The first time I kissed a boy was in Geography class at school. We’d been swimming together with friends the weekend before, and he and I had flirted in the way that 13-year-olds do: by splashing each other and then rapidly swimming away, whispering to friends that we fancied each other and hoping those friends would understand their role as ‘messenger.’ I assume this is how most first kisses happen: friends are pivotal in their creation.

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This fabulous erotic fiction about deep throating the boss is written and read by Sherryl Blu. Note that this story plays with boss/employee power dynamics and includes some hints of reluctance.

I didn’t usually find myself in the lift with my boss first thing in the morning. He was either in before me or he came in after lunch. Never would we arrive at the same time. But this morning, it would appear we were synchronised.

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This gorgeous dormophilia erotica is written and read by JM Seaborn, with brief audio additions by Girl on the Net. Note that this story contains a hot, consensual fantasy about sleep sex (dormophilia). You should not practice this kind of sex without doing the important groundwork – discussing consent (as well as methods to withdraw it) with your partner.

“I want you to fuck me while I’m asleep.” That’s what she had said. The phrase floated in front of my eyes as I looked at her. She lay still, her skin accented by the new light. Her breathing was slow and deep, telling me that that she was, without a doubt, unconscious.

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You know those meditation apps which show a circle increasing and decreasing in size, which encourage you to breathe in and out in time with the animation? Sometimes I like to fuck like that.

CN: drug use, minor references to panic attacks. But broadly this is a super-hot one, I promise. 

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This erotic story about fucking the boss is written by Scorpio Appetites, and read by Girl on the Net. Note this story contains brief use of ‘daddy’ as an honorific.

‘Hey, who’ve I gotta fuck to get another beer over here?’ I smile sweetly at the customer and put another Stella on the counter. I’m wearing a checked shirt tied low enough to show a flash of black bra and as much cleavage as I can muster, and I enjoy feeling his drunken gaze rake over me. I drink his impotent desire like a shot of cheap whiskey. The two feet of bar between us may as well be a trillion miles.

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