Special guest blog for you all today – an extract from a brand new collection of erotica! You might remember JK Mill’s fabulous short story here from a few months ago – fucking 150 feet up – a devastatingly horny tale about shagging halfway up a cliff-face. She’s back today to promote Wicked Little Miracles, a collection of erotic stories written by 18 different writers spanning everything from the tender and romantic to the strange, funny, filthy and fantastical. To whet your appetites, here’s an extract from a piece by Paragonas Vaunt, set at a gas station glory hole. I know how much readers here go wild for a glory hole story, so I’m delighted to share it with you. We join the action once the main character, Amy, has already stepped into the glory hole booth, and rung the ‘Priority Service’ bell, but she still has every chance to walk away. She’s weighing shame, respectability, age, loyalty, and the fear of being judged against a desire she’s denied herself for years…

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I’m so delighted to welcome this week’s guest blogger, who has been working behind the scenes to test out a kickass product from one of my site sponsors. The New York Toy Collective’s Trans Masc Pump is something that not many UK shops stock but Francesca, who runs the fabulous shop The Pleasure Garden, wanted to make sure that trans guys in the UK had access to some of the same gender expression products as our cousins over the pond. And to spread the word about it, we asked Erik – who wrote a fabulous guest blog here a while ago about sex in the time of fascism – to try out the pump and share his thoughts. I’m so grateful to him for giving such thoughtful insight – not just into how these pumps work, which will be really useful to those of you considering buying one, but also some more personal thoughts on the difference between sex toys and gender-affirming care.

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When she’s sat for long enough in the aftermath of her wanton behaviour – knickers down, bent over the desk in his office, palms smarting from the whipping that kicked off her punishment, he calls her through to the lounge.

Just one word, barked with force and anger:

“Come.”

Note: degradation/humiliation, consensual role play, beating, fucking-as-punishment, slut shaming. Catch up on part one (gang bang in a bar) and part two (tell me where you’ve been) then pop back here for the climax. 

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There’s a reason she turned up to the club wearing no knickers, and it’s a very very good one. As she’s getting dressed, she briefly contemplates which ones to wear – silk, lace, maybe a tiny black thong that can be easily torn off. Eventually she settles for ‘none at all’ though, plus a skirt that’s easy to hike up round her waist. That option seems like the best one, to achieve the end goal on which she’s so utterly focused.

Note this story contains degradation, a gang bang, dicks going into all the holes, cum, etc etc etc. 

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I love it when someone gets in touch to pitch a very specific case: something that they feel incredibly strongly about, for which they’d like their message to get as big an audience as possible. Doubly so when I approve that message wholeheartedly, as I do with this one. Today’s guest blogger would like to address cisgender men who have apparently been taking sex advice from misogynist pickup artists from the early noughties. Please welcome the fabulous Synonymph – a polyamorous sex enthusiast with a firm message for the men she meets: please please stop putting her hand on your boner.

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