Category Archives: Guest contributions

Someone else’s story: choosing love over kink

For me, sex is one of the most important parts of a relationship. It’s up there with trust, laughter, and an ability to tolerate each other’s excessive flatulence after curry night. Sex – if it’s good enough – is often a key motivator to help me fall for someone in the first place.

The idea of a long-term relationship with someone who didn’t share at least a fair proportion of my kinks makes me desperately sad. But in the past when I’ve raised this with friends I’ve been told that sex isn’t everything – it pales into insignificance when you compare it to the mighty force of love.

I was doubtful, and I still am doubtful that sex – for me – will ever take a back seat in terms of my priorities. But for this week’s guest blogger it’s done just that. I’m delighted to have her here because her perspective is so different to my own, and I’d love to know if other people have struggled with similar things – have you ever fallen in love and had to make a similar choice?

Someone else’s story: choosing love over kink

I’m dirty. I’m filthy. I’m a slut. My mind is constantly wandering between kinky fantasies where I’m being used and abused and these fantasies make my cunt throb.

For years this was what happened to me: I was in relationships with guys that made my unspeakable fantasies a reality. I was whipped, beaten and peed on into a sweaty, cum-covered mess. I knelt before relative strangers and begged for their worst and they gave it. I submitted to harsh experienced Masters who knew how to make me tremble without a single touch, could make me cum from a well delivered spanking and always left me wanting more. I “knew” I would be a dirty girl till the day I died.
I was happy to be treated this way.

So how merely 3 years from my last spanking have I ended up married to a guy who thinks doggy style is kinky, who could never speak during sex and is happy with once a week missionary?

No I didn’t run out of things to do. I drip at the thought of being roughly taken up the arse but know I will never know the feeling. There is so many scenes I’m yet to try. I’m still submissve in my soul.

No I don’t think I can change him. No I don’t cheat. If you had asked me before I met him if I could give up filth I would have sworn it was impossible. So can a self identified filthy slut be happy with a ‘vanilla’ guy?

The answer is yes. I’m happy. I love him more than I knew I could and know this is the forever after people dream about. As sappy as that sounds but when you know you know!

I think it’s all about priorities. Mine changed the first time he kissed me. Love. Family. Happiness. They are more important to me than filthy sex.

Did I compromise? Am I going to resent him in 10 years? Who knows! I don’t think so. My life is great. He is great.

He knows how to make me smile at the end of a really shit day.

He knows when to shut up and leave me alone.

He knows my favourite bands, books, food etc.

He makes my family his family and me part of his.

He gets me in a way no one ever had.

So I don’t tremble into subspace with a look. Sex is functional. It scratches an itch. It made my child. I’m not saying he’s bad in bed – I’m saying we aren’t sexually compatible. Somewhere there are girls who just want a quiet fuck on a Saturday night – should he be with one of them?

We all know someone or had a relationship that ended because they had different views on religion, family (usually whether to have one or not) or other significant issues. Is sex one of these issues? Or, more importantly, should it be? Do we put to much emphasis on sexual tastes and dismiss otherwise perfect relationships? We all know that relationships are about give and take. We put up with annoying habits (the snoring that brings the roof down, the dirty clothes on the bedroom floor, the lateness – and that’s just my own habits). We agree to disagree on many things.

Sex is great, but surely love has to be more important. I don’t think it would be a very healthy state of mind to choose a sexual relationship over a loving one. Of course you can have both – I am sure many people do – but if that’s not what fate has in store for you then you play the hand you’re given.

So I am happy in my ‘normal’ sex life. You may call it boring, you may say it can never work but every night I curl up next to a guy I love. If I threw our relationship away for dirty sex maybe I would never again find this heart stopping love.

So I will continue to rub myself furiously to thoughts of what I could have had done to me if the love of my life had been a filthy guy, but I will continue to love my life.

So would you give up filthy sex for the person you love?

I’d love to know what you think – is sex (and specifically the type of sex) a vital part of any relationship, and a potential ‘dealbreaker’ when you’re thinking about who to spend the rest of your life with? Are you in a relationship where you’ve reached a happy compromise? As with many sexual things, I think this is going to be different for everyone, so if you’ve struggled with this before I’d love to know how you dealt with it, and what you’ve decided your priorities and compromises are.

Someone else’s story: Highly personalised erotica

One of the best things about knowing someone well is that you understand their intimate fantasies. The things they tell you that they’ve never told anyone else. “I want someone to do this,” uttered with a slight nervousness and possibly a blush. I love being close enough to a guy that, when a particular scene appears on TV (police bundling their latest arrest into the back of a van, for instance) he can nudge me, whisper things in my ear, and know that it has pushed the exact buttons of one of my darkest fantasies.

This week’s guest blog comes from a couple, but with a bit of a twist. He has written a story tailored perfectly to her tastes. Something he has crafted based on all the things he knows she loves, and fantasises about. When he sent it through to me I wondered if he had accidentally wandered into my own head. Before we begin, I’m going to tell you that this story is quite extreme. It involves pain, group sex, and some utterly filthy stuff. Some of us like that, some of us don’t, so if you might be triggered by it please don’t read.

If, however, you like the idea of writing porn that is specifically tailored to one person, feel free to take up the challenge he’s laid down: can you write something for someone you know that is so perfectly tailored to the things they like that they can’t help but be aroused? Here’s his contribution…

Someone else’s story: highly personalised erotica

She’s alone in the room. She can hear their voices, muffled by the walls. They blend into one another, and all she’s left with is noise and anticipation. She tries to count them; to figure out how many there are, but she keeps losing track. She’s lying on the bed, eyes blindfolded, skin prickled. Her body scarcely covered by a red thong and bra. She’s breathing heavily. Her heart pounding in her chest.

Any minute now.

She tries to catch glimpses of the room, but her movement is limited. He told her to lie there on her stomach and wait. So, that’s what she’s doing. He told her not to move, so she doesn’t move.

She hears laughter from the outside. She doesn’t know how this will go. She doesn’t know whether she’ll like it or hate every second; but this is what she wanted. She asked for it, and now he’s giving it to her. She’s terrified, but the slickness between her thighs betrays her excitement.

The room is bare. The bed, covered in a simple plastic sheet, lies in the middle of the room, leaving space for movement around its four sides. There is a tarp on the floor. The light overhead is stark and bright. There are no candles or soft shadows here. There is nothing romantic about this. This is functional.

She hears the door click open, and the sound pours in from the rooms beyond. She hears men speaking, but doesn’t recognise their voices. They’re joking and laughing, and she can hear the pauses when they take sips from their drinks. She hears the tarp crinkling beneath their feet as they approach her. She’s not sure how many are in the room. She counts three, maybe four voices, but there are more outside.

She wants to ask who they are, but that would be against the rules. “Speak only when you’re spoken to.” That was what he’d told her earlier. Speaking now would defeat the purpose of the whole exercise.

The men keep chatting. They’re casual, as though there’s nothing unusual about this. None seem to notice, or acknowledge her. She’s invisible. Suddenly she feels a hand grab her ass. She breathes in quickly, and holds it. The gesture is somewhere between hard and rough. He pinches her ass cheek, and pulls it to one side. Another touches her on the stomach, sliding fingers across her skin. They’re sampling her; talking among themselves the whole time. The hand on her ass moves down between her thighs towards the slickness. Her breaths are shallow and fast. The men keep chatting, but she hears them spreading out now. There is at least one man by her head, and one to her side, and one, maybe two, by her feet. The hand between her thighs moves toward her cunt. He pushes the panties to one side, and she feels a finger push into her. Separating her. Opening her up. She gasps and pushes her face down into the mattress. His fingers move in and out quickly, her cunt increasingly drenched. She’s about to come, when she hears a zipper being undone somewhere close to her head, and a hand grabs the back of her hair, and pulls her head up. His cock is already hard when he pushes it into her mouth. She wraps her lips around it, and moves her tongue along the lower side.

“Suck it.” His hand is holding the back of her head, but it does nothing. He’s given her an order, and she follows it. She moves her head forward and backwards, faster and faster.

“Use your hands.” She reaches up and wraps her palm around the base of his cock, and starts moving in the opposite direction to her mouth. She twists her palm with every movement. She hears him breathing deeper, harder now.

A finger runs up from the small of her back to the nape of her neck. Her skin prickles, and she struggles to concentrate. Her cunt is slick and the finger inside it slams back and forth, faster and faster. She wants to come.

The man at her head pushes his cock deep into her mouth, and she feels herself gag. She wants to stop, to resist, but she doesn’t.

“Fucking take it!” He pushes hard on the back of her head as he jams his cock down her throat. She does as she’s told. She feels him wrench her head off of his cock, and he slaps her quickly. She doesn’t expect it, and lets out a whelp. He pushes his cock back into her mouth. She reaches up and starts jerking him off again.

She tries to concentrate on his cock, but the man at her cunt, or maybe one of the other men has started to pull down her thong, exposing her ass. She feels a finger sliding between her cheeks, playing with her asshole. She clenches, but he keeps at it. She hears the sound of a zipper and a belt, and fabric, and she realises that someone is taking off their pants. Strong hands grip her waist, and pull her back toward the edge of the bed. The man at her head pulls his cock out of her mouth and releases the back of her head. Her feet are on the carpet now, her body bent at a right angle over the bed. She feels the man behind her pull her underwear to one side, and then she feels his cock slide into her. She’s wet enough that there’s no resistance. She moans, and then she hears someone tell her to shut up. The man behind her lifts her body up so that she’s standing. She can feel his cock slamming into her again and again. Her cunt envelops him, and she imagines what it must look like. Someone grabs her bra and pulls it down forcefully. They grab at her tits and pinch her nipples and she moans again. She feels weight on the bed in front of her, and then another slap across her cheek.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Someone spits in her face, and then grabs the back of her head and forces it hard onto a cock. She reaches up to jerk it off, but she struggles. It’s hard to focus, to concentrate. The cock in her cunt feels as though it will tear through her. The cock in her mouth chokes her. Her nipples are sore from the fingers gripping them.

“Jerk it, you fucking slut!” She reaches up and wraps her hand around the cock in her mouth. She struggles, but she does whatever she can to get some sort of rhythm going. She takes him as deeply as she can, and she feels bile and spit pouring from her lips. Her eyes water beneath the blindfold, and she pictures the mascara running down her cheeks. His breathing becomes increasingly frantic, and he pulls the cock from her mouth, and starts jerking himself off, and she feels hot streams of come splattering across her face, blindfold, and lips, and he pushes his cock into her mouth for the last few spurts and she tastes it, hot on her tongue, and he tells her to swallow, and she does just that.

She feels a hand push hard against her back, grabbing at the remains of her bra, and her face slams into the mattress and the man behind her fucks her as hard as he can. She hears the sound of her bra rip, and soon she can’t feel it around her. He pushes down on her back, and forces her into the mattress. She feels the early waves of orgasm begin to flow through her. He slaps her ass once, twice, three times, four times, and she feels tears streaming from her eyes now as she comes on his cock, and then he hits her again, and his cock hurts as he slams it into her, but her cunt clenches around him as she spasms and, with a final violent thrust, she feels him pulsing and twitching as he comes deep inside her. He remains there for a moment, recovering himself, before pulling out. Her body is a mess of spasm, but she has no time to recover before she feels someone else take his place, and her cunt, drenched in her juices and filled with another man’s come is occupied with a new cock.

Her ass, already sore from the beating, hurts even more when someone pulls the thong violently and tears it away. She’s naked now. She feels a finger pushing into her ass, and she gasps. He isn’t simply playing with her asshole, he’s trying to finger her. She feels him stretch her open, and although it hurts, she pushes back onto him. He has large hands, with thick fingers. She can almost count the knuckles as they slide into her, and there she lies, filled in from behind, pressing back onto this new man as the waves begin again. She comes on his cock and his finger, and suddenly he grabs her hair and pulls her body up violently and calls her a slut, and although she is in pain, he fucks her hard. That’s when she feels someone standing in front of her, and someone else starts to slap her tits and grab at her body, and all of a sudden there is a hand around her throat and her breathing is cut off. She becomes delirious, and struggles, and wants to cry out, but she can’t and she comes again, harder this time; her orgasm punctuated by the suffocation and just then the hand around her neck releases and she breathes in deeply and tries to recover, remembering how good it feels to have air.

Someone hits her across the face, harder than she wants, and calls her a cunt, and tells her to open wide, and then she feels a stream of hot liquid splashing across her face and into her mouth, and when she realises that someone is pissing on her she wants to close her mouth, and to run away, and she almost does, but they told her to open wide, so she keeps it open, and she sputters and gags, and almost throws up, but she does as she is told.

Then the man in her cunt pulls out and pushes her aside. She feels him lie down on the bed, and then someone lifts her up and sets her down on him, facing away. She feels his cock pushing against her asshole, opening her up, and sliding inside her. It hurts, and she whimpers, but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes sting from the mascara. Her mouth tastes of piss and come, and her nipples are red from the pinching. Her body is drenched in sweat. She is sure there will be bruises around her neck. This isn’t tender or gentle or kind. This isn’t an evening of romance. This is what she wanted. She is their toy. A set of holes to be used and filled and defiled. This is what she’d asked for.

She feels his cock slide deep into her until the point that she is sitting on him. He grips her waist and starts moving her back and forth and tears stream from her eyes as he fucks her in the ass. She reaches down to touch herself, to help push herself over the edge, but someone slaps her hand away. She reaches back to touch the man behind her, but someone slaps her face hard and she half screams. Then she feels someone move in close to her. She can feel the heat from their body. They grab her legs and lift them up, exposing her cunt. Her thighs are covered in juice and come, and she is slick. Fingers push into her mouth, and they grip tightly, half down the back of her throat. She feels a cock sliding into her cunt, and she winces as she feels herself completely filled, and stretched. The man in front of her pushes in, as the other pulls out. She hears the sounds of other men in the room, and realises that they must all be gathered to watch the show. This makes her feel something, and the waves of orgasm wash over again, and she comes quickly. She pushes back onto any cock that will take her and tries to hold onto the waves as they crash over her again and again, and the fucking grows increasingly frantic, and the fingers in her mouth are making it hard to swallow, and she is drooling, and her chest is covered in sweat, spit, come and piss, and her body is sore, and in spasm, as she imagines the two men inside her, and their cocks touching deep within, and their shafts rubbing up against one another, and their balls smacking together and she wishes that she could watch them fuck; watch them writhe together, and as she thinks about this she spasms deeply once again, and this forces the man in her cunt over the top, and he pulls his cock from her and jerks off onto her stomach, in long, hot spurts. She imagines the come spraying and splattering onto the guy behind her, and she wishes that she could watch them lick it off of one another. The thought is lost when someone grabs her, and picks her up, and the cock slides from her ass, and she feels empty all of a sudden. She is forced to her knees, and she becomes aware that the men are now surrounding her. She can hear the sounds of them jerking off, and she knows what will be next. One by one, they come all over her. On her face, her chest, in her mouth, and her hair. The man who had been in her ass tells her to open wide, and he forces his cock into her mouth, and he tells her to suck him dry, and she does. She grabs his cock and jerks him off as well, and with her free hand she plays with his balls, kneading them, somewhere between gently and rough. She runs a finger back towards his asshole, and she gently pushes into him, fingering him as she sucks his cock, and he comes hard and deep into her throat, and afterwards he calls her a good girl.

There is the sound of rustling clothes and belts, and zippers and the men start talking among themselves as they dress. They laugh and joke, and soon the voices move into the other room. They don’t say a word to her, but she remains on her knees, waiting at attention.

“Do as you’re told.” He said before all of this had started, and so she simply waits. She wonders if they will come back for another round a bit later. Part of her hopes not. Her body is sore. Her cunt aching. She can barely breathe without her throat burning. Nonetheless, if they come back, she will do it again, regardless of how her body feels. She will find a way. There’s no doubt in her mind. The other part of her, the part that wanted this in the first place, can’t think of anything better.

If you’re now panting and post-orgasmically exhausted having read right to the end of that, then you probably have similar tastes to this guy’s partner – and indeed me. Those of you who read my Christmas fantasy from ages ago will understand why this ticks so many of my ‘holy fuck that’s horny’ boxes. If you fancy having a go yourself, check out my guest blog info and get in touch. I’ll add my contribution to the ‘Write Your Own Smut to Turn on Someone You Know’ project as soon as I can see straight again.

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Someone else’s story: How to sext

I think words are hotter than pictures. Words are spectacular things which, if you can bend them to your will, can make someone pant with desire or puke with disgust. Not everyone agrees: some people prefer images or films, but for me nothing quite competes with words.

Sad, then, that despite the fact most of us have devices in our pockets to send filthy words to lovers whenever we like, so many people forget the power that words have, and end up throwing out any old shit that just happens to be in the ‘dirty’ bit of the dictionary.

Today’s guest blog comes from a blogger after my own heart – SeasideSlut explains what dirty words do to her, how to use them best, and – crucially – how not to sext. If you like her post (and why the hell wouldn’t you?) check out her blog and follow her on Twitter for more.

Why sexting is hot (and how to sext well)

I’m an avid bookworm and lover of language, so I am very appreciative of the beauty and power of words. Combine that with my filthy nature and you get an overflowing porn bookshelf and a serious weakness for a well crafted ‘sext’.

When I was 16 I used to regularly buy and sell secondhand CDs from a mail order firm, and somehow managed to graduate from a friendly covering note to lengthy, explicit exchanges with the guy who ran the company. It was such a thrill opening the latest parcel to see what he’d written and I’d tantalise myself by re-reading his notes over and over. It emerged that he was more than twice my age and married, so it never went further than that. But ever since I’ve regularly used my imagination and vocabulary to get people off, and often they kindly reciprocate.

For me, the key is paying attention to the details, because it makes the image you’re trying to create so much more tangible. Which is more erotic?

“I want you to put your cock in my vagina LOLZ!”


“I’m lying on my back, stroking my slippery pussy lips apart right now, thinking about you. I want to trace my bare foot over your chest, watch your nipples harden, stroke them with my toes. I want to watch as your cock head slowly eases into my tight, hot little hole; listen to you groan as you push all the way in… my cunt is aching to be stretched and filled by your delicious hard dick, I bet it feels so fucking good…”

Of course there are pitfalls. You can’t see or hear your correspondent’s reaction to your messages. They might be eating their dinner or trimming their toenails while you imagine them writhing in lustful paroxysms. They might respond with a exasperated tut to the 50th cock picture you’ve sent them, rather than the moist glee you hope for. Or you might say something that actively turns them off and because you can’t see their look of horror/disgust/boredom, you carry on down that ill-chosen smut avenue and just make it worse for yourself.

I’ll take this opportunity to share with you some choice sexts I’ve received – these are of the unsolicited chat up variety from male admirers (spelling mistakes left intact):

“Do you have any Celtic interests, dark arts or any connections with north Spain, the Kings of Europe or romatic inclinations outside of the norm? Who knows where we may have met before.”

“hi i like tits”

“I quite like the way you’ve shaved your delectable cunt in a kind of Hitler style, it’d be worth the occasional journey to inspect it. I’d like to try and velcro various items to it as well, then pump you hard from behind, ripping them off at the moment of mutual orgasm, with the inimitable sound increasing the satisfaction beyond all measure.”

“Hey babe I know I’m young but I just want to say I thing your gorgeous for your age look at most 34 year olds they te ugly as guck and you aren’t babe xx”

“when I look at you I see a horny slutty cunt who needs a rock hard cock, I want you grinding my cock while I suck, bite & nibble on your big tits. But when it comes down to it, I might not be able to carry it out. That is why I prefer to do and not say what I will do.”

“do you work? my guess – a Model for lads mags? ;-)”

…I could go on. I don’t suggest that sexting is an alternative to experiencing the reality (although sometimes it can suggest a reality that will never actually exist). But I do think it’s important to remember that the brain is the biggest sex organ we all have, and by exercising it we can achieve unbelievable pleasure. If that wasn’t true, why would I repeatedly orgasm while I dream, with no physical stimulation at all?

So there you go – SeasideSlut‘s guide to sexting. I couldn’t agree more that brains are sexy. Although I’ve never been as confident on sexting as she clearly is, so I’m going to practice composing a sext or two of my own. If there’s one thing sexier than a brain, in my opinion, it’s using my brain to give a guy an erection on his way home from work. If you’ve any sexting suggestions, leave a comment. Crowdsourced boners are a good thing, right?

Someone else’s story: foot fetish submission

The hottest stories are the ones that turn you on to write. Sure, I could probably knock up a quick tale about beating a man into submission, watching his dick strain tightly against the crotch of his lycra boxer shorts as he begs me to go at him harder, but apart from the occasional foray into new-wank territory, that scenario doesn’t often crop up in my fantasies.

That’s why, for some fantasies, you have to call in an expert.

This week’s guest blog is an anonymous one, written by a gentleman with whom I had a very recent and painfully arousing discussion about male submission. I’ve switched before, although I’m not naturally dominant, and there are certain things about male submission that fascinate and delight me. I mentioned to him my desire to have a guy come all over my feet, and he took it to its natural, squirming, abjectly submissive level.

Enjoy it: I certainly did.

Someone else’s story: Treat

She perches in black jeans on a three-legged stool; he lies naked and perpendicular on the floor below.

Easing off her right shoe, she flashes him a smile. His eyes widen, flickering over her foot as she flexes it loose. After a long moment, her toe touches the centre of his chest and he sucks in a sharp breath, tries to pass it off as a stoic grunt.

She takes her time. Her toe, glossed cherry-black and shoe-soft, trails down his abdominal ridge and he swells, holding his breath as if it could bring relief closer.

It can’t; she trails a slow circle round the base of his cock, then comes to rest on his balls, pressing gently.

He strains to sit, sides ridged and jerking, but her left foot slides neatly to his throat and pushes him backward, ball pushing gently against larynx until he is prostrate.

She keeps him pressed gently down; her right leg curls upward.

Gulping air around the pressure of her sole, he cranes to watch as she arches her knee and pumps three fat drops of lubricant onto her foot.

Watching her work the gel between her toes is too much. He groans, stiff and twitching for release, and she indulges him after a fashion.

Deft and pitiless, she fits big toe and neighbour around the base of his cock and slides them upward, squeezing as she releases the tip with a twist of disdain across her face.

After eight slow, forceful repititions he is gasping, and meets her eyes for the first time.

She holds contact for a long moment, as her toes clench around the base of his head. “Go on then” she says.

He meets her eyes again, lips parted and eyelashes drooping as he concentrates on addressing her properly.

“Please… can I?”

“Yes you can; and more crucially-” she punctuates her gift with an indulgent smile, “you may”.

He has no words, merely looks up at her with an expression of aching, animal gratitude and scrambles to his knees. Squeaking on polished wood as he shuffles forward, he fumbles his cock into a clenched fist.

Meeting her eyes once more to affirm his permission, he wraps his hand around her heel and pushes himself roughly against her toes.

She leans forward, wrapping an arm round his bowed head. His shoulders strain, his wrist pumps.
He hisses through his nose as she snatches a fistful of his hair. “Come on boy, all over”, she whispers. He sighs girlishly.

“Come on, fucker” she spits, and tugs him further into her. He heaves, and loops cum in three fat arches over her metatarsus. A fourth erupts onto her big toe; she smirks in satisfaction.

“That’s it?” she asks, tipping her head to one side and running her hand back through his hair.

“Yes” he whispers. She slides her feet together and begins to smear them in his spillage.

“Then clean up” she tells him through a smile, splaying toes roped with white mess and wiggling them in his face.

“Uhn” he manages, before his eyelids slide shut and he’s blissfully lapping his own spunk from between them.

His tongue squirms against the pad of her foot; she pushes into him, bending him back. Her toes penetrate his lips, her fingers twist in his hair.

He licks and slurps and gasps, eyes shut and cheeks flushed red. Gulping down his own emissions, sucking her clean. Shame and fierce pride in his filthy privilege.

Her arch is tongued devotedly, thumbs trace over her ankles, his rough cheeks flex as he works.

“Thnnyuu” he murmurs at last, his face pressed into her soles.

“You’re welcome” she replies, withdrawing and giving his chest a gentle shove.

Without another word said, she calmly slips on her shoes and rises. He remains kneeling until she has left the room.

Foot fetish submission – custom filth

here is a picture of my feet that I sent to a man on the internet. Please do not judge me by the decor - it is not my flat

See? Told you it was a great story. This guy can write. And write in a way that makes me forget what I’d normally go for (boys on top), and instead arouses me with delicious descriptions of that agonising, tortured lust that only comes when you’re being denied what you really want. I should also point out that this exact fantasy is carefully constructed to hit specific buttons of mine, given that ‘having a dude come on my feet’ is one of the key items on my sexual bucket list.

The moral of all this is that if a man on the internet sends you some incredibly well-written porn, it is worth emailing him a picture of your feet and asking for a custom story.

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Someone else’s story: Sex without commitment

You’re not having the kind of sex you want with someone. So you talk. And you say “hey, I really like what we’re doing, but could I make a few requests? Suggestions?” And in all the happy stories and agony aunt columns we imagine a fictional partner who responds with enthusiasm and empathy and all that good stuff.

But real life isn’t always like that, more’s the pity. Here’s a guest blog from Brit Bitch Berlin about a gentleman she’s rather charmingly nicknamed Thor.

Re-Educating Thor: Sex without commitment

I had been sex-dating this guy for a few weeks, and was a bit unsure whether I was just so awed by his ripped body that I wanted to continue, or under some weird “gotta try everything once” kind of spell.

There was something about wrestling with his beautiful body, as well as perhaps enjoying the pleasure and power of wielding a butt-plug on a guy twice my size, and a decade younger, passive and bowed to my will.

However, I thought it was time to regroup, as our conversation had been limited. Very limited, till then. On the other hand, he had already enriched my vocabulary (and those of my friends, who are still reeling) by two words: butt-plug and cockslap. Did you know that you can buy butt-plugs that have diamonds inset in the heft?! And ones with a foxtail attached? Finally something for the girl who truly has everything.

Anyway, despite joyfully embracing new knowledge, I did also want to talk about boundaries and levels of intimacy. I was happy to try out new stuff with Thor and his hammer but I needed a level of intimacy that also included (for example) laughter, giggles and sensuality. I also needed to talk about contraception, because it is really tedious having to push a guy away repeatedly before he dons the plastic cape. I mean, c’mon, we are not in Kindergarten here. And unless he proposes (with a butt-plug-ring?) and swears undying fidelity, he will be wearing rubber. Ironic really that someone so into having foreign objects (made of rubber) inserted into orifices has such a problem with putting one teensy tiny flimsy layer of rubber over a small part of himself…

So having finally lured him to a public place where they served food and drink, after eyeing each other hungrily for a while, our conversation went a little bit like this:

Me: So, shall I just lay it on the line?

I would like to enjoy nights of passion with you, without being exclusive, but also with a certain level of intimacy. That means we sometimes do stuff outside the bedroom, like go out to eat, and get to know each other a little better. For me, good conversation and great food often equals good sex. Feed me well, and I will be a happy bunny between the sheets…are you getting that I am really into food?

And, I need you to use contraception always, without me having to push you into it.

Also, I don’t like it when you hit me in the face. With anything. Even if it is a soft part of your body. (OK, OK I made that bit up) Even though it doesn’t hurt. It’s not about that. It just doesn’t doesn’t turn me on. Also, when you spit on my back while you are fucking me? I don’t get it? OK your turn, what do you want?

Thor: Um well, I don’t really know…I haven’t really thought about it much. I guess I just want to relax and have a good time, without any pressure or commitment.

I felt like I was truly talking to Thor of Asgard, who had no concept of “our customs.” I guess he probably felt the same. I wish I could tell you we went back to mine and had hot sex. We didn’t. Suddenly his porn-bitch was talking back. And that was not part of the script. Oh and Asgard needed to be saved. Again.

Between you and me, I had planned to try and “make” my own personal sexual man-toy out of the raw materials at hand. It was either that, or head for Celibate-City. I failed. It’s ok. Maybe, just maybe, he will think twice before… or at least ask beforehand.

We all agree that sex is a lot of fun, and that anything consensual that makes it fun is fine. But what exactly is the POINT of a lot of these activities…? What does a man get out of, for example, cumming or spitting on a woman’s back? Isn’t it much more intense and pleasant to cum inside her whilst pleasuring her at the same time? When I was discovering my sexuality first time around, back in the 80s, men took pride in actually pleasuring you! It was about getting each other off. But now it seems like a lot of the time somehow I’m left out of all the fun. I felt like raising my hand and saying “Umm, hello, I am still here, can I have some stimulation too? Other than the visual eye candy of a man frantically wanking himself off, right in front of me??”

Call me an intellectual, but my brain needs feeding too. And not with reruns of “facefuck III”.

If you enjoyed that guest blog, you can see more of her writing at BritBitchBerlin or follow her on Twitter or Facebook. But in the meantime I’d be curious to know what you think of the above story. I think it’s a classic example of two people wanting very different things, but not realising just how different those things are until they have this conversation. I wonder if a lot of what we think is selfishness is often just a symptom of incompatible desires. If you’re a guy and you have time, I’d also love to know the answer to the question “what do you get out of cumming and/or spitting on a woman’s back?” – because, you know, I think I can guess but it would be lovely if you could explain it in a bit of detail for my personal research.*