I’m absolutely gleeful about today’s guest post, team! And not just because it has one of the best closing lines of any guest blog I’ve ever published, but also because the message is something we could all do with hearing. We have all been given various cultural scripts about what sex is and how we should be doing it, often feeling like we’re ‘doing sex wrong’ if things don’t happen for us the way they do for characters in porn, TV, films, and elsewhere in our cultural stories. If you’ve read my blog for any length of time you’ll know that un-learning these scripts (unpicking, unpacking, dismantling, rewriting) is a valuable thing to do in order to embrace our true desires. But how the hell does one go about doing that? Today’s fabulous guest blogger explains her search for good sex…

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This is a story about a woman having a wank. I know I’ve already told you one story about a woman having a wank, but this one’s very different. Imagine, please, a woman lying on top of the duvet on her bed, sometime around midday, curtains closed so she doesn’t shock the neighbours, rifling through her memory banks for a sexy idea that’ll help her get to a quick orgasm before she has to sit back down at her desk. She settles on something that fits the mood, so brings her fingertips to her mouth – spitting on them gently so as to start warming up her clit.

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This glorious story about being used as a set of fuck-holes is written and read by the fabulous Sundial, and originally appeared on her website. 

And here I am, a nearly naked shackled X bent at the middle. The lower part of the X is formed by my gorgeous new spreader bar. My ankles are wrapped in the supple leather that are its cuffs, unable to move. My torso is laid face down on the table. My arms are stretched out, tits squashed under me. My wrists are secured in leather shackles which you (rather ingeniously) attached with belts to the legs at the far end of table, forming the upper part of the X. There is no give at all, I cannot move.

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You can feel your lover’s pulse with one finger. You know this, of course, but I bet you don’t think about it often. I thought about it the other day and the force of it hit me like a punch in the chest. You can feel the thud of their blood running through their body, keeping them alive. The heartbeat that powers the person who makes you quiver with need. The one you want to bury your nose, your face, your fucking life in… you can feel your lover’s pulse with a single finger. Isn’t that awesome?

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This delicious story about asking to get fucked with knickers on is written and read by the fabulous Molly Moore, and originally appeared on her website. 

“Stop” he says. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my knickers off,” I reply over my shoulder.

“Well don’t,” he responds and I can hear the slight husk in his throat that tells me he means it. I stop what I am doing. Straightening the lace back over my hips and bum, I then turn to face him.

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