You know how you’ll go through phases in terms of what you fantasise about? Well, maybe not everyone does, but I do. One week I might be obsessed with the idea of locking eyes with a stranger on the tube, staying on the train with him until our carriage is empty at the end of the line, until – with a quick jerk of his head and a filthy smile – he invites me to sit down on his cock and ride him to the final stop. Other weeks I might need more guys to make the fantasy complete – three or four willing gentlemen who pop round my house to gangbang me on the sofa – that kind of thing.

Right now, though, I am obsessed with historical fucking. Snatched moments between princes and parlour-maids, gentlewomen and stable hands – frilly skirts being hoiked up to the waist and corsets yanked down to expose jiggling tits as someone’s fucked against the wall.
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Mmm… secret sexiness. You know the type – when you and someone else share a filthy secret in public. One of you is wearing no pants, or you’ve been given a sexy challenge, or – as is the case with this guest blog – you’re wearing a sex toy in public, and you have to keep a straight face.

This week’s guest blog is by @Absolutely_Ruby, who started her own sex blog in 2014, and it’s well worth checking out because it’s smoking hot. I cannot think of a better way to start 2015’s guest blogs than with her story of butt plugs, sexual tension, and a really frustrating breakfast…

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“I fucking nailed it. I am awesome.”

You are awesome. And something about the way you carry that confidence is beyond sexy. When you’ve nailed something you’re proud of and you carry yourself with a certain kind of swagger… unngh.

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I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that sexy lingerie is for other people. The kind of people who can smile coquettishly and raise a solitary eyebrow, who sashay through a room rather than stomp across it, and who lounge sexily on a bedspread rather than throw themselves onto it in exhaustion after a long day.

When I smile coquettishly I just look smug, and although I’d love to do the saucy eyebrow-raise, when I attempt it I just look like I’m trying (and failing) to remember pi.

Lace knickers, half-cup bras, suspender belts and thongs and camis and silky, see-through dressing gowns that press against my tits to show the colour contrast of nipples and skin… ah, I’d love to be able to wear this stuff like the ladies in the lingerie catalogues. But even though I can’t pull this stuff off, there’s one kind of outfit that I find even sexier…

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It’s fucking hectic behind the bar. Every drink comes with a second, because the regulars are feeling generous, and he, I and a bunch of other staff are lining them up. Landlady’s insistence: we’re allowed to drink on shift. And it’s Christmas, so no one thinks about saving the money, we just say ‘ta’ and line them up:

Vodka and cokes: have one yourself. Have six yourself. Slur ‘Cheers’ as you’re pulling the next pint.

When I rush round tables to collect glasses, Steve (a regular – skeezy and greasy and ‘harmless’ depending on who you talk to and how many pints he’s had) sneaks up behind me. He follows me around until I’ve got four, five glasses in each hand. Then as I turn to take them back to the bar he grips me round the waist. Hard hands, insistent squeezes.

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