Today’s guest blog got me so fucking horny. I’m not going to give it a much longer intro than that, but when this week’s guest blogger – Jocket – sent it through to me I was very annoyed that there were people in my house so I couldn’t immediately go and wank. It’s about skin hunger, and lust, and not making eye contact. Yearning and aching and relief. I adore it.

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When I move in, it takes a couple of days before I can get my bearings. Before I can survey my domain and think ‘fuck yeah. I am queen of this.’ When I move in, it takes a couple of days before my heart stops racing like it’s trying to escape from my chest. Before I stop thinking ‘shit. What the fuck have I done.’

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A good friend won’t raise eyebrows if they turn up at your house and there’s a fuckmachine assembled in your office. A great friend will offer to babysit your fucking machine while you’re looking for somewhere to live. The latest Kink of the Week topic is fucking machines, so I expect a lot of people will be dreaming of having a vigorous robotic fuckpony of their very own. Here’s my pitch as to why, if you can’t afford one yourself, you should consider buying one on a timeshare with your pervy mates.

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This gorgeous real life story about play in a BDSM club is by Victoria Blisse, and first appeared on her website. It is read here by Sherryl Blu. Features sadism, BDSM, pain and blood.

It was Kev’s birthday party at Miss Ts. I was wearing my new polka dot dress with pockets and telling everyone it had pockets because that is a given. I was doing my hosting duties and when I wasn’t I was sitting between Kronopticon and Palantilin. I tell you, there’s something quite decadent about flopping down on a sofa between two hot guys, both happy for you to snuggle close and touch them. The two meanies hadn’t met before, but they seemed to bond quite happily over their mutual desire to hurt me.

I was glad to be of service.

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Obvious point: it’s hard to write a blog when there’s a plague on. Especially a personal blog which relies on telling stories. At the moment the world is mostly flooded with two types of story: the boring and the horrible. There are rare, lovely, sexy moments of joy, and I try to capture those when my brain is functioning, splatter them onto the page and hit ‘publish’ quickly before I have too long to second guess whether they’re good enough. But I’m mostly here for honesty so I’m just going to say it plainly: it’s hard to write a blog when there’s a plague on.

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