This fantastic shower tease story is written and read by Sundial, and originally appeared on her blog. 

I got back from work late on Friday, grateful to get in out of the cold. I found you in the kitchen, already getting dinner underway. I was tired after the week, exhausted really. You beckoned me to you, wrapped your arms around me and kissed the top of my head. I leant against you, enjoying the feeling of closeness, completeness, that you give me. A sense of pure relief to be with you, just you.

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Sometimes, after we’ve fucked and I’ve come good and hard round his cock, he pulls out and lies back on the bed, holding me tight around the shoulder or waist with one arm, and stroking himself with the other. I like to watch him come. And while he’s pushing himself to come, if I can tear my eyes away from the sight of his beautiful hand gripped skilfully round the head of his fuck-wet dick, I put my lips right up against his. Almost – but not quite – kissing. Feeling his body tense and shake, inhaling as he breathes into my mouth.

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Note: this post contains minor spoilers for the filthy scenes in Saltburn. Which I (obviously) loved. 

I’m not going to do it.

Damn right you’re not going to do it. 

Even though… there isn’t really any harm in doing it?

Don’t you dare do it.

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This fabulous sleep sex story is written and read by Carolyna Luna, and originally appeared on her website. Note that this story contains elements of dormophilia – initiating or engaging in sex while asleep. It’s consensual, and you should not engage in this kind of sex unless you’ve done the important groundwork of discussing it – in detail – with your partner.

“Lourdes? Are you up?”

I was, but I didn’t stir. Sleep next to the same man for long enough and you come to crave the luxury of being roused by his greedy cock in the middle of the night. You also learn his triggers. Dark clouds had assembled to blanket our bedroom in an inky dew. And the cover of a pitch-black night tended to bring out the mischief in Miguel. He was in the mood for one of those games we play.

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This post, by erotic author Tabitha Rayne, originally appeared on her website. 

I drag on the glove, still warm and moist from his sparring. It feels like a bad thing to do—as if I’m invading his privacy, sliding my hands up into an intimate space that belongs to him. Oh, the smell of worn leather and sweat. A shiver prickles from my nape to the backs of my thighs and my knees actually wobble.

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