It was Kev’s birthday party at Miss Ts. I was wearing my new polka dot dress with pockets and telling everyone it had pockets because that is a given. I was doing my hosting duties and when I wasn’t I was sitting between Kronopticon and Palantilin. I tell you, there’s something quite decadent about flopping down on a sofa between two hot guys, both happy for you to snuggle close and touch them. The two meanies hadn’t met before, but they seemed to bond quite happily over their mutual desire to hurt me.
I was glad to be of service.
I really enjoy erotic fiction that’s just someone going ‘here’s a thing I want, imagine if I just went out and… got it?’ – that’s one of the things I love about today’s piece by @EuphemiseThis. Well, that and the mention of the sound of someone undoing a belt buckle: objectively the hottest noise in the entire world. You’ve met today’s guest blogger a few times before – discussing velvet fetishes, forbidden fucks and a tryst with a burlesque goddess. But today she’s here with some super-hot fiction about getting spanked by a couple…
Partway through a fuck, I realise something’s not quite right, and I mention it. BAM! I have killed the mood. I’m annoyed with myself and a little disappointed so I tell him. We stop shagging. We hug. We sweat. I say “sorry” a few more times, because “sorry” is the word I instinctively reach for when I have nothing else to say. “Stop saying sorry,” he tells me. “Stop saying you killed the mood.” But I can’t stop saying it, I’m stuck in a loop of it, and I don’t know how to escape. There are two paths open to him here…
This delightful voyeurism story, by Molly Moore, originally appeared on her website. It is read aloud here as audio by the author herself. One of the people in the story uses the word ‘Daddy’ as an honorific, but all participants are consenting, not related, and over the age of 18.
I hadn’t been out long, twenty minutes or maybe half an hour but it was dark by the time I got home. I plonked the few bits I had gone to the shop for on the side in the kitchen and listened. It seemed rather quiet, too quiet really and when I went round to the front room the sofa was empty. When I had gone out they had been sitting together on the sofa. That is where I had left them and it hadn’t entered my head they wouldn’t still be there when I got home.
This gorgeous tour through dirty thoughts about summer fucking is written by Quinn Rhodes, and originally appeared on hir website. It is read here by Girl on the Net.
It’s summer, and all I can think about is fucking. Even when it’s too hot to fuck, the heat just seems to be making me more and more horny. My mind is filled with filthy thoughts and I’ve pulled a few of these together to share with y’all here, in lieu of a blog post that requires me to think of coherent points. I’m far too turned on for that.