This fantasy is written and read aloud as audio by Blake (aka Pandora Blake) who runs the incredible Dreams of Spanking website. Blake is one of my adult industry heroes – they create fabulous queer, kinky content, fight against industry censorship, and they’re also one of the first people I ever worked with in this industry. I owe so much of my knowledge and passion to them. A while ago Blake and I collaborated on a couple of really fun interviews – you can find one half on my Patreon here and the other on Blake’s Patreon over here. As part of that collaboration we also exchanged a few audio porn stories to be published on each other’s websites. I shared some of my spankier fantasies with Dreams, and they shared some stunning spanking fantasy erotica with me as well. On top of this, Blake very kindly let me publish this fantastic extract from the first draft of their book on erotic fantasies. It’s dark and raw and – thanks to Patreon terms and conditions – impossible to publish over there or as part of the Patreon-funded audio project. Hence why it’s going up here in the guest blog slot. I’m so honoured that Blake is up for sharing this piece, and I hope that reading or listening to it gives you a taste of why I’m such a fan of their style: embracing and accepting the taboo things that our sexual selves often desire, while understanding the clear line between our fantasies and reality. Note that this story includes themes of implied non-consent and sex slavery, bondage, severe corporal punishment and penetration – particularly anal penetration with a biological cock. 

Impossible fantasies

Our earliest fantasies often have so much longevity because they arose during a time characterised by intense pubescent longing. Our first crushes, the first glimpses of another person which turned us on – all these are memories of wanting something we couldn’t have.

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Some men have worried in the past that they’re not able to dispense exactly the kind of love that I crave – i.e. relentless praise, on an almost minute-by-minute basis, lest I wilt like a houseplant you’ve forgotten to water. To be honest, I often find myself worrying about this too. In an ideal world I’d be the recipient of an almost constant stream of written, physical and verbal encouragement – reminders that I’m sexy, fun, valid, wanted, loved. A good girl. I need this kind of thing so much that those I rely on to help me feel loved might think it borderline sarcastic to plough on even during the (frequent) periods when I’m not doing much to deserve it. I understand this. But there are other ways to make me feel loved, and one of the ways I practice love in return is by noticing and mentioning them…

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I did my hair nicely today. I wanted you to love the way it looks so much you’d grab a fistful and yank my head in for a biting kiss. I feel pretty today, I made myself pretty today. And I only did it because I want you to fuck me up.

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The following post involves intense BDSM, in a violent role play context, and it is also incredibly beautifully (and consensually) written. I don’t know that there are many people who could write the scene below well enough to balance consent and fear, but BibulousOne and EuclideanPoint are both fantastic sex writers and kinksters who I admire hugely. When they sent through their pitch about this incredible kinky interrogation scene, I found myself simultaneously nervous and also deeply excited. And to me that’s often what the best BDSM scenes are all about: the intersection of pleasure and pain, fear and excitement. This story absolutely took my breath away. Not just for the intensity of the scene itself but from the careful and consensual way they go about explaining its origins. Huge thanks to both of them for sharing this stunning kinky interrogation…

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The first time I tried to get this man to hold my hand, we were walking beside a London canal in the early evening darkness. I thought it was romantic – the lights reflected off the water, the gentle strolling pace, the early days of a relationship that felt extremely exciting. The first time I tried to hold his hand he let me do it for exactly half a second before pulling away and announcing “I’m not much of a hand-holding person, actually.” It was useful feedback, of course, and I respect how good he is at articulating his boundaries. However, as I explained ten seconds after I’d collapsed into awkward giggles, he could have said it a little more quietly… so the guy walking past at that exact moment didn’t witness my humiliating rejection. I tell you this only so you can see that the man in question here is not, traditionally, a hand-holding kinda guy. He’ll do it if we’re sitting on the sofa, but when we’re out and about the closest he comes to a PDA is the odd subtle smack on my arse or a peck on the lips. He doesn’t like being publicly affectionate, and would rather save certain types of physical contact for when we’re alone. Fair play.

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