Those of you who know me know I love comedy almost as much as I love dick. Anyone with the ability to make me laugh gets bonus attractiveness points and most likely a large slice of my heart. So I’m delighted to welcome this week’s guest blogger. RB is a stand-up comic who struggles with one of the eternal dilemmas: how do you keep a straight face when something sexy also makes you want to burst out laughing? Sex and stand up comedy wouldn’t have struck me as a natural pairing – I’m a notoriously miserable twat when it comes to laughter during sex, and as a general rule if you giggle when I’m naked I will burst into horribly unattractive tears and order you out of the bedroom. But thinking about some of the stranger things we do in pursuit of orgasm, I have to admit RB’s got a point: sometimes we are hilarious creatures.

Sex and stand up comedy

*SLAP*
‘Oh…FUCK.’
‘When I spank you, what do you say…?’
‘Um…’
‘Well, little slut?’
‘I don’t know, what DO I say?! This is sex, not Mastermind!”

And we collapse into giggles, in a sweaty, semi-clothed heap, and the moment’s gone.

When I first became interested in BDSM recently, I thought the greatest conflict it would present would be with my feminism. How, after all, could you campaign for sexual autonomy and equality, then be completely dominated in the bedroom, and called all sorts of names you’d seethe with anger at in the outside world?

Obviously, I realised quickly that it chimes perfectly with feminism; you can do whatever you damn well please in the bedroom with a consenting and understanding partner, whether it be being beaten with a riding crop, pissing on someone (I’ve heard that’s a thing…), or straightforward missionary in the dark.

No, the biggest conflict I’m experiencing; being a sub and being a smart-arse.

I’ve been performing stand-up comedy for over a year. I’m a fledgling but I’m pretty damn good. I also perform spoken word poetry and improv – I feel I could, just about, call myself a ‘comic’ without sounding like a massive arse. It’s my life; I love it, I’m good at it, and I want to make it into a living someday. But with this, my personality has shifted into one of ‘tiny loud clown’; I take very little seriously and spend an inordinate amount of time trying to make people laugh (including strangers). If I can find an acceptable opportunity to take the piss, I’ll take it. So, how on earth am I meant to react when a man pulls me onto his knee and slaps my arse, again and again, whispering very low, ‘fucking jailbait.’

A handful of people that I’ve spoken to have assumed I’m a domme, and I can understand why. I’m loud and confident to the point of hyperactivity (off-set by the occasional depressive episode where I stay in bed for two days, cry and cannon ball Pringles tubes). I’m very argumentative and opinionated, and I talk about sex, in and out of stand-up, with a frequency and volume which amuses and alarms people in equal measure.

But, BUT, this is the thing. Performing is exhausting. Commanding an audience’s attention can take all your nerve, courage and confidence; and I do an awful lot of it. When I get to the bedroom with someone; to relinquish control, to hand over the keys, is such a relief. It’s like taking your shoes off at the end of the day. I can relax. I’m in someone else’s hands. And oh, what capable hands they can be. As refreshing as it can be for a loud little idiot like me to quiet down and obey orders, it’s equally fun to watch a soft-spoken, polite, unassuming person take the command they might not otherwise have in their everyday life; to watch them transform into a beast who’s going to fucking have you – use you and bite you and turn you into a panting wreck.

‘God, you’re so fucking wet, you little slut. You want me to untie you? You want me to fuck you? You want to feel my cock inside you, do you?’

‘…yes.’

‘Yes, WHAT…?’

‘Yes, sir. Oh, fuck, FUCK…’

Keeping in character is tricky. Sex is never like the movies. There are knees slamming into faces, narrow beds to fall off, crap knots, sneezing. Having to move out of a kneeling position during a spanking because you desperately need to blow your nose. Hearing the word ‘balls’ and bursting out laughing. Just realising the absurdity of the entire situation and failing to take it seriously. I’m a beginner, and I’m still stumbling through a sea of spankings and commands and filthy hard limit lists, and I’m still going to get the giggles. Occasionally I worry that I won’t be able to stop; I’ll degenerate into a pile of hysterical laughter, those fits that make your stomach ache and tears leak out of your eyes, and I’ll totally undermine the person that I’m with.

But, when you’re on your knees with your wrists tied in front of you, and he’s behind you, fucking you in short, hard strokes; slapping your arse with an open palm, chuckling darkly as you gasp at the sound, and the quick burst of pain, calling you a ‘filthy…little…BITCH.’ and you feel as if you might either come or go absolutely fucking mad…

…it’s hard to make a joke. Or make any noise at all, except to moan, and to swear, and to scream.

Those who enjoy a good BDSM beating understand that there’s a hierarchy of stinging pain. To those who aren’t into it, a general aversion to being whacked by your partner in the throes of passion probably extends to all the different forms of whacking: belt, cane, hand, crop, paddle. If it hurts and you don’t like it, you probably don’t want to think about which exact method you dislike the least.

(more…)

For me, sex is one of the most important parts of a relationship. It’s up there with trust, laughter, and an ability to tolerate each other’s excessive flatulence after curry night. Sex – if it’s good enough – is often a key motivator to help me fall for someone in the first place.

The idea of a long-term relationship with someone who didn’t share at least a fair proportion of my kinks makes me desperately sad. But in the past when I’ve raised this with friends I’ve been told that sex isn’t everything – it pales into insignificance when you compare it to the mighty force of love.

I was doubtful, and I still am doubtful that sex – for me – will ever take a back seat in terms of my priorities. But for this week’s guest blogger it’s done just that. I’m delighted to have her here because her perspective is so different to my own, and I’d love to know if other people have struggled with similar things – have you ever fallen in love and had to make a similar choice?

Someone else’s story: choosing love over kink

I’m dirty. I’m filthy. I’m a slut. My mind is constantly wandering between kinky fantasies where I’m being used and abused and these fantasies make my cunt throb.

For years this was what happened to me: I was in relationships with guys that made my unspeakable fantasies a reality. I was whipped, beaten and peed on into a sweaty, cum-covered mess. I knelt before relative strangers and begged for their worst and they gave it. I submitted to harsh experienced Masters who knew how to make me tremble without a single touch, could make me cum from a well delivered spanking and always left me wanting more. I “knew” I would be a dirty girl till the day I died.
I was happy to be treated this way.

So how merely 3 years from my last spanking have I ended up married to a guy who thinks doggy style is kinky, who could never speak during sex and is happy with once a week missionary?

No I didn’t run out of things to do. I drip at the thought of being roughly taken up the arse but know I will never know the feeling. There is so many scenes I’m yet to try. I’m still submissve in my soul.

No I don’t think I can change him. No I don’t cheat. If you had asked me before I met him if I could give up filth I would have sworn it was impossible. So can a self identified filthy slut be happy with a ‘vanilla’ guy?

The answer is yes. I’m happy. I love him more than I knew I could and know this is the forever after people dream about. As sappy as that sounds but when you know you know!

I think it’s all about priorities. Mine changed the first time he kissed me. Love. Family. Happiness. They are more important to me than filthy sex.

Did I compromise? Am I going to resent him in 10 years? Who knows! I don’t think so. My life is great. He is great.

He knows how to make me smile at the end of a really shit day.

He knows when to shut up and leave me alone.

He knows my favourite bands, books, food etc.

He makes my family his family and me part of his.

He gets me in a way no one ever had.

So I don’t tremble into subspace with a look. Sex is functional. It scratches an itch. It made my child. I’m not saying he’s bad in bed – I’m saying we aren’t sexually compatible. Somewhere there are girls who just want a quiet fuck on a Saturday night – should he be with one of them?

We all know someone or had a relationship that ended because they had different views on religion, family (usually whether to have one or not) or other significant issues. Is sex one of these issues? Or, more importantly, should it be? Do we put to much emphasis on sexual tastes and dismiss otherwise perfect relationships? We all know that relationships are about give and take. We put up with annoying habits (the snoring that brings the roof down, the dirty clothes on the bedroom floor, the lateness – and that’s just my own habits). We agree to disagree on many things.

Sex is great, but surely love has to be more important. I don’t think it would be a very healthy state of mind to choose a sexual relationship over a loving one. Of course you can have both – I am sure many people do – but if that’s not what fate has in store for you then you play the hand you’re given.

So I am happy in my ‘normal’ sex life. You may call it boring, you may say it can never work but every night I curl up next to a guy I love. If I threw our relationship away for dirty sex maybe I would never again find this heart stopping love.

So I will continue to rub myself furiously to thoughts of what I could have had done to me if the love of my life had been a filthy guy, but I will continue to love my life.

So would you give up filthy sex for the person you love?

I’d love to know what you think – is sex (and specifically the type of sex) a vital part of any relationship, and a potential ‘dealbreaker’ when you’re thinking about who to spend the rest of your life with? Are you in a relationship where you’ve reached a happy compromise? As with many sexual things, I think this is going to be different for everyone, so if you’ve struggled with this before I’d love to know how you dealt with it, and what you’ve decided your priorities and compromises are.

Five years ago, if you’d asked me if I’d like an ‘erotic massage’ I would have told you to fuck off to Ann Summers and take your gentle vanilla sex with you. I used to think that ‘erotic massage’ was basically a cunning way to delay a fuck, and thus an unnecessarily cruel trick that a partner might play on me when he didn’t really want to shag me and hoped I’d fall asleep before things started getting sticky.

I think it’s partly because the word ‘erotic’ is, to me, anything but. It evokes a gentleness and romance that I don’t find particularly hot. Filthy? Yes. Hot? Yes. Erotic? Nah. It’s why I’d always rather say that I write ‘filth‘ than that I write ‘erotica’. For many people that word may well mean total cunt-throbbing power, but for me it sounds like soft strokes and feathery kisses and the tickling touch of a considerate lover. Erotic massage, to me, never felt like something I could enjoy with the all-out aching lust that I look for in a decent fuck.

I was wrong.

Erotic massage as powerful filth

It’s late, and as usual I’m in bed first. Face-down on the pillows and just nodding off as he comes into the room.

“Are you awake?”

“Just about.”

He grabs a bottle of moisturiser from the shelf and pulls the bedcovers down so that I’m exposed from the back of my neck to the tops of my thighs. He slaps me on the arse. He straddles me.

I’m tired – so tired. I’m struggling on the edge of sleep and torn between wanting to fall into it, and wanting to stay awake for his touches. I hear the slick squirt as he grabs a handful of moisturiser.

“Do you want a massage?” He asks like it’s a gentle thing – a generous thing, but I know in this instance it’s not. Because, over the course of a year or so, he’s changed my opinion of the ‘erotic massage’ – it’s become something exquisitely filthy, dirty. An excuse for him to touch me. It’s something he’ll only do when his dick is hard and he’s throbbing and he wants to coax my cunt into throbbing in the same way.

He puts his hands on my back. One at the top, pressing down just below my neck so my face is forced deeper into the pillow. The other slides roughly down, snaking from my shoulder to my spine, down below the line of my knickers and into the crack of my arse. The wetness from the moisturiser spreads. He pushes his hand back up to join the other at my neck, then pulls both down hard, dragging along my wet skin, forcing my back into an arched curve. His hands reach the small of my back, and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my knickers.

His dick is pushing into me – hard and urgent through my crotch. His hands work more quickly. Pressing, pushing, dragging along my naked skin. Not gentle: rough. Not generous: desperate. He squeezes me, presses me, moulds my back into willing shapes. Up again to the nape of my neck to push my face further into the bed. Down to the small of my back to force my stomach tight against the sheets. Up to grab a handful of hair and make me gasp. Down to my arse, squeezing at me, spreading the cheeks so he can shove his cock right up against me.

I’m awake now – wide awake. Arching and pushing against him, lifting my arse and spreading myself to guide his dick into me. He drops the moisturiser and grabs lube.

As he did with my back, so he does with my cunt. Moistening, pushing, shaping. Rough hands and slick fingers working lube all over me. Every inch of his cock and every line and fold of my crotch. He pushes dripping fingers into me, and uses wet hands to pull me open. I grip the pillow with my fists and push back, begging him to fuck me.

“Please,” as I can feel the tip of his dick stretching the entrance to my cunt. “Pleeeease.” A whining, desperate moan, and his hand is on my neck again. One hand at my neck, and one on the small of my back, holding me in the perfect shape. He holds still. Waiting. Twitching. Controlling.

I urge him forwards but he won’t move – he’ll never move. He’ll wait until I make it on my own, as I struggle against his grip and try to pull myself down right onto the shaft of his swollen cock.

“Please.”

I push harder, straining against his solid grip. Finally, I feel it – the rush and twitch in my cunt as I ease backwards onto him. As he fills me up with his lubed-up dick and tells me I’m a dirty girl.

Then – and only then – does he really start to fuck me.

One of the best things about knowing someone well is that you understand their intimate fantasies. The things they tell you that they’ve never told anyone else. “I want someone to do this,” uttered with a slight nervousness and possibly a blush. I love being close enough to a guy that, when a particular scene appears on TV (police bundling their latest arrest into the back of a van, for instance) he can nudge me, whisper things in my ear, and know that it has pushed the exact buttons of one of my darkest fantasies.

This week’s guest blog comes from a couple, but with a bit of a twist. He has written a story tailored perfectly to her tastes. Something he has crafted based on all the things he knows she loves, and fantasises about. When he sent it through to me I wondered if he had accidentally wandered into my own head. Before we begin, I’m going to tell you that this story is quite extreme. It involves pain, group sex, and some utterly filthy stuff. Some of us like that, some of us don’t, so if you might be triggered by it please don’t read.

If, however, you like the idea of writing porn that is specifically tailored to one person, feel free to take up the challenge he’s laid down: can you write something for someone you know that is so perfectly tailored to the things they like that they can’t help but be aroused? Here’s his contribution…

Someone else’s story: highly personalised erotica

She’s alone in the room. She can hear their voices, muffled by the walls. They blend into one another, and all she’s left with is noise and anticipation. She tries to count them; to figure out how many there are, but she keeps losing track. She’s lying on the bed, eyes blindfolded, skin prickled. Her body scarcely covered by a red thong and bra. She’s breathing heavily. Her heart pounding in her chest.

Any minute now.

She tries to catch glimpses of the room, but her movement is limited. He told her to lie there on her stomach and wait. So, that’s what she’s doing. He told her not to move, so she doesn’t move.

She hears laughter from the outside. She doesn’t know how this will go. She doesn’t know whether she’ll like it or hate every second; but this is what she wanted. She asked for it, and now he’s giving it to her. She’s terrified, but the slickness between her thighs betrays her excitement.

The room is bare. The bed, covered in a simple plastic sheet, lies in the middle of the room, leaving space for movement around its four sides. There is a tarp on the floor. The light overhead is stark and bright. There are no candles or soft shadows here. There is nothing romantic about this. This is functional.

She hears the door click open, and the sound pours in from the rooms beyond. She hears men speaking, but doesn’t recognise their voices. They’re joking and laughing, and she can hear the pauses when they take sips from their drinks. She hears the tarp crinkling beneath their feet as they approach her. She’s not sure how many are in the room. She counts three, maybe four voices, but there are more outside.

She wants to ask who they are, but that would be against the rules. “Speak only when you’re spoken to.” That was what he’d told her earlier. Speaking now would defeat the purpose of the whole exercise.

The men keep chatting. They’re casual, as though there’s nothing unusual about this. None seem to notice, or acknowledge her. She’s invisible. Suddenly she feels a hand grab her ass. She breathes in quickly, and holds it. The gesture is somewhere between hard and rough. He pinches her ass cheek, and pulls it to one side. Another touches her on the stomach, sliding fingers across her skin. They’re sampling her; talking among themselves the whole time. The hand on her ass moves down between her thighs towards the slickness. Her breaths are shallow and fast. The men keep chatting, but she hears them spreading out now. There is at least one man by her head, and one to her side, and one, maybe two, by her feet. The hand between her thighs moves toward her cunt. He pushes the panties to one side, and she feels a finger push into her. Separating her. Opening her up. She gasps and pushes her face down into the mattress. His fingers move in and out quickly, her cunt increasingly drenched. She’s about to come, when she hears a zipper being undone somewhere close to her head, and a hand grabs the back of her hair, and pulls her head up. His cock is already hard when he pushes it into her mouth. She wraps her lips around it, and moves her tongue along the lower side.

“Suck it.” His hand is holding the back of her head, but it does nothing. He’s given her an order, and she follows it. She moves her head forward and backwards, faster and faster.

“Use your hands.” She reaches up and wraps her palm around the base of his cock, and starts moving in the opposite direction to her mouth. She twists her palm with every movement. She hears him breathing deeper, harder now.

A finger runs up from the small of her back to the nape of her neck. Her skin prickles, and she struggles to concentrate. Her cunt is slick and the finger inside it slams back and forth, faster and faster. She wants to come.

The man at her head pushes his cock deep into her mouth, and she feels herself gag. She wants to stop, to resist, but she doesn’t.

“Fucking take it!” He pushes hard on the back of her head as he jams his cock down her throat. She does as she’s told. She feels him wrench her head off of his cock, and he slaps her quickly. She doesn’t expect it, and lets out a whelp. He pushes his cock back into her mouth. She reaches up and starts jerking him off again.

She tries to concentrate on his cock, but the man at her cunt, or maybe one of the other men has started to pull down her thong, exposing her ass. She feels a finger sliding between her cheeks, playing with her asshole. She clenches, but he keeps at it. She hears the sound of a zipper and a belt, and fabric, and she realises that someone is taking off their pants. Strong hands grip her waist, and pull her back toward the edge of the bed. The man at her head pulls his cock out of her mouth and releases the back of her head. Her feet are on the carpet now, her body bent at a right angle over the bed. She feels the man behind her pull her underwear to one side, and then she feels his cock slide into her. She’s wet enough that there’s no resistance. She moans, and then she hears someone tell her to shut up. The man behind her lifts her body up so that she’s standing. She can feel his cock slamming into her again and again. Her cunt envelops him, and she imagines what it must look like. Someone grabs her bra and pulls it down forcefully. They grab at her tits and pinch her nipples and she moans again. She feels weight on the bed in front of her, and then another slap across her cheek.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Someone spits in her face, and then grabs the back of her head and forces it hard onto a cock. She reaches up to jerk it off, but she struggles. It’s hard to focus, to concentrate. The cock in her cunt feels as though it will tear through her. The cock in her mouth chokes her. Her nipples are sore from the fingers gripping them.

“Jerk it, you fucking slut!” She reaches up and wraps her hand around the cock in her mouth. She struggles, but she does whatever she can to get some sort of rhythm going. She takes him as deeply as she can, and she feels bile and spit pouring from her lips. Her eyes water beneath the blindfold, and she pictures the mascara running down her cheeks. His breathing becomes increasingly frantic, and he pulls the cock from her mouth, and starts jerking himself off, and she feels hot streams of come splattering across her face, blindfold, and lips, and he pushes his cock into her mouth for the last few spurts and she tastes it, hot on her tongue, and he tells her to swallow, and she does just that.

She feels a hand push hard against her back, grabbing at the remains of her bra, and her face slams into the mattress and the man behind her fucks her as hard as he can. She hears the sound of her bra rip, and soon she can’t feel it around her. He pushes down on her back, and forces her into the mattress. She feels the early waves of orgasm begin to flow through her. He slaps her ass once, twice, three times, four times, and she feels tears streaming from her eyes now as she comes on his cock, and then he hits her again, and his cock hurts as he slams it into her, but her cunt clenches around him as she spasms and, with a final violent thrust, she feels him pulsing and twitching as he comes deep inside her. He remains there for a moment, recovering himself, before pulling out. Her body is a mess of spasm, but she has no time to recover before she feels someone else take his place, and her cunt, drenched in her juices and filled with another man’s come is occupied with a new cock.

Her ass, already sore from the beating, hurts even more when someone pulls the thong violently and tears it away. She’s naked now. She feels a finger pushing into her ass, and she gasps. He isn’t simply playing with her asshole, he’s trying to finger her. She feels him stretch her open, and although it hurts, she pushes back onto him. He has large hands, with thick fingers. She can almost count the knuckles as they slide into her, and there she lies, filled in from behind, pressing back onto this new man as the waves begin again. She comes on his cock and his finger, and suddenly he grabs her hair and pulls her body up violently and calls her a slut, and although she is in pain, he fucks her hard. That’s when she feels someone standing in front of her, and someone else starts to slap her tits and grab at her body, and all of a sudden there is a hand around her throat and her breathing is cut off. She becomes delirious, and struggles, and wants to cry out, but she can’t and she comes again, harder this time; her orgasm punctuated by the suffocation and just then the hand around her neck releases and she breathes in deeply and tries to recover, remembering how good it feels to have air.

Someone hits her across the face, harder than she wants, and calls her a cunt, and tells her to open wide, and then she feels a stream of hot liquid splashing across her face and into her mouth, and when she realises that someone is pissing on her she wants to close her mouth, and to run away, and she almost does, but they told her to open wide, so she keeps it open, and she sputters and gags, and almost throws up, but she does as she is told.

Then the man in her cunt pulls out and pushes her aside. She feels him lie down on the bed, and then someone lifts her up and sets her down on him, facing away. She feels his cock pushing against her asshole, opening her up, and sliding inside her. It hurts, and she whimpers, but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes sting from the mascara. Her mouth tastes of piss and come, and her nipples are red from the pinching. Her body is drenched in sweat. She is sure there will be bruises around her neck. This isn’t tender or gentle or kind. This isn’t an evening of romance. This is what she wanted. She is their toy. A set of holes to be used and filled and defiled. This is what she’d asked for.

She feels his cock slide deep into her until the point that she is sitting on him. He grips her waist and starts moving her back and forth and tears stream from her eyes as he fucks her in the ass. She reaches down to touch herself, to help push herself over the edge, but someone slaps her hand away. She reaches back to touch the man behind her, but someone slaps her face hard and she half screams. Then she feels someone move in close to her. She can feel the heat from their body. They grab her legs and lift them up, exposing her cunt. Her thighs are covered in juice and come, and she is slick. Fingers push into her mouth, and they grip tightly, half down the back of her throat. She feels a cock sliding into her cunt, and she winces as she feels herself completely filled, and stretched. The man in front of her pushes in, as the other pulls out. She hears the sounds of other men in the room, and realises that they must all be gathered to watch the show. This makes her feel something, and the waves of orgasm wash over again, and she comes quickly. She pushes back onto any cock that will take her and tries to hold onto the waves as they crash over her again and again, and the fucking grows increasingly frantic, and the fingers in her mouth are making it hard to swallow, and she is drooling, and her chest is covered in sweat, spit, come and piss, and her body is sore, and in spasm, as she imagines the two men inside her, and their cocks touching deep within, and their shafts rubbing up against one another, and their balls smacking together and she wishes that she could watch them fuck; watch them writhe together, and as she thinks about this she spasms deeply once again, and this forces the man in her cunt over the top, and he pulls his cock from her and jerks off onto her stomach, in long, hot spurts. She imagines the come spraying and splattering onto the guy behind her, and she wishes that she could watch them lick it off of one another. The thought is lost when someone grabs her, and picks her up, and the cock slides from her ass, and she feels empty all of a sudden. She is forced to her knees, and she becomes aware that the men are now surrounding her. She can hear the sounds of them jerking off, and she knows what will be next. One by one, they come all over her. On her face, her chest, in her mouth, and her hair. The man who had been in her ass tells her to open wide, and he forces his cock into her mouth, and he tells her to suck him dry, and she does. She grabs his cock and jerks him off as well, and with her free hand she plays with his balls, kneading them, somewhere between gently and rough. She runs a finger back towards his asshole, and she gently pushes into him, fingering him as she sucks his cock, and he comes hard and deep into her throat, and afterwards he calls her a good girl.

There is the sound of rustling clothes and belts, and zippers and the men start talking among themselves as they dress. They laugh and joke, and soon the voices move into the other room. They don’t say a word to her, but she remains on her knees, waiting at attention.

“Do as you’re told.” He said before all of this had started, and so she simply waits. She wonders if they will come back for another round a bit later. Part of her hopes not. Her body is sore. Her cunt aching. She can barely breathe without her throat burning. Nonetheless, if they come back, she will do it again, regardless of how her body feels. She will find a way. There’s no doubt in her mind. The other part of her, the part that wanted this in the first place, can’t think of anything better.

If you’re now panting and post-orgasmically exhausted having read right to the end of that, then you probably have similar tastes to this guy’s partner – and indeed me. Those of you who read my Christmas fantasy from ages ago will understand why this ticks so many of my ‘holy fuck that’s horny’ boxes. If you fancy having a go yourself, check out my guest blog info and get in touch. I’ll add my contribution to the ‘Write Your Own Smut to Turn on Someone You Know’ project as soon as I can see straight again.