Sometimes I get comments on sex stories I tell where people ask ‘where’s the orgasm?’ I don’t always report orgasms like I’m making a tally chart of who came when and how, because for me the cum shot isn’t always the main event. This post though? Oh yeah this post, I promise the cum shot will come.

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This story could start at a number of different points. It could begin on the first of December, with me marching through a rainstorm along a muddy canal path, determined not to be late to meet the lovely man who’d promised to fill me with spunk. I could start it a bit earlier, in November, with PMs back-and-forth about sexual frustration and oceans of jizz. But really it begins on October 31st, with a message I sent to this dude which said: ‘Are you doing NNN this year?’

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I don’t know if I’m allowed to just invent a piece of sex etiquette, like I’m the editor of NSFW Debrett’s, but if I were allowed to do that, I’d suggest an etiquette rule like this: if you’re fucking someone with a butt toy in, and you have the ability to hold it there while you pound them, you absolutely should. So for instance, if we’re fucking doggy-style, one hand laid on my butt with a steadying thumb against the base of the plug (not pushing in, just holding still) will calm my anxious mind and mean I can focus on the shag rather than the worry that I’m about to inadvertently shoot it across the room. This rule brought to you by a woman who – no matter how safe the butt plug or how secure it feels in my ass, the second you start to plough away I will immediately panic that my lubed-up arse might accidentally blast it at your stomach like a rocket launcher. My top concern with anal toys is not whether they’re going to get in, but whether they might just slip out. That was my key concern with the Hot Octopuss Plex, and why I tested it in ways that may seem silly to you, but which for me formed vital anxiety-calming prep before I (hopefully) get to use this during sex.

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There are marks on my thighs, on my arse, on my tits, and on my brain. All of those marks will fade. I could take pictures of the first three, but I’m terrible at photos, and even my very best attempts can’t hope to capture the things I really want to remember. The ache in my limbs and the sting of the flogger and the satisfaction of being held down and fucked. The all-encompassing, electric joy of getting ruined by two people at once.

This post features BDSM and impact play, some of it quite vicious. All of it extremely consensual. I don’t know how well I have written consent into this story, because I am too busy trying to capture the things that happened, but yeah… please understand that holy shit this is all consensual-as-fuck. It was more than consensual: it was a fucking gift.

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This fantastically sexy piece about the Rugby World Cup is by Quinn Rhodes of On Queer Street. Note that the following story contains BDSM, degradation and impact play.

A quick disclaimer: until I sat down to write this post, I had no idea which World Cup was currently in progress, only that my Twitter timeline is currently filled with folks talking about a sporting event. A quick internet search suggested that it’s rugby, but if it’s not clear, I have no interest in the Rugby World Cup: I only care about the opportunities for fucking it can provoke.

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