I told this story briefly, while at the festival last year: ‘I sucked a dick at Glastonbury’, I tweeted, with undertones of ‘achievement unlocked.’ The response was a combination of welcome high fives and entirely unwelcome shame: eww, blow jobs? At a festival?! I hope you used wet wipes first! Some people are so weird. But to each their own. I don’t tell sex stories without knowing that sometimes I’ll press people’s shame buttons. Some people’s instinct to say ‘eww’ when they hear that some random slag got facefucked in a field in Somerset is as natural as my instinct to brag about it in the first place. I sucked a dick at Glastonbury last year. And as I pack my bag for this year, I’ve decided now’s the time to tell that story.

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Regular readers will know that I’m a big fan of cuckolding as a kink. Something about the combination of tortured emotions and intense fucks, the fact that emotional connection can be twisted into something much darker and more taboo… unngh, yeah. So inevitably I was delighted to find a cuck who was not only willing to chat about his kink, but explain in delicious and excruciating detail exactly what’s so hot about getting cucked. Take it away…

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The sad thing happens on Monday morning. But there were lots of sad things that laid the path to it, so perhaps it’s not surprising that initially I’m just a bit numb. All day I’m braced for the waves of despair to crash. I sit at my desk. I work. I write. Edit some audio porn, upload a bit to Patreon, and wait and wait and wait for the misery to hit.

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Today’s guest blog is by an anonymous contributor, and reading it affected me so much that I don’t know how to capture that in an intro. It’s a stunning, raw, powerful story about having sex again after a rape, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am to this brilliant writer for sharing their journey. Note that the first half contains descriptions of rape and assault.

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She puts on the fishnets with no knickers. The tights are medium gauge, with holes just wide enough that you can easily stick a finger through to rip them. She’s never worn them like this before, and the cool air on her cunt feels strange when it’s also flimsily caged. Strange but good. Next she puts on the t-shirt he left on her bedroom floor last night. A faded black one with the logo of one of his favourite bands. If you’re joining me in this fantasy, feel free to pick whichever shirt has most resonance for you: maybe it’s the home kit from your football team, a flannel one that you wear around the house on lazy, happy days, maybe it’s merch from your favourite festival, whatever. Pick whichever you’re most likely to leave on your girlfriend’s bedroom floor. Whichever shirt you’d most like to dress your partner in before you fuck them. She puts on the fishnets and that shirt, then angles the mirror.

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