Writing from the domme perspective is hard. When I’m being submissive, it’s easy to write with a focus on what a dominant guy did to me and how: the words this one growled and the ways he twisted and angled my body so as to best please his own eyes and cock. These hot actions, performed by him, could draw the majority of focus for any given blog post. I know it doesn’t have to be this way – with the dominant as the ‘do-er’ and the submissive as a passive recipient of whatever they choose to do, but it does tend to end up like this quite often. So writing from a subby perspective feels more comfortable to me, because if you focus on someone else when you’re bragging about the sex you had, you can partially hide the fact that you’re bragging in the first place.

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What’s more satisfying – making someone laugh, or making them come? Don’t think too hard, just answer the question with your first instinct. Laugh or come? Which is more satisfying? I asked this question a while ago on Mastodon and the results were extremely close. Within a few percent of each other. I found this really surprising: I’d expected it to go a very specific way, with a dramatic win for one side. I’m not even like those people who tried to nitpick the poll by saying ‘why not both?’ (because the whole point of the question is that it’s an either/or, ya bellends, really obviously we’d all go for both if that were an option). Anyway. I expected the poll to go decisively one way, because to me there’s no contest whatsoever.

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As with literally any blog post that discusses physical beauty, this piece is going to come with an important note: what I am about to do is fetishise/objectify/admire/wax lyrical about one particular physical feature, but understand that you do not need to have this feature in order to be beautiful. You can be beautiful with whatever you’ve got, there is no one correct way to be visually stunning, and I have dated many gorgeous people who do not happen to share the characteristic I am about to so thoroughly cream my knickers over. In short: not everyone is bald, and that is OK. But my boyfriend happens to be, and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t cast my eyes towards the heaven I’m pretty sure does not exist, to thank a God I definitely don’t believe in for sending me a hot bald guy. I can (and assuredly WILL) write essays later about the joy of dating a hot bald guy from a tactile perspective, but for now I’m taking a rare turn into the visual. Here are my hot bald boyfriend’s three best angles, thank you so much for asking.

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I always say I’m not much of a visual person, and I’m not. But every now and then an image sticks with me, and usually it’s because the bedroom in which we’re fucking has a well-placed mirror or two. I don’t have nearly enough mirrors in my bedroom at the moment – a situation I am keen to rectify as soon as my budget allows (so sometime around 2025, most likely). In the short term, though, please enjoy this trilogy of fuck stories from the past which hopefully will show you why – if you enjoy catching glimpses of you/your partners looking at your absolute fuckiest – you should have mirrors in your bedroom too.

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It’s usually pretty hard to content note Halloween erotica. It’s fun to give myself the challenge of writing something dark and horror-focused at this time of year, and I like ’em gruesome. If you’re also into macabre sex stories you might enjoy the following, but if you don’t want to read about people fucking reanimated corpses, you should probably give it a miss. 

I wake up screaming. No idea why, but I wake up screaming. Just absolute, cold-blooded, throat-ripping screams. Christ. Fuck. I can’t understand it. It takes him a couple of minutes to calm me. Stroking me with gentle hands and crooning ‘ssssh’ into my ear.

I try to sit up. Can’t.

Try to move my hands. Can’t.

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