Tag Archives: bdsm
The edge of orgasm: I need words to tip me over
“I gave in around six in the morning, and came all over my stomach thinking about fucking you bent over the bed and digging my fingernails into your tits.”
Problematic fantasies: do your politics influence how you get off?
Sometimes it’s obvious that a particular scenario will be hot to me. If it fits the template of most of my other fantasies – me in submission, being beaten or used in order to get someone off: tick. If it involves a vast quantity of spunk, or a belt, or a group of eager men: tick. I frequently embrace problematic fantasies – where ‘problematic’ roughly equates to ‘something I’d never want to happen in real life.’ Other times I’ll use fantasy to try out new kinks – in order to work out if something is going to press my buttons, I need to think about it for a while. Close my eyes, picture the scenario in my head, and thoughtfully frig myself off while I try a new fantasy on for size.
This post includes frank discussion of sexual fantasies that include extreme BDSM, and rape fantasies.
Erotica from the back of a fag packet
You can find filth anywhere if you keep your mind open to it… even on the back of a fag packet. The following story contains some BDSM, and is NSFW.
Guest blog: how to have the best night in a fetish club
Occasionally people email me to ask for swinger or fetish club recommendations. This is a problem because, well… my experience is wildly out of date. I used to go fairly regularly with my ex, then when we split up I struggled to find other people to go with, and nowadays I prefer to avoid the complicated dress codes and just stay home in my jeans. So when Zak Jane Keir (erotic author and contributor to the amazing Eroticon anthology) offered a guest blog with some tips on making the most of your night in a fetish club, I nearly bit her hand off. So if you’re planning a trip to a fetish club any time soon, here are her tips on how to have the best night…
What are you thinking? Honest answers to a tricky question
Most of us dread being asked “what are you thinking?” – it’s like a bucket of cold water chucked on you from the sky, interrupting whatever train of thought you were pursuing. Inviting you to pluck the most recent flash of memory or fantasy from your head, and spit it out into the world. Without context, without nuance. It’s just there. Sometimes I am thinking thoughts so bizarre that I wouldn’t want him to hear them unprepared. Other thoughts are so dark that I wouldn’t voice them at all. But I like that he asks. I love that he asks. And for that, he deserves answers.