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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Every year for Halloween I try to take an evil/scary creature and sexify it by writing some erotica. In past years we’ve done a succubus, a siren, a vampire and (my favourite from a filth perspective) a zombie. This year, @OnQueerStreet suggested I take on a werewolf, and I liked the idea of writing something romantic and loving that had hidden teeth. So here goes: The Relentless Moon. Werewolf erotica, for Halloween 2020.

This story is also available as audio porn – click ‘listen now’ above, check out the halloween tag for more spooky/filthy stories, or visit the audio porn page to get all the audio smut.

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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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Life is hard and haunted. The world is a mess, I am a mess. But I cannot just focus on the darkness and the panic: in order to keep driving forwards through the tricky stuff, I need to fill my tank with occasional joy. So I text a guy I vaguely know and I ask him to bring me tequila. And his dick.

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