This gorgeous ode to blow jobs is written by Quinn Rhodes of OnQueerStreet, and read here by Matt Johnson. 

I love sucking dick – and love it with a passion that might make me feel like a bad feminist or queer if agency is not very feminist and if dicks could not be very queer. Some memorable blow jobs in the twelve months have involved my partner coming in my mouth, a circumstance that is often a delicious assertion of dominance.

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This fantastically sexy piece about the Rugby World Cup is by Quinn Rhodes of On Queer Street. Note that the following story contains BDSM, degradation and impact play.

A quick disclaimer: until I sat down to write this post, I had no idea which World Cup was currently in progress, only that my Twitter timeline is currently filled with folks talking about a sporting event. A quick internet search suggested that it’s rugby, but if it’s not clear, I have no interest in the Rugby World Cup: I only care about the opportunities for fucking it can provoke.

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Now listen. I know that what I should be doing tonight is cheering on the England team, and I totally will be. But as we get ready for kickoff there are some people watching the match who can’t keep their brain from wandering to one specific fantasy. I say ‘some people’ because conversations with other horny fuckers confirms that I’m not the only one. There may be five of us, ten of us, or ten thousand of us, but make no mistake there are some of us: people who are thinking less about the score than we are about the changing rooms. Specifically, what it would be like to be the changing room slut.

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This week’s guest blogger – the fabulous Violet Grey (@v_greyauthor) has already written two incredible posts here: on how much sex millennials are having and what it means to be a submissive feminist. I love her political posts, but I also adore her sexy writing, and you’ll understand why when you read this gorgeous femdom story about a guy being humiliated and used. Take it away Violet…

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He likes me to greet him when he comes home from work. But ‘greet’ means different things to different people. To him, it means ‘come and meet me at the front door, give me a hug and kiss like you missed me.’ I’d prefer to greet him on my knees, mouth open, ready for him to tell me “I’ve had a really hard day at work” before proceeding to brutally fuck my face.

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