It’s really hard to write anything this morning that isn’t just ‘DREAMS OF SPANKING’, because I am struggling to contain my excitement and delight: Dreams of Spanking is BACK. Pandora Blake, after a long and arduous fight against UK porn censorship, has now won the battle, and her incredible site – Dreams of Spanking – will soon be back online.

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This is one of those posts that goes into the sometimes dark places in my brain. As a result, it involves discussion of things like pain, BDSM, and roleplaying sex-as-punishment. Everything in the post is 100% consensual, but I’m just giving you a heads-up so if those things are likely to disturb you please don’t read on. 

We’re discussing the difference between corporal punishment and what I’m going to call ‘angry punishment.’ I explain to him that, in previous role-plays, I’ve struggled with the idea of rigid, ordered punishment. Counting spanks, measured chastisement, that kind of thing. The type of role-play where I am a naughty girl, and a guy in a position of authority is responsible for correcting me:

He orders me to bend over and touch my toes, stretching my thighs and arse taut for the cane or tawse. He makes me wait for what feels like an achingly long time, as my calves tingle and my cunt gets slick, and I wait for the first thwack.

At that moment what I’m hoping for isn’t one sharp stroke. I’m not anticipating a measured, precise stripe across my backside. But usually that’s what I get. One stripe – carefully applied – then the inevitable order:

“Count them.”

And I count. One, two, three, four… I count the strokes and I thank him for each one. This controlled, dominant guy, who will dish out exactly as much pain as I deserve and no more.

That’s nice – it is. But it’s not the best.

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This week’s guest blog (by an anonymous writer) has some intense, filthy, hot BDSM of the kind I wish I could write every day. It captures a million and one of the raw, dark, sexy things that happen in my head, and to make things even more fun it’s a true story.

I’ll give you the heads-up that it’s got some extreme dominance and submission – all consensual, of course. It also has some language which, as we discussed on Wednesday (keep up!) might not be your kind of thing, so please bear that in mind before you read on. If it is your kind of thing then I’m pretty sure you’re going to love this one…

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One of the things I love about buying things online is the anticipation between ordering and receiving. While a new pair of black ankle boots provides me with a thrilling tingle, when it comes to sex toys the build-up is even greater. Particularly if it’s something that could be used in more than one way, and you get to plan all the different ways you’ll use it.

The next installment of the Sex Fairies project (in which SexToys.co.uk gives people free toys and then they write hot things about them), the brilliant @waitingirl13 has a sexy story for you. It’s the first of a 2-part erotic story inspired by the Sportsheets Bondage Fantasy Kit, which you can buy from Sex Toys for less than £20. Use the code GOTN10 to get 10% off anything on their site.

I’m delighted to be able to host it here because not only does it capture that delicious build-up of anticipation, it also neatly demonstrates that if you want to join in with Sex Fairies you don’t have to just write a review. You can put pen to paper and write what makes you hot…

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Do you remember the kids’ fable of Brer Rabbit and the briar patch?

I’ll refresh your memory: Brer Rabbit was a bit of a dick, and Brer Fox decided he didn’t like him much. He made a trap in which to catch Brer Rabbit, and Brer Rabbit walked straight into the trap. On catching him, Brer Fox (who thought he was cunning) wondered aloud what he should do with the rabbit now he’d caught him. Brer Rabbit shouted:

“I don’t care what you do, as long as you don’t throw me in the briar patch!”

“Anything?” said the fox, and at this point I think he could have benefited from a few lessons in critical analysis and not trusting sources with a huge vested interest. “You’d really want me to do anything rather than throw you into the briar patch?”

“Yes,” said Brer Rabbit. “Hang me, shoot me, eat me, just don’t throw me into the briar patch!”

So our hapless fox, who I remember feeling intensely irritated by as a small child, did the opposite of what the rabbit had requested, and he hurled Brer Rabbit into the briar patch. Brer Rabbit, who was also a bellend, danced for joy. Burning all of the bridges marked ‘potential future escape scenario’, he crowed that the briar patch was actually his favourite place to be.

“I was born and bred in the briar patch! Hahaha!”

What the fuck has this story got to do with flogging? I’ll tell you.

I rarely play the ‘briar patch’ game. Leather belts, canes, anything whippy with a biting sting is not to be trifled with. I’ll be up-front about my limits, and clear as day when I give feedback. If I’m being bratty and getting playfully punished, a thin cane gives a genuine reprimand. I’ll grit my teeth, bare my arse, and bite back yelps with each stroke.

The flogger, though? It’s my briar patch: I wasn’t born and bred with it, but ever since I started loving BDSM, it’s always been my happy place. My favourite flogger is heavy and thick – purple suede (obviously), with enough fronds that it falls like a thud. There’s a sting if you place it in certain ways – with the tails whipping round to catch me on the hip rather than the bottom. But if you can place it perfectly, right in the middle of one of the cheeks, I will moan and squirm like you’ve just kissed my clit.

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