flexibility exercises help keep us mobile and active –


playing the piano – Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No 2 is one of the most popular and recognisable concertos in the classical repertoire


or practice your violin


Or make love


or drown him in passion


or simply sweep him off his feet


or failing that just go to the beach and sunbathe

opens the pleasure box

July 14, 2019

Eating the peach is a meditation. Your mind empties of all the must dos and should have dones. You are pure being. Your lover’s tongue is the key that turns the lock that opens the pleasure box. Life has few perfect moments; moments of cunnilingus score the highest on the sex blissometer.

Chloe Thurlow
Katie in Love

Sunday Breakfast

July 7, 2019

His nostrils flared and he couldn’t wait any longer. He lifted her bodily, moving her farther up on the bed, placing her head and shoulders against the pillows, and then pushed up her chemise, crawling between her spread thighs and settling to enjoy what he’d found.

There. There she was, her pretty, pretty pink cunny, all coral lips and wispy dark-blond curls. He hiked her trembling legs over his arms, ignoring her gasp of shocked surprise. He glanced up at once and saw wide, wondering eyes gazing back at him. Her gentlemanly first husband had evidently never done this to her.

More fool he.

Then he bent and feasted.

His nose pressed into her mound, inhaling her woman’s scent, his cock grinding hard into the bed, his tongue licking into tart and salt and her.

Oh God, her.

She squealed at his first touch and tried to squirm away, but he held her fast with his hands on her hips. He almost smiled against her tender flesh, his teeth scraping oh so gently. She might be startled, might be outraged and shocked, but she liked it.

Perhaps even loved it- what he was doing to her.

She was moaning now, low in her throat, making little mewling sounds, so erotic and sweet, her hips twitching against his lips, trying to get more. He opened his mouth, covering her, breathing over her. He stiffened his tongue and speared into her as far as he could reach, his jaw aching. She cried out at that and he felt fingers tangling in his hair.

He withdrew his tongue and moved to her clitoris, taking the small bit of flesh gently between his teeth and pulling. She froze, trembling all over, and he could hear her gasping breaths. He opened his mouth and licked her. Softly. Tenderly.

Thoroughly.

And at the same time he shoved two fingers into her, feeling her wet walls contract against his knuckles, smelling the rise of her arousal.

She arched under him, her soft thighs thrashing restlessly, making no sound, but he knew.

He knew.

He curled the fingers inside her and stroked her wet, silky inner walls as he pulled them back.Then he shoved them again into her, hard and firm, repeating the motion as he suckled her clitoris.
She moaned – loud in the quiet room – and pushed against him, and he felt her tremble and suddenly grow wetter. She shuddered helplessly and he was drunk on her release, his cock a heavy, near-painful throb.

He turned his head and kissed the inside of her soft thigh, listening to her pant.

Elizabeth Hoyt
Duke of Desire

Chaos out of you

August 26, 2018

the kiss

‘It’s such a grey, impossible day,’ she says. She looks at the window, at the cold slanting rain. ‘I’m bored. You should entertain me.’

‘How?’

‘Strip off for starters. I want to see you nude.’ Smiling in that way she has, like a mischievous little girl who’s stolen some sweeties from a forbidden cupboard. ‘You know what I really love?’

‘What?’

‘Submissive men and boys who’d do anything to please me. I love that sound they make, that breathy little moan when they’re trying hard not to cum because I’ve told them they mustn’t. I want to hear you make that noise.’

I pull off blue tee and jeans and stand in front of her in the living room.

‘Make it stiff,’ she says. ‘It’s only half-erect. Rub it hard…Come on, harder!’ She wears purple lycra and black shoes. ‘You mustn’t cum. You understand?’

Yes, yes. I rubbed for her in earnest, rough, rapid strokes. I knew well the games she likes to play. She raises her head on slim neck and laughs gently. Her huge eyes are on the blur of my fist.

‘I’m going to cum.’

‘No! Stop!’ She is staring at my cock which is throbbing and feeling slightly chapped. ‘Lay on the floor in front of the fire,’ she says.

I lay down as instructed. I know what is coming next. She crouches over my face and gently lowers herself. I forget what it’s like to feel anything but fire. Feeling myself now a beastman, an eater of sweet girl flesh. She loves the gasping, desperate way in which I take in air each time she raises her bottom – gulping lungs trying to inflate like a lifejacket in this sea of pussy.

And while she squirms on my face, she rubs my cock, edging it over and over. Repeatedly she leaves me on the brink of ejaculation. Talking all the time. Always these illicit words. Praise and mischief rolling off her tongue. Driving me closer to cum. The she takes her hand away, leaving me feeling raw as a newly slaughtered lamb.

Finally, my Queen, following her fifth climax on her fleshy throne, rises from me. My face is soaking, awash with tidal flow. My poor jaw aches. Here, the antelope’s respite from the lioness. My cock is a frustrated, inflamed swelling, abused in her hands, misused to the point of madness. She has raised a terrible tumult in my circuitry…

I watch her at the window, her stretch. Arms akimbo, she bends from the waist.

‘Come,’ she says. ‘Time to lick out my arse…’

get eaten out

August 13, 2017

I need someone who can keep up with my sex drive lol, someone who I can give a “Look” to, you know what I mean? And seeing my “Look” they’ll know I wanna get dicked hard or pushed onto the nearest surface and get eaten out for an hour or more.

Andrea Stevenson
Secret Desires

What do you tongue on Sunday morning…?

I like going down on a woman because:

The sounds: the way she whimpers; the way she brings it up back to my mouth when I stop licking. The broken moans. Hearing her breathing get harder & feeling her legs shaking, when she looks down at me as I look up at her, and she bites her lip, my gosh. The way her back arches. The way she grinds her clit on my tongue. The death grip on my head right before she cums and her legs give out. The way she pulls me back up & tastes herself on my lips.

Angela Bell
Lipstick Lesbian

23rd July

Living here with so many ghosts I feel like a caretaker of the restless dead – a protector of spirits who haunt my life – so that I’ve become my own haunted house, attempting communication with partially glimpsed movements at the edge of perception, or the sound of a creaking stair, or a noise in the attic which might only be the patter of falling rain…My ghosts can be cranky on occasion: they can whisper words, the meaning of which I’m unable to determine.

It’s been a long time since anyone treated them well –

#

So the Saturday evening play-party. With our friends from the local munch, people possessing the emotional bandwidth to comply with our safety standards, while sharing similar aesthetic tastes to ourselves.

Like a small film club, are we, eagerly awaiting the main attraction: crisps, freshly roasted nuts and popcorn are liberally distributed to ‘the audience’ in small china bowls. Missy A has been naughty and is to be disciplined while we watch. Furniture has been moved to accommodate this tableaux.

Seeing Missy A bent over a chair with her skirt hitched up is breathtaking. Hearing a hand slap against her buttocks, is so very arousing – how could it be otherwise? Savouring the slight trembling of flesh with each fresh impact. Her yelps of discomfort –

Then E rising to join T who is tiring. E has a riding crop. She takes T’s place. Her skin-head hair cut is intimidating. She uses the crop with consummate skill –

Yelps become cries. Missy’s poor glowing bum is criss-crossed with red stripes –

Missy’s now estranged husband used to take her to play-parties in the boot of their car. Almost nude, gagged and handcuffed, even in winter, she would endure this humiliation without complaint. His treatment of her became harsher and harsher, until she finally left him eighteen months ago.

It should serve as a lesson to us all, how quickly such consensual abuse can become pure abuse –

I’m reminded of Jean-Paul Sartre and his theory of emotions as ‘magic’. Because Missy has simply exchanged one sadist for another. The new man in her life allows his fantasies free rein. She is, it seems, one of life’s natural victims –

E’s skill with that crop is superlative. Her strokes are hard enough to mark Missy’s naked bum but not to break the skin. I can’t take my eyes from Missy, her tear-filled eyes, parted lips, writhing as if in the grip of some invisible power. Sex is inherently ritualistic, a symbolic act whose meanings extend beyond itself. And there can be no doubt that Missy’s submission is sexual, that she takes pleasure from E’s practiced flogging of her backside. And every face in ‘the audience’ is slightly flushed with sexual excitement as they look on. And my own arousal is equally obvious –

Finally, aftercare. Caresses, kisses, gentle stroking. A smile on Missy’s tear-stained face. She experienced some sort of climax near the end of her ‘punishment’, and all the tension is now drained from her.

I finish my popcorn (which incidentally is homemade) as E takes Missy upstairs to the bathroom to fix her make-up.

‘I hope they don’t wake the ghosts,’ I say to no one in particular.

And no one, as expected, bothers to reply.

#

Hamlet experienced an encounter with a ghost and it ended in massacre. Macbeth was confronted by Banquo’s ghost during a great banquet, and lost his peace of mind forever. It’s more than likely that Shakespeare’s ghosts are simply psychological manifestations of guilt – imagined apparitions, in other words.

But what of my ghosts?

Trish, for example?

She used to love me reading out loud to her. At bedtime I always had to read to her or she couldn’t sleep. On occasion she would perform an act of fellation upon me as I read –

She once described herself to me as ‘Terribly thin’. And her body, I must admit, was like a sabre slash in silk. As flat chested as a boy, was she. ‘You’re fine,’ I’d tell her. ‘I love you as you are.’ And then laid her back and performed cunnilingus on her for almost an hour –

I read her ‘The Story of O’ and we both got turned on by it. It was Christmas Eve I remember, and Trish guided me between her buttocks. I gently sodomized her for the first time while she masturbated herself.

We talked a lot about art, writing, music and cinema. One time I told her about André Gide, his enormous influence on the young, which sprang from his teaching that one’s only duty is to oneself, that one should never be ‘encumbered’, either by material possessions, memories or other people –

‘Often the best in us springs from the worst in us.’

And so I read ‘Isabelle’ to Trish, and we both visited le chateau de la Quartfourche with Gerard Lacase, and accompanied him on his quest for Isabelle in the grip of ‘amorous curiosity’.

Books, reading, more reading and fucking. ‘Why don’t you read me something you’ve written?’ she asked. It was a bridge too far for me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Never that. It’s all too awful.’ But she insisted, so finally I recited some of the poems in ‘Summer Births’ from memory. And while the words spilled gently from my mouth like little lost souls, Trish fondled me erect and masturbated me –

Trish had always had a thing about India. For her it seemed a magical, mysterious, exotic place. One day she announced she was finally going to go there. She’d saved the money. She was going for six months – longer if she could!

And so she drifted from my life almost as casually as she’d drifted into it. And now she keeps company with the crowd of ghosts occupying this place; a spectre who loves to hear me read out loud late at night –

My panties were still on but he didn’t let that stop him, nosing them out of the way and tonguing my sex, making low, growling noises in his throat like a big cat purring with pleasure while it devoured its prey.

Emme Rollins
Dear Rockstar

talk dirty

July 2, 2017

Oh, is my baby’s little pussy finally getting wet?” He put his hand on her knee. She tried to cross her legs. “Yes, and it’s a lot. It feels very messy.” He could smell her now. Bending over and presenting her ass had done something for her. So had dirty talk. Yeah, he could talk dirty. “Messy is good. I want that pussy dirty and ripe when I start to eat it.”

Lexi Blake
A Dom is Forever