Those of you who know me know I love comedy almost as much as I love dick. Anyone with the ability to make me laugh gets bonus attractiveness points and most likely a large slice of my heart. So I’m delighted to welcome this week’s guest blogger. RB is a stand-up comic who struggles with one of the eternal dilemmas: how do you keep a straight face when something sexy also makes you want to burst out laughing? Sex and stand up comedy wouldn’t have struck me as a natural pairing – I’m a notoriously miserable twat when it comes to laughter during sex, and as a general rule if you giggle when I’m naked I will burst into horribly unattractive tears and order you out of the bedroom. But thinking about some of the stranger things we do in pursuit of orgasm, I have to admit RB’s got a point: sometimes we are hilarious creatures.

Sex and stand up comedy

*SLAP*
‘Oh…FUCK.’
‘When I spank you, what do you say…?’
‘Um…’
‘Well, little slut?’
‘I don’t know, what DO I say?! This is sex, not Mastermind!”

And we collapse into giggles, in a sweaty, semi-clothed heap, and the moment’s gone.

When I first became interested in BDSM recently, I thought the greatest conflict it would present would be with my feminism. How, after all, could you campaign for sexual autonomy and equality, then be completely dominated in the bedroom, and called all sorts of names you’d seethe with anger at in the outside world?

Obviously, I realised quickly that it chimes perfectly with feminism; you can do whatever you damn well please in the bedroom with a consenting and understanding partner, whether it be being beaten with a riding crop, pissing on someone (I’ve heard that’s a thing…), or straightforward missionary in the dark.

No, the biggest conflict I’m experiencing; being a sub and being a smart-arse.

I’ve been performing stand-up comedy for over a year. I’m a fledgling but I’m pretty damn good. I also perform spoken word poetry and improv – I feel I could, just about, call myself a ‘comic’ without sounding like a massive arse. It’s my life; I love it, I’m good at it, and I want to make it into a living someday. But with this, my personality has shifted into one of ‘tiny loud clown’; I take very little seriously and spend an inordinate amount of time trying to make people laugh (including strangers). If I can find an acceptable opportunity to take the piss, I’ll take it. So, how on earth am I meant to react when a man pulls me onto his knee and slaps my arse, again and again, whispering very low, ‘fucking jailbait.’

A handful of people that I’ve spoken to have assumed I’m a domme, and I can understand why. I’m loud and confident to the point of hyperactivity (off-set by the occasional depressive episode where I stay in bed for two days, cry and cannon ball Pringles tubes). I’m very argumentative and opinionated, and I talk about sex, in and out of stand-up, with a frequency and volume which amuses and alarms people in equal measure.

But, BUT, this is the thing. Performing is exhausting. Commanding an audience’s attention can take all your nerve, courage and confidence; and I do an awful lot of it. When I get to the bedroom with someone; to relinquish control, to hand over the keys, is such a relief. It’s like taking your shoes off at the end of the day. I can relax. I’m in someone else’s hands. And oh, what capable hands they can be. As refreshing as it can be for a loud little idiot like me to quiet down and obey orders, it’s equally fun to watch a soft-spoken, polite, unassuming person take the command they might not otherwise have in their everyday life; to watch them transform into a beast who’s going to fucking have you – use you and bite you and turn you into a panting wreck.

‘God, you’re so fucking wet, you little slut. You want me to untie you? You want me to fuck you? You want to feel my cock inside you, do you?’

‘…yes.’

‘Yes, WHAT…?’

‘Yes, sir. Oh, fuck, FUCK…’

Keeping in character is tricky. Sex is never like the movies. There are knees slamming into faces, narrow beds to fall off, crap knots, sneezing. Having to move out of a kneeling position during a spanking because you desperately need to blow your nose. Hearing the word ‘balls’ and bursting out laughing. Just realising the absurdity of the entire situation and failing to take it seriously. I’m a beginner, and I’m still stumbling through a sea of spankings and commands and filthy hard limit lists, and I’m still going to get the giggles. Occasionally I worry that I won’t be able to stop; I’ll degenerate into a pile of hysterical laughter, those fits that make your stomach ache and tears leak out of your eyes, and I’ll totally undermine the person that I’m with.

But, when you’re on your knees with your wrists tied in front of you, and he’s behind you, fucking you in short, hard strokes; slapping your arse with an open palm, chuckling darkly as you gasp at the sound, and the quick burst of pain, calling you a ‘filthy…little…BITCH.’ and you feel as if you might either come or go absolutely fucking mad…

…it’s hard to make a joke. Or make any noise at all, except to moan, and to swear, and to scream.

When I first started getting into sex – and I mean really into sex, past the initial ‘oh bloody hell this is awesome’ stage and into the ‘I wonder what it would be like if I did this unusual thing’ phase – I gave butt plugs a fairly wide berth. Hitting implements: fine. Vibrators: no problem. Role play: as long as it wasn’t too funny. But butt plugs seemed like a strange and unusual thing.

I love anal sex, but the main reason I love it is because of the whole atmosphere – his grunting, delicious desperation as well as the feeling of his dick meeting tight resistance. Butt plugs seemed a bit pointless: I don’t have a prostate, so why would I want one there? What’s more, I felt a teeny bit nervous about using one on a guy. Worried that I might do it badly and it’d either be totally underwhelming or – worse – hurt.

As with many things, I was spectacularly wrong.

Sit

We talked about it first. He told me that he liked it: that feeling of being full. My head was full of pictures: him lying on the bed, naked from the waist down, reaching to push something firmly into himself. Him: sitting at his computer, with a plug snugly inside him and braced against the seat of the chair, frowning in concentration as he rubbed himself to climax.

I wanted to see that first hand.

“Are you going to use that on me?” he asked. I waited for a while, putting on the kind of face that covered my nervousness with controlled indecision.

“Nope.” I put it on the chair. “You’re going to use it on yourself.”

Stay

Watching him lube up the plug then wince with concentration as he slid it into himself was just the start. As he sat down slowly onto the wooden chair, his face displayed a beautiful tortured dilemma: ‘I like this. It feels good. But I feel so dirty.’

“How do you feel?”

“Dirty.”

“Touch yourself.”

He gripped his cock firmly and started sliding his hand up and down. He twitched and trembled with a combination or nervousness and arousal. I could see the tension in his neck, and the taut effort in his thighs as he tried not to rest with too much pressure. He didn’t want it in too deep straight away – he wanted to take it slowly. He swallowed, rubbed harder, relaxed a tiny bit. Let the plug slip slightly deeper into him.

“How do you feel?”

“Still…” he rubbed harder “…dirty.”

I sat on the edge of the bed getting hot at the sight of him. It was his face, mostly. The flickers of competing expressions and emotions as he stroked himself towards a climax that he was both desperate for and ashamed of. I couldn’t believe there could be such a difference between watching him wank and watching him wank like this: with a plug holding him firmly in a place where he was conflicted about his joy.

I had rarely wanted him more.

Good boy

I stood over him and pulled the crotch of my knickers to one side. He looked up at me and I gave him the kind of grin I’d usually save for afterwards: gleeful, ecstatic, overjoyed by this intensely new thing. I loved that this boy was so utterly on edge – aching from the plug and tingling through his dick and desperate to come right in front of me.

I straddled his legs, wrapped my arms around his neck, and lowered myself onto his cock. Gently, for the first few strokes, I slid up and down him – my cunt getting wetter and hotter at the sounds of his plaintive moans.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please… harder.”

“Fuck you harder?”

“Yes.”

“You want to feel me fuck you hard so this plug is pushed deeper into you?”

“I… yes.”

“Say it.”

“Please fuck me harder. I want to feel it inside me. Deep inside m… Oh God. Fuck. That deep inside me.”

So I fucked him harder – much harder. I rode his dick in a swift, jerking rhythm, grinding his arse into the chair and the butt plug deeper inside him. I rocked back and forth so he could feel it pushing against the inside of him from all angles. I gripped the back of the chair and pulled on his hair as he cried out. I felt the tension in him every time I slammed down to the base of his cock – the solid, hard strokes that drummed the base of the plug against the chair, and the tip of it into the boy.

There are other stories to tell about butt plugs – when they’re used on me, or other ways I’ve used them to make guys whimper. But this was one of the first introductions I had to butt plugs. From this point on, the main thing I associate them with (and the reason I always keep a couple of different types in my sex toy drawer) isn’t the play itself – the specific acts or moments or even the feeling as one is slipped inside – it’s the expressions. The looks of lust mixed with uncertainty and a heavy dollop of need. It’s filthy not just because he likes it but because of the way he likes it.

Finally, too quickly, before my thighs could even think about aching, he came. One final grunt of satisfaction and anguish and lust, and his cock twitched hard inside me. He buried his face in my chest and offered a wholly unnecessary “thank you.”

As with any toys mentioned here, you’d be helping to support my site by buying butt plugs from my affiliates using any of the links on this sex toys page. If you’d like a specific butt plug recommendation, my favourites at the moment are these Doxy butt plugs – buy direct from Doxy using my affiliate link and you’ll get 15% off and free shipping if you use the code GOTN15. 

In a fit of rashness, I recently wrote about how anal sex isn’t just hot because of the purely physical sensations. Most sex is – to my mind – enjoyably filthy because of how you do it. Exactly what you do matters less than the dominant, eager way in which you do it. You can wank me off in a way that both of us find tedious and uninspiring, or with the addition of a few dirty words whispered in my ear and one arm gripping me tightly around the chest, you can rub me off in a way that feels close and filthy.

But, in explaining how sex isn’t just about physical reductionism, I missed a key opportunity to talk about how some very specific physical things make me tense with swooning lust. Today I’m going to talk about feeling full.

Three dudes at once, obviously

The dream, of course, is to have three men at once. Something which, despite my very best efforts, hasn’t happened yet. To have one guy filling my cunt while another pushes deep into my arse, and a final man pushing his dick so deep in my throat that I can barely choke new oxygen down to my lungs.

While I’m enjoying being gagged by one guy, the other two can feel not only the aching throb of my cunt and arse, but the taut force of each other’s dicks, sliding together through my own skin. They fill me so I cry out, and push back onto them – wanting to experience the full length of each of them, as deep as they can possibly go. They fill me so I can’t remember what it felt like to be empty. Until I can’t believe anything else will fit. And then, as one, they come inside me. Vigorously pumping spunk into anywhere it will go, proving that I was ever so slightly easier to fill than I thought.

Sadly, this dream of feeling full of cock will have to be put to one side for now: the logistics of finding three willing men, all of whom I fancy and all of whom fancy both me and each other is a challenge that I am yet to conquer. Besides, double penetration looks easy in porn when all the actors are lithe and athletic and don’t seem to mind one dick slipping out every now and then. In my fantasy this can work exactly how I want it to, with none of those pesky physical limitations to get in the way.

“I can come like this”

In the meantime there’s always option two: the late-night lazy fuck that sees me lying on my stomach, being fucked hard from behind. I can grip the iron bars at the headboard and push back to feel his thick cock stretching me open. I can hear the squirt of lube as he covers his fingers, and feel achingly full as he pushes them into me.

A long time ago a guy did this, during the very last fuck we ever had. He pushed two fingers deep into my ass and groaned as he felt the solid length of his cock through my own skin. His fingertips rubbed the inside of me, simultaneously pressing onto the ridges around the head of his dick. Back and forth, faster and wetter and slicker, as I moaned at the feeling of being full. As he moved faster and faster, rubbing at both me and himself, he grunted, and exclaimed with delight: “I can come like this. Just like this.” A few more back-and-forth movements, the twitch of him deep in my cunt, and I felt all the excitement pour out of him and into me.

I still regret that it was the only time he got to do it. I’d have loved to have more fucking stories that involve him revelling in this new trick, testing new and different ways to jerk himself off through my ass, as I writhed in fullness and squealed delight into the pillow. If you’d like to try doing this but you don’t know anyone to try it with, I’m told there are double-holed masturbators that you can penetrate with both your dick and either your fingers/another object of your choice that will allow you similar sensations.

Filling fucks between just two people

The fingers are hot because he can control the sensation – other things are hot because I can control them myself. The feeling of being full doesn’t always require a stable of willing men or a guy who knows how to use his fingers in just the right way. This is one of the places where a well-made and perfectly shaped sex toy has not just a place in my bedroom but pride of place nestled deep inside me.

Sitting dead still on someone’s cock is fun – the moaning, twitching, desperate need for movement and sensation gives me a feeling of total power and control. I could grind slowly, I could clench all the muscles inside my cunt and watch his eyes grow wide as he feels the whole of me squeezing – hugging – his dick. Even more fun, then, to hold him tight in that position, gripping him with force and power, then slowly push something deep into my ass. Something long and slim, that I can control easily. Something that buzzes and vibrates against the length of him. He can feel what I’m doing as I push it deeper, as I angle it so it shivers down the full length of his cock. And as I do it, I squeeze harder – the better to revel in that full-up sensation.

But having the power is a rare delight – something that’s only fun for me because it happens so infrequently. Far more enjoyable, I think, to have him on top of me – bearing down. The fullness is better when someone else is controlling it, and I’m begging for more of it. His dick in my cunt anchors me in place – I squirm and wriggle on it as he pushes something slim inside my ass. Then something bigger. Then, with a growling whisper, he asks me if I can take more. If he can swap it out for the third most filling item in the trio. Despite knowing that it won’t fit, I’ll always say yes. Please. Do it. Try it. I’ll fail, yet again, but the temptation of finding something that stretches me out to the point I know I can’t feel fuller is just too much to resist.

When I fail at the largest one, we’ll step it down again, and I’ll enjoy knowing that I very nearly made it.

Can you come from ‘filling’ sex?

Does it make me come, though? This specific, hot, physical sensation? Of course. Although there’s nothing biologically that says ‘this will thrill the nerve endings in just the right way’, the feeling of being stretched and full adds to all the other things that are going on – the sensation of his dick pushing against the inside of me, the sound of him breathing heavily, telling me I’m so good for taking it. The gentle slaps on my arse, sucking bites at my nipples, rough hands gripping my hips to pull me further back onto him. All of these build, one wave on top of another, eventually pushing me over the edge of arousal and into that rushing, twitching, gagging choke of orgasm.

My final, and favourite trick is the one that brings me there most quickly: crouched on my knees, with my face pushed hard into the bedsheets, his dick dripping with lube and deep inside me, and my hands working busily to push something hard into my cunt. A rabbit vibrator, usually. Despite it’s often twee connotations, it has exactly what I’m after: length and girth to fill me up, and the added bonus of a vigorous buzz directly against my aching clit. I’ll hold it there, right up to the hilt, a still and solid anchor to clench down on, while he fucks up hard against it until he comes. 

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Five years ago, if you’d asked me if I’d like an ‘erotic massage’ I would have told you to fuck off to Ann Summers and take your gentle vanilla sex with you. I used to think that ‘erotic massage’ was basically a cunning way to delay a fuck, and thus an unnecessarily cruel trick that a partner might play on me when he didn’t really want to shag me and hoped I’d fall asleep before things started getting sticky.

I think it’s partly because the word ‘erotic’ is, to me, anything but. It evokes a gentleness and romance that I don’t find particularly hot. Filthy? Yes. Hot? Yes. Erotic? Nah. It’s why I’d always rather say that I write ‘filth‘ than that I write ‘erotica’. For many people that word may well mean total cunt-throbbing power, but for me it sounds like soft strokes and feathery kisses and the tickling touch of a considerate lover. Erotic massage, to me, never felt like something I could enjoy with the all-out aching lust that I look for in a decent fuck.

I was wrong.

Erotic massage as powerful filth

It’s late, and as usual I’m in bed first. Face-down on the pillows and just nodding off as he comes into the room.

“Are you awake?”

“Just about.”

He grabs a bottle of moisturiser from the shelf and pulls the bedcovers down so that I’m exposed from the back of my neck to the tops of my thighs. He slaps me on the arse. He straddles me.

I’m tired – so tired. I’m struggling on the edge of sleep and torn between wanting to fall into it, and wanting to stay awake for his touches. I hear the slick squirt as he grabs a handful of moisturiser.

“Do you want a massage?” He asks like it’s a gentle thing – a generous thing, but I know in this instance it’s not. Because, over the course of a year or so, he’s changed my opinion of the ‘erotic massage’ – it’s become something exquisitely filthy, dirty. An excuse for him to touch me. It’s something he’ll only do when his dick is hard and he’s throbbing and he wants to coax my cunt into throbbing in the same way.

He puts his hands on my back. One at the top, pressing down just below my neck so my face is forced deeper into the pillow. The other slides roughly down, snaking from my shoulder to my spine, down below the line of my knickers and into the crack of my arse. The wetness from the moisturiser spreads. He pushes his hand back up to join the other at my neck, then pulls both down hard, dragging along my wet skin, forcing my back into an arched curve. His hands reach the small of my back, and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my knickers.

His dick is pushing into me – hard and urgent through my crotch. His hands work more quickly. Pressing, pushing, dragging along my naked skin. Not gentle: rough. Not generous: desperate. He squeezes me, presses me, moulds my back into willing shapes. Up again to the nape of my neck to push my face further into the bed. Down to the small of my back to force my stomach tight against the sheets. Up to grab a handful of hair and make me gasp. Down to my arse, squeezing at me, spreading the cheeks so he can shove his cock right up against me.

I’m awake now – wide awake. Arching and pushing against him, lifting my arse and spreading myself to guide his dick into me. He drops the moisturiser and grabs lube.

As he did with my back, so he does with my cunt. Moistening, pushing, shaping. Rough hands and slick fingers working lube all over me. Every inch of his cock and every line and fold of my crotch. He pushes dripping fingers into me, and uses wet hands to pull me open. I grip the pillow with my fists and push back, begging him to fuck me.

“Please,” as I can feel the tip of his dick stretching the entrance to my cunt. “Pleeeease.” A whining, desperate moan, and his hand is on my neck again. One hand at my neck, and one on the small of my back, holding me in the perfect shape. He holds still. Waiting. Twitching. Controlling.

I urge him forwards but he won’t move – he’ll never move. He’ll wait until I make it on my own, as I struggle against his grip and try to pull myself down right onto the shaft of his swollen cock.

“Please.”

I push harder, straining against his solid grip. Finally, I feel it – the rush and twitch in my cunt as I ease backwards onto him. As he fills me up with his lubed-up dick and tells me I’m a dirty girl.

Then – and only then – does he really start to fuck me.