I will never not be fascinated by jizz. It’s probably the topic I’ve covered most often here – from the best places to jizz to the weird questions I’ve asked about it.

Perhaps it’s because I can’t produce it myself, or because I sense a similar fascination in guys – that agony of choice when you decide where to do it, and how, and when.

But let’s talk about the only frustration I have with spunk: that there is never – can never be – enough.

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This week’s guest blogger is Katrina England – she writes erotica (which is available on Amazon) and she’s here to talk to you about something I’ve waxed lyrical about before – spunk. Spaff, cum, come, jizz, or whatever you want to call it: if you’re a fan then you’ll love Katrina’s guest blog, in which she explains – in detail – why she has a cum fetish…

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I sometimes struggle with getting head – finding it hard to get out of my comfort zone when I don’t feel any element of my own submission. But when he tells me ‘I want to taste you,’ it is not submissive. He’s not begging me for a lick that I may or may not deign to give him: he’s issuing a command. In the same way as he’s issuing a command if he tells me ‘bend over’ or ‘take off your knickers’ or – holy fuck this happened recently and it still makes me so horny I squirm – ‘squeeze that cock.’ Uttered in a breathless rush just before the grunt as he comes.

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It took me a long time to work out what subspace really was. When I first started going to kink events I heard so much chat about it – how people would go spacey and woozy during a beating, on a blissed-out high caused by the pain. How afterwards, their dominant would wrap them in blankets and bring them coffee or Coke, and they’d recover slowly, having the fuzzy feeling kissed and stroked away by wet lips and warm hands.

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Sometimes, like many humans, I have fantasies that are grotesque and dark and weird. And sometimes I have days where I can think of nothing else to write, so with a sense of weary resignation and vague self-disgust, I tell you one of the odder ones. This disgusting fantasy is a not-quite-non-consent story that, I think, is an escalation of the fantasy dinner party. So if you like this kind of thing but the below gives you shudders, you might prefer that story instead.

For the record, it would horrify me if it happened in real life: that’s kind of the point of it. But as a film I play in my mind when I’m masturbating, something about the atmosphere and the attitude makes my cunt twitch.

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