Archive for the ‘Erotica’ Category


The Pleasure Principle

The pursuit of pleasure takes the human soul down inscrutable paths, fueled by lust, and shrouded in darkness.

The energy that powers this chase stems from the id, that elusive and impulsive side of our psyche that drives our sexual instinct.

According to Sigmund Freud, the id operates on the pleasure principle, i.e., the idea that every wishful impulse should be satisfied immediately, regardless of the consequences. The id is not affected by the reality around us, nor by the logic or the everyday world. This primitive and primordial creature resides deep within the psyche, immune and ignorant of common things. Instead, it seeks immediate and total satisfaction.

If that fulfillment is attained, the id rests. Conversely, if the sought satisfaction is denied, tension and anxiety rise to the surface. The id demands attention.

The pleasure drive within the soul is strong, and we can find a clear correlation between sexual fulfillment and a state of calm, or happiness.

It is the primordial nature of the id that drives this lust. As stated previously, it cannot be denied. The id will not allow us to rest until its desires have been sated. The nascent need originates deep within our minds, but soon, it is our body that requires complete satisfaction. Therefore, it can be inferred that the deliverance of the id is paramount. The it seeks, wants, and needs to be put at peace.

There are many ways in which this satisfaction can be achieved, but at a basic level, humans pursue sexual gratification on a continuous basis. It is one of the supporting pillars of existence, both for the male and female sides of the spectrum.

The pursuit of sexual pleasure drives us on, and in a way, it is our guiding light. The sexual impulse grows organically and exponentially with every passing minute. If left unchecked and unsatisfied for too long, it will taker over our organism, thus creating a physical manifestation of the id’s basic instincts. The source of this anxiety is the id’s retribution for being ignored. And if left unchecked still, the sexual impulse will keep growing, swallowing all reasoning and blinding the subject with a thick mist of desire.

The Ropes of Willful Imprisonment

When the mind is in a constant of desire as a result of the id’s being forsaken, several chambers are created within the human psyche. Each of these chambers plays host to a different fantasy, a virtual extrapolation of the unfulfilled desire. The content of these fantasies range from the innocuous to the extremely violent, depending on many factors. Entire tomes could be written about the nuances and texture of human sexual fantasies, but in the context of this piece, we will focus on the Shibari chamber.

The art of Shibari takes its inspiration from prisoner-restraining techniques developed in feudal Japan. Hemp ropes with elaborate knots would be used to hold and restrain prisoners. Over time, this entered civilian life and evolved into an art form in which ropes are used to braid and restrain both males and females.

Shibari is exquisitely complicated to pull off, as some of the knots require great skill and complexity to accomplish. Nevertheless, the end result is a beautiful combination of fetishism and unconventional sensuality.

Yet the ropes wrap and braid more than skin and flesh. It is the id’s hungry desire that’s been subdued. The most intimate sexual desire of man or woman is manifested on those ropes, via the id. The need for submission, to relinquish control to another human being, is a clear manifestation of the id’s craving.

The rigger’s craft depends on the willingness of the subject to offer his or her body to be bound, and if such willingness exists, a sensual bond is established.

The ropes that crawl in a serpentine motion around the human curves, muscles, and cavities draw the id’s nectar out, pleasing it, placating it with a clear and unequivocal intent. The knots decorate the human canvas, and as they do, they enslave the id, subduing it and taking it to its rightful place of solace and sexual rapture.

Azure dreams

Posted: July 23, 2016 in Erotica
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She glides towards him, her bare body moving elegantly across the fathomless ocean, describing a perfect arc around the moonlight’s reflection on the azure surface.

He remains motionless, merely waiting. His body is as bare as hers on this warm summer night. The haste of unfulfilled lust burns bright within him, just as the memories of a thousand nights of shared passion linger inside her.

Even gods despair sometimes, he thinks, and a little smile draws upon his lips.

She notices, and stops. Looks at him, looks at that beautiful smile of his. How his lips crease up, how the soft lines of his face become somewhat deeper, and certainly more alluring.
Time has ceased to exist for the pair. They’re gods, after all, and gods and goddesses care not for such mundane things. In this place, and in this moment, only them and the moonlight truly matter.

She resumes her advance, and this time, it’s his turn to gaze at her.

She moves swiftly, effortlessly, her long, crimson red hair trailing behind like a thick veil. The dark, ochre tones of her skin shine with a beautiful golden hue tonight. The silver luminosity of the night imbues her body with a gorgeous, somewhat unearthly glow.

He moves for the first time, and raises his strong arms. He says ‘Up’ as he does this, and a thousand white doves fly up into the night. The birds briefly outline against the moon, and shadows dance and leap across her body as she approaches him.

‘A god’s whim, how remarkable,’ she says.

‘I could unhinge the stars if I so desired,’ he answers. ‘Yet, my desire is more focused tonight’.

‘A god’s desire.’


He moves again, and they are so close to each other now that he can see her breasts rise and fall as she breathes the night air. She can now see his whole body, the hardness of his shaft barely concealed by the translucent waters. She smiles wryly.

‘A thousand years hence, we may be still bathing in these very waters. But tonight, all of you belongs to me, my Lord.’

‘Only lust is eternal. The wheel of fate spins endlessly, yet, all that truly matters is the desire in the heart of gods, just like it does on men. It is the engine of life. Rise.’

As he uttered this word, a pleasant tingling sensation enveloped her, and her body lifted off the water. It rose slowly, effortlessly, describing a beautiful ascending curve over the horizon. Water dripped from her legs, and as the goddess’ slender body soared, two dolphins jumped under her. The animals disappeared below just as suddenly as they had appeared.

She smiled as he drew her body towards him. She offered no resistance. Instead, she shook the excess water off her hair, and as she did, a myriad dragonflies materialized. A colourful kaleidoscope of light rose into the night, each of the insects shining with a different shiny hue.

‘I have party tricks of my own, my Lord.’

‘So I see.’

He also now rose, and met her body in mid-air. Their union was perfectly smooth. He entered all the way into her just as the luminosity from the dragonflies faded out. She moaned, long and true, and embraced him. Wrapping her legs around his waist she welcome him in deeper.

‘The power of a thousand orgasms shall fill you tonight. It is a God’s due to atone your body for an eternity of pleasure lost, vanished forever in the maelstrom of redemption.’

‘A God and a gentleman,’ she whispered, and gave fully into him.

The azure below turned deeper. Rising and falling sunlight would come and go. Aeons passed, and yet, a God’s passion is endless.


Posted: July 22, 2016 in Erotica
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It ebbs and flows, a rushing cascade of unleashed emotions, a swirling maelstrom of unstoppable power. The first sting of lust is like a epiphany of the flesh, the revelation of an ancient power that roams the halls of a house made out of desire.

There is no denying when this force takes you over, when it grips and seizes your mind and soul. Its sheer kinetic energy fuels life, laying waste to morals and restrain.

From the eldritch shadows of me it emerges, a handsome vampire that needs to feed its thirst every night. An organic creature that breathes and lives on unspeakable fluids, old as time itself. Muscles and sinew and bone become an instrument of longing and desire, casting a different light on a world that most don’t see.

It is a restless beast, a sleeping giant that never slumbers, but lies awake, prowling the hallowed waterfalls of the mind, looking for her.

The soul becomes a vagabond, a nomad of the night, dancing without sleeping, breathing to the rhythm of a mystifying lover.

Then the soul touches down on a soft navel, and it glides, spreading its wings around, and lust awakens with a grinning howl. The connection is immediate, and the senses glisten and swell, and there is a slow dance that becomes a throe, and then there is blossoming screams that long for more.

There is heavy breathing at midnight, and the soul of lust sighs with bated anticipation, wielding its mighty power with the pride of a thousand thrusts. And then there is no self-control, once you give yourself to your own overriding want. And her own, and she’ll take what she wants and needs from you, in a candlelit ceremony of yielding sensuality. Once that soulful lust gives into temptation, the gates of Hades crash open, and a rush of wind underneath your skin blows the curtains sky high, and the fires that burn low turns into an inferno, and the mist of hesitation fades away, giving way to the power of the Gods, a power that shines as bright as the stars and knows no bounds.

The first kiss binds the energies, blood for lust, and lust for blood, and the words that are unspoken hang in between and fade away, melting into one another. There is heat, and there is untamed behavior. The zest for life uncoils from its own moorings and springs into overdrive, tangling itself in a communion of fire and flesh.


When your life is ruled by desire, where does the road to fulfillment end? When one’s existence is an endless sexual fantasy, how does one’s mind find rest and tranquility?

There is an energy that’s both vital and dark, and when it flows through you, every nerve ending and every pore secretes sin. And there is another side to us, isn’t there. A relic left behind by the heathen gods of sex and impurity, the lust and the ardor of long gone deities that guide the bodies of men and women as they fuck, playing with our bodies like wily puppeteers.

And what is sin, but the gift bestowed upon mankind to find out who they truly are. It is the tool to self-realization and freedom. Sin is the key that must turn twice before opening the portal to the other side of us, where the id slumbers, and breathes, and whispers things that feed off sin, and viceversa. The mind vicariously plays a tag game with darkness and the light, and in the realms of fantasy and devotion to the sinful reality, light does not always prevail.

So an obsidian night is inside of me, dark as a mother’s womb, and the force of arcane runes simmers right beneath my eyes, and in the heat of the moment, the puppeteers laugh and play their serpentine game of hide and fuck.
Desire is the bride in black, the maniac with a grin, and the ghost of your own fear. Desire speaks to you, sometimes loud enough to drown out the voice of reason and correctness. Desire takes you with the same impunity as an incubus fucks a sleeping female. Desire is the shadow that stalks your conscience, the mask that conceals the true face of your animal instinct. Desire is impish, and pitiless. It is cruel, too, for it strikes at any time, and the cravings are not always easily fulfilled.

There is a darkened room inside the id, a crawling space with only a sliver of clarity piercing its hollow. The animal instinct sits there, waiting. Not quite asleep, but not quite awake either. For some, it never rises. For some, the animal sleeps an unjust slumber, quietened by the aversion to reveal itself, its flame quenched by fear, and repression.

But others embrace its wicked charm, and absorb the power of its lure. The instinct awakens, breaking free of its moorings, and takes you over. And at that moment, the ties that bind your freedom are severed, and the beast is loose and ready to do your bidding.

There is no altruism in the beast’s intentions, nor there is pity, or a sliver of care. When those cabalistic instincts take over, the darker side of the id unsheathes its scepter of pleasure, and smites down anything in its path. Desire, as eternity itself, is relentless.

So the bride in black walks down the lingering shadows of the human body, ravaging men and women alike, for desire is not just the property of man.
And I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, as the song goes.

The aesthetics of sex are beautifully crafted by both the performers, and he or she who watches one, or a multitude of bodies evolve in the thrall of Eros. There is an innate and primordial savagery permeating every aspect of human sexuality.

It is a boundless and unique realm where the reality of the act transmogrifies into an almost beastly behavior, one where the male and female body become vessels for an aeons-old force and energy that feeds off desire and the lust of man and woman.

Good sex is a like a perfectly crafted and artful masterpiece; the timing, the engaging visuals, the lovers’ projected auras, and the satisfying outcome. All elements come together to express one, or more’s, will to attain a new state of heterogenous orgasm.

And there is plenty of dark facets surrounding the relentless pursuit of pleasure, too. With the With the relentless exploration of new boundaries comes the lust for ghouls, demons, and the blood that enables life. When the world of experience with human subjects reaches a critical threshold of boredom and commonality, the mind walks upon a gravelly path to another place, heading for a temple of mists and winds that whisper with the promise of sublime desolation. This is a place where the ghosts of long-dead witches sing you a lullaby and lovingly dab your brow with their wretched saliva when you lay down to sleep the long night away, dreaming of what is like to commune with a succubus. It is a place dotted with darkened alcoves overflowing with the fluids of those who came there before you. This asylum for the mariners of the flesh looms large just over the horizon of perception, hiding in plain sight within us all, yet few dare to look past the veil of society’s traditional values and conventions.

It is within this context of transformation and the evolution of desire that we come to discuss the art of Takato Yamamoto, a Japanese illustrator and painter whose art perfectly conveys the concepts hitherto exposed.
In many ways, Yamamoto’s art exemplifies the traditions of Japanese iconography, while also displaying references to classic manga and the historic artistry of shibari (Japanese bondage). This is an interesting point; the ropes braid the bodies of the living and the dead, and the latter feed off their control over the former.

Yamamoto’s craft is full of twisted eroticism and darkened and arcane sex that oozes rivers of spectral fluids. There is a soulful asymmetry of askew consequences; ghosts and the living dead fuck each other in a sick and yet fascinating cross-dimensional romance. Wraiths feast upon wet dreams of a still life, and Yamamoto’s vision is one of desire for inanimate liaisons.

It is a polarizing vision, for sure, as one either loves it or loathes it. But if one is willing to embrace and ride on the back of one’s pursuit for the ultimate experience beyond the field of conventionality, time spent in this world of mature death and evolutionary sex is well worth losing one’s grace for the sake of embracing darkness and the death of the old you.


Very proud to announce that my short story “Lines” has been chosen as one of this month’s top picks at eLust, one of the most prestigious erotica-themed sites on the web.

Why not head over there and browse all the exciting material available? You won’t regret it.

Elust Edition #80

Posted: March 16, 2016 in Elust
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Elust 80 Penny's Dirty Thoughts
Photo courtesy of Penny’s Dirty Thoughts

Welcome to Elust #80

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #81 Start with the rules, come back April 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Something Meaningful
The debate goes on

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

No Take Backsies: Sexual “Politeness”
THE Process

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

He’s not a Tumblr Dom
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!


Erotic Non-Fiction

She Strips The Boundaries Away The Black Bra
He enjoyed Playing with My Shoes
One… two… ménage à trois!
Doing Mt. Shasta
What’s Behind that First Strike…
How To Top Off Valentine Weekend Lovemaking
Watching Cunnilingus
Scened All Night
Spoiled in the Sun
The Tennent
01/14 Session With Mistress Claire & Others
THREESOME HEAVEN – extreme sensations
The neighbours don’t learn my name

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

I Don’t Date on the First Sex
Meat market

Erotic Fiction

Who’s the Boss? (She is)
A Little Distraction
Let Me Share
Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies…
a bit of filth
Original Sin

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

My Day of Punishments Part 1
Filthy girl
Kink Without Sex: What Happens After Orgasms
Dominant roots
Using Our D/s to Get Through Stress

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

First Times
The number of the beast…
Sometimes Love is Not a Pie
Looking deep through reflection
Pussy Pics
So I Was Thinking


A Night with Zombies – Cinema l’Amour
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