This post is heavily BDSM-focused, and includes things like extreme pain, spanking, humiliation and some themes of consensual non-consent. If that’s not your thing please don’t read on. If that is your thing, welcome to the inside of my head…

This Christmas I want to be your gift to someone else. Tied up tight in rope instead of ribbon. Bent, spread, and sworn to silence. I want you to strap me with a belt to make me meek and compliant, prepare me so I look just how you want me to: then I want you to give me to someone else.

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The other day I spent a lovely couple of hours listening to men wanking. It was obscenely fun. Dudes pleasuring themselves is one of my biggest kinks, and the more gutturally raw it is, the better. It’s often tricky to explain the detail of this kink, in a world where ‘porn’ is too often synonymous with the male gaze: a perspective that focuses on the bodies/faces/noises of the women involved in a fuck, and rarely ever on the bodies/faces/noises of the men doing the fucking. Sometimes what looks like a ‘traditional’ male-gaze thing gives excellent opportunity for a voyeur like me. I’m not getting off to the same thing the guys are, I’m getting off to the fact they’re getting off. Let’s explore this…

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Last week I was away for a couple of days at the sex industry trade show Erofame – I’ll tell you all about it in an upcoming post. While I was away, inevitably I started missing my partner. I missed him generally, of course: I wanted to be able to chat to him about all the cool new sex toys I was discovering and share stories from the event. But more specifically I missed his cock, and I looked forward immensely to coming home and sliding right down to the base of it.

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I am not hoping for the apocalypse. Let that sink in, fully and completely, because although this includes a dirty story about gang-bangs and sexual servicing, it is not an ‘ apocalypse fantasy’ in the purposeful sense: I do not ever want it to come true. I don’t want the world to end, and I don’t want anyone to die. But sometimes, when I am calm and happy, I entertain myself by daydreaming about the end of the world. In my fantasy, all the people on the planet have disappeared except for a select few. And those select few: they fuck me.

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A long time ago, a beautiful man I knew wore a kilt to a party. Like many men who wear kilts to parties, he immediately made a joke about whether he was going commando. His statement was an ambiguous ‘maybe’ followed by a nudge and a wink that invited us to wonder. Never one to pass up an invitation like that, I spent the entire rest of the night wondering. In detail.

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