We’re sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, legs entwined. There’s something chill and easy on the telly and I’m enjoying the sensation of his hand stroking up my thigh. He moves his palms in measured, predictable strokes. From my bare knee, up and over the fabric of my shorts to the top, and then back again. My skin tingles and my cunt starts to ache.

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I love receiving sexy threats – we’ve discussed this before. “If you don’t hold that position and I can’t come, I’m gonna beat you so hard.” But there’s one sexy threat that I enjoy above all others: anal as punishment.

Note: I actually don’t think this counts as ‘consensual non-consent’. I think there’s enough thirst from me as the receiver of this to move it out of any hinted ‘non-consent’ territory. However, I appreciate that the tone of it does play into a number of those tropes, so it would probably be irresponsible of me not to label it ‘CNC’ in some way – if that isn’t your thing, you might not want to read this one.

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We’re making out. It’s smoking hot. We started off with me folded in his lap, feeling soft and small. Delicate. Unequivocally his. Then, after some firm kisses that resonated deep in my cunt, I got a little yearning to switch. To make him mine in return.

CN: smoking weed, breath play

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I’m so honoured to bring you this guest blog today – a powerfully intimate account of a D/s couple’s private collaring ceremony. It’s written by the fabulous Komplicated Kitty, who’s contributed some amazing guest blogs before about pet play, being a Slutty Cinderella, and being pushed to the edge of your kinky limits. Today she’s here to give an insight into how she and her husband chose to formalise their 24/7 dynamic, and the rituals they came up with to seal their commitment.

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Fucking doesn’t usually work by just ticking off your desires in order, like crossing items from your shopping list once you’ve put them in your basket. But talking about ideas in the downtime, or the afterglow of the previous shag, can help plant seeds for the future. We don’t have enough time together, me and this guy. Not nearly enough. And because we are acutely aware of this fact, it turns out that both of us have been making mental lists of possibilities. Lying on the bed after our first cunt-ruining fuck of this 24 hour hangout, he reveals that he’s even made notes on his phone. Scattered ideas from flash-frame images he’s wanked on since the last time we hung out.

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