“He picked me up,” I tell her and she says “Ooh! He picked you up?!” and both of us grin because we know – we know – the pickup is a pretty sexy move. We also both know that, while I may be many things, ‘small’ is not one of them. I am not easily pick-uppable. Nevertheless, this guy picked me up and threw me onto the bed. Hot.

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Recently my Patreons and I started a fun game where they give me prompts (name, kink, location and object), and I use them to try and write something that ticks the boxes and (ideally) is nice and wankable. This month I am working busily on a super-secret project that only they know about, so I hope they won’t mind if I borrow a little story from behind the paywall and put it up here for you to enjoy. This is a piece of gang bang erotica which was written off the back of the following prompts…  Name: Laura, Kink: Gyno chair, Location: Swingers’ club dark room, Object: rope, tied to chair.

Note: contains piss and, obviously, a gang bang. 

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This week’s anonymous guest blogger has visited before, to tell an astonishingly hot story about watching his girlfriend cheat on him (seriously, check it out, it’s amazing). Today he’s back with a story about a delicious encounter that happened during a time when he’d given up on any sexual encounters at all. Those who read this blog a lot will understand why I’m so into it (cough ‘good girl‘ cough), and why I’m so delighted that he’s chosen to share his tale of fucking a good girl after a long period of abstinence…

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I stumble in the front door, drenched to the skin from a long and glorious cycle through central London, fighting the downpour and dodging past Boris bikes, punk tunes blasting into my left ear. Exhausted and satisfied and aching all over: my cunt hurts from getting well and truly fucked. As I walk in, I’m accosted by my conscience, who is as steaming angry as I am post-fuck happy, with the words ‘you fucked your ex’ on its lips.

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This delicious threesome erotica is written by Nooky, and originally appeared on her website. It is read here by Girl on the Net.

It’s dusk. Summer, so the windows are open. It smells like lilacs and dirt still damp from the rain that morning, and the bedroom is filling with shadows, contours of muted blues. The sun flashes blinking from behind the trees and blinds you for a minute. You like it, like this, dusk with the lights turned off — it’s sensual, somehow, the slowing breathing of the earth and the heavy scent of the lilacs, and across the room your lover is tying his wife to the bed.

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