This gorgeous story – ‘Beg me’ – was written by David of The Big Gay Review. It is read here by Luke. 

I’m bent over the dining table, my arse framed by the thick nylon straps of my jock. I sway my hips, wriggling my butt in his direction. He gets up, and runs his hand over my smooth, hairless cheek. I reach back and run my hand over the growing bulge in his jeans. His button pops open, allowing me to slip my hand inside and feel the warmth of his cock radiating through his boxers.

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This gorgeous ode to dick was written by David of The Big Gay Review. It is read here by Luke. 

I love dick. No, I don’t just love dick. I am obsessed with it. My own. Other peoples. I just love dick. Which is why when I saw that the Kink of the Week prompt was all about penis; you know I had to jump on it. Literally.

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You’ve got a fabulous dick, sweetheart. And I really do love taking it into my mouth and trying my best to get you to come down the back of my throat. But today I have a different request. It’s something I’ve been fixating on when I touch myself and think about you. And on the surface it won’t seem horny, but I promise you it really really is, just hear me out as I ask you… please may I not suck your cock?

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It’s delightful when someone pitches me a guest blog idea that has never been covered on the blog before, so when today’s anonymous contributor (who has written beautifully before about butt plugs and prostate orgasms) offered to write about intimate jewellery, I leapt at the chance. The subtle hotness of jewellery that is hidden somewhere no one else can see is incredible, especially when that jewellery has extra-special significance…

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This fabulous erotic fiction piece about romantic outdoor sex is written by Spencer Pritchard, and read aloud by Luke. 

Your train pulls up to the platform and those butterflies in your stomach, subdued by the inevitable delays, suddenly leap back in to life and begin their merry dance again. Will I be on the platform, waiting with a crass sign in hand, your pseudonym bold black tarnishing the virginity of the white card it’s printed on? Will I be sat outside in a hire car, listening to the radio and only notice you stood there after 5 long minutes? Will I have got tired of waiting for the late train to arrive and headed to the small lochside bungalow alone, leaving you to make your own way, each one of the thousands of butterflies slowly dying as the seconds pass on the long journey?

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