Category Archives: Filthy ones
Breath play in the bath: the water is rising
It takes me six and a half minutes to fill the bath, and less than five minutes to come. This should be easy, right?
This sex story contains references to drowning, breath play and extreme domination.
In praise of the badly-named ‘penile raphe’
Language is important, and words matter. I’ll assume you’re with me this far, because you’re reading a sex blog rather than looking at naughty pictures on one of those other websites I’ve heard about. Words are fucking sexy. They can also be truly appallingly inadequate, and nowhere is this more clear than when trying to describe something hot only to find you have none of the right tools to do it properly. Today I would like your help in renaming one of the sexiest parts of human anatomy: the penile raphe. What exactly is the penile raphe? Allow me to explain.
Sucking him hard: blow jobs from flaccid to erect
He’s on the phone in the living room and I can hear one half of the conversation. I understand about twenty percent of it. The other eighty percent is a delicious mixture of authority, skill, and words I don’t really understand that are directly related to his job. A job which I know he is pretty fucking good at. I boil the kettle. I grind coffee beans. I prepare him a coffee so delicious that when he gets off the phone he’ll acquiesce to my request: please please please can I suck your dick now? He’s in ‘work mode’ and it’s intensely sexy – I want to start from flaccid, and have the joy of sucking him hard.
Guest blog: erotica from a Daily Mail writer
Today lots of people are angry about the Daily Mail front page, which shows a photograph of two powerful female politicians and invites us to speculate on their lovely, lovely legs.
It’s an embarrassing piece, no doubt, but rather excellent timing for me. Because today I have a guest blog from none other than a Daily Mail writer! Enjoy.
What are you thinking? Honest answers to a tricky question
Most of us dread being asked “what are you thinking?” – it’s like a bucket of cold water chucked on you from the sky, interrupting whatever train of thought you were pursuing. Inviting you to pluck the most recent flash of memory or fantasy from your head, and spit it out into the world. Without context, without nuance. It’s just there. Sometimes I am thinking thoughts so bizarre that I wouldn’t want him to hear them unprepared. Other thoughts are so dark that I wouldn’t voice them at all. But I like that he asks. I love that he asks. And for that, he deserves answers.