Today’s absolutely incredible guest blog is by Kaetana, and having read it (and re-read it, and re-read it) I am struggling to come up with any way to introduce it better than how she pitched it to me to start with. Kaetana explained that she has a recurring transgressive fantasy about being one of someone’s many lovers. Someone whose purpose was to bring him women to fuck. “Seeking out people tailored specifically to one man’s tastes and predilections, wooing them, maybe trying them out a bit myself (I’m a queer woman) and warming them up before serving them, ribbon-wrapped and dripping, on a silver platter, to do with as he wishes.” The simplicity and intensity of the way she explained this immediately grabbed me, then when I read the piece in full it absolutely took my breath away. If you enjoy reverse gang bangs and sharing partners you will absolutely adore this…

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This gorgeous piece of thunderstorm erotica is written and read by Spencer Pritchard. 

The downpour hit hard and fast. So hard, in fact, that just the sound of the heavens opening and the deluge smashing against the concrete slabs outside made us both jump! The day started off with a low, cold, harsh sun, the kind that forces you to squint as a bitter wind pinches at your face. The kind of weather that stops customers from heading to your pub, no matter if the heating was on full and the beer was good…

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Continuing the series of erotic fiction set on tube trains (I heart TfL), here’s some aching, surreptitious fucking on the Victoria Line. Note that this story is fiction. Don’t do it in real life. 

The carriage is already rammed by the time we get on – him, me, a few friends. All of us slightly tipsy from the gig, but eager to continue the night back home in Walthamstow. Home, where the booze has been pre-bought from Tesco and we don’t have to queue behind Gen Z amateurs at the bar. The train is packed by the time we get on but we squeeze down to the end of the carriage anyway. When someone gets up to push past us, in deference to his ever-present backache I offer my boyfriend the seat. Then, because my feet are hurting and I’m a little bit pissed, I sit on his lap.

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As someone who very strongly identifies with certain submissive nicknames (‘good girl‘ – unngh) and utterly recoils from others (‘babygirl’ – meh), I’m always fascinated by the details of other people’s kinky identities. Are you more of a ‘Domme’ or a ‘Top’? Do you see yourself as ‘Sir’ or “Daddy’? Are you a nonbinary kinkster with a fucking cool gender-neutral moniker like ‘Boss’ or ‘Your Majesty’? Love it. Today’s guest blogger, Anna Syrma, responded to my call for guest blogs from women that might be suitable for International Women’s Day with this gorgeous piece about her kinky identity. I was inundated with amazing ideas, by the way, so we’re gonna stretch IWD out for at least another month (subscribe for updates!), but I picked this as the first post because it’s all about how Anna Syrma discovered, then embraced, her kinky identity as a Goddess.

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This stunning kinky edging erotica is written and read by Spencer Pritchard. 

Sharp ropes bite into my wrists with every involuntary squirm of my body. The stiff back of the chair that my hands are tied behind pushes my straining biceps. Every muscle in my body is taut. Aflame with the constant pressure of being kept on the edge of coming.

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