This gorgeous piece in which someone’s friends help fuck a guy is written by Quinn Rhodes of OnQueerStreet.com – check out his website at that link. Content note for some consensual non-consent and CBT – cock-and-ball torture, not cognitive behavioural therapy.

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It’s hard to conceptualise cock worship as a kink in and of itself, because I already love your cock. The idea of specifically setting down to ‘worship’ it feels as odd to me as collective prayer might feel to a person whose spirituality resonates in everything they do. Worship your cock? What, specifically and deliberately? I already live in a state of low-level cock worship even when it isn’t in my mouth.

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Today you’re going to try not to come, as you read (or listen to) this glorious piece by The Gentle Domme. 

Your task for today is to make it through reading this entire document without coming. Sounds easy, you say. It’s just a page. Or two. Do I think you have no control?

Of course, I’m going to be stroking your cock as you read.

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I’ve been thinking about dickheads a lot lately. I mean, specifically, the head of a dick. The most sensitive, lickable part. The bit that’s most fun to run your tongue over. The part that you can kiss with spit-moistened lips. I like paying special attention, during languid suck-jobs, to all the different ways I can use my tongue on the head: flat on the underside, swirls round the ridge, firm flicks over it from side-to-side or up-and-down. Right now, I’m obsessed with the head of a dick. The way the ridge of it feels solid against the topside of my tongue when I flatten it and lick. The way I can wet it with one smooth, wet motion – running my tongue around as I playfully pretend that I’m not going to put it all the way back in my throat. The noises I can suck out of someone when I finally dip the head into my waiting mouth, and the twitching agony in his body if I keep doing that – over and over – without ever swallowing the whole of him. Sorry. This is technically meant to be a review of the new Godemiche OffBeat masturbation sheaths, but already I’m distracted. Dick does that to me.

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Kate is one of those writers whose work makes me have to go for a lie-down and a wank. I mean… you probably don’t need to know much more than that, right? Hazard of the job: sometimes browsing other people’s work to share the love with other bloggers, or record something especially filth as audio, means I get cuntpunched with lust and have to give myself a break. Sugar Baby is Kate’s Christmas present to me, and to us all. It’s filth: I adore it.

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