I adore this week’s guest blog, for many reasons – not least because it is super-hot in it’s descriptions of some of the sexual details that I like to obsess over. But also because it’s devastatingly real: real-life fucking with all the quirks and kinks and troubles that come with it. It’s about sex, disability, and dealing with chronic pain and fatigue when you’re fucking. Take it away Alice…

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I’ve never described myself as a masochist. Masochism implies a desire for pain that is pleasure in and of itself. But I don’t get wet from pain. It isn’t the smack of someone’s hand on my naked backside that gets me hot: it’s the dirtiness, the horniness. The fact that whacking me with the flat of his palm might make his dick hard. The pain itself is a by-product. To be endured, not enjoyed.

But sometimes endurance is the whole, miserable, masochistic point.

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This post’s going to talk about control, BDSM, intense beatings, and a few things that my partner and I have discussed and negotiated in a lot of detail. It’s erotic fantasy in a role-play context: it is not a guide for life.  

Reward fucking: the act of getting exactly what I want because I’m a really good girl. Punishment fucking: the act of getting what I want by doing something that he – in turn – pretends to think is bad.

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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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