I’m not entirely sure how I’d sum up my brand of writing, but whatever my ‘style’ is, it’s pretty far from ‘a whimsical 2000 word tentacle porn story’. Nevertheless, that’s what you’re getting today. The following is something I wrote in 2020 after a Zoom call with Patreons where they gave me prompts for erotic stories by suggesting a name/kink/location/object that I had to work into a piece of erotic fiction. I find these stories challenging (in a fun way), because it’s good to push myself sometimes to think about stuff I wouldn’t normally get horny for. You can find some of the improv erotica stories here on the site for free, and even more improv erotica on Patreon if you’d like to join. But if you just want to read a whimsical 2000-word tentacle porn story that I think might own the title of ‘most challenging thing I’ve ever written’, then hoo boy are you in luck.

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He’s pretty quiet in bed, so I’ve become used to turning up the perception dial on all the senses I use to tell whether someone’s enjoying themselves. Most notably when I’m sucking his dick or giving him a gentle hand job. I listen more intensely for the softer sounds he makes, and have trained myself to hone in on those little moments when his breath catches: if I tease the head of his cock with lubed-up fingers, for instance, or get the pressure and speed of a particular stroke just right. I place my hands on his thighs or hips, where the muscles sometimes tense as things start to build, or I press my whole body against his, to get an even better idea of how my moves are being received. I check in with plenty of ‘is this good?’s and the occasional specific question like ‘tell me which is better… gentle or firm?’. It’s a far cry from someone’s hands gripping my hair and shoving my throat onto their cock or loud moans telling me what a filthy slut I am, but I’m getting used to these quieter, softer responses. I’ve started to tune in to the subtle shifts in how he tells me he’s having a good time. So when I introduced this subtle guy to a sexual feedback technique for shy people, the fact that he used it – and the way that he used it – made me drench my knickers in an instant.

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He’ll be home any minute so she has to do her hair. Curled and set, brushed out neatly before being shaped around her face so it looks like it was effortless. She selects her best outfit, one she knows he’ll find appealing. Emphasising her curves just enough but not too much. Making her look like an angel. Nails are polished. Legs already smooth – earlier that day she ran herself a bath and her skin is now powder-soft, like new-fallen snow. Bathed and moisturised and shaven and plucked and perfect. Man, I’m so glad I’m not a 1950s housewife!

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Last week, during the Patreon Q&A, a lovely supporter asked a question about super-practical sex tips – what they described as ‘non-sexy sex tips’. Basically, advice for things one can do to improve the general environment and make sex itself more likely and/or fun. I had a blast answering this, because I think often some of the best sex tips aren’t directly related to play – top positions, sex toy recommendations, best lube for a hand job, etc – they’re peripheral things (like communication) that are all about creating an atmosphere in which everyone feels comfortable and hot.

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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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