Sinful Sunday: Recovery Position

It’s pretty much the first rule of running marathons: no matter what you do with yourself afterwards, you’re not allowed to take your medal off for the rest of the day. Luckily my afternoon plans didn’t extend far beyond a bed, a book, and a lot of cuddles… 

Sinful Sunday

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Ready, set, write! (A GBBO-themed writing contest!)

It’s competition time!

I had this idea just over a week ago, on a work trip to Lisbon. A café near my hotel was advertising churros for breakfast, and as soon as I saw the sandwich board outside a story started to form in my head. When churros also popped up on that evening’s episode of The Great British Bake Off it felt like a sign, and I wrote it up the next day as this piece of flash fiction.

This is actually the first year I’ve watched GBBO. Its mix of cheery, Home Counties enthusiasm and relentless innuendo quickly won me over, and I doubt I’ll miss an episode between now and the end of the season. It also has huge potential as far as erotica is concerned, and not just because of all the filth! A hot, salty-sweet churro really is the tip of the iceberg – Viennese Whirls, mirror glaze, heart-shaped lace pancakes…these are all baking challenges that in some way have made me think about sex over the last five weeks.

So here’s what we’re going to do. The list below contains everything baked since the start of this year’s GBBO. I want you to bake me…wait, no…I want you to write me a piece of erotic fiction, no longer than 1500 words, using one of those 15 options as a title, a theme, or both. It’s that simple. Make it as kinky or vanilla as you like. Make it straight, gay, bi; period, sci-fi, supernatural; explicit, coy…just make sure it fits the prompt in some way, even if that way has absolutely nothing to do with baking.

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Sinful Sunday: Cupped

I spent most of my very lazy Sunday afternoon at the dining table, watching TV and doing a bit of work. I was naked except for my girlfriend’s dressing gown, and at various points I caught myself just idly cupping my cock and balls, or running my thumb over the soft skin.

I already knew that I didn’t want to do anything complicated for Sinful Sunday, and some time around 4pm I decided to grab my phone and capture that one simple act. But how to do it – and where? I snapped a couple of quick shots in different locations around the flat, trying to find the best light, and was immediately struck by how big an impact the setting – and subtle changes in body position – had on the mood of the resulting images, even while the basic composition remained the same. Something as small as a half-body shadow can completely change the story a photo tells, and what it says about the nature or intentions of its subject.

In the end I decided to use the two images below, neither of which have been edited beyond a couple of minor crops. Do they differ from each other, in any material sense? And if so, how? I’ll leave you to decide those things for yourselves…

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She dips the fat, greasy churro into a styrofoam cup filled with hot, dark chocolate, and thinks of his dick. Not because it’s fat (though it is) or greasy (definitely not – unless you count the slick sheen her cunt leaves when she finally climbs off it), but because somewhere deep inside she’s always thinking of his dick, and all the things she wants to do with it.

With it – or to it? Honestly, that depends on her mood. She doesn’t think of herself as dominant, but the first time she curled her fingers around his shaft and felt it twitch against her palm – saw the confused, desperate mix of vulnerability and lust in his eyes – she knew she’d never really be able to let go. Whether she’s using her hand or her mouth, her arse or her cunt, she possesses his dick…and he allows her to do so.

The churros soak up the chocolate. Each bite she takes is rich with fatty, salty flavour and the sharp hit of cocoa. It makes her crave just one more mouthful, over and over again; the same way she feels when she’s sliding her lips over the head of his dick, and the throb in her stomach is saying “more, more…more…”

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Sinful Sunday: Sonnenbaden

The vast majority of my Sinful Sunday photos are taken without external assistance. I have a timer on my phone camera, and over the last couple of years I’ve used a variety of props – basic and creative – to put that to good use. The timer also means that I don’t need to rely on ‘selfies’, which for a meme that’s meant to showcase photographic skill alongside eroticism/sexuality feels quite important.

Every now and then though, I’m willing to make an exception. As anyone who read this story will know, I was in Berlin’s Tiergarten this week, sunbathing naked on what turned out to be a brilliantly warm, late summer afternoon. Given the setting and all the tanned, naked bodies around me, it was impossible not to feel happy, horny, and just full of life.

I wanted to take a photo to mark the occasion, but was already felt a little self-conscious using my camera there, and didn’t want to draw the wrong sort of attention to myself by setting up a complex, staged shot. Instead, I lay back on the grass, stared up at the deep blue sky, and switched to selfie mode.

It’s not the most technically proficient or interesting photo, but still…I was pretty happy with how it turned out…

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Your Fantasies (vol. 2)

It’s almost three months to the day since I published the first volume of fantasies sent to me by readers in response to this prompt – this feels like an excellent time to share the second batch of nine. Covering everything from sexual identity to gang bangs, sensory deprivation to impact play, corporate offices to warehouse floors, they’re another lovely reminder of the diversity of human sexual expression – and as a group, they’re fucking hot. Which in my book is a pretty awesome result.

Once again, if you have a fantasy of your own that you want to write up, or if you’d like me to pass on any comments to the authors below, please do get in touch – I’d love to hear from you.



#1 (@19syllables)

I’ve always read other people’s fantasies with a dark obsession, I pored over Nancy Friday’s ‘My Secret Garden’ when I was young for a glimpse into other people’s minds, heart in my mouth at my reaction to some of the violence, and at the same time soothed and comforted by a sense of recognition. Always in blogs I’m searching for a kernel of what people think, disclosures of those tipping-point, game-changer things which make them weak at the knees, and that they file away for delicious private recall. I scroll past lines of lines of what people actually did looking for it.

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