The first time he says it, he makes a face as he utters the words. Not in disgust, but definitely discomfort, as if he’s not used to saying them. The phrase might sound weird to his ears, but it’s wonderful to mine: good girl.

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Note: this post contains minor spoilers for the filthy scenes in Saltburn. Which I (obviously) loved. 

I’m not going to do it.

Damn right you’re not going to do it. 

Even though… there isn’t really any harm in doing it?

Don’t you dare do it.

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The next time I see my boyfriend, I’m going to make sure I brush my lips really slowly against the soft skin in the curve between his neck and his shoulder. I’m going to run my hands up the back of his t-shirt and relish the warmth of his body through the cotton. I’m going to tell him ‘I missed you’ and mean it more than I have since early August, when I very rudely disappeared for two whole weeks in the early days of our relationship. On the morning I returned from that trip, we went to the pub for a couple of hours before I took him home to my place, and when I stood up to get my round in, I ran my fingertips down the back of his head – recently-but-not too freshly-shaved, feather soft against my skin. He later whispered to me that the touch had made his cock jump. So fuck it, yeah: the next time I see my boyfriend, I’ll want to do that again too.

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There are lots of things I enjoy about this time of year, but gifts aren’t one of them. I feel uncomfortable if people buy them for me (please don’t go to any trouble!) and I’m terrified of giving them. Although I occasionally have a flash of inspiration, or the time and ability to arrange a cool trip or activity, most of the time I end up panic-buying a present at the last minute that’s way over my tiny budget, because I didn’t have time to shop/think/make but I need this person to know that I care about them anyway. Even the cool things I do occasionally manage come with a hefty dollop of misery as I agonise over the fact that they will still fall woefully short. It never feels possible to buy a gift that is thoughtful enough, arrange an outing that’s fun enough, or write a poem in a card that’s meaningful enough to capture the weight of my love for this kickass person. But I tell you what I can do very well: gratitude.

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Writing from the domme perspective is hard. When I’m being submissive, it’s easy to write with a focus on what a dominant guy did to me and how: the words this one growled and the ways he twisted and angled my body so as to best please his own eyes and cock. These hot actions, performed by him, could draw the majority of focus for any given blog post. I know it doesn’t have to be this way – with the dominant as the ‘do-er’ and the submissive as a passive recipient of whatever they choose to do, but it does tend to end up like this quite often. So writing from a subby perspective feels more comfortable to me, because if you focus on someone else when you’re bragging about the sex you had, you can partially hide the fact that you’re bragging in the first place.

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