It’s a special occasion, so I dress up fancy. I toy with the idea of wearing my standard ‘slut’ outfit (thigh-high socks, tight black top, Doxy butt plug) but ultimately chicken out. What if he wants to chill out when he arrives before we get down to the fucking? Maybe he’ll be overwhelmed by an immediate and clear demand that he get it in me right now please please get it in me? What if the special occasion dictates that we should spend some time on wine and chatting first? So I, a wuss, eschew the slutty outfit in favour of a lovely posh dress – one I wore to a good friend’s wedding before Covid, which I hope to wear to dance at other people’s weddings when the After Times arrive.

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To be honest, I would love a set of armour right now. Clanking, intimidating, powerful armour which shines bright in the glare of the sun, terrifying my enemies and making me look like an absolute boss of the battlefield. But traditionally armour tended to be worn more by men, which makes my feminist-and-battle-hungry heart a little sad. That’s why I’m delighted that rmp792 has dropped by with a sexy story about women in armour, wrapped in a gorgeous guest blog explaining – in delightful detail – his armour kink…

You may remember rmp792 from previous guest blogs – also both recorded as audio like this one! The first tells how he fell in love with GoneWildAudio, and the second is a beautiful essay on the hotness of begging. Do check out more of his audio work on Reddit too.

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When it comes to having kinks for the feel of particular fabrics, leather and latex have both had their time in the spotlight. Silk and fishnet get their fair share of kudos too. But I’ve never heard from anyone with a velvet fetish before, despite its lovely soft strokable texture and the fact that it totally deserves its time to shine. Today @EuphemiseThis is here to redress the balance, with a beautifully sensual, tactile post on the feel of velvet on naked skin…

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I’ve always been envious of my boyfriend’s uniform. It’s not a literal uniform, you understand, he isn’t a firefighter or an airline pilot. His ‘uniform’ is just a basic outfit that he’s able to wear no matter what the day: jeans, t-shirt, hoodie. In the summer: shorts, t-shirt, shirt. On the off-chance that we’re invited to a wedding, he owns one single suit. He never has to scrabble through his wardrobe trying to decide what to wear.

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I like it when he wears my knickers. I like it when he wears short silk shorts, too – the kind he’s bought for me but that look too good on him for us not to share the pleasure. Given my love of seeing him wearing my clothes, it’s inevitable that one night I suggest to him: “Let’s swap clothes.”

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