It’s pretty rare that someone shares an exact fantasy of mine, right down to every sticky detail. I think the same is true for most of us, which is why those ‘top fantasies’ surveys are usually far too broad to be useful on an individual basis. X per cent of men fantasise about having a threesome – big deal. Who is the threesome with? What happens during it? What’s the atmosphere like? Is the main participant a passive receptacle for the sexual whims of the other two, or are they an active and eager consumer, sampling whatever deviant delights they are offered? Is this threesome in a specific place, or are specific words said? When you get down to the granular detail of a fantasy, it’s incredibly rare to find someone who shares something identical, in every possible respect.

So, when I tell you that I once explained this fantasy to someone, and watched their eyes light up with gleeful enthusiasm, as they told me they had exactly the same desire, I hope you can understand just how rare that was. And how utterly soaked I was by the time they’d finished explaining exactly why they liked it too.

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“Write more about pegging!” say a whole bunch of messages in my inbox. As has always been the case with sex blogging, as soon as I write up a particular act or story that has fetish value, I’ll be inundated with people who love it and want to hear more. Pegging – because I’m sure there are some who aren’t familiar with it – essentially refers to the act of strapping on a cock and shagging a smile onto the face of the person you’re with. Instead of giving you more stories about my own incompetent attempts to peg guys, this week I’m handing over to a guest blogger – Lady Lucifer (@TheLadyLucifer on Twitter) – who is a pro-domme with a wealth of strap on expertise. She got in touch recently with a deeply hot story to share.

This is the pegging spitroast.

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At my first ever munch about – oooh, a million years ago now – the first question people asked was: “are you a top or a bottom?” As we mingled with a bunch of exceptionally friendly people, dressed in anything from jeans and t-shirt to ropework and pants, everyone wanted to know:

“Top or bottom?”

“Domme or sub?”

What are you?

For want of a better word, we both said ‘switch.’ Having done our research (read: furiously masturbated to a number of blog posts and forum debates) we figured that our ‘whatever we fancy at the time’ attitude probably best fit into that category. Neither of us was a particularly dominant person, nor were either of us comfortable being cast in the role of submissive, nervous that it would prevent us from having the same kind of playful back-and-forth that was a staple of our usual nights out.

Kinda silly, really, but we were young, and hadn’t a sodding clue what we were doing.

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Content warning: Every single thing that happened in this blog post was consensual, enjoyable, beyond wonderful. If you are likely to be triggered by male dominance, and role-playing sexual aggression, you probably won’t enjoy this, but I most certainly do.

Sometimes the difference between a lovely fuck and a powerful orgasm can be just one sentence. It’s true: it’s really, undeniably true.

When I’m alone, coming up with a new scenario which will power the majority of my wanking for the week, the most crucial things aren’t the settings or the characters, but what they say to each other. There’s no point conjuring a threesome with two guys (one much older, one my age) who strip me from the waist down then fuck me over the table during a police interrogation if they refrain from actually interrogating me. The difference between an idle daydream and a full-blown wank fantasy that’ll bring me directly to orgasm, is what the people say while they’re fucking.

“Do you want this? Tell me you love it. Say it. Say you want my dick. Can you feel that? Yeah. You. Fucking. Love. My. Cock.”

It’s important that they punctuate the filthier words with a fuckstroke between each. I know not why.

Often I forget how important these little phrases and sentences are when I’m having actual sex because… well… often I forget to speak when I fuck, as does he. We’re so busy enjoying the feeling of sticky hardness – why would we need to mention to the other just how much we love it? But the other day he said something so good it made me remember.

In the middle of a vigorous, angry, role-play shag in which I played the horny desperate one and he played the dude who was using me as a convenient fucktoy, he said something so perfectly pitched that I couldn’t help but come. I was close, of course – the vicious pounding coupled with a lot of foreplay (and by ‘foreplay’ I mean ‘him beating me as I sucked his dick, then beating me harder if I didn’t do it exactly as he asked’) meant I was teetering dangerously close to the edge of orgasm. He had me on my knees on the edge of the bed, curled into a ball and gripping my ankles.

The power of one sentence (don’t worry, I’ll get to what it actually was, I promise) stayed with me for far longer than a simple “I’m gonna come now” or a “your cunt feels so good.” Both of these things are great, of course, but they don’t linger in the same way as something totally unique, something new. Something – like the following phrases – that guys have said to me and I haven’t been able to shake from my head.

Some of these are years and years old, but I still get wet when I think about them.

Sexiest things ever said to me

“Get on my cock.”

Simple, effective, casual. The use of ‘get’ rather than ‘sit, making it ever so slightly colder and more distant. Drawled with a lazy sigh, as he unzipped his fly and pulled out a thick, satisfying erection that he’d been packing for a while. Drawing our chit-chat to a close with an order so confident I couldn’t bear not to comply.

“Sssh.”

The first time a guy used this I was surprised that no one had used it before. I’d had ‘be quiet’ and ‘careful of the noise‘ as gentle reminders not to disturb the neighbours, but this was completely different. It had nothing to do with what he feared others would hear, and everything to do with him embracing the role of the dominant one – ordering me to do something that was difficult for me, so I could better concentrate on what turned him on.

You were expecting some more unusual things guys have said, though, right? How about this…

“I want to put a scoop of ice cream down the back of your knickers and bury my fucking face in it.”

This phrase, whispered in a voice hoarse with lust, struck me dumb for five minutes. We were sitting in a pub, deciding on whether or not we’d fuck again, whether the aching need for each other outweighed all the rage we felt for each other elsewhere. It was such a perfect expression of the weird love/rage/lust that we both felt, with an extra dose of worshipful need. I didn’t fuck him that day, but as we parted at the train station, in a mournful ‘goodbye’ hug, it took everything in my power not to bite into his neck.

Where were we? Oh, the sexiest thing. The one I promised to tell you at the beginning.

It was during the most vigorous minutes of the fuck, as I was trembling with the effort of trying to stay in position. “Keep hold of your ankles,” he told me, and my cunt tightened. As he shoved his dick into me with sharp strokes, I struggled to keep hold of them – to maintain the tight, curled posture that allowed him, standing up by the side of the bed, such easy access to my cunt. My neck hurt, and I shifted, losing grip on one of my ankles. He grabbed my hips and pulled me back.

“Hold that position.” Each word punctuated with a fuckstroke, just like it is in my dreams.

I held it. I held it for longer. I slipped again. By this point he’d given me enough ‘that’s it’ and ‘good girl’s’ to have me dripping down the inside of my thighs, which were shivering with the stress of staying still and the beginning of the build to a hard, heavy climax.

Then I slipped again. And he said it:

“If you don’t hold this position, and I can’t come, I’m going to beat you so hard.”

And I came. Squeezing around him and shuddering all the way from my thighs up to my chest, I came so hard I thought I was going to push his cock out of me. Which I would have, of course, if he hadn’t been in ‘dominant’ mode, and holding me tight against his crotch so he could feel every single inch of my cunt throbbing and constricting around his dick. Milking the spunk out of him as he tipped over the edge too.

I imagine that line, like the ice-cream one, or the first ever gruffly-whispered ‘sssh’, will stay with me for a long, long time. I may forget how it felt, or the way the room looked, or the tingling feeling of his huge palms slapping my naked arse, but that sentence won’t leave me – it’s pitch, timing, tone, all perfectly tailored to my individual kinks. When I’m old and frail and incapable of holding that awkward sex position, I’ll remember the guy who ordered me to, and bite my lip with nostalgic desire.

“I love fucking you by that corner in your room. It means I can brace both my hands against the wall and really go for it.”

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