Christmas Erotica: Redux!

As some of you may have noticed, I really enjoyed putting together last year’s Christmas Erotica prompts, and reading all of your submissions. Like, really enjoyed it. Picking the prompt each day, from the long list of festive songs that I love, writing it up, waiting to see how people used it – the whole thing made me smile so much over the course of the month, and not just because it combined two of my very favourite things, Christmas and sex. It felt like getting an exciting, mysterious present every few hours, and really, what’s not to love about that?

I did strongly consider doing something similar this year, only with Christmas movies instead of songs. Think of the possibilities! Home Alone, Love Actually, Bad Santa, Die Hard, Trading Places…so many film titles, so many filthy directions in which to take them. I may still do a truncated version of this, in fact, but I’m not sure how much appetite there is for another set of daily prompts. Nor whether movies have quite the same appeal as songs and carols.

For that reason – and because I had so much fun with it at the time – I am re-opening the submissions page for last year’s prompts. Maybe you really wanted to write something for one of the song titles, but ran out of time to do it. Maybe you have a half-finished story sitting in your Drafts folder, or an idea that only hit you in February. Maybe you weren’t reading my blog last December.

Either way, if you want to write something for any of the 19 prompts I put together in 2015, here’s your chance. You have from now until the 25th to send me a link to your story, and I’ll add it to this page on my blog. There’s already a whole bunch of great stories there, so you’ll be in excellent company – seriously, go check some of them out!

Even if no-one has any Christmas Erotica left inside them, the memory of that whole project will still make me smile whenever I think of it. I guess I’m just feeling greedy today…and I have been a very good boy this year…

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Sinful Sunday: Shadow Play

This week’s Sinful Sunday prompt was ‘artificial light’, which offered an almost overwhelming array of options for weird, wonderful, and sexy-as-fuck photography (as the other submissions make very clear).

In fact, as I first started to give it some thought earlier this week, I realised that I’ve already played around with a whole bunch of artificial light options over the last couple of years – from all the night-time shots I’ve done, lit by different lamps in different rooms, through to Christmas tree lights, street lamps, and even the fluorescent glow of a London Underground train.

One thing I’d not yet explored? Shadows. So when Livvy suggested projecting my body up onto our bedroom wall, I wasn’t about to say no. When she leaned over me, her freshly-washed hair tumbling down onto my stomach, and her lips grazing the head of my cock, I wasn’t really able to say much at all…

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The M&S Sandwich

I am not, by nature, a morning person, and that remains true even on days when I’m getting up to do something I love, like play hockey.

In fact, early hockey matches can be a real pain. It’s not just that I lose one half of my weekend lie-in – with 70 minutes of running around to prepare for, I also have to make sure I’m up in time to eat, hydrate, and generally cleanse my body of the previous night’s excesses. Adulting 101, some would call it.

Today’s game gets underway at 10.30, which meant my morning routine started with an 8.15 alarm call. I rolled out of bed, drank a pint of water, padded into the kitchen, and turned on the oven. Food is rarely far from the front of my mind, and even though I don’t like to eat too much before I play sport, I pretty much always have a breakfast plan. On this occasion, that involved hash browns, eggs, and maybe a small slice of cake.

With the oven heating, I went back to bed and set another alarm for 8.35. I knew I had to leave the flat at 9.10, so the idea was to stick the hash browns in for 20 minutes, scramble some eggs, have a cup of tea, and get myself ready to wolf down my food at 9.

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Sinful Sunday: Black Friday

A couple of days ago I popped into my favourite London sex shop, Sh!, to pick up some lube and check out the latest additions to their (excellent) range of own-brand dildos. 

By happy coincidence, my trip took place on Black Friday, increasingly an important retail ‘event’ even in this side of the pond. Sh! was running a big toy sale (which extends across this entire weekend, just FYI…), and suddenly my casual browsing became a whole lot more purposeful. 

I came back home with a neatly-wrapped box, which I presented to Livvy later in the evening. I don’t yet know how I – we – will use the contents, but what I can say for certain is that she looks absolutely fucking fantastic wearing them… 

Sinful Sunday

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Summer Breeze (a Twitter story)

I woke up from a particularly filthy dream this morning, still smelling of oil after last night’s photo/massage session, and with an erection that barely subsided in the 45 minutes it took me to get out of bed, dress for work, and take the Tube two stops up the Victoria Line to Vauxhall.

After I’d settled down on the train, I started typing out what I could remember of the dream, and it quickly became a short, filthy series of tweets, which I thought I’d share here too. The format/style probably works better in 140-character format than as a big block of prose, but if you do enjoy it, let me know here or on Twitter, and I’ll aim to post more in future…

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Sinful Sunday: Oil

There are very few things more likely to get me horny than warm hands (or other body parts) sliding all over me, till I’m slick and shiny. It sometimes gets to the point where I need to grab the bottle of massage oil from my partner and take over, while she watches…

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Waiting

One

I’m waiting for you to get back here – you said you wouldn’t be long. On the wall in front of me a clock ticks silently round, counting each second that you’re out of the room. You’re only metres away from me, but it might as well be miles; without your hands on my body – your low, soothing voice – I can’t shoo the butterflies out of my stomach, or pluck each thorny prick of anticipation from my skin.

I’m waiting because you told me to wait. No further instruction was necessary. We are simple and straightforward in this respect, if in few others. I will wait until you come for me, lithe and loose-limbed, hips swaying to music that plays only in your head. A chin-out fighter in a dancer’s body – and sometimes the other way round.

“Stay hard for me,” you said, and left the room without turning back to see my response. I could touch myself, but I know how much it would disappoint you to return and find my cock shiny and slick with saliva before you’ve had a chance to coat it in yours. It’s also not really what you were asking me to do. This is a test. Not of loyalty, nor of submission – those are conscious choices – but of desire.

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