I don’t normally post branded toy blogs other than ones about my site sponsors (cos a girl’s gotta eat, innit). But this week’s guest blogger got in touch raving about the joy of the Lovense Hush smart butt plug, and how much fun it had been to use it in a BDSM dynamic over a distance. And who am I to turn down a post about getting dominated over a distance? It sounded right up my street, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did…

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These three little butt plug stories, by Molly Moore, originally appeared on her website. They are read aloud here as audio by the author herself. All these butt plug stories detail consensual encounters, but the third one contains some elements of consensual non-consent. 

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This delicious ode to anal fingering is written by Quinn Rhodes, and originally appeared on hir website. It is read here by Girl on the Net.

Fingering open your ass is fucking brilliant.

There’s something indescribable about pushing a lubed-up finger inside you. I take great pervy delight in doing so, because it’s filthy but also deeply intimate. If you’re letting me inside your ass, that’s a sign of trust that I get off on – almost as much as I get off on the feeling of your hot, tight clenching around my finger. It’s so ridiculously hot. I want to open you up and make you exposed and vulnerable and (for a short minute) mine.

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This enema erotica, by author Tabitha Rayne, originally appeared on her website, and is also available in her latest erotic collection – Drenched. It is read here by the author herself.

Charlotte was no stranger to a douche, but that was usually in preparation for some anal mischief.

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I don’t want to write this post. The very idea of dragging the words from my head makes me want to cringe into a tiny ball. But I’m going to talk about butt plug accidents anyway. My reasons will become clear towards the end of the post but before I begin, a warning and a request. Warning: this post contains scenes that are a bit uncomfortable, especially if you’re not into anal stuff and are easily panicked. Request: if you know me in real life, I would genuinely rather you didn’t read this. It’s mostly because I feel I can be funnier and more honest about this incident if I don’t have to anticipate jokey conversations about it in the pub, during which I have to relive all the feelings that this incident triggered in my fluttery, panic-laden heart. So. If you know me, don’t read this. If you choose to read it anyway, pretend you haven’t. Deal? OK let’s go.

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