Today’s guest blogger is the excellent Quenby, who can be found at QuenbyCreatives on Twitter or over on their excellent blog Quenby Creatives. I’m especially excited about their post today because it takes a BDSM topic that is usually presented in a very simplistic manner and explores it in a lot more depth: safe words. Do you use safe words? How conscious is that choice? And are they serving the purpose that you need them to? Take it away Quenby…

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This spanking erotica, by author Tabitha Rayne, originally appeared on her website. It is read here by Leo DiLuca.

They locked gazes for another brief moment then Archie nodded, dragging her up once again like a rag doll and placed her over log that was now on its side.

“What the?” she began to say but he silenced her with a sharp slap to her thigh.

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It’s Masturbation Month! You know what that means? It means that I get to spend a very pleasant afternoon cooking up dirty stories with which to entertain and inspire you to wank (if you want to), while simultaneously showing a bit of well-deserved love to the excellent companies that sponsor my site and support my work. Regular readers will know that a similar hot wank fantasies exercise last year turned out to be one of the most popular posts of 2019, perhaps because all the stories are short flash fiction so I can let my inner pervert run wild. I thought I’d do the same thing this year, with a few stories that have a lockdown-lust flavour.

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I know it’s irrational, I know it sounds silly. I know there is no ultimate benchmark of behaviour whereby one could draw a line that divides people into conclusive ‘good’ or ‘bad’ categories. I know that it’s needlessly patronising – infantilising, even – and that by accepting the label I put myself in a position that’s wildly at odds with the feminist principles that guide the rest of my life. But still: I want you to tell me I’m a very good girl.

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When he asked me what I wanted, as my reward for winning the game, I think he expected me to demand pleasure. Orgasms, delivered by hand and vibrator, or his wet lips wrapped round my nipples. Maybe a good, hard fuck bent over the sofa. Instead I asked him for pain. “Whip me,” I told him.

Note, this post makes references to That Fucking Virus and These Weird Times.

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