Teasing and orgasm denial is such a deeply horny thing, and this week’s guest blog is a beautiful demonstration of why. It also has a few absolutely killer lines – you know the kind I mean, where someone says something that presses just the right sexy button and gives you that hot feeling in the pit of your stomach? Yeah, it has some of those. Be aware that it also contains pain, breath play and a little blood. When I read it the first time it made me deeply horny, and if you’re anything like me you’ll love it too – please welcome the incredible spikesandfluff, who has a tease and denial story that will make your Monday a hell of a lot hotter…

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It would never have occurred to me that simply wrapping a belt round your wrist would be hot until I saw this kinky porn picture. Just as I’d never have realised that the sound of a belt sliding neatly out through the loops of someone’s jeans would be hot until the first time a guy did it, with fire in his eyes and an urgent need to thrash me. There are plenty of tiny details like this which – while not pornographic on their own – create a stronger horny sensation than anything directly explicit.

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I’ve never described myself as a masochist. Masochism implies a desire for pain that is pleasure in and of itself. But I don’t get wet from pain. It isn’t the smack of someone’s hand on my naked backside that gets me hot: it’s the dirtiness, the horniness. The fact that whacking me with the flat of his palm might make his dick hard. The pain itself is a by-product. To be endured, not enjoyed.

But sometimes endurance is the whole, miserable, masochistic point.

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When I was young, my best friend used to come and hug me from behind. He’d wrap his arms around my stomach, with his skinny forearms nestling just under my breasts. Ridiculously in love with him, I’d seize the opportunity to breathe in the smell of him, lean backwards into his chest and wonder: if I struggled, just a little … would he hold me tighter?

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As a general rule I don’t like blindfolds. I could try and bullshit you about how I like to look into someone’s eyes when they tip over the edge of a powerful orgasm, but while that’s true, it’s not the whole truth. My dislike of blindfolds comes from a meaner place. They’re a bit… tame, aren’t they? A bit … (whisper it) … 50 Shades? But laying my irrational snobbery to one side, the other day I cracked out one of my many airplane-branded blindfolds (they’re free, so I am literally allergic to not taking them home) to try some sensory deprivation sex.

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