Thanks to @BibulousOne, I have an extra guest blog for you this week, which explores some of the shivery hotness of anticipating a BDSM scene. He’s written beautifully before about the delights of the cane, and I love how evocatively he captures what’s going on inside his head as the pre-scene anticipation builds.

Update: he now has his own sex blog, so click the link to check out more of his writing.

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Each month in 2016 I’m doing one day’s work for charity – so everything I earn on that day goes to charity (today it’s Against Malaria Foundation). I had a spare hour alongside my scheduled work today, so I offered to write a custom story if someone would donate some cash. This anonymous donor requested a story about cuckolding, and I’m delighted they did because it gave me this idea, which was so hot I had to have two wanks before I finished it. 

If you want a custom story, keep an eye on my Twitter feed around the end of Feb, when I’ll be doing another day like this.

In the meantime, if you like cuckolding too – get stuck in. 

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I have a bit of a fascination with old-school ghost stories. Séances and ectoplasm and the like. When I was younger I used to devour ghost stories, most of which purported to be true accounts. I am also a fan of sexy, surreptitious flirting – hot touches in the dark which no one else can see, and just the two of you know about and enjoy. I love the link between scary stuff and sexy stuff, and to this day I struggle to watch a creeping-dread-horror film with someone I like without wanting to slide my hand down their pants halfway through.

So when Rachel Kramer Bussel asked if I wanted to post an extract from her latest erotica collection, there was one story that really stood out to me. The short story, by Valerie Alexander, is called Demimonde, and it takes place at a séance. It gave me all of the sexy shivers, and reminded me of a story I should tell you about sometime.

An extract is reposted with her permission below, and you can buy the full book – Best Women’s Erotica of the year (Vol 1) here.

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He used to try and open condom packets quietly.

Not sneakily, like he was going to slip one on without me knowing. Just quietly – like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

We’d be lying on my bed, or his bed, or a bundle of cushions placed haphazardly on the floor. Or sometimes we’d be curled up together on an armchair, duvet covering us for privacy while our friends drank and smoked nearby. Occasionally scrunched in a dark corner at a party, my back cold against the rough carpet, his knees pushing my legs wider while we snogged.

He used to try and open the packet quietly.

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