Masturbation Monday: “Through a Crack in the Door…”

The house is quiet. At first, I think there’s no-one home. He must have gone out to work. But then, at the end of the corridor, I notice the bedroom light on. The door is slightly ajar.

A picture of Edge Ecstatic, a naked white man damp from the shower, pictured from hips to shoulders.I shut the from door silently behind me, grinning to myself, knowing what my husband must be up to. I creep down the hall towards the bedroom.

Through the slightly open door, I have the perfect view of the bed – and the perfect view of him. He’s lying on his back in all his gorgeous, naked glory, eyes closed, right hand slowly stroking up and down his erect cock. I love watching him play with himself. I love the completely different way it lets me see his pleasure and his body. But somehow it’s even hotter when he doesn’t know I’m watching. It’s so natural. So… un-staged.

I watch his chest move up and down as his breathing quickens in time with the hand jerking his cock. A little gasp escapes from his lips. A drop of pre-come beads on the end of his shaft and slowly trickles out.

He’s close now. I can tell by the way his grip tightens, his hand moving faster and faster. I realise that I am holding my breath, and that my own cock is rock solid beneath my jeans. His hips are lifting up off the bed, thrusting his cock into his own hand the way he does into mine when I wank him off.

He groans loudly as he reaches his climax. Come splashes onto his stomach. I am overcome with the desire to crawl onto the bed beside him and lick it from his sweat-damp skin. Instead, I back away without making a sound, back down the hall towards the door. I wait a few seconds, then open the door and slam it loudly.

“Hi honey! Are you home?”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image is of the gorgeous EdgeEcstatic.

Masturbation Monday: “Dining Alone”

Today’s Masturbation Monday comes from a prompt by Mr CK – “write about going to a restaurant and getting it on with the hot waitress.” Well okay then!

A woman sitting alone reading at a restaurant table. For a Masturbation Monday piece called "Dining Alone". I noticed her the moment I walked in. Long waves of red hair, barely contained by the sensible ponytail, curves filling the modest-yet-sexy knee length black dress, a smattering of freckles from the summer sun across the bridge of her nose, grey-green eyes. So my type it hurts.

So straight it hurts, I tell myself as she asks me where I’d like to sit and shows me to a quiet booth at the back of the restaurant. The girls you like always are. I’ve been on this business trip ten days and I’m sick of everything this boring little town has to offer – which isn’t much. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since I stepped off the plane.

I order my glass of wine, my starter, my main course, and each time she comes to take an order or bring me something I try not to stare. The shape of her breasts in that dress – not to mention the fact that I haven’t had sex or even masturbated in weeks – has my cunt dripping into my knickers. I reach into my bag for my book, the book I’ve been secretly reading at night in my hotel room. Do I actually dare read it here, in public?

Fuck it, I think. No-one here is paying attention, and even if they do, they don’t know me.

Of course, the filth on the page just has me even wetter, reading about women doing filthy things to each other and imagining the beautiful waitress in those scenarios with me.

“What are you reading?” she asks, coming over to clear my starter plate away. I jump and look up guiltily, slamming the book shut and shoving it onto my lap under the table. To my disbelief, she reaches down and grabs it to take a look.

Best Lesbian Erotica,” she reads out loud, an eyebrow raised. Her gaze moves from the book cover to my now scarlet face. “Really now?”

“Research…” I stammer.

“Sure, babe.” She hands the book back to me. “More wine?”

“What? Oh. Uh. Yes. Please.”

She takes my glass and saunters away without another word. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was swinging her hips and ass deliberately to taunt me. Not knowing what else to do, I return to my book. When she brings my wine and, a few minutes later, my main course, I dare to flash what I hope is a flirtatious smile at her.

Judge me for reading porn in public, I dare you!

“Is everything okay?” she asks, appearing by my table again as I’m half way through my spaghetti alla carbonara. I nod, my mouth full. She pulls a pen out of her breast pocket, grabs the spare napkin from the unused place setting opposite me, scrawls a quick note and shoves it towards me. This all seems to happen in a single fluid movement, and she’s walking away again.

Shift finishes in twenty. When you see me go through the door in the far left corner, follow me – code is 1013. Don’t let my colleague see you. We won’t be disturbed. 

I nearly choke on my mouthful of spaghetti. Even as I’m telling myself that this is insane, I know that I will go. After all, when a beautiful woman summons you with such calm authority, what else can you do?

I keep my eyes on my food and occasionally glance at my watch as the ten minutes ticks down. At precisely one minute past ten, I watch out of the corner of my eye as she waves goodnight to her colleague and saunters to the back of the restaurant and out of sight.

Am I really going to do this? Do I dare? In a second, I decide. I throw down enough cash to cover my meal and a generous tip – a very generous tip – and head in the same direction, one eye on the other waitress, now the only person working. As she’s ringing up another customer, I seize my moment, punch in the code, and shut the “staff only” door behind me. I just have time to take note of that fact that we’re in a large and deserted commercial kitchen, all silver and chrome, when…

“I knew you’d come.”

She’s sitting on one of the shiny counter-tops, stockinged feet now free of her high-heeled shoes, sipping from a glass of what looks like whisky on the rocks.

“I don’t really know…”

I was going to say I don’t really know why I did, but she cuts me off. “Shush. You’ve been eye-fucking me since the moment you walked in. Lucky for you, I think you’re kinda cute too.” She hops down and comes towards me. She’s shorter than me without her tall shoes, but the confidence and power she exudes leaves me in no doubt who’s in charge.

My mind starts to race. Is she toying with me? Is this some kind of joke? What if someone walks in at any second? Then she presses her perfect, red, whisky-flavoured lips to mine, and I stop thinking about anything at all.

She pushes me back against the closed door, fingers twisting their way into my hair as we kiss. I think I moan, but the sound is swallowed by the kiss. I cannot remember the last time my cunt was so wet from nothing more than kissing and feeling someone’s body pressed up against mine.

She nudges my legs apart with her hand, then brings her leg between mine, thigh pressing against my cunt. Even through my tights and knickers, I’m sure she can feel the heat and wetness. Shameless, now, I grind against her, desperate for more stimulation. God, how long has it been? Can a few short weeks of no sex really make me into such a wanton slut?

I gasp when the leg is moved and replaced by her hand, the ends of long, elegant fingers dancing ever-so-softly against my cunt through the two thin layers of clothing. She’s teasing me, because she can see how much I want it.

“Please…” I whimper against her mouth.

“Is this what you want?” she asks, slipping her hand under the waistband of my tights and into my knickers, making contact with my desperate cunt at last. My gasp of pleasure is the answer she needs. When her fingers make contact with my clit and begin to circle it, I cannot help my moaning.

“You have to be quiet,” she says. “Can’t have you getting me caught and in trouble. If you make too much noise I’ll have to stop.” Her calm dominance and her talented fingers have me weak at the knees, gladly wanting to do anything she says, anything to please her. Another rush of wetness coats my already soaked panties.

I’ve always been loud in bed. It’s just the way I am. Back in my university days, my housemates hated it when I brought this girl or that boy home for a night of passion (which was often) because it meant none of them were getting any rest that night. But I believe this beautiful woman when she tells me that she will stop fingering me if I make too much noise, and all I want in the world right now is for her fingers to keep going, keep pushing me towards bliss.

Her rubbing has changed. Faster now, and harder, my own juices providing all the lubrication we need. I bury my face in her shoulder, in her hair, to hold back my sounds. My clit feels harder than I can ever remember it being, and I’m thrusting my hips, humping her hand with my cunt. I’m so close! For some reason it comes to me to ask her permission.

“Please can I come?” I whisper frantically.

“Just from this little bit of attention? God, you really were gagging for it, weren’t you?”

The flush of embarrassment nearly pushes me over the edge. “Oh, god, please…”

“You can come if you can do it quietly.”

My mouth opens into a scream but no sound comes out. Somehow, holding the sound in makes my orgasm even more intense and I come, harder than I have ever come before, in this stranger’s hand.

As I grab at the wall to steady myself, she places a small kiss upon my lips and then withdraws her hand from my knickers and shoves her sticky fingers into my mouth.

“Clean your mess up,” she orders. I suck the fingers clean, the musky smell and taste of my own cunt making me realise how much I want to taste hers.

“Can I…?” I ask, already crouching before her and starting to push her dress up.

“No. My colleague will be in here any minute and you need to be gone by then.” I swallow my disappointment as my hopes of getting to bury my face between her perfect legs are dashed. Then, perhaps inspired by her, I have a flash of daring.

“Quick. Give me your phone.” She does. I punch in the name of my hotel and my room number. “I’m here two more nights. Come and find me and I’ll return the favour.”

It’s not until she’s kissed me once more and then shoved me out of the back door and into the night that I realise I never caught her name.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the link to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

Masturbation Monday: “Rope Space”

A black and white shot of a person's hands bound with rope behind their back.He pulls your hands behind your back.

I laze on the bed while he slowly ties you up. To start with, I ask you questions. Does this pinch? Does that hurt? How do your hands feel? Any numbness or tingling? It is my job – well, ours – to take care of you as you willingly make yourself helpless.

He wraps the rope under and then over your bust, framing your gorgeous breasts. I want to bite your cute little nipples, but I mustn’t get in the way as he turns you into a piece of human art.

“The thing I love the most about rope,” I tell you, “is the smell“. I grab a fresh coil of jute from the pile on the bed and hold it out for you to sniff. The sigh that escapes your lips tells me that you get it, too.

He pulls the wraps tighter, cinches them in place with a twist just under your arm.

Your breathing is a little faster. You’re no longer forming sentences. Your eyes have changed. I recognise this – this slipping away of coherent thought as you let yourself surrender. It’s happened to me, too. Hundreds of times, his hands and his ropes have reduced me to putty. And now it’s happening to you in front of me. But I’m not jealous, nor even envious. No. It is a profound privilege to watch my lover introduce you to this bliss I know so well.

He instructs you to kneel on the bed and pushes you down onto your front.

Rope circles your left ankle. I stroke your hair. Grasp a handful of it and tug. Tell you you’re a good girl and breathe in the scent of your arousal, which surely must be dripping onto the sheet beneath you by now.

He binds your leg in on itself. The right leg follows. I go to ask you if you’re still okay, but the little smile and half-closed eyes tells me all I need to know.

He pulls your legs up and fastens them together, then to the back of your chest harness. You whimper softly. I squeeze your hand, tell you again how good you are.

He moves back to admire his handiwork. You, transformed into art on our bed. You are beautifully helpless and helplessly beautiful. Our willing toy. And I know we have only just begun all the ways in which we will play with you before the night is over.

Today’s Masturbation Monday is a true story! All thanks go to Mr CK and the gorgeous girl who lived this with me and gave me all the rope-feelz I’ve been experiencing this week. Masturbation Monday is created and run by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what others are getting off to this week. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting me on Patreon (where you’ll get #BonusSmut every Tuesday!) or buying me a coffee. 

Masturbation Monday: “Charity Dinner”

[Inspired by Exhibit A and his suit-porn.]

A man's body in a suit and tie. For a masturbation monday post about a charity dinnerHe looks so fucking hot in his suit.

Truth be told, I hate these stuffy, fancy dinners. Disgustingly wealthy people bidding huge amounts of money for shit they don’t actually want (just donate the fucking money, Bob, God) and food that is always mediocre at best, considering the price-tag. But this is Richard’s work, and I know it’s important to him, so I put on the flouncy cocktail dress and curl my hair and play the dutiful wife, hanging on his arm and sipping Prosecco and charming people I don’t care about who bore the knickers off me.

Well, they would if I was wearing any.

The one good thing about all this, as I said, is that my husband looks fucking gorgeous in his suit. From our wedding to nights out at sex clubs (because what good upstanding Finance Director doesn’t have a sordid secret life!?) to these dinners we occasionally have to endure, whenever he puts it on, I just want to swoon into a puddle at his feet.

I decided in the shower that I was going to make this evening a bit more interesting. So no-one knows that, underneath my demure dress and stockings – below the knee, not too sheer – I’m not wearing panties and I’ve got kegel balls shoved inside my cunt. No-one except my husband, of course. And something tells me he’ll be taking full advantage before the night is up.

He whispers in my ear as we take our places for dinner.

“Every time I squeeze your leg or your hand, you’re going to squeeze your cunt around those balls. Got it?” I nod, my face impassive. “Good. Don’t let on.”

We’re seated. There’s small-talk. I’m introduced to some important client or other, sitting across the table.

“My wife, Kate.” As I reach out to shake hands, Richard’s hand slips under the tablecloth and gives my leg a little squeeze. I clench my cunt against the balls filling me up, making sure I keep my face neutral. Fuck. It feels so good.

Starter is served. Squeeze. Clench. He does it every few minutes, just enough to keep me desperately aroused but nowhere near enough to bring me close to any sort of release. I try not to squirm in my seat and to concentrate on the conversation going on around me. I keep my eyes mostly on my food, pretend I’m shy. I’m not shy, I’m just too fucking horny to concentrate on anything else?

“More wine, Kate?”

Squeeze. Fuck.

I proffer my glass, trying to keep it steady as Richard’s boss refills it, and squeeze my cunt obediently against the damn balls.

Main course comes. He’s fully toying with me now, this sadistic beautiful man by my side, never pausing from his conversation even as he reduces me to a flustered mess next to him. My cunt’s dripping. I worry I’m staining the chair beneath me.

By the time dessert appears in front of me, I think I’m going to scream if I don’t get my release soon. It takes all my strength not to start humping the air like the ridiculous horny slut I am. Richard is now holding my hand on the table and surreptitiously squeezing it every few seconds. Bastard.

I hit the edge. A few more seconds and I’ll come, right here at this table in front of these suited strangers. Fuuuuuck. I drop my dessert fork and it hits the floor with a loud clatter, causing everyone on the table to look at me. I blush bright red and start to duck under the table to retrieve it, but a waiter has already rushed over with a new one for me.

“You’re so clumsy, darling,” Richard says. “Have you had too much wine?” To everyone else it looks like gentle, loving ribbing. But I see the flash in his grey eyes and I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s got me right where he wants me.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. I look at him pleadingly. Please don’t do this. A harder squeeze, telling me to be good, to not let him down now.

I clench as hard as I can. It’s enough. I come, my cunt spasming around the hard silicone balls. I cross my legs, feeling the gush of wetness running out of me, biting my tongue to hold in the moan and trying not to make my squirming too obvious.

Richard leans forward to better hear the conversation on the other side of the table. No-one but me can read the self-satisfied smirk playing around the corner of his lips. He’s pleased with me. And I know that as soon as we get home, the kegel balls in my cunt are going to be replaced by his cock.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the link to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction every Tuesday by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Private Tuition”

[This story depicts a consensual roleplay scenario between adults. All characters are above the legal age of consent.] 

A woman lying face down on a bed wearing a black top with a lacy bottom, her butt on display. For a piece of schoolmaster cane erotica.

Gem shifts in her seat, her butt aching from sitting too long in the uncomfortable wooden chair. She glances to her left, where Hannah appears to be engrossed in her work. A few feet away, Sir sits at his desk typing on his computer. They’re supposed to be working in silence. Punishment for whispering and giggling during his lecture earlier.

Fuck this, Gem thinks. Time to make this a little more interesting.

Very slowly, one eye on their Professor at all times, she reaches a hand across the couple of feet of space between them and pokes Hannah in the side. Hannah jumps and yelps. Lightning-quick, Gem pulls her hand back and returns to her book.

“Is there a problem?” Sir asks, his gaze on Hannah.

“No, Sir.”

Gem fights to keep the smirk off her face. A minute passes. When she’s sure Sir’s full attention is back on his screen, she reaches a hand out again and – so quickly Hannah barely has time to register what’s happening – tips Hannah’s open book onto the floor. It lands with a clatter in the quiet room. Gem is already writing again, her face a picture of innocence.

“Hannah!” Sir’s voice booms across the room as the other girl scrambles to retrieve her book.

“Sorry, Sir.”

He stands, comes around to the front of his desk. “Come over here.” Hannah stares. “Hurry up, girl, I haven’t got all day.” Hannah reluctantly gets up and goes to the front of the room. Her black skirt is so short it barely covers her ass. Slut, Gem thinks.

“Do you want to explain to me why you seem to be unable to follow simple instructions like study in silence?”

“It was Gemma, Sir. She prodded me and made me jump and then she pushed my book off the desk.”

“Is that true, Gemma?”

Gem glances up, her eyes wide in feigned surprise.

“No, Sir. I’ve just been sitting here doing my work, Sir.”

Sir is sure she’s lying, of course. But he’s not going to turn down the opportunity to punish two little sluts for the price of one.

“You’ve been nothing but trouble lately,” he tells Hannah. “I think it’s time you learn what happens to bratty girls who can’t behave in my classroom.” He goes to the cupboard in the corner of the classroom. Gem feels her eyes widen, and watches Hannah’s do the same, when they both see that he’s taken out a long rattan cane, the type wielded by Victorian schoolmasters in old TV dramas.

“Bend over my desk,” Sir tells Hannah, flexing the evil-looking thing between his hands. Hannah takes a step backwards, stuttering something unintelligible. “Don’t make me tell you again, girl, or it’ll be worse for you.”

This can’t be happening, Gem thinks, all pretense of focusing on her studies out of the window, gaze fixed on Hannah to see what the other girl will do. There’s a second where Hannah glances over Sir’s head at the door, as if considering running and then deciding against it. After the longest ten seconds or so in history, she turns and bends over the desk, resting on her elbows and forearms with her butt in the air. From her vantage point, Gem can just see the crease where Hannah’s bottom joins her thighs beneath the ridiculously short skirt.

This has got to be some kind of insane dream, Hannah thinks, bracing herself against the hard wooden surface of the desk. Any minute she’ll wake up and she’ll go knock on Gem’s door and tell her flatmate all about the crazy dream she had about being caned by their sexy, straight-laced Professor. Yet even as she thinks this, she realises there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to wake up.

She’s brought back to the knowledge that this is very, very real by the touch of a large hand on her ass through her skirt. Then Sir is flipping her skirt up and over her lower back, revealing her bottom covered only by the flimsiest of lacy knickers. He caresses her again, making her draw in her breath sharply. This is so humiliating! And yet…

“I’m going to give you ten strokes of the cane. Are you going to count them for me like a good girl?” Hannah hears herself whimper.

The first stroke surprises her more than in hurts her.

“One…” she manages to gasp, catching her breath and bracing herself for the second strike.

The second stroke is more painful, landing in exactly the same spot as the first. It’s a sharp, stinging pain that settles to a dull ache.

“Two.”

He strokes her ass between each stroke, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the pain.

Thwack. “Three.”

Crack. “Four.”

She hears herself moan with the fourth stroke. The shocking realisation comes to her: she’s enjoying this. She’s always enjoyed a bit of spanking in the bedroom with boyfriends, but this is somehow different. It hurts more, yes, but it’s also more… the word comes to her, humiliating. More erotic. As the fifth stroke lands, she realises she’s dripping wet and hopes Sir – and Gem – don’t notice.

“Five.”

Gem watches, mesmerised, from her seat. The way Hannah’s ass jiggles slightly with each stroke of the cane, the beautiful red lines that are starting to appear on her pale skin, and the way her little whimpers have given way to moans have her transfixed. She can’t deny it – she’s more turned on than she can remember being in a long time. She squirms in her seat, feeling her wetness coating her knickers and wishing she was brave enough to slip a hand under the waistband of her skirt and finger herself.

Sir runs a finger along the elasticated waist of Hannah’s panties. “Let’s get these off.”

“Oh, no, please…” Hannah protests.

“Shut up, little slut, you’re not in control here.” The sh0ck and embarrassment at being called a slut by her Professor sends another rush of arousal to Hannah’s cunt. She is powerless to fight back as Sir peels the thin lace from her ass and down over her legs, leaving them around her knees.

“Hannah.” His voice is stern.

“Sir?”

“Why are your knickers wet?”

Fuck. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I… I don’t…” She’s silenced by his hand stroking her ass again, soothing the burning lines made by the cane.

“Are you enjoying this, little slut? Does getting caned make you wet?” She shakes her head vehemently. “We’ll see. Soon Gemma and I will both find out just how wet you are. But before then you’ve got a few more strokes to go, haven’t you?”

Gem’s aroused squirming has intensified. She’s rocking her ass gently in her chair, thrusting her cunt against thin air.

Whack. “What number was that, Hannah?”

“Six, Sir.”

Whack. “Seven.”

Oh, god, Hannah thinks. It hurts more without her panties – however thin – cushioning her ass, of course. But the eroticism and embarrassment of standing here, bent over a desk with her soaked knickers around her knees, is almost too much to bear.

“The last three are going to be harder. Are you going to take them for me, little slut? Of course you are. We all know you’re loving this.”

Stroke number eight makes her yelp. “Eight,” she gasps.

Number nine makes her squeal, but her cunt is wetter than ever. “Nine!”

The final stroke is the hardest, but before she’s even moaned out “ten,” Hannah finds herself disappointed that her punishment is over. She’s never been so turned on in her life. She starts to straighten up, to reach for her knickers and pull them back up, but Sir’s hand is on her back and holding her in position.

“Don’t you move.” His fingers run over her ass and dip down to just before her cunt lips. “Spread your legs,” Sir orders. Hannah obeys, burying her face against her arms on the desk to hide her blushes. She’s so very humiliated… why does it turn her on so much?

She gasps as she feels his fingers make contact with her swollen outer labia, and then trace their way along to the opening of her cunt.

“It’s a fucking flood down here,” she hears him say. “You really do like being caned, don’t you, little slut?” He strokes her cunt tantalisingly gently, running his fingers through her black curls of pubic hair, teasing her but never making contact with her clit, the centre of her desire which is now throbbing in desperate need to be touched.

Gem, unable to contain herself any more, has slid a hand between her legs and is teasing her own cunt over her knickers. Watching her sexy friend be caned, teased and humiliated has left her feeling by turns envious and thankful it’s not her, but most of all, aroused as hell.

Hannah thrusts back against Sir’s teasing hand, trying to get the stimulation where she needs it the most.

“Awww,” he taunts her, “does little slut want her little clit touched?” In answer, Hannah whimpered and tried again to grind her cunt against his hand. He pulled it away, leaving her aching. “Uh-uh, not today. You’re being punished, remember? It’s too bad you’re such a filthy girl that it gets you all squirmy and needy.”

Hannah wants to protest, to beg, but he’s already pulling her knickers back up, smoothing them into place over her sore ass, and flipping her skirt back down to cover whatever semblence of dignity she has left. She lets out an unsatisfied whimper.

“Gemma.”

A nervous knot forms in Gem’s stomach as she pulls her hand away from her wet cunt. “Sir?”

“Take her home and edge the hell out of her. It’s your job to make sure she doesn’t come before next week’s class. If she does, I’ll lock you both in chastity belts for the rest of the semester.”

Did you enjoy this piece? You can find out what happens when Gem gets Hannah home in #BonusSmutTuesday, exclusively for Patreon supporters. Sign up at any level to get access.

 

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what other deliciousness is getting people off this week.

#SoSS 24 March 2018: Eroticon Edition

#SoSS or #ShareOurShitSaturday comes from a call to action by the fabulous Girl on the Net, calling on all those who love the work of sex-positive creators (writers, bloggers, photographers, artists, educators) to share our work (“share our shit”) far and wide. This is particularly important in the wake of Facebook deleting accounts, Twitter shadow-banning, and Instagram shutting down anything with “BDSM” or “sex” in the name.

For a lot of us, this work is both our passion and the way we make our living. We show up day in, day out, often for peanuts in terms of financial reward, because we believe in the content we make and we know the content we put out into the world has a positive impact on our readers.

Of course, supporting us with your £££ is amazing if you can, but sharing our shit is a way that you can support us without it costing you a penny. So, in the spirit of #SoSS, here’s an Eroticon-themed roundup of some of my favourite content from across the blogosphere this week…

1. A Pub Gang -Bang by Tits & Test Tubes

This post-Eroticon fantasy scene has got it all – group sex, humiliation, spanking and more. It’s so, so good… and makes me even happier because I’m kinda in it. (No, I’m not telling you which character I am, you can use your imagination). Jadis is a serious up-and-coming talent in the sex blog-o-sphere.

2. I Lost My Sexuality for a Year by Miss Eve E

This is a stunning, personal and powerful account of Eve’s last year of pain and illness, and how that affected her sexual desire. Her experience really shows how so much of the medical world doesn’t take sexuality – or sexual side-effects of pain and medication – seriously. But it’s untimately a story of hope, as she talks about how Eroticon helped her to reclaim her sexuality and she will continue to do so in 2018. Really important.

3. What I Took Home from Eroticon by John Brownstone

A lovely piece on the nature and importance of community. I loved meeting JB, who together with his wife Kayla makes up the powerhouse duo behind Loving BDSM. He’s just as warm, friendly and fun in person as he is on the podcast, and this piece really speaks to me as someone who felt very alone until I finally found my community and my people.

4. Eroticon 2018: Ten Things… by The Other Livvy

A great piece from Livvy about the things she took away from Eroticon this year. Features a Star Wars joke, a lovely comment on my ridiculous Saturday night outfit, a hot-as-fuck vac bed picture, some lovely quotes, and a #SinfulSunday picture that I took.

5. Learning Post #Eroticon by Cara Thereon

Some beautiful words from Cara about the things she learned and took away from Eroticon. I loved meeting Cara – she’s lovely, smart and insightful and the piece she read out on Sunday was hot as fuck. She talks about learning about herself, facing her fears, and becoming more enmeshed in the community. I look forward to whatever she does next!

And that’s it for this week, folks. There were so many brilliant post-‘Con pieces that really spoke to me and you can read them all here. This is just a small selection of my personal favourites.

Have a great week, and don’t forget: if you like our work, SHARE IT!

Masturbation Monday: “Ask Nicely”

A nude woman lying on her side, apparently asleep, on a bed with white sheets.I’m not usually allowed to wear clothing in the house. He says it covers up my pretty body, which should be readily accessible to him at all times. The only exceptions to this rule are when I’m cold and I ask permission to wear a robe to keep me warm, or when he wants me to wear something in particular that’s appealing to him. After several years of this protocol, nudity has come to feel like my natural state. It’s when he tells me to put something on that I know fun things are about to happen.

He kisses me awake, first my eyelids then my lips. My eyes flutter open. I smell hot coffee.

‘Hello, pet.’

‘Good morning, Sir,’ I say sleepily.

‘You’re going to drink your coffee, then you’re going to go and put those pretty knickers on for me. You know the ones I like – the black lace.’ My cunt twinges and I feel a knot of excitement growing in my belly. This sounds like a very promising prelude to something.

I sip my coffee leisurely while I allow my mind to wander to what might be on Sir’s mind. My cunt is getting ridiculously wet already. Sir always tells me it’s embarrassing how drippy I get. I tell him it’s because he won’t let me touch it without permission, and at least half the times I ask for permission he tells me no. Then he laughs at me and calls me a silly desperate slut and reminds me that he’ll lock it away in a chastity belt if he ever catches me touching it without permission. I don’t. The ache is hard, but disappointing him would be a thousand times worse.

I swing my legs out of bed and pad over to the chest of drawers, pluck out the requested knickers and slip them over my hips, smoothing the lace over my ass. I also pull my hair out from its ponytail and shake it out over my shoulders. Sir likes it loose and flowing – more to grab on to, he says.

He comes back in just as I’m admiring my reflection in the full-length mirror.

‘Yes, you’re gorgeous,’ he agrees, looking at me approvingly from across the room. ‘Now get over here and get on your knees.’

I scurry across the room and fall to my knees at his feet. He strokes my hair, tells me I’m a good girl, his pretty kitty. I melt.

He moves behind me and I hear him grabbing something from the drawer where we keep our toys. I know better than to turn around and see what he’s doing. I feel him crouch behind me, brush my hair aside and kiss my neck. A shiver runs down my spine and through my body. My nerves are taut, waiting. Fuck. This man knows how to play my reactions like an instrument.

The rope encircles my left wrist. He ties it off in a quick single-column and then secures it fast to my ankle. The right side gets the same treatment. I test the bonds, just to make quite sure I can’t wriggle out of them.

‘Keep still, slut.’

He moves back to stand before me. Grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me by it into the kneeling-up position. Kisses me hard. I moan against his mouth, entirely taken. Entirely his. God, I’m dripping. I must be staining the pretty panties and probably the carpet beneath me, too.

He releases me. I watch, sure that my hunger is evident in my face, as he unbuttons his jeans and lets his hard cock spring free.

‘You want this?’ he asks, gently stroking it with one hand, inches from my face. I nod furiously. ‘Of course you do, cock-loving slut that you are. You’re going to have to ask really nicely though.’

‘Please can I have your cock, Sir?’

‘Where do you want it?’

‘In my mouth, Sir.’

‘Mmmm, are you sure you don’t just want to watch me get myself off over your lovely body?’

I shake my head. ‘No, Sir. Please let me suck your cock and serve you, Sir.’

With his free hand, he grabs one of my protruding nipples and twists it painfully. I squirm in my restraints. The other nipple gets the same treatment. I let out a squeak of pain. I am sure I see his hand grip his cock more tightly, stroking faster.

He laughs lightly. ‘Poor slut. It must be torture watching me wank in front of you, knowing your hands are tied and you can’t get what you want so much?’

‘Please, Sir…’

‘Mmm, I like it when you beg. But no.’

I whimper. It is, as he correctly identified, torture having his beautiful cock so close to me and not being allowed to touch it or suck it the way I want to.

‘Today I’m just going to use you as a decorative toy to get off over.’

He strokes his cock harder. He moans and I watch the way his body tenses as he brings himself closer to orgasm. Then his hand is in my hair again, dragging my mouth to his, the kiss swallowing the sound he makes when he comes. His tongue finds its way into my mouth as I feel his come splash over my breasts.

He pulls back and looks down at me, a wicked smile on his lips. ‘Filthy girl. Let’s get you untied and in the shower.’ A final kiss. ‘Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get my cock in your mouth next time.’

Masturbation Monday is a meme started by Kayla Lords. Click the badge below to see what other smutty treats folks have got for you this week. If you enjoyed this piece, consider supporting me on Patreon – there’s bonus smut there every Tuesday for patrons at all levels, which will sometimes be related to my MM post and sometimes be a stand-alone. This week’s image is by Molly Moore and shared with permission as part of Masturbation Monday.

Valentine’s Writing Contest – Win Sex Toys!

I’m hosting a Valentine’s Day (ish) erotic writing contest/fundraiser for my favourite charity, because… well, because I have some lovely things to give away as prizes thanks to my friends at Lovehoney and Satisfyer.

THE PRIZES

1st Prize: Fifty Shades Freed ‘Lavish Attention’ vibrator (reviewed by me here)

2nd Prize: Satisfyer Pro Penguin Next Generation (reviewed by me here)

3rd Prize: Pair of black & red leather wrist cuffs (second hand, excellent condition)

I’ll also publish the winning entries on the blog with full credit and links back to the author.

THE RULES

  • The contest is open from when this post goes live until 11pm (UK time) on 15 March 2018.
  • Entries can be erotic fiction in any genre, not published previously (except on a personal blog, which is fine) and should be between 200 and 500 words. True sexy stories as a narrative are also encouraged!
  • Winners will be notified and prizes sent out the week after the closing date.
  • Entry is £3 and all entry monies will be donated to Backlash, the UK’s amazing sexual freedom charity.

HOW TO ENTER

  • Make a donation of £3 (or more, if you’re feeling generous) at this JustGiving page.
  • If you can’t use JustGiving, you can PayPal your entry fee to coffeeandkink69@gmail.com using “Backlash Contest” as the reference.
  • Email your entry to coffeeandkink69@gmail.com before the closing date. As an attachment or in the body of the email is fine.
  • Remember to tell me what name you used on JustGiving so I can match up your entry!

Sex Educator Interview #2: Girl on the Net

Today I have another lovely interview for you, from the fascinating and frankly wonderful Girl on the Net. I met her at Eroticon this year and she’s not only super generous with sharing her knowledge and insights, she was also the first person to pay me to write about sex, when she accepted my pitch for a guest blog on her site earlier this year. I hope you enjoy this little insight into the woman behind one of the longest-standing and most awesome sex blogs.

The cover of Girl on the Net's "How a Bad Girl Fell in Love." For an interview post

Tell us a little bit about you and the work you do?

Mostly I write porn – I love the written word, and I find well-turned phrases intensely arousing. Since 2011 I’ve been sex blogging – mostly true stories about things I’ve done with hot people in the past, or fantasies I have about what to do in the future. But within that I always try to mix a bit of politics – whether that’s urging people to avoid using big tube sites, tackling the UK government’s ridiculous ideas around age-verification and porn, or challenging sexism in various forms.

What first made you want to write about sex?

I had a lot of stories and I just really wanted to tell them. For a lot of my life I felt a bit like I was wrong or weird for enjoying sex as much as I do. I was always told that *men* like sex, whereas women simply use sex as a way to negotiate relationships with men. But that’s total bullshit. I think initially I started the blog because I wanted a way to communicate that desperate, urgent lust that has driven so many of my decisions (good and bad). Since I’ve been blogging, I’ve discovered one of the nicest feelings: that ‘me too!’ moment when commenters say ‘OMG I thought I was the only one!’ Talking about sex – however we do it – helps us all feel less alone.

Can you tell us a little bit about your journey into sex writing and how it went from being a hobby to being (I believe) your full-time job?

So back in 2013 I think it was, I was having a horrible time at work and I was also struggling a lot with anxiety. I have anxiety at a low-level all the time, but it comes in waves, and around that time I had a huge wave – partly due to work, and partly due to the stress of trying to keep my work life and my blog life separate. At the same time I’d done a couple of GOTN-related pieces of work, and I wondered if I could start doing this stuff full time.

I went to Eroticon in 2014, and met so many incredible sex bloggers and writers, and got some truly invaluable advice from the people I met there. I even got commissioned to start working with Pandora Blake, copywriting for her site Dreams of Spanking. At the time I’d quit my job, and expected to be able to live off savings/bits and pieces for perhaps six months before i had to find a new day job. But that conference gave me the confidence and knowledge to start finding freelance work and live full-time off what I’m doing as GOTN. I’m earning way less than I used to in the corporate world, but I don’t have to take rush-hour tubes any more, and I can spend more time focusing on the blog and doing the things I really love.

Did you always know you’d write a book (or several) one day, or did that spring from the blogging organically?

I “wrote” my first “book” when I was about 13 – and those scare-quotes are very important because it was an absolutely shit book. A kind of Point Horror rip-off in which this girl’s entire family gets killed one by one. It was so bad I can’t even remember who the killer was now. I only tell you that story because I knew I always wanted to write. I just didn’t know what I wanted to write about until I realised that you have to write what you love: and I love sex!

What does “a day in the life of You” look like?

Blimey, OK I’m going to give you today because it’s reasonably typical.

Wake up, check phone, see a tonne of emails and have a mini-panic that I will never get through them (narrator’s voice: she would never get through them). Then shower, coffee-and-check-twitter, then sit at my desk and bash out whatever copy I need to write to meet my deadlines today – it might be an article for a magazine or online, or a blog post for one of the sex toy companies I contract for, or if I’ve just had a book out it might be a couple of articles I’m writing to publicise the book.

Then lunch and Bargain Hunt. That is sacred. Every day I make lunch at 12:30 then sit down to eat it at 12:45, so I can see how much money people have lost in Bargain Hunt. It calms me down and reminds me that whatever I might have fucked up in the morning, at least I didn’t spend £150 on some hideous piece of silver that turns out to only be worth 20 quid.

After lunch I try to do more GOTN-related stuff: blog posts, recording audio porn for the new audio porn hub which I really want to grow. I also have a couple of projects I’m working on for GOTN that I’m not allowed to tell people about yet, so this is usually the time I’ll do them. Towards the end of the day I try to answer emails or catch up on admin – invoicing people, paying guest bloggers, that kind of thing.

I’ll also usually go and check the Eroticon accounts – see if we’ve had any new contact from sponsors or pitch to a few new sponsors, or write blog posts/emails for Eroticon, chat to Molly and Michael to plan things or contact new potential speakers.

All this interspersed with cigarette breaks, panics because I’m worried I’ve done/said the wrong thing, a lot of pissing about on Twitter, and occasional interruptions from my other half if he’s working from home offering to make me coffee and/or let me suck him off.

What’s the best thing about being a sex writer, in your opinion? The worst?

The best thing is that when I am in the flow, and writing about something that fascinates/excites/enrages me (basically anything that stirs emotions) it is like an actual high. If I write something I am proud of, I will glow for the rest of the day.

The worst thing, I think, is that I absolutely suck at the business side of sex blogging. Although this is my full time job, the majority of the stuff I do is either free or underpaid, because I do a lot of it out of love. I get incredibly good web traffic, but I suck at selling ad space, so as a result my blog makes way less money than it should (and, incidentally, I am a total BARGAIN if any companies are reading this). And there are lots of things I won’t do because I just don’t enjoy them: sponsored posts, for instance. I’m aware I could do way better at all this stuff, but I just don’t enjoy doing the sales and admin stuff.

What’s your favourite piece you’ve ever written?

This is the HARDEST question and not just because I don’t want to be arrogant – it’s also because once I’ve written something I am very much done with it, and I don’t tend to think about it any more unless it pops up in my archive auto-tweet.

I guess my first book. Because I was so determined to write a book before I was thirty, and to be able to have done it made me incredibly happy at the time. My second book, too, of course, because I got the thrill of actually seeing it in book shops!

In terms of blog posts, because it’s easier to link to a blog post than a book, I really enjoy writing about sex robots and this post is one I’m particularly proud of because it’s whimsical and philosophical and is crammed with robots. I was also really pleased with a sex positions article I wrote for The Debrief a while ago – there are no gendered pronouns and all the positions can be done no matter what your genital configuration: at the time it was my ambition to get a sex tips article that was entirely gender-neutral onto a mainstream site, so I was delighted that they didn’t edit a word.

You share a LOT of personal stuff, which is awesome. Can you talk about how you decide what to share in your work and what to leave out?

Ha! Well there are two things primarily that affect what I write about: first one is, of course, consideration for my partners. while there are some ex-partners that don’t know they’re being written about (ones from long long ago or one-night stands), most of the people I talk about on my blog know that they’re there – the ‘significant’ guys (my ex and my current partner, mostly) know that I write about them and both have had input into whether there are particular things they don’t want me to talk about. It can be tricky avoiding those things sometimes but I think I’ve managed it!

The other thing is less exciting: it’s about anonymity. So a lot of my stories will have details changed, or timelines fudged a bit, to try and avoid anyone finding out who I actually am. And then I guess on top of that there’s the matter of whether I’m ready to write about something yet: I have a series of cool sex things that happened over the last year, involving some friends of mine and lots of hot sex together. I’m not ready to write about those yet though because I don’t think I can do them justice. They’ll go up as a series, probably, when I’ve taken a lot of time to write and consult with the people who feature.

If you were stuck on a desert island (sorry, sorry, I HAD to do a ‘desert island’ question) and could take three sex toys, which would you pick and why?

Assuming I have a generator I can use to charge them, I would pick the Doxy, because it is the greatest sex toy of all time and the one thing that can get me off even when I’m anxious/in a slump. I would also take a decent dildo – my favourite at the moment is the Godemiche Ambit – because that would give me a bit of variety/G-spot love. And for my third, could I take another Doxy? If I’m going to be stuck on that island for a while, being very bored and doing a lot of wanking, I want to make sure I’ve got a spare for when I inevitably fuck the first one into an early grave.

What’s something you used to believe about sex/relationships but don’t believe any more, and what changed your mind?

I used to think that break-ups amounted to failure. That my goal should be to find someone I really like and then cling to them until the day I die, because successful relationships last forever. That’s bollocks, though: you can have remarkably successful, fulfilling relationships that only last a short while, and you can have successful, worthwhile long-term relationships that inevitably end. I wish I’d known this sooner and been able to embrace it. I think knowing that relationships don’t have to fit this template has made me more comfortable thinking about what I actually want rather than what I think I ‘should’ be doing.

What’s the best sex advice you ever got?

I’ve had TONNES of great sex advice, but honestly I think the most useful is less individual advice and more a general philosophy. Meg-John Barker + Justin Hancock’s book Enjoy Sex: How, When And If You Want To really inspired me. It’s not about positions or tips or assumptions about what will and won’t guarantee you pleasure – it basically encourages you to ask questions of yourself – what do I like? What am I like? Why do I enjoy this or that thing?

So I guess the best sex advice I got was a whole book’s worth of it, and the knowledge that it is far more valuable to explore your own desires and communicate with partners about them than it is to try and tick boxes based on what Cosmo says is the position of the month. Like, I knew this already, but the book really helped me work through the detail of it. It’s a brilliant book, everyone who’s interested in sex should have a copy!

What do you think is the most toxic myth that our society perpetuates about sex/relationships?

That everyone should have one, and if you aren’t in one then you have somehow ‘failed.’ I have single friends who are incredibly happy, and single friends who are miserable: all of them repeatedly bashing their head against other people’s pity and assumption that their lives would be better if they’d only ‘settle down.’

To expand on this, I think the idea that romantic/sexual relationships should always follow a natural path of progression (first base, second base, third. Mortgage, marriage, babies, etc) is really toxic. It pushes people to autopilot onto what they think the next ‘step’ should be, rather than focusing on what they actually want. And it makes those who choose different paths feel like they are weird or wrong, when actually they may well have it more sorted than those who have just autopiloted into marriage. That’s not to say that choosing this traditional path is wrong, of course: it may be the right decision for many people. It’s just that it is absolutely, definitely, 100% NOT the right idea for everyone, and we should encourage people to make conscious choices about what they want, rather than pressure them into doing what others expect.

What’s one question that you wish people would stop asking you?

“Is that your real name?” The answer is always ‘no’ swiftly followed by me being uncomfortable and leaving the conversation. People get really hung up on names, and can’t quite cope with the idea that the person they’re speaking to is using a pseudonym. But I’m comfortable with my pseudonyms (I have a few, and I give people different ones depending on how much I trust them – thus if I am outed as ‘Kate Bloggs’ [not one I actually use] I will probably know who outed me, because I’ll only have given that name to one or two people.)

And just for fun, because it is “Coffee and Kink”: do you like coffee and how do you take it?

Milk, two sugars and as cheap as it comes. I’ll drink a latte if I really fucking *have* to, but I prefer instant because I am a devastatingly cheap date.

Thank you so much to Girl on the Net for her time and insights! Don’t forget to check out her work if you’re one of the last three people on the Internet who reads sex blogs and hasn’t come across her yet. Upcoming interviews include Kayla Lords, Cooper S Beckett, Dedeker Winston, Graydancer & more, so watch this space… 
The image featured in this post is Girl on the Net’s latest book cover, and was used with her permission.

#Smutathon2017: Rope Porn

We’re 8 and a half hours into #Smutathon2017 and I promised when we hit £700 that at £750, I’d share an extract from the story I’ve been working on in between blog posts. We were stuck at £745 for a couple of hours but our latest generous donor has given £100. Therefore, here is an extract from my work in progress. This takes place at a rope workshop on the first morning of ‘FetCon,’ a fictional BDSM/fetish conference.

A length of rope twisted into a heart. For a fiction extract for Smutathon.

Meet Allie and Libby…

‘God, I want to fuck you when I’ve got you like this,’ Allie growled into Libby’s ear. She twisted the rope in her fingers, eliciting a squeal of pleasurable pain. Libby was now nude except for her knickers, hog-tied on her front, arms in a reverse-prayer position behind her back and totally immobilised. Allie felt her cock twitch beneath her yoga pants. She could smell that Libby’s cunt was already starting to drip.

Libby let her face sink into the mat, relaxing into the rope as her body accepted the strain of the position and the tightness and slight scratch of the hemp against her skin. She breathed in the scent; a combination of natural fibres, sweat and lust that was found in – and only in – every rope room she’d ever been in. When she was in Allie’s ropes, everything else faded away. Nothing but the moment mattered.

Allie dared to trail her fingers across Libby’s arse and between her legs. Libby gasped and trembled, fighting in vain against the rope to push back onto Allie’s teasing, feather-light touch.

‘Oh, you want more?’ Allie murmured into her girlfriend’s ear. ‘You’re a little slut, aren’t you? Trying to hump my hand in a room full of people?’ Libby whimpered as the teasing hand was withdrawn. ‘Well, you’ll have to wait. We’ve got hours and hours left before I’m going to fuck you. If you’re lucky.’


Libby’s soaking cunt protested as Allie pulled her hand away. She writhed against the rope to no avail. Damn, but this woman knew how to get her into subspace in two minutes flat. Her whimper was rewarded with another twist of the rope, making it cut into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.


‘Okay, everyone!’ The presenter – Mark, she thought his name was, Allie had quietly called him a ‘Domly Dom’ – called to the room. ‘Time to start untying your partners, and we’ll talk about how that went and move on to the next tie.’


As Allie slowly untied the ropes, she dragged them across Libby’s skin, allowing her to feel every inch of the fibre. Just when she’d untied a rope, she would wrap it around a different body part again suddenly and pull it tight, making Libby gasp. When the last length was tangled on the floor beside them, Libby relaxed into Allie’s arms and marveled at the way this woman could reduce her to a puddle with nothing but her ropes, hands and voice.

If you enjoyed this piece, please check out #Smutathon2017 on Twitter, read some of our other writers’ works, and donate to the amazing charities!