The UK Government has announced its roadmap out of lockdown, and although the government has been as bad at acknowledging sex as it has been good at handing expensive contracts to its incompetent mates, I’m here to help with a brief guide to what the lockdown roadmap means for slags.

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This intensely hot story about a bridesmaid degrading herself is written by Kate, and originally appeared on her website. It is read here by Girl on the Net, and it contains themes of degradation.

“He’ll never love you,” she said weakly to her reflection – a vision with puffy red eyes and crumbs of mascara peppered around them like funereal glitter. Her flushed chest matched the crimson hue of her eyelids. The bridesmaid’s dress, which had once held her like a lover and accentuated the curve of the arse that the groom had fucked the night before his engagement party, now hung a little less naughtily, gaping where her hunched shoulders diminished the volume of her breasts, threatening to be exposed by the dress, that was now sizes too big.

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It probably won’t shock you to learn that I’m not much of a spiritual or superstitious person. Apart from the occasional knock on wood or crossing of fingers (which I do despite knowing it’ll have absolutely zero impact on the universe), I am a pretty boring, sceptical person. I don’t think I’ve ever slept with someone who’s really superstitious either. So please, as you read the following fantastic guest post from Zapatica about an incredibly superstitious guy she slept with, imagine my jaw fully on the floor and me yelling ‘RUN’ like in a horror movie. She’s been here before to discuss ending a long-term booty call, and I’m delighted to welcome her back – with her magical soul-hexing pussy…

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I am fuckdrunk yet again. My legs are limp and my muscles weak and my throat is parched and all I can feel is the throbbing satisfaction in my cunt. For a split second I wonder if I’m making poor decisions, then I realise that fuckdrunk me could not possibly care less. Thinking straight is not as fun as being high on dick.

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We’re having a conversation about kinks. The fun things we’d like to try (or try again), and the ways in which we’d like to tear into each other. This is the kind of foreplay I really love: talking. Talking is my kink. Hearing someone tell me what they’re into – whether confident statements or shy suggestions – gets me hotter than anything else. So we’re having a conversation about kinks, and he tells me he wants to tear off my clothes.

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