Sexual compatibility isn’t always about liking the same things. It’s nice to discover that your whims and lusts match up sometimes, when you both fancy exactly the same kind of shag. But to me, being sexually compatible is less about always wanting the same thing and more about being intrigued by the other person’s kinks and quirks.

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As you can probably tell from the title, this post is going to involve blood so please do look away now if that’s not your thing. It also features a picture which, if you did not know the entirely consensual and sexy context, might be shocking. So before you click or scroll down, understand that the nosebleed is not the result of violence, and I’m only writing about it because the guy who features here managed to turn something as mundane as a nosebleed into the perfect climax to a BDSM fuck, and I thought some of you might appreciate the filth of it. Ready? OK.  

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I’m kind of obsessed with door cuffs at the moment. Simple velcro handcuffs that come attached to short metal poles, which you use by hooking them over the door. They mean you can effectively tie someone’s wrists up high while you tease them, and my partner uses them to make me beg for it.

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This post is heavily BDSM-focused, and includes things like extreme pain, spanking, humiliation and some themes of consensual non-consent. If that’s not your thing please don’t read on. If that is your thing, welcome to the inside of my head…

This Christmas I want to be your gift to someone else. Tied up tight in rope instead of ribbon. Bent, spread, and sworn to silence. I want you to strap me with a belt to make me meek and compliant, prepare me so I look just how you want me to: then I want you to give me to someone else.

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For a brief period in my otherwise sofa-based life, I used to go running. Stop laughing at the back. My boyfriend at the time was really into his running, and his enthusiasm for this activity infected me to the point where roughly three times per week I would put on my trainers and gamely wheeze my way along a river while he ran gracefully in front. It was absolutely horrible. Still. Occasionally – VERY occasionally – I managed to get into stride. For a few brief seconds, I’d bounce lightly on my feet, propel myself with power, and breath like a normal person. During those times I got a teeny flash of joy, and a revelation – this is what it must feel like to be GOOD at this! I got the same feeling recently, when going on top during a shag. The perfect rhythm, the right amount of bounce, and a sense that this is what it must feel like to be GOOD at this.

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