This fabulous kinky piece about writing on skin, and being owned, is written and read by JM Seaborn of Written In Kink. Note that this story contains ‘Daddy’ as an honorific – all participants are consenting adults.

It’s a fun game. Each morning, I make her sit on the bed in her towel. I kiss her forehead and tell her to close her eyes. And then I write a word, high on her inner thigh. She’s not allowed to look until her first break at work. That’s the rule.

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I’m so excited to bring you this week’s guest blog, from a brand new guest blogger who has already submitted a second (excellent) post that’s coming up in January! He’s here to talk to you today about sex and disability, specifically fulfilling his hunger for kissing, skin-to-skin contact, and other forms of intimacy, and the ways in which his disability makes him focus more on the journey rather than the destination…

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When I was young, my family used to be big followers of soaps: Neighbours, Eastenders, Coronation Street. I can’t remember what else there was to do on evenings in the nineties besides yell things at the telly as ludicrous fictional characters cocked up their lives in ever more creative ways. Perhaps this is testament to how my Mum raised me, but when I watched soaps, the thing that got me most irate was how terrible people were at just fucking talking to each other. 

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When I first requested a cute little butt plug starter kit from my site sponsor WhippleTickle (seamless promo, well done me) I had a plan in mind: I knew exactly who I’d use it with, and how. But for reasons I’ll explain later, that won’t happen now. So I basically have two options if I want to fulfill my promise to one of the kind companies that helps keep the lights on here at GOTN HQ. I could write you a straight-up review where I give this product marks out of ten based on basic details or… write two thousand words of horny butt plug porn then chuck a link and discount at the end for you to click when you’re all done wanking. And… you know… have you met me?

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There’s never a bad time to hear this, right? You deserve to be loved. I don’t mean, in a basic way, that you as an individual are entitled to romantic love, or sex or companionship or whatever: those things can only be given freely, if other individuals choose. I mean that you deserve to be treated with love, by those who say they feel it. You deserve to be loved by them in practice, not just words.

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