You know how sometimes a particular smell evokes a really specific memory? Hot days smelling like childhood holidays, Baileys smelling like Christmas or – if you want to be less saccharine and cheesy about the whole thing – dick that smells exactly the way your ex used to?

I have a style of skirt that reminds me of my first spanking. No, really. It was grey, and patchwork – silk and corduroy and cotton and linen all sewn together in a rough pattern, draped perfectly over my hips and arse. It was one of the best items of clothing I’ve ever owned, and I can’t work out if that was because it sat just right on my bum, tight enough to cling so I could feel it when I walked, but loose enough that the material would billow out around my thighs when I walked somewhere, or if it was the best because it reminded me of spanking.

The first spanking

I’d been slapped before – occasional smacks on the bum as I walked naked to the bathroom. Boys who’d slap it when we were flirting after school, or boyfriends who’d give it a whack when they ironically ordered me to the kitchen for beer. But I’d never before had a proper spanking.

I arrived at his house at the usual time – what we’d have called ‘after work’ because we were students, but something far closer to 3pm. I’d been away for a week or so and I couldn’t wait to see him. This guy. This dream-come-true. This person I jokingly called The One when he was out of earshot.

He didn’t think much of me back then. We were mates who fucked, but while we were both equally enthusiastic about the fucking, I suspected there was a serious imbalance on the ‘mates’ front. He was my best and my almost-only – the one I’d seek out and chase and invite to every occasion. I was the one he ditched when something more interesting came along.

Still, we were pretty happy, not least because each time one of us came up with something new to do with each other’s genitals it would be greeted with an enthusiastic and husky ‘fuck yeah.’

When I came in he gave me a brief hug. We did some small talk. He told me to bend over a chair and flip up my patchwork skirt.

He could almost certainly feel the wetness through my knickers. He ran his hand over me quickly – not savouring the feel of my cunt through the fabric, just planning where his first slap would fall. He pulled down my knickers and settled for my left cheek.

Smack.

Firm, stinging, perfect. I yelped.

He adjusted my skirt, hitching it higher to stop the hem falling back down over my thighs. I was bent almost double over the chair – the wooden back digging into my stomach, hands gripping the front legs to try and keep my balance.

Smack.

He was testing us both. Trying something that neither of us had done with this level of seriousness. Playful slaps turned to full-on, powerful blows and I made enough of a racket that he asked me to sssh. His housemates weren’t in but that didn’t mean the neighbours weren’t.

Smack.

I imagined him rolling up his sleeves.

Smack.

One stroke fell slightly left of its mark, half of it catching me in the crotch where I was wet and sensitive and raw.

Smack.

This time right in the middle of the cheek. Satisfyingly thuddy and good enough to make me wriggle.

Smack.

Enough of this now.

Smack.

I said ‘enough.’ I said ‘I really need you to fuck me.’

Smack.

He held me firm – one hand on the crumpled skirt pulled up to the small of my back.

Smack.

‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes. I like it. But I need you to fuck me.’

He paused for a while, and I could almost hear his indecision. Feel the stiffness of his cock pushing through his jeans and against my hip as he took a step to stand beside me. He ground his dick into me and my legs started to tremble. I asked again. ‘Please fuck me.’ Note the ‘please’. I asked nicely. I choked out the ‘please’ like if he didn’t fuck me, I’d cry. To be fair, I would have.

He told me I’d get six more slaps and that I’d have to count them. And he said they’d be hard enough to sting his hand.

After he’d delivered the spanking, I was a mess of arousal and emotions and red, raw pain. I pulled down my knickers as quickly as I could and pulled him into me, feeling his dick fill me up seemed to push the pain away. With each stroke I twitched and tensed the muscles in my legs, worried that I’d knock the chair over.

As he fucked the frustration out of me, and came hard into my aching cunt, his hands gripped the patchwork skirt around my waist, pulling my sore arse back to the base of his cock, to get the most pleasure possible with each angry stroke.

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Listen up, people! I have googled around a bit and have been unable to find a word that sums up the level of knicker-moistening excitement that I experience when a gentleman lets me suck him off while he codes, so I invented one: Vimphilia. To mean: a kink/fetish for programmers.

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In a fit of rashness, I recently wrote about how anal sex isn’t just hot because of the purely physical sensations. Most sex is – to my mind – enjoyably filthy because of how you do it. Exactly what you do matters less than the dominant, eager way in which you do it. You can wank me off in a way that both of us find tedious and uninspiring, or with the addition of a few dirty words whispered in my ear and one arm gripping me tightly around the chest, you can rub me off in a way that feels close and filthy.

But, in explaining how sex isn’t just about physical reductionism, I missed a key opportunity to talk about how some very specific physical things make me tense with swooning lust. Today I’m going to talk about feeling full.

Three dudes at once, obviously

The dream, of course, is to have three men at once. Something which, despite my very best efforts, hasn’t happened yet. To have one guy filling my cunt while another pushes deep into my arse, and a final man pushing his dick so deep in my throat that I can barely choke new oxygen down to my lungs.

While I’m enjoying being gagged by one guy, the other two can feel not only the aching throb of my cunt and arse, but the taut force of each other’s dicks, sliding together through my own skin. They fill me so I cry out, and push back onto them – wanting to experience the full length of each of them, as deep as they can possibly go. They fill me so I can’t remember what it felt like to be empty. Until I can’t believe anything else will fit. And then, as one, they come inside me. Vigorously pumping spunk into anywhere it will go, proving that I was ever so slightly easier to fill than I thought.

Sadly, this dream of feeling full of cock will have to be put to one side for now: the logistics of finding three willing men, all of whom I fancy and all of whom fancy both me and each other is a challenge that I am yet to conquer. Besides, double penetration looks easy in porn when all the actors are lithe and athletic and don’t seem to mind one dick slipping out every now and then. In my fantasy this can work exactly how I want it to, with none of those pesky physical limitations to get in the way.

“I can come like this”

In the meantime there’s always option two: the late-night lazy fuck that sees me lying on my stomach, being fucked hard from behind. I can grip the iron bars at the headboard and push back to feel his thick cock stretching me open. I can hear the squirt of lube as he covers his fingers, and feel achingly full as he pushes them into me.

A long time ago a guy did this, during the very last fuck we ever had. He pushed two fingers deep into my ass and groaned as he felt the solid length of his cock through my own skin. His fingertips rubbed the inside of me, simultaneously pressing onto the ridges around the head of his dick. Back and forth, faster and wetter and slicker, as I moaned at the feeling of being full. As he moved faster and faster, rubbing at both me and himself, he grunted, and exclaimed with delight: “I can come like this. Just like this.” A few more back-and-forth movements, the twitch of him deep in my cunt, and I felt all the excitement pour out of him and into me.

I still regret that it was the only time he got to do it. I’d have loved to have more fucking stories that involve him revelling in this new trick, testing new and different ways to jerk himself off through my ass, as I writhed in fullness and squealed delight into the pillow. If you’d like to try doing this but you don’t know anyone to try it with, I’m told there are double-holed masturbators that you can penetrate with both your dick and either your fingers/another object of your choice that will allow you similar sensations.

Filling fucks between just two people

The fingers are hot because he can control the sensation – other things are hot because I can control them myself. The feeling of being full doesn’t always require a stable of willing men or a guy who knows how to use his fingers in just the right way. This is one of the places where a well-made and perfectly shaped sex toy has not just a place in my bedroom but pride of place nestled deep inside me.

Sitting dead still on someone’s cock is fun – the moaning, twitching, desperate need for movement and sensation gives me a feeling of total power and control. I could grind slowly, I could clench all the muscles inside my cunt and watch his eyes grow wide as he feels the whole of me squeezing – hugging – his dick. Even more fun, then, to hold him tight in that position, gripping him with force and power, then slowly push something deep into my ass. Something long and slim, that I can control easily. Something that buzzes and vibrates against the length of him. He can feel what I’m doing as I push it deeper, as I angle it so it shivers down the full length of his cock. And as I do it, I squeeze harder – the better to revel in that full-up sensation.

But having the power is a rare delight – something that’s only fun for me because it happens so infrequently. Far more enjoyable, I think, to have him on top of me – bearing down. The fullness is better when someone else is controlling it, and I’m begging for more of it. His dick in my cunt anchors me in place – I squirm and wriggle on it as he pushes something slim inside my ass. Then something bigger. Then, with a growling whisper, he asks me if I can take more. If he can swap it out for the third most filling item in the trio. Despite knowing that it won’t fit, I’ll always say yes. Please. Do it. Try it. I’ll fail, yet again, but the temptation of finding something that stretches me out to the point I know I can’t feel fuller is just too much to resist.

When I fail at the largest one, we’ll step it down again, and I’ll enjoy knowing that I very nearly made it.

Can you come from ‘filling’ sex?

Does it make me come, though? This specific, hot, physical sensation? Of course. Although there’s nothing biologically that says ‘this will thrill the nerve endings in just the right way’, the feeling of being stretched and full adds to all the other things that are going on – the sensation of his dick pushing against the inside of me, the sound of him breathing heavily, telling me I’m so good for taking it. The gentle slaps on my arse, sucking bites at my nipples, rough hands gripping my hips to pull me further back onto him. All of these build, one wave on top of another, eventually pushing me over the edge of arousal and into that rushing, twitching, gagging choke of orgasm.

My final, and favourite trick is the one that brings me there most quickly: crouched on my knees, with my face pushed hard into the bedsheets, his dick dripping with lube and deep inside me, and my hands working busily to push something hard into my cunt. A rabbit vibrator, usually. Despite it’s often twee connotations, it has exactly what I’m after: length and girth to fill me up, and the added bonus of a vigorous buzz directly against my aching clit. I’ll hold it there, right up to the hilt, a still and solid anchor to clench down on, while he fucks up hard against it until he comes. 

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“Nah, I’m knackered.”

I was too tired even for sleepy fucking. The kind of tired where I could barely open my eyes. Tired where I’d have been willing to pay a week’s wages just to get a day’s reprieve from work. Tired like I really didn’t want to fuck.

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I’m sitting on the sofa next to a boy who is playing Halo 4 on the Xbox. This is almost the best way to spend a Sunday. I write, he stares in deep concentration at the TV, running his fingers quickly over the controls, occasionally murmuring ‘shit’ or ‘motherfucker.’ It’s fantastic -relaxing and horny at the same time. But it’s not quite as good as what’s about to happen.

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