“There is a little boy inside the man who is my brother… Oh, how I hated that little boy. And how I love him too.”

My sexual fantasies change at the drop of a hat, but I always find myself attracted to the taboo, and lately I'm often enjoying a particular revenge incest fantasy inspired by the Anna Marie Quindlen quote above.

I imagine a hotter version of my slut-shaming older brother. The fantasy takes place with all of us as adults, visiting home for the holidays, him with his wife and family. One day during the visit I'm hanging out with him and some of his friends. I've known these friends of his since we were all kids but now that I'm all grown up I can tell that they want to fuck me. As we're hanging out I keep on leaning over in front of them, shoving my tits and ass into their faces, stealing caresses of their rapidly hardening cocks in their pants. Finally, when I have these guys throbbing for me, I casually get up and head toward the kitchen out of eyesight from my brother but still visible to all the other guys, I point at my brother's best friend and gesture for him to follow me into the kitchen right behind my brother's back where he's unsuspectingly watching TV on the couch in the living room.

I gesture for my brother's other friends, all of whom are watching intently but trying not to let on that there is nothing going on to my brother, to be quiet as I pull down the straps of my tank top and have my brother's best friend suck on my tits. Then I pull down my panties from underneath my skirt and have him eat my pussy. Just as I'm about to have him fuck me he accidentally knocks over a cup from the counter and the sound of the shattering glass gets my brother's attention.

The site of me with shirt and skirt circling my waist, tits and pussy out, about to take his best friend's dick is enough to make my brother lose his shit. He starts to yell and comes toward me as if he might even hit me. His friends, who are actually pretty good guys, sense that he's out of control and restrain him. 

I'm cracking up laughing as he's calling me a slut and screaming other expletives. "If I'm such a fucking dirty slut then why is your cock getting so hard for me in your pants?" His friends are still holding him back as I unzip him and pull out his dick that is, sure enough, becoming erect in my hands. I instruct his best friend to continue fucking me while I jack off my brother's cock. At first my brother protests but eventually he gives in.

I lay my brother on the floor in complete submission and put my clit on his lips and tongue. I tell him that he better lick me good and make me cum otherwise I'll tell his wife what a disgusting sister-fucker he is and she will be sure to leave him. He buries his face in my pussy and I get another one of his friends to fuck me while another one sucks him until we both orgasm right there on the kitchen floor.

Perhaps you have a taboo role-play you would like to share?

~Asha

Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night? When everything's a little clearer in the light of day. And we know the night is always gonna be there any way."

I moved this month to a new spot in the Financial District. As much as I will cherish the memories we made at my last place this studio is a welcome upgrade, more centrally located in a building that is understated yet sophisticated, and the unit is decorated more to my luxe feminine tastes.

The convenience of stopping in for a salacious quickie has me thinking of the iconic one hit wonder Afternoon Delight. A tongue-in-cheek tune that created the universal innuendo for lovers who prefer to connect under the taboo light of day. I listen to it on repeat and let myself drift into a reverie...

First, a medical scene, doctor conducts a thorough exam. I am bewildered but cooperative as he grazes my body with his hands, lingering on my breasts and clitoris. I submit completely when he says he need to investigate further orally...

Next I'm your best friend's hot girlfriend. You come over to our place while he's gone at work. We share a few drinks and some laughs, I relax next to you on the couch, there is a spark. Your hand rests on my thigh and begins to wander higher...

Now I am a school girl, plaid skirt, knee high socks. You are my teacher, a heartthrob, a good guy. I have a crush on you. I ask to meet you after school to discuss extra credit, I'm such a good student, you say yes. My intention is just to talk about school but I can't help myself. I start to touch myself and then you. I'm stroking the outline of your cock in your pants. You resist. I beg between long, hard, deep kisses. Finally you relent and pull me onto your lap as I unbutton my collared white shirt and feed you my erect nipples...

Why wait for night to dream when you can have an afternoon delight?

~Asha

"The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate."

As I celebrate my birthday these words from Oprah Winfrey resonate. I celebrated 37 years old as of Monday. Yes 37 years old! The waiter at my birthday dinner carded me when I ordered my cocktail. He glanced at the birthdate, then back at me, and back again to the ID this time incredulously and finally asked, "What's your secret?"

I think the uncensored answer to his question was too x-rated for polite dinner conversation. Instead I responded with a wink, a smirk, a shrug, and a giggle. "I celebrate every day."

This year the celebration started early. A week before the big day I meet him out on the town at a favorite spot of ours. An intimate place where we lubricate each other through our tastebuds, liquor, stolen caresses, good conversation. As he settles the bill and leads me out of the restaurant with his hand gently rested in the small of my back he can sense there is still a hunger. We planned for this but it still felt surreal. The taxi wasn't going to my place or his hotel. We pull up to an unmarked door, mysterious as it is tantalizing, an adult playground called Oasis on Toronto's east-side. The night had just begun...

Flash forward to a few days later. I'm cuddled up with an old friend marathoning Netflix, catching up after a long absence, teasing underneath the sheets, getting lost in each other's eyes and the lavishness of our kisses...

And then to a few days later when he has me instruct him to take me to several upscale boutiques. With a subtlety to our kink we interplay in the eroticism of the material world. He strokes my foot while slipping on a heeled shoe for my appraisal of its worthiness, we adorn my body with glimmer and lace, all in preparation...  

On the eve of my birthday he let me take him on his back, with his knees up in the air, raising his body toward me in complete submission. I am plunging deeper and deeper inside of him, losing control. He tells me he will take it all so I grab him by the hair and give him all of me to the tune of his helplessly ecstatic moans...

Finally, on my birthday, I am the one at the mercy of our fantasy. We planted the seed last time we saw each other and have been building the anticipation ever since. We talked about every dirty detail, our boundaries, the nature of our desires. My patience is spent. By the time he arrives I'm throbbing but he pushes my lust even farther as he sets me on a chair with a glass of wine and tells me to wait quietly as our other friends arrive to join our game... 

I am a believer that the more we celebrate the more there is to celebrate. Let's make the entire month of April a birthday celebration. Perhaps you would like to share in my secret for eternal youth?

~Asha

“That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, you fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are."

Most men are not unlike J.D. Salinger's protagonist Holden Caulfield as he is quoted from the Catcher and the Rye above, that is to say, afraid to truly fall for a girl. These are the men who ask me whether I am "authentic," they exchange emails ad naseum, they repeatedly ask for my phone number. They fear the unknown, they fear giving in, they fear exactly what they desire the most.

A genuine connection. The energy created by the friction between bodies of passion. The synergy that can't be faked or contrived, rather, it flows organically when lovers collide and are open to come what may. 

Engaging with me is not for the faint of heart, for the frugal hobbyist, or for those in search of a predictable (bordering on robotic) encounter. There is nothing cookie-cutter about me. I understand completely if I simply am not your cup of tea.    

However, if you've made it this far perhaps you're one of the select few that make my match. A creative intellectual, an erotic explorer, an intrepid connoisseur of pleasure. A man, unlike the boyish Holden Caulfield, ready to bravely submit to the power of his lust. 

~Asha

"We must find out for ourselves that inside us is a goddess in embryo that wants to be born so that we can express our divinity."

As a seasoned submissive I was hesitant to heed Deepak Chopra's words. But eventually the powerful desire to find my inner goddess became so compelling I needed to submit to it too. The goddess within demanded it.

First, a seduction establishing dominance, ritual. I command him to pour me a few fingers of scotch and a portion for himself too. I wanted his edges rounded out by the liquor, to soften his independence and coax him to give into me.

I sip while I savor the view of him undressing. When my drink is done and he's still not naked I grow impatient. I smack his hand away and finish the job myself.

I skim his skin with my lips, fingertips, my tongue. I order him to the St. Andrew's Cross so that I can strap him in, displayed, exposed, and vulnerable to my every desire. Before we begin in earnest I caress his cheek with the back of my hand, let it wander down to his nipple, grab it, twist, and whisper in his ear - savage but sweet - you're mine now... all mine.

~Asha