This stunning double penetration story is written and read by Sundial, and originally appeared on her website. 

I woke up later that night, when you both came into the room.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I just don’t know if I can keep my hands off her.”

“Mate, we’re fine. Do what you want, we’re fine, really.”

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This delicious story about asking to get fucked with knickers on is written and read by the fabulous Molly Moore, and originally appeared on her website. 

“Stop” he says. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my knickers off,” I reply over my shoulder.

“Well don’t,” he responds and I can hear the slight husk in his throat that tells me he means it. I stop what I am doing. Straightening the lace back over my hips and bum, I then turn to face him.

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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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This gorgeous piece on wanting to wank about you is written and read by Robyn of Robyn Eats Everything. 

Please, can I wank about you? Over you? To you? Thinking of you, and us together, and you alone? Remembering all the dirty, delicious things you’ve done to me and imagining all the sex that’s to come? Looking at all the photos and videos and messages you’ve sent to me, knowing full well what they’d make me do?

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I always say I’m not much of a visual person, and I’m not. But every now and then an image sticks with me, and usually it’s because the bedroom in which we’re fucking has a well-placed mirror or two. I don’t have nearly enough mirrors in my bedroom at the moment – a situation I am keen to rectify as soon as my budget allows (so sometime around 2025, most likely). In the short term, though, please enjoy this trilogy of fuck stories from the past which hopefully will show you why – if you enjoy catching glimpses of you/your partners looking at your absolute fuckiest – you should have mirrors in your bedroom too.

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