I was never really one for sexting, in the times Before Him. In recent years, the closest I’ve come to a horny text is sending a sext from the bedroom if I’m post-bath soft and wanting dick, or messaging to let him know that I’ve finished wanking and he’s welcome to come on up. One of the things that scares me about new encounters is – absurdly, bizarrely – the worry that they might need me to stretch my thumbs and engage in written conversation in between dates. Yeah, I know: I’m a sex blogger. I should be good at dating communication. But perhaps it’s the fact that I’m meant to be good at it that leads to so much dread. Where expectations run high, failure is almost guaranteed.

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This erotic fiction, by erotic author Tabitha Rayne, originally appeared on her website. 

Tamara ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth to savour the taste of him. She’d tried to stop but the jerking of his hips and surge in his balls gave made her lust for his orgasm and she hadn’t been able to resist. He tasted of everything she knew he would, sweet, salty, sexy. Oh the way he’d grabbed her hair, just right and fucked her face. Perfect.

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