This post came from some improv erotica suggestions over on Patreon. Sometimes we play a game where Patreons give me a name, kink, location and object, and I try to work them into a sexy story – like this gang bang erotica or this one about being pegged by a stranger. I enjoyed writing the following story, because it combines my two favourite activities – kinky DIY and getting brutally fucked. The prompts I had to work into the tale were Josh/bondage/Homebase/drill. 

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“I don’t really do phone sex,” I say to him, as I shuffle across the bedroom with my trousers partway down, reaching for a dildo and my Zumio. He replies “yeah, I know,” and in the background I can hear him beating away at his cock.

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I’ve been thinking about dickheads a lot lately. I mean, specifically, the head of a dick. The most sensitive, lickable part. The bit that’s most fun to run your tongue over. The part that you can kiss with spit-moistened lips. I like paying special attention, during languid suck-jobs, to all the different ways I can use my tongue on the head: flat on the underside, swirls round the ridge, firm flicks over it from side-to-side or up-and-down. Right now, I’m obsessed with the head of a dick. The way the ridge of it feels solid against the topside of my tongue when I flatten it and lick. The way I can wet it with one smooth, wet motion – running my tongue around as I playfully pretend that I’m not going to put it all the way back in my throat. The noises I can suck out of someone when I finally dip the head into my waiting mouth, and the twitching agony in his body if I keep doing that – over and over – without ever swallowing the whole of him. Sorry. This is technically meant to be a review of the new Godemiche OffBeat masturbation sheaths, but already I’m distracted. Dick does that to me.

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Much like today’s guest blogger, the fabulous Laura Savage (@thatlaurasavage), I am a huge fan of specific, unusual kinks. I love hearing about the scenarios that turn people on, and the ways in which people plan scenes to cater to something very precise. So when she offered me a guest blog about a client who had a Bond Villain kink, I whirled around in my office chair stroking an imaginary cat and cackling with villainous glee. Take it away, Laura…

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We’re in bed, getting down to it, and usually my one-track mind is laser-focused on what it will feel like when he slides his dick inside me. At the moment when I realise that’s not going to happen – he’s slowly softening and the look on his face switches from horn to confusion or embarrassment – I remind myself how lucky I am that I don’t ever have to worry about erections myself. Twenty years ago, if a guy went soft on me, my main feeling would be heartbreak: he doesn’t fancy me enough. I’m ugly. Unsexy. Incapable of teasing a boner from him. Ten years ago, I’d be annoyed: did he have a wank before we met up? Has he had too much to drink? These days, frustration and sadness have (thankfully) made way for a different feeling: relief that the pressure isn’t on me.

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