One month since the beginning of confinement. My boyfriend is spending his days in endless phone calls and zoom meetings while I stay parked in the bedroom, not allowed to show my face. As a freelance journalist, I am used to staying at home. Unfortunately, I am facing my worst case of writer’s block and…
Day 1 of Isolation My relationship had always been pretty vanilla. The sex was always great, but we never really pushed any boundaries. It never felt lacking, but we were both busy people. Experimentation wasn’t really a priority. You could probably blame this on the boredom. Being at home together was great, but doing nothing…
She stuck her thumbs up. Both of them. For such small hands they suddenly seemed to be huge. Ah, the bum’s rush. Nothing like it. What he’d noticed first was her hair. Thick. Full-back length. Brown as her eyes. Except her eyes were blue. Shocking, bright aquamarine blue. That’s what you noticed first, if you…
Back in my twenties, I’d been selected by an older woman, Evelyn, out of the half dozen young guys clustered around her in the pool at the club. The three young women at the other end of the pool, visibly pissed at being abandoned by their admirers, were understandably baffled at how a plump, grandmotherly,…
I want him. I want him so much. He’s absolutely gorgeous. From the second I first laid eyes on him, I have fantasized about him. Imagined what his kiss would feel like, the sensation of his hand cupping my chin as he lowers his face to mine and presses his lips to my mouth. Imagined…
I stood in the doorway to our master bedroom, watching. Farah’s hands gripped the headboard so tightly. Framed by her curly, black hair, her face was grimaced. I knew she liked what was happening though. She was seriously enjoying being fucked hard by the man on top. No remorse for her. Her legs were wrapped…
Like everyone else these days, she sets aside special alone time for porn. Quality time spent buck naked, fueled with a snifter of cognac, dimmed lights and throbbing music to keep time with the rhythm of her slender fingers, tapping on the trackpad, navigating from image to image, or scrolling through a particularly long and…
Mr. Rungard was late. And he was the last parent-teacher conference meeting of Mrs. Mower’s marathon day. Bored tapping her nails on the desktop, she began to scrub off the equations, which were drying on the whiteboard. “Mrs. Mower?” Turning, she saw that the baritone voice came from a tall man wearing dark slacks, a startched…
‘Home James, and don’t spare the arses.’ James – Dave, her husband – knew the routine. It was their game. One they both loved to play. Get into the car, drive round the block, back into the house, that’s how it started. Every time they got into the car ‘It’s Yesterday Once More’ began to…