Sunday, January 18, 2026

Where We Need To Be

I glimpse myself in the oval cheval mirror to one side, kneeling on the bedroom floor, naked, the faintly beige White skin of my svelte twenty-three year old body glowing softly in the candlelight. My pleasantly attractive face is framed by my shoulder-length brown hair and by my wispy goatee which morphs into youthful fluff along my jawline. My wrists are tied together behind my back me with a lilac silk scarf. My cock is upright, rigid as fuck.

I’m kneeling before Zach, an older handsome Black man standing over me in his plush black velour bath gown. The gown is open to reveal his stocky, lithe, finely sculpted torso and juicy plump cock hanging flaccidly only inches from my face. Glimmering wisps of reflected candlelight ripple warmly across his dark brown skin. With his hands on his hips, he stares placidly down at me through his classic spectacles with their stylishly thick black frames. His natural black hair is neatly short-cropped with blazes of silver-grey shining over each ear. He’s clean-shaven, which only goes to accentuate his sleekly chiselled facial features. Strong, clear, elegant. And those oh so beautiful, soft, dark bedroom eyes!

His entire demeanour is one of impeccably groomed urbane sophistication, and commanding, self-assured confidence. As well as graciously indulgent pleasure, as he smiles serenely down at me.

The room is not huge, but not small either. But it feels very intimate and cosy. It’s packed with stylish furniture, a perfectly coordinated blend of contemporary and antique. It has a luxurious deep pile Burgundy carpet. The walls are packed with framed photographs and prints of modern art or original works, and shelves of books. And any tiny bit of shelf not lined or piled with books, and every little spare corner of space in a cabinet or on a side table, is covered with jewellery, bottles of cologne or fragrance or ointment, candlestick holders, ornaments or contemporary African figurines. All the candles around the room are lit, their flames echoing brightly as myriad flecks of gold in the silver or gilt or glass throughout the room’s brimming décor.

Standing behind me in this richly textured sanctuary, which is their bedroom, is Zach’s wife, Dominique, a mature mixed-race woman of magnetic heavenly beauty. Her light brown skin indicating a heritage of mixed Black and White ethnicities. Her figure, within a full length midnight blue silk gown tied at the front, is willowy, toned and athletic. And indeed there is a distinct agile poise in her general demeanour. Her splendid grey, medium length natural afro creates a startling silvery radiance about her head, and effortlessly corresponds with the discs of celestial light ever present, sentinel-like, over the pupils and irises of her kindly, dark eyes. The beauty of Dominique’s face is born essentially of the bountiful, irresistible personality radiating through her countenance, amplifying her any given thought or emotion. The opposite of poker-faced. She couldn’t hide what she’s thinking if she wanted to. And the slight asymmetry of her soft, warm features give an enchanting and endearing quirkiness to her every expression, somehow only augmented by the faint traces of wrinkles about her eyes and mouth. At her side, in her left hand, she firmly grasps the ends of a thick faux-leather belt.

Zach and Dominique are both around sixty. Both very successful professionals. Both cultured and erudite intellectuals. And both generous sensualists. They’re our mentors, our friends, and our sexual Dominants, our Master and Mistress.

My filthy-gorgeous girlfriend Bobbi, who is also White like me and just a few months older than me, kneels naked on the imposing bed beside us. The huge bed is a sturdy, dark oak four-poster, ornately carved with a full canopy and loose-hanging bronze and black sheer voile drapes. These are pulled up and tied back to reveal Bobbi in all her sacrificial glory: curvy and a little chubby, alabaster skin so much more luminous in the candlelight than mine, natural platinum-blonde hair flowing like a wavy white waterfall to her fleshy waist and thick hips. Her wrists are tied behind her with the same type of lilac silk scarf that I’m bound with. And she has a faux leather brown collar tied by a metal link chain to one of the corner posts at the foot of the bed. Bobbi’s the sweetest girl you could ever hope to meet. She loves arts and crafts and she’s crazy about animals, wildlife and nature. Thinks of herself as something of an ecowarrior. And I really can’t argue with that. And, happily, she also happens to be kinky as fuck. She absolutely rocks. Right now, her big oyster-pink nipples are protruding stiffly and shamelessly from her wide areolae and the shining milky globes of her generous breasts. Her full rosy red lips are curled in a sly, pouty smile. And her bright blue eyes are flashing in lustful anticipation as she watches us.

Zach nods at me as he looks down at me. “So, Rudy, you’d like to suck on this princely Black dick of mine, would you?”

“Yes please, my Master,” I mutter, a flush of arousal surging through me at the raw honesty of our exchange, causing my eyes to avert to the floor from his penetrating gaze.

“What do you think, my love?” Zach asks Dominique.

“I think,” Dominique replies, “that he should show some fucking enthusiasm.”

A loud whack of the belt across my backside makes me jolt and tense and yelp. Fuck! That really fucking hurt! She knows what she’s doing with that belt. I catch my breath, letting my trembling body calm down again, the cheeks of my bottom stinging warmly.

I ask again if I can suck Zach’s cock. Desperately trying to sound so much more eager this time. And I am. I’m incredibly keen. I didn’t mean to appear any other way. It’s just being able to express it in the moment. A moment in which I am filled with lust, shame, confusion and joy. Being open and honest about it all is the challenge. Speaking out my true desires is still a boundary I am constantly having to force myself over. It’s why I yield to my sensual gurus Dominique and Zach. Rely on their promptings. Relish their provocations.

Zach looks down, studying me intently. Amused. Curious.

My mouth waters as I ogle his succulent cock hanging thick and soft in front of my face. I know I mustn’t try to suck it without his express permission. I have yet to earn the privilege. But fuck, he sure is looking tasty.

“Like you really mean it, you lazy little slut!” Dominique insists, delivering another stinging smack of the belt across my buttocks. My whole body tenses, my blood fires up and my erect cock pulsates madly.

I beg to be allowed to suck Zach’s cock for him, and I’m spurred on to ever greater heights of impassioned pleading by Dominique’s repeated application of that efficacious belt to my rump until I’m a quivering wreck, almost in tears, my body in spasms against the pain, my backside throbbing. I beg and beg and beg.

“Still not sure I’m convinced you really want to,” Zach mocks, and swings his hips to slap his cock across my face a few times. “Don’t you want to get me nice and hard for your girlfriend?”

“I do. I do,” I whimper. “Please, Master. I beg you. I beg you. Please!”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I should let her suck me,” Zach says, smiling and nodding towards Bobbi. “After all, it’s her I’m going to fuck.”

Bobbi smiles gleefully at the idea. I don’t know what to say. I feel broken. The belt smacks across my backside again. My whole body tenses involuntarily against the pain. I feel tears welling up within.

“Answer him!” Dominique orders me.

“I want to suck your cock,” I sob. “Make you hard for her. I swear I do. Please. I beg you.”

“Okay,” Zach says quietly, warmly, “you can suck it.” And he lifts my bowed head and strokes his flaccid cock a few times to begin to firm it up before pushing it into my mouth.

I gobble it up and suck greedily and soon have him stiffened into excited hardness. I suck on his big bulbous helmet and lick around under its rim, and then lick up and down the hard, round pole of a shaft and even lick his balls for him, relishing the tangy taste of his beautiful brown flesh.

Dominique gives me a couple more wallops of the belt. Not sure why. Perhaps because I’m enjoying myself too much. Or maybe she’s just revelling in the power. Anyway, now the pain only seems to augment my pleasure and I soak up the strikes joyously, my engrossed concentration on Zach’s hard pole barely interrupted. My cock is so hard. I’m burning with lust. I feel euphoric.

“Would you mind seeing if she’s ready, please, my darling?” Zach asks Dominique.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as Dominique comes from behind me and goes to the bed and stands beside the high-sitting mattress. She unties Bobbi’s collar chain from the bed post and pulls Bobbi roughly to her. Bobbi, with her hands tied behind her back, struggles to shuffle on her knees but the tug on the chain forces her to try. Bobbi falls onto her side beside Dominique. Dominique manhandles and pushes Bobbi to turn around and face away from her, and Bobbi tries to co-operate but initially struggles to manoeuvre herself according to Dominique’s orders. But eventually Dominique gets Bobbi where she wants her, so that Bobbi is lying on her front, face into the bedding, long white hair spread out wildly, arse lifted up to Dominique.

Dominique drops the belt onto the bed beside Bobbi and brusquely fingers Bobbi’s pussy. Bobbi emits a deep, surprised grunt.

“The dirty bitch is gushing,” Dominique reports to Zach with some amusement in her tone.

I suck more sedately on Zach’s glorious erection as I watch Dominique’s hand tug sharply on the chain of the collar about Bobbi’s neck, forcing Bobbi to flinch as Dominique continues fingering her with a rough, contemptuous relish.

My own cock is buzzing, rigid with lust, and my whole being is thrumming with hypnotic tingles like some drug invading my veins and intoxicating my mind and spirit. I know both Bobbi and I are exactly where we want to be. Where we long to be when we’re not here. Where we never want to have to leave when we are here. Where we need to be. Where we belong. Within the beautiful shared sanctuary of our sensual submission to, and sexual humiliation by, Dominique and Zach, our Mistress and Master.

As I’m sucking on Zach I feel his precum mixing with my saliva. The taste and the smoothness of the increased lubrication is wondeful and I suck faster.

“Get her ready please, sweetheart,” Zach says warmly to Dominique.

Dominique leaves Bobbi’s pussy alone and tugs her round by the collar chain, this time to face the head of the bed so that Bobbi is still on all fours but with her backside lifted up at the foot of the big, high bed.

Dominique mounts the bed and settles in comfortably on the pillows at the head, untying the front of her midnight blue silk gown as she does so, revealing the unabashed splendour of her mature, athletic light brown body and neat grey bush as she spreads her toned legs either side of Bobbi’s head.

Dominique’s splendid silver-grey afro positively shines in the flickering candlelight. Her beautiful, distinctive face beams with a peerless, richly-contented delectation as she studies Bobbi’s face between her thighs and sucks on the middle finger that was just inside Bobbi’s cunt.

I’ve been distracted by what’s happening on the bed while still sucking Zach’s cock. But Zach’s hands grasp either side of my head and he brings my concentration back solely to him as he fucks my mouth with accelerated vigour. Feeling him yield to his intensifying passion is exhilarating, as the cool, self-controlled poise of this marvellous, bewitching man gives way to the mounting heat of his desire.

Dominique is holding Bobbi’s head into her pussy and I hear her talking dirty to Bobbi, telling her ‘you better lick that Black coochie good’, and ‘how good does that taste, slut?’.

And Zach and Dominique exchange comments about enjoying themselves. I’m struggling on to keep up with Zach’s ever more forceful thrusts. And then suddenly he just stops and pushes me aside. Unable to reach out, with my wrists tied behind me, I topple to the floor and lay on my side as he turns his attention to the bed.

Yanking real tight on the collar chain, Dominique has Bobbi’s head pulled hard into her crotch.

Zach picks up the belt from beside Bobbi and thrashes her backside with it.

“You better lick that royal coochie real good for my queen,” he says, and he beats her backside repeatedly with the belt so that Bobbi jolts and grunts as she redoubles her efforts pleasuring Dominique with her mouth.

“Thank you, my prince,” Dominique purrs. The immense pleasure she’s experiencing in having her pussy served like that is evident in her sublime, distracted, exultant expression. She encourages Bobbi to keep it up with tugs on the collar chain to keep pulling Bobbi’s mouth snugly into to her pussy.

Zach holds the belt under his arm as he gels himself up before sliding his rock hard cock into Bobbi’s cunt. Bobbi groans loudly and lifts her head and arches her back. Dominique has to reassert her control and firmly grips a handful of Bobbi’s long blonde hair and, along with another tug on the collar chain at the same time, pulls Bobbi’s face back tightly into her snatch.

Zach fucks Bobbi with slow, deep strokes as he beats her backside with the belt, another yelp or breathless groan coming from Bobbi with each thrust of cock or smack of the belt. Meanwhile, Dominique’s relentless insistence keeps Bobbi’s mouth returning immediately to pleasuring her pussy.

“This bitch is absolutely creaming all over my big love-stick,” Zach declares with a laugh, and he starts thrusting harder. “Her cunt is so wet. She really wants my spunk up inside her!”

Bobbi jerks her head up against the pull of the leash and briefly looks back over her shoulder, panting heavily, her flushed countenance glistening with Dominique’s juices as she peeps through the snow white veil of her hair fallen forwards about her face. Dominique pulls Bobbi back brusquely to her oral ministrations. Zach is fucking Bobbi hard and fast now.

Feeling left out, I ask what can I do, hoping to be able squeeze in under Zach and Bobbi and lick his balls as he fucks her, or maybe join Bobbi in eating out Dominique.

“You can get over here and kiss my Black arse,” Zach tells me. “That’s what you can do.”

My heart jumps. I roll and struggle to my knees and shuffle over to kneel behind Zach. I kiss each of his beautiful, firm, dark brown buttocks. I do so again. And do so repeatedly, feeling deeply honoured. And within my soul I swoop into full-bodied, vivid subspace ecstasy, the like of which I’d forgotten I could experience. I’m so grateful to Zach. My rigid cock is aching.

Over Bobbi’s noisy grunting I can hear Dominique groaning breathlessly as she says to her husband. “Oh…make him lick it, darling! Make him…uh… make him lick your… oh fuck… fine Black arse for you while you’re… oh… fucking his… uh… fat arse slut of girlfriend for him!”

“Lick it!” Zach orders me.

I push my face enthusiastically between his fragrant buttocks. With my hands tied behind my back, I’m reliant on the force of jamming my face in there for my tongue to be able to reach his arse hole.

My tongue tickles his ring. I keep pressing determinedly in to get my tongue onto that hole for a good lick, his hot arse thumping my head backwards each time he pulls back from his thrusting fucking strokes into Bobbi. I’m well into his crack and force my tongue into his hole. He pauses thrusting for a moment, holding still to savour my tongue lapping hungrily at his hole and driving in to wet him up as deeply as I can.

“Oh fuck yeah! Oh fuck yeah!” he calls out exultantly as he resumes energetically fucking Bobbi.

“Oh baby!” Dominique utters desperately. “I’m going to come! I’m going to come!”

“Me too, sweetheart! Me too!

They both groan and cry out with unrestrained glee for long protracted, intense moments. Then Bobbi ceases her moaning and there is a profound stillness and quietness. Zach pushes me away, climbs onto the bed, pushing Bobbi aside, and lays beside his wife. Dominique’s eyes are closed in rapt bliss, trembling, her hand resting between her legs. She receives her husband’s presence beside her with a kiss and they rest next to each other, lost in their soaring pleasure.

Bobbi and I look at each other. She grins and pulls free of the silk sash around her wrists and shuffles over to where I’m kneeling by the bottom of the bed. Her hair is flayed all over the place and her face is thickly smeared with Dominique’s juices. “You’re amazing,” she whispers in my ear, and kisses me slowly and passionately, and we lingeringly share the tastes of Dominique and Zach.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

Dominique opens her eyes and waves us up to be with them. “Cuddles,” she says with a warm smile.

Bobbi skips off the bed and unties my wrists and helps me to my feet and we both crawl up the bed to lay either side of Dominique and Zach, who both invite us in with an arm around our shoulders, me held by Zach, and Bobbi held by Dominique.

Bobbi and I bask in utterly delightful cuddles, reassurance and aftercare from Dominique and Zach. After which we’re allowed to frig ourselves off, which they enjoy watching, and which voyeuristic enjoyment of theirs Bobbi and I always love. Making it even hotter when we come. We’ve talked about it before, Bobbi and I, about how we love to masturbate for Dominique and Zach, how it’s such an incredible turn on. And in our already intensely aroused states, it doesn’t take us long to bring ourselves to orgasm.

Afterwards, the four of us rest together for a long, sweetly languorous while in the peace of the softly flickering candlelight, our sweat cooling on our thrumming bodies, before later stirring to all go and take a warm, gentle, tactile shower together.

Sunday, January 11, 2026

Sexy Film Review: The Chambermaid Lynn (2014)


This 2014 German release was a very serendipitous find. The film tells the story of a hotel chambermaid who we learn is in therapy but we’re not told why, and who although somewhat socially isolated is nevertheless fascinated by the private lives of others. She looks through the things of the hotel guests, tries on their clothes and hides under their beds when they’re in the room.

Through this latter pastime she comes across a professional dominatrix and soon tentatively reaches out to her. A relationship ensues which is both tender in its explorative freedom and ambiguous in its personal/professional boundaries.

This relationship forms the main thrust of the story, although the central character Lynn is also observed through the facets of other relationships too; with the hotel manager, the other chambermaids, her therapist and her mother.

Lynn’s is a journey of inquisitive self-discovery, and I wonder if the audience isn’t asked to identify as the therapist as the only character who never appears on screen but is always, in Lynn’s weekly therapy sessions, gently asking questions of Lynn off camera. It’s as if the therapy is less about analysis and more about supporting Lynn’s voice to be heard.

Certainly, we get a sense at the end that Lynn comes to a place of self-acceptance and inner contentment. And very rewarding as a viewer it is too. In fact, I found the film altogether beguiling and satisfying.

As a visual treat, the film is beautifully shot with bold geometric compositions, vibrant colour and airy light positively bursting from the screen. As a compelling narrative, the story affirms individual worth and dignity in a deftly told and intriguing tale. And as an exquisitely captured character study it feels entirely organic, unforced and complexly layered, with a beautifully playful but earnest and restrained poignancy.

The film is also very sexy in its not especially graphic but especially frank and sensitive portrayal of sex, and also in the emotionally raw vulnerability of the central character throughout. I absolutely love this film, and simply cannot fault it.

Reuben's Rating of 10 out of 10.

Friday, January 2, 2026

I Got You

Martine had had such a shit week at work! No, not just a shit week, but a really shit month in fact. And actually, this was just the latest shit month in a long run of really shit months.

There used to be a time she would at least get a bit of a lift knowing it was Friday, but recently even the Friday feeling was history. These days, incredibly, Friday felt like the worst day of the week. And now, here she was again, the end of another week and she felt battered, frazzled, tired and empty. Just nothing left in the tank. Worn right down. Metal wheels cutting up tarmac about to crunch to a smoking halt.

It was not even lunchtime yet and she was desperately holding back tears. This was a new low. It just wasn’t her. She came out of the weekly team meeting feeling more broken and uncertain and demoralised than ever. She stood alone in front of the mirror in the Ladies, studying herself intently, feeling like letting out the loudest scream her weary body could muster. How much more could she take?

Have no doubt, Martine was one of the best, and she was great in her role. But things had been tough. And, of course, being a Black woman meant not only having to work harder than her White colleagues just to be acknowledged at all, but having to achieve more, to be better than all the rest to be considered good at her job. And really, let’s be real, it means having to be seen to be perfect in every way or getting that tsunami of silent underlying aggression sent your way for being human whilst Black. Indeed, it’s a known fact that even being seen to be perfect is no guarantee the floodwaters won’t drown you anyway. The perpetual meta-awareness required to monitor the impact of your Blackness upon the White corporate world around you, I mean WTAF?!

Yes, Martine was tired of these haunting meditations, but of course they were facts of life she was not allowed to ignore, not if she valued any hope of surviving, having a life, having a future, for her and her children. And so by default these observations ran through her mind in the background as she tentatively assessed her predicament.

She had used up her annual leave already earlier in the year for the kids, for her mother, for essential appointments. She worked daily pretty much without breaks, and worked late every night. And still felt constantly overwhelmed by the sheer volume she was expected to deal with as a norm. Then there were different teams constantly playing ‘fuck you’ politics instead of trying to resolve issues. Members of the team which she managed at each other’s throats all the time, and barely able to function as a team at all. It did not help, of course, that she had made a couple of mistakes, as everyone does. Nothing really terrible, but one that was significant enough to appear on the radar upstairs. Not good.

And on top of all of that she felt like she was letting her family down badly. Always exhausted, distracted, short tempered. With her husband. And her children. And her aging mother, whom, for some reason, her younger sister seemed to think was only Martine’s responsibility. And there seemed to be a constant stream of issues with the kids that she did not think she and her husband Ayan were really getting to grips with. And to be frank, it didn’t help, being the only Black family in the street. A situation which inevitably came with its own peculiar sense of isolation and hazard just because, well, White people. And that was pressure that hung around every minute.

She was beginning to feel like a complete failure in life. And none of it was her fucking fault! This fucking job was destroying her! Could anything else fucking go wrong?!

She was just thinking it might be time to admit defeat and look for another job when she got a text from her man. It looked like a long read. Probably more bad news about something or other. She decided to read it later. She closed her phone, took a deep breath and returned to the melee in the office.

Come lunchtime she was ready to fold. She did something she never did. She took an actual lunch break. In the canteen, Martine sat alone at a table, in the far corner a little way apart from others. She needed some peace and quiet. And that was precisely the vibe she transmitted to anyone looking her way. She tucked into her salad and started reading her messages, beginning with the one from hubby.

Hey hon! How you holding up? I know you’ve had a really crap time at work recently. Just texting to let you know I believe in you, you’re awesome, and you can do anything. And to let you know I got you this weekend. Your sister’s driving over to collect the kids from school this afternoon and take them back to hers for a sleepover with their cousins til Sunday evening. And my brother is going to drop by your mother’s this evening, tomorrow and Sunday. You know how she loves him. I have a bottle wine chilling for you here, your favourite, a nice Chablis. And while you’re sitting back, relaxing, listening to your favourite playlist (yes, I’ve got it here lined up ready to play), and enjoying your wine, I’m going to gently massage your feet for you. Then I’m going to run you a hot, soapy, fragrant, candlelit bath, and prepare your dinner while you’re soaking with that second glass of wine. And after we’ve eaten I’m going to ask you to lay back on the bed so I can pleasure your delectable cunny with my eager mouth like my life depends on it, because it does, you’re my life and your pleasure is everything to me. And of course I’ll serve your pleasure in any manner you wish. If you can still keep awake after a few orgasms, we could watch one of your favourite movies, or if you just want to roll over into a deep, comfortable, pleasure-filled sleep, that’s cool, and we can catch a movie tomorrow. Which reminds me, you’re not allowed to lift a finger around the house this weekend. I’ll be doing the housework tomorrow morning, nude if you’d like me to, while you lay in, enjoying the breakfast in bed I’m going to prepare for you and reading that new book by the bed you’ve been wanting to start for weeks. And it’ll be my privilege to do anything else you wish me to do for you, my queen. Anything at all. Hurry home. See you soon.

When she had finished reading the message, she read it again, holding back tears. She felt a bit silly, a little taken aback at how much of an impact the text had on her. But it made her feel so cared for, so supported, and valued, and appreciated, and cherished. Her heart flooded with joy and confidence, like she had a life outside of work to be envious of, like she was worthy of special loving care and attention, like she could take on anything life could throw at her.

And then she read the text a third time and then a fourth time, savouring the details, imagining her man eating her out. Yup, he sure knew how to eat pussy. Oh that fucking tongue of his! Okay, true, it had been while, but oh it was memorable, and she remembered. He had her in a whimpering, quivering mess every time. Martine’s nipples stiffened and she started feeling moist between her thighs. She glanced nervously around the canteen to check no-one was reading the filthy thoughts flashing across her mind.

She replied to the text with three heart emojis and tried to move on, knowing full well she could not allow herself to dwell any further on what was waiting for her after work, not if she was going to have any chance of being able to function properly for the rest of the day. 

But all afternoon she simply could not banish that joyful, all-conquering smile from her beautifully radiant face.

Of Course

I love that she needs to see me on my knees kissing her arse. Likes looking down at me over her shoulder, or enjoying the view in the mirror. The lightning eloquence of that connection of our gazes is breath-taking, earth-shattering, transcendent, revelatory. An enthralling mutual declaration of her power. And her power is to me blissfulness unlike anything else. Of course I worship her.

Friday, December 26, 2025

Silver Rain

In bed with a lover asleep beside me, in my little bedsit. The window wide open, silver rain sweeping through the dark air of cool spring night. Calming, reassuring. Time passing in its lighter aspect, warm and evenly across memory and hopefulness. A sense of presence, like a flower blooming.

Pain at ease. If only there was something I could do about the sorrow. But never mind, this is almost respite. Calm silver rain. Calm silver rain. Through the fine dark air. Fine dark air. I can breathe. Feel my mind again steady in my vision. Rediscover the warmth of my nerves. I never felt so at peace. Like everything is okay.

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t addicted to stealing other girls’ boyfriends. But I am, and I’m thrilled about it all. It’s such a kick when they surrender. Like this guy; it took months of finessing to break him. And he’s such a sweet, sweet guy, and so perfectly beautiful, there’s a poignant sense of innocence manipulated and defrauded which of course adds a greater piquancy to the theft. Makes me nut like fuck.

I like him a lot. He has a great tranquillity at this core. His cock gently blossoms in my clammy hand into its glorious fleshly firmness. Hot and rubbery. Such an incredibly beautiful penis, so enthralling in its erect nobility. Little wonder it feels so good in my hand, malleable and responsive, standing so desperately hard in testament to his desire for me. I take his firm erection into my mouth and softly and slowly suck his warm, excited flesh. I relish the exuberance of his appreciation for the pleasure I’m giving him. Me. That I’m giving him. Though he knows I shouldn’t be.

I stole him from his girlfriend in secret. Delivered him from his pompous self-righteousness. I watch him in my power, his face tortured with pleasure, a spectacle of resplendence, a feast for my soul. I really believe he could be mine now. If I wanted. But I’ll probably just deliver him back to his girlfriend when I’m done.

I’ll be making him cum again a lot more before that though. Over the next few weeks when I can steal him again. I’ll probably get him to tell me how much hotter I am than his girlfriend, and how stupid she is. I like that, getting them to belittle their girlfriend while they’re too aroused to resist my guidance. I might have him eat me out as well, serve my pleasure while I insult her and cum all over his face. And I’ll definitely have to have him on the phone to his girlfriend while I’m riding him.

I suck him slowly, and hot and sensually, and selfishly and maliciously, the silver rain sweeping through the dark, cool night outside, calming and reassuring.

Rockin’ Beneath the Sheets

Airless sweaty fucking,
Mirror-glow-like
Peripheral gloom,
Attention on only you,
On only me,
On us only,
Our private cosmos of worshipped details,
Cheekbones, thighs, fingernails,
Toes, palms, ears,
Loci, scents, triggers.

Time lost in plain day,
Time lost in the dub in the reggae,
Time lost in melting flesh,
Warm breath
And the urge to rub
And rub
And rub...

Sunday, December 7, 2025

Book Recommendation: Queer Art: From Canvas to Club, and the Spaces Between by Gemma Rolls-Bentley


This is just such a fabulous, fabulous book.

In the bookshop, I dithered whether to get it. Wasn't sure I could indulge myself at the time, as I was getting another book too. But, to be frank, the cover wouldn't let me go, just such an achingly beautiful picture, and I decided I simply had to have it. And what a fantastic decision that was. This book is actually not merely an indulgence, although I believe it can rightly be experienced as that, but it's so much more as well: it's essential.

It's an absolutely essential book. I think Sir Isaac Julien, RA, puts it perfectly in the Foreword:

'Queer Art is a testament to the profound impact of art and culture and the resilience of the human spirit... This book is not just for the LGBTQIA+ community; it is for anyone who believes in the power of art to transcend boundaries, foster empathy, and ignite change. As you embark on this journey through Queer Art, may you be inspired, challenged, and moved.'

I’m reading it pretty slowly, sort of dipping in and out really, and enjoying absorbing the examples of the incredible works of art as I go. It’s so informative and eloquent, and covers a range of themes and topics, as a glance at the contents page shows - 

ACT I: QUEER SPACES
Home
Club
Outside

ACT II: QUEER BODIES
Self
Intimacy
Survival

ACT III: QUEER POWER
Visibility
Activism
Love
Queertopia

I cannot commend it highly enough. A very powerful and very beautiful book.