Category Archives: Guest contributions
Someone else’s story: mental domination and a complex story
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.
Someone else’s story: sex and stand up comedy
Those of you who know me know I love comedy almost as much as I love dick. Anyone with the ability to make me laugh gets bonus attractiveness points and most likely a large slice of my heart. So I’m delighted to welcome this week’s guest blogger. RB is a stand-up comic who struggles with one of the eternal dilemmas: how do you keep a straight face when something sexy also makes you want to burst out laughing? Sex and stand up comedy wouldn’t have struck me as a natural pairing – I’m a notoriously miserable twat when it comes to laughter during sex, and as a general rule if you giggle when I’m naked I will burst into horribly unattractive tears and order you out of the bedroom. But thinking about some of the stranger things we do in pursuit of orgasm, I have to admit RB’s got a point: sometimes we are hilarious creatures.
Sex and stand up comedy
*SLAP*
‘Oh…FUCK.’
‘When I spank you, what do you say…?’
‘Um…’
‘Well, little slut?’
‘I don’t know, what DO I say?! This is sex, not Mastermind!”
And we collapse into giggles, in a sweaty, semi-clothed heap, and the moment’s gone.
When I first became interested in BDSM recently, I thought the greatest conflict it would present would be with my feminism. How, after all, could you campaign for sexual autonomy and equality, then be completely dominated in the bedroom, and called all sorts of names you’d seethe with anger at in the outside world?
Obviously, I realised quickly that it chimes perfectly with feminism; you can do whatever you damn well please in the bedroom with a consenting and understanding partner, whether it be being beaten with a riding crop, pissing on someone (I’ve heard that’s a thing…), or straightforward missionary in the dark.
No, the biggest conflict I’m experiencing; being a sub and being a smart-arse.
I’ve been performing stand-up comedy for over a year. I’m a fledgling but I’m pretty damn good. I also perform spoken word poetry and improv – I feel I could, just about, call myself a ‘comic’ without sounding like a massive arse. It’s my life; I love it, I’m good at it, and I want to make it into a living someday. But with this, my personality has shifted into one of ‘tiny loud clown’; I take very little seriously and spend an inordinate amount of time trying to make people laugh (including strangers). If I can find an acceptable opportunity to take the piss, I’ll take it. So, how on earth am I meant to react when a man pulls me onto his knee and slaps my arse, again and again, whispering very low, ‘fucking jailbait.’
A handful of people that I’ve spoken to have assumed I’m a domme, and I can understand why. I’m loud and confident to the point of hyperactivity (off-set by the occasional depressive episode where I stay in bed for two days, cry and cannon ball Pringles tubes). I’m very argumentative and opinionated, and I talk about sex, in and out of stand-up, with a frequency and volume which amuses and alarms people in equal measure.
But, BUT, this is the thing. Performing is exhausting. Commanding an audience’s attention can take all your nerve, courage and confidence; and I do an awful lot of it. When I get to the bedroom with someone; to relinquish control, to hand over the keys, is such a relief. It’s like taking your shoes off at the end of the day. I can relax. I’m in someone else’s hands. And oh, what capable hands they can be. As refreshing as it can be for a loud little idiot like me to quiet down and obey orders, it’s equally fun to watch a soft-spoken, polite, unassuming person take the command they might not otherwise have in their everyday life; to watch them transform into a beast who’s going to fucking have you – use you and bite you and turn you into a panting wreck.
‘God, you’re so fucking wet, you little slut. You want me to untie you? You want me to fuck you? You want to feel my cock inside you, do you?’
‘…yes.’
‘Yes, WHAT…?’
‘Yes, sir. Oh, fuck, FUCK…’
Keeping in character is tricky. Sex is never like the movies. There are knees slamming into faces, narrow beds to fall off, crap knots, sneezing. Having to move out of a kneeling position during a spanking because you desperately need to blow your nose. Hearing the word ‘balls’ and bursting out laughing. Just realising the absurdity of the entire situation and failing to take it seriously. I’m a beginner, and I’m still stumbling through a sea of spankings and commands and filthy hard limit lists, and I’m still going to get the giggles. Occasionally I worry that I won’t be able to stop; I’ll degenerate into a pile of hysterical laughter, those fits that make your stomach ache and tears leak out of your eyes, and I’ll totally undermine the person that I’m with.
But, when you’re on your knees with your wrists tied in front of you, and he’s behind you, fucking you in short, hard strokes; slapping your arse with an open palm, chuckling darkly as you gasp at the sound, and the quick burst of pain, calling you a ‘filthy…little…BITCH.’ and you feel as if you might either come or go absolutely fucking mad…
…it’s hard to make a joke. Or make any noise at all, except to moan, and to swear, and to scream.
Someone else’s story: hot sex words
I am a sucker for colloquialisms, particularly when they’re to do with sex. One of the first things I learn when I go to other countries is find out their dirty sex words. Get me drunk enough and I’ll share with you some of my favourite words and phrases. To be honest, even in a sober state I’ll happily explain to you how the Japanese word for ‘cunt’ is but two tiny dots away from the word for ‘mango’, and how this got me out of a fair bit of trouble when I was practising my letters.
But some of the best colloquialisms come from Ireland. It’s not just that I read them while imagining a gorgeously lilting Irish accent, it’s the fact that the words themselves sound so much more playful than their boring London equivalents.
Lad. Mickey. Ride.
Awesome.
Today’s guest blogger has some super-hot things to say about words. What’s more, she gives us an overview of these pretty, playful Irish colloquialisms. She’s brand new to sex blogging, so if you love her words then please do check out her blog – Abbi Rode. You can also follow her on Twitter at @OCDcrankypants.
Words I love, words I hate
Everyone calls their parts different things, at different times with different people. I know most girls don’t like the words I like but I’m not speaking for most girls, I’m speaking for me.
My favourite two words for my holiest of holies are pussy and cunt. There is no way to mistake the sexual in those two, it oozes from them. And if I’m talking about sex then I want powerful sex words to use.
They’re actually the only two I like. I’m sure it started with Don Draper (not the actual, but a guy who was like him, all confidence). He only had to look at me and talk to me to get me wet. One time he had me laid out on the bed, utterly exposed he was kneeling at the edge of the bed, he had my legs wrapped around him. But he was entirely in control. He wouldn’t even let me sit up. He looked directly at me and told me to be quiet. This immediately got me breathing fast, then he licked his thumb, and rubbed it up the lips, then put his thumb in his mouth, leaned down and whispered “I love this cunt.” I gasped, he again told me to be quiet or he’d stop. With his wet thumb he rubbed it again up the lips and I started to buck at this point, he held me still with one arm. Looked me directly in the eye and smelled his thumb and said “This is the best smelling cunt in the world, and I own it. I’m going to do exactly what I want to it.” It was him, how he was, the way he looked at my pussy and the way he got me so excited with the power of one word. That was it, I loved it ever since. But only said like that, only in the context of sex. I don’t even think he knew what he did that day. I don’t think he even cared, he was just doing what he wanted and I was almost incidental to that. He was in control, worshipping it getting the reactions he wanted.
From then on all he had to do was whisper in my ear, anywhere that we were, that he wanted my cunt, that he loved the smell of my cunt… anything with that word and it brought me straight back. So I love that word, I think more people should be aware of how sexy it is and get the pleasure from it, it’s the last really taboo word.
Pussy is another one that girls seem to hate. I know many feminists, who would be OK with cunt, still don’t like this one. But I do. It seems so guttural, so common, so… well… dirty and obvious. I just like it. I think it’s powerful and it can’t really be used in any other context than sex. You’re not going to the doctor to talk about your pussy, are you? And it’s a little tamer than cunt. You need descriptions for different excitement levels and these serve the purpose.
I don’t think I mind vagina, I just think it’s terribly unsexy. Again that’s what I’d say in a clinic. Even if discussing with my partner after the fact and he said “Is your vagina ok, I think I was a little rough”. Nope, don’t care for that at all. I did like that one guy used to refer to it as my ‘va-jean’. It was cute and it worked. Obviously not during sex, but general enquiries into its well-being “So, you got waxed yesterday, how’s your ‘va-jean’, ready for action?” Perfect.
Fanny – I’m not mad on this. It’s a word from childhood and the American understanding for it as ‘bum’ has it ruined for me. Either way, it’s not one I choose to use or hear used referring to me.
Now box, I hate. Just because I can’t understand how anyone thought it was a good description for something so warm, soft, inviting and categorically not angular. It makes no sense and my very rational mind is both confused and insulted by the term. It baffles me.
I can never settle on a word for my rack that I’m entirely comfortable with. I’m OK with tits, boobs, breasts. But each seems weird in the wrong context. I know that I do hate boobies, seems too childish, the same with titties. I may have to investigate this further?
While we’re on that I don’t think I ever say mickey either, it just seems the wrong end of comical. I think if I was insulting someone I might say it:
“Big swinging mickey, I’ve had better.”
Dick and cock are my equivalent to pussy and cunt, respectively. I love cock – read that however you want to. It’s meant every way. It’s my favourite word for my favourite part of a man. I do like dick every now and then, I need variety. And I don’t think I’ve come across anyone that’s taken umbrage to their member being called either of those things.
I don’t think I ever use the word lad, again unless in a somewhat comical way “And I walked in the kitchen and there he was with his lad out.”
And tool is only for insults, really isn’t it?
I have been known to refer to a particularly big penis as a weapon, I can’t take credit for this, I robbed it from a friend who used it when recommending someone.
This list could be endless.
Thanks Abbi, now I have to go and cold-shower away all these mental images of hot dudes getting their ‘lads’ out, and filthy men whispering dark somethings about my cunt. If you enjoyed the above, do check out AbbiRode.com, and let Abbi know about your own favourite sex words in the comments. Personally, I’ll swap you a Japanese word that means ‘the sound of wanking’ if you can give me ‘cunt’ in any other language.
And if you’re a sex blogger, particularly if you’re just starting out and want to build some traffic, I’d love to hear from you – check out my guest blog page and get in touch if you’d like to write something.
Someone else’s story: whether dick size matters
On the list of ‘top 10 emails most likely to grab my attention’, shortly behind ‘free gin’ is the email that says ‘would you like a guest blog about cock?’
This week’s guest blogger is Rose Tinted Glasses – someone whose writing I have admired for a very long time. He writes witty, charming, filthy stories and has a way with words that makes me wish I was sitting in the pub sharing these things with him.
He emailed me to offer a guest blog about dick – specifically on the age-old question ‘does dick size matter?’ I’ve always wanted to get a guest blog on this topic from someone who has a penis of their own. If I had one I’d be too busy masturbating and weeing patterns on concrete patio slabs, but he has kindly taken time out from penis-based fun to give us a filthy and insightful view on size, and everything that goes with it.
Does dick size matter?
I am old enough to have not had the Internet around when I discovered porn. Like most British boys back then I first saw porn in magazines, dumped in hedgerows in the countryside. A cliché, but like most clichés, it was borne of some truth. That really did used to happen. Walking along a country lane you think ‘what’s that in the undergrowth?’ and when you have a look, you have hit paydirt. A glossy, filthy magazine – thrown away by someone who did not want to be caught with it at home. Word would spread around the village, ‘There’s a jazz mag out by the path along the main road’ or wherever.
I remember one summer holiday afternoon a mate asking whether I wanted to check out the one he’d found that week. Of course I did. So we rode out on our bikes, left them at the top of an embankment just off the road, and scrambled down the grassy bank to a path at the bottom. There was a hedgerow and, sure enough, a porn magazine hidden in the undergrowth. We crouched down and flicked through the pages. “I’m gonna have a wank.” announced my friend, then added “If I wank like this more often, will my dick get to be as big as yours?”
I hadn’t got a clue. I told him I didn’t know. That was the first time I was really aware that cocks come in different sizes.
I’m in my mid-thirties and I am, generally, pretty secure in myself – in my sexual preferences, my likes and dislikes, and definitely comfortable with my cock. I’m happy with being me. It’s not enormous. I’m not a porn star with a huge dong. It’s bigger than average, but not so large as to be a ‘big deal’. I have learned, for certain, that size isn’t good or bad. It’s just what it is. There is no such thing as ‘too small’ or ‘too big’. No such thing as ‘too curved’ or ‘the wrong shape’. People either fit together well or they don’t – and whatever your cock is like, there are people out there who it will work perfectly for. So perfectly they will be screaming your name and begging you to put it back inside them.
Our self-image is governed by the reactions and comments of others. Their perceptions are filtered through their own past experiences. It’s circular. Whilst sort-of-dating (but really more like sort-of-shagging-regularly) two girlfriends in our first year of university, one of them would tell me often how I was the biggest she had ever had, how much she loved it and how much it hurt, just a little, in that good way, when I was inside her. The other girl said quite the opposite. That my cock was ‘nice but not all that big’. Then again, she was able to swallow me all the way to the base of my shaft, so I took her at her word. A cynic might have thought that the former of the girls was lying to flatter me. I didn’t. I thought that they had just had very different past experiences.
My ex-wife was more experienced than I was, when we first met. She had been around. I mean that as a compliment – I admire a little experience and an open mind. She never complimented my cock, at all. She simply wasn’t impressed. We had talked about it, I forget why … and she just said that she’d had much bigger in the past. And it had hurt, to the point where it was unpleasant. Size really isn’t everything, guys.
Widening my sexual horizons over the years meant that I developed a bit more perspective on the size of my cock. You learn a lot about other guys’ dicks when you start enjoying threesomes, group sex, or going along to swingers clubs. Even more so when you get stuck in and play with some of the guys as well as the girls.
For example … there was a couple I had met at a swingers club. Only chatting, before everybody split off towards the bedrooms later on. They were friendly, and we stayed in touch online. The husband emailed me a few weeks later, saying that it was his wife’s birthday at the weekend and he wanted to give her a treat. Would I be up for calling round, along with as many other guys as he could round up, to gangbang his wife? I had no idea people actually used that word in the real world. Gangbang. It sounded like something you should only ever use in comedies. I am a sucker for new experiences though, so I said yes.
I followed the husband’s directions out to leafy suburbia on a quiet Sunday afternoon and knocked on the door. He answered, said hi, we shook hands, and he led me inside and straight up the stairs. “We’ve got ten guys, including you. More might turn up. I have to keep pulling these trousers back on to answer the door …” He pointed me through the upstairs rooms when we reached the landing. “That’s the bedroom, the bathroom, and the spare. If you can take off all your clothes in the spare room and just pile them up somewhere, then come through … I’ll see you in a minute.”
Now, I had been to sex parties before, but ten guys and one girl was a different matter entirely. Walking into a room full of strangers, naked, is an unnerving experience. We were all completely nude. Guys of all sizes and ages, standing around the perimeter of the bedroom. The husband had slipped out of his trousers, but still had a T-shirt on. He was the only one. His wife was kneeling in the middle of the bed, in the centre of the room. She was wearing a black lingerie set – nothing fancy, but nice. She was giggling and grinning from ear to ear. This felt weird, but not at all unsafe. Her obvious glee put me at ease. Nothing bad was likely to happen here. The husband laid out some ground rules. Sensible stuff. Condoms for penetration and if any of you are bisexual, please don’t freak out the straight guys in the room – this is just about giving her a treat, not you.
“Come on then.” said the wife. “Give me some cocks.” She reached to her left, for the nearest guy, and took his cock in her hand. He was halfway hard and she slowly stroked him all the way, then leaned over and took him in her mouth. A couple of the guys on the opposite side of the bed sort of looked at each other and shrugged, before climbing on to the bed. One positioned himself beside her and guided her spare hand to his crotch, the other knelt on the pillows at the top of the bed and gave her a slap on the arse cheek. She let the first guy’s cock go and giggled again. “Good start. Come on, the rest of you.”
I’m not here to tell you how that afternoon progressed in filthy detail (that is what my own blog is for), but it is a good way to talk about variety. We went from awkwardly standing around in various degrees of arousal to being a room full of hard cocks taking turns, anything up to five at a time, with the wife. When not joining in, most of us were standing beside, watching and wanking. There were guys with small cocks. Guys with circumcised and uncircumcised cocks. Guys with straight cocks, curved cocks, and even a couple of guys who couldn’t get it up. There was one guy with an enormous cock. Probably the biggest I have ever seen in the flesh. Long, thick, and kept rock-solid with a steel cock ring. He was taking poppers as well, which nobody else in the room wanted to join in with, despite his generous offers. At one point he was sliding his fingers into the girl’s cunt whilst I was fucking her – reaching between my legs with my balls slapping off his wrist and pushing two fingers in alongside my dick. I was thankful it was his fingers and not that massive cock.
I did learn something from that afternoon. (Aside from the welcome knowledge that being surrounded by other men didn’t stop me from performing, as it were.) I realised that despite the huge variation in cock size, and body shape … that girl was just as happy with every single one of us. She just wanted cock. She did not care if you had a big one or a small one. They were all good. (Which sounds like a certain Girl On The Net we all know and love.) And she was right. I have gone down on guys in my time. I don’t care if yours is smaller than mine, it’s still going to feel hot as hell wrapping my lips around it and making you come.
Did you enjoy that as much as I did? Then please do visit his excellent blog – Rose Tinted Glasses – and follow him on Twitter. I agree with most of what he says, although I have to take exception on the phrase ‘gang bang‘ (it is one of my favourites). But on dicks? They’re beautiful – long, short, fat, thin, curved in any direction: there’s more variety than Heinz. Ironically, one of the few areas in which men tend not to differ is in their attitudes towards their own dick – firstly that they worry about it, and secondly that they rarely ever need to.
Someone else’s story: choosing love over kink
For me, sex is one of the most important parts of a relationship. It’s up there with trust, laughter, and an ability to tolerate each other’s excessive flatulence after curry night. Sex – if it’s good enough – is often a key motivator to help me fall for someone in the first place.
The idea of a long-term relationship with someone who didn’t share at least a fair proportion of my kinks makes me desperately sad. But in the past when I’ve raised this with friends I’ve been told that sex isn’t everything – it pales into insignificance when you compare it to the mighty force of love.
I was doubtful, and I still am doubtful that sex – for me – will ever take a back seat in terms of my priorities. But for this week’s guest blogger it’s done just that. I’m delighted to have her here because her perspective is so different to my own, and I’d love to know if other people have struggled with similar things – have you ever fallen in love and had to make a similar choice?
Someone else’s story: choosing love over kink
I’m dirty. I’m filthy. I’m a slut. My mind is constantly wandering between kinky fantasies where I’m being used and abused and these fantasies make my cunt throb.
For years this was what happened to me: I was in relationships with guys that made my unspeakable fantasies a reality. I was whipped, beaten and peed on into a sweaty, cum-covered mess. I knelt before relative strangers and begged for their worst and they gave it. I submitted to harsh experienced Masters who knew how to make me tremble without a single touch, could make me cum from a well delivered spanking and always left me wanting more. I “knew” I would be a dirty girl till the day I died.
I was happy to be treated this way.
So how merely 3 years from my last spanking have I ended up married to a guy who thinks doggy style is kinky, who could never speak during sex and is happy with once a week missionary?
No I didn’t run out of things to do. I drip at the thought of being roughly taken up the arse but know I will never know the feeling. There is so many scenes I’m yet to try. I’m still submissve in my soul.
No I don’t think I can change him. No I don’t cheat. If you had asked me before I met him if I could give up filth I would have sworn it was impossible. So can a self identified filthy slut be happy with a ‘vanilla’ guy?
The answer is yes. I’m happy. I love him more than I knew I could and know this is the forever after people dream about. As sappy as that sounds but when you know you know!
I think it’s all about priorities. Mine changed the first time he kissed me. Love. Family. Happiness. They are more important to me than filthy sex.
Did I compromise? Am I going to resent him in 10 years? Who knows! I don’t think so. My life is great. He is great.
He knows how to make me smile at the end of a really shit day.
He knows when to shut up and leave me alone.
He knows my favourite bands, books, food etc.
He makes my family his family and me part of his.
He gets me in a way no one ever had.
So I don’t tremble into subspace with a look. Sex is functional. It scratches an itch. It made my child. I’m not saying he’s bad in bed – I’m saying we aren’t sexually compatible. Somewhere there are girls who just want a quiet fuck on a Saturday night – should he be with one of them?
We all know someone or had a relationship that ended because they had different views on religion, family (usually whether to have one or not) or other significant issues. Is sex one of these issues? Or, more importantly, should it be? Do we put to much emphasis on sexual tastes and dismiss otherwise perfect relationships? We all know that relationships are about give and take. We put up with annoying habits (the snoring that brings the roof down, the dirty clothes on the bedroom floor, the lateness – and that’s just my own habits). We agree to disagree on many things.
Sex is great, but surely love has to be more important. I don’t think it would be a very healthy state of mind to choose a sexual relationship over a loving one. Of course you can have both – I am sure many people do – but if that’s not what fate has in store for you then you play the hand you’re given.
So I am happy in my ‘normal’ sex life. You may call it boring, you may say it can never work but every night I curl up next to a guy I love. If I threw our relationship away for dirty sex maybe I would never again find this heart stopping love.
So I will continue to rub myself furiously to thoughts of what I could have had done to me if the love of my life had been a filthy guy, but I will continue to love my life.
So would you give up filthy sex for the person you love?
I’d love to know what you think – is sex (and specifically the type of sex) a vital part of any relationship, and a potential ‘dealbreaker’ when you’re thinking about who to spend the rest of your life with? Are you in a relationship where you’ve reached a happy compromise? As with many sexual things, I think this is going to be different for everyone, so if you’ve struggled with this before I’d love to know how you dealt with it, and what you’ve decided your priorities and compromises are.