This incredible story about giving head like a goddess and getting fucked like a slut is written and read by Sundial, and originally appeared on her website. 

Kneeling naked at your feet I look up into your eyes.

“Be a good girl for me and we’ll get you off.”

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This gorgeously filthy story about being a needy bitch is written and read by Molly of MollysDailyKiss.

“Needy bitch,” he croons at me. I pout in response but the truth is he is right. I am needy… or at least my cunt is.

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This gorgeous piece about yearning for anal play is written and read by Lou Kane and originally appeared on their website.

The sun had only just crested the horizon, its first butter-yellow rays invading the small bedroom D and I shared. My fingers were already at work. It was a standing rule that I was allowed to touch myself without asking permission if D was asleep; lately, I’d been pushing that rule to its outermost limit.

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This stunningly filthy gang bang fantasy is written and read by Molly Moore, and originally appeared on her website. Note that this fantasy contains humiliation, degradation, restraints, a gang bang, mentions of piss play and elements of consensual non-consent.

I don’t have all the pieces. It is a fantasy. Sometimes they can be a bit like dreams, with bits that just happen, or locations that you don’t really know or recognise. It is about how it feels, how it makes me feel, much more than it is about the where or the who. There are various version of this fantasy, they share a central theme but the details change. I have never written this one before. It always felt too personal, too intimate in some way but the current kink of the week which is about being naked while everyone else is clothed made me think about this story and so I decided to see if I could give life to the images in my head.

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This gorgeous kinky office story is written and read by Carolyna Luna, and originally appeared on her website. 

I wonder if my employees are curious about the frequency of my shuffling body today. Or of the constant hiss of the pneumonics in my office chair releasing and engaging again as I stand and then sit back down aggressively. No one has commented on the cacophony of its wheels scraping against the floor. They’re used to my furious typing, as I often spend my day that way, but that’s never stopped them from dropping by for the usual interruptions and banter. It’s odd enough for a Friday afternoon when no one’s ever in the mood to work. Even odder because I’m not furiously typing today. As the hours of silence have spilled into late afternoon, I really wonder if they somehow possibly know that my body is trying to betray me…

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