This glorious story about being used as a set of fuck-holes is written and read by the fabulous Sundial, and originally appeared on her website. 

And here I am, a nearly naked shackled X bent at the middle. The lower part of the X is formed by my gorgeous new spreader bar. My ankles are wrapped in the supple leather that are its cuffs, unable to move. My torso is laid face down on the table. My arms are stretched out, tits squashed under me. My wrists are secured in leather shackles which you (rather ingeniously) attached with belts to the legs at the far end of table, forming the upper part of the X. There is no give at all, I cannot move.

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He’s pretty quiet in bed, so I’ve become used to turning up the perception dial on all the senses I use to tell whether someone’s enjoying themselves. Most notably when I’m sucking his dick or giving him a gentle hand job. I listen more intensely for the softer sounds he makes, and have trained myself to hone in on those little moments when his breath catches: if I tease the head of his cock with lubed-up fingers, for instance, or get the pressure and speed of a particular stroke just right. I place my hands on his thighs or hips, where the muscles sometimes tense as things start to build, or I press my whole body against his, to get an even better idea of how my moves are being received. I check in with plenty of ‘is this good?’s and the occasional specific question like ‘tell me which is better… gentle or firm?’. It’s a far cry from someone’s hands gripping my hair and shoving my throat onto their cock or loud moans telling me what a filthy slut I am, but I’m getting used to these quieter, softer responses. I’ve started to tune in to the subtle shifts in how he tells me he’s having a good time. So when I introduced this subtle guy to a sexual feedback technique for shy people, the fact that he used it – and the way that he used it – made me drench my knickers in an instant.

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OK, yeah, this one’s weird: ages ago I wrote a story about Katie, who was given a sex challenge by her partner, Sam, that involved nipple clamps and photographs and the DLR (the Docklands Light Railway – a London train line that winds through Canary Wharf, the Docklands and more). It was originally written as part of an improv erotica challenge for Patreons (where they give me a bunch of prompts and I have to write a sex story that includes them –  this story had the prompts ‘Katie; praise kink; airport; allotment; the DLR; nipple clamps). Seeing as I’ve recently published a couple of other sex stories set on trains (gang banged on the Central Line, and surreptitious fucking on the Victoria Line), I thought I’d throw this one into the ‘tube line erotica‘ series too – you know, the series that absolutely no one asked for but that delights my nerdy, pervy little heart anyway. It’s quite a cute one, I think.

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For a long time I’ve had a discomfort with the way that sex is often carved out and set aside from the rest of any given story. Whether it’s people complaining about how ‘unnecessary’ sex scenes are in movies, or books which get dismissed as trashy just because the characters have the temerity to fuck, I find the way sex is treated in media both frustrating and fascinating. I’d never really been able to articulate the root of this discomfort, but when LJ Amber got in touch with this week’s guest blog, I suddenly got it. They argue the case for sex in stories with such power and clarity – I am so grateful to them for sharing their perspective, and I agree so wholeheartedly with their point. LJ Amber’s debut novel – Song of the Wild Knight – is coming out next week (29th Feb), so please do check that out and share this post if you agree. Here’s to sex in stories, and the beautiful stories we tell through sex.

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It’s fucking outrageous that I, a massive London Transport fangirl, have never written up one of my favourite wank fantasies about getting gang banged on the tube. During a recent exchange with Patreons I casually mentioned the idea of having my wrists tied to opposite hand rails in one of the carriages while I got tag-teamed by rugby players, and one of them suggested I write it up. Who am I to refuse the request of someone who kindly supports my work with money? HINT HINT – if you join Patreon you can be among the first to hear this story as audio porn. So – with a switch from it being an actual team to a group of supporters (I’ve done ‘fucked by a team‘ before and I like to keep things as fresh as possible even though my kinks are relentlessly samey where gang bangs are concerned), and football rather than rugby (feel free to guess in the comments why this might be) here goes. As with a lot of my other wank fantasies, this one is pretty aggressive and leans heavily on my kink for misogyny. It is a ‘live in’ fantasy – one I want to live inside my head, not one I want to ‘live out’ in real life, and it is definitely not how I would ever want anyone in real life to behave. It contains degradation, humiliation, pain/slapping, barely lubed anal, people standing on tube carriage seats while wearing trainers, and elements of non-consent. If that’s not your cup of tea, go browse the other filth instead. Got it? OK sweet. Let’s go get gang banged on the tube!

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