NaNoWriMo 2011, Excerpt 4

Follow the tag Nipisi for more from this work in progress...

Juliet sat with her back to the door and pushed like her life depended on it.

“You have to let me in,” said the Nipisi on the other side.

“No I don't,” she thought back, too concentrated on the exertion of trying to keep the door shut to manage physical words. She couldn't keep them out. They were stronger than her. But she was going to try for as long as she could. She would retain her humanity. They could not stop her from remembering any more. They couldn't break her. They would not break her. Right here, with her back pressed against the door, she was sending them a message that she was going to win. She didn't know what winning was going to be. Knowing that there was an outside world didn't mean she wanted to see it. She didn't know what she was doing here and she couldn't remember how or why she ended up in this cave, but she wanted control of her own thoughts. She wanted freedom to decide what she wouldn't and wouldn't remember. She wanted to feel like a human being again.

“Juliet, you're sick,” said the Nipisi, “let us in so that we can help you.” Juliet could feel the weight of the nurse pressing against her mind, trying to soothe her, trying to make her calm down so that they could sedate her. But then what? For more days than she could remember now she had been suffering visions like headaches, suddenly and unexpectedly cascading down on her when she tried to think about anything. She knew that the nurses were poking about in her mind and she couldn't stop them but she also knew that they were failing. She was tired of the things that they were trying that didn't work. Couldn't they just leave her alone? Couldn't they allow her to remember things? Was that so dangerous?

“Stop it!” she screamed, surprised to find that the sudden burst of anger gave her strength. “Stop trying to control me! You can't do it! Leave me alone!”

“Juliet, we can't do that.” The voice was as level as if they were asking her if she wanted tea. How could they be so passive? Couldn't they see they were hurting her? Couldn't they see that they were making her sick? “Please, let us in.”

Juliet sagged against the door, finding that her strength was beginning to fail. She knew that they would overpower her, but she couldn't stop trying. The door gave an inch and Juliet rammed against it, shoving it back in place. Her feet were starting to slip; the carpet didn't allow much purchase.

“Should we call the Enforcer?” A different voice on the other side of the door. There were more of them now. This was her last stand. If more of them pushed against the door then she would certainly lose. Why were they letting her hear? Why weren't the keeping their conversation to themselves?

“If we call the Enforcer we'll be in trouble.”

Juliet knew that name, and it made her afraid. She let up for a moment and the door pushed opened a fraction. She watched it with wild eyes, knowing that if the Enforcer got called in then she was certainly finished. Probably in more than just a mental capacity. She pushed more urgently. She was starting to sweat.

“We're in deep trouble here already.”

The Nipisi were scared. If they were scared of the Enforcer then she definitely should be. The gap in the door was getting wider. She squeezed her eyes shut and wondered if she could find any more strength to keep them out. She couldn't give up, she just couldn't...

“She can't hold out and she knows it. Just give it more time.”

“Please,” she thought, “please leave me alone,” but it sounded futile, even to her. She was too tired to keep going. She couldn't help it. The door gave another inch. Her feet slid on the carpet. She tried to dig in but it wasn't going to help, she was going to lose and it was going to happen soon...

A tentacle found it's way through the gap in the door and snaked it's way towards her. The Nipisi couldn't see where it was going but it was just a matter of time before he found her. She tried to shuffle over out of the way but that ruined her leverage on the door and just gave him more room to get another long feeler through. The bud on the end flexed in and out like it was breathing.
“What are you going to do?” asked Juliet. She couldn't take her eyes off the tentacles but she tried to keep pushing. There was no response, just the determined searching of the Nipisi to get hold of her.

“Answer me!” she shouted, and then everything happened at once. The Nipisi's limb found her and coiled around her neck, effectively paralysing her. Her feet lost their purchase on the carpet and she slipped, the door crashing open even as she fell against it. The Feeder made his way into the room unsteadily, even though he was so solid that he couldn't have lost his balance when the door gave in. He didn't let go but wrapped another limb around her waist, lifting her straight off the floor and tightly into his embrace. She was held fast as two nurses followed the Feeder in, closing the door behind them quietly. One of them held a large syringe.

“Oh god, no,” thought Juliet. The three Nipisi stood sedately as she shook with exhaustion and fright, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. The nurse with the syringe made a move towards her and she wondered how they could be so calm when she was struggling so much.

“Wait!” she shouted, her eyes on the syringe, “lets talk about this!”

The nurse didn't stop moving but she saw her his eyes flick to the other nurse.

“Juliet,” said the other nurse serenely, “there is nothing to talk about.”

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NaNoWriMo 2011, Excerpt 3

Follow the tag Nipisi for more from this work in progress!

Dark. Always dark. When there was so much light in her dreams it was hard to understand why it was so dark every time she woke up.

She was shaking a little bit and her body was too hot. It had been a few days since the last harvest and her body was tight and tingling. Her nipples were sore and her cunt throbbed and her skin felt flushed and over-sensitive. When she rolled over in the bed and the cover touched her she moaned, as though someone else were touching her. She needed to be fucked. She found her fingers drawing towards her clit and wondered what she was doing. She didn't know why but she needed to touch herself. Spreading the folds of her labia, she dipped her fingers into her wetness. She bit her lip and allowed her body to sag into the sensation. This wasn't like the harvest. This was different.

Since the Nurse has fixed her, she was remembering more. She had spent hours in the last few days going through her mental map, rearranging things, reliving memories that she didn't know she even had, piecing together a life that she hadn't known existed. She knew that there was a world outside the cave in which she lived. She knew about the sky and the sea and about windows with light that didn't come from globes. She knew about planets where there were no Nipisi and about other people and talking and laughing with them. She didn't really talk to people here. She was beginning to change. And now she was touching herself and she knew that too came from some memory. She had been touched like this before.

She knew to rub slow, languid circles around her clit. This was a lazy, warm sensation, not frantic and enhanced like it was with the Nipisi. This was pleasure for the sake of it, not for the harvest. She remembered the feeling of the delicate flaps of skin between her fingertips and how her skin felt like it was on fire when she traced her fingers along it. She was somewhere between discovering her body for the first time and remembering that it had been there all along. Her breathing was slow and uneven. She could feel knots in her stomach tightening and uncoiling.

Flashes of memories occasionally filled her vision. They were memories of moments like these, hot and sticky and filled with a contrasting sense of urgency but not wanting it to be over. Sometimes there were faces but they were indistinct. There were fingers that weren't her own but that felt just as good. There were whispered words that made her entire body tremble with delight. There was peace and wonder and a deep, deep sense of satisfaction. Her knees twitched and her back arched her off the bed. She curled her toes as tendrils of heat twisted through her body. She was going to have an orgasm, right here on her own. She felt wicked and dirty, as though she shouldn't be doing this, but it felt so unbelievably right.

She murmured a sigh of contentment as her fingers continued their motion. Dipping in and out of her pussy, rubbing the length of the folds of her labia, around and around her clit until she didn't think she could stand the touch any more and then sweeping away only to begin the delicate dance again. After a few more motions of this, she could feel a churning sensation low in her belly. She almost stopped because of the shock of it. She wanted to feel every moment of this. It was so intense and yet it was not intense like being harvested, where there was plain and pleasure and the discomfort of being tapped like a river by the Feeder. This was all pleasure. It almost tasted sweet. It was a number of things that she barely remembered.
At the very peak she felt the shudder begin to take over her whole body and she closed her eyes and almost lifted her entire body off the bed.

“Oh Simon!” she cried, and there it was, the wave of sensation that flooded through her from the top of her head right to the tips of her toes, leaving her entire body throbbing and light, like it didn't belong to her. She was warm, so warm. And so tired. Even as her body felt far away it felt heavy, her arm and legs weighted down so she could lift them. She allowed herself another sigh of contentment and realised she was sleepy. She didn't want to move from this position at all. It was too lovely. She wanted to just lie here for a bit and savour this sensation. Yes, that was a good idea, she'd just keep her eyes closed for a little bit longer and let herself recover. Gosh, what a good girl she was. What an odd sensation and yet so fulfilling and so wonderful. How could she have forgotten about this?

On the fringes of her consciousness she was aware of voices.

“This is too dangerous.”

The voice was not her own and she was too drowsy to wonder who it was.

“What would you have us do?” A different voice.

“She is too strong. I don't like it.”

“We can't just cast her out. She remembers too much.”

“You need to break her.”

There was a noise, something like exasperation.

“If I break her, she'll be useless to us. If she wasn't such a rich harvest we wouldn't have kept her here so long.”

“What are we to do?”

“You need to harvest her soon. Her body is going into shock.”

“Very well.”

“We're watching her.”

“Not hard enough.”

“Sorry, sir.”

A pause.

“You know nothing of sorrow.” The voice was tinged with so much malice that a shiver of fright ran through Juliet's body, even as she was drifting off too sleep. “You will be far more sorry by the time I am done with you if this situation is not resolved to my satisfaction.”

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Escape From the Pleasure Planet ~ The Synopsis

This should give you a little insight into what my NaNoWriMo is about. For simplicity's sake, I'm only posting excerpts from Juliet's point of view here, but Abby and Simon should pop up later on!

~~

Simon and Abby have arrived at Entero, the galaxy reowned “Pleasure Planet,” for the seventh and final time. Exhausted and disillusioned after years of searching Entero for Simon's missing childhood friend, they are all but out of hope. A chance meeting with a stranger throws up a vital clue which could lead them to an answer – but they're no longer so sure they want to find out what it is.

Juliet is all but declaring mental war on the telepathic Nipisi that run Entero. Frustrated by memories of a life she doesn't remember and a man she can't forget, she is fighting back against the caring but selfish alien race that are determined to control her mind.

When the two worlds finally collide, the fallout is unimaginable. Juliet has spent years at the mercy of captors who have controlled her through her sexual cravings and knows nothing of intimacy. Simon is torn between the woman he thought he'd lost and the woman that never left him. And Abby wants to help Juliet to begin to rebuild her broken life – even if it requires some unconventional therapy.

With their impossible mission seeming to be at an end, the three face more questions than they started with. Can they help each other to find the things that were lost? Or has time taken away any chance they had at normality?

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NaNoWriMo 2011, Excerpt 2

Another excerpt from Escape From the Pleasure Planet. This is a few chapters later on from this bit.

It was a starry, starry night...

[Juliet] couldn't open her eyes, and she couldn't move. There was nothing but an inky haze. She couldn't access her mind map and she was confused. Was she awake or asleep? Was she dreaming?

Images flashed in her vision, their details obscured and indistinct. Faces that she didn't quite remember surrounded her. Voices echoed in her ears that she was sure she'd heard before. She sighed inwardly. Her mind was now a battlefield, the casualties of several years of memory repression and mental manipulation and the constant battle to retain things that she didn't want to forget. Neither side was winning. She couldn't remember anything distinctly any more, but the Nipisi could no longer keep her from remembering. It was going to take a lot of Nurses a very long time to sort this out.

She was sat in a seat in a large container. Through the small window to the side of her she could see nothing but blackness and thousands of tiny pricks of light, stretching away forever. Giant spheres passed them by as she watched. The vessel was moving at quite a speed. She was surrounded by people that she didn't know, not all of them even human, but no Nipisi anywhere. She was slightly scared, and sore. She rubbed her temples and her face was bruised and swollen. A man was watching her from a seat on the other side of the vessel with concern, and she hid her face away from and stared out the window intently. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want his concern. She wanted him to forget that she was there. She wanted to forget who she was.

A sphere – a planet – was coming into view if she peered in the direction that the vessel was going. A thrill of excitement shot through her. She'd always wants to come here, in a way. It was like a little curiosity in her that had never had the chance to voice itself. Even when she was happy, she had wondered what this planet would be like. Now that she was broken and unhappy, she needed to know. It was like a compulsion. The planet was vast, big expanses of purple in amongst writhing waves of gases obscuring something else, and to the north, she could see giant buildings of grey stone, similar to the ones that she knew from home. Here was a planet that was both alien and human. It was a curious juxtaposition, but she felt comforted knowing that she was not leaving home entirely behind, and yet here was a place that she didn't need to be reminded of it constantly.

She wasn't sure why she'd lied about her name on the boarding form. She just knew that she didn't want to be herself any more. She wanted to be somebody different, even if it was just for a little time. As the vessel came into dock on the planet, she felt a little surge of excitement and a little bit of terror. How long would she be here? She didn't know. Hopefully long enough to forget what she was leaving behind and build herself a life that she could live with.

The memory faded away and Juliet lay looking at the inside of her eyelids.

She'd changed her name? How had she forgotten that? And what had it been before?

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Escape From the Pleasure Planet, a NaNoWriMo Novel

Not a terribly long novel at the moment, either. I haven't been writing for a few months because there's been a whole lot of stuff going on, but I'm currently chipping away at my National Novel Writing Month attempt. I've been taking part in NaNoWriMo for a few years, and I help to organise the meetings in Bristol & Bath and it's utterly the highlight of my year. Without NaNoWriMo I would never have got properly into writing. I would never have finished a novel, or found that I love writing Erotica, or met some of my dearest friends. It has in many ways changed my life. How many endeavours can you say that about?

I don't intend to post all of my novel, but I thought it'd be fun to post bits of it here, just to prove to you that I'm still alive, and that I'm trying my hand at something altogether more daunting than anything I've ever written.

Oh yes. This is tentacle fantasy set in space. And in the true spirit of NaNoWriMo, it's very rough around the edges. In fact, my tentacle monsters, seriously look more or less like this:

If you'd like to read more of that, go here. Seriously. Awesome.

For clarification, my be-tentacled (also telepathic) alien race are called the Nipisi, and they feed on sexual energy from each other and from humans. There are three classes: the Feeders, who have the joyous task of "harvesting" the energy, the Nurses, who look after everybody, and the Underlings, who are the servant class and generally get the shit jobs and get fed upon by everyone else. Well, most of them do...

~~~

When [Juliet] awoke, the room was dark. It was cold and damp and smelled unfamiliar. She could feel a breeze along the floor and the damp smell rose with each gust. Her skin goosepimpled and blushed. The comfy pants she had been wearing were gone. She was wearing a thin tunic like the one she sometimes wore when the Nurses checked her, and she was cold. Something was wrong.

A long, thin limb coiled under the tunic and up her back, delicately tracing her skin as it travelled upwards and out the top of the tunic. It coiled around her neck a few times and squeezed gently, knocking the air from her lungs.

“Don't scream.” The voice was raspy and rough and resounded harshly around her thoughts, bouncing off the mental walls in place to keep the Nipisi from the areas she didn't want probed, like her personality.

"What? Who are you?" She didn't need to say the words, thinking them was enough. The Nipisi heard. Juliet didn't need to see the pale and pasty body of the underling to know that it was him.

"Hush," said the underling, "you've seen this before."

"What?" Juliet was confused.

"I remember when you first arrived, so pink and fresh and weak." The voice was unpleasant and Juliet couldn't help but squirm. They were not the easy, smooth flowing words of a feeder or a nurse, they were unpractised and unskilled. She could barely believe he had his appendages wrapped around her but even as she thought, he was sliding one slick, bud shaped fist down her stomach and parting her thighs to slip between her legs, where her lips were moist and waiting, a side effect of the drugs which the Nurses fed her after each harvest.

"No," she said. The underling squeezed her neck, choking off her air, using the moment also to wrap a thick coil around her breasts, teasing her nipples so that they swelled beneath his touch, hard and sensitive.

"You don't have a choice," said the underling. Juliet wasn't sure what to do. He was right, to an extent, her body would react to his touch as though he were [a feeder], but her mind recoiled from the thought of him feeding from her. It was dirty and disgusting. He was an underling. She was far too prized a possession to be fed from like this.

"Are you?" he asked. "Aren't you just a plaything of your master, to be harvested and fed upon just as I am? What's so wrong with my touch that I disgust you so?"

"You're not right," she thought weakly, "you're not allowed to taste me, you may be no better than me but you're not my equal."

"Wrong." The fist pentetrated her and she let out a hiss of air as it expanded and filled her, caressing her insides and causing a muffled moan to escape her lips. Unfurling from around her neck, the underling continued his upwards journey, pulling on her hair and dragging around her mouth to gag her. She bit down by the underling was undeterred.

"Feisty," he said, drawing out of her cunt and plunging back in, sending a fibril further back to probe the delicate pucker of her anus. "Do you like it there too?" he asked, lubricating her with his own vile fluids before diving in, causing Juliet to nearly double over with pain and surprise. She loved it there, she really did, but she didn't want him to know that. She couldn't let herself be taken and used by an underling like this.

She could feel him battering against the inside of her head, trying to find the walls which made her dislike him so, trying to pierce and penetrate her mind so that he could invade her body and release the pleasure that he needed to feast upon. Juliet considered her options. She could allow him access and give herself over but know that she would be reviled amongst her peers as a slut, one that enjoyed debasement from all Nipisi kind. He was not strong enough to overpower her.

“You once were. You were once a happy little whore, fucked and owned and taken by any that wanted you,” replied the underling, squeezing on her breasts and gently, so gently stroking her ass and her cunt and making her quiver with unwanted lust and desire. “There, I can feel it. You want me. You want to be overpowered and fucked like this. You're a filthy whore, just like me.”

Juliet's eyes were slits, tears forcing themselves out, her body shaking and sweating as the underling tried to work out what it was that would make her submit to him. She flailed her hands and he grabbed them, pulling one then the other behind her back.

“You don't have any more limbs to restrain me with,” she thought triumphantly. Releasing her aching cunt, he forced her to her knees, pulling on her wrists so that pain shot through her arms and into her shoulders. She tried to cry out but his fist in her mouth made her choke.

“Don't try me, slut.” A thrill of excitement ran through Juliet before she could clamp down on it and hide it from the creature. “That's what you get off on,” he said. He pushed her down into the floor, stroking her splayed ass as she choked and gagged and tried to breathe. The tone of his voice had dropped a couple of semi-tones and his low bass growl reverberated inside Juliet's bruised mind and stroked the aching walls of her conscious, rumbling quietly in a way which made her knees shake.

He had found the spot inside her that no Nipisi had touched in years.

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Crawl Home, Slut

I can hear the swish of the flogger as he paces the room behind me. All I can see is the pillow crammed underneath my chin but I don't need to see him to know that he's cross. He's been cross ever since I walked through the door. He didn't speak to me as he cuffed me to the bed. Sometimes he'll let out this huff of irritation and that's all I've heard from him and now I am bored. I'm not in the mood for this but I'm the sub, not the sir. It's not my call.

The flogger lands on my bare ass with a thud and I flinch, but I don't respond. He has to hit me harder than that if he wants a reaction. He know this, and hits me again. I bury my face in the pillow and try not to think about why he's so annoyed. I know what this is about. A flurry of blows rain down on my thighs and back and I settle into the soothing warmth that accompanies the dull pain. It's not until he starts deliberately hitting me between my shoulder blades where he know it stings most that I even let on that it hurts.

“Bastard,” I say quietly. Ouch.

He pauses at my remark and swishes the flogger some more. A heavy blow lands on my ass and I yelp at the sudden shock.

“I can't believe you went to him.”

There it is. There is the source of the annoyance.

Swish. Thud.

“Did he treat you well?”

Silence.

“I asked you a question. You will answer.” I sigh into the pillow.

“No.”

“Pardon? I didn't hear you.” The anger in his voice is palpable but ineffectual. I am numb, save for the warmth of my assaulted ass and thighs.

“No sir, he didn't,” I say louder.

Swish. Thud. Yelp.

“Was he a conceited asshole, like I said?” I exhale again, breathing through my gritted teeth and drawing on the pain to try and provide feeling to my words.

“Yes, sir, he was every inch the bastard you predicted,” I say. I am impassive, no longer hurt by that knowledge. It did hurt, it hurt like fuck. But that was before. I have shut down and am no longer affected by his actions. I just left it all behind. That won't spare me the consequences though.

“And you went to him anyway.”

Silence.

“Whore.”

The flogger batters on and on relentlessly, harder and harder until I am clenching my ass to try and absorb the blows, gripping the rope with balled fists and beating my feet against the cuffs. Tears are welling up in my eyes but I shut them, determined that I will take this punishment as I should, without fuss and without tears.

“You. Deserve. Everything. You. Get.” he hisses between blows, the exertion of the beating making him pant. “You filthy whore,” he adds maliciously. I've never seen him this angry. I'm actually starting to get a little bit scared. I don't think I can take much more of this pounding but I'm too proud to use my safeword and I always have been. Today will not be the day that he bests me. Tears are streaming from my slitted eyes and I can't help but sob. I've learned my lesson.

He stops suddenly and I am stunned by the silence. It feels loud after the volume of the flogger. My body is on fire, stinging and aching and overheating. Sweat glistens on my skin. It itches but I can't get at it to wipe it away. My nose is running. My muscles slowly uncoil and I sag against the bed.

As I start to relax, I break down. I can't keep all this tension pent up inside me. It flows out of me in a rush of desperate, tired tears. I deserve everything I get, but that doesn't make it any easier to live with.

A gentle hand against my inflamed skin makes me jump. His fingers are almost painful in their softness as he massages my sore back, caresses my flushed ass, strokes my aching thighs. He draws his fingers down to my cunt, which betrays me with its wetness. He pushes two fingers inside me and draws them slowly in and out. I breathe heavily through parted lips, struggling against the pain, exhaustion and arousal. I want him. I want him to fuck me. I want him to fuck me while I'm tear-stained and broken and I will be his once more. He knows it's true. We've been here before.

Leaning down next to me, he takes his fingers out and trails them along my skin.

“You're mine,” he says. The certainty with which he says it makes me shiver. Or maybe that's the touch of his hand on my body.

He plunges his fingers back inside me roughly. I cry out.

“I fucking own you, you hear me?” He pumps my cunt a few times. “This is mine. Not yours to give to anyone else. Mine.” He grabs my hair and looks into my make up streaked face. I expect him to say something but his expression is contorted with rage. He is too angry to speak. He throws my head back onto the pillow and climbs off the bed. I hear the clink of his belt as he undoes it and pulls down his trousers. He pushes my shoulders down into the bed as he climbs on top of me once more.

“I'm glad he hurt you,” he hisses into my ear, his solid weight on my stinging flesh almost more pain than I can cope with. He is slick with sweat. It runs onto my back, cooling my skin. “Perhaps next time you'll remember who your friends are.”

Wrapping his arm under my waist, he picks me up and shoves his cock inside my sodden hole unceremoniously. He slaps my ass and I choke on a sob. This twisted tangle of pleasure and pain is my perfection. He knows that's why I do it. I do it for the thrill. He and I both knew that man would fuck me over and I would come back here desperate and beaten. But he knows that's how I want it.

“I wish he could see you now, you fucking slut.” There it is again, the anger. But he gets off on this too. He gets off on seeing me debased and berated like this.

He fucks me hard and carelessly, not interested in my enjoyment. I muffle my cries of pain. He is cementing his ownership of me, flaunting his dominance over my mind, body and emotions. I bury my head in the pillow and let him get on with it. When this is over, things will be fixed and we'll move on. Until the next time, at least...

He comes without fanfare. He's done. That's it. He strokes my hair briefly, and then he's gone. I hear the door slam as he leaves me, still cuffed to the bed. Dripping. Aching. Broken. Messy.

His.

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The Rug

This is the first Wank Wednesday I've done in a while! But you know, the mood took me, and I liked the idea. The prompt this week is plum.

~~~

I’d wanted a cosy little cottage for as long as I can remember. The idyllic country lifestyle always appealed to me. When I came out to this picturesque village to visit a cousin I saw the cottage for sale and just knew I had to have it. I gave up quite a lot to move, but my work wasn't based anywhere special, so I figured I'd just go for it. Lost a boyfriend of three years in the process but at least I realised what an ass he was. So I was alone, but I was happy. Better that than with someone and unhappy, right?

Sometimes I still can't honestly believe the place is mine. It has all the period features you'd expect – visible low slung beams and a cute little kitchen and a massive fireplace. The fireplace is my favourite bit. I furnished the slightly threadbare cream carpet with a luscious fluffy plum-coloured rug I found at a local antique market. Something about that deep shape of purple just makes me feel sensual and relaxed. My evening routine fast became lazing about in front of a blazing fire, just me and a glass of wine and some Bob Dylan on the record player. I would snuggle up on the rug and gaze up at the beams and I blush to say there was a little bit of self love too.

After a few months though, I was bored. I found it difficult to meet new people and make friends. All the decent men were clearly already happily married, living their own idyllic countryside dreams with 2.4 children. I absorbed myself more in my work in order to forget how miserable I was becoming. One night after I’d worked much too hard and drunk one too many glasses of red I dozed off in front of the fire.

I woke up suddenly with that strange sense of someone else in the room that you can never quite explain. I just knew there was someone there. My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room as I sat up and there she was, sprawled on the other end of the rug like a cat, watching me with lazy eyes.

“Who are you?” I spluttered, foggy with sleep and confused as heck as to where this stranger had suddenly appeared from.

“Ssh,” she said quietly, “just relax.” I was too stunned to reply as she raised herself up onto her arms and crawled across the floor towards me, her curvaceous ass swinging behind her. She was dark skinned with long curls which spilled around her shoulders and over her chest. Her eyes gleamed in the darkness. Her grin could only be described as seductive.

“I don't understand,” I said feebly, wondering what on earth she thought she was doing. The way that she climbed on top of me as I lay on the rug spoke volumes about her intentions. “I don't swing that way,” I added, wondering if that would make her stop. I’m not into girls, I never have been...

“Why are you so wet then?” she asked innocently as she unbuttoned my trousers and wriggled them down my hips.

“I'm not,” I began, but her fingers dipped into my pussy then and it was apparent that I was wet. Incredibly wet. Uncomfortably wet. I moaned as she thrust one, then two fingers inside my sodden hole and slowly drew them in and out. My brain tried to wonder how I could be so turned on but was distracted by the wondrous sensation of her soft fingers splaying inside me, reaching up to hit my g spot in a way my boyfriend had never quite managed. She withdrew her fingers and sucked them thoughtfully as a I pined for her touch once more.

“I still don't get it,” I said. The woman said nothing, just pulled my trousers and then my pants off as I wondered if I should do something or stop her or start screaming because there was not only a stranger in my house but one that seemed intent on fucking me, despite my not having any lesbian tendencies.

“That's okay,” she said, “because I intend to give it to you.” She pulled my legs apart and crouched down between them, trailing her damp fingers up my bare thighs and making me sigh contentedly. “Mmm, you do have a beautiful pussy,” she remarked, before thrusting her fingers back inside me as she bent down to take my clit in her mouth. I was entranced by the sight of her ass waving in the air as she sucked and nibbled at my trembling bud. Unsure what else I could do, I lay back and gave in as she worked away at me, building me up until I crashed into an orgasm so wonderful and so satisfying that tears were streaming down my face by the time I'd finished. I looked up to ask again who she was but she'd disappeared.

I woke up again then, even more confused than the first time. My cunt ached. Dream orgasms weren't so unusual but when I sat up I realised that my trousers and pants were discarded on the rug, exactly where the woman had left them. I rubbed my eyes and took myself to bed, convinced that I must have dreamed the curious incident.

She visited me twice more that week, each time when I fell asleep on the rug, never when I dozed off in the arm chair or when I collapsed into bed, exhausted by the sex workouts that she was giving me. Each time she explored my body further, taking me to the precipice of sheer bliss and disappearing when I cascaded into climax after earth-shattering climax. The second week she came I tried again to tell her that I was straight but my the time she'd done with me I had rescinded the statement. Never before had my body been treated the way she treated it. I spent my days in a bleary haze, wondering how to make her visit me again. I started to wonder if I could do the things to her that she was doing to me but she never hung around long enough to ask. After three weeks of all-consuming lust I realised I needed to find out what was going on. I took myself off to the market where I'd bought the rug, wondering if there was something I should know about

When I got to the market I realised how ridiculous the idea was. Did I think the rug was possessed or haunted or something? Could I really just come out with such a stupid question? I was still quite new here and it was a small village. Word would get around that I was crazy and nobody would talk to me. I made my way to the stall pensively, no idea what I would say when I got there. I quickly tried to come up with some excuse for coming back. Perhaps I wanted something else the stall holder had to offer.

As I weakly attempted to make conversation with the kindly older lady that had sold me the rug, I noticed an ass bent over some boxes in the corner of the stall. I would have recognised that ass anywhere; it was the one that haunted my every waking moment and dominated my dreaming ones. As the owner of the ass stood up my mouth fell open in shock. It was her. The woman that had ruined me for men with her wicked mouth and prying fingers. Long curls of hair bounced down her back and her eyes were as shiny and bright as I remembered. I stared at her dumbfounded as she handed something casually to the stall holder, barely giving me a moments notice.

“Is this it, mum?” she asked. The lady smiled and took in my expression.

“This is my daughter,” she said, introducing us. The daughter smiled and said hello. She didn't seem to have any idea who I was. I was inwardly gutted. I'd come here looking for an answer and still didn't seem to have one. I was about to turn and leave when the stall holder was called to another customer and the girl grinned at me knowingly, that wicked gleam in her eye that made me instantly wet. It was a sign. It had to be. I took the plunge.

“Would you like to go for a drink sometime?” I asked. Perhaps this was social suicide, perhaps not. It had to be worth a shot. The girl looked at me for a few moments more and then chuckled softly.

“What if I don't swing that way?” she said playfully.

“I used to think that,” I said. “But give me a try. You never know.”

“Sure,” she said with a wink, “you just never know.”

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Bathtime: An Ode to my Fishie

'Sup?

This is a little bit daft, but I enjoyed it. It's been ages since I wrote longhand, so I got out my favourite pen and a notepad I like and out tumbled this little story:

~~~

I’m luxuriating in the bath. The water is so hot I can only just about sit in it comfortably and full of bubbles. Steam wafts gently towards the ceiling and I am surrounded by blissful peace and quiet.

I reach for my fishie vibrator for some hard earned me-time. He looks a little bit odd – big googly eyes and orange and yellow flame motif – but to me, he's perfect. He's mine. I switch him on and watch him float. He emits a soft buzz and sends little ripples out across the surface of the water. My clit throbs slightly in anticipation.

I like being called a slut and a whore but not all the time. My fishie doesn't call me names or demand anything of me. I can think about whoever I want. I don't have to worry which name I moan. Fishie just vibrates away quietly and non-judgementally as I fantasise about two to three different guys and the odd girl, my imagination flipping easily between them, their hands and mouths and cocks all utilised for my pleasure, and mine alone.

That big googly eye presses deliciously against my clit. I tingle with warmth and delight as I massage over and around, as slowly or as quickly as I like. I pinch my nipples and think about my bloke, lapping his tongue against my hard, tingling bud. I press the long thin slat of the fishie's tail just inside my cunt and think about a guy I want to fuck, imagine him lazily stroking his cock against my entrance, at my beck and call rather than my submissive self at his. I spread my lips with my fingers to push the almost silent vibrator harder against the knot of inflamed nerves. Gratification fans out into my stomach and thighs and I press my legs against the sides of the bath, each new sensation as pleasing as the last.

Sweat is dripping down my forehead and landing on my bare chest. I feel each trickle running down my face and remember passionate, sweaty sex, the feel of sweat dripping from am exuberant lover. This is where I get to relive each moment, flicking through them at my choosing. I can take the awkward moments that I would rather forget and twist them into glorious experiences that I never want to end. My fishie doesn't ask me how I want it, he just smiles as I flip him over, the hard edge of his tail digging into my throbbing clit, urging me towards my climax. I add fingers to ease myself slowly, teasingly over the brink into a warm, decadent orgasm, taking my time to savour the waves of easy pleasure that rush over me. Only when I’m alone do I get these relaxed, lazy orgasms, which is part of what makes them so special.

I shiver despite the heat of the water and revel in the gentle throb of my pussy as I let my fishie float to the top of the bath. He bobs about, as happy as I am, ready to go again but equally pleased if I decide I’m done. I switch him off and put him back and I can just sit and wallow in my bath, no need to clean up or make small talk. I don't need to analyse my performance or his. I can just be. My fishie is an unconditional, exquisite lover. My next bath could be tomorrow, or it could be months away. But fishie will be there, patiently waiting for the next time I decide I want some me-time.

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An Odd Pair, Part 2

Continued from Part 1.

~~~

“Fuck me?” I ask, knowing that you will say no, and that you will satisfy me and yet still leave me wanting. Your every move seems calculated to make me want you more, to make me unable to forget you when we are apart. I sigh as you grin and shake your head, renewing your assault on my throbbing clit. I reach down and undo the buttons on your trousers, wondering if I can somehow convince you otherwise. With my hands around your hard shaft I am unmade, incoherent with desire, and any thoughts of talk dissolve as you work my cunt with deft fingers, dipping in and out of my hole until I want to scream with the need to feel you inside me.

“Please,” I breathe hoarsely, and your fingers probe deeper, sending my over-worked imagination into paroxysms of lust. It is all I can do not to draw your naked cock inside me but I know that you will withdraw and I could not face feeling you inside me and then not getting to experience your climax. No, I realise, I will have to let you have your wicked way with me and then I will come back, again and again until you relent. Therein lies the draw, and the reason why you have such a profound effect on my desire.

You are biting your tongue and grinning wickedly, and I resist the urge to ask you if you find this funny, but my legs are buckling beneath me as I feel my orgasm beginning to build, a heat which spreads through my stomach and my thighs as if to consume me from the inside out. I shift my ass onto the counter behind me so that I can wrap my legs around you, and you pull me roughly towards you, kissing me again and again until I don't think I can breathe and I’m not sure I need to. I am high, my head light and swimming, my brain unable to think of anything more than the fire trying to break loose in my sex.

I am still holding your cock and you rock forward and backwards so that I can feel your hardness, each ripple and throb pulsing through your length transmitted to my fingers as if magnified a hundred times. You are breathing heavily, and I am pleased that I have at last forced your reaction.

“Please fuck me,” I whisper again, although I do not expect an answer.

“Perhaps,” you say quietly, “if you're a good girl.”

The heat with which you drip the words rolls over my skin and I moan, knowing that I cannot hold off coming much longer. You are massaging quicker and quicker circles over my button, but the fingers inside me are still slow and lazy, taking time to explore and stroke each nerve ending of my sodden cunt until I want to beg you to stop because the pleasure is too much, and I don't know how much more I can take.

“Are you a good girl?” you ask quietly, and that tips me over the edge, and I scream as my whole body jerks violently in ecstasy, wave after to wave of release flooding over and through me, all the way to my fingers and my toes. Sounds escape my lips, sounds of delight and pride and surprise. My hands around your cock fall slack and you pull me closer into you, massaging my back with one hand as the other rests on my throbbing clit. I am almost choking as my heartbeat pounds in my chest. My skin is tingling and my brain has gone numb. Sensory overload, I decide.

When my breathing has almost returned to normal, you wrap your hand around mine, your cock still between my fingers, and gently rub up and down. You are still hard, and I like it. My insatiable lust for you begins to whisper quiet, dirty thoughts to me, even as my body begs for mercy.

“I'd say you've been a very good girl,” you whisper with a sly smile.

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An Odd Pair

This isn't completed, but I didn't want to miss out on all the Wank Wednesday goodness! I'll finish this off when I get back from the Lakes on Friday. The prompt this week was conference.

~~~

We are an odd combination. I have often thought it. We are from different times, different places, different morals and experiences and ideas. We have so little in common. And yet it is there, in our differences, that we find the conference of our souls. You are so delightfully uncomplicated when I am thinking far too much. You are one of few people around whom my endless torrent of babble comes to an end and I am content to say nothing, to just be. You are a river, lazy and quiet, swallowing the harrowed waves of my stream and bringing them to rest.

It is the conference of our souls which draws me to you, and despite what I may think about the suitability of our match, here I am in your arms. Nobody kisses like you. When I kiss you I never want to come up for air. We just kiss, hard and fast, tongues hot and intertwined, mouths connected, your hands pulling in my hair in a way that I find deliciously satisfying, and I never want you to stop. I often suspect that you have no idea quite what you're doing, you're just feeling everything out and seeing what works. This experimentation is somehow awkward and yet somehow right.

Your hands are greedy, not content with the curves of my body until you have found the skin beneath my shirt. My skin flushes at the prospect of your touch, tingles and flames when your fingertips make contact. You drink my body in with wandering hands, urgent and hungry, consuming rather than touching me, not asking for permission before taking whatever you want from me. I am drowning in my lust for you, unable to think coherently, just wanting more and more. I want skin on skin, and swiftly remove your shirt, pulling you in towards me and wrapping my legs around you until I feel the swell of your cock against my panties. I want you to fuck me but you are a tease, pulling away when I try to touch you. I drag my nails down your back to get a rise out of you, but you are stoically silent, your own lust evident only in the hardness of your sex pressing into me.

Marking your control over my desire-drenched body, you sink your fingers between the folds of my cunt, taking satisfaction in my moans of frustration and pleasure. I wrap myself around your body and hold you close, digging my fingers into your skin to stifle my urge to cry out. You dip into my wetness and smear my juices on my clit, rubbing in slow, sweeping circles that make me bite my lip and bury my head in your shoulder. I yearn for more contact, and kiss along your collar bone, up the side of your neck, nibble your ear, anything to illicit a reaction from you. I need to know you want me as much as I want you, crave your approval of my body, which I wilfully place at your mercy.

Your fingers have quickened in pace and I rock backwards and forwards on your hand, frustrated at how you tease my clit, around and around, only to knock me breathless with a simple upwards swipe of my sensitive button.

“I want to make you come,” you whisper, and they are the first words you have uttered since your lips first crushed mine at the beginning of our frenetic encounter. So rare are your words during these encounters that I am almost overwhelmed by them, and my body responds like you had just set fire to me, aching and burning to satisfy you....

To be continued.....

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A Sneak Peek at "The Inititiation"

So because I've (more or less) reached 100 followers on Twitter, I want to share something fun with you. I've been holding back on various stories that I'm working on so that I can (eventually) submit them. Please appreciate this is a work in progress, and not polished yet, but here is a sneak peek of the second story from "Tales of the Fun House," entitled "The Initiation."

~~~

Sonia shivered. The basement was cold. She was kneeling in the middle of the large stone floor wearing nothing but her underwear. Her hands were cuffed behind her, the red sash wrapped around her eyes obscuring all but a shallow crack of vision which peeped around the bridge of her nose. She could see nothing but floor, small lights from the candles around the room flickering to and fro like tiny dancers, piercing the darkness. With each minute that passed she grew more tense, straining for the tiniest of sounds, struggling to fight the growing chill, waiting for something to happen. She'd been here for... a while. She couldn't place quite how long, but she had been brought down here, blindfolded, stripped of her clothing and left. At first it had been exciting, not knowing what was going to happen, waiting to see what initiation could mean, but now she was growing bored.

“What's going on?” she said loudly, hoping her annoyance showed. She'd tried calling out a few times, but there had been no response. She was beginning to think she must be alone.

"Patience,” came the half-whispered response, a throaty, feminine growl, full of suspense and amusement and lust. Sonia shivered again, this time nothing to do with the cold. She didn't want that voice anywhere near her, that much she knew. Something in that voice and the way it carried around the room frightened her.

The thud of footsteps coming down the steps into the basement startled her. She had grown used to the silence and her heightened senses were bombarded by the sound. She heard a swish of cloth, a creak of leather, and a solid thump as the feet reached the floor, mere metres from her helpless form.

“We can begin,” said a voice.

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Losing Me

A Wank Wednesday post, under the prompt Utensil.

~~~

Inside the circle of your arms, I beat my fists against your chest. I am upset and angry with you. I have sworn and yelled and called you names. I fucking hate you right now. I have every right to be angry with you, and yet somehow I know that you are going to win this fight.

Yet you say nothing. Why won't you react? Why won't you say something? You hold me silently, taking my frustration and hurt and absorbing it. You do not defend yourself, you do not pander to my temper tantrum. You simply wait until I am spent, sobbing and broken.

You pull me closer to kiss me and I feebly try to stay angry. I melt against you, swinging wildly between frustration that you could hurt me so much, and relief that you are now here, that the hurt is over, even though I know it won't last. My body betrays me by tingling for your touch.

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Idle Fantasy (The City)

I wrote this for the monthly challenge set by my writers group. The picture (if I remember right) is from a book of 1920s woodcuts. (Someone will correct me if I'm wrong.)

~~~

Ezekiel knew that he shouldn’t come here, and yet every week, at this same hour, here he stood, resting his life-wearied form on his cane. This late at night there was a dull hush over the darkened street, and even the rats appeared to have gone to sleep. There was the occasional rustle of paper or a whistle as the breeze caught the street lamps at just the right resonance, and Ezekiel would startle from his reverie to glance around, shiftily checking that he was still unobserved. Of course, nobody would think anything of a well-dressed man in his fifties gazing into a shop window, even at this hour, but Ezekiel feared that his thoughts would give him away to passers-by, and he had a reputation to uphold, and a wife that was already impossible to keep happy. Agnes would likely beat him if she knew that he still had dark stirrings of passion inside him, that often he looked at women and felt himself rise at the thought of running his fingers over a fine physique, that he longed to feel soft fingers on his swollen shaft, and that sometimes, late at night, he touched himself imagining penetrating such a woman and making banal noises of pleasure that would not befit a man of his position.

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Need

This was effectively the first piece I wrote on my journey into erotica, and it's still my favourite...

I'm standing in the ladies, my back against the stall, looking at myself in the mirror. I'm trying to breathe but my breath keeps catching in my throat. I'm a little scared, if I'm honest. My eyes are too wide, pupils too bright, like a rabbit caught in headlights. I know that I look good tonight. You know I look good tonight, I saw you looking at me. I gaze at myself, noting the fullness of my lips, the swell of my breasts, the curves of my hips, the length of my legs. I look damn good tonight, and I knew you'd be the only one to notice, because you're the only one I cared about impressing. I wasn't even sure you'd be here, but I thought about it anyway, bought that mascara in the supermarket after work, borrowed my workmates perfume... I didn't need to but someone said you might come and I couldn't help myself. I so hoped you'd be here but now that you are, I don't know quite how to deal with you.

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Dusk

A Fuck Me Friday entry.

~~

I shiver as the wind rustles through the trees, plays upon my shoulders, blows my scarf around. The sun is setting and the temperature is dropping, dim moonlight replacing the harsh glow of day, wrapping the world in a sensual haze. I can hear the ocean lapping at the shore beneath the cliffs, lazily in and out, like a lover that wants to prolong the sensation. Occasionally a wave breaks on the rocks with a crash, and my breath catches in my throat imaging the passion in the white froth which spills across the sand.

The breeze catches my skirt and reminds me that I'm not wearing any pants, as if I could have forgotten. Although I come this way every day, this evening I feel different, as though I have offered my body to every passing stranger with my attire and demeanour, even though I have not made eye contact with any of them as they have walked by me. I noticed the coy glances and the drowning eyes that drank me in, hoping that I would not see. I blush as I consider that perhaps they rape me with their eyes every day and I do not notice. The only difference is that today I am hiding a secret of my own. A delicious secret that I cannot keep to myself any longer.

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Tilt

A Wank Wednesday entry.

~~~

She is tied, hand and foot, to his desk chair in his office. He sits here, thinking of binding her as he talks coolly with China, of teasing her as he settles million-pound deals with the USA, of fucking her as he chats with his secretary on the intercom.

He tilts her head to kiss her neck. She shivers, his soft lips a whisper against her heated skin. His hand is motionless between her thighs, her cunt a throbbing testament to their shared desires. As he slides himself inside her tight wetness, he smiles. Work is rarely this much fun.

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Incognito

In celebration of my functioning replacement fishie from sextoys.co.uk. ;)

~~~

I'm sitting at the table, my hands folded into my lap, my eyes downcast. I daren't look at you because all I see in your eyes is sex when you think that no one is watching, and the thought of you is making my mouth water, making me hot and wet and most unladylike for civilised dinner company. The trouble is, the more I try not to think about the lust written all over your face, the more I want you. My face goes red and I hunch down further into my shoulders and hope no one has noticed. Thankfully our friends are chatty and cheerful and don't seem to be noticing that I'm not talking much.

There's a throb between my legs and I glance up at you. You've got a wicked gleam in your eyes, a grin twitching at the corners of your mouth. I all but begged you to let me wear the remote control egg during dinner, but I'd half hoped you wouldn't use it. It's one thing to fantasise about being remotely fucked in a public place, but another thing to actually do it. I'm sat quite still, one leg crossed over the other, and the gentle vibrations of the egg send sensations up and down my abdomen. It's pleasant, not overly arousing, and I relax a little. Perhaps I won't get too turned on and it'll be fine.

A rustle at my ankle. You've slipped your shoe off and are caressing my foot with yours. I shiver at the warmth of your toes on my bare skin. The vibrations increase and I inelegantly quash a spasm as the egg shifts about. I stifle a moan as it settles on a sweet spot and flutters of heat radiate outwards into my legs. I want to touch myself. I put my hands calmly on the table and lace my fingers together. I shift in my seat, which doesn't help, but sitting still just makes the vibrations seem all the more potent. Again, an increase in intensity. I gasp and try desperately to muffle it as a cough. You're laughing at me, your hands under the table, and I know that you're slowly turning up the settings, pushing me to see how long I'll last before I either come or run away to the ladies. You look so smug that I'm determined to see it through. Even if I come here at the dinner table. I won't give you the satisfaction of knowing that you beat me.

The food arrives. I whisper a breathless thank you to the waiter as he places a plate of pasta in front of me. He glances at me a little oddly but says nothing, just tops up my wine glass and goes on his way. Our friends look at me with concern. I cough a little and say that some wine went down the wrong way. I sneak a look at you. Your eyes are drowning, satisfaction and want and amusement and I have to swallow another gasp because all I want right now is for you to fuck me over the table. I'm beginning to tremble with the effort of keeping my composure but I'm stubbornly not going to give in. I look at my plate and somewhere at the back of my mind is a query about how I'm going to eat, but I can't really think it through because you've notched up the egg another level and the heat pulsing between my legs is all I can concentrate on.

I can feel a flush creeping up my neck. My breathing has gotten very shallow and I'm starting to feel light-headed. My legs are shivering, my stomach turning knots, and the electric lines of orgasm are beginning to creep outwards into the rest of my body, small currents that promise larger currents to come... I grip the edge of the table and grit my teeth. I will not moan. I won't give in. I bite my lip but even that feels sensual, my mouth dry at the thought of release. I've given up trying not to look at you. You look good enough to eat, and all I can think about is what you'd be like inside me. I imagine that you're hard just watching me, and I want to take your cock in my hand and show you what it feels like to have control of your arousal taken away from you until you beg me to stop. I want you so much that I almost manage to stop focussing on my building orgasm but with a wicked half sneer you jack the remote up to the final setting and I catch a moan in my throat, managing to release it as a strangled sob. Our friends look at me again and my face turns bright red. I try and stand up but my knees buckle before I'm more than a few inches off the seat and as I flop back onto the chair with a thump I come, my back bowing outwards, my hands curling around the seat of the chair. I somehow manage not to moan, but I close my eyes and let out a long low breath, every nerve in my body tingling, fire flooding through my veins, spilling into every limb and leaving me weak and lethargic. I shakily get to my feet and apologise and say that I'm going out for some air.

Mercifully you turn the egg off as I leave the restaurant. A cool breeze wafts into my face as I open the door and I realise just how hot I am. My hair is stuck to the back of my neck with sweat. I walk a little way down the road and lean again the wall, enjoying the jagged bricks against my back. You appear next to me within a few minutes. You're swaggering, your face a picture of pride and amusement. You pull me into the circle of your arms and my skin tingles. I realise how strange it is to have come without any physical touch. I'm tired. I rest my head in the crook of your neck and you massage my back. I let out another long breath and allow myself to whimper a little. You chuckle softly and a plant a kiss in my neck. You trace the line of my neck with your nose and gently nuzzle my hair. I shiver again and moan slightly. I still want you. Your hand is on my thigh, travelling under my skirt to my panties, which are soaked. You groan into my neck, your breath hot and tickly against my skin. I feel you harden slightly against me as you push my back against the wall and kiss me roughly on the lips.

“You wanted this,” you growl in my ear.

“I did,” I reply, my voice brimming with pride. I've passed the test. You chuckle.

“Careful what you wish for,” you say.

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Rush

A Fuck Me Friday entry....

I'm nervous. My palms are sweaty, my wrists itching from rope tied a little too tight. The blindfold is caught up in my hair, which is tickling the back of my neck. I can't see a thing. My ears are picking up the smallest sounds; rustles from the curtain in the slight breeze at the window, the faint sounds of cars on a distant road, you as you pace up and down the room in front of me. At least, I think that you're pacing. I can hear your footsteps padding up and down, and my feet on the floor are picking up the vibrations as you put one foot in front of the other. As I can't see you, I have no idea really what you're doing, or what you're planning. And I'm nervous.

But I like it.

I'm dying a little inside with each minute that goes by, waiting for you to do something, I want to speak, but I know that if I do, you're just going to make me wait a little bit longer. I asked you what you were going to do and you blindfolded me and now you haven't spoken to me for five minutes and I'm biting my tongue trying not to say anything else. There was fire in your eyes when you tied the rope around my hands and your expression promised exciting things to come. You ran the tails of the whip up and down my bare arms until the goose bumps stood out from my shivering skin and I whimpered because I know what that whip is capable of, what it's done, what it wants. I know what you want, but you're making me wait.

The whip cracks and I jump from the sudden sound. Every nerve in my body is tingling, waiting for you to bring the whip down on me. I tense, trying to figure exactly where you're going to hit me.

Silence.

For a few minutes, I crouch, tensed, feeling the lactic acid build up in muscles which are waiting for you to strike them. I'm holding my breath because you're so quiet that I can't hear you over the sound of my breathing. You're standing, running the whip over in your hands. I can just about hear the leather creaking as you thumb it. I'm starting to feel lightheaded. My muscles are screaming from holding them in this position. I wonder if you plan to do anything. I let out a long, slow breath, my ears straining to hear if you've moved. A tiny rustle, nothing more. I breathe in, and my back loosens just a little bit.

You strike.

I yelp in pain, and surprise. The sting is sharp but brief, and as the warm, slow heat spreads out across my back from the impact point, I inwardly sigh with relief. I have missed you, and your whip, and this pleasure that somehow must be subjected in order to be enjoyed. My breathing resumes normality, and I gulp in deep lungfuls of air, previously unaware just how tightly I had been holding my breath. I pant, and feel my chest rise and fall, and I can imagine you standing over me, amused, stroking the whip against the palm of your hand, waiting for your next moment.

You crouch down next to me and whisper softly in my ear as I recover:

“You wouldn't want me to rush this, would you?”

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Spare

A very short but sweet first attempt at a Wank Wednesday prompt. I didn't manage to find my muse on this one but I've tried, at least! Go have a look at Ruby's website, there's some delightful stuff on there. :)

~~~

Shannon knew that it was tantamount to prostitution to bed a Jer'Tht but she needed to know. She had long fantasised about being brought by multiple limbs, some entirely useless apart from for this purpose.

Lee was gentle but forceful, battering Shannon's senses as he stroked, squeezed and penetrated her simultaneously. He seemed thrilled by her response, yet he never spoke. Shannon couldn't concentrate on the curious hue of her tormentor, such was the intensity with which he worked her.

When it was over, Shannon felt a pang of loss, knowing that six hands were indeed far superior to two.

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Court: A Fuck Me Friday Story

With thanks to Aisling Weaver for this fantastic idea.

It’s the middle of the night. I know I shouldn’t be here but it’s so quiet and peaceful and sometimes I think it’s the only place I feel I can really think, unhindered by other worries. The security lights went off about an hour ago and it’s completely dark. My only gripe is that I am alone. I still can’t quite believe how long it has been since you left me. I’m slightly embarrassed to say that I’ve been coming here a lot in recent months, just to remember you.

I never would have thought we could even break into the tennis centre if you hadn’t dragged me along that night in June, when the stars were bright and the air was warm and cool, and it seemed the whole world was asleep except you and me. We lay on our backs in the middle of the court and gazed at the sky and you pointed out constellations to me and reminded me of being a little girl in the Brownies, first uncovering the mysteries of the universe.

Then you kissed me, and I was no longer a girl but a woman again, with all the ferocious animal passions that only you ever awoke in me. There have been other men since, but nobody touches me like you did, nobody makes my skin come alive with fire and electricity like you. You traced the lines of my body with heavy fingers until I nearly screamed at you to fuck me, and then you gagged me with your scarf so that you could continue to torture my aching body without fear of being caught. You took off your shirt and I marvelled at your lustrous body, finely muscled and toned from years of dedicated tennis training. I wanted to lick the sweat from your chest and your nipples until you gave into my desires, but you were having none of it. You took control of me like you knew my body inside out.

You laughed at me as I piteously tried to persuade you to penetrate me and the more you resisted, the more I wanted you until I was nothing more than a slave to your will, open to whatever glorious pleasure or pain you had in store for me.

That was when you had me where you wanted me. As you slipped the condom over the handle of the racket I knew that I would never, ever forget you, or the depths of lust that you drove me to. I looked at the shaft with a mixture of fear and excitement. I was innocently curious, my desire-fogged brain slow to catch on to your intentions. I think I tried to scream but at that point you thrust your fingers inside me and I was lost in a rush of ecstasy and I forgot all about the ridiculousness and stupidity of your plan. When you drove the shaft inside me I was ready, wet and loose and you just slipped it in like you had done this a hundred times before. My body revelled at this strange and curious sensation and I raked desperate fingers at your body, pulling you into kiss me, again and again as you slowly moved the handle in and out, the strings tickling at my thighs.

As you began to pick up speed, you added fingers to the equation, rubbing my clit like it was a button that could be pushed to release me into oblivion. At times I thought the sensory overload would drive me insane but you somehow kept me teetering on the edge between madness and bliss, until finally my body could take it no more and I tipped over the precipice into orgasm, sweet joy rushing through all my limbs.

I lay there for a while, unable to move, my cunt sore and throbbing, my heart beating so fast that my head pounded, rendering any thought impossible. You stroked me and told me I was a good girl, and I was confused at the flush of pride that I felt, as though I had done something amazing.

Sometime later, I asked you why you’d done it. You just shrugged and gave a wicked grin. I looked away, speechless.

Even now, I cannot watch your beloved sport without feeling dirty and subversive, and blushing so much that I have to leave the room. When you’re playing, I have to hear about the score afterwards, because I am overwhelmed with memories as soon as you walk onto the court. And when you kiss and thank your wife when you win, I take smug satisfaction in knowing that you still have that piece of me, unseen but always present, wherever in the world you find yourself.

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