He had her naked and tied up, hands above her head, completely at his mercy. She watched him with bated breath, wondering what he would do next. She was forbidden from speaking and she obeyed. He knelt between her legs and bending over her, traced a finger on her face, ever so gently, outlining her features. Once he got to her succulent lips, he dipped his thumb into her warm mouth. She closed her lips around him and sucked, watching him watch her, as he moved his thumb in and out of her mouth.

Slowly, he trailed his fingers down her neck to her breasts, drawing little circles around her nipples with his middle finger and eventually rubbing them with his thumbs, and finally twirling them between his index and thumb. They hardened, she inhaled loudly, arching her back to give him more access to her breasts. He blew his breath against her left nipple before gently taking it into his warm mouth, flicking his tongue over her and sucking, gently biting and tugging too, repeating the same treatment with her right nipple. His movements were slow and deliberate, drawing her pleasure out while re-acquainting his lips and hands with the contours of her beautiful, caramel skin. The contrast it made with his own dark chocolate was quite something; he loved the way she looked in his arms.

Further down he went, trailing fiery little kisses down her belly and dipping his tongue into her navel, twirling it for a bit before gently biting and tugging at her belly button stud. She moaned, he smiled against her belly, and went further down to her gorgeous mound. She was wet, he could smell her pheromones and lust. But he wanted a taste and he was determined to have a three course meal of her flower. Gently, teasingly, he kissed her, and casually flicked his tongue over her clitoris. My, she was sweet and fragrant. Those pineapples were really working their magic.

He settled in for the meal that was spread before him, flicking his tongue slowly, up and down and around her, twirling it, slow dancing with her clitoris. She moaned and cradled him between her thighs, rocking gently, feeding him more of herself. He sucked on her clitoris, literally kissing her vagina the same way he kissed her lips, making her pant and rock harder. He went ahead to insert his giraffe tongue into her vulva, going deep, making waves, drawing that climax he knew he was courting. Then right back up to the clitoris he went, back to the slow dance, loving her and driving her mad. She rocked faster, her clitoris started to swell, her juices started tasting sweeter. She was about to explode into a billion little smithereens.

She did.

“PAPI!” She moaned, her body trembling from his tongue assault. He held her hips down and continued his assault on her, feeling her body shake, courting yet another climax from her. She kept chanting his name like a litany rocking on his face, her fingernails digging into her own palms because there was nothing she could hold on to. She climaxed one more time, all too quickly, a lot stronger and harder, her juices flowing freely between her legs and his mouth. She tried to writhe him off her but he held on fastidiously. He was not done yet. His lips latched onto her clitoris and she knew that would be it. He was going in for the kill.

“Please,” she begged. “Papi please, oh!” but her pleas fell on deaf ears. He sucked her clitoris, his tongue flicking, teasing her already sensitive flesh and not letting go, effectively crucifying her with his tongue. She could feel her climax coming, and he too. She knew it was going to be an earth shattering one. She rocked hard on his face and came, shaking violently and arching her body to get away from his lips. She couldn’t go far, though; he had effectively immobilized her and he took full advantage of the control he had over her. Her eyes rolled back into her sockets, head thrown back, her breath caught, heart beating out of her chest. She called out his name over and over again, pleading with him to have mercy on her.

“Don’t talk,” he commanded, and slid his engorged manhood into her squishy warmth. He took leisurely long strokes, kissing her, feeding her off his lips, making her taste her climax. She was damn near mad, moaning at the sweet invasion of his penis and tongue in her. She badly wanted to touch him, to hold him, but she was helpless. In between kisses and moans, he asked her,

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes sir!”

“Did I give you permission to speak?”

“No sir!”

He looked deep in her hazel eyes, while pushing himself deeper into her, making her eyes water. She opened her mouth to speak but he gagged her, placing his large palm over her mouth. “DON’T TALK,” he whispered harshly, and proceeded to increase his tempo and ram mercilessly into her. She moaned into his hand, tears streaming down the sides of her face, feeling him literally crush her cervix and shift her internal organs. He started to roar and go harder on her, grabbing her neck, choking and fucking her. Her walls started to vibrate around him and that drove him to the brink of madness, the height of his lust and desire for her. She tried to scream and he choked her harder, feeling her vibrations coming on stronger and her body shaking beneath him. He possessed her, in that very moment, so completely, she let herself be owned by him; mind, body and soul.

Her climax gushed out of her in hot, slimy spurts, hitting his belly and squirting up to hers whenever he thrust back into her. She made a wet, squishy mess of their fucking, and he charged so hard into her like a raging bull. He roared, he charged, he bit into her neck and charged some more. Harder with each thrust he went, breathing fire, incinerating as he possessed, her body incessantly shaking underneath him, feeling wave after wave of her glorious multiple orgasms. She kept moaning and cumming for him, going from zero to a hundred in what seemed like milliseconds. He could have stopped, but he didn’t want to. He wanted all of her.

He lowered his head to hers and kissed her, her moans disappearing into his mouth, her chest pressed to his. He slowed down and made sweet love to her after possessing her the way he did, making her scream through the night and making her love and hate him at the same time for owning her thus. She was a mess but she was obsessed with his kind of torture. He always did her right, and made her lose her mind while he watched, making her feel like she would die if he was out of her life. He braced himself for his own climax, her vagina enveloping and massaging his penis, contracting and vibrating at will.

“Do you want me to cum?” he whispered into her lips as he buried himself deeper inside her.

“Yes”, she whispered back and moaned, opening her mouth for his tongue.

“Yes who?” he asked

“Yes sir,” said she, and clenched right around him as he rocked hard inside her. She worked her hips to meet his thrusts, and he worked his hand to her butt and grabbed it, pushing the cheeks against each other for a fuller counter stroke feel. He went slow and deep, savoring her womanhood, pushing himself to the point of no return. He was climaxing.

“I’m cumming,” he whispered, lips against hers.

“Cum for me Papi, she said, and pulled back to defiantly look at him as he came inside her, shooting his seed deep inside her and groaning, holding her tight. She squeezed tight around him, squeezing all his juice into her, feeling him fill her up with the warmth of his essence. He thrust one last time and shot the last of his seed inside her, holding her, kissing her. He lay on top of her, breathing her in, their bodies covered in each other’s sex and sweat.



Well, good morning my lovelies! Gentlemen, I have some questions. How many of you gentlemen could confidently participate in this challenge? How many of you are confident about your members? By show of hands, how many of you are thankful to the girth gods for endowing you so graciously? I’m joking (or am I?); I do hope that all of you are phallus proud and confident. If not, it is my hope that by the end of this post, you will feel more confident about your third leg and it’s magical abilities.

In case you missed it, Twitter was wild yesterday because Safaree’s nude pictures and video surfaced. The man is blessed, granted; the girth gods spent a few more inches on him. You may wonder why the ladies especially went wild; we’ll get to that in a few paragraphs. First, let’s learn a little bit about the penis (because it would be ideal to be able to name what parts go into your orifice of choice!) and how it works. The most essential parts of the penis are illustrated below. The image I chose (courtesy of Google) is placed side by side with the female clitoris, because believe it or not, the clitoris is the female penis. Yes, we have dicks too.

I don’t want to go into the dynamics of the foreskin and it’s health purposes; I am a firm believer in knowing how to keep your penis clean either way. Manscape regularly (it wouldn’t be nice to encounter an odor and an entire eco system in your pubic hair) and if you insist on keeping pubic hair, take care of that bush! If you are uncircumcised, make a habit of pulling the foreskin back and wash your glans thoroughly, after peeing pull it back and shake all those drops of urine off! The cleanliness applies to both circumcised and uncircumcised gents. I guarantee you that your partner will enjoy giving you fellatio more if you are clean and resultantly you will enjoy the experience better too!

Onto size; there are many many myths around dick length and size. Some say the size of a man’s feet tell tales of his third leg, some say it’s the fingers, others say it’s his height. Sorry to burst your bubble but in my experience, most men’s dick sizes are nothing compared to any of the three. Some tall men have disappointingly short dicks, others have long slender ones, others with small hands have deceptively thick ones, and others with gargantuan feet have average sized ones. I know, it’s disappointing. But it is the truth. But then does size really matter if you know how to work it?

Unfortunately for some women, they have never climaxed during sex with a man. That’s mostly because neither the woman nor the man knows where the G-spot is for her so it’s a mechanical, fake moaning in and out session that ends in utter disappointment for her. As if that’s not enough, she may have to endure the more disappointing “Did you cum?” which really adds insult to injury. Let me tell you a secret guys, now that you know the clitoris is the female penis, use it to make her climax. I mean, it’s right there. Even if you’re not into giving cunnilingus or she may not be keen on receiving, look at her vagina. Study it. Find the damn clitoris. Rub it with your fingers. Massage it in various motions. Ask her how that feels (or to avoid running the risk of annoying her watch her body language) and see if she won’t climax. However I advise you to have clean hands and groomed fingernails because you really don’t want to introduce germs, bacteria and fingernail cuts to her vagina; it’s delicate. You also don’t want to do what you did with your previous lay to your current; we don’t all like the same things. Just because flipping it like a switch worked for someone else doesn’t mean it’ll work for everyone else!

Now onto the more adventurous and powerful vaginal climax; I won’t lie; the more endowed men have a better chance at getting her to achieve this than most. Simply because while the G-spot is the femme holy grail, the cervix is pure nirvana. Now the cervix is equally delicate and you shouldn’t be on a mission to completely shatter it! It’s very important to us! Just touching it with your meat is enough to drive us wild with each thrust. If you’re well hung, know how to work your meat; don’t just shove it in like a stallion mounting a mare; introduce it in small, snackable bits first! A little at a time… easy does it! The worst experience for anyone is having sex with a well hung bloke that doesn’t know how to use his junk; it literally hurts and is embarrassing. Learn how to work it so it’s more pleasure and less pain for both you and your partner (dryness will cause chaffing!)

You’ve got to learn to work with what you have. Average sized and not so blessed gentlemen have as good a chance as the endowed ones to make their partners climax; your technique is key. Don’t rush it, don’t be selfish and don’t presume to know everything. Be willing to learn. Be adaptable. Pay attention to your partner’s body language; think of it as sparring. Listen to what their body is saying and anticipate their needs. Like I always say, talk about your sexual preferences and shortcomings with your partner and don’t be shy! If you want your partner to enjoy having sex with you a good place to start is by having honest conversations about it! If you’re scared to start the conversation, e-mail me. I might help.


Now that everyone (well, most of you) got their orgasms thanks to my last post, let’s learn a little about this enchanting part of the female body called the vagina. Many of you (both male and female) know a little about it but not how it works, yet half the heterosexual male adult life is spent trying to get into this flower. And trying to find the clitoris. I’m here to help you all so you can thank me later.

It’s both annoying and embarrassing to see adults talk about the vagina when they know nothing about it. Take for instance the tweet below; clearly this imbecile DOES NOT KNOW THE POWER OF A VAGINA, let alone its functionality. I don’t even want to get into the virginity bit yet; that’s a whole other topic. And he went ahead and called that uninformed tweet “Reno’s Nuggets”. Dear Reno, do not presume to give advise on something you know nothing of. Shut up and do your homework before you open your mouth. Someone send him this link please.

First of all, the image below is the basic anatomy of a vagina. It’s not rocket science but clearly, to most, it is. So feel free to print this out and use it as a learning chart because you’re far too lazy to do your own research. It clearly shows you where the clitoris is, the urethra (bet many of you didn’t think that was there!) and of course, the vagina. So now you know when to stop asking “Is it in?” After this you should surely know where to insert your penis, you prick!

I will say this once. The vagina is a muscle. It isn’t a lose or extra piece of skin or flesh that starts to sag once age catches up, neither is it widened by child birth or frequency of sexual activity, let alone number of sexual partners with the varying sizes of their equipment. I had a natural birth and my beloved son was born at 3.3 kg, and for a girl who never weighed more than 50 kg before birth that was a big baby. And guess what? My vagina snapped right back. My then lover confessed I was tighter (I felt it too during initial penetration) after the baby! All the men who say you’re too wide or lose after having a baby or for having multiple sexual partners are lying to you ladies; they just hate the fact that they didn’t hit it first.

During arousal, the vaginal muscles tend to relax as they prepare to receive the engorged penis. Based on the level of arousal, which may be directly linked to how comfortable your sexual partner is with herself and with you, the vagina may be totally relaxed or partly so but if it’s all stiff and dry up there, your penis is neither welcome nor wanted. That’s why, at any point during arousal, a single digit fits into the vagina as easily as an erect penis. The muscles relax and allow penetration to happen, of course, made easier by natural vaginal lubrication.

Last night I sat with a bunch of men who were making fun of a woman who had done her sexual rounds in their circle; apparently the guy who had her before her baby was “pole vaulting” and the rest who went after were “swimmers”. I was so tempted to retort that the “swimmer” had a smaller dick than the “pole vaulter” but I held my tongue back. It was a pity and a damn shame that he was ever allowed near a vagina in the first place. Anyway, the more he talked about the relationship with the woman in question, the more I understood their dynamic and perhaps even how comfortable she may have been with him when it came to finally having sex with him. I also suspect the man may have a small dick but this and other myths about dick size, I’ll explore in next week’s post.

I need not add more examples on how uninformed most adults are about the vagina. Moving on, the vaginal muscles tend to contract and expand during a vaginal orgasm, which is what sometimes causes the penis to be pushed out and may or may not be accompanied by the female ejaculation, also known as squirting. The sensation mostly feels like a form of vibration, and may cause the woman experiencing it to shake. Remember, these examples are not standard and may vary from woman to woman based on intensity and subsequent reflex.

Vaginal orgasms mostly occur after steady stimulation of the G-spot, which varies from woman to woman, and unfortunately most men have gone to their graves without ever finding this holy grail of female sexuality. For most women, however, it is likely right under the clitoris (remember your biology!) which is where the nerve center is. For other women, this point may be closer to the cervix and may therefore be a lot more difficult to reach for average sized men. However, not all hope is lost. Explore with your partner and figure out what works for the both of you! And of course, after coitus, it is important to take care of the vagina and I think this works for both men and women. You want to be enveloped inside one and all that stuff then I think you ought to know how to take care of it as much as the owner! I talked a little about that here.

Of course, this is merely scratching the surface on what the vagina is and how it works; that muscle is a box of mystery and wonder. I can’t possibly exhaust everything in a single blog post. I can, however, encourage open conversation about it and honesty because if you really want to enjoy being inside the vagina, it’s important that you talk about it with her. It’s no fun if you get your orgasm and she doesn’t get hers; you may as well quit having sex altogether! However, I am more than happy to answer your questions further; my email address will be at the bottom.

Finally, a disclaimer: I am not yet a qualified sex therapist, so don’t call me one. I’m a woman who thrives in her sexuality and is open about it. I will answer your questions however, and charge you for consultation. I’m charging for my time.


He flung a white tuxedo jacket over his crisp white shirt, straightening the cuffs as his gold and turquoise elephant cuff links twinkled whenever they caught the light. She watched him from the mirror on her vanity table, smiling inwardly, as she touched her lips up. She caught his eye; he was watching her too. Her luscious lips broke into a wide grin, as she put her lipstick in her gold clutch purse and got up to finish getting dressed.

She had nothing underneath her dressing robe, he knew, just the gold strappy heels he so loved adorning her dainty feet. He watched her sashay towards the bathroom and thought of his mouth on her areola, his tongue flicking over her nipple as he sucked her breast and she moaned. He could almost taste the warmth of her breast. She wouldn’t let him see what she planned to wear to the charity gala but he knew it would be breathtaking at the very least. She was exquisite, a breathtaking woman; stunning and sexy without much effort. She kept her hair short and neat, her nails perfectly manicured, her make up minimal and natural. Only tonight, she wore a bold colored lipstick that made him want to cuff her to the bed and bite those lips while impaling her into the next realm of existence.

The sound of her heels on the marble floor drew him out of his reverie and she appeared from the bathroom… what a vision to behold. She wore a red lace dress that hugged her every curve and flared gently from above her knees, her entire back exposed for all to see. The lace was littered with exquisite red floral embroidery, enough to cover her yet baring enough skin just to tease the imagination. He wondered if she wore any underwear, at all. The sleeves hugged her arms from shoulder to wrist, and he could already see himself peeling that dress off her. She bent over her bureau and picked a bottle of perfume, spritzed it on her neck and wrists, set it down as she picked her purse, then turned to face him.

“Are we going or are you going to stare at me like that all night?”, she cooed, and watched his manhood start to bulge underneath his jet black tuxedo pants.

“I’d like to stay, peel that dress off of you and fuck you into the ground,” he said, breathlessly, watching her glide across the room towards him.

Standing in front of him, she brushed her hand ever so slightly over his growing manhood, stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear, “Maybe you will, if you behave yourself tonight.” And with that, she left their room, leaving him to follow her fragrance.

The ride to the gala was tense and electric; he uncomfortable in his clothes and staring heatedly at her, mentally undressing and fucking her, while she, sitting calmly, tempting quietly, smiling seductively and basking in the heat of his stare. He had no idea she had inserted kegel balls in her vagina before getting dressed, and watching him, knowing the plans she had for him, was making her deliciously wet as she clenched and unclenched around her balls. The car came to a halt and all too soon, valets appeared on both sides of the black SUV and held their doors open for them to exit. He hopped out and went to her side of the car, held his hand out for her and flashed a brilliant smile at her. It was time to face the paparazzi.

With his large hand on the bare small of her back, they made their entrance on the red carpet, cameras flashing on either side of the walkway. He slid his hand just a little lower and with his pinky, searched for a possible trace of lingerie; there was none. She smiled as they turned to face the paparazzi and whispered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear,

“I’m wearing your favorite toy, Papi.”

“Oh fuck, woman!” He exclaimed, yet they still managed to smile and act composed enough for the cameras. They were then ushered into the great gilded hotel ballroom and showed to their table, where they mixed and mingled with the wealthy and opulent who came out, every once in a while, to donate to the less fortunate and at the same time hold a dick measuring contest. He didn’t give a shit about that though, he was focused on keeping his dick leashed and patiently waiting for the moment he would sink all ten inches into her always willing, always warm flesh.

Speeches and auctions were taking too long, she thought, and they were four courses into the carefully planned dinner already. They had already made their pledges and done whatever was needed to be noticed, so she figured if they disappeared for a while they wouldn’t be missed. She reached out and ran her palm over his sinewy left thigh, resting it just over his penis and she felt him throb.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, kissed him on the cheek and excused herself from the table. Making her way quickly to the elevator bank, she signaled at a waiter and gave him a pre-written note to deliver. The elevator door chimed open and she got in, watching the waiter go straight to her intended and deliver her note.

Suite 693. Dracarys.

That was all the note said, and he needed no further prompt. He slid it into his jacket pocket, waited five minutes and went up to meet her. His blood raced downward as he got closer to the suite, thinking of her in that red dress, and what he was burning to do to her. The door was slightly open, he let himself in and saw her on the balcony, wine glass in hand. The door clicked shut behind him and she turned at that precise moment, smiling, and walked into the suite towards him.

“I’d like you to take my dress off now,” said she, setting her almost empty red wine glass on the table and looking straight at him. His gait was slow, deliberate, as if making the moment before he took her last a little longer. Finally he stood in front of her, her face upturned to his, and with his right hand on her cheek and his left on her back, he pulled her in and kissed her. She let herself be kissed by this giant man, 6’2, 180 pounds of dark chocolate, against her 5’5, 124 pounds of caramel. Her mouth yielded to his, parting for his tongue for him to taste, tease and tantalize her. She loved it when he kissed her, he was always full of surprises. She had never before imagined that kissing the same man over and over would be as exciting as the first time.

He drew her closer, grinding his now erect and pulsating penis on her belly while deepening their kiss, darting his tongue deep into her mouth and touching its tip to her upper palate while his hands grabbed and molded her soft derrière, drinking her moans, as she slid his jacket off his shoulders to get it off his powerful arms. He let go, reluctantly, and let it slide to his feet. He took the opportunity to take his cuff links off and shove them into his pocket, while she loosened his bow tie. Next to come off was his cummerbund, and all this time, his lips never left hers, tongues dancing the tango, breaths meshed together. He reached his left hand between her thighs and through the fabric of her dress, he felt the kegel balls cord. She wore them, damn her! He got even harder, thinking of what he was about to do to her.

With his hand on her chin, he broke the kiss and looked right into her eyes. She knew that look; she was about to be punished for being naughty. She half smiled, her mouth slightly agape and bruised from his lips, watching him.

“You’ve been naughty,” he whispered, sliding her dress off her shoulders.

“Yes. What will you do?”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his hands at her hips now, half crouching, taking that lovely dress off her with his hands and eyes.

“Punish me,” she said, looking at the top of his head as she watched the dress pool at her feet and him helping her out of it. He stayed kneeling before her, ran his fingers along the smooth skin of her inner thighs and coaxed them open. She parted for him, anticipating her punishment, and felt him slide his middle finger into her dripping wetness. She immediately clenched around him and swayed towards him, inhaling sharply at this sweet invasion.

He watched her respond to him, respond to his finger touching her g-spot and rubbing herself on his hand. He looked at her clean mound, buried his face in it and drank her natural scent in, then launched his attack on her clitoris with his lips and tongue. With one hand inside her, he finger fucked her, and his tongue slow danced with her clitoris, his lips sucking, feeling her knees start to weaken. He then inserted two fingers into her and fucked harder, while he flicked and sucked on her clitoris harder. With his free hand he squeezed her butt cheeks, so she could acutely feel him finger fucking and turning her kegel balls inside her while making her dance dangerously close to orgasm with his tongue.

She started bucking at the knees and her uterine walls began vibrating really fast; she was going to squirt on his face and hand. She tried to warn him, but she was incoherent; only moans that sounded vaguely like his name escaped her lips while she frantically rocked on his face and hands, willing her orgasm closer and him to work faster. He understood her need and urgency, but he stopped, cold turkey, right before she came. Incredulous, she opened her eyes to find him standing and smugly watching her, unbuttoning his shirt, his fingers and lips glistening with her juices. Fuck, he really was punishing her, but two could play that game.

Reaching for his pants, she undid them deftly and slid them off him, kneeling in front of him, looking at his engorged manhood, his pre-cum glistening at the tip. She licked it and looked him straight in his eye, then made all ten inches of him disappear in her mouth – something she had never been successful at in the past. She heard him groan, and immediately knew what she had done. She blew him, sucking hard and twirling her tongue on his glans, made his shaft sloppy with her saliva with each deep throat stroke she took, making him harder still, the veins on it bulging and throbbing, until he unexpectedly grabbed her and carried her to the bed while pulling her kegel balls out.

There was no slow first thrust this time; he buried himself to the hilt inside her in one swift motion and she screamed; he was thick, he was long, he was powerful and he was throbbing. And here he was, buried deep inside her, barely thrusting yet but already making her climax. Her body shook as she cried out his name, squirting all over and around him, and he didn’t stop. He grabbed her neck, choked her, and fucked her harder. He thrust wildly; deep, hard and fast, impaling and punishing. His groans became louder with each thrust, his grip on her neck tighter, her spasms more erratic, her hands gripping onto any surface she could find. He was on beast mode. The dragons were both free, breathing fire, and she was here for it, ready to be burned to a crisp.

He impaled her, pushing himself deeper and deeper with each thrust, feeling her envelope more and more of him as she opened herself up to his demanding penis. She was intoxicating; she drove him mad, he was afraid of hurting her but she coaxed him more. She wanted all of him, so he was going to give her all of him – showing no mercy. He let go of her neck and held both her legs up, knees on his shoulders, and imprisoned her with his weight. There was no running from him.

“Is this what you want?” he commanded, harshly, still cocking and uncocking inside her.

“Yes, Papi! YES!” she said back, in between moans, urging him to put his back into it. He thrust even deeper, just when she thought he couldn’t get any deeper, and that’s when it hit her. She was about to experience the most intense orgasm of her life thus far. She felt her uterine walls contract so hard, literally pushing him out, but he counter stroked and pushed in deeper. She was shaking. The effect of his counter-stroking was maddening. She could feel her body shake like a leaf in the wind, and heard him whisper,

“That’s a good girl. Cum for me.”

That was the only trigger she needed. Her eyes rolled back, she thought she heard someone moan but wasn’t sure if it was her or not, and the floodgates opened. She felt saw herself squirt, heard herself scream, the squishy wetness between them punctuated by his thrusting, her spasms and moans, and she could swear it was an endless stream. She screamed his name, over and over again, holding on to his shoulders as he kept impaling her, roaring harshly and tattooing his dick print on her uterine walls, and then some.

Just as she thought he was done with her, he triggered her once again, thrusting and whispering gruffly into her neck,

“I’m gonna cum”.

And just like that, she came again, this time with him, his hot seed spurting into her uterus while her now devoid of squirt walls massaged him as she came. He thrust deeper, crushing her cervix, as he came, and poured his entire essence inside her, as she took every last drop. He choked her one last time and thrust, getting the last of their tremors out of the way.

He collapsed on top of her and she wrapped her legs around him, breathing in unison, their hearts pounding out of their chests. She felt his penis throbbing inside her, and she playfully started her kegels around him. She felt him stirring to life inside her, growing harder…


Feminism. Homophobia. Cyber bullying. Mental health. Those four have been the hotbed of debate on the UOT timeline since late Saturday / early Sunday. The inferno still rages on, but I feel like we are dragging it threadbare, spectacularly digressed and are missing the point altogether. Before I lose you, here is a thread that wraps it all up neatly, with a bow on top. If you care to find out more, go right ahead. What I can tell you is what started out as a simple altercation, a friend defending her friend, turned into a very sticky situation; the kind unseen on all these spectacularly melodramatic reality shows on our TV screens. People were blocked (I am one of them), muted, unfollowed (made the cut here too) and all manner of disassociation from those whose opinions differed with the feminist movement or even seemed to “champion” homophobia. In short, it became a crime to simply be on the TL for the drama. 


I could have taken some time to think about it last night, but honestly  was too tired to even think of my own day let alone plan for today. However, Colin (@spartakussug) posted a blog  at some point yesterday, which I got to read this morning, that captured my thoughts. In so many words, he asks; do we really have the courage to be the generation that effects change? Are we the chosen generation we sing so fervently of in church (and sometimes the club) every Sunday? We have identified ourselves as feminists, but on more than one occasion, when there is a slight difference in opinion, we suddenly become unworthy. In so doing, we have abused and misused the word feminist on many occasions and still expect to get away with it when called out. I thought feminism was supposed to be about the equal socio-economic and political rights of both men and women. Not just women calling men trash, perpetrating misandry and bashing anyone who disagrees with this school of thought. Where is the equality in that? You really should read Colin’s blog if you have not; he raises some extremely valid points and some questions we must all ask ourselves before we embark on our daily fight for equality. Polite reminder; a difference in opinion is part of this equality we so yearn. 


When it comes to homophobia, this is something that can not be thwarted by a single tweet, an entire Twitter war or in a single day’s work. Again, I will refer you to Colin’s blog. He writes;

“It going to take courage for us to tell our parents that we are gay. That our friends are gay. That we work with gay people. That we share food with them. That we know them. That some of them struggle with it. That we work for them. That they have funny jokes. That they are people. Someone’s son and daughter. That others will never overcome their fear. And that others will never come out because they don’t have the courage.”

Someone actually called me out in my DM for “championing” homophobia simply because I stated the obvious; Ls were being served indiscriminately. When it degenerated into homophobia, I deliberately skirted around that agenda for several reasons. One of them is because I am a firm believer in loving everyone as they are, with their opinions even if they differ from mine. Someone will, without a doubt, compare being gay to murder by asking me if I would show the same kind of love to terrorists as I would the gay community. Let me ask you this, when has the LGBTQA community ever caused you, dear reader, personal bodily harm? When have they made your life inconvenient in any way? W. Somerset Maugham said, “There is hardly anyone whose sexual life, if it were broadcast, would not fill the world at large with surprise and horror.”  In simpler terms, much as you find the gay community abominable because of their sexual preferences, even your sexual quirks and nuances would be thought abominable if they came to light. Therefore, before you throw rocks at the gay community, remember that you are in a glass house. You will not tweet the gay away neither will you pray it away, so it makes no sense acting out your sanctimonious ire for all too see when you too commit sins as scarlet as the gays you are pointing fingers at. If your worry is that the gay will rub off on your children, remember that children love without discrimination. It is how we raise them, the principles and values we instill in them by example, that shape their choices. If we could only love as purely as children do… You were put on this earth to do one job and one job only; love thy neighbor as you love thyself. 


When it’s all said and done, we are meant to coexist on this planet together. And if we truly believe we are the chosen generation, the generation of change, you should be reminded that change begins with you and that charity begins at home. If you identify as a feminist, it would make sense that your own family is aware of it and accepts you as you are, because you did not just wake up one morning and fall from the tree of feminism. You also did not become a feminist by osmosis; if you dig deep into your background (if you truly are a feminist) you will realize that you were being groomed into who you are now. If you are gay, that is your choice, and it is our duty as the rest of the world, starting with your family, to respect and love you as you are, not castigate you for your choices. If you are homophobic, that, too is your choice. We are required by faith and design to love and respect you too, flaws and all. You do not see vegans forcing non vegans to quit their meat eating and fur wearing habits. No one is perfect, not even close to it. So if you expect a perfect society because your head is so far up your ass or your nose is so far up the air, have an opinion on everything and you post fire tweets, society apologizes. That will not happen. Rome was not built in a day. 


I have been a prolific literotica blogger for a little over five years now, and the job has definitely come with pros and cons. While some of my esteemed audience takes what I write to heart to improve their intimate lives and sometimes relationships, others see my work as a catcall for every thirsty human to come get a piece of my ass. The advances came in e-mails, Twitter DMs, Facebook inboxes and in physical form, especially since I started making TV appearances in Kampala. Some of these were out rightly violent as I documented in a Twitter thread, shaking me to the core. I have been assaulted, body shamed, slut shamed, denied opportunities that I have earned simply because I refused to put out and everything in-between, simply because of my chosen art form. The ramifications of my explicit literotica have worked for me and come to bite me in the ass on several occasions, and if I were a glass half empty person, I would think that the negatives were the universe’s way of telling me to quit this “suicide mission”. Au contraire, it only emphasizes the impact of my work and keeps me going.

Still not

I can guarantee you that the life of a literotica writer is not as glamorous as it may seem; like I said, I was scared by the impact of my work. The good scared and the bad scared. But here’s the thing; if so many people are affected by the content, it means two things; first, people are consuming and interacting with your content, and secondly, they are eager (although sometimes misguided) to try out what they have picked up. The million dollar question therefore is, how do I, as a literotica writer, protect myself from such advances? Personally, I find that question offensive to the maximum, because in this unfortunate culture where rape and sexual assault against women is mostly sneered at and swept under the rug and in some instances applauded, glorified and encouraged (grab ’em by the pussy, anyone?), no amount of protecting myself will stop a pervert from attacking me. All I am left with is my content as my armor and my self defense skills as my sword against potential attackers. 

When I start to type a post, my intention is definitely not to put up a classified ad in search for a sexual partner or  several. My box is well taken care of; thank you for offering but no thanks. My motives have always been two; to educate and entertain. Nevertheless, some of my audience are pigheaded and blinded by lust, to them that is a clear indicator that I am “thirsty”; polite reminder – you are not living water neither are you Christ. Again, I say, I am fine. Many such writers have been forced to blog in anonymity or to altogether give up this beautiful form of literature simply because of the risks posed by a few rotten tomatoes that can barely keep their hands to themselves let alone their pants up. It’s unfortunate, but it is the sad reality. 

I don’t blame these rotten tomatoes though; I blame our society. The very fabric of it is rotten to the very core, firmly entrenched in less than human beliefs and appalling double standards, and very few of us are bothered enough to unearth this rot. This very rot has been made acceptable and normalized in the ugly form of male privilege and female oppression, and if we the female dare speak up, we are labeled insipid, rabid, frigid, sexless, unloved, ugly, bitter and angry, and every negative adjective used to describe feminism today. As women, we are not allowed to be sexual beings, we are not allowed to glorify our bodies in the way we dress and the make up we wear, inter alia. We must exist within the parameters society deems acceptable for women to exist in. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, in her book “We Should All Be Feminists” and quoted by Beyonce in “Flawless” says this of girls:

We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, “You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful but not too successful, otherwise you will threaten the man.” Because I am female I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support, but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors, not for jobs or for accomplishments – which I think can be a good thing – but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.

Why am I quoting Chimamanda yet the topic is literotica writing and it’s repercussions, you may ask? It’s really simple. First of all, most literotica writers are female, and are prone to sexual assault as a result of the literature they put out. This, sadly, is the society we live in. This is how we are raising our daughters and sons, all the while avoiding the conversations that are regarded as taboo in our culture. As luck may have it, one of those conversations is sex; we leave the kids to go find out on their own how sex works and they end up misusing it, then we display our sanctimonious ire for all to see when things go awry. We also make it our business to shut those who speak openly about sex up – literotica writers and feminists –  labeling them and censoring them, stashing them away in boxes hidden in dank, dark basements. We want the system to work but nobody wants to do the dirty work. 


Fear not, however. There is a silver lining in all this. It is from literotica writing that conversations around sex and sexuality come to the forefront, and the more this information is out there and available, the better for the next generation, and the one after, and the one after. It is a domino effect; one of us steps up, speaks up and fights, the rest follow suit. Rome was not built in a day. So, to any literotica writer out there who may be afraid to pursue this art form, do not be afraid. Come forth with your art, share it with the world and do not be scared into silence. Use your art, use your voice, use your talent and use the platforms available to you. The rotten tomatoes will always be there, but let that be the gasoline to your flame.  And as Kemiyondo (@Kemi_stry), a favorite feminist of mine says, Trust the Process. Hold the Vision. 

Artistic Nude


I  stand before you,

With an apology,

You are going to think it is about you,

Why wouldn’t you?



As I master the perfect face,

Yours will hit “perfect” with Bolt speed,

I will sluggishly catch up,

My dire effort will simulate the picture of a broken, hurting man,



That cocktail of love, care and concern has a careless

way of slipping down one’s eyes.

To break you like I am about to,

is to punch a hole in the mix barrel.

I will hold my tongue.

You will think it’s my ardent fear of vulnerability.



The warmth of your lips will overshadow the coldness of mine,

Breath with the slightest hint of a tremble,

With your eyes you will search mine for an answer;

The right question.

That is all you will need.

You will keep asking if I am alright.



Beyond the surface, a struggle.

You desire me.

I should desire you.

I mean, we men always think with our cocks right?



To know what true love is, is to know what it is not.


I move a lot swifter,

Kiss a lot longer,

Fuck much deeper!

Oh I Fuck!

I Grab,





I cum a lot louder!


Between sighs drenched in after sweat,

I stare, I caress, I whisper, I cuddle,

Only if,

Only when

I Love.

Only then.


In times like these you will confuse this tumultuous thought process

hidden behind a focused stare, for Love in my eyes.




Poem by Khai (@Khai_UG)



He sat between her legs, his hand holding her ankles while he tickled the soles of her feet. She laughed with mirth, her breasts pressed against his back, arm slung over his shoulder and across his chest, and begged him to stop. He wouldn’t. He was having too much fun tickling her, and he liked to think that underneath that short denim skirt was nothing, her womanhood exposed between her parted thighs yet shielded by his back. And he liked feeling her breasts pressed against his back, her chest vibrating from deep within and her nipples rubbing him up and down ever so slightly as a result. He tickled her further, then stopped to let her catch her breath.  Leaning back, he rested his head on her chest, listening to the thumping of her heart while his own thumped. He was already aroused by her; her scent, her laughter, her warmth; he craned his neck and kissed her, holding her by the nape of her neck and thrusting his tongue in her mouth, darting whichever way her tongue didn’t. 


She had barely caught her breath and there he was, kissing her in that maddeningly delicious way he did, turning her on more like she wasn’t already. Seeing the bulge in his pants grow told her what she already knew, him kissing her only meant one thing.  She held his face, kissed him back, let their tongues play hide and seek in her mouth. She wanted to straddle him but before she could finish her thought, he broke away long enough to turn and kneel between her legs, then kissed her once again, her face upturned to his. She had full access to him, and without hesitation, reached for the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed her hand inside them. She held his already throbbing manhood. He was ready. She tightened her grip, rubbed her thumb over his tip and smiled against his lips when he reacted to her touch. She rubbed him while they kissed, and gently, he lowered his pants to his knees while she lowered herself onto the carpet and raised his t-shirt over his head with her free hand. She raised her knees for him, and in one thrust, he was inside her. She gasped into his mouth, at the delight of her flesh parting for his entry and engulfing him, feeling him sink into her. 

He felt glorious inside her. Her warmth and scent intoxicated him, driving him to thrust deeper each time he withdrew. He tweaked her nipples, felt her breasts through her vest then slid his hands to her bare bottom, lifting her up in order to thrust deeper into her. She moaned into his mouth each time he thrust, her fingernails gently digging into his back each time he went deeper. He needed to taste her. He broke their kiss and slid her top off, rubbed his face in her neck while he felt her smooth skin and felt her naked breasts in his hand. He sucked on her nipples, staying long enough to get them moist and erect. He went down, discarding her skirt as he did, sliding it off her long legs and leaving her stark naked, sublime in her skin. He knelt over her, looking down at his glistening and throbbing penis, drank her nakedness in, dipped his head, rubbed his beard on her thighs and kissed her clitoris. She gasped. He smiled. He kissed her again, sucking on it and teasing with his tongue, flicking, swirling and licking, darting in and out of her crevice every now and then. He felt her muscles tensing, then pushed two fingers inside her. He knew her orgasm was looming. 


It felt like she would go mad. He tongue fucked and finger fucked her at the same damn time. How dare he, this man with his head between her thighs! How dare he drive her insane to such lengths, giving her pleasure till she felt lightheaded and couldn’t breathe! Her skin felt tingly, her body quivered, and she felt it. She was climaxing. He knew it too, and flicked his tongue more vigorously over her clitoris and moved his fingers in deeper to rub her g-spot. She moaned his name, eyes closed, back arched, prepared for the orgasm that was about to wash over her body like a tidal wave. And then it hit her. She came so hard, squirting in his mouth, body shaking, chanting his name like a litany, holding his bald head and willing him to move up and let her be. He moved up but didn’t let her be; he thrust inside her and slammed into her incessantly, hard, fast and deep, breathing harshly, wrapping his hand around her neck. Her first orgasm was quickly succeeded by a second, shaking her so violently he was momentarily afraid she would convulse. But that thought was not dwelt on further; he exploded into her while she squirted on him, collapsing on her and cupping her bottom so he could spill his essence deep inside her. She was his, all quivering orgasmic mess that she was, and nobody else’s. 


“If I’m entirely honest,

and you say I must be

I want to stay with you all afternoon

evening, night and tomorrow

pressed into you so tightly that we don’t

know whose belly made what sound,

whose heart it is that is thumping like 


until I don’t know if the sweat on my

chest is yours or mine or ours.”

Yrsa Daley-Ward



I submitted my book to my editors over the weekend and to say I feel good about it is an understatement. I am fucking exhilarated. Thrilled. Divinely elated. Also, I am at a point in my life where I feel much closer to the divine, having walked through fire and come out unscathed, save for a few first degree burns. Writing it was quite the feat, but you’ll have to buy a copy to know what I mean. For now, I’m at a point of self acceptance. As a human being, a woman and a mother. With all my flaws, there could never have been a better version of me. Every experience, both positive and negative, was designed to get me to this very point, so I could move forward. I am the version of me that God put on this earth and continues to perfect during every waking moment. I feel comfortable in my skin; beautiful, sexy, flawless and perfect. I don’t need third party validation to know who I am or tell me how I should feel about my femininity and sexuality. I am unapologetically female and in love with everything about it, in love with being queen. My sexuality is divine. 


Lately, there have been conversations on female sexuality, both glorified and vilified. I too shared my experience on how as women, we have become objects of glorification and ridicule in equal measure, and how being female is increasingly hard in our supposedly “modernized” society. What I don’t understand is why we pretend to be the advanced race yet we act like barbarians, treating women, part of the human race, as mere objects! I wouldn’t even know where to start, honestly. Men, all over the world, seem to have forgotten that they once leased a womb without rent for nine months and came out of a vagina. All those body parts can be found on a woman, just in case you forgot.  Even the most powerful nation in the world put a pussy grabbing misogynist (who has had three wives so he really does love being in a pussy) in power. We have lost our minds. Women are harassed each day; from the handshakes that linger on to a point of discomfort to the catcalls while walking don the street, just because they are female. It doesn’t matter what you do, say or wear; the harassment is lurking in a corner somewhere, just waiting for you to show up.


When we celebrate our sexuality by reveling in it, society shuts us down by calling us names and shaming us in every way imaginable. When go up in arms and defend ourselves against these pussy grabbing men, we are labelled hateful, unloved, cold and unattractive. We can neither fight  for ourselves as a divine sex nor ward off attackers of our sex. We are stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place, and sometimes pushed into this position by our very own sisters. So I wonder, what makes you think that because I am a female and in touch with my sexuality, I am inviting your unsolicited advances? And when I reject your advances, what gives you the right to force your agenda on me? And you, patriarchy princesses, what makes you think that God created women to be doormats? Let me make some things clear; protecting yourself as a woman does not mean you stop doing the things that you love because a man will probably abuse or respect you.  We all deserve respect as human beings, at the very least. The female body is supremely attractive; women are God’s masterpiece of creation. That’s why we were created last and man had to be asleep for God to focus. I’m convinced God is a woman.


I am a woman. I will wear clothes that flatter and accentuate my curvaceous body. I will wear make up. I will wear my crown of hair as I see fit. I will enhance my beauty through body art, because my body is art. And when I wear that outfit that makes my breasts, hips and ass look divine, you can look but you can’t touch. When I wear that lipstick that makes you want to kiss me, if you’re not the person I want to kiss, keep your smelly mouth away from mine. If my naval piercing makes you want to run your tongue down my belly to my petals, keep that thought in your mind if my cookie isn’t yours to eat. And if my nude photos make you publicly outraged and privately desirous of me, miss me with your hypocrisy. Like I said, my sexuality is divine. If you can’t accept that, I pity you. I ain’t sorry.  



Remember the old adage “Forbidden fruit tastes sweetest?” I am sure you do, and that many of us have been in a situation where we want the proverbial forbidden fruit and we can’t quite resist it. You cannot resist the thrill, the rush, the adrenaline and the excitement that comes with this. Nothing beats that high. Be it drugs, a nasty habit, an illicit affair; the fact is that if it is labelled forbidden, you want it even more than you should. The desire to have it is so intense, it hurts like a fire in your belly. You have to have it at all costs. This is what fuels this insatiable need to have it. Sometimes, it’s so intense that you could jeopardize everything you have ever worked for just to get it. No matter the cost, you just must have it. And it is because of this same desire that you end up craving and needing it in seemingly large (and sometimes lethal) proportions, over and over again. 


I have been battling my own insatiable desire for forbidden fruit; that which is either so far away from me or unattainable to me quite literally, yet I want it so badly. I still am. The war inside me to stay away from this has been so strong and raging on for a while now. Sometimes all I want to do is hide from it and pretend that this desire does not exist, but I cannot conceal the fire in my belly. That’s just it; I cannot resist the urge. Maybe I can and I simply do not want to. But for now, I am unable to fight this inexplicable need. It is inside me. It consumes me. This inferno burning bright inside me could very easily raze a small city if I breathed it out like a dragon. It could also cause my own destruction, and with that, desolation. That is how strong the desire is. And how bad it could get. So I gave in to the fire and let it consume and purify me. I surrendered to my need and took a hit. Now I can’t get off it.


Here is what’s even more fucked up about wanting things you cannot have – if it is a substance or habit, it gives you that temporary high and gets you dependent on it; just to feel that rush one more time. If it is a person, they either want you as much as you do them (been there and it is oh so beautiful when the feelings are mutual) or they do not and they end up taking advantage of you, taking your feelings for them for granted and passing it off so cavalier. You give yourself to them in a way you have never given yourself to another. You would do anything for them. Anytime they need you, you are there. They are your favourite drug. Yeah, I have been there too, and it cut me like a hot knife through butter. When it happens and you realize the potential disaster, you do everything to purge them out of your system before it’s too late. You check yourself into rehab because they are your disease. But you are an addict. You cannot let go. And they will not let you. They keep drawing you in and holding you up so high on such a breakable thread. 

I do not know why it is like this, why it has to be like this and why we are designed to be like this. I do not know why we are hard wired to want what we cannot or should not have – I do not have the answers to that. I also do not know why these unattainable or forbidden fruits are the shiny objects that when dangled in front of us, we lose all sense of rationale and logic for the simple purpose of having that one hit that gets us hooked. It just is. Temptation is both so beautiful and so ugly; it is both the devil and angel on both your shoulders. Temptation is a beautiful disaster. It is the test of our will and resolve. See, God has a wicked sense of humour; He gave us this free will that we play with on a daily, and it causes us to put our conscience to the test so frequently. Then again, where there is a will, there is a way, they said. So does our will – God’s gift to mankind – pave the way to temptation? Is our will the very beginning and end of all traces of logic, sanity and order? Somebody tell me.