Spent ages trying to come up with a fun title for this, and I just kept coming back to the most descriptive one: double penetration with a strap-on and a cock.

Because

a) that’s exactly what happened and

b) it was one of the best things I have ever done. Ever.

I’d like to say that double penetration with a strap-on and a cock is a normal Saturday night in my house, but that would be downplaying the gravity and excitement of the situation. Last week, I finally managed to do something I’ve been wanting to do for years.

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Everything that happens in this blog post is consensual. But it involves two people exploring consensual non-consent fantasies, so please be aware before you read. 

I love a good bedtime story. Ideally a story told in hushed whispers, with his lips pressed right up against my ear and his hand rummaging eagerly at my cunt.

It’s probably frustrating, when you’re getting hot and hard and ready, to have your partner pause for a break in proceedings to ask for a bedtime story. But there’s something about a sexy story that gets me wetter than a hand could. The plot, the fucking itself, the veiled implication that these are things he would do to me if he could…

Yeah. I like sexy stories.

Most of the time, bedtime stories take the form of memories or future plans.

“Remember when we…?”

“Have you ever wanted to..?”

And they’re great. But they’re different. I’m talking here about real bedtime stories – scripts he writes in his head, with the express purpose of turning me on.

Here’s one of my favourites.

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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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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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This is one of those posts that goes into the sometimes dark places in my brain. As a result, it involves discussion of things like pain, BDSM, and roleplaying sex-as-punishment. Everything in the post is 100% consensual, but I’m just giving you a heads-up so if those things are likely to disturb you please don’t read on. 

We’re discussing the difference between corporal punishment and what I’m going to call ‘angry punishment.’ I explain to him that, in previous role-plays, I’ve struggled with the idea of rigid, ordered punishment. Counting spanks, measured chastisement, that kind of thing. The type of role-play where I am a naughty girl, and a guy in a position of authority is responsible for correcting me:

He orders me to bend over and touch my toes, stretching my thighs and arse taut for the cane or tawse. He makes me wait for what feels like an achingly long time, as my calves tingle and my cunt gets slick, and I wait for the first thwack.

At that moment what I’m hoping for isn’t one sharp stroke. I’m not anticipating a measured, precise stripe across my backside. But usually that’s what I get. One stripe – carefully applied – then the inevitable order:

“Count them.”

And I count. One, two, three, four… I count the strokes and I thank him for each one. This controlled, dominant guy, who will dish out exactly as much pain as I deserve and no more.

That’s nice – it is. But it’s not the best.

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