

This week’s guest blog does just that. I won’t give it a long build-up and intro because, to be honest, it speaks for itself. This week, Leo is going to tell you about sex with an ex.

Sex with an ex

I have never loved somebody as absolutely and unconditionally as the way I love him. It scares me that I will never love anybody in the same way. And I won’t apologise for how I feel about him or for my behaviour when I am with him. I won’t even try to justify it, or explain myself. Because I can’t.

This is the first time I’ve seen him since we broke up. Since I stood and sobbed into his chest and begged him not to break up with me. Since I watched the indecision in his eyes. Saw him cry for me and for what he had done. Guilt and shame strewn across his face. The day he wiped away the tears that were streaming and pouring down my face. Pulled me into his chest, stroked the back of my head and soothed me, whilst I sobbed so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. My whole body shaking. My face buried in his chest, hands clutching at him, not bearing to let him go. His t-shirt sopping wet from my tears. He walked with me like this to his front door and we stood there for I don’t know how long. And then he stepped away from me, opened the front door, kissed me on the forehead, and said goodbye.

Months go by. I feel like I’ve died. Life goes on without me and I sit and watch it whirl right past me. Out of the blue, he asks to see me. Of course I say yes. We spend all day together. It’s awkward, tense. Touching him, holding his hand, brushing past each other with our with our bodies… things that used to be so natural are so painfully absent. We don’t touch all day. We watch a film, and the whole time I can’t concentrate or relax because I’m so painfully aware of his presence. I’m in his kitchen. I’m wandering all over the place because I don’t know what to do with myself. He stops and grabs me whilst I’m pacing and just pulls me into him, enclosing me in his giant chest. His big, warm, tight arms wrapped around me. I feel so much relief. Despite everything he did.

We go upstairs. I sit on the edge of his bed whilst he gets undressed and climbs in. I know I should leave. That that is the right thing to do. But I don’t want to. He asks me what I’m going to do. He tells me he thinks I should go home. I lie down on top of the quilt next to him. I lean in and kiss him. Fuck I’ve missed him. I just enjoy the relief I feel. I love this man so much. Our lips move harder and faster. He doesn’t turn me down or push me away. I know this means so much more to me than it does to him. But I need this. I need him. I slide inside his bed and he climbs on top of me, naked. I’m fully dressed. I can feel his warmth through my clothes. I love to feel the weight of him pressing down on top of me. I can’t get close enough to him. I need him to understand how much I love him.

I just remember frantic kissing. Gasping. So desperate for each other. He undresses me. I so clearly remember him pulling my tight jeggings down. He got them half the way down and was tugging them so hard they ripped down the seams. He didn’t laugh or look apologetic, he just carried on and bluntly tore them off me. I didn’t care. As he came back up the bed towards me I remember feeling his tight and hot body squashed on top of me, making it hard for me to breathe. Feeling so content at his weight pressing down on me. Our naked bodies and legs tangled together.

I pull and grab and squeeze him into me. I can’t get close enough to him. I wrap my legs around him to pull him closer and feel him grinding against me. As we are kissing he forces his hands between our bodies and starts tugging at my knickers. I vividly remember looking down at his hand stuffed inside my knickers and watching his beautiful face contorted in pleasure as he feels how wet I am for him, forcing his fingers inside my dripping cunt. Pleasure that it was all for him.

I don’t remember much else. Just feeling desperate for him and wanting to feel all of him, inside me, on top of me, pushing against me. We fell to sleep holding each other.

I wake in the middle of the night. I don’t know what time it is. It’s still dark. I feel his warmth pressed up against my the length of my body. I don’t know what woke me, but I know he is awake too. I feel him stir next to me. I feel his cock hardening, pressed into my back. I turn and we hold each other and kiss for a while. He pushes me further on to my side, pulls my legs apart and slides his cock inside me from behind. I’m still plump and it stings a little, but he slides in so easily. He gasps and starts slowly pumping his dick in and out of me and I realise I’m still full of his cum. I feel the warmth, dripping out of me with each stroke, smearing inside my thighs. I’m not as desperate as I was before. I just love being close to him and feeling him, his rough hands running over me and holding onto me as he pushes himself deeper into me. He kisses me whilst his cock slides in and out. I just lie there and hold onto him whilst he fucks me and kisses me. He starts to play with me. He pulls himself all the way out and slides his fingers inside me. He pulls them out and then pushes his cock back in. Each time his dick comes out he slides his fingers inside me instead. He is either kissing me, or has his face buried into my neck. I can feel his slight beard, rough on my back as he sinks his teeth into my shoulder and breathes heavily. He was always a biter. He keeps his fingers inside of me and tries to push his cock inside me too. He can’t quite get it so he reaches around from behind me. As he manages both, I feel so…full.

I remember thinking how hot it was that he could feel his cock inside of me, and how tight it must feel for him. I also remember some other part of his hand being pressed firmly against my arse, maybe his thumb. Just a firm bit of pressure pushed up against me. I don’t think he knew he was doing it. I find his other hand and pull it underneath me, and push his fingers inside my slit.

He doesn’t fuck me any faster, just keeps going at the same speed. Sliding his dick all the way out of me and then pushing himself in as far as he can go. Making tiny movements with his hand that is playing with me, enough to keep me on the edge.

I remember lying there, full of him. His cock inside me, his fingers inside me and his hand pressed up hard against my arse. His other hand playing with me and pushing me down on top of his cock, his arm wrapped around me and his face pressed hard into mine. I felt like his again.

I savour it all. I tense up and concentrate on cumming. Not once does he stop fucking me like this, just this constant rhythm, driving me insane. I pause and tense up as I work my way there. I teeter on the edge for a while. I want more from him, but he won’t. Fuck me harder. Please baby. He doesn’t. I manage to get there, and I squirm as I do. Silently wriggling and writhing in his arms. He’d normally stop and give me a break but he just keeps on fucking me. I try and push out of me but he holds on to me firmly. It’s so uncomfortable but at the same time, I don’t want him to let me go. He keeps going. It takes a little while to feel good again. As I work myself back up I feel him stiffen and his breathing start to quicken. His fucking gets harder but he doesn’t get any faster. I feel his breath on my cheek, low groans escaping from him. As he gets closer he presses his lips hard against mine without moving them. He pushes his dick all the way inside me and he moans inside my mouth whilst he comes, balls deep inside me, staying completely still. His body spasming whilst he clutches at me. I feel him relax. He kisses me beautifully and softly before pulling his hand out of me and wrapping both his arms around me. Pulling me closer into him. I feel his naked, tight and hot body pressed up against the length of mine. His skin, warm against mine. I feel him collapse and drift off quickly. I lie awake for a while. His softening dick inside me, tucked safely inside his arms.

How to initiate sex with your partner


When I was young I thought sex was probably quite a rare occurrence. From what I’d seen on TV and in films, it looked like sex within a straight, long-term relationship involved a fair amount of rigmarole. You have to shave your legs, wash your hair, put on makeup and look seductive. If you’re a dude you’ll probably have to do a different kind of groundwork: snuggling in front of a film, and inching your arm along the back of the couch painstakingly slowly until it finally comes to rest on one of your partner’s breasts.

I’ve never seen a TV couple start fucking the way we usually do.

“Do you want to shag? We haven’t done it for a while.”

Or seduce each other with the kind of lines you can only get away with if you know the answer will be ‘why not?’

“Do you want to touch my freshly-shaven cunt?”

Mismatched libido

To be fair, it wasn’t always this way. My first ever boyfriend was a bit nonplussed by my efforts. Not only did he have a much lower sex drive, I think felt as if each fresh attempt to fuck him was a slight on the fuck he’d had with me before. You’re only after this because the last one didn’t satisfy you, right?

OK, fair enough, I didn’t scream the walls down, and if I hadn’t faked an orgasm then he could be sure as shit I hadn’t actually had one. But if it hadn’t  enjoyed what we did then I wouldn’t be pleading with my eyes and staring longingly at his crotch.

“Are you tired? I’m not.”

At the time, I floundered a bit. Spent two months’ allowance on an Ann Summers corset and sobbed when his reaction to it was an indifference bordering on hostility. That I’d put so much effort in made the rejection hurt all the more.

*turns round* *pulls down trousers to show a glimpse of arse* “Want to fuck me?”

I didn’t realise until much later that sex doesn’t always have to be something one person tempts the other into. That the build-up can be as simple as:

Do that thing you did yesterday, but again, and harder.

While we often see couples on TV making preparations for date nights or dressing in sexy lingerie, we don’t often see the kind of easy, casual delight with which lots of couples initiate sex.

It’s hard to say ‘not tonight’ if someone’s asking you with their soul shimmering in their eyes and a desperate hope in their tone of voice. And I think it’s much easier to say ‘yes’ as well.

*puts on some porn* *points at crotch* “Touch yourself?”

Let’s be honest – most of us rarely have time for poetry and lingerie. And a simple ‘fancy a fuck?’ does nicely when you’re with someone who doesn’t mind you being lazy every once in a while. It’s not pretty, or meaningful, or romantic. It’s a combination of honesty, crassness and enthusiasm. Which I think is why I like it.

What an orgasm looks like: a weird and pretty cool competition

I challenged Stuart to draw what an orgasm looks like, and his interpretation is remarkably horny

An orgasm, by Stuart F Taylor

A while ago I ran a competition to get people to describe their own orgasms. The results were arousing, amazing and delightfully varied. One of the most difficult things about sex is that it’s such a personal experience. What turns you on might make me run in horror, and vice versa. Likewise my own experience of hotness probably differs pretty greatly from yours – even if you’re into the same things as me and have the same configuration of genital equipment, I can never see inside your head when you’re coming. That’s probably lucky, because if I could I suspect you’d call the police.

Which is why I felt a bit harsh when, a while ago, I challenged Stuart – who provides the gorgeous illustrations for this blog – to ‘draw a picture of an orgasm.’ That intangible thing that you feel but never see.

He did a pretty bang-up job (see left), and lots of people got in touch to say ‘oooh, that’s evocative! I would like to see more!’

So with the help of, and Bish, who runs an excellent sex ed website, I’m launching a competition to see how other people do.If you fancy having a go at drawing pictures of orgasms, I have some ace prizes up for grabs: £100 voucher to spend at, a copy of Bish’s excellent book, and a print of Stuart’s fantastic orgasm picture. I was going to split them into ‘first, second, third’ prizes, but to be honest I’d rather give them all to the winner, because I’m crap at admin and I like the idea of showering gifts on someone: a bundle of orgasmic gifts.

The rules are:

  • you can use any visual media as a means of showing what an orgasm looks like (so photos/graphics/crayon on the back of an envelope are all fine).
  • it mustn’t be an actual picture of your genitals. Your genitals are probably lovely but seriously, you’ll get no marks for initiative.
  • you have to be over 18.
  • you can submit your picture from basically anywhere – post it on Twitter/FB/your own blog, and then just drop me an email with a link to where I can see it, or email me the pic directly [hellogirlonthenet at gmail dot com] if you’re shy. Mark your email ‘OMG orgasms’ so if it gets lost in my spam folder I can fish it out it, and let me know how you’d like to be credited (by your name/blog name/pseudonym or just ‘anon’).
  • on 11th November I’ll publish a shortlist of the entries on this blog along with a voting thing, so you can vote for the ones you like the best.
  • on 21st November the judges (that’s Emma from SexToys, Stuart, Justin/Bish and I) will take the entries with the most votes, and pick an Ultimate Winner. The winner will be announced on November 24th.
  • I’ve added this last bit for clarity – because I’ll publish the shortlist on the 11th, your entries need to be in by 10th November (UK time), and you need to be happy for me to share and publicise your entry, but obviously it can be marked anonymous if you’d like.

Sounds good? Of course it does. And the best thing is you don’t have to be amazing at drawing. I’m about as artistic as a donkey with a paintbrush in its arse, but the main criteria for winning should be that your pic is interesting and evocative. If we look at it and go ‘ooh, that’s a nice way to represent an orgasm’ then whether you can draw or not, you’re in with a chance. To give you some inspiration, here are a couple of excellent pictures: one shows the tingling waves of orgasm as they run through someone’s body, and the other’s a visual image produced by the sound waves recorded as he came.


what does an orgasm look like? this is @soundlydrawn's

What the sound of an orgasm looks like, by SoundlyDrawn

Because an orgasm doesn't just look like something happening to your genitals...

Tingling orgasm by anonymous.

Messy sex, splosh and a dirty thing I never got to do

i wondre if splosh fetishes cause actual nightmares for people who are lactose intolerant

Splosh pic by the lovely Stuart F Taylor

All hail people with cool fetishes. Splosh fans: I’m talking to you.

In case you’re not aware of the utter and delicious beauty of splosh, it’s essentially a fetish that involves getting extremely messy in gunge, custard, cream cake, and anything that takes your fancy.

Smearing it all over yourself, sitting in it, pouring thick gloopy liquid over your face and neck, and generally making the kind of mess you haven’t been allowed to make since you were two years old and smearing banana all over your high chair.


YKINMK but fuck me splosh is sexy

I have a mental list of fetishes which I’ve never partaken in, yet which I find deeply hot and really want to have a good go at. Splosh is one of them. Pony play is another. Furries…? Maybe not for me, but I’d love to watch someone who was really into it have a satisfying wank through a blue fuzzy costume.

Splosh is top of my list though, because not only does it often involve custard (second only to rice pudding as one of my favourite things) it also has an awesome air of genuinely gleeful play. When I ‘play’ it’s usually pretty dark: serious, straight-faced stuff where guys will stand sternly over me and I’ll pretend to cower as they whip me with belts and tell me I’m dirty and wrong.

Splosh, on the other hand, feels genuinely ‘playful’. Like, the actual point is that things just feel good, and damn whether you’re presenting yourself properly or maintaining the proper straight face: your face is probably an inch thick with cream anyway, so no one will notice. What’s more, it has overtones of the kind of messy sex that I rarely get to indulge in but that makes me properly happy.

I like sex where I get fucked up. Hair messed up, clothes stretched or ripped, eyes red from watering and jizz dipping from whatever bits of my body are available to squirt on at the time. Messed. Up. I like kneeling in the mud to give stealthy outdoor blowjobs, drooling spit down my chin and the front of my clothes after a throatfuck.

So when I met a guy who was into messy sex, I wanted to do something awesome.

Messy sex

“If you’re on your way over, drink some water,” I told him. “One hour before, then again half an hour before. Get really desperate.”

This dude was into mess, and the idea of getting to cover me with piss pushed a fair few of his buttons. He turned up at my door horny and bursting, so I led him into the bathroom.

“Kneel down,” he told me, between slightly bitey kisses. I stripped to my underwear and did. Staring up at him with a grin I couldn’t suppress. Maybe he wanted me to look more nervous.

“Are you ready?”

“Of course.”

I waited. Then a bit more. Then more. He held his stiff cock in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, and with my tits out and a weird grin plastered across my face, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of a dick.

“It’s hard to piss with a boner,” he told me, unnecessarily.

We fucked instead.

But because we’d failed so hard at the messy-fucking-while-covered-in-piss plan, I wanted to do something a bit cool for him at a later date. He loved messy things, and wanted to watch me get covered in something – piss, mud, custard, it didn’t really matter. The key thing was that he’d watch me as I tore my clothes, poured gunk all over myself, and touched myself until I was smeared and covered with slime.

Sweat, spunk and custard

Initially I thought a paddling pool might be a good purchase. But apart from the fact that I have no rooms big enough to accommodate even a small one, I think I’d end up worrying about splashing stuff outside the pool and ending up spending half the day after shampooing the carpet. The only option: a wet room. I looked online for hotels nearby that had proper wet-room bathrooms. I wanted to make a proper fucking state of things and be able to hose it all down with the shower head so the cleaning staff wouldn’t know, or hate me.

I found one or two, and began saving my money. For the room as well as a whole crate of Ambrosia custard – the stuff that comes in cardboard cartons and pours all thick and gloopy. I knew exactly what this guy wanted: he wanted to touch himself while he watched me, in knickers and a tiny top, pour custard from the cartons onto my face, my neck, my tits. He wanted to watch me writhe on the bathroom floor and squish around in it, getting sticky mess all over my body, and slipping in the splodgy stuff.

Watching from nearby, he’d sit touching himself, getting harder as I got dirtier. Pulling his dick out of his trousers as I opened the first carton, and gripping tighter as I poured. Frantically rubbing at himself as he watched the mess slip down my skin, and tangle up in my hair. As I sat in puddles of it and felt it squish between my thighs and in my crotch.

When I was good and sticky he’d stride across the bathroom, barking orders that I shouldn’t touch him: I was far too filthy.

‘Put your hands behind your back,’ he’d tell me, as he pushed his cock into my mouth. He’d grab my mess-streaked hair with one hand, keeping the other hand far away from the dirty creature he was holding, and face-fuck himself to completion, pulling out at just the right moment. Squirting come onto custard, then rubbing it in with the one hand he was willing to get dirty.

Then he’d push me back onto the floor, where I could lie satisfied, feeling humiliated, degraded, sticky and spent. Licking my fingers and squeezing my legs together, and running my hands through a mixture of sweat, spunk and custard.

If you’re wondering why this story is peppered with ‘would haves’, it’s because the guy dumped me before it happened. I still haven’t fulfilled this fantasy, and I often think of it with one hand down my knickers, and a sense of overwhelming regret. Still, it’s hard to get really sad about a break-up when you’re surrounded by delicious cartons of leftover custard.

Guest blog: Orgasm denial and female domination


She didn’t just have me at ‘hello’, this week’s guest blogger had me at ‘we won’t be needing this pathetic cock…’ Some people seem to have a natural knack and talent for domming, and I can’t help but watch in semi-envious arousal. This is one of those times.

Please welcome @EuclideanPoint, with an intensely hot guest post on orgasm denial…

Filthy-hot orgasm denial sex

It took years to fully understand my partner’s fantasy. At first he was shy to explain, afraid of my reaction or how I would feel about him. I was slow to understand, and as a natural submissive somewhat uncomfortable playing a dominant role. I take joy in my own pain, and can inflict pain on others, but I have never been cruel even as a game and the game we were to play that night required me to deny and frustrate the man I love. It was one of the hottest experiences of my life.

When he returns from the bathroom I’m holding a pair of knickers that we had bought together for him to wear. I kiss him on the lips and he puts his arms around me and grabs my arse. I push his hands away and tell him to take all of his clothes off.

As I help him to step into his knickers, I ask him a question I’ve asked when we practiced, when I’d tried to play this game before. “Whose pleasure is this night about?”

“Yours, miss” he replies. His voice is uncharacteristically timid, and he looks down at the floor as he speaks to me.

I pull his knickers up and he helps me to tuck himself inside. He’s already rock hard.

“So we won’t be needing this pathetic cock then, will we?” I ask.

For the record, I think his cock is perfect and it pains me to be disparaging towards something that brings me so much pleasure, but he doesn’t judge my desire to be caned so I don’t judge this.

I take three strips of paper and a pen from the bedside table, and sit on the edge of the bed, crossing my legs and letting my skirt ride up.

“So, how exactly do you think you’re going to make me come?” I ask.

He holds out his hands and opens his mouth to show me his tongue. In this role he’s too shy to say the words out loud.

“Oh, with your fingers?” I ask. “ I think you could make me come with your fingers inside me and your tongue on my clit.” and as I say this I write it on the first strip of paper. “You can definitely make me come with the Doxy massager” I decide, and that gets written on the second piece of paper. The third piece of paper gets an old favourite of mine ‘Just your tongue’.

I fold all of the pieces of paper and drop them into a bag. I hold the bag out to him with a simple command – “Pick.”

He’s used to me ‘ordering’ him to make me come when we play this game, but its new for him to know exactly how many times and in what ways he must do it.

An hour later I lie back on the bed, breathing heavily after my third orgasm. He has worked hard to make me come, while I’ve been employing all of my efforts to stop each orgasm from taking me over until I feel that he has really earned it. I look down and he is kneeling at my feet, with hope in his eyes for his own release mingled with the calm of knowing that his fate rests completely in my hands. I desperately want to hold him and give him everything his eyes say he wants, but I know that wouldn’t be what he has fantasised about.

I tell him I have a present for him. I open the bedside drawer, reach in and retrieve one last folded piece of paper. I hand it to him and he opens it to read the words ‘Your pathetic cock’. Despite the insult his eyes light up. I slowly pull his knickers down and his cock springs free. He is so hard after making me come repeatedly without any physical stimulation of his own.

I look him in the eye and warn him “Don’t forget, this is about my pleasure.”

He knows as well as I do that after three orgasms I won’t be coming any time soon; by contrast he is pretty desperate now. I can see the concentration in his face as I pull him down onto the bed and we start to fuck.

We kiss and I grab his arse. I can tell he is struggling to hold back from his own orgasm, and he keeps stopping to catch his breath and focus on his task. After a few minutes I ask if he’s OK. He responds shakily “I’m just trying not to come, miss”.

I can hear the struggle in his voice.

“You can keep going a little longer” I whisper.

And he does. I can feel the effort radiating from his body as he continues to fuck me, desperate to give me an orgasm so he can have his own. Whenever we’ve played this game before, by this point I’ve long given up and let him take his pleasure.

Eventually I take pity on him and cradling his head in my hands I bring his ear to my mouth.

“Its OK, you’ve done well. You can come now.” I whisper into his ear.

He starts to thrust rhythmically again but by this point his cock is so sensitive and he is so confused that it takes him a while to come.

When he does come, his whole body spasms violently. He buries his head in the side of my neck and takes deep, hitching breaths. Afterwards he lies on top of me, still twitching, shaking and utterly spent. He has shared this secret, private side of himself with me, and for this and so many other things I have never loved him more.