“My wildest fantasy involves dominating a man and a woman at the same time in a cuckolding scenario. I love thinking about humiliating a man by making his wife orgasm over and over. My straight woman friends seem like they can never find a partner who does them right, especially in our age range. I always feel kind of bad because lesbian sex has always been so explosively satisfying for me and I get such an ego boost from eating a girl out until she’s shaking. I love it so much, I could do it all day. When a friend tells me that some guy just got his and didn’t return the favour or she faked it, I get competitive. I love women, I want to show them how good sex can be. I do think about tying the boys up and seducing their girlfriends. Throw in some edging, like a hand job/blow job where he doesn’t get to orgasm, and then go back to her and finger her and eat her out. Maybe she’s talking about how she’s never had it this good before. All the better if he’s also sickly enjoying this.”

— Ashley, 25

Carina Hsieh
Women on Their Hottest Sexual Fantasy

talking dirty

January 19, 2020

My first wife suffered with a form of Narratophilia. She could only orgasm by talking dirty – and I mean really dirty – during lovemaking. It was a tad disconcerting to be honest.

At that time and in that place, deep in a nearby wood, there was a slender stream which lost its way through the thick shrubbery. We would often picnic there in the summer. Taste happiness together. I have a memory of her laughter in the still air, nymph-like, quite free.

She was a crystal ball: you could see into her, but not through her. Ultimately, she wasn’t what I’d thought her to be. She was pure smoke and mirrors…But in truth was I any better? We were both so young…

Anyway, on one sundrenched day we made love beside that stream. She shrieked obscenities from her potty mouth. And, unexpectedly, I heard a woman’s voice crying out:

‘Children, children, do come away.’ Apparently, a class from the local junior school were out on a nature ramble; their teacher was busily herding them away from the two half-naked, rutting beasts at the water’s edge. ‘Don’t look children. And put your fingers in your ears…!’

How very embarrassing for all concerned.

love always hurts

January 19, 2020

You said, “There’s still time – time to change your mind.”

Remember…?

Your voice was little more than a husky whisper beside my ear. But going back wasn’t an option for me then. What was to happen was fated…inevitable. Like the sunrise or sunset.

I said, “I love you.”

And you said, “Move forward…just a little more…little more. There. I’m going to hurt you now…Hurt you a lot, because I love you. And love always hurts.”

The pain that followed my slow movement against your long body was unlike anything I’d experienced before. Hell fire would touch me less.

Agony.

And, yes, ecstasy too…

You said, “You can cry out if you wish. It’s alright. No one can hear.”

And then that exquisite, excruciating torment eased, slightly. I couldn’t breathe; couldn’t draw breath; but then I could and took short, shallow gulps of air. I realised my mouth was filled with blood where I’d bitten the right side of my cheek and my tongue.

You bent forward to look into my face and smiled. You saw the blood on my lips. Your tongue flicked over my mouth, lasciviously.

“First blood,” you whispered. “Relax for now. It’s going to be a long, long night for you…”

P

They turned her around, and the heat of the fire was against her back. A hand seized one of her breasts, a mouth fastened on the tip of the other. But suddenly she lost her balance and fell backward (supported by whose arms?), while they opened her legs and gently spread her lips. Hair grazed the insides of her thighs. She heard them saying that they would have to make her kneel down. This they did. She was extremely uncomfortable in this position, especially because they forbade her to bring her knees together and because her arms pinioned behind her forced her to lean forward. Then they let her rock back a bit, as nuns are wont to do.

“You’ve never tied her up?”

“No, never.”

“And never whipped her?”

“No, never whipped her either. But as a matter of fact…”

It was her lover speaking.

“As a matter of fact,” the other voice went on, “if you do tie her up from time to time, or whip her just a little, and she begins to like it, that’s no good either. You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears.”

Then they made O get up and were on the verge of untying her, probably in order to attach her to some pole or wall, when someone protested that he wanted to take her first, right there on the spot. So they made her kneel down again, this time with her bust on an ottoman, her hands still tied behind her, with her hips higher than her torso. Then one of the men, holding her with both his hands on her hips, plunged into her belly. He yielded to a second. The third wanted to force his way into the narrower passage and, driving hard, made her scream. When he let her go, sobbing and befouled by tears beneath her blindfold, she slipped to the floor, only to feel someone’s knees against her face, and she realized that her mouth was not to be spared. Finally they let her go, a captive clothed in tawdry finery, lying on her back in front of the fire. She could hear glasses being filled and the sound of the men drinking, and the scraping of chair. They put some more wood on the fire. All of a sudden they removed her blindfold. The large room, the walls of which were lined with bookcases, was dimly lit by a single wall lamp and by the light of the fire, which was beginning to burn more brightly. Two of the men were standing and smoking. Another was seated, a riding crop on his knees, and the one leaning over her fondling her breast was her lover. All four of them had taken her, and she had not been able to distinguish him from the others.

They explained to her that this was how it would always be, as long as she was in the château, that she would see the faces of those who violated or tormented her, but never at night, and she would never know which ones had been responsible for the worst. The same would be true when she was whipped, except that they wanted her to see herself being whipped, and so this once she would not be blindfolded. They, on the other hand, would don their masks, and she would no longer be able to tell them apart.

Pauline Réage
The Story of O

Sex

January 12, 2020

Sex is the sacred song of the soul; sex is the sanctuary of Self.

Aleister Crowley
The Book of the Law

My love for you is unconditional. Arse size has nothing to do with it – although that said, I take great pleasure in tugging down those short shorts, so tight they turn inside out as I do so. Bending you forward slightly, I’m able to practice my analingus technique, hoping one day I’ll finally achieve perfection. Your bum deserves that much at the very least…

It was at this point, she said:

“Don’t just kiss me, darling – suck the soul from my body!”

So I did…

sat together side by side

January 11, 2020

Her lover one day takes O for a walk in a section of the city where they never go – the Monceau Park. After they have taken a stroll in the park and have sat together side by side on the edge of a lawn, they notice, at one corner of the park, at an intersection where there are never any taxis, a car which, because of its meter, resembles a taxi.

“Get in,” he says.

She gets in.

Pauline Réage
The Story of O

melt into me

January 9, 2020

Afterward she lies nestled against me, her hair tickling my face. I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin.

Sara Gruen
Water for Elephants

Those special moments…

January 5, 2020

For example, that moment when you slip your fingers into her underwear for the first time and finally get to feel how wet she gets for you, fuck, it’s so totally beyond description!

like a ravenous wolf

January 4, 2020

She said to me, this pretty girl in the beach bar:

“Por algum motivo não consigo ficar longe de você.”

I replied with a shrug, as if this were an everyday occurrence for me:

“Fine. Está bem!”

Later, after we’d finished our drinks, I took her to my tiny room which was smaller than Harry Potter’s staircupboard and eat her out like a ravenous wolf. It was the first act in a play of good sex and long conversation that lasted all through the night. In the morning, before she left, she said:

“Sexo oral resolve muita coisa.”

Her laughter followed her down the stairs like the sound of fairy bells. It was a sound that enchanted me – made me glad to be alive. And the taste of her, still on my tongue, was the taste of pure wickedness!

P