When she’s sat for long enough in the aftermath of her wanton behaviour – knickers down, bent over the desk in his office, palms smarting from the whipping that kicked off her punishment, he calls her through to the lounge.
Just one word, barked with force and anger:
“Come.”
Note: degradation/humiliation, consensual role play, beating, fucking-as-punishment, slut shaming. Catch up on part one (gang bang in a bar) and part two (tell me where you’ve been) then pop back here for the climax.
I love guest posts about people’s relationships to their bodies, especially when those bodies are changing and there’s this burst of new discovery. Even better when those discoveries are hot and full of joy. So I’m especially delighted to welcome this week’s guest blogger – she’s here to share a gorgeous story that combines exquisite sexiness with some fabulously thoughtful introspection about healing after vaginoplasty.
There’s a reason she turned up to the club wearing no knickers, and it’s a very very good one. As she’s getting dressed, she briefly contemplates which ones to wear – silk, lace, maybe a tiny black thong that can be easily torn off. Eventually she settles for ‘none at all’ though, plus a skirt that’s easy to hike up round her waist. That option seems like the best one, to achieve the end goal on which she’s so utterly focused.
Note this story contains degradation, a gang bang, dicks going into all the holes, cum, etc etc etc.
A few months ago I wrote about what it feels like to have tits. I love and enjoy mine and I’m very grateful for every squishy, bouncy inch of them. But not everyone feels the same way, and when I published the audio on Patreon, the lovely Dr Phoenix Andrews shared his take on tits and I asked if he’d be up for expanding into a guest blog: “I couldn’t enjoy them until mine were gone, and now you can’t stop me playing with them.” If you don’t know him already, do follow @thatdocphoenix.com on BlueSky for insightful political takes and occasional sexy tattooed thirst traps. And dive in to his incredible guest blog about tits: why he’s definitely a tit man, but he had to get rid of his own before he could appreciate them…
He’s alone in his office when she walks in. Shattered, trashed, spent, and covered in cum, when she nudges the door open she knows exactly how she looks. The dishevelled, post-fuck, ruined look on her face pairs well with the tattered remains of the shirt she once wore. The mess of her hair is a crowning glory of sluttery and shame. The bar, the beer, the men, the degradation… all of it happened as a prelude to this moment. She walks into his office, raises her eyes to meet his, and receives one simple instruction: “Confess.”
Note this story contains beating, punishment, consensual BDSM and humiliation.
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