This gorgeous femdom strap on erotica is written and read by Ferns, and it originally appeared on her website Domme Chronicles.
On the floor, hands cuffed, you are cowed, and hurt, and scared. And I am standing over you calling you a fucking bitch and a dirty slut and I have a strap-on that I am forcing into your mouth and down your throat, listening to you gag, with my hand on the back of your head to pull you further onto it, and I know it hurts your mouth, your throat and I hiss at you to look up at me while you choke around it and struggle to breathe and I shove it further down your throat and you try to look up into my face, and you are gagging and that pushes the base against my clit so I shove harder against you.
Allison tasted the raw leather of the whip held between her dry lips. She felt the perspiration breaking out at her hairline, it was warm in her seat in the corner, with the dappled late afternoon sun shining on her naked back, but more from the stress position she was in. The wraparound chair was comfortable in its own right, but with her back hunched over and wrists cuffed to her ankles, which were in turn bound to the front legs of the chair, she was struggling.
This spine-tingling fear erotica, by Victoria Blisse, first appeared on her website. It is read here by Girl on the Net.
I stand on the threshold, heart beating fast, eyes opened wide. Behind me: safety, warmth, mundanity. Ahead: dangers untold. Imagined in minute detail.
A guy discusses sharing his girlfriend with a friend. This gorgeous erotica, in which a woman fantasises about a guy sharing her, is by Kate. It is read aloud by Girl on the Net.
I once had a daydream that a man I didn’t fancy but wanted to fuck pretty badly, and my partner who I loved more fervently than the moon loves the sun, discussed the quality of my blow jobs behind my back, in the middle of a party.
This delicious MF4A threesome erotica is written by Nooky, and originally appeared on her website. It is read here by Girl on the Net.
It’s dusk. Summer, so the windows are open. It smells like lilacs and dirt still damp from the rain that morning, and the bedroom is filling with shadows, contours of muted blues. The sun flashes blinking from behind the trees and blinds you for a minute. You like it, like this, dusk with the lights turned off — it’s sensual, somehow, the slowing breathing of the earth and the heavy scent of the lilacs, and across the room your lover is tying his wife to the bed.