Tag Archives: relationships
Fuck me till I’m broken: I want you to ruin my life
I want you to ruin my life. Take the weak, thumping jelly of my heart and just… fucking… eat it. Yank it out of my body and hold it high in both your hands and laugh as you sink in your teeth. I want you to ruin my life.
Guest post: How I got invited to my first threesome
The fabulous @EuphemiseThis has been kind enough to share lots of sexy adventures here on the blog. From getting spanked by a couple in their hotel room to her tryst with a burlesque goddess, velvet fetishes and forbidden fucks. I am honoured that she’s up for sharing this gorgeous story too – about getting invited to her first threesome. Frankly, after uploading this, I am envious. And also massively horny.
What do you say? Thank you
Note: I wrote this one quite a while ago, and it happened even longer ago.
His flat is filled with mirrors, which is helpful for two people who really love watching ourselves fuck. He plays Massive Attack at just the right volume, which is great for two people who really like fucking to Massive Attack. And as I hold myself up on the corner of the kitchen counter, one foot planted on the surface and another on the shelf nearby, holding my cunt at the perfect height for him to slam his cock home, he growls: “What do you say?” And I tell him, breathlessly, “thank you.”
Homebase/I’m an arsehole
So this guy and I broke up, and I’m sad that we won’t get to play the bracelet game any more. Does that make me an arsehole? That upon breaking up with a good, kind man the thought which burns brightest in my mind isn’t guilt or soppiness but horny nostalgia? I don’t know. But as he said to me at the end, with characteristic grace: at least we were honest with each other. We were. I honestly wanted to shag him and get drunk and play Magic: the Gathering, he honestly wanted something more. I am, honestly, a bit of an arsehole right now.
This is not why we broke up
It wasn’t that my body was wrong, for a start. Over the course of our relationship I changed a lot – sometimes I looked fucking spectacular and other times I looked crap. Same with him. I fancied the fuck out of him, always, regardless of what shape or size his body was or how he’d chosen to dress it today. We lived, we grew, we changed: our bodies could never have been the reason why we broke up.