I’m trying to be a bit kinder to myself when it comes to churning out content, so instead of trying to come up with a fun way to shoehorn a bunch of Black Friday/Cyber Monday sex toy discount codes into a vaguely horny post, like I usually do, I’m just going to publish the actual codes, and separately publish a sexy post I already have in draft. That way I can use this one just to tell you that the following amazing companies help to keep the lights on at GOTN HQ, so if you enjoy the filth I write then please do check out my sponsors and treat yourself if you are so inclined. Now is genuinely one of the best times to pick up sex toys, as far as discounts are concerned, so if you’ve been waiting for something, leap on it asap.

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It’s pitch black in my bedroom. Weirdly, so much darker than it usually is. Perhaps a streetlight is out, or maybe I’ve finally managed the perfect seal on my blackout curtains, so not a sliver of London night sneaks through. Either way, it’s dark. He’s lying naked next to me, big hands sliding smoothly down my body, soft lips on mine, cock growing hard in my hand. And although I’m going to try and tell you parts of this story in the sexy/atmospheric way in which I’ve begun this post, you’ll have to excuse me if the odd burst of glee breaks through, because on this special night I managed something truly remarkable for me: I gave a guy a hand job to orgasm!

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Second only to blow jobs, I think the most-covered topic on this blog is the joy of watching men wank. I am a masturbation voyeur: there are few things that make me hornier than seeing someone I fancy rubbing vigorously away at their junk, with a precision born of years of practice coupled with an urgent need to come. Recently, I got to watch an extremely hot guy do this and just after he’d come I tried to explain to him – with breathless and grateful awe – the exact moment when the wank he’d shown me turned from ‘hot’ to ‘transcendent.’

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This stunning masturbation erotica is written by Spencer Pritchard, and read by Luke. 

I study your portrait and read your words with breathless anticipation. Study every letter and imagine them rolling off your tongue, dancing from your sultry mouth to the erotic Southern Hemisphere cadence of your voice, showering me in their implied filth.

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Yesterday I asked Twitter to give me a hand with blog topics – I have a few drafts but none are quite ready, and I was in a bit of a funk and feeling meh about writing in general. Not only did they come through in a powerfully brilliant way, with tonnes of questions that I may well tackle later, but one question in particular leapt out at me and begged for a longform answer. So with apologies to those of you who asked ones I have not answered (I’ll try, I promise), today I’m going to have a crack at this one from Quinn Rhodes: where does foreplay end and sex begin?

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