This kinky inspection erotica is written and read by JM Seaborn. Note that this kinky story contains use of ‘Daddy’ as an honorific – everyone in this story is over the age of 18.

I’ve been looking forward to this. After a day executing my part in society’s endless play, I crave control. I’m tired, worn down, dejected. But she will change it. I sit in the arm chair and look at her standing nervously before me, waiting for inspection.

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This is ‘Consent’ – a story demonstrating why consent is sexy, written and read by JM Seaborn. Note that this story uses ‘Daddy’ as an honorific. All characters are over 18. 

Consent isn’t homework. It’s not the boring part or the legal disclaimer. It’s not the vegetables you have to eat to get to dessert. Consent is the pulsing electricity that will pass between us with enough power to blow the bulbs of a city.

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I love being a submissive. Although I play in a dominant mode sometimes, I tend to be most comfortable at the absolute rock-bottom of the power hierarchy. And as a sub who desperately wants people to use and degrade me, I’m always fascinated by how those fantasies look from those who perform the degradation. What is it that appeals about being dominant? How does it feel to perform the kind of acts that I love, when you have to be the one wielding cruelty? This week’s fabulous guest blog is written by a dominant guy – who has guest blogged beautifully here before – in response to a question I asked about this. I love being submissive, but what does it mean to love being dominant? I’m so grateful to him for his thoughtful (and extremely hot) response, and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did.

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I ask: “please will you hurt me?” and he stares down into my face. In contrast to my own childish eagerness, I always find this particular guy disarmingly grown-up. When I ask him to hurt me he replies, simply: “How?”. It’s not confusion, it’s a flex. He knows there are many ways to hurt me, and this feels like a way to neatly work in consent – giving me the task of articulating my desires aloud. In the moment I can’t work out how – my mind is just a blur of want. For him specifically. His strong arms, powerful muscles. The dominant way he carries himself. Combined, these attributes give a tall woman like me that precious, rare feeling of being outgunned. So I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind: “Just… fight me for it.”

Note: this post involves a super hot fuck that hinges on consensual non-consent, i.e. me pretending I don’t want to get fucked when actually I really do. The man who features in it knows this, and would not play this way with me unless he was confident I could (and would) withdraw consent if it all got too much. This post is not a ‘how-to’ manual on kinky fucking, there’s a lot of background chat behind this kind of sex.

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A few hours before we’re due to go out, I’m pottering around the flat and these two hot people are hanging out in the living room. You’ve met these filthy fucks already – a few months ago they absolutely annihilated me in the kinkiest threesome I’ve ever been treated to. I choose that phrasing carefully: it really was a treat. Like a brutal sports massage for my masochistic subby side, performed by depraved heroes who really leant in to my request: ‘please ruin me.’

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