Tag Archives: buttsex

On physical reductionism, and hot anal sex

Buttsex is probably the simplest go-to example when trying to explain how some types of sex make people drool with delight while making other people wince and run away. I love it, and all the men I have done it with love it (because if they didn’t they wouldn’t have bothered doing it with me). But I received an email from someone a while ago which prompted us to have a bit of a chat about the whole thing. He asked:

1. Why would I enjoy fucking you in the ass?

2. Why would you enjoy being fucked in the ass?

They were based, quite understandably, on the specific physical things that he felt, and imagined I felt, and could essentially be summed up with “neither of our bodies are designed for anal sex to provide the most intense type of physical pleasure, so why would you do that rather than anything else?”

I think that’s pretty interesting, because it reflects a view on sex that is very different to my own.

Sex isn’t just about the in-and-out

I love the feeling of cock inside me. I love feeling it in my mouth, in my cunt, and in my ass. The specific physical sensation – of being full, being stretched, being the willing and moaning receptacle for something rigid and twitching – is excellent. I have nerve endings in my cunt that thrill with the touch of your dick, and I have nerve endings elsewhere that thrill with that touch too – perhaps not quite as thoroughly, but they thrill nonetheless.

However, the joy of sex is not limited to this purely physical thing. If you read some of the dirtier stories I write, the things that make them filthy hot are not the descriptions of the tingles and shivers in my cunt: they’re the things that go a bit deeper – that fire thoughts in my head that make me want it with an aching desperation. Sex feels nice physically, but amazing mentally.

The power of a stunning fuck comes not from the specific movements of someone’s cock, but from the fact that his hands grip my hips, the power with which he pulls me back onto him. The words he whispers when he calls me a “good girl”, or when he puts his hand over my mouth and whispers a menacing “sssh.”

Sometimes he pulls his dick out of me and teases my clit with the slick, taut head of it, and I bite my lip and push up against him. Sometimes he orders me into a specific position: “Get on your side. Pull your leg up. That’s it. Get your arse high in the air so I can fucking see you.” Then he slaps a firm hand onto it before he enters me.

All of these things, physically, do less than his dick. But in reality they do so much more.

Fuck me in the ass because it’s filthy

So yeah, anal sex doesn’t do as much for me physically as the sex we have when he puts his cock in my cunt. But what it does do is give me the opportunity to grit my teeth, to shiver with nervous anticipation as he flips me onto my side and I hear him opening the bottle of lube. To brace myself with delicious anticipation as he tells me: “I’m going to fuck you in the ass now. Do you want that?”

The “oh I’m not sure oh please yes oh God it hurts and I love it” moment when the head of his dick pushes into me.

The nerve endings thrill – and there is an element of pure physical pleasure there. But that’s a bonus feature – the main event is the filth. The feeling that I’m being used, that I’m hurting to be used, that I love the pain so much and my need for it makes me a dirty, dirty bitch. It’s one thing being called a ‘good girl’ after we’ve fucked and I’ve come three times. Quite another to glow with the achievement of taking a solid fuck in a place where it hurts, being stretched and filled with his spunk, then glowing with my own achievement afterwards – when he calls me a ‘good girl’ after that, I feel like I’ve really earned it. 

It’s all play, of course: buttsex isn’t a particularly taboo or perverted thing to do, and nor is it something that only he enjoys. But when it hurts a bit I can keep up the pretense that that’s exactly the case, and it makes it hotter for both of us.

Anal sex from his point of view

So I think the above has satisfactorily answered the question “why do you like getting fucked in the ass?”, but what of the other – what’s in it for him? Here’s the full text of the guy’s question, which I found utterly fascinating – as someone who doesn’t have a penis myself, I am a big fan of hearing explicit descriptions, from a dick-owner’s perspective, on how fucking actually feels:

Think about it: pretend you have a cock. The whole thing is a bundle of nerves, although, sadly, far fewer nerves than your clit. The end of this cock of yours, the head, is particularly sensitive. Now, put it into that girl over there. First, her cunt: you can feel all of her on every part of your cock; the head deeply buried in firm girl-flesh, wet and fragrant. Next, fuck her in her mouth. Same thing, although now you have the added bonus of her throat milking the spunk out of you. (And, if you are very lucky, her eyes on yours as she sucks.) Very nice, no? Now, roll her over and fuck her in her ass. Gently at first, and then at ramming speed. What do you feel? Better question: what do you not feel that you did feel in the other two orifices? Right! You don’t feel anything except the ring of her ass holding you. That’s it. Nothing else.

Awesome stuff, obviously. Unfortunately, this kind of description can only take us so far. I now know that the exact feeling of my ass on someone’s dick is potentially not as nice as the feeling of my cunt. But what I also know – because I interrogate men I shag about their cock sensations with an enthusiasm that is probably quite tiring for most of them – is that all cunts feel different. Some are deep, some shallow, some tight, some looser, ridged in different ways, different levels of moistness, etc etc. And yet each and every one of them is fun to fuck.

Presumably, for every penis there exists an ‘optimum pleasure’ cunt. One which grips your exact cock shape in the best way, which milks the spunk out of you as it twitches to climax in just the right rhythm and with the perfect amount of pressure. Yet you don’t pledge your life to that particular cunt: you explore other ways of pleasuring yourself that don’t involve that same sensation every time.

So I can assure you that, no matter how much better my cunt might be as a snug, warm, wet dick-milking organ, my entire body can do so much more. He will fuck me in the ass because it makes me squeal in a way that he loves to hear. Because he enjoys being the grunting, angry dominant one who tells me to ‘sssh’ and empties himself into me like I’m just a toy for him to play with. He loves the tightness, but he also loves the way I squirm as he orders me to push myself back onto him. He likes to hear me gasp, and he likes to feel me tense up as he fucks me harder. He loves the sound of me begging him: “please, please, please come inside me.”

He loves to hold me afterwards and kiss my neck, and tell me I’m a fucking good girl.

So, while I cannot possibly answer why you might want to fuck me in the ass (you might not want to, and that’s cool – we can still be mates), I can tell you why other guys do. My answer to both of your questions is – and always will be – I like hot anal sex because it’s really fucking fun. Physical reductionism takes us some way towards understanding why certain acts are hot, but if we rely on it as the sole measure of whether sex is pleasurable, we might as well just have a wank.

On sex blog questions

Yesterday I promised I would take questions from anyone and then answer all of them. This was initially a bit scary as, given my lack of any other redeeming features, I use my mystery as a way to cultivate a vague sense of allure. So I am aware that any question about love, emotion, or things other than my cunt will rip away just a tiny bit of that mystery and make me a more relatable, yet inevitably less exciting person.

Still, I was delighted by the sheer variety of what was asked: from strap-ons to sexy comic books, the hottest places in London and how to make your submissive gag, the sex blog questions you all submitted were incredibly diverse and very fun to answer. In no particular order, here’s the full Q&A. If there’s anything else you’d like to ask, or if you’ve got a better answer than mine, please do leave a comment – you can comment anonymously if you like.

How much effect does sex have on love, rather than vice versa?

I love this question, because it’s usually asked the other way around: “is sex better if you’re in love?” Here it seems like you’re asking whether I’m more or less likely to fall in love with someone if they are amazing in bed. To which the answer is: “oh holy God yes.” In fact, if you are stunning in bed, I am likely to fall in love with you even if you are a total arsehole.

This has got me into scrapes in the past when my rational mind has accepted that a particular guy is basically a bit of a tedious wanker, but he has done something so filthy-hot that I can’t keep my mind off him. If you’ve read my book, you might know which guy I mean.

I think we’re often sold a massive lie about sex and love, which is that love conquers all, matters more than sex, and that if we’re in love sex itself fades into the background and becomes meaningless and unimportant. This might well be true for some people, but it is not true for me at all. Sex enhances, drives, and impacts on my love in a very significant way: if I can’t fuck someone I will struggle to love them. If I fuck someone and it works perfectly, I will be convinced I’m in love with them.

This makes it very difficult if I have a relationship problem that’s primarily sexual (for instance, if I’m with a guy whose sex drive isn’t as high as mine) because I feel like I’m being unreasonable for making sex a primary issue, and I feel that I’m a bit wrong in the head for caring so much about it. My rational mind knows this is wrong – we are who we are, and we all have different priorities. So these days I am likely to throw a bit of a shitfit if someone tells me I should suck up my sexual frustration and just enjoy the cuddles.

Are there any missed opportunities that you regret?

Yes, a million. But only one that really stands out. Before I lost my virginity I was in love with my best friend. I lusted and ached after him for years, but he didn’t show any interest at all. I’d almost put all my feelings to bed when one day, out of the blue, he propositioned me. After a day of teenaged flirting he told me he was horny, and that I’d made him that way, and used a cheesy line to ask me: “what are you going to do about it?”

Adult me would leap upon that opportunity and hump it until its eyes rolled back. Teenage me had no idea what to do. She stuttered, and ummed and aahhed, and eventually suggested that we head back to the house to watch a film. I probably could have had sex with him if I’d played that right, but instead I settled for sitting agonisingly close to him while we watched some crap B movie about monkeys, and I swear to God he could probably hear the thudding of regretful lust in my cunt.

I’d love to see a blog on what you think of guys in bands. Just curious.

I think two things about guys in bands. Firstly, people who play musical instruments are badass-sexy, because they have a skill that I don’t, and I can watch their beautiful hands manipulating instruments in a way that I never could. If they can sing, my heart will crack and I will be in love with them for every single second they are on stage.

Secondly, people who are in bands are often music twats. And I use ‘twat’ here in the a very specific way to mean ‘someone who knows more than I do about something I couldn’t care less about.’ I know nothing about what I am going to patronisingly scare-quote “popular” music or “indie” music, or any genre of music, and if you ask me what I think of a particular band I will probably say “who?” then wander off and turn on Radio 4. I like a tune, and I like good lyrics, but if you try and recommend music to me my eyes will glaze over and I will nod along until I can reach for a gin to take the pain away.

So in conclusion: guys in bands are super-hot, and in fact anyone who can play a musical instrument gets a double-thumbs-up from me, but if you try to talk to me about music we will both be disappointed.

What would win in a fight between a wolverine and a honey badger?

Honey badgers always win, don’t they? I thought that was basically the point of them.

Filthiest, kinkiest, most depraved porn you’ve ever masturbated over?

I’m torn here – if I say something deeply depraved you’ll all think me an awful person, and if I say something relatively tame you’ll go ‘huh, but you’re a sex blogger – you must be the filthiest porn-watcher in the world!’ Such are the rocks and hard places of sex blogging.

I suspect that my porn tastes are relatively tame compared to many – I tend to focus on the sounds and the faces people make rather than the specific scenarios, just because I am a fan of any scenario that could be described as ‘pretty rough sex that all participants are demonstrably enjoying.’

But here are a couple of examples of slightly odder things:

  • Sections of the children’s book Heidi – when I was younger any scene that involved corporal punishment in a school set me off.
  • A video of a guy jerking off while wearing a nappy. I rubbed one out to that a few times. To be honest, the nappy didn’t do much for me (although it clearly did for him), the reason this video featured so highly on my ‘to wank’ list was because when he came he made an absurdly delicious grunting noise. Unngh.
  • The most excellent milk video (link at the bottom of this post), which is still – to my mind – the best bit of porn on the internet.

Natural smell of a man or something out of a bottle?

Oh both – definitely both. The combination of hot man-sweat-smell and bottled uniqueness makes my head spin and my knees go weak. Initially I wanted to answer ‘sexy man sweat’ but then I remembered I’d once followed a guy round a shopping centre for about half an hour because he smelled of teenage sex and I couldn’t work out why. The answer, it turns out, was that he was wearing Joop. For similar reasons, a man wearing Hugo Boss will make me feel angsty and sad about University days, and have a desperate urge to shag some doe-eyed Uni student with a strap-on.

What is the best native mustelid?

Otters. They’re cute.

When I scratch it it bleeds, when I don’t scratch it it tells me to burn things. Should I continue to scratch it?

God no, just make sure you have lots of firewood to hand. Or some flash paper. Flash paper is fun.

Do you like to be the big spoon or the little spoon?

Little spoon. Can’t get enough of those late-night and early-morning boners poking into my arse.

Your thoughts on Sex Criminals (it’s a comic book btw, I wasn’t referring to actual people)

I have never read it, but having read the synopsis on Wikipedia, I might have to start.

I don’t have much confidence when it comes to sex, verbally/emotionally abusive boyfriends in my past left me unsure and afraid to ask/suggest what I want. How do I become more confident about asking for what I want (like spanking or being tied up or tying him up)?  How do I make it clear without making a guy feel like whatever else he was doing was no good?

Right, firstly, sorry you’ve had such horrible experiences in the past – although I firmly believe most humans are generally nice people who are doing their best, there are a number of total arseholes out there and it sounds like you’ve run a fairly harrowing gauntlet of them.

To answer your question – I think everyone responds to these things a bit differently, and I’d broach this topic differently with any partner just depending on how they tend to react to things and their overall character. But as a general rule, I find the best way to communicate about sex is always to emphasise the positive – make the absolute most of things you love, and make sure to tell him ‘holy fuck that’s hot’ whenever he does something ace. That way, you can give him a boost with loads of enthusiasm, and when you venture forth with ‘could you do this a bit differently?’ he’s unlikely to take it too badly, or feel like he’s doing everything wrong, because he has all the evidence of your ‘hell yes’ responses to other things he does.

Once you’re in that zone, it tends to feel a bit more natural to chat about the stuff you love. You don’t have to come straight out with ‘can I tie you to a radiator?’ if you’re nervous, but you can definitely start a more general chat: ‘what do you like most about what we do? Is there anything you’d like to do more of?’ and that can lead fairly neatly on to ‘I love this too – would be ace if we could try it a bit more like this.’ Having a more general discussion, and encouraging him to talk about this stuff, should help you build your confidence a bit. Does that help? If anyone else has suggestions, please leave them in the comments!

How do you get over someone who was really good in bed?

Ouch. That’s a tricky one. There’s one guy who I will never fully get over, partly because we were so sexually compatible that just thinking about him now gives me fuck-flashbacks. Again if you’ve read my book, you’ll probably know which one I’m talking about.

I can’t answer for everyone, but for me the answer was time – although we were (and still are) good friends, I can’t spend too much time with him, and ‘getting over’ him consisted of having the willpower and sheer bloody-mindedness to avoid seeing him while I got my head together, used my awesome cunt-powers on other hot guys, and getting myself to a point where I could comfortably sit in the same room as him without dribbling down my shirt.

Ways not to get over someone who’s really good in bed include: trying to find someone who is good in bed in exactly the same way. I gave this a bit of a go, by looking for guys who were bi-curious like he was, had similar body types, etc, and trying to persuade them to do similar things with me. This was a total disaster, because everyone has their own sexual style, and what’s hot is discovering the things they actually enjoy doing rather than encouraging them to do the exact things my ex did.

Do strapless strap-ons actually work properly?

That very much depends on what you mean by ‘properly’ – they work differently. I’ve tried one before that was a bit like this. I can get the bit at my end in, and I can hold it there, and I can sort of thrust in and out. But as far as I’m aware they’re supposed to be providing pleasure to me as well as the person I’m fucking with them, and my sweaty panic that it’s about to fall out coupled with the wobbly nature of the thing itself that means I can’t ram quite as hard as I (or he) would like, so I’m not personally a fan. In looking for that link, though, I have spotted this, which comes with an anal bit as well – I imagine that works as a kind of double-anchor that should make it a bit easier to keep in, so if you’re wedded to the idea of a strapless one, that might work quite nicely.

However, so that I don’t end up sounding down on strap-ons in general (I fucking love them, and I should do a full post about this at some point) I would recommend a strapped strap-on that also has a going-insidey bit (sorry to bombard you with technical terms) or a strap-on that doesn’t have anything at all that goes inside my cunt (I have something like this, but with a black harness, because it’s sturdy and the harness makes my arse look spectacular). To be honest if I’m fucking a guy with a strap-on it’s a fairly dominant thing, and I’d rather not be too distracted by my own desire to get frigged.

How can I make my sub gag without using my dick?

OK, so I would never presume to tell you what someone else would find hot – these are all just things I’ve enjoyed in the past. So if you are looking to follow any of this advice, I’d recommend discussing these with your sub beforehand, showing him/her this list, and working out which (if any) would hit their sweet spot.

As with all hot and violent BDSM, consent and communication is key. It depresses me that if I don’t explicitly say that I get comments from people saying “but you didn’t tell people they need consent!”, because I’d assume that all rational, decent humans would just fucking know. Anyway. Here are some ways I like to do gagging stuff, that might appeal to you too.

fingers. This is a classic one, and basically just consists of ‘stick your fingers down their throat’. I have previously had guys do this to me while their dick is in me, because they enjoy the twitching of my cunt around their dick as I retch. But if you don’t have a dick, it still works for the gagging.

dildo. Another classic, and one of the reasons why it’s always helpful to have a dildo on hand. The first time someone did this to me I didn’t understand the point of it: why am I going to suck off a cock that isn’t attached to a human who can feel it? Then he told me: “suck this right down into the back of your throat and hold it there while I beat you.” And I got the point pretty quickly.

strap-on. See my above recommendations for strap-ons, and remember that they are not just for ladies. I know you’re a Dom, mystery questioner, but if you have any submissive tendencies at all, I can thoroughly recommend being made to wear a strap-on over your actual dick, and being forced to screw someone with it. I did this a few times with a guy I used to know, and his miserable lack of stimulation coupled with my grinding, gushing arousal had him borderline weeping with the sheer submissive joy of it. What were we talking about again? Oh yes, gagging. It works for that too. And I suspect is also a bit more humiliating for your sub (if they are into that sort of thing) purely because they’re not even giving you pleasure, just doing it because you’re making them.

cake. No one has ever done this to me, despite all the hints I have dropped about how much I fucking love cake. But I was told by a friend that she once had a guy shove cake into her mouth while he was fucking her from behind, and she gagged on the sticky chocolate overload while twitching with cringing humiliation at how much food was smeared over her face. I repeat: I have never done this, and I would urge extreme caution (choking hazard etc), but I would very much like someone to do this to me. Not with lemon drizzle cake, though: we have to keep some things sacred.

water. “I’m off for a shower,” I told him, to which he replied “I’ll come with you.” What followed was a truly delicious hour or so in which he used almost everything in the bathroom to humiliate, abuse, and generally defile me. He pushed me into the bath and pissed on me, making me look into his eyes and thank him while he did. He pushed a shower head up against my cunt until I was squirming with a desperate need to come, and then – the bit you’ve probably been waiting for – he filled the sink, bent me over, pushed my face under the water while he fucked me. I tapped out regularly, and he’d let me up to breathe, before pushing me back down again until I was dripping wet, defeated, and gasping. Then he let me come. 

Sexiest place in London?

There are a couple of alleys I’ve fucked in, and there’s a strip club I used to go to that has a seedy and delightful air of desperate men. Either of these places would probably be near to the top of my list, but I can’t tell you where they are in case I want to frequent them again. There’s also a pub which I associate with threesomes, a pub which I associate with the first time I fucked my current boy, and a pub which I associate with the illicit thrill of shagging a guy I shouldn’t have.

Given enough time, I could create a Google Map of all the places in London that turn me on, but they’re all hot because of the association rather than the place itself. So instead I’ll give you the top three places I’d love to fuck in:

  • In the ‘oh so many satellites’ room at the Science Museum. It’s just my favourite bit of the Science Museum. Failing that, under the massive dinosaur in the entrance to the Natural History museum.
  • Behind the Big Ben clock – I took a tour around it once, and you have to wear earplugs when the bell tolls because it’s so loud. I liked the idea of ‘hiding’ just behind the clock face, and fucking to try and come just before the bell starts to toll.
  • Somewhere on the banks of one of the many London canals. Ideally near The Palm Tree pub, so we can have a pint afterwards.

Unsexiest place in London?

Shoreditch. And that’s not just because it’s fun to slag off Shoreditch, it’s because it is one of the few places I go where people who think they are cooler, more awesome, and more beautiful than I am will pass judgement upon me.

Sexiest/unsexiest place in England/ Britain in general?

Sexiest: Bristol. Again because of the personal associations I have with it. Bristol was the place I was introduced to BDSM, strap-on sex, getting fucked with the neck of a wine bottle, watching a hot guy get called “pup” before being heartily beaten by a dominant who let me take pictures, and much more besides. It’s the place I had my first (and best) guy/guy/girl threesome – every single moment of which is burned into my mind and labelled ‘best day ever’.

Unsexiest? Probably anywhere I have never been, because it would never have any of those associations. Confession: despite a desperate urge to go to the Edinburgh Festival, I have never been to Scotland. To ensure it doesn’t get relegated to ‘unsexiest place’ I should go there soon, and have sex on one of its many beautiful hills.

How do you deal with jealousy in an open relationship? Especially if one partner is getting more than the other?

Christ on horseback, I have no idea how to answer this. I know some people can, and do, deal very well with these kinds of issues, and manage to have successful open relationships. I’m not one of them, though. I’ve been in open, or open-ish, relationships in the past and have been torn between wanting to cry with happiness and wanting to tear the world apart. Usually in an open relationship I get more than he does, probably because I seek it with more determination, and maybe partly because I have a fair few male friends who I’ve slept with before who I can easily call on if I’m horny and fancy something a bit different.

So here’s how it usually goes down:

– Oh my God I can shag whoever I like! Awesome! *texts loads of guys and arranges dates*

– Current partner gets a bit sad: “Why aren’t you spending more time with me?”

– I panic, spend more time with current partner. Get stressed because life is too busy.

– I encourage partner to go and date or shag someone else.

– He dates or shags someone else.

– I LOSE MY FUCKING SHIT, cry, tremble, worry that I will die alone, beat myself up with guilt about my emotional hypocrisy.

– He says “OK, I won’t shag anyone else.”

– I stop shagging other people, because I feel bad about the discrepancy.

– I stare wistfully at men on trains, wondering what their dicks look like.

So in answer to your question: “how do you deal with jealousy in open relationships?” the answer is: I don’t. I don’t deal with it at all, and that is why I have never had a successful open relationship. But fuck it, I have had some spectacularly fun relationships, even if they are punctuated by whirlpools of fucked-up angsty panic. Perhaps someone who does deal well with this would like to contribute an answer in the comments?

What are your thoughts on cuckoldry, cuckqueaning and chastity (male and female)?

See above answer for my thoughts on cuckqueaning: a guy I love fucking other people is not a turn-on for me at all, although I can see how it would be for some people. A guy I love fucking other guys while I watch? Hell yes. A guy I love fucking other guys then telling me hot stories about it later? Probably. But anything other than that and I’m liable to cry and stamp my feet like a spoilt child yelling “but it’s MINE and I don’t want to SHARE it!”

Cuckoldry is… OK, yes, this is super-hot. A guy getting turned on by me fucking other dudes? Yes. And, in fact, I know a gentleman who did have a bit of a thing for this. In fact, he introduced me to the idea that it could be super-hot, by describing in detail an angry, shoulder-shaking crywank that he had shortly after he found out I was sleeping with someone new. The idea of him being simultaneously heartbroken and painfully aroused gave me slick knickers and a mental image I couldn’t shake for a week. Subsequently he did fun things such as drive me to other guys’ houses so they could spank me, while he waited outside in the car, throbbing and hard with pain and desperate to hear all about my filthy escapades.

Chastity, again, is hot when it’s done to guys. Mainly because I love how hard a dick can get when it’s not used for a while, and the aching, beautiful agony of submissive guys begging to come. When you tease a guy to the point of climax, then hold off, then do it again, and again, and then make him wait until tomorrow… his dick leaks. It leaks a delicious ambrosia of fucklust. Mmm.

Any more sex blog questions?

I’ve got a bit of time tomorrow, so if you have anything else just drop it in the comments below. I realise this blog is a bit self-indulgent and meta, but I get lots of questions via email and I don’t always have time to answer them all, so doing it this way means I am now publicly accountable and therefore compelled to answer things. It’ll give me a kick up the arse, and means if there are any topics you want me to cover on the blog in future, you can plant the sexy seeds of thought into my mind now, and it might prompt me to remember a hot story, like the bathroom-sink fucking, or the nappy wank video.

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On number 13

“What do you want?”
“A gangbang”
“No, really, what do you want?”
“A gangbang.”
“OK. Let’s try again. Within the realms of what I can realistically achieve in the next 24 hours or so, what do you want?”
“I’d like to watch another man sucking your dick.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”

It’s not easy persuading straight guys to have their dick sucked by another guy. Luckily for me the gentleman in question was not so much ‘straight’ as ‘elegantly curved’, and willing to bend in any direction that gave him even a hint of a hard-on.

A few minutes on the internet and we had something – a gay but slightly bi-curious guy had published a straightforward ad offering cocksucking. He just wanted to pop round someone’s house, drop to his knees, suck for a while, then sod off home again. Straight guys were not only welcome, he promised, but his favourite.

We paused briefly, taking a silent moment together to marvel at the pervert possibilities that had been opened up by the internet, then got in touch.

Oh god even remembering it makes me a bit weak

An hour or so later I was sitting, tense, on the sofa waiting for my boy to arrive. He’d gone to the station to meet our stranger, check him out, and have a coffee. If all was well, he promised, they’d return together and I could watch whatever happened.

Nothing quite prepared me for the odd feeling of watching them begin. The boy sat nervously on the sofa, rock-solid and straining upwards, as the stranger went to work. He started by licking thickly from base to tip, smacking his lips and gripping the boy’s thighs as he moistened everything. Then he took the whole cock in his mouth, and I saw the boy tremble as it slipped in. Nervous though he was, he was clearly enjoying it – loving the skill with which the other guy was sucking him.

I sat in the corner on my knees, squeezing my legs together to stop myself trembling too. Watching in fascination as the stranger worked my boy’s dick in ways subtly different from mine. I was trying to remember, to learn, to maintain my composure. Most of all I was trying not to breathe too loudly in case it broke the spell.

It was here that we should have stopped. This was the hottest bit – the sucking, the trembling, the nervousness of the boy I knew and the casual skill of the one I didn’t. If I could have paused time I’d have kept it right there – with them both solid and happy and me sitting quietly nearby.

But we never stop in time

I didn’t want to be the one to suggest a fuck, but I don’t think I needed to. My memory grows hazy halfway through this story, but at some point the boy was lying naked, face down on the bed, with number 13 – the stranger – poised and ready to fuck him. Ever useful, I handed them a condom then retired to my position of trembling observer, watching as they went for it.

The stranger was big – not with muscle, but with beer. The boy was lithe and skinny and almost disappeared under the mass of the other. He turned his face towards me, wincing with pain and arousal as the other guy fucked him. I clasped my hands together behind my back to try and refrain from touching myself.

And then… and then things went a bit odd.

I think they felt guilty that I wasn’t joining in. I think they felt bad that, although they got to rub and lick and suck and fuck each other, I was left in the corner. I think they thought I wasn’t getting anything out of it.

I was summoned and, awkwardly, I went. I took off my clothes, and things suddenly turned from super-hot live-action gay porn to uncomfortable date – I didn’t want to say no and look like I was rude, but saying yes meant I had to fuck someone who had confessed that he didn’t much care about women.

Don’t get me wrong, fucking two gentlemen at once is one of my favourite things, and for all the weirdness of the situation, it was still nice to be at the mercy of two naked cocks. If I’m honest, I’m frequently grateful to be in the same time zone as two naked cocks. But although one of these guys was incredibly hot for me, the other gentleman was pretty damned gay indeed. He wasn’t interested in me, he was interested only in the fact that my presence kept the other guy hard.

We fucked together for a while – my boy fucked me while the stranger fucked him, and then we did it the other way around for a bit, all the while I was thinking ‘how can I get out of this with dignity?’ Watching two guys go at it makes me wet, but feeling one of them limply humping me while looking stonily into the distance, clearly thinking only of maintaining some semblance of an erection, is not exactly my cup of tea.

Awkward goodbyes

When it was finished I think we might actually have had a cup of tea. Just a quick one, the cup of tea that says ‘I definitely want you out of my house very soon, but I’m going to drink hot drinks with you to prove that I do not think badly of you as a person.’ And, to be fair, we didn’t. He was a perfectly lovely guy, and an incredibly skilled cocksucker. He was friendly and chatty and calm and experienced and easy to get on with.

He was just… you know… gay.

There are a number of morals to this story – ‘always stick to what you agreed on the internet’, ‘don’t join in sex scenes you’re uncomfortable with’, ‘be honest about what you actually like’, etc.

But the one I’ve always taken from it is that no matter how much you like someone, and how much you love fucking, sometimes not fucking is the best thing you can do.

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On sex accidents

Sex isn’t always hearts, flowers, champagne and sky-high orgasms. To be honest sometimes it’s not even hot fumbling, high fives and a faceful of spunk. Often what might have been an excellent fuck is ruined by one of the two things that our race is miserably prone to:

  • the laws of physics
  • biological incompetence

To celebrate those fucks that go wrong, here are three true stories of bad things that have happened to me during sex:

1. Unbalanced

When people think of university they might think of dissertations, hippie students, or excessive masturbation in the library. I, on the other hand, am reminded of the exceptionally narrow beds in my first year halls of residence.

During my first year, I conscripted an eager boy to join me in testing just how much we could get up to on one of these beds, as a rebellion against the miserable cunt who designed them to deter any sex whatsoever.

We were only foiled once, during our first drunken attempt at buttsex. At the moment of climax my boy slapped my arse, slammed his dick home nice and hard and declared in a sexy, ecstatic moan: “I’m going to come in your ass.”

The good news is that he sort of did. The bad news: as my leg slipped from the side of the bed, the rest of his jizz sprayed elsewhere as he tumbled onto the bedroom floor, chipping a tooth on the way down.

Moral of the story: even during climax, concentrate.

2. Sex toys

I love sex toys – give me something new and shiny and I’m more than happy to stick it in my cunt to see how it feels. Once a guy bought some ben wa balls. Not normal balls – these were rubber-coated, and textured with short, soft spikes. Interesting.

At least, they were interesting for the first five minutes or so until he pulled on the string holding them together. Instead of cooing with delight, I was left on the bed screaming ‘what the fuck?!’ as I realised that only one of the balls had come out with the string – the other was left inside me.

Luckily for me, I didn’t have to go to hospital to have it removed. It’s surprising what you can fish out of a vagina if you happen to have a teaspoon to hand.

Moral of this story: Don’t buy cheap sex toys off the internet.

3. Dark alleys

Fairly recently, I met an incredibly young-looking gentleman with whom I got quite pissed. After the initial pleasantries and gin, we retired to a nearby alleyway where I gave him an enthusiastic and fairly sloppy blow job. After a pleasant – if frantic – five minutes I picked up my bag, squeezed out of the narrow alley, and we went our separate ways.

No sooner had I parted from him than I smelt something horrible. Awful. I had no idea where it might have come from, but it seemed to be following me. After thoroughly checking the bottom of my shoes, my jeans, and any other conceivable area, I eventually realised that the smell was dog shit. Not just a bit – a lot. A Great Dane’s worth – all over my fucking bag.

After ditching the bag in the nearest bin, I sat miserably on the train home, wanting to vomit over the lingering scent in my nostrils. But above all I was praying desperately that the guy I’d just sucked off hadn’t noticed, and mistakenly thought the excitement of giving him head had led me to shit myself.

Moral of this story: Clean up after your fucking dog.

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On knowing when to stop

as you can tell, I have a thing about corsets. It is because you can pull on the strings when you're fucking meAs I write this I am bleeding quite heavily from the ass.

Bear with me – it’s challenging enough writing when your hands are shaking with shock, without having to turn anal fissures into something resembling a sex post. But I love a challenge.

As I’ve said before, I love buttsex. It hurts and is dirty and brilliant.

Boys with a desperate urge to fuck me somewhere painful hit my ‘oh holy fuck yes spot’ like nothing else.

Just the sound of a guy spitting on his cock, followed by the feeling of the head pushing nice and tight up against my ass gives me a powerful kick-in-the-gut of lust.

“Roll over and put your face in the pillow. I don’t want the neighbours to hear you crying.”

And the main reason I like it is because I don’t really like it. I like that he wants to do it. I’d be happy never having an orgasm again if I knew I could be used by all the men I love, in all the ways they’d love to use me.

“Bite down on this, because I’m going to fuck you somewhere it really hurts.”

Turning it down

And I can’t say no. I can’t. I can pull away if it really hurts, and I can say “please use more lube” and I can say “I can’t, I can’t, please” but I’m always a tiny bit sad if I have to make the sexy things stop.

If he carries on I’m in pain and if he pulls away I’m disappointed. The only solution in these situations is to cover his dick with lube, smear it all over, fill my ass with it and hope I don’t scream loud enough to scare the cat.

Preventing injury

If you have similar issues, there are lots of things you can do to prevent buttsex injuries.

But there’s nothing you can do to stop the very real problem – being a complete moron.

Because yesterday, as I buried my face in the pillow and raged silent screams into this one boy’s bedlinen, all I wanted was for him to keep fucking me. To force his dick harder into me. To spit on it more, grip my hips in his beautiful big hands, and pull me back onto his thick cock with quick, hard strokes.

I wanted him to keep doing it, and doing it, and doing it. To call me a filthy girl and tell me I’d take it even though it hurt, and tell me I was good, and it’d be over soon.

And as he panted and grunted and shoved himself harder into me, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the pain in the pit of my stomach, the pain that I’ll feel until he comes. I won’t be complete until I’ve heard him moaning and panting for the last few thrusts, while his cock is twitching and pumping spunk deep down inside me. That pain hurts far more than my ass hurts while he’s fucking it.

Who’s to blame?

Oh, society, why do you make me do these sexy things?

I’m joking – it is very loudly and clearly my fault. Just as the smoking is my fault, and the excessive drinking, and that one time at the age of nineteen when I discovered what coffee was, drank 18 cups in one day, then blacked out in a car park.

As in the rest of my life, the injuries I sustain at the hands of whatever ridiculous pervery is floating my boat this week are all self-inflicted. And I know this. And I know that sometimes it’s bad for me. But at the time I’d no more tell someone to stop than I’d turn down a cheque for a million quid.

But somewhere in the pit of my still-quite-queasy stomach, I have a feeling that I should stop. Not just on the one or two occasions where I’ve caused myself actual damage, but permanently. Perhaps, just as I should pack in the cigarettes I so idiotically enjoy, I should also stop fucking in a way that hurts me. Maybe I should learn when to say no. Maybe I should turn in early, sober and alone, with a good book that won’t make me wank before bedtime.

But it doesn’t really work like that, does it? There’s only so much sobriety and calm and reason one person can take. I like to think that the filthy fucking is a trade-off for the things that I haven’t done – properly experimented with class-A drugs, or been in a real-life fight. When I’m actually injured and bruised and broken I am miserable at myself for having no self-control. But I think I’d be far more miserable if I didn’t do any of this stuff at all.

So the answer can’t be to stop it all completely – I’d be sad and alone and miss out on the most fun I ever have without spending any money. I’d miss pushing the boundaries and scaring myself and the brilliant minute just after I’ve done something truly horrible when I turn to a boy and he grins and says “fuck, that was filthy. Let’s do it again.”

Disclaimer: This entry is being published a while after it was written, to preserve the anonymity of the boy in question, and prevent him from being so horrified that he never fucks me in the ass ever again. So thank you for you concern, I am completely fine now and no longer bleeding from the ass.