I know some people fixate on the lovers their partners have known before they got together, but I don’t think that’s my bag. When your partner gets with you, you’re the best one, obviously: all their exes fade into the shadows because your own star is shining so brightly. I prefer to fixate on the lovers who come afterwards. Those better, cooler women with filthy sex ideas and amazing tits and brand, shiny, sparkling new stories. Luckily for me, though, this isn’t a problem, because shortly after I break up with someone a lovely cosy limousine arrives to pick him up and he goes to live with all my other ex-boyfriends in a beautiful pasture far, far away.
One of my favourite things about being a sex blogger is introducing people to new sex toys that they end up loving as much as I do. Recently someone emailed me to say thanks for recommending the We Vibe Nova 2 (a fucking excellent vibe, and I think one of my most shared blog posts ever, most likely because it was written in the midst of some Emotional Turmoil), and I get plenty these days about Zumio and AMO as well – both excellent clit vibes which Do The Fucking Job in ways that make my eyes roll back in my head. But when it comes to these moments, there’s one toy above all others that blows my inbox up with love: the Doxy. Today’s guest post is by the fabulous Emilia Romero, who wrote this stunning guest post about losing her husband and finding BDSM. Today she’s back with a hot and beautiful story showing what happens when you discover Doxy…
We’re having a conversation about kinks. The fun things we’d like to try (or try again), and the ways in which we’d like to tear into each other. This is the kind of foreplay I really love: talking. Talking is my kink. Hearing someone tell me what they’re into – whether confident statements or shy suggestions – gets me hotter than anything else. So we’re having a conversation about kinks, and he tells me he wants to tear off my clothes.
Sometimes – very rarely – I will meet a man so filthy that within five minutes I am dreaming of the bad things I want to do to him. That kind of lust is a gutpunch – an instant hit of horn that has me weak and drooling. But that kind is not as common, or as real to me, as lust that grows slowly.
I’m so pleased to welcome Violet Grey (@v_greyauthor) back as a guest blogger today. In previous posts she’s done sterling work shattering the idea that women can’t be submissive feminists, tackling the headlines about millennials not having enough sex, and sharing extremely hot erotica about being humiliated and used. Today, she’s here to teach us about a cinematic trope that really pisses her off. As a bisexual woman, she is sick of seeing LGBTQ+ characters routinely killed off, so she is here with a message for screenwriters: don’t bury your gays.