I wrote an entry a very long time ago about sexual bucket lists, and compiled a list of things I have always wanted to do. So nervous was I about one particular item on the list that I never published it. Revisiting that post now, I realise two things:

1. I have actually ticked one of these things off the list. Reach for the stars, people.

2. There is clearly one sexual fantasy that I don’t want to tell any of you about.

3. I’ll tell you the third thing at the end.

Anyway, with all this in mind, here is a list of things that I have always desperately wanted to do.

Wank a guy off with a sheath

My hand jobs will never be as good as your hand jobs – you know your cock much better than I do. But what you don’t necessarily know is the feeling of a well-engineered, lubed-up sheath that is tight, tight, tighter than the grip of my own hand. I want to wank you off to completion in a way you haven’t done yourself.

[Achievement unlocked! Collect fifty sex points, do not pass Go]

Gang bang

Obviously. Having thought about this a lot, I think the ideal number of guys is four, but if anyone has experience of this and would like to give me explicit and detailed advice in the comments, I would love to hear/rub one out over it.

Fuck a girl with a strap on while a guy fucks me in the ass

I want to know how it feels to fuck a girl – to be the powerful, penetrating one. However I recognise my nature well enough to know that I wouldn’t particularly enjoy it unless there was a guy there as well, and we all fancied each other.

I want to feel her squirm under me as every time he pounds my ass he forces my fake cock deeper inside her. I want to feel our tits squashing against each other as he leans his full weight on both of us. I want for her, and I, to come before him, so we’re ready to stop and ready to finish, but remain panting and twitching with post-orgasmic happiness as he speeds up and rams his cock further into my ass until, finally, he blows his load and says ‘good girls’ before heading off.

[Redacted]

No, really, I’m just not going to tell you this one.

Double penetration

This pretty much does what it says on the tin. I want to feel two guys almost touching each others’ cocks as they fuck me. Specifically, I want to sit down on a guy, ass-first, then wriggle in surprise as he grabs me and tips me back, lifting my thighs and grabbing at my legs to hold them apart.

Another guy moves forward, stroking his dick – spitting on the end to make it nice and wet. As I’m squirming on top of the other, he leans forward and pins me by my neck, pushing me back down onto the other guy, who forces his dick up harder and deeper into me. Then the second shifts forward, pushing himself deep into my cunt, grunting at the tightness as he fills the little remaining space.

As with most threesomes, I’ve found it’s not hard to find people willing to do it, it’s just hard finding people willing to do it who all fancy each other.

Be used as a group fucktoy

This is explicitly not the same thing as a gang bang, and anyone who insists it is will be required to take a long and arduous tour of the section of my head entitled ‘fantasy pedantry’. A gang bang requires the immediate and sustained presence of at least four dudes, all having sex with me at once. Being a fucktoy, on the other hand, simply means being used as a tame and compliant receptacle for the jizz of a number of different guys.

The difference in the scenarios can be illustrated thus: a dinner party with four guys and a girl, in which the end of dinner is celebrated by tearing the girl’s clothes off and all fucking her at once. That’s a gang bang. A fucktoy, on the other hand, might be employed giving blow jobs individually to one guy during the starter, being bent over the table by another guy just before mains, while the other men look on and chat casually. As dessert is served, one of them gets a bit horny and invites her to come and sit beside him on her knees, so he can pull out his cock and masturbate with swift and efficient purpose, emptying himself with hot squirts into her mouth. Our final gentleman doesn’t necessarily have to do anything. He can sit back, with a full belly and a rock-hard cock, while the others eat their Eton Mess (simple recipe, can be prepared in advance so as not to take up valuable sex time), casually fondling the fucktoy’s tits as a brief postprandial treat.

Later in the evening, as everyone gets more relaxed, they strap her over one of the arms of the sofa so that each of them, when the need takes them, can fuck her in either her ass or her cunt, alternating between filling her with hot spunk, and simply putting their dick somewhere warm for a while. Grunting, slapping, and casual usage of a horny girl who’ll eventually be sent home alone.

Have someone jizz on my feet

I have no idea why I actually want to do this. I don’t have a particular thing for feet, and I have never met a guy who has. I just like the uniqueness of it – the idea that someone might like feet so much that he wants to come all over mine. There’s also the combined joy of being able to watch a guy wank himself to completion, in a desperate, frothing way until he gets to jizz on something unusual. Finally, once he’s spent and dry I can rub my feet together and feel the viscous stickiness drying between my toes.

Why bother with a bucket list?

The final thing I realised, having revisited this List of Dreams about a year after I actually wrote it, is that the idea of having a Sexual List of Dreams is a little bit odd. Sure, we all have one or two things that we’d quite like to try out, but writing them down in list form seems to give them a different, more significant status. Despite potentially being relatively easy to carry out, being On The List affords them mythical status – the ‘things I have always wanted to do’ as opposed to simply the ‘thing I quite fancy trying tonight.’ I mean, look at the final entry on my list – foot-jizzing, for crying out loud! I could tick that one off this evening and never think of it again. So why haven’t I?

Probably because, although it’s hot, and would no doubt be hot if I were to do it, it’s mainly hot because of the ‘oh holy shit that’s unusual’ element rather than because it’s inherently desirable to me. Although these things are exciting, most evenings what I fancy most is a bog-standard, pull-your-knickers-down-and-we’ll-do-it-in-the-hallway shag. I suspect that if every evening I was interrupted by half a rugby team naked from the waist down and ready for a gangbang, the novelty would wear off in a couple of months and I’d be begging for a quiet one-on-one fuck on the sofa.

Sexual bucket lists are all very well, and I’ll no doubt be patting myself on the back when I tick the next thing off, but their value (on my list, in any case) lies in their uniqueness, their special qualities. Just as no one wants to swim with sodding dolphins every morning, most days I’m happy with a wank.

I want to talk about fantasy and issues around consent. This blog touches on both of these things. Everything in it is consensual, but if discussions around this upset you or make you uncomfortable, you might prefer not to read it.

Consent is utterly fundamental when you’re having sex. It’s so fundamental, so important, that the vast majority of people wouldn’t even need to hear that stated: you just know. As you know it’s wrong to punch a stranger, sneak meat into vegetarian lasagne, or throw a kitten into a lake.

However, despite knowing these things are wrong, we’re more than happy for them to happen in fiction. We’ll cheer when the baddie gets punched in an action film, smile when Tom gets hit by Jerry, or laugh along when David Mitchell suggests that Robert Webb should kill and eat a cat. We’re perfectly capable of distinguishing fantasy from reality.

‘Bending’ by Greta Christina

I was recently sent a copy of ‘Bending: Dirty Kinky Stories About Pain, Power, Religion, Unicorns, & More’ by Greta Christina. It’s a thoughtful, sordid, delicious shock of a book. She and I clearly have some very similar fantasies, and when I read it I was frequently torn between shouting “OH JESUS YES” and sneaking off the train for a quick wank in the toilets. They’re mostly BDSM-focused, and an excellent demonstration of just how much variety there is in even that one tiny slice of the sexual spectrum. If you like my blog, and the sort of things I write about, I’d be gobsmacked if you didn’t like at least a few of the stories in this book.

However, some of the stories deal with fantasies that involve non-consent. One or more of the fictional participants is being cajoled, bullied or forced into doing something sexual. They describe sort of activities – like a cat being served up for dinner – that we wouldn’t want to see in real life. But does that stop them being hot? Does that make them unethical? I don’t think so. And although I could waffle on about this until my feline steak goes cold, I couldn’t put it better than Greta Christina herself.

Here is an extract from the book’s introduction that she’s kindly allowed me to publish as part of her blog tour:

These are not nice stories.

These are not “erotica” — except in the sense that “erotica” has become the term of art in publishing for “dirty stories with some vaguely serious literary intent.” These are not tender stories about couples in love making love. (Except for the one that is.) These are not sweet, gentle, happy stories about unicorns fucking rainbows. (Except for the one about the unicorn fucking the rainbow.)

A lot of fucked-up shit happens in a lot of these stories. Stuff happens here that is borderline consensual. Stuff happens that is not at all consensual. Stuff happens in which people manipulate other people into doing sexual things they don’t want to do. Stuff happens in which people do sexual things they’re ashamed of. Stuff happens in these stories that, if they happened in real life, I would be appalled and enraged by.

Stuff happens here that excites me to think about when I whack off.

I apparently have a very fucked-up sexual imagination.

But there is also love in these stories. Some of them, anyway. There is the love of long-term couples; there is the love of newly-discovered lovers; there is the love of friends. There is affection — between lovers, between colleagues, between strangers encountered on the street. There is respect: for love, for desire, for scars, for the complicated places where love and desire and scars overlap.

Above all, there is respect for sex itself. I think — I hope — that this respect underlies every story in this book. Beneath the excitement and the fear, the pain and the shame, the helplessness and the hunger, the danger and the love… there is always the idea that sex matters.

Since most of these stories are kinky, and since some people reading this may not be super-familiar with kink, I want to take a moment to talk about kinky porn.

Some of these stories are about consensual sadomasochism. They’re about negotiated SM scenes between consenting adults, with safewords and limits and attention to safety. There’s conflict in the stories, and mis-steps, and bad decisions… but fundamentally, what happens within those stories is consenting. They are attempts to express, in fiction, some of the things that consensual sadomasochists do.

And some of these stories aren’t. Some of these stories are about force, and violation, and abuse of power. They are attempts to describe, not what consensual sadomasochists do, but some of the things we think about. They are attempts to describe some of the images that come into our minds when we masturbate, or have sex, or engage in consensual SM. They are attempts to describe some of the activities that some of us consensually act out with each other. They are fantasies.

And every single story in this book is consensual.

They’re consensual because they’re fiction. They’re consensual because they’re made-up. I consented to write them; you’re consenting to read them. If you don’t want to read this kind of thing, this isn’t the book for you. I encourage you to put it down, and read something else.

It’s funny. When it comes to things that aren’t sex, people seem to understand this distinction. People get that enjoying spy novels doesn’t mean you want to join the CIA; that enjoying murder mysteries doesn’t mean you want to kill people; that enjoying heist thrillers doesn’t mean you want to break into Fort Knox. People understand that it’s fun and exciting to imagine things we wouldn’t actually want to do — even things we think are immoral.

But for some reason, porn often gets held to a different standard. Depicting a fantasy of a sex act is often assumed to be an endorsement of that act. So let me spell it out: I do not endorse sexual force, abuse of power, rape, or any form of violation of sexual consent. I am vehemently opposed to them.

I am, however, unapologetic about the fact that I like to fantasize about them. If we have any freedom at all, it’s the freedom between our ears: the freedom to think about whatever we like. And that includes sex.

If this has intrigued you, do check out the book – available on Kindle, Nook, Smashwords, and eventually print and audiobook too.

And if this has enraged you, I’d genuinely love to know why. What makes sex different? I don’t want to live in a world where we can’t separate fantasy from reality. That means not just comedy, cartoons, and action films but sex as well.

I’m pretty bad at dominance. I enjoy being domme occasionally, and there’s certainly an incredibly satisfying something about making a guy angrily horny and desperate to come, then saying ‘nope’, and walking away while he lies whimpering in a sexy heap. Usually I prefer to be the one doing the whimpering – it’s more fun to tremble in excited anticipation of what might be done to you than to tremble in terror that your “who’s a naughty boy then?” will be met with a snort of derisive laughter. So I was delighted when someone sent me this guest post, in which she provides what I can only very rarely attempt: some super-hot sexy writing with the girl very much on top. From our anonymous Africa correspondent, here’s some female dominance, a hate fuck, and a massive dollop of rage…

(more…)

I love it when guys I’m with give me commands.

“Pull down your pants.”
“Bend over this.”
“Open your fucking mouth.”

Being told to do something gets me much much hotter than when they drop subtle hints: a command is delicious because it’s a shortcut, a cheat mode to instant gratification for both of us. I know exactly what he wants from me, and I don’t need to mess around experimenting – I can just obey and guarantee instant hotness.

But there’s one command that makes my blood run cold:

“Be mean to me.”
“Hurt me.”
“Dominate me.”

Running out of ideas

The first time I ever dominated a guy I was ham-fisted and incompetent. His request that I ‘be mean’ to him was disconcertingly vague. Do you want me to verbally abuse you? Beat you? Tease you? Make you wear my knickers and crawl around on the floor like a dog? I had no idea.

I tested, of course, with gentle slaps and nervous ‘tell me you love it’s and ropes that never seemed to make the right knots when they were in my hands. But ultimately I felt like a fraud: I don’t want to hurt you – I want to be hurt by you. I can’t tie you spreadeagled to the bed and watch your twitching erection without wanting to sit on it. I can’t tease you with lube and toys and stinging licks of pain because all I want to do is see you – feel you – come.

Anything other than those specific things feels contrived and – when done by me – like a poorly-scripted comedy. I couldn’t bring myself to give any orders or try many new techniques because they seemed so unnatural that I was certain he’d see through me instantly, and have to stifle giggles rather than moans of pained lust.

So the first time I tried to dominate a guy it went a little something like this.

Guy meets girl.
Guy asks girl to hurt him.
Girl laughs nervously and tells him to take off his clothes.
Girl slaps his arse a few times, flips him over, pins his wrists to the bed, calls him a filthy boy and then runs out of ideas.
Girl sits on guy’s dick and rides him until she comes.
Guy ejaculates, with a palpable sense of disappointment.

One command to rule them all

I’m better now. Not because I have gone on a course, or because I’ve developed a natural skill for sultry dominance, but because I have repeatedly fucked up. Times I’ve slapped guy’s faces and had them say “no no, not that. I don’t like that” or tied their wrists to the back of a chair with knots so weak that a strong draft could set them free.

The fuck-ups have paved the way for more experimentation – I’m not just going to sit on someone’s cock because that’s the only thing that springs to mind. Now that I’ve had time to test what I can and can’t do, and how to find out what a guy actually means when he says ‘dominate me’, I can do more – go further.

Despite not being comfortable wielding a bullwhip, I can use a flogger to make someone tingle all over, and usually make sure the strokes land roughly where I’m aiming them. I’ve realised that although saying ‘get on your fucking knees’ doesn’t come naturally to me, putting a guy in a pair of silky knickers and squeezing his aching cock through the smooth fabric has a certain charm that I appreciate. I can sit a guy down on a lubed up buttplug and grab his dick, stroking then stopping then stroking then stopping until he makes choked whimpering noises in the back of his throat.

I’m still not a great domme, but I enjoy it more now I know that if I fuck up it’s not the end of the world. Because although I like being ordered around, I’ve learned that giving the orders can be pretty fun too. As long as the number one command is: “When I’m on top, thou shalt not laugh.”

Sorry I haven’t written much recently. I’m a bit on holiday. Normal service will resume this week, but as ever do subscribe for updates in the top right-hand corner to save you having to keep coming back and being met with a brick wall of disappointment if I haven’t updated.

Oh master, let me worship at your feet. Let me lick them and beg for your sexual favour and look up at you with adoring eyes and unquestioning obedience.

Or, more realistically, let me do the opposite. Let me call you a dickhead when we’re in the pub and you make a stupid joke. Let me eat all your Fruit Pastilles and tell you your iPhone is rubbish and bollock you when you make us miss the trailers at the cinema.

I’m a crap submissive. Or rather, I used to think I was a crap submissive back when I thought submissives had to be a certain way.

When I first got involved with the kink scene by attending fetish parties and spanking sessions, I found it quite hard to keep my mouth shut in the appropriate places. This isn’t because I didn’t want to be spanked – I bloody well did. But it’s not even because I was deliberately being a brat so that I’d achieve more spankings – telling a fifty-something dom guy that by voting Tory he’s contributing to the demise of the NHS is more likely to lead to a cold shoulder than a hot beating.

No, the reason I couldn’t keep my mouth shut is because I was – still am, and always fucking will be – a gobby twat.

It’s all about the challenge

I read a rather excellent blog about this the other day from a domme’s point of view. Not Just Bitchy explained how submissives who kick ass and take names are fucking hot. I like this point of view very much, because not only am I one of the aforementioned ass-kicking subs, but naturally most of the men I have submitted to have pretty similar attitudes. In short: they didn’t see the fun in controlling me if I was too easy to control.

Perhaps they were just being nice. There is, after all, something fairly unsexy about a girl who is willing to swallow your cock one minute then steal your chips the next. But I don’t think I could have any kind of long-term play relationship with someone who insisted on compliance (or even fake compliance) at all times.

Ultimately, submission for me is about sex: I do what you tell me to do because it makes me wet when you give me orders. I like being bossed around, punished and manipulated in bed because it makes me weak at the knees. But these things only really seem relevant in the bedroom. If you tried to order me to do something in the pub, I’d either slick my knickers and demand that you took me immediately home to fuck, or I’d laugh at your assumption that I’d abandon my pint just a couple of sips in.

Submissives are like boxes of chocolates

Some people – magical, rare people – have enough self-control that they can do the D/S thing all day every day (or something pretty close to it). Others don’t need to put any effort in, because their natural state is one of demure submissiveness. But the vast majority of us are incapable of doing that for longer than is necessary for us to have a twitching orgasm.

I like playing like this – pretending to be sweet and compliant and ever-so-slightly terrified of your massive cock, and what you’re going to do to me with it. I like acting as if my stroppy comments are genuinely unacceptable and warrant a spanking for misbehaviour.

But that’s all it is – play. Occasionally I get emails from guys saying they wish they could meet a girl like me or that they wish their girlfriend was this submissive. My immediate response to both of these things is to consider reporting myself to the Advertising Standards Agency. You have no idea – no idea – how much of a slovenly, disobedient, swearing cock I am. All you know is that I like some specific somethings, and when those specific, submissive somethings are good enough – they provoke the right hot feelings or desperate moans – then I’ll write about them on the internet.

Submission, for me, isn’t about being controlled and dominated – it’s about getting fucked. I’ll bend over for you, suck your dick, and squirm with pleasure when you call me a ‘good girl’, but at the end of the day we have to pack away the toys and get back to real life. And by ‘real life’ I mean me, in my pants on the sofa, shouting obscenities at the telly while you make me a fucking sandwich.