Today marks the final Sinful Sunday – an incredible, body-positive photography project run by my talented colleague (and much-loved friend) Molly Moore. I have never had much courage for taking photos of myself, but I have joined in a few times before – mostly because of Molly’s infectious enthusiasm and the supportive and welcoming environment she helped to create. Even though I only joined in occasionally, I have always loved seeing other people’s contributions. The joy, the love, the sexiness. Sinful Sunday will be very much missed, huge thanks to all of you – especially the regular contributors – for sharing your incredible photos, your gorgeous bodies, and these beautiful snippets of intimacy with the world. What you do is incredible.

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At one point, mid-fuck, with his wet fingers circling my clit, the man who knows how to fuck me growls something into my ear. I can’t remember the exact words and I hate myself for that, not least because I’m sure if I could conjure them precisely, that particular sentence would make for some truly epic wanks. Forgive me for paraphrasing, I’d fallen deeply into a fuckdrunk haze, but it was something like ‘aren’t you a dirty fucking girl?’, with extra resonance on the ‘girl’, just how I like it. Whatever he said and however he said it, it caused me to absolutely gush all over his hand. Yeah I’m a dirty girl: QED.

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This perfect restraints kit has lived rent-free in my head for a number of years. I’m a clumsy, eager fucker and when I engage in bondage, I do so in the same clumsy, eager way that I go about the rest of my fucks. I’m rubbish at knots, and can’t be bothered to learn, so the restraints that have won a permanent place in my bedroom are usually simple to use. Think cuffs with buckles, or ideally velcro. These door jam cuffs that I got many years ago were my favourite for a while. They’re so easy, and so effective: I love them. When asked what would be on my bucket list for the perfect restraints kit, I hankered after this Sportsheets under the bed restraints system for literally YEARS. Then finally I got one, and not long after I set it up, I broke up with my boyfriend. So I couldn’t actually use it. FFS.

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You’ve met this guy before. Possibly the most casual man I’ve ever fucked. Chill. Direct. Horny. Extremely forgiving of the fact that I disappeared for eighteen months into monogamy. The kind of dude who’s happy to pop back when required to deliver great dick without drama. Breaking the seal, if you will. We’re catching up over email and I tell him I’m single now. That I may be emotionally battered but I’ve gained a wicked new story. I don’t outright say that I’d love to get fucked, but he picks up the hint regardless: “Would you like to tell me the wicked story over a pint, then have a ride on my dick?” Fuck yes.

CN: light kink, slapping.

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Perhaps it’s my age, or I’m experiencing a sudden and temporary burst of self-confidence – maybe my therapy’s working? Whatever the reason, I’ve been feeling a lot more domme lately. As often as I used to yearn for powerful, toppy guys with wickedly menacing grins, now I dream about bratty subs who have a playfully cheeky, ‘what are you gonna do about it?’ energy.

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