At one point, mid-fuck, with his wet fingers circling my clit, the man who knows how to fuck me growls something into my ear. I can’t remember the exact words and I hate myself for that, not least because I’m sure if I could conjure them precisely, that particular sentence would make for some truly epic wanks. Forgive me for paraphrasing, I’d fallen deeply into a fuckdrunk haze, but it was something like ‘aren’t you a dirty fucking girl?’, with extra resonance on the ‘girl’, just how I like it. Whatever he said and however he said it, it caused me to absolutely gush all over his hand. Yeah I’m a dirty girl: QED.

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Today’s wonderful guest blogger was introduced to me by fellow sex blogger Sundial – one of the things that’s really cool about sex blogging is when you see other people going ‘ooh I could do that!’ and picking up the baton to write smut of their own. So I’m delighted to introduce D34U with a creative piece of erotic fiction all about good people getting just rewards: a turn at the glory hole, in recognition of their good work. If you enjoy this piece, click the link to follow D34U on Mastodon and check out some of his other work on Sundial’s blog too – a vampiric Halloween tale and a fantasy about a wife’s first threesome. In the meantime… have you been good? Like ‘human rights lawyer’ or ‘doctor without borders’ good? Then you might be eligible for a turn at the glory hole on the Phoenix Manor Volunteer Appreciation Day…

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This perfect restraints kit has lived rent-free in my head for a number of years. I’m a clumsy, eager fucker and when I engage in bondage, I do so in the same clumsy, eager way that I go about the rest of my fucks. I’m rubbish at knots, and can’t be bothered to learn, so the restraints that have won a permanent place in my bedroom are usually simple to use. Think cuffs with buckles, or ideally velcro. These door jam cuffs that I got many years ago were my favourite for a while. They’re so easy, and so effective: I love them. When asked what would be on my bucket list for the perfect restraints kit, I hankered after this Sportsheets under the bed restraints system for literally YEARS. Then finally I got one, and not long after I set it up, I broke up with my boyfriend. So I couldn’t actually use it. FFS.

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I am monogamish. Monogamish like mostly monogamous. Monogamish like not polyamorous. Monogamish like ‘I’d love to have a boyfriend who loved and respected me enough that he was happy to share me around (and vice versa) while never making me feel like I’m second best.’ Monogamish: a manifesto. Let’s do this.

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Love does not write in pencil on your heart, it’s permanent. Impossible to erase. Sure, it might one day turn to hatred or disgust, like fresh wounds becoming twisted scars long after they were first carved into your flesh. But you don’t forget it easily. Love can change and it can die, you can lose it or throw it away or cure yourself of the cravings for it like a powerful addiction… but you can’t just erase it altogether.

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