In my call for guest blogs, I make a big point of asking for things that I don’t have any experience of. Partly because I’m a voyeur when it comes to other people’s sexy tales, and partly because it means you can raise topics that I wouldn’t be able to bring up just via my own waffling. One of the neatest ways to fulfil this is to send me a story: your story. Something that you’ve experienced that meant a lot to you. Something that can be good, bad, sexy, awkward, difficult, emotional, or all of the above.

Here is Codex, and this is his story.

Mental domination and emotional impact

There is a famous philosophical conundrum that goes like this: a man is walking along a cliff when he looks down at the beach and spots what appears to be Pablo Picasso drawing a work of art in the sand. Its the first masterpiece he has ever seen and is shocked when he realises that it will be washed away by the tide within the hour. He is faced with a choice, run back to his car to fetch his camera and capture a copy for the world to marvel at or sit and be the one who can experience it, for real.

I have been with my partner for a long time, we met when we were 14 years old, got married in our early 20s and have subsequently grown up together and spent over half our lives together now. We took each others’ virginity early on resulting in a single notch etched in to every bed post we have since owned. We embraced the opportunity to come out of our shells as shy youngsters and experimented with our sex lives in complete safety throughout our teens and 20s, It was rarely outrageous but I won’t have it said that you can’t find variety in a long term monogamous relationship.

That said, that level of commitment so young caused me to raise questions. For a long time I dabbled with finding out what sex might be like outside the boundaries of my marriage, naively curious about what I might be missing. A few causal opportunities had presented themselves over the years but for one reason or another they passed me by without much concern. That was until earlier this year.

I few years ago I became friends with a girl through work, she was cool, sexy in a really unaware way and bookish (a weakness of mine). We had a lot in common, and in a way that would have never resulted in anything I really really liked her. We lost contact until late last year when she tweeted me a ‘Hi’ and immediately we were in each others pockets. She told me she had crushed on me hard and we began texting each other as if we were the last two sex-starved people on earth.

She, it turned out, had carved out a niche in the sex industry as a submissive, a sexual peccadillo that had intrigued me for a while but had never really reconciled with my ambitions of being feminist. “You like getting slapped in the face? I’m not sure I could ever slap a girl in the face”

Things between us were to beginning to escalate, We arranged that I would come and visit her and hang out with vague assurances to each other that we would control ourselves. These gave way to “something might happen, lets see” to “I’m going to fuck you” extending further still to her requesting I flex my curious dominant streak against her practiced submissive lifestyle.

Intimidating wasn’t the word, while I was graced with a few weeks to figure out how I might impose myself, how do you convincingly dominate a pro having never done it before? Fine if you are paying for it, who gives a shit? But we had become close and we cared for each other, nothing else mattered more.

With my reservations about using what I saw as violence and lack of experience I decided if I was going to be convincing at all I would have to concentrate on mentally dominating her, she was up for that and told me to not hold back.

The date came around, she knew none of the details of what I had planned, Despite talking a lot over the previous few months we had only actually met a handful of times in two years. I was less nervous that I had feared though, eagerness and excitement were all I could feel, and when I walked up the stairs and in to her flat seeing her sat waiting, head bowed, feet turned in, I had to stop myself from jumping her there and then.

I managed to stay calm, as was my plan. I sat down in front of her, our knees touching and I could sense her nerves getting the better of her. I built some tension by asking her some personal questions, stretching out the awkward pauses, taking advantage of her uncertainty. I immediately realised that despite her job, her submissiveness was innate. Any experience she had meeting clients meant nothing with a friend, naturally shy she appeared more nervous than me and my confidence was growing.

I told her to go for a walk around the block, just to fuck with her – I wanted her nerves to brew for a little longer and a chance to get my bearings in her flat. When she came back and knocked on her own door, I let her in, took her through to her bathroom, put her straight in the shower and made her stand in it fully clothed, the water as cold as it could go. There was a point where any modicum of amusement vanished from her eyes, the squeals turned in to painful gasps and she screwed up her body suffering from the freezing assault. There was a purpose to her discomfort, I wanted to break her composure and nurture her back. Turning off the water I took her hand and led her out of the bathroom where, without speaking, I relieved her of her sodden clothes and held her. As she shook I slowly began to smooth away the goosebumps with a towel, paying attention to every inch of her, following her contours, carefully minding the pressure I applied to the bruises and marks she had received at work. Nothing was said, I just held her close as she regained her comfort.

Her warmth was returning along with her desire, I whispered in her ear that she were to lie on her sofa and touch herself. I sat impassively and watched as she traced two fingers through her open mouth and began to enthusiastically circle her clit. She looked glorious as her speed increased and she squirmed and bucked rhythmically loosing herself in her private moment.

At that point I walked out.

This was all part of my domination, she had asked me to push her mentally and sure enough my sudden departure during her ordered masturbation was enough to bring her to tears. I waited, stood outside her door listening to her quiet sobs. The next thing I heard was a song we both loved, I’m not sure why she put it on but it was too much for me to take. I knocked on the door and returned to her arms. Her tear streaked face and post shower hair were a knotted mess. She needed more nurturing and at that moment she was everything I cared about.

We went for lunch soon after where we chatted and grinned about what had happened. When we finally did have sex later that afternoon it felt a very natural sequel to the ordeal I had put her through. The sex was very intimate and vanilla, a departure for her but a welcome contrast from the intensity of the morning. We spent the whole day recovering, wrapped in each other but when it was time to leave that was the last time I saw her.

My wife found out that I had cheated on her along with some of the details and consequently I made the decision to cease any further contact for the sake of my marriage. The circumstances surrounding the episode dictate that it will remain an isolated indiscretion. I am not proud of my infidelity, I am ashamed of my weakness and work hard every day to attempt to undo what can’t ever be undone. She knows our subsequent adventures in to a sub/Dom sex life are somewhat inspired by my own adventure but equally they are guided by her own kinks and desires and so any similarity stops there. As our interest has grown we have embraced the bits we both find appealing and developed a trust and mutual need for what each other can provide (including an occasional slap in the face). It sounds odd to say that an affair can give you the tools to galvanise a stale marriage but that is really how it feels and for that alone I am glad it happened.

Its not something I recommend trying, and I don’t particularly expect much sympathy – the whole event was unique and a result of two people leaning on each other during difficult times which I wont elaborate on here. I am eternally grateful that my marriage has been allowed to continue because I deserve much less, but I am also secretly glad I stayed and experienced, just like the man and Picasso’s masterpiece.

If you’d like to see more writing from Codex, check out his blog, where he’s elaborated on the story and you can read more and follow him on Twitter.

The other day a guy jokingly told me to ‘get tae fuck’ in a drawling Scottish accent. It was so thick and deep and heavy I felt like I was being beaten with it. His words were good, but his accent laced them with a thoroughly silky sexuality that left me reeling a bit. In my fevered imagination later that day, the guys who play out porn scenes in my head adopted the same sexy accent – rolling their rs as they pounded six shades of fuck into me.

Is it a direct association? One of the men I have loved deeply in my life was Scottish. I sat for hours with him on the phone, enjoying even his most tedious of stories as he muttered them down the earpiece and directly into my brain. But it can’t all be down to direct association – some of my favourite sexy accents come not because I’ve fucked a speaker but just because I’ve listened in gaping, lustful awe as a hot guy on telly spits sexy rage in a specific dialect.

My own accent is – for the most part – boring. It swings between posh-phone-voice and drunken slag, depending on how many glottalstops I bother to suppress. I’m sad to have no sexy voice of my own to exchange with gorgeous men, but for the record here is a subjective and inexhaustive list of five sexy accents that make my legs quiver.

Top five sexy accents

5. Southern US

Spot five on my ‘sexy accents’ list swaps in and out depending on my mood, and is usually dictated by the latest sexy thing I’ve seen on telly. Currently it’s the Walking Dead, in which Daryl Dixon plays a crossbow-toting, hunt-and-shoot sex God of undeniably epic proportions. His accent isn’t thick, but there’s just enough of just the right tone to make me imagine him drawling ‘git back here, woman’ as I get out of bed.

4. Irish

I KNOW RIGHT. I am as shocked as you that this doesn’t take the top spot. For years Ireland has reigned as the country with the sexiest accents, and not just because of amazing sex words like ‘ride’ and ‘lad‘. From Irish barmaids offering to top up your pint to Irish gentlemen offering to get on their knees and pleasure you with their grinning, eager face, most people I know have had a fantasy about someone inviting them to bed with lilting, singsong tones. It’s up there as one of my favourites, though, and I think it always will be.

3. Scottish

I don’t blame you guys if you vote for independence I just… can I make a small request? Don’t be strangers. Call us up every once in a while and say ‘pish’ down the phone, and bark sexy swearwords into our eager ears, because everyone knows Scottish is officially The Best Accent To Swear In. In fact, even if you do vote for independence, I will still love you just as much as I do right now – I think we’ll reach Peak Excellent Swearing Point if an entire country full of Scots rise up as one and, in a booming, angry voice, tell England to “get tae fuck.”

2. Northern

Say ‘butty’ – go on. Say ‘last’. Say ‘bastard’. Say ‘I’m going to fuck you nice and deep in the cunt.’ If you’re crooning these words and phrases in a creamy Lancashire accent, congratulations: you are sexy. You have a sexy, sexy, sexy accent and I want to eat you all up.

1. German

German is given a really fucking bad press as being an ‘ugly’ language, and it’s always annoyed me a bit. Sure, if all you watch is Nazi documentaries on the History channel it’s probably hard to find German sexy – it will have far too many negative associations, and a distinct lack of poetry. But listen to the amazing soundtrack to the spectacular musical ‘Cabaret’ and suddenly it becomes a silky, soft, yet powerful accent. Combining gentle ‘ch’ and ‘ssh’ noises with hard ‘ah’s and sibilant ‘ist’s. I cannot get enough of it.

Before I die, I want to find a man who speaks German and loves spanking. I will seduce him with cake and promises, and he’ll return the favour by whispering gentle filth at me while I suck him off. Then he’ll beat me with a belt while counting ‘eins, zwei, drei’, just to give me a benchmark against which to compare all other sex.

It’s late, you’re tired and horny, but home is a long way away and the alleys are riddled with CCTV cameras and drunk revellers, giving one no privacy in which to administer a suck-job to an equally horny friend. At these times, the UK is ill-equipped to cater to your deviant lusts, unless you’re willing to pay a week’s rent for one night in a scummy hotel.

When it comes to impulsive sex spaces, other countries do it far better.

Korean DVD bangs

In Korea, there exist special rooms called ‘DVD bangs’. At least, there used to. It’s been a while since I was there, and they’ve probably now been replaced with ‘video streaming bangs’ or ‘Angry Birds bangs’ or whatever the kids prefer these days.

In Korean, ‘bang’ means ‘room’, and so DVD bangs were essentially just places where you’d go to hire a DVD and watch it on a big telly – the kind you either couldn’t afford to have at home or would reject because its gigantic size made it impractical for anything other than a dividing wall. You enter the complex, pick a DVD, thumb through your phrase book to work out how to say ‘how much?’ in Korean, then the person behind the counter takes your money and directs you to a room with a number on the door.

We picked something appalling and shit – I cannot remember what. Some bullshit early-90s movie that we’d seen a million times before. We weren’t there for the DVD so much as the ‘bang’, and the idea of being able to hire a private room for a couple of hours for less than the cost of a vodka and tonic was just about perfect. The room itself was small – dark and dingy and furnished with just the aforementioned TV, a sticky leather sofa and – we took this as proof that it wasn’t just for watching – a roll of toilet paper.

Japanese Love Hotels

When you mention quick fucks in paid privacy, lots of people will leap up and shout “ooh, do you know in Japan they have kitsch hotels designed just for fucking, with pictures of Hello Kitty in bondage ropes on the walls?”

To which I reply, “yeah, except there’s usually more bondage than Hello Kitty if you pick the right ones.”

As he emerged from the Subway exit I went a bit weak at the knees. This guy had swept into my life on a wave of filth and heat and the fear that our time would be short. We didn’t touch in public, but at the entrance to the station I turned him east and pointed out my favourite love hotel. A beaten-up, garish building which featured a room I’d wanted to use for a long time.

It had chains all over the bed – cuffs and collars and even some medieval stocks – positioned right at the end of the bed so you could either get in doggy with your head through the hole and be fucked in a way that wouldn’t kill your knees, or standing up on the floor, with your partner gripping your hips as you choked happy fuck noises in the other direction.

They say Japan’s got it nailed when it comes to quickie shags. To be fair, the sweaty, desperate, let’s-try-it-all-before-time-runs-out shag I had with that guy certainly put it on the leader board. But as far as I’m concerned, if you’re wandering the streets late at night with a horny partner, there’s one place that hits the perfect spot.

Amsterdam sex booths

It stinks in here: sweat and spunk and sorrow. A thousand lonely wanks by a thousand lonely people crouched in this wipe-clean booth. We bundle in, hoping we snuck past the guy on the front desk without him realising there were two of us. We huddle together on the damp bench, push the door closed. There’s a mirror on the door and a TV behind the bench – an awkward way to get round the problem of space.

When you put a Euro in the slot something filthy starts playing, and you watch the reflection in the back of the door while you wank yourself to a climax.

Unless you’re us. If you’re us you smoosh as close as you can together, pushing fingers and hands inside each other’s clothes. Rubbing, kissing, crushing forearms against mouths to prevent any noise. You pause – one beat, two beats – hearing tinny music from outside and the oh-so-dirty shuffling from the booth next door. The rhythmic shuffling of a guy on his own.

I press a button, flip the porn, browsing the five or six available channels to find one that isn’t awful. Two women. Three women. A gaping ass. A gang bang. Mascara-streaked, sobbing, guilt-inducing shit. Ah, better: a fuck. All we really want.

I drop to my knees and start sucking him – the smell of his shower gel mingling with the musky post-jerk-off spunky scent of others. It’s like being in that sex cinema all over again – the ghosts of wankers past linger through the fluids they left behind. He pushes my head down onto his cock, puts another Euro in the slot. Reclines.

I turn around, face squashed against the door of the tiny booth, barely room to move. Yet somehow I manage to get my knickers down just far enough that I can sit on it. Squish. Slick. He lets out a muffled cry and I bite my lip. At least one of us has to remain quiet. Quickly, silently, I fuck him with hard strokes, trying not to touch the walls too much, struggling to keep time as my legs start to tremble with arousal. I slip.

It’s easier on the floor. Squatting in front of the bench I can grip his thighs for balance, feeling the wet lust dripping into my knickers and the twitching of his arousal in my mouth. He puts in another Euro and whispers “please. Please. I’m going to come.” So I suck him harder, I push my head as far down on his cock as it will go so I get to feel the pressure as the jet of spunk hits the back of my throat.

His legs tense up, and he presses the button – flicking quickly through all the channels. Two girls. Three girls. Gaping ass. Gang bang. A montage of porn that he’s no longer really watching, just a visual collage to hammer home the seedy, desperate nature of the booth itself. As he comes in the back of my mouth I close my throat, collecting his spunk there while I breathe in through my nose.

Sweat. Come. Guilt. Sadness. Lust.

All for just three Euros.