Girl on the Net

I am so delighted to welcome Dissembling Cub back to the blog. Their last piece, on bottom euphoria, was absolutely spectacular and deeply horny. This new post – about birching, the history of it as well as a stunningly hot account of a birching scene – took my breath away so hard it was almost like I was the one being thrashed. If you enjoy DC’s work you should also check out their fabulous long-form story The Forthenby Inheritance: an erotic comedy of manners set in the Regency period. Meanwhile please, oh my God please, enjoy the fuck out of this stunning guest blog. The image that illustrates this piece, by the way, is the actual hazel birch from the story.

Note: this story contains references to birching as corporal punishment – in a historical (non-consensual) context as well as a modern (and consensually kinky) one. It also refers to a ‘schoolboy scene’ and school role play, but all participants are over the age of 18. 

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You can feel your lover’s pulse with one finger. You know this, of course, but I bet you don’t think about it often. I thought about it the other day and the force of it hit me like a punch in the chest. You can feel the thud of their blood running through their body, keeping them alive. The heartbeat that powers the person who makes you quiver with need. The one you want to bury your nose, your face, your fucking life in… you can feel your lover’s pulse with a single finger. Isn’t that awesome?

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I told this story briefly, while at the festival last year: ‘I sucked a dick at Glastonbury’, I tweeted, with undertones of ‘achievement unlocked.’ The response was a combination of welcome high fives and entirely unwelcome shame: eww, blow jobs? At a festival?! I hope you used wet wipes first! Some people are so weird. But to each their own. I don’t tell sex stories without knowing that sometimes I’ll press people’s shame buttons. Some people’s instinct to say ‘eww’ when they hear that some random slag got facefucked in a field in Somerset is as natural as my instinct to brag about it in the first place. I sucked a dick at Glastonbury last year. And as I pack my bag for this year, I’ve decided now’s the time to tell that story.

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Regular readers will know that I’m a big fan of cuckolding as a kink. Something about the combination of tortured emotions and intense fucks, the fact that emotional connection can be twisted into something much darker and more taboo… unngh, yeah. So inevitably I was delighted to find a cuck who was not only willing to chat about his kink, but explain in delicious and excruciating detail exactly what’s so hot about getting cucked. Take it away…

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The sad thing happens on Monday morning. But there were lots of sad things that laid the path to it, so perhaps it’s not surprising that initially I’m just a bit numb. All day I’m braced for the waves of despair to crash. I sit at my desk. I work. I write. Edit some audio porn, upload a bit to Patreon, and wait and wait and wait for the misery to hit.

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