I have rarely felt so seen by a guest blog as I do by this one on fucking your ex. Not that I’m going to fuck any of my exes, you understand. Nuh-uh. I probably shouldn’t. Love is an addiction and fucking your ex is like having just a bit of your favourite, favourite thing: like picking up just one cigarette when you’ve quit for three years, then buying a whole pack then another and another… Christ, I felt this blog post resonate in my skin. Please welcome the absolutely brilliant LM, whose last guest post was a searingly gorgeous BDSM love story (and she’s also written about sex supplements and feeling small and cute – check those out too!). Today she is here to talk about fucking your ex. Why you probably shouldn’t… and why she did anyway.

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I set out to find a date within twelve hours, using only my phone. Could I summon a man to come hang out with me on the same day I set up my profile, then get him to bang me sideways in the twin room of a Travelodge? If so, this would make for the most efficient dating experience of my entire life to date. How successful was I? Come find out!

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I often get asked if writing turns me on, or how often/whether I wank when I’m composing something. The answer is ‘sometimes’ – honestly, most of the time, if it’s a story I’m retelling that involves an especially hot real-life fuck or a fantasy I’ve nurtured for a while. But this week’s guest blogger has a far more vivid and delicious answer to that question. Please welcome RalpH_himself (who you can find here on Mastodon or Fetlife) who’s here to show you what the sweet agony of writing erotica is like…

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This stunningly hot Christmas story about an MMF threesome (Santa, pls note, I want one of these in my stocking – GOTN) is written and read by the fabulous Sherryl Blu.

Christmas in the corporate world was always a pretty standard affair. As the executive assistant for the office, in the weeks leading up there would be a steady stream of edible goodies plonked on the desk in front of me. It always attracted a crowd of employees throughout the day. It would be boxes of quality street, Heroes, Roses and… mince pies. There was always mince pies, lots of them because most people didn’t seem to like them. Then there was the not-obligatory-but-if-you-didnt-go-you-would-get-frowned-upon work Christmas lunch and of course the piece de resistance…the Christmas party. It was pretty much the event of the year – highly publicised and often talked about for months afterward.

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Sometimes I feel like part of my body still belongs to him.

Throughout my life I’ve been fucked in so many different ways: like I’m precious; like I’m trash; like they’re hungry and I’m the nearest hot meal… but only one or two men have ever fucked me like my flesh was theirs by right. Fucked me like they owned me. As if my body – my cunt, my thighs, my hands, my mouth, my heart – belonged to them exactly as much as their own. He was one of them.

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