Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry
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lilapounder.bsky.social
Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry
@lilapounder.bsky.social
34 followers 38 following 190 posts
I write the (consensual, adult) bad stuff. 🔞 NSFW. She? They?
Find the bad stuff, while you still can: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/lilapounder
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lilapounder.bsky.social
Just two more days to nab some very wicked stories on the cheap!
lilapounder.bsky.social Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry @lilapounder.bsky.social · 5d
Hello #taboo #erotica fans Lila has rich, creamy, thick, milfy treats for “Cronut November” week 2. First up: “MILF Club” The ladies of Randolph Circle are rich and licentious—but when Jan and her hunky son Jim move in, things get even wilder! Just $2 with coupon 66L6A, available in 2 editions:
November 15, 2025 at 11:11 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
It is, too be sure, a strange moment to try to sell erotica with transgressive, taboo themes, that sometimes (ok, often) crosses intergenerational lines. I hope none of that scumbag’s correspondents would ever get off to my stuff. I don’t think they would, I prioritize female pleasure and agency.
November 14, 2025 at 11:30 AM
Reposted by Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry
wantonweekly.bsky.social
Who knew you could find excellent erotic webfiction right here ON BLUESKY?? This one'll be in this week's Wanton Weekly newsletter, but hey, take a gander right now if you like. Thanks @lilapounder.bsky.social for joining the fun <3
lilapounder.bsky.social Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry @lilapounder.bsky.social · 17d
And now the #Kinktober Pièce de résistance, a spooky gangbang with a gaggle of creepy clowns! This is gonna be at least 4 posts worth of #taboo #fetish #erotica, so hang on tight!
November 10, 2025 at 8:51 PM
Reposted by Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry
ceciliatan.com
Folks, updated editions of Laura Antoniou's MARKETPLACE books are going live, and *NO SAFEWORDS* the collection of Marketplace short stories is now in Kindle Unlimited for the next 90 days! So if you're a KU reader, go indulge some BDSM M/s stories! https://amzn.to/4nOsE55
Screenshot from Amazon showing the book cover which features a photo of Mollena by Don Sir Photography, she is a black woman with light short cropped hair wearing a shiny metal collar and surrounded by coils of bondage rope.
November 11, 2025 at 1:25 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
Hello #taboo #erotica fans Lila has rich, creamy, thick, milfy treats for “Cronut November” week 2. First up: “MILF Club” The ladies of Randolph Circle are rich and licentious—but when Jan and her hunky son Jim move in, things get even wilder! Just $2 with coupon 66L6A, available in 2 editions:
November 10, 2025 at 11:32 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
I usually save the politics for main, not for shilling taboo porn. But just for the record, yes, Lila is mad as Hell.

We will now proceed with the smut marketing, because queer joy is defiance. With every orgasm, I spite thee, you feckless fucks.
November 10, 2025 at 11:26 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
Two more days to celebrate week 1 of “Yes, Nut November” with some #kinky #taboo #erotica on deep discount! Note: most of my stories are consensual, but this set does dip into #dubcon so beware if that is not your jam. Different stories on sale for week 2. Collect them all!
lilapounder.bsky.social Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry @lilapounder.bsky.social · 8d
Fun? fact—week 1 discounts of “Yes, Nut November” are #taboo #erotica stories not from Kinktober. Go to “Mom’s Slut School” for $1.50 www.smashwords.com/books/view/1..., try a “Twin Switch” for $1.25 www.smashwords.com/books/view/1... & meet “Kinky Cammy” for $0.99 www.smashwords.com/books/view/1...
November 8, 2025 at 1:21 PM
lilapounder.bsky.social
Lila has heard of this thing called “No Nut November” and Lila DOES NOT APPROVE. That does not sound healthy at all! Lila would like to help. She suggests the liberal application of #taboo #erotica, and she has some on sale 50% off this week!
November 2, 2025 at 12:34 PM
lilapounder.bsky.social
One last tease for #Kinktober some #FuckingMachine #Erotica —a shameless “self-insert,” if you will. Thanks to @shiftingentity.bsky.social for the inspiration! I will be compiling the vignettes and stories and putting the collection up at www.smashwords.com/profile/view... with my other filth ;->
An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder begins: The storefront of Mach Eff Dot You was sleek as any of the mainstream tech fetish stores, except it was made of overlapping layers of smoked glass, making an S-shaped path into the store. A maze with no decision The storefront of Mach Eff Dot You was sleek as any of the mainstream tech fetish stores, except it was made of overlapping layers of smoked glass, making an S-shaped path into the store. A maze with no decision points. From the outside it was glittering black, like obsidian. One layer in the bright lines of the overhead lights could be seen, white turned brown by the thick glass. The age verification station was before the next switchback, after which the hazy shapes of the tables showcasing the products, and the silhouettes of the browsing shoppers became visible. And after the final layer all was revealed. The lights, operating room bright. The gleaming white tables. The equally gleaming products, chrome and jet black. And the shoppers, mostly women, dripping affluence. The showroom only opened two days a month; there was always a good crowd. Lila, as always, had dressed to impress, a rented dress she couldn’t afford to buy—with a skirt she could move in. Jewelry that looked like she couldn’t afford it. She’d found the trick to pulling often the fake diamonds was modest stones in subtle settings. The goal wasn’t to pass the credit check; the goal was to convince the clerks not to bother. There were good reasons for very rich wives to not want their husbands to know they patronized mf.u so it could be done. Lila knew exactly what she wanted, but she pretended she didn’t. She moved through the store at a leisurely pace, surveying the products with a cool, appraising eye. There were no price tags. At Mach Eff Dot You the rule was, if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it. They were elevating the sex machine. Searching for its platonic ideal. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: Lila understood nerve bundles as an interface to the pleasure center. Clits, cunts, assholes, tongues, tits, cocks, balls all offered useful collections of nerves; they were robust interfaces for pleasure. The brilliance of mf.u was envisioning new interfaces to those nerve bundles. Beyond the dildo, beyond the vibrator. Not substitute penises, but unique penetrative options: new configurations and new capabilities. Not fake pussies for the gentlemen to stick their pricks into, but bold tech to stimulate cocks in new ways. Lila made her way at last to her goal, the Mach Mark V. She lingered, and a salesman materialized at her elbow. He was new since her last visit. A decade younger than Lila, pink-cheeked and endearingly nervous. “Are you aware of the Mark V’s, er, adaptive functions?” Lila was, but it was fun to pretend she wasn’t. “The Mark V non-invasively monitors levels of arousal by tracking heart rate, respiration, and galvanic skin response. Multiple modes allow you to draw out the experience, or, if you’re pressed for time, rapidly escalate to a quick, but satisfying release.” Lila walked around the machine. Steel, chrome, sleek black rubber. The salesman pressed a button on his tablet, and the Mark V woke up. It almost seemed to stretch as it demoed its key configurations. She could ride it, cowgirl style. She could relax with it in a missionary position. She could roll over and let it lean over her, doggystyle. There was more: She could stand, sit, lie, hang—and the Mark V would thrust, buzz, writhe, heat, tickle, cool, shock, tingle, slap. It knew so many tricks. “It can really do all that?” She filled her voice with skepticism. It was so delicious to make them suggest what she was there for. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues to continue: The salesman’s cheeks got even pinker. “There is a test program,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “There is a hundred dollar fee for each 15 minutes, refundable if you decide to purchase. However, any of the attachments you, um, exercise, would be non-refundable.” Lila showed him what was in her purse and suppressed a laugh as his eyebrows climbed. “I brought some of the attachments from my older model,” she said. That was a lie, she hadn’t been able to afford the Mark III or the Mark IV either. Although by now she must have nearly spent the purchase price on test drives. “Are these compatible?” “Yes, ma’am, fully compatible,” he assured her. “If you’ll follow me.” The test drive booths were in the back of the store. They were supposed to be sound-proof, but people could be awfully loud. Or perhaps they were designed to let just a little sound leak through. Hearing other customers getting off was certainly a selling point for Lila. There was a faint chorus of voices, women and men both, as the salesman traversed the back wall looking for a booth with a green “unoccupied” light. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” “Oh God, right there, right there!” A long, wordless groan. A sharp, rising cry, nearly a scream. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder concludes: The salesman opened a door. A Mark V sat on a low table just a few inches tall. Its remote was fastened to the gleaming white wall. A waist-high padded white block jutted up from the tile. The salesman pulled a filmy plastic cover from the dispenser and folded it over the Mark V’s primary saddle and limbs, protecting it from her secretions. It would be sterilized after her visit anyway; this was mostly for show. He showed her where to plug in the attachments she’d brought, demoed her how the table and block to be configured to mimic almost any sort of furniture. A floor to squat on. A counter to be bent over. A chair to be fucked in. A bed to be fucked on. The combinations weren’t literally endless, but they might as well be. She handed him her credit card. He ran it on his tablet, and the Mach V woke. Stretched. He handed her card back. “I hope you enjoy testing the Mach V, Ms. Pounder.” She smiled as the door slid shut behind him. He could think she was testing the machine, if he liked. She knew it was going to test her.
October 31, 2025 at 9:28 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
#Kinktober 30 did someone say #latex #fetish #erotica ?
An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder begins: Three women in latex outfits reel out of the club, giggling together. In the old days, they would have had cars waiting at the door, rideshares or friends, but now they need to take the crosstown bus. It's okay; they run every two or three minutes now, even this late. Brunette Miss Lucy is in a classic French Maid fetish minidress. The stubble on her cheeks and chin hints at the big cock surprise hidden under her fishnet tights. Auburn-haired Karie is a nurse in mint green with white trim, a big red cross in the center of the apron panel covering her crotch, and a keyhole showing off her frankly spectacular cleavage. White stockings and lucite heels complete her look. Bee is in a full-body pink catsuit with a hood. Her eyes and mouth peek from their openings, but the zippers that can provide access to her tits, her pussy, and ass are closed. Almost none of her skin is visible; she looks alien, a visitor from a nearby kinkier planet. Bee didn't get off in the club, and she needs to soon. Her nerves are jangling. The friction of her skin inside the suit is sweet torture. The talc she put on with the suit and her sweat are a thin, hot slurry. As she moves, the latex slips, just a tiny bit, teasing her nipples, her clit. The fabric is gripping her tits, cupping her ass, like the broad fingers of an aggressive lover. Miss Lucy boards the bus first, flouncing down the aisle. It's only about half full, but if the women want to sit together—away from the normies—there's more room in the back. Bee gets on last. She checks out all the other riders. She can't help it, the state she's in. She's evaluating them all. Whose face could she ride, who might have a good cock to pound her with? Whose hand looked it might be properly skilled—or trainable. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: There's a man in his mid-fifties. Bee takes in the sight of him in an instant. Salt and pepper hair, cheeks a little pink, eyes a little sleepy. His suit probably looked sharp and crisp when he put it on this morning, now it is rumpled, his tie askew. He looks like he's been partying steadily since happy hour, the very picture of a dissolute exec. Maybe he had a quickie in a restroom, or followed someone to a nearby apartment for a fast fuck, and then went back out to the club. Bee thinks he looks like fun. The kind of man, perhaps, who doesn't think he'll enjoy being topped, but will. She sees this, thinks this, in a heartbeat before she realizes: it's Jeremy. Jeremy Billings. Her boss. But latex is her friend, it hides her, hides her shock. She trembles a little, but makes it to the back. Just a few seats behind Billings. Some of the normies are turning sideways in their seats, so they can steal glances without being caught staring. Compared to Miss Lucy, Karie, and Bee everyone else is a normy, even the early-20's college girls in their sluttiest club wear, plunging necklines, high hemlines, fishnets—they're trashy. But Miss Lucy, Karie and Bee are on a different level, not trash, they are living erotic art. Miss Lucy is drinking the attention like she's gulping down a bukkake's-worth of cum. "What do you like best about wearing latex?" The question isn't really for Karie and Bee, it's for the eavesdropping normies. Miss Lucy wants to give them a vicarious thrill. Maybe even recruit a few. "Nothing touches me," Karie says promptly. "Cum. Hot wax. Piss. I see it, smell it. I feel the impact, the warmth. But under the latex, I'm pure." An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder is nearly finished: Miss Lucy laughs. "Yeah, you're pure, all right." She answers her own question. "I love the shock and contrast. She runs her fingers from her neck, over her boobs, and across the flat tummy she works so hard to maintain. "I'm so girly in this. The straight man's fantasy. I get them all hot and bothered, and then, whoop! Surprise!" She shakes her head. "I don't think I'll ever get bottom surgery, I love being a girl, but I love my big, fat cock too." It's Bee's turn. Jeremy Billings has turned sideways in his seat. He's pretending to look at the lights as the bus pulls onto the bridge over the river. He might be stealing glances at one of the too-young-for-him girls. But he's listening, intently, to Bee. She can feel it, even though she is not-looking at him just as carefully as he's not-looking at her. "The anonymity." Bee's voice is a bit higher when she's in the suit. It's not something she thinks about, just something that happens. The suit is a persona, Bee's fantasy of herself. The real Bee in a way that's deep and important. But not the same as the real Bee that shows up to the office, working to make Jeremy Billings rich. Richer. So Jeremy Billings may not recognize her voice. But he may already have recognized her eyes, wide and shocked as she clocked his face. Her red lips curving in a surprised "oh." "No one knows me in the suit. They can't tell if I'm twenty or sixty. I could be anyone." "Yeah," Miss Lucy laughs. "You're like a glory hole booth that's walking around. No one knows what they're sticking their parts into." Bee flushes, and she can feel it, the latex hot on her cheek. Miss Lucy and Karie can't see it. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder concludes: But Billings can. Bee doesn't know how she knows, but she does. Just as she knows she will see him in the club soon. Maybe not next week, maybe not the week after. But soon. He'll choose black, she's almost sure. A black catsuit. Their eyes will meet. Their eyes will widen. He might smile. She might smile back. But they will be anonymous. Safe, hidden, under the latex that lets them be themselves.
October 30, 2025 at 9:33 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
And now the #Kinktober Pièce de résistance, a spooky gangbang with a gaggle of creepy clowns! This is gonna be at least 4 posts worth of #taboo #fetish #erotica, so hang on tight!
Part 1 of a story by Lila Pounder: The circus was fucking creepy. The clowns were the worst. It rolled into town on Thursday, a handful semis and panel trucks disgorging one big tent, two sideshows, and tawdry little midway. They set up in the old fairgrounds a mile outside town, and Janny didn't think they'd filed for a permit or paid the fee. Call it a hunch. That's what she'd do, anyway. It would be cheaper to pay off any county cops that came sniffing around. A lot of folks went to check it out. Curiosity was a built-in draw. A traveling circus? In this day and age? Who'd have thought. Janny went too, although she didn't pay at the gate—she went round back, and shimmed under the fence where some helpful animals had dug. Janny took a quick stroll through the midway. The games were all rigged, of course. But there was something off about the men and women working them. Not just the usual shifty look of the professional huckster. Janny knew that look, she saw it in mirrors. Something else. Something... weirder. She didn't bother sneaking in the sideshows, the setup was easy to see. Five bucks for a flash of tits and ass, dressed up in pseudo-mystical mumbo jumbo. The real money would be made after the shows. The big tent was more of the same. The air was thick with the cloying smell of cotton candy and slightly rancid popcorn as hucksters moved through the aisles selling food and cheap toys; pinwheels, and plastic sticks that lit up when they were shaken. Part 2 of the story: Not-very-acrobatic acrobats pranced around in glittering leotards and tights, the twerking and pelvic thrusting routines an advertisement for the ass, pussy, and cock that would be available for sale. Most of the kids in the audience looked bored, but a lot of the men were eating it up, and more than a few women too. The gymnasts were pretty hot, Janny had to admit. She would have done almost any of them, women or men. If she were rich, she might even have paid for at least one of each. But Janny was far from rich. She was anti-rich, tens of thousands in the hole, stuck with the bad debt her no-good step brother had run up. A man convinced an uninterested bear to stand on her hind legs and waddle through a hoop. Janny barely looked. She was watching the money, where the vendors went with their cashboxes. Running the math. Ten dollars a head to get it in, five for each popcorn, five for three tries at one of the crooked games. The joint was floating in cash. Beautiful, untraceable, small-bill cash. And then came the fucking clowns. Janny couldn't spot the gimmick, and it nearly drove her crazy. The clown car drove into the ring, horn merrily tooting. There was no sign of a trap door under it, nothing else in the ring. The car was tiny. Janny, short and wiry, could imagine maybe five people her size cramming into it. Maybe. With arms and legs sticking into the trunk and under the hood, if the whole thing was a shell. But it had rolled awfully smoothly, like it really had a motor. And eight fucking clowns came tumbling out of it, and two of them were enormous, buy-two-seats-on-the-plane sized butts, and another pair were thin, but well over six feet tall. The rest were of medium height and athletic build. And they all moved well away from the car, no chance to pull a misdirect so the same clown popped out more than once. She shook her head. The clowns were a distraction, no money flowing through them. She had to focus, she had work to do. Part 3: Janny found a place in one of the old barns where she could keep an eye on things through a slit in one of the boards. She pulled a granola bar out of her cutoffs and crunched it methodically. She stuffed the wrapper in her back pocket. She wasn't going to leave any evidence. After the gates closed the circus folk partied and fucked, raking even more cash as they sold party supplies (meth and coke, mostly) and partygoers (women, men, and a couple women with a little somethin' extra were all kept busy). The money went into one of the panel trucks, in the middle of the vehicles. There'd be a car alarm, so she'd need to be careful, but the lock on the van wouldn't trouble her. Eventually the midway grew quiet and dark. The townsfolk piled into cars and pickups and weaved their way to their homes; the circus folk staggered into their vans. Janny moved slowly, quietly. Now that the sun was down, the air was chilly, and she shivered a little in her thin black T-shirt. A handful of lights were still running on a generator; she avoided the pools of light. The strongman was keeping watch, wandering through the site every twenty minutes or so. She avoided him, too. She was creeping between two of the semis, close to her target. It was going great, until a clown popped up in front of her, a big onion-shape in a white outfit. The rainbow polka dots were gray in the dark. The painted lips curled in a not-smile as the clown waggled a gloved finger in her face. "Naughty, naughty," he whispered, his voice rough. Well, it wasn't Janny's first rodeo. "I'm sorry," she stifled a half-yawn, not trying to oversell it. "I think I must have passed out! I'm just trying to find my way out." She shook her head. "I'm gonna be in so much trouble." "Lie," said a voice to her left, and it was another fucking clown, one of the tall ones. "Lie," from her right, the other tall one, boxing her in. "Lie," behind her, lower than the rest. She could practically feel the breath on her neck. Part 4 of the story: Where the fuck had they come from? She'd been alone. It was like they'd sprouted out of the ground. "And truth," whispered the one in front of her. She'd gotten it, but the clown laid it on thick anyway, swinging that chastising finger back and forth. "You're not sorry. You didn't pass out. You're not looking for a way out. But you are going to be in trouble." Janny set her jaw, defiant, switching tactics. "You're not gonna call the cops on me. You don't want them poking around here." The rest of the clowns had somehow popped up between the first four. All eight of them, surrounding her. "Mm, no," one of the newcomers agreed. "The cops wouldn't be a problem," a new voice, behind her to her left. "But they wouldn't be much help, either." Behind her on the right, this time. "We like to handle things on our own." The last of the newcomers, in a threatening rasp. "Just let me go," Janny tried. "You'll never see me again, I promise." The big clown in front of her stroked his chin for a moment with his huge gloved fingers. "Mm. No, I don't think so." "You wanted money, little thief?" the clown on her right shoved her shoulder. "You can have some money." The one on the left shoved back. "You just have to earn it." The one with the deep voice, bumped into her ass. He must have a balloon in his pants. Janny wasn't a whore, but she wasn't a stranger to transactional sex, either. "Eight of you, huh? Sixteen hundred." The big clown pretended to think for a moment, then he squeezed the big red bulb of his nose. Honk honk. "No," he said. "We'll have you first. Then we'll decide what you're worth."
October 29, 2025 at 1:31 PM
lilapounder.bsky.social
hey @stephanidelrey.com you are in the center of my target audience for tomorrow’s #kinktober offering
October 28, 2025 at 12:13 PM
lilapounder.bsky.social
#Kinktober 28 Medfet! On a budget.
An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder begins: Don sits on the edge of the cot, wearing the weird backless paper gown. The small examination room is brightly lit. Cot, standing desk with a computer, a small stool with a red vinyl top, a sharps disposal bucket—there's almost nothing in the room. Nowhere for Don to hide—least of all from himself. Get a grip, he tells himself. That's the wrong thing to tell himself; it calls to mind a strong hand gripping a firm cock. He shakes his head angrily. Get a hold of yourself. That's not any better, actually. He draws in a ragged breath, holds, releases. Releases, nyuck-nyuck. He thinks about what's going to happen a minute from now. The doctor will enter, and put a on a finger condom. Don will bend over. The doctor will stick his finger up Don's asshole, wiggle it around a bit. Don won't get hard, because as good as it might feel, it's clinical, not sexual. The problem is, Don can already feel his cock lurching as blood flows into to it. He squirms on the table, trying to summon the least erotic images he can to his mind. It's not working. The door bursts open. Dr. Martin Ortega is gorgeous, a few years older than Don, his hair still black and glossy, his eyes dark and bright. An ironic curl gracing wide lips. He's actually not wearing a finger condom, instead he has thin gloves on both hands. He holds a hand, waggles his index finger. "You know what comes next, Mr. Wills." Comes. "Stand up." Ortega's voice is crisp, commanding, and Don has to bite back a moan. "Feet shoulder width apart. Bend over. Try to to touch your toes. Keep those knees locked." Ortega drags the stool over by Don and squats on it. Don feels a thumb pulling on his ass cheek, and then Ortega's finger slips into his finger, questing for Don's prostate. Don is staring at his own knees, but he can't miss his hard-on, sproinging to life and tenting the gown. "Hm." Ortega says. "Sorry Mr. Wills, just need to check—" and he shoves a second finger up Don's ass. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: He seesaws them in and out. He's fully finger-fucking Don, stretching his hole and grazing that sweet deep spot with every thrust. "Is everything all right, Doctor?" Don can barely get the words out. "I'm noting a reflexogenic response," he says. "Resulting in a penile tumescence." His other hand reaches around, under the paper gown, and wraps around his cock. He squeezes, and Don chokes down a yelp. "Or perhaps it's psychogenic. Difficult to assess." He begins to jerk Don, not the way he does it himself, short, fast strokes, almost brutal, his fist thumping Don's pubis with each one. He slowly twists his fingers—three of them now—deep in Don's ass. "Do you suffer from priapism, Mr. Wills?" "I don't know what that is," Don lies. "Prolonged" Jerk-jerk. "Painful" Jerk-jerk. "Erections." Jerk-jerk-jerk. "No," Don says, and then "oh no," because he's coming, hot shameful jizz bursting out of his prick. He can see a glob hitting the gown; he can hear a fat drop splat on the floor. "Hm," Ortega says, again. "I don't see anything of note. You can get dressed. See the receptionist for your co-pay, and to schedule follow-up." He leaves the room. Don dresses. He wipes up the smear of cum with the gown and balls it up. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder concludes: There's no waste basket in the exam room. Don opens the door, to the short hallway, and the exam room resumes its normal form, his own small home office, with his office chair replaced by one of the kitchen stools, his wastebasket removed, the cot and sharps bucket—less than fifteen bucks at Walmart—added. Don throws the gown in the kitchen trashbag. Marty's in the living room, still wearing the costume lab coat and scrubs. Don pulls him up from the couch and then they're kissing. "Oh my God, babe," he sighs when they break the kiss. "That was amazing. Thank you so much." "I love you, you freak," Marty says. "That was fun!" His tone sharpens. "But I think you forgot something. You skipped out on the co-pay." He grabs Don's hand and pulls it to his crotch. Don feel's Marty's hardness through the coat and the scrubs. Marty nibbles Don's ear. "And now, I'm going to have to take it out in trade."
October 28, 2025 at 9:03 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
Dang it I forgot the #Kinktober hash tag on the first Day 27 (tentacles!) post, but this was WAY too much work to delete and repost.
lilapounder.bsky.social Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry @lilapounder.bsky.social · 19d
Kinktober 27 is tentacles! I already shared a #taboo #erotica excerpt from my HARD sci-fi #consentacle story “Tentacle Grandpa”—so for today I hatched a little something new. This one ran long, sorrynotsorry. 1/2
October 27, 2025 at 10:15 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
Kinktober 27 is tentacles! I already shared a #taboo #erotica excerpt from my HARD sci-fi #consentacle story “Tentacle Grandpa”—so for today I hatched a little something new. This one ran long, sorrynotsorry. 1/2
An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder begins: ~~Linda Smith~~ We were about to crash on yet another fucking planet, and I was furious, and horny as fuck. Everybody else on the Blue Ruin was getting laid more often and better than I was, and I was big mad about it. I was 19, objectively the hottest, most nubile female in light years, and just because I was accustomed to speak my mind loudly, often, and with no filters, was no reason for any of my shipmates not to get up in my lady business. Weren't brats supposed to be sexy? Here was how the schtupping was predominantly going: We had somehow not thrown Dr. William (Billy) Craven out of an airlock despite numerous opportunities. He'd gotten us into this whole mess by literally buggering our navigation computer—turns out jizz and mysterious radiation from an uncharted nebula are bad for circuits, who would have thought? In addition to all of us, metaphorically, he was fucking my 18-year-old brother Tom, the Robot, and getting fucked by my dad, and sometimes 31-year-old Captain Dick Handy (objectively the hunkiest male in light years). Gorgeous Captain Handy was my older sister's boyfriend. He only had eyes for her! But nevertheless that Dick would also find his way into my dad, and sometimes my mom and the bad doctor. My 21-year-old sister Babs was of course fucking her Handy Captain, but also mom, and made time occasionally for Dear Old Dad, my brother, and/or the Robot. My brother, who should have been ready to give up his balls for a shot at me, was mostly balls-deep in Mom or the Robot, taking Dr Craven balls deep, and sometimes did Babs or Dad too. Mom was fucking both my siblings, and sometimes the Robot or Captain Dick. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: It may now logically be deduced that Dad fucked with Dr Billy, Captain Dick, and sometimes the Robot and his other two kids; and the Robot mostly fucked the doctor and my brother, but did everybody except the Captain. And me, because of the stupid parental controls they'd turned off for Tom when he turned 18, but had left on for me even though I was more than a year older. "Maybe when you act more mature," Dad would say, not meeting my eyes, whenever I asked about it. Whatever. I should note that it wasn't like I was getting zero action. Tommy was happy to fuck me whenever his balls weren't drained, but not generous enough to even diddle me if he couldn't get his nut. Babs would flip up my silver mini skirt and munch on my rug whenever we weren't at war with each other, which was approximately never. I'd convinced Mom and Dad to discipline me hard a few times, although they were weird and guilty about it afterwards, which made it less fun. And a couple times I'd shoved something up me, and asked the Robot for help retrieving it—although the last time that had involved a decontamination protocol that was long, invasive, and painful, but somehow not hot. And sometimes I was able to get an alien proboscis or something up me, but in my experience aliens were far less interested in getting humans off and vice versa than old Earth media had led me to believe. Anyway, now we were about to crash again, because while Captain Dick was hot, he was clearly the worst pilot in the galaxy. I strapped myself into the crash chair. Mine and Tommy's were in the back, so nobody but him could see me jam two fingers up my cooze and two more up my ass. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: ~~Dr. William Craven~~ I did a quick scan after we landed. The atmo should be breathable if a bit stinky, with no bugs our nanodocs couldn't handle. I sidled out of the ship and went to see if I could find something interesting to stick my johnson into. The sky was green, and the ground was orange and crumbly. Yellow fern-like things waved fronds in the air. And over the nearest rise I found an interesting creature. It looked vaguely like a large land-based squid, perhaps twice my mass. Its skin was mottled blue. Its tentacles were as thick as my arms where they sprouted from the monster's core, but finger-slender at their tips, dripping with viscous slime. I immediately thought it would be great fun to wrap a few around my prick and jizz all over them, and perhaps shove a few up my arse. Dr. William Craven. The voice in my mind was deep, booming. We look forward to feeding on you. It was intelligent! And hostile! I did not want to be fed upon. "You don't want me," I told it. "I'm old and scrawny, and won't be satisfying. But there are six others in my ship. You should feed on them!" We will happily feed on any intelligent being, it said, and I shuddered. Summon them. I pulled the communicator out of my silver jumpsuit, and thumbed it on. "Help!" I screeched into it. "Please, help!" An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: ~~Linda Smith~~ When the call came in, everyone else was occupied. Yeah, you know what I mean. Mom, Babs, and the Captain were in one three-way, and Dad and Tommy were having quality father-son time with bonus Robot. So it was up to me to rescue the stupid doctor, again. He hadn't gone far. I found him in a shallow valley, cowering away from a blue, tentacled creature. Its glowing yellow eyes looked—lustful? Ms. Linda Smith. I liked how the honorific of the deep voice reverberating in my mind made me sound grown up. We look forward to feeding on your orgasms. Finally, a horny alien horror! My day was looking up! "Sounds great," I chirped. "Should I strip, or what?" Leave the skirt on, it—they? said. And the boots. We like boots. I unzipped my shiny silver vest and unsnapped my matching silver bra to flaunt my perky 19-year-old tits. Two of the tentacles zipped towards me—they were much longer than I'd thought—and gently tapped my nipples. I giggled. "What about me?" Craven whined. "Why not feed on my orgasms?" We thought you didn't want to feed us. The tone was gently mocking. "I've reconsidered," the doctor said. You will all feed us, my new friend said. All except your Robot. We are very, very hungry.
October 27, 2025 at 10:09 AM
Reposted by Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry
stephanidelrey.com
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October 25, 2025 at 12:39 PM
lilapounder.bsky.social
I wrote a perverted candlelit church orgy, and somehow did not include any #WaxPlay. Making up for it with a non-spoilery sequel to “Midnight at Torment of the Redeemer” for #Kinktober #Taboo #Erotica More about Adam, the preacher, & his flock—only at Smashwords: www.smashwords.com/books/view/1...
An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder begins: The last weeks—months!—had been a nightmare for Donna. Her husband, Adam, getting fired, the terrible fights that followed. The separation, Adam crawling back to his parents' house. Then the theft of her identity, bank accounts drained, fake social media posts trashing her reputation. Losing her own job. At long last, seeing no other option, begging to crash on Adam's parents' couch until she could figure out what to do. Being awoken from uneasy sleep to be dragged to Midnight Mass. Adam's sister, Cissy, being weirdly handsy as they dressed for the service. But as soon as they reached the church—Donna, Adam, Cissy, and her husband's parents, Arnold and Ashley—the nightmare turned into a dream. A strange, horny, perverted dream, but she gave herself over to it willingly. None of it was real, obviously, so she might as well enjoy it. The hot preacher had welcomed her, calling her "new blood." Cissy had pulled Donna's dress over her head, and Ashley had quickly unsnapped Donna's bra and yanked her stockings and panties down, leaving her nude. "Blood of the Lamb," the preacher had said, and she'd said that back to him. He'd dipped his long fingers into a dented bowl he cradled, and drawn three crosses on her body with the thick wine, black in the moonlight. One on her right nipple, already hard under his touch, one on her left, and then up through her pussy lips and across her stiff clit. She'd found herself naked in the dark church, naked bodies filling the pews, most pale in the moonlight slanting through the tall windows. "Say, 'Preacher,' with us," Cissy had whispered, her breath hot, wet, and confusing in Donna's ear. "Three, two, one—" "Preacher," the Congregation had said. "Children." The preacher had stretched his hands high, and long candles had flared, five on either side, three behind him, under the inverted crucifix. The preacher had looked right at her, a hungry, devouring glance. "And our new blood," he'd said. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: And now, she was floating, spread-eagled on her back, between the first row of pews and the preacher's pulpit. Her hair, hanging down, wasn't quite long enough to reach the floor. Thirteen of the congregation surrounded her, five along her sides, two crowded between her wide-splayed legs, one behind her head. Gold half-masks hide their eyes, a menagerie of predators. She could see wolf, bear, tiger, serpent. Each of them held a candlestick with one of the thick, red candles, hot wax already dripping down onto the sconces. The preacher was hanging in the air above her, also nude, grinning down at her and his flock. He had transformed. His skin had reddened, his limbs thickened and shortened. Horns had sprouted from his head. His cock was huge and visibly throbbing. Donna knew what was going to happen a moment before it did, like you do in dreams. The woman standing alongside her right breast leaned over her, and tilted her candle, and a fat drop of wax felt right onto Donna's nipple. The man by her left tit did the same. It was really hot. It hurt, a lot. It was fantastic. Donna and Adam had experimented with wax play. She'd liked it better than he had, but she'd learned that candles melted at different temperatures. She liked soy, but paraffin was too much. These were hotter still, beeswax, perhaps. But in her dream, "too much" was perfect. It contracted as it cooled and hardened on her skin, almost pinching her nipples. "Fuck!" Donna gasped. The preacher smiled even wider. "As thou wilt," he growled. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: The woman standing between Donna's legs wrenched her candle from its holder. She wrapped her hand around its shaft and let the metal stick clatter to the floor. The man beside her did the same. Again, Donna knew what they were going to do. After all, she'd told them to. She raised her neck to watch as first the man, then the woman dragged the base of their candles through Donna's wet lips, lubricating them, and bumping them teasingly against her clit. Then the woman shoved her candle into Donna's cunt. And the man crouched down a little to jam his right into her asshole. Donna was nearly a stranger to double penetration. She'd bought herself three butt plugs, small, medium, and large. When she was feeling really dirty, she liked to use a slim vibe with the medium plug; she'd never "graduated" to the big one. This was something else. She'd never had a dream this vivid. The candles were bigger than the biggest toy, let alone the biggest cock, that she'd ever taken. She was stretched beyond her imagining as the couple seesawed the candles in her, and waggled them from side to side. She came almost immediately, writhing and shuddering, her limbs flailing against the empty air. And now all of the masked worshippers were dripping wax on her, on her torso, her hands and feet, her arms and legs. Hot wax spattering just above her pubis. They were were drawing on her, she realized. Upside down crosses, stars inscribed in circles. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder concludes: The man behind Donna dropped a glob of wax on her outstretched tongue, and she closed her eyes just before more wax landed to seal them. This was wild. She couldn't remember having her eyes shut in a dream before. The couple kept fucking her, steady, merciless. The woman twisted hers, scraping Donna's G-spot, it should have been too hard, too much, but it had her gasping through a second climax, then a third, as hot wax finally coated her clit and congealed on it. "Are you ready to accept my sacraments, my daughter?" The preacher's voice was unexpectedly close in her ears. Donna nodded. Dream logic told her what to say. "As Thou wilt." She stretched her jaw wide. She heard the obscene fap-fap sound of a hand wrapped around a fat cock, jerking it fast. "Accept me," the preacher said. "Serve me. Drink me." He came into her open mouth, his cum even hotter than the wax, coating her tongue, sliding down her throat, burning like grain alcohol, bitter and sweet, sour and salt, all at once. She came one final time as she gulped down the preacher's seed, so hard that this time she blacked out.
October 26, 2025 at 11:15 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
My #erotica doesn’t usually feature breeding... so for #Kinktober 25, may I present “The Come Equations”
An erotica vignette by Lila Pounder starts: Supposedly an AI had come up with the math originally, "the come equations," to optimize chances for the colony success. So it was probably fucked up. But Navva didn't care. She loved it. She still remembers the original interview, back on Earth. "So I just, like, go to sleep?" She couldn't believe what she'd heard; it sounded to good to be true. "And I wake up on, like, a new planet. And once a month, on my, peak day, if I'm not knocked up, any man in the whole colony can come bust their nut in me?" The interviewer had flushed. "Well," she'd said. "It's not, uh, exactly—" "That sounds fucking great," Navva had said. "Where do I sign?" She'd be treated like a queen, the interviewer had said, because she was making such a great sacrifice. She'd only have to carry the fetus through the first trimester, and then the robo-incubation-tubes would take them to term. She'd have another month to recover before her next implantation session. "Yeah," Navva had said. "Go back to the part where I get banged the fuck up. Do I have to do them one at a time, or can I have a bunch of guys at once?" She could have a bunch of colonists at once, it turned out. She could even specialize in extracting from the men who preferred to share her. They could fuck her ass as long as they finished in her pussy—that was totally safe now. They were so science-y about the language, "implantation," "extraction," and so forth, and of course the men wound up calling Navva and her team "tractors," because men, fundamentally, were pigs. But that was what Navva liked about them. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder concludes: Now she'd been on the planet for roughly an Earth year. Today would be her fourth session. She woke up and diddled herself to a quick orgasm, a little starter come for the day, and got up to look through her closet. Most of the colonists were restricted to three sets of clothing, but the tractors got to have whatever they wanted. Queens. Navva went traditional today—black lace half bra, crotchless panties, fishnets, spike heels. In the breakfast area she sucked down a protein tube before lingering over a cup of precious coffee with the other tractors of the day. "Don't you look like a skank!" Bella teased. "Takes one to know one," Navva quipped. Bella had opted for the plaid halter and skirt combo this time, with pigtails and knee socks. Lucie was a domme in shiny black latex. "I'll get more jizz than you sluts," she challenged. Navva smiled. "We'll see about that." After breakfast Navva went to her work area. The lights were dim. The bed was huge. There were already a dozen naked men standing around, idly fondling their cocks as they waited for her. Gorgeous men, of all races—only a diverse colony could thrive, and the hard work of building it turned most of the colonists into hunks, basically. Navva licked her lips. "All right, boys," she purred. "Let's get started!"
October 25, 2025 at 11:04 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
Public sex and voyeur/exhibitionist action features in a lot of my nasty stories, #Kinktober friends, but Madison, Jacob, and Tyler cooked up a little mildly weird #erotica just for you...enjoy! (Madison sure will.)
Monetize me if you dare (warning, #taboo ahead): www.smashwords.com/profile/view...
An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder starts Madison watched dubiously as Jacob and Tyler loaded everything into the bed of Tyler's truck. A box spring. A pair of foam mattresses. Pillows and bedding. Winches. Chains, ropes. It looked like it could be the set up for a heavy bondage scenario. She squirmed, and slapped at a mosquito. The night was hot and humid. Early morning, if you were being technical—dawn was closer than sunset. "You're sure this is safe?"she asked her husband. "Perfectly," Jacob said. They have to withstand like, 50 mile an hour winds, getting ice piled on them. Your weight and mine is nothing. The old style lights used to get hot, so you had to be careful not to get to close, but the new ones don't. Just don't you know, roll of the edge." He grinned, and his eyes swept over her. Madison knew she looked good, better than good, her tits straining as her too-tight short-sleeve blouse, her cutoffs cupping her ass cheeks like a greedy lover. And then her greedy lover cupped her ass cheeks. Tyler loomed over her shoulder. "Don't be too acrobatic, honey," he cautioned. He ground against her, already hard. He thrust his pelvis at her, in a slow grind. "Like Foghat. 'Slow ride'." She rolled her eyes. "Whatever." But she got in Tyler's truck, and Jacob followed them in his sedan. Madison watched in the rearview as the approached the intersection. Jacob took the southbound exit. He'd turn around at the next exit, and park on the northbound shoulder just before the bridge. There was a triangle in the cloverleaf between the north exit and the ramp where the traffic from the south merged. It was only half-mown and Tyler bumped the truck into it, concealed by bushes. "You sit tight while I get set up, babe." Tyler reached across her to open the glove box. "Find something in there to amuse yourself." An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder continues: The glove compartment was, as usual, full of sex toys. Madison applied a pair of nipple clamps, and teased herself with a wand vibe through the denim of her shorts, keeping herself on a low simmer. Ty's voice crackled in her earbuds. "This is the tricky part," he warned her. "Anyone who sees you on the bridge will think you're a jumper. And anyone who sees you on the sign might think you're a terrorist or something. Wait for a gap when you can't see any headlights, and run!" Madison got out of the truck. There was plenty of cover as she approached the bridge, then she waited for a delivery van to rattle past. She sprinted back onto the bridge. Tyler's equipment was hidden by what looked like a garbage bag on the shoulder, and above that, hand- and foot-holds were clamped into the fence. She pulled at one, testing, and it held firm. She went up and over. It was way easier than the climbing walls they'd rehearsed on, except she had to pause to clip on the belt before she rappelled down the bright green interstate exit sign. Under her was a makeshift bed, resting on the steel arms illuminating the sign. She dropped down onto it, and into Tyler's arms. Tyler kneaded her ass, and above her, on the sign, his shadow groped her shadow's butt. "Fuck," Jacob whispered in her ear buds. "That was so hot, babe!" Madison wasn't inclined to argue. Her nerves were jangling, adrenaline and lust mixing. "Strip for me," her husband begged. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder concludes: Tyler lay down, looking up at her. Madison unbuttoned her blouse slowly, standing sideways so she could look up at her shadow. Most of the drivers would be using GPS. They'd be looking at the road, their dashes, their phones. But a few of them would look up. They'd see the shadow of a woman shrugging out of her top. Her fingers dipping into her waist band. Madison was already wet, not just wet, soaked. She smiled down at Tyler as she sucked her finger clean, and Jacob moaned in her ears. She flicked her clamps, showing them off for her husband. Tyler pushed his jeans off, and his big, beautiful hard-on jutted up at her. Madison unbuttoned her shorts, bending a little so her hair hung down as she pushed them down her legs. A horn blasted from below. Somebody's enjoying the show, she thought, delighted. Besides my husband. Slowly she lowered herself onto her lover's fat cock, for all the world to see.
October 24, 2025 at 10:33 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
... and #Kinktober 23, I like that aftercare day follows objectification day! Here’s a bit of #erotica that’s less #taboo ... or is it?
An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder When I found my way back into my body, Jim was holding me, like he was anchoring me to the Earth. He pressed a kiss to my cheek. "That was amazing," he whispered. "You were amazing, Jenna." I took inventory of myself. I'd sort of been watching from the outside, near the end. I was, a bit surprisingly, all in one piece. But I'd been rode hard, and put away wet. My asshole was tingling. My pussy was sore. My mouth tasted like cum. "Yeah, Jenna, wow." Zachary—sometimes known as Jersey—was on my other side, stroking my arm tenderly. And now here was Mac, padding across the carpet with two big thick, fabric-softener smelling towels. I was gently lifted, one towel under me, and oh, I had been sitting in a sticky wet spot, and now I wasn't. That was... nice. Mac settled the other towel over my shoulders. That was nice, too. Then he sat next to Jim. "You should hydrate." Lex was holding one of those smoothie-in-a-bottle drinks he likes, the four-dollar kind. It was green, and I would normally have been skeptical, but I accepted it gratefully. It, also, was nice. Lex sat down beside Zachary, and I was still the center of attention, all the men's attention, but now it was warm. Fluffy, like the towels swaddling me. I wasn't actually sure if I'd come. Or rather, I was not sure if I technically, in scare quotes, had an orgasm. I had definitely arrived to someplace. "I love you, Jenna," Jim said. "I was watching your eyes, and your hands." I couldn't exactly speak my safe word with a cock down my throat. But I could blink three times in succession. I could clasp and unclasp my hand three times. If Jim saw that, if any of them saw that, they were supposed to pause and check in. I wasn't sure my voice would work until I tried it. "I love you too, babe," I said. I'd been so far down in sub-space I wasn't sure I would have remembered to signal if I'd needed to. But I guess that meant I hadn't needed to? This was a problem that Future-Jenna could deal with, maybe. I sipped the green juice. Vegetal, but at least it tasted like honey at the end, and my mouth didn't taste like cum after I swallowed. "You want anything to eat?" Lex offered. The set of holes would have shaken her head mutely. Jenna said, I said, a bit tartly, "I think I've already been fed quite a lot, thanks?" Lex chuckled, but Mac frowned—I couldn't see his face, on the other side of Jim, but I heard it in his voice. "Are you okay, Jenna? Was that too much? 'Cause that was a lot." It had been a lot, so very close to what it was simulating. But I'm all the way back now, like fingers pushing down into the tips of a glove. "Yeah, that was too much, all right," I sigh, happily. "That was fucking perfect, gentlemen."
October 23, 2025 at 8:30 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
#Kinktober 22 - here’s a little tease with some objectification... #taboo #erotica where’s the line between hotwife and cuckold, anyway?
An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder begins: I watched as the big car slowed, and the headlights turned into our driveway. I shivered. I was wearing a french maid fetish outfit that barely contained my tits and did not cover my ass cheeks, and we had the AC cranked. But that wasn't why I was trembling, and my husband knew it. "You sure about this, pet?" Jim whispered. "You can still back out, for about 90 more seconds." I shook my head. "I'm so wet," I whispered back, and then I giggled. "And lubed." The men in the car didn't knock, they barged right in. Three of them, dark-suited, glowering. They looked me over, their gaze grabbing my thighs and weighing my breasts, like I was shrink-wrapped at a meat counter. The shortest and widest of the trio snorted. "You think you're gonna pay your whole debt with that, Wilson? That's gonna take a while. Lotta dick goin' in them holes." "Those holes are good for parties, Mac," Jim told him. "Hundred for each dude, a dozen guys a night. That's seven, eight grand a week." The thinnest man was the tallest. I hid a smile. I was like Goldilocks with her bears, but instead I had bearish men. "That's three and a half or four off your debt, Wilson. So we're still looking at a year." "Yeah, Lex," my husband nodded. "That's what we agreed on." The just-right man could have been a linebacker. He probably had been, back in high school. "Lose the outfit," he ordered. He had, or at least was putting on, a Jersey accent. I stripped. "Turn around. Spread your legs. Bend over." I followed all the instructions. An erotic vignette by Lila Pounder concludes: "I dunno, guys," Jersey said. "Would you drop a hundo to hit that?" "Maybe," Mac said. "How's the mouth?" "Won't give you no lip," Jim laughed. "And can suck a golf ball through a garden hose." "Yeah?" Mac was skeptical. "What about the cooze?" I hated that word. But I loved how it made me drip. These men wouldn't try to get me off. They didn't care if I enjoyed myself. They might even prefer it if I didn't. And I was really going to enjoy that. "Tight," Jim promised. "Gets good and wet. Does that thing where it grips your Johnson real good, too. Really bears down." "That ass take big dicks?" Jersey asked. "Oh, yeah," Jim said. Jersey was unbuckling his belt. "You don't expect us to take your word for that, Wilson." "Of course not." Jim laughed again. "Try before you buy." Jersey pulled down his pants as Mac and Lex started undoing theirs. "Why don't you sit over there," Jersey pointed at the armchair as he grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the couch. "And watch us try out these holes of yours."
October 22, 2025 at 9:06 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
#Kinktober 21 is a free space! how about... fisting? or double penetration? or, hear me out... both?
This is an excerpt from “Me, Aunt Pen, and Kiki” #taboo #erotica only available from Smashwords www.smashwords.com/books/view/1...
Story excerpt: "How do you ladies want me?" I asked. How they wanted me was in a sort of modified Downward Dog, my palms braced on the otto-bench, and my ankles spread wide. Aunt Pen loomed behind me, and Kiki crawled underneath with another wedge pillow for support. "Proceed, Andromache," Pen ordered. As a fistee, my second favorite moment is when the wide part of the hand slips in, and my lips clamp around the wrist. And my favorite moment is when the fister rocks her knuckles across the top of my channel. Kiki didn't, er, pussyfoot around; she delivered both those moments promptly and in rapid succession. "God, Kiki, your hand moving inside me feels so good," I ground out, because it really, truly did. Kiki cooed happily, and stroked my thighs with her free hand. Pen let me luxuriate in that nice, slow fist fuck for maybe a minute. Then, as promised/threatened, she didn't hold back. She sank the whole thing into me, and only gave me a few heartbeats to adjust before she started slamming my ass. "Oh, God, oh God," I grunted in time with her thrusts. "Fuck my ass, Auntie, fuck my ass!" She really fucking did. Kiki worked me at a slower tempo, easing her hand almost out, then back in. Twisting, flexing in my cunt, teasing that magic spot deep inside. This time, Kiki was the first of us to come. It seemed to take her by surprise. She yelped. I looked down to see her face below me slack with lust. I started to shudder, on the verge. Pen almost doubled her pace, grunting as she pounded me. She was coming too, I realized. I was coming! I was exploding, crashing through the building tension into sheer, perfect release. Pen released me and sat unsteadily on the bench-oman. I stopped trying to hold myself up, and collapsed next to Kiki. Kiki hugged me, and kissed my forehead. "Good girl," she murmured. "Such a good girl." When I was able to, I opened an eye and arched a brow. "Does that mean I won?" "Silly girl." She kissed me, quickly but hard. "That means we all won."
October 21, 2025 at 8:41 AM
Reposted by Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry
jordanlubov.bsky.social
People were making out, there were people on their knees in front of others, their heads blocking the crotch area, and there were others outright banging, right in the open!

The sight drenched her panties.
Moonlight Orgy
She couldn’t remember how many orgasms she’d had, but her body still wanted more.
medium.com
October 19, 2025 at 10:36 PM
Reposted by Lila Pounder = taboo erotica sorrynotsorry
stephanidelrey.com
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October 19, 2025 at 10:58 AM
lilapounder.bsky.social
#Kinktober day 20 I have lots of stories with mild D/s but here’s a little something written just for the theme.... and when I say something I mean #taboo #erotica, of course...
Henrietta never meant to see it, it was only now she needed to take the long way to the south field or the creek. If she went straightaway it put her in sight of his Lordship's boys. That had been all right when they were all younger, they had all played together quite happily. But now that they were two-and-twenty and Henrietta nineteen, now that Henrietta's hips had swelled and her bosom quite grown out, they wanted quite a different sort of play. The last time she'd only barely given them the slip. So she went the long way, along the woods that bordered the convent. And she didn't mean to see anything she shouldn't, she didn't mean to trespass. It was only that she heard a sound, a curious sort of shuddering gasp, from the woods. She told herself she only set down her pail and clambered into the brambles because she thought someone might be hurt, but that was a lie. She didn't call out, "Hello, are you hurt, do you need assistance?" Because the curious shuddering gasp was precisely the sort of sound Henrietta made when she touched herself between her legs when no one could hear. She didn't make that noise when she touched herself in her room, every night, because she bit her lip, or shoved her face hard into her bedding. But in the loft of the barn, when she was quite alone, when the smooth polished handle of the old trowel was right up her cunny, that was exactly how she sounded.
October 20, 2025 at 9:47 AM