I should probably not get into the habit of telling you stories that haven’t happened yet, but something about the thrill of this was almost – almost – hornier than having actual sex. It started with a conversation at a party, one that involved me whispering something in someone’s ear. Something that started with ‘this might sound weird’ and ended with the words ‘…please ruin me.’

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This delicious audio erotica is written and read by The Gentle Domme. 

The young men stood in front of her expectantly, shifting their weight between their legs. They’d been standing for a good hour before she arrived. No words. Hands at their sides. Naked except for underwear that was largely insignificant. The lighting was dim. They didn’t know it, but she’d been observing them the entire time from a panel in a side door, taking her time, watching them as they didn’t know they were being watched, taking in their small movements, their stamina, idiosyncrasies. The way one scratched idly at his ankle with a toe. The way one yawned and then quickly tried to hide it, stretching his neck.

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This glorious faceslapping femdom piece is written and read by The Gentle Domme. 

I’m kissing you. Maybe mauling is the better choice of words, since I kiss like bites, sometimes having to hold myself back from nibbling too hard on your pretty pink lips in the excitement of desiring more.

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This gorgeous strap on erotica is written and read by the fabulous Sherryl of TintedBlu.com

We often spoke about the idea of doing it, but I wasn’t totally convinced that he was truly ready to go there. I mean I knew he was up for it but was he really up for it up for it?

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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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