Ride of the Valkyries makes it in, obviously, as does Night On Bare Mountain, but Oh Fortuna is far too funny and Pachelbel’s Canon too soft. We’re sitting on the sofa skimming through a Spotify list of ‘Top 100 Classical Music Bangers’ and, of course, selecting which ones we will fuck to.

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I’m a huge fan of first times, almost as big a fan as I am of the awesome Missy of Focused and Filthy, who has one hell of a first to share today: recently she experienced her very first sensual tantric massage. And I have to admit I am wildly curious about this kind of thing as well. Giving your body over to someone else to massage and pleasure slowly and intensely… yeah. Sounds hot. But even though I knew it would be hot, I was not prepared for how stunning it sounds when Missy explains it in detail…

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This fabulous (and clever!) piece that turns testing sex toys into a super horny erotic scene is written and read by The Barefoot Sub. 

The doorbell shrieked, cutting through the static of my empty head! I’d been staring at a blank screen for what felt like hours, the cursor blinking away on the screen as I wracked my brain, attempting to get the words out. Waiting for my local courier to drop off my sinful delivery, certain I was distracted by the pleasure to come. Surely this was it? Though the regular driver would usually leave it in my safe space. Jumping up, I went to see who it was.

“Sophie,” I beamed, “you decided to take me up on the offer of a cuppa? Your timing couldn’t have been better.”

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You can feel your lover’s pulse with one finger. You know this, of course, but I bet you don’t think about it often. I thought about it the other day and the force of it hit me like a punch in the chest. You can feel the thud of their blood running through their body, keeping them alive. The heartbeat that powers the person who makes you quiver with need. The one you want to bury your nose, your face, your fucking life in… you can feel your lover’s pulse with a single finger. Isn’t that awesome?

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When I tell my sister this story, she snort-laughs and tells me ‘we really need to do something about the low expectations you have of men.’ I’m front-loading this because I suspect that’s what the man involved might say himself. He used to be quite baffled by how pleased I was when he did little thoughtful things, as if little thoughtful things aren’t worthy of note. As if kindness is incidental, instead of – you know – everything.

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