This post wraps some of my darker fantasies (about predatory fucking, sex and death, as well as other odd things that come into my head) with warmer things. Please take that as a content note, and don’t read on if that kind of stuff disturbs you.

And you know how jokes work waaaay better if you explain them in detail? Yeah? If you don’t want the explanation just skip to the hot sex story below.

If you want the explanation then here it is: I wanted to write something specifically for Eroticon, because I couldn’t decide which of my blog posts (or extracts from my book </plug>) to read in the session on the final day. So I wrote this, and it’s a bit more personal than a normal post because I wasn’t intending to put it online. Then some people told me to, so here it is. It’s a darker interpretation of the ‘questions I have asked my boyfriend‘ post from ages ago, and I wanted to try and get across the feeling of being so utterly comfortable and safe that you can embrace your darker and more terrifying thoughts without fear or shame or… well.

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This week’s guest blogger, Jane, got in touch with me a long time ago in response to a sex story I wrote about a hot, giggling lady who once gave me an enema. She asked if I could write more on messy sex, and it was a bit tricky. While I enjoy the occasional bit of piss-play, in terms of extreme mess, I’m definitely not the right person to talk about it, and anyone who’s genuinely into it would no doubt write me off as an amateur.

Still, the excellent thing about having a blog is that even if something doesn’t fall within my own kinky desires, there’s usually someone who is totally happy to share why it’s hot for them. So Jane kindly offered to write a guest blog of her own.

This extremely dirty sex story comes with a big, bold, neon sign that says ‘Not Safe For Work’, and – because I am essentially a big old worrier – it also comes with a link to this advice guide on ass play health risks, if you do fancy getting messy like Jane.

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There’s a look that says ‘I want to do this so badly.’ It’s similar to the look that says ‘I’m going to do this.’ The expression that says both ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ at the same time.

It usually comes from above.

I’m on my knees, or – as is the case in this story – lying on the sofa. Tired and horny and lazy and just that bit too Sunday-night-knackered to move. And he gets the look.

It’s straight-faced. Dark. A shadowy playfulness just behind it, but no hint of an actual smile. He stares directly at me, saying nothing. I look up, eyes wide with anticipation. Sometimes I’ll ask ‘what do you want?’ but far more often, I don’t. Because I know exactly what he wants: he wants to pull out his thick, warm cock, and fuck… well, not me specifically, but something. Anything.

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From casual conversations held with friends in darkened rooms, while they don’t realise that I’ve got a guy’s dick tight inside me, to moments when people walk in while we’re fucking. That split second where they stand and stare and can’t work out how to extract themselves if the ground resolutely refuses to swallow them. I was going to write about that stuff this week. It was going to be light-hearted and fun and a bit hot. Then, as I was collating anecdotes and remembering past fucks that fit the bill, I stumbled upon a sex story I’ve never written up – a brief encounter so horny that I couldn’t let it go. While sex interruptions are frustrating at the time, I doubt this brief fuck would have burned so clearly in my mind unless we’d been disturbed partway through, adding a heart-thumping fear and greater urgency to everything.

I might still write about sex interruptions in general, but for now you can have this: the filthy sex story that’s sat in my head for the last four days and won’t stop bugging me until I’ve relived it properly. Some things are just like that, you know? Well, you’ll see.

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