Smut Marathon 2018: Voting Round #7

We have reached the seventh voting round of the Smut Marathon 2018, and the first round where we don’t work with a points classification anymore, but where writers with the least points (jury and public combined) at the end of this voting round, will be knocked out. We started off with twenty writers, but only eighteen has sent in their assignments, which means three writers will not go through to round eight.

The assignment

Write a story where this image by Molly Moore is your inspiration. This means that somewhere in your story there should be a mention of this image.

prompt image round 7

How the writers mentioned the image was totally up to them, whether they used the scene in the image as a setting for their story, or mentioned only the tree, the fence or the lingerie. Their stories had to be no longer than 800 words.

What should you do now?

Read all entries – you have a week to do so – and vote for the three stories you like best. You have to vote for three – no less, no more. Don’t forget to click the ‘Finish Survey’ button when you have made your choice!

Please note:

  • Writers are not allowed to tell anyone which entry they have written!
  • You can only vote once.
  • The voting round closes on 18 August 2018 at 23.00 CET (Amsterdam time).
  • Results of the voting round will be published on this site on 19 August 2018 and then I will announce the author of each of the stories.
  • Only 15 writers advance to round 8, meaning we have to say goodbye to 3 writers at the end of this round.
  • Please note that entries are not placed in the order in which they have been received. I use a randomizer to order the entries.

One last thing

I know it’s a lot to read and even more to ask, but it would be lovely if you could leave as much feedback as possible on the entries, or to make it more manageable, please leave feedback on the three entries you chose as well as three entries you have not chosen. Make sure your feedback is composed in such a way that the writers can learn something from it. This will be highly appreciated.
(Feedback can be left in the comments section at the bottom of this post. Comments will only be approved after the voting round has closed.)

Enjoy reading and start voting!

~ Marie Rebelle


1) I Last Saw Red

10pm

It was a terrible idea. I was gonna get killed. So anyone would say, if I’d bothered to ask anyone’s permission—which I didn’t. I was tired, bored, and rather too alone. And hey, worrying about consequences was for gals who weren’t stunning, dolled up as a sacrifice. I curled my golden hair into waist-length ringlets, framed my curves in spotless white lingerie. Rhinestones glittered over the swell of my breasts.

I knew when I found them they’d never say no. Vampires aren’t known for their impulse control.

I ran into Hatshepsut in that one cobblestone alley the tourists can never find, the one out behind McElroy’s bar. Vampires like it there, because there’s a fire escape that’s dead simple to climb, and once you’re on McElroy’s roof, the city’s yours. That’s what Hattie told me that night we flirted and she offered to murder me.

Hattie isn’t the sort to waste time. The minute she saw me she was suddenly beside me, plum lips brushing my throat. The weirdest thing about Hattie is that her skin’s gold instead of alabaster. She’s a real vampire alright—I’ve licked her sharp bloodletter’s teeth—but she’s gold like an idol, with straight black hair. Inthamun, her partner, he’s properly pale. As Hattie peeled my trenchcoat off and sucked in a breath she didn’t need (I knew she’d love the lingerie), I felt the chill of Inthamun’s movement. Before my conscious mind caught up, his hands were tight on my ass.

“I was hoping,” I said, licking my suddenly-dry lips, “that you’d show me a good time before you off me.”

11pm

My heart pounded with utter terror. My feet were spread barely centimetres from the 50-storey drop. Winds made a tangle of my ringlets. I shook like a leaf while Inthamun’s sinuous tongue lapped shockingly complex patterns across my satin-covered clit and labia. Every so often I felt the threat of his fangs. Hattie mumbled an incomprehensibly filthy monologue in five languages against my ear. I tried to lean back against her, to get away from that terrifying drop. She caught me firm in her arms, and worked my breasts free, rolling and pulling on my nipples.

I wondered if anyone could see me, splayed above Inthamun, yielding to Hatshepsut.

12am

I didn’t remember how they got me into McElroy’s. In a shadowed booth, Inthamun parted the skin of my thigh with a slight angle of his head, a dextrous drag of tooth. Hattie’s mouth joined him as they sipped blood from my thigh. I was too wrung out from my fear of heights, from my primal fear of predators, to scream. I think I cried. I think I begged them to bleed me out more. Hattie pressed a finger to my mouth and said, “Shhhh.”

1am

Hattie fucked my ass with a finger. I suspected she used blood for lubricant—or maybe just the juices from my dripping pussy. I stumbled through the city streets, a vampire’s finger fucking me on, my breasts swaying loosely over lace, and Inthamun swaggered protectively beside us, cock engorged beneath tight leather pants.

2am

My lingerie grew stiff and red as the cuts on my body grew more numerous. Inthamun ripped it all from my body and flung it over the bare spring branches. He burrowed his face in the hollow of my throat and kissed me softly, when all over my body cuts stung and burned and bled. No cut serious enough to cause me to bleed out. Hattie’s tongue swept along the red ridges of them, and nibbled where they began to scab. I came under the sensations, their soft mouths, their hard teeth, seeing red and red and red.

Eternity

I’ll never know which of them did it in for me. Inthamun’s cut across my jugular, or Hattie’s deep bite into the inside of my thigh. Maybe both together. I don’t remember dying. I don’t remember if I died with Inthamun’s semen in my mouth or whether it his blood that I swallowed reflexively.

I woke in a field far from the city, with the sun not yet risen.

“You’re a splendid plaything,” said Inthamun. The first words I heard as a newborn vampire.

“I want to watch humans fuck you,” said Hattie.

I couldn’t remember what sorrows drove me to them in the first place. I only knew a rising hunger and tingling glee. I looked into their shining eyes and said, “Please.”


2) Call of the Sea

The wind whipped my hair around my face. It was harsh and unrelenting, leaving a tang of brine on my lips and a veneer of salty air on my skin. The remote Scottish landscape was as brutal as the weather with its rocky shorelines, dense scrub, no trees.

I found colonies of seals lying on the rocks, calling plaintively to each other. Gulls screeched as they dipped and wheeled. Even here I wasn’t allowed solitude.

The wind and rain became too strong, buffeting and blowing me around like a rag doll. Miles from the hotel, I sought shelter, scrambling down slippery rocks to the beach. My balance held, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I hit firm sand.

My clothes were soaking, my hair plastered to my face. I started wondering how on earth I was going to dry off, when I had the odd feeling of being watched. Glancing round, I was standing in a small cove above the shoreline.

A woman stood there, staring at me. Stumbling back in shock, I would have tripped but a hand saved me.

“Thank you,” I gasped, regaining my balance.

A laugh bubbled out of her, echoing off the rocks and soon I was joining in. I couldn’t help it; the sound was infectious. Tears streamed down both of our cheeks and for the first time in days, my melancholy lifted.

Regaining my breath, I properly looked at her and with another shock, realised she was naked. I shivered in my wet clothes but despite the weather, she seemed oblivious to the cold.

“I’m Silkie,” she said. Her accent was a strange mix of Scottish and other dialects I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “I have a blanket if you want to shelter here a while.”

“Thanks,” I replied, shaking off. “But I’m soaked.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling. God, she was pretty. “You could always strip off, let your clothes dry off a wee bit.”

I hesitated, a nervous jolt forcing my fingers to stumble, but she kept smiling. Turning away, I peeled myself out of my top, the wet fabric clinging to my skin.

I laid my clothes on the rocks, hoping they’d dry. When I turned back, Silkie was sat on a grey fur blanket. It looked so velvety soft, with a white whorl down one side. She gestured, and I sat down beside her.

Awkwardness washed over me and I ran my fingers over the tactile fur, turning phrases over in my mind.

“I want to kiss you,” she said, breaking the silence.

I looked at her and thought kissing sounded nice, so I nodded my assent and she pressed her lips to mine. They were soft and full. Not the hard kisses of my ex, but gentle, promising so much.

I kissed her back, a knot of want unfurling from deep inside me. My inexperience with women made me unsure of myself but Sylvie took the lead, and my tension fell away as her body pressed against mine.

I pulled her to me, arousal building. Her lips brushed across my cheek, fingers stroking across my clavicle and down over my breasts. I mewled as she lightly pinched my nipples and traced her nails over my belly, pressing my hips to hers to bask in the waves of pleasure. I moved my hands up her back, over her breasts, exploring. She was pure, sleek muscle. Sexy as hell.

“No,” she said, shaking me off. “This is for you. Lie back and enjoy.” She kissed me again and I obeyed, barely hearing her murmur, “because you need rescuing.”

Laving a nipple with her tongue, she moved a hand lower, cupping my mons in her palm, pressing it against my clit. Her fingers probed into me, finding my wetness. Slowly, tenderly, she coaxed me to orgasm, kissing me as I came. I shuddered beneath her, moaned into her mouth.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

We curled up together, arms and legs entwined. A wave of contentment washed over me and I realised, for the first time in weeks, I’d forgotten my heartache. I drifted off into a comfortable sleep.

***
I woke with a start, all alone. It was still light but Silkie and her blanket were gone. Brushing sand off my skin, I set about gathering my clothes. My top had blown further up the escarpment and I clambered up to untangle it from a tree.

Looking round from my vantage point, no-one was in sight. I wondered where my unexpected lover had gone; I so desperately wanted to see her again to return the pleasure.

A lone seal basked on a nearby rock, and I did a double-take when I noticed the white whorl on its side. Her name wasn’t Silkie, I realised. It was selkie…


3) El Matador

He’s in her A-Level class, which seems odd. He can already speak Spanish.

Everyone calls him El matador. It’s a joke, she assumes, a reference to his olive skin and ink-black hair. But one day they give presentations about their hobbies, and she discovers it’s not a joke at all. He really does kill animals for fun.

‘It’s cruel,’ she says, when he returns to his seat. ‘I don’t understand –’

‘So I’m cruel,’ he replies, with a shrug. ‘So what?’

His accent, the stress he puts on the –el, makes her stomach flip.

For her, that’s where it starts.

They flirt all year. They’re not ‘going out’, nor have they kissed. They’ve not discussed the tension between them. Instead, he invites her to his house.

His mum makes churros, as if they’re still in primary school. Emma watches, mesmerised, as she pipes batter into a huge pan of hot oil that shimmers like Emma’s desire.

And then, pinned to a noticeboard on the wall, she spots something.

***
It’s June, but the weather is more like mid-August. In his small bedroom, the heat is suffocating. His mouth is frosted with sugar and a smear of chocolate. Before she knows it, her hand is reaching out to swipe it away. His fingers clasp her wrist and they’re frozen like that, each waiting for the other to make their move.

‘What are you doing?’

‘You have –’

‘Chocolate? I can clean it myself.’

‘I know.’ She tries to pull her hand free, but he holds on tight.

‘Not here,’ she says.

‘Why not?’

‘Too hot, and –’ she gestures towards the doorway, ‘your mum.’

‘She won’t come up.’

‘Still …’ She scuffs at the carpet with her trainer.

‘Fine. We’ll go someplace else.’

He leads her downstairs, through a side door, and across the garden. Beyond that, a battered wire fence blocks their path, but they clamber over it, down into a clearing.

Maybe, she thinks, she should be afraid to be alone with him, given what she saw. But she’s not. She’s desperate to feel his hands on her.

‘Why are you wearing that …’ he pauses, ‘…sweater?’

She can’t explain. She’s wearing a black hoody because she always does. Usually, it hides a body she’s still making her peace with, but today her reasons are two-fold. Today it’s not just invisibility driving her.

‘Dunno.’

‘Take it off.’

It’s her turn to pause. Will he think she’s just playing at being a grown woman? Are her attempts to be seductive ridiculous?

She peels the thick cotton over her head. Underneath is a red lace camisole she hopes he’ll think is sexy. She found it in her mum’s lingerie drawer and barely hesitated over borrowing it – her parents are divorcing, her mum notices nothing anymore – because for him, she wants to look good.

He whistles.

‘I thought the red was good. Y’know, because of the bull-fighting?’

‘In fights, it’s me that wears red.’

‘I know. I just – ‘

‘Does it interest you?’

Interest is one word for it. Repulse is another.

‘I saw the article,’ she says. ‘In the kitchen. You killed four bulls.’

‘That doesn’t excite you? Even a little?’ He fingers the gold chain around her neck.

It’s too much. She lunges for him, lips meeting his, hands sliding under his t-shirt and across the smooth flesh of his chest. She hopes he’ll fling her to the ground like a ragdoll, but he doesn’t. He waits while she shrugs out of the camisole, then he hangs it from a tree branch and draws her close to him. They kiss for a long time.

He’s gentle, and she’s disappointed. She can’t explain, but she wants the ragdoll treatment. She’s been having dreams – nightmares, any normal person might call them – where she’s the bull he’s fighting. Dreams where she ends up bleeding out in the sand at his feet while he stands over her, triumphant.

‘Please,’ she begs, ‘fuck me.’

The fingers inside her are replaced by his cock. It’s better, but not enough. ‘More,’ she says, as he thrusts deep, ‘I want you to hurt me.’

Above her, his face clouds. Inside her, his dick softens.

‘I can’t do that.’ He slips out of her, stands up. He passes her the cami and her knickers.

‘But you kill things.’

‘Not people. I’d never hurt a person. You’re weird.’

She pulls her jeans on, stuffs her hoody into her tote bag, rams her feet into her trainers.

‘Not as weird as you,’ she spits, pure venom, and then she’s running, fast, trying to get as far away from him as possible.

She won’t make her peace with her desires immediately, but by twenty-one, she’ll be owning them. And although she’ll visit Spain many, many times, she will never see a bullfight.


4) Washed Clean

“Go away – it’s too hot for sex.”

I rolled over and buried my face in the cooler side of the pillow. Greg sat on the bed, his weight pushing down the damp mattress behind me, and I curled tighter towards the wall. Too hot for sex, way too hot to deal with a boyfriend still sweat-streaked and heavy-limbed with exertion after his evening softball game.

Greg’s fingers found my hipbone as the first breeze for weeks drifted through our open window from the field outside.

“Doesn’t that depend on the sex?”

I turned to face him. Stripped to the waist, he stared down at me, a wet towel wrapped loosely round his neck. In the doorway, I saw his buddy Ryan – shortstop, wise-ass, childhood confidante – and waited for someone to show their hand.

Ryan took a half-step forward and gripped the bed-frame experimentally, as if testing the weight of whatever he was getting himself into. Greg pulled on my hip, spinning me round as if we were dancing salsa so he could fan a broad hand out across my stomach.

“Besides, I just want to kiss you.”

Sweat gathered under my breasts and in the dip of my collarbone as he bent down to brush his lips over mine. I tried to drag him onto me, but he pushed my arm aside and pinned it against the bed.

“Ryan wants to kiss you too. Don’t you, Ryan?”

I watched Ryan’s face fight an impulse to break out in nervous laughter. He thumbed the waistband of his shorts and raised an eyebrow, seeking approval.

I said nothing. Greg moved his hand slowly down the inside of my right thigh, and I felt each nick and callus on his stained fingers as they tugged at my skin. With little ceremony, he eased my legs further apart and looked up at Ryan.

“Show her.”

Ryan climbed round Greg onto the bed. His hair fell into his eyes and I fought the urge to reach up and brush it back. We weren’t teenagers any more. He circled a finger on the sole of my foot, smiling shyly when I wriggled against Greg’s hands.

The wind on my cheek grew stronger, and I glanced over to see clouds bunching outside the window. After weeks of dusty, unrelenting heat, any rain would bounce straight off the ground and flood out across the fields, washing the earth clean. My skin prickled at the thought of running through it, and feeling the water on my face.

Greg shifted his fingers, digging them into my knees and giving Ryan easy access to my cunt. He hovered inches from it, his breath hot even in the stuffy attic bedroom. I felt my back arch in anticipation, the sheet clinging to it as I thrust my pelvis out towards him. Like the first pull on an ice-cold beer, his tongue washed over me and the whole world shrank down to that one single point of contact.

It pushed inside me at first, unable to resist the simple pleasure of flesh-on-flesh. I knew Ryan would taste salt there, from the sweat that glistened on the crease of my thigh and maybe the last remnants of Greg’s cum, trapped there from our early morning fuck. I wanted to ask him how he felt about that. Where things stood between them – and where that might lead.

Most of all though, I willed him to glide his tongue over my labia and higher, taking in each soft fold. I wanted the barest contact between our bodies and Ryan obliged, pulling back, his brow furrowed in concentration till just the tip rested against my clit. A misty spray of rain blew through the window onto my breasts and I shivered. The water evaporated almost instantly, swallowed by a heat that warmed my skin from the inside out.

Ryan’s tongue barely moved, lapping back and forth over my clit as I tensed my legs and felt Greg grip me tighter in response. My cunt clenched and I cleared my throat, ready to ask for something – anything – inside me, but one look at their faces made the words die on my lips. I wanted them to have this, whatever it was. Everything else could wait till later.

I turned away again and gazed out towards the fence posts at the bottom of our field. I counted them in turn, letting my conscious mind fall silent as Ryan coaxed me closer to orgasm. When the first spark of electricity flickered from my body to his, I pulled the bedsheet up into my balled fists and screamed in silence at the gathering storm outside.

Ryan fell back and Greg pulled him into a fierce hug. I sat up and kissed them both.

“You’re right. It depends on the sex.”


5) The Red File

Detective Benson pulled over and put the car in park. He looked across the field to the circus of milling cops and crime scene techs and sighed. When he’d gotten the call, Susan from dispatch had simply said “That old tree in Jim Wellington’s field on route 8” and he could already imagine it; he’d driven that road just two days before on the way to another call. He knew what to expect, it was another murder in the case he simply referred to as The Red File. He hopped the ditch and crossed the field in long strides, joining the huddled group of cops. As expected, the victim was male. He turned away from the body and looked at the gnarled branches of the nearly dead tree. He shielded his eyes from the sun, swallowing hard as he watched a red lace negligee flutter in the breeze, hung neatly like a flag. X marked the spot. It was her calling card and she was getting bolder. First it was a stocking, then panties, and now this. Despite the clues he’d pieced together on this murderess there was so much he could not know from analyzing the aftermath of her lust. He would never know how she had hesitated, how this one had been a bit different, how somehow along the timeline from meeting to murder she had felt differently. She’d felt something.

Two days prior, a cloudless day: It had taken her very little convincing to get her new lover to put the top down and take her for a drive. He’d grinned and sped off, his hand up her thigh, pressing his fingers into the wetness between her legs, laughing and moaning as she sucked them clean, trying to focus on the road.

She had already scouted the spot. She’d chosen it for the starkness of the old black tree against the parched fields and the endless sky, the dilapidated fence that lent a poetic sense of abandonment to the scene. She felt her pulse quicken as she had him pull over, turning to look at his handsome face, her one hand resting on the knife in her purse, the other taking his chin in her hand, eyes glinting.

“You’re going to fuck me against that old tree. You’re going to put me up against it and force that thick cock up into me and make me scream with pleasure. Understand? There’s no one for miles to hear us.”

Breathless, against the tree she dropped her purse and shed her sundress to reveal the crimson lace beneath it. He clumsily crushed her to the tree trunk, fumbling with his belt, yanking his straining cock from his shorts and thrusting into her. She bit his shoulder and growled, goading him on, his hips pumping and grinding her back into the rough bark. She slid her back down the tree until she was reclining amongst the roots. He moved with her, desperate to stay inside, hungrily ripping at the bodice of her lingerie, freeing her small breasts and biting at her flushed nipples.

“Yes! Harder! Make it hurt, make me feel it. Make me … feel.”

He grunted and mumbled with pleasure and her chest tightened as he looked down into her eyes. They’d had such fun and he was so young, so sweet and his cock truly was divine but she knew what she needed. She held her breath, the sentimentality passed. She bucked and moaned, calling out in exaggerated pleasure, clutching his face to her chest, fingers curled tightly in his hair. As he began to come in her slick cunt she yanked back his head and made one fierce cut from ear to ear. He sputtered and coughed and she closed her eyes, finally climaxing in dizzying release as the blood rushed over her. Sated, she pushed his limp body off her and stood up. She looked down at him and felt a twinge of affection, her pussy still twitching at the thrill of the macabre scene. She slipped out of the bloody lingerie and hung it neatly from a low branch. She smiled to herself, put on her dress and got back to the car just in time to change into fresh clothes and wipe her face before a dark sedan crested the hill and sped past her. From behind her dark sunglasses she observed the driver, he looked like an old cop, worn down by the grit of his job. She smirked and drove off in the direction the other car had come from, quickly putting miles between them, one hand on the wheel, the other working her still-throbbing clit, the mental image of her lingerie in the tree a triumphant reminder of her sick success.


6) Old Man Winter’s Farm

The bouncing and swaying of the taxi over the gravel road lulls Jack, but he focuses on his surroundings to stay alert. From the passenger-side, Old Man Winter’s Bed and Breakfast comes into view, a brilliant white whale in a sea of mid-summer Kansas wheat.

Jack hopes it holds answers to questions that have been building since he purchased the antique photo he currently holds. At seventy-two, he wouldn’t call himself a man of adventure, but a man of history? Yes. A man of curiosity? Absolutely. A bit obsessed? Likely so.

The photo depicts the old farmhouse, before renovation, wind-stripped and aging. To the side, fence posts, crooked and broken like bad teeth, held together with spiraling strands of barbed wire. A winter-stripped tree, branches snaking out like black ink, stands furthest to the left. In its grasp, the weathered remains of a woman’s lace camisole.

He turns the photo over, fingering the penciled inscription: “Old Man Winter’s Farm, 1954.” Research has brought him here, just outside of Independence, Kansas.

Tracing the lines and curves of the image, he falls into it, sense by sense…

A young woman with sun-browned skin, sparkling with sweat in cutoffs and well-worn cowboy boots, her dirty blond hair windblown, cascading down her back. She smiles and laughs, but the sounds are distant, and like an old projector film, the images cut in and out, colors fading into one another, erasing the periphery.

She leads him through the orchard, down a well-trodden path to a swimming hole, where she pulls off her boots like it’s a race, playfully wiggles out of her shorts, and pulls her t-shirt over her head. Standing there, blushing, and avoiding eye-contact, in her red panties and matching lace camisole, the sun halos her body, and shines between her legs.
Impossibly, he feels like he remembers standing here, taking her outstretched hand and accepting her invitation, breathless with the kind of expectation one might have looking out at the Grand Canyon for the first time.

She places his hand on her heart. Every inch of his skin tingling, his breath catching as she guides his hand between her small, pert breasts and down her trembling belly. He slips his other hand around the back of her neck, pulling her hair at the nape just enough to expose her neck to his mouth, tasting her salty skin, inhaling the scent of apples and wheat.

He pulls her camisole over her head and tosses it aside as she slips out of her panties and finds a place to lie down in the cool, shaded grass. Beckoned, he finds his place at her side, and she spreads her legs just enough to leave no question of her desire.

He kisses her, honey-sweet, and allows her curves and heat to guide his fingers to the feather-soft triangle of hair just above her sex. Achingly slowly, he slips his finger to the edge of her abyss, finding the tiny pearl of her innocence vibratingly ready for his touch.

They are holding their breath, waiting for him to take what she has offered.

But the wind kicks up, and a voice carries from over the hill, calling her name in a musical echo.

Katie.

Her eyes widen, and she jumps, rushing to re-dress, grabbing her boots, and running barefoot back up the trail. She stops briefly to glance back at him, mouthing the words, “I’m sorry…I love you…”

The driver’s voice shakes him out of his daydream.

“This is it.”

Jack pays, tips his hat in thanks, and retrieves his satchel from the back seat.

A young woman standing at the open front door calls down, “Mr. Smithson?”

“Yes, miss.”

“I’m Emily. Welcome to the farm.”

Her smile is easy and soft, her dirty blond hair rolling across her shoulders in waves.

Jack follows her up the stairs and into the house, where she pauses at a podium holding a register, pens a few lines, and asks him to sign.

“Emily, do you know anything about the history of this old place?”

“‘Course,” she beams, “It’s my great-granddaddy’s farm.”

“Is he still around?”

She smiles wistfully, “No, he passed years ago. My grand-mama runs the place now…Katherine.”

Jack bows his head and closes his eyes. Is it possible? “Is she here?”

“She’s prob’ly down by the ol’ swimmin’ hole. She sits down there all the time…like she’s waitin’ for somethin’.”


7) Little Red Riding Hood

In the shadow of our tree, eyes fixed on the creviced bark, I waited in the woods. Crotchless red latex panties, black boots, a hooded crimson cape covering my sleek, obsidian curls. You always loved to make me wait, minutes crumbling away as the anticipation inside me heightened. Would you let me come today? Let me taste you? Would my skin be left glowing, an intricate maze of scarlet strikes only we could decipher?

I heard the crunch of boots against the freshly fallen leaves and scattered twigs. My feet shifted as adrenaline flooded through my body, tingling my fingers and twitching my cunt. Two weeks I’d suffered denial. Now heat radiated through every cell as I felt your hand reach for my hood and drag the fabric down to my shoulders. Warm breath tickled the top of my head and I gradually lifted my eyes to meet yours. They pierced straight through mine, like lightning striking all the way down to my toes. They were the eyes of a wolf, glacier blue and penetratingly hungry.

“Did you wear what I asked?”

You grabbed my hand and spun me around, inspecting my minimal outfit with visible approval.

“Good girl.”

You knew they were the sweetest words I could hear. Always capable of unravelling me, freeing me, seducing me. As my chest rose with pride at your appreciative stare, I let my head drift in the haze of a familiar scent. Shaven wood and Paco Rabanne, increasing in strength as you urgently thrust my body into yours. You didn’t know, but I saw your teeth sink into your lip. It was only a glimpse, but I saw how you almost lost control.

Then, you kissed me. So desperately forceful I stumbled back into our tree, a rag doll in your sturdy arms. I could feel your cock straining, denim and buttons rubbing against my latex-framed cunt. You growled into my mouth then, a vibration that quivered my lips and sunk into my core. I knew my impatience made you mad, but I couldn’t control my hands as they grasped at your jean covered cock. Wouldn’t you let me, just this once?

It only took one arm for you to pin both of mine against the tree, forcing sprinkles of bark to shower over my head. Part of me wanted to sulk as I heard the heavy arousal in your whisper,

“Good things come to those who wait.”

Why did you love to tease me so much? And why was it so painfully good? The kisses on my chest were agonizingly light and I had to arch my back to feel just that slightest bit more. So close to my nipples that the warmth of your breath hardened them into taut peaks. Your lips were so close, so tormentingly close.

Do you remember how wet I was then? You only stroked the inside of my thighs but I knew that I had soaked you. I could taste the bitter sweetness as your finger thrust into my mouth. I still shiver over the sound you made as I licked and sucked, trying to tempt you, to please let me taste you.

It worked though, didn’t it? As you took your satisfied finger from my mouth and pushed my body down into a squat, bulging denim in line with my mouth. That’s when I decided to use your own words against you, good things would come if you would wait. My tongue stroked you through the denim, long licks running up and down your shaft. Then I sucked so hard on your covered tip I was sure I could taste you beneath the fabrics flavour.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been such a tease? Perhaps then I could have had you in my mouth? But you were too hungry by then, you’d caught your prey and now you were ready to feast. You stood me up, spun me around and pushed your hand into the small of my back, bending me into the shape of a tree hunting for light. I responded, clutching the rough bark and spreading my legs wide enough to feel the cool breeze hit my cunt. The seconds it took for you to wrap your cock were too long for me to wait. I was achingly desperate, rubbing myself wildly, building to an edge only you could pull me over. I felt your cock stroking my cunt, thick and hard as it searched for the depths of release. As you finally entered me, my orgasm struck immediately like thunder in a storm.

Do you remember how loud I moaned then? How you had to cover my mouth as you fucked me into another ferocious release?

I was your Little Red Riding Hood and you, you were my wolf.


8) The Lingerie Tree

The milkweed had grown thick along the fencerows since Sheri had left for Purdue. Sheri was already hot and itchy before she was done with the second mile of clearing them. She gunned the four-wheeler along clear stretches to enjoy the breeze and hoped for another farmhand next summer, but knew neither she nor her parents could afford one while she finished school.

She pulled up near the pond on the back half of their property four hours later. A red blouse waved like a flag on a low limb of the tree near the east side of the pond. She climbed over the wire fence, walked to the tree, and reached for the blouse, but stopped when she saw the hiking boots, hiking stick, stuffed backpack, and ballcap on the ground.

“Are you stealing my stuff?”

Sheri jumped at the sound of the voice. She turned to see a naked woman about her age standing thigh-deep in the pond with her hands on her bony hips.

“No,” Sheri said. “I…” She didn’t finish the sentence, because the water nymph of her dreams was walking toward her.

Sheri pointed at the four-wheeler. “I was driving the fencerow, and – ”

“You caught me skinny dipping and now there’s hell to pay?”

Sheri tried to say something, but she couldn’t stop looking at her toned body, natural bush, and breasts that seemed to push up at her in a challenge.

The woman laughed. “I’m just fucking with you.” She held out her wet hand. “Darlene. Is this your pond?”

Sheri shook her hand. “It’s my parents’. It’s okay. Hardly anyone comes back here.”

Darlene smiled. “Good.”

Sheri’s knees trembled. “I’m Sheri. How did you find it? And how did your blouse end up there?”

“I’m in town for an annual family reunion. I decided to hike this field. I couldn’t resist a swim. The wind caught my blouse as I was taking it off and put it on that branch.”

“It makes a nice clothes rack,” Sheri said.

“Do you want to make out?”

Sheri coughed. “Wh-What? I – ”

Darlene grinned. “I’d say that you’ve been undressing me with your eyes since you got here, but I’m already undressed. You’re adorable, I’m gay, I think you are, and you said hardly anyone comes back here. So…?”

The clothes they spread out to make blankets were soon pushed aside from their bodies rolling on the ground while they kissed. Darlene’s body, cool and tight from the swim, relaxed against Sheri’s, warm from the work and the ride. Sheri kissed Darlene’s breasts until she nudged her head lower. It only took Sheri a few licks on Darlene’s clit to make her groan and shake. Darlene propped herself up on one elbow and pushed Sheri’s hair aside.

“I want to see you eat my pussy,” she said. “God, that’s fucking good.”

Sheri twisted two fingers into her and lapped at her clit as Darlene’s breaths came faster and shorter. Darlene bit her bottom lip and pulled Sheri’s face harder onto her as she soaked Sheri’s chin.

“Bring your pussy up here,” Darlene said. They sixty-nined under the tree, with Darlene giving Sheri long, luxurious licks while Sheri squeezed her thighs and kept her tongue hard and fast on Darlene’s clit. Sheri almost sat upright when Darlene wiggled one finger into her ass.

She clamped her mouth down on Darlene’s pussy as the water nymph fucked her ass and licked her cunt. Sheri moaned into her and could just make out the wet smacking sounds of Darlene’s lips and tongue working her to a slippery happiness.

They lied under the tree until Sheri noticed the sun had changed positions. “Shit, I need to go. My parents will think I’ve been in an accident or something if I’m not back soon.”

Sheri stood and reached for Darlene’s blouse.

“Leave it there,” Darlene said. “It’ll be a nice reminder of the fun we had.”

Sheri draped her bra next to it. They kissed one more time, agreed to meet again, and then headed their separate ways.

They each left a different piece of clothing on the tree for another three days, and then each day of Darlene’s family reunion for the next three summers. The tree became locally known as the Lingerie Tree as other lovers left tokens over the years. Sheri and Darlene returned each wedding anniversary until the cancer took Darlene.

Sheri debated hanging herself from the tree the first time she went alone, but seeing all the other tokens lifted her spirits. She would rest under the tree for a while, and the naps grew longer with each passing year. She figured she wouldn’t wake up one day, but that was okay with her.


9) Night At The Opera

Peter Tusk is very fond of opera and on Thursday night he is sitting in a private box in Covent Garden giving himself up to the pleasures of Wagner’s Gotterdammerung. Tears of joy stream down his face and as the music swells so does his penis which is firmly lodged in the mouth of one Natalie Byng.

Though this is 2018 Peter Tusk speaks and behaves as if he is living in the 1950s. His wife, Judy Tusk, who we will come to shortly, blames his middle class upbringing but he likes to think of himself as modern and ‘with it’ and has no qualms about attending open mic comedy nights at his local pub or paying for an escort to join him for an evening at the opera.

Natalie Byng’s oral skills delight Peter Tusk. She is able to tease and tantalise his penis, keeping him on edge until, as the saying goes, the fat lady starts to sing. Eventually, after a worrying period of whining and growling he ejaculates deep into her throat with the anguished cry of a man in his death throes. He is drowned out, thankfully, by Brunhilda.

‘I enjoyed that,’ says Natalie Byng, licking her lips.

‘Yes absolutely. Spot on. One can never have enough Wagner.’

At the end of the week Peter Tusk sometimes buys his wife a present. This particular Friday, as he sits on the overcrowded train home, he wonders if he might have overstepped the mark. His wife is a rather particular woman, and though, like him, only in her late thirties, is as set in her ways as it is possible to be. Her ways are also redolent of the 1950s. Everything has to be ‘just so’. Whether this gift comes into the ‘just so’ category remains to be seen.

Arriving home after his weekly sojourn in London, Peter Tusk places the gift box casually on the occasional table next to the Friday night gin and tonics. Judy Tusk ignores it and carries on drinking.

Their life is measured in pauses. Eventually after a particularly long one she stands up and moves towards the bay window. With a waft of her hand in the direction of the garden she says, ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten we have guests on Sunday. So that tree needs a good pruning and the barbed wire fence, well, it’s a frightful mess. Only when you have a moment Peter. But you’re so good at tidying things up.’

‘Accounts, yes. Trees and fences no.’

‘Well it’s your barbecue. By the way, remind me, why do we have a barbed wire fence? This isn’t the Western Front.

But as usual Friday night trenches are being dug and any hope of his beautifully packaged present inducing a truce and a game of football in no man’s land start to fade very quickly.

Apart from a bravura performance cooking the Sunday barbecue Peter Tusk has a miserable weekend and no amount of guests asking for the recipe of his delicious marinades can compensate for the pain and suffering he endures.

The busy Monday train is never more welcome and making an arrangement to see Natalie Byng for the evening in her dungeon lifts his spirits.

As she flogs him it all comes out in fits and starts.

‘She didn’t like the present. That lovely red boudoir top. The one you recommended.’

‘Don’t blame me,’ Natalie Byng jokes as she expertly lashes him again.

‘I don’t. If she didn’t like it I would have changed it but oh no she had to throw it away in disgust as if I’d given her a bottle of cheap supermarket gin. Talking of which, by the middle of Sunday afternoon she was absolutely blotto and went off for a lie down, or so I thought. Moments later she reappeared wearing the said item and started to rant drunkenly at our friends and neighbours.’

“My husband thinks I’m a trollop so he buys me this hideous lingerie. Red. I ask you. Thought it would spice up our marriage bed. Fat fucking chance.”

‘I raced up to her and tried to put my apron over her. I mean everyone could see her tits. Thank god she’d kept her knickers on. But she ran off down the garden at quite a canter and then took it off, very theatrically, and tossed it in the air. All the guests departed pretty smartish and I was left trying to console her. The sad thing is she did look rather good in it.”

‘Any chance of a refund?’

‘No, it landed on a barbed wire fence. Ruined.’

‘Rotten luck. Anyway Peter. Fancy a nice cup of tea?’

‘Yes absolutely. Spot on.’


10) Writer’s Block

My foot was being tickled. I huffed and moved to the other side of the couch to continue focusing on my computer. A hand slid up my shorts and tugged on the crotch of my black silky panties. Grumbling, I wiggled away.

“Kitten, what are you working on?” Daniel asked with a tinge of exasperation in his voice.

“That writing contest thingy. It’s due soon.”

“Hmmmm. Let me see?” His strong hands moved over the back of my thighs, and I could feel him draw little hearts with his finger.

“You know that my story is top secret! It’s kitten business!” I scooched my body all the way off the couch and out of his reach before resuming the clatter of my fingers on the keyboard.

My nose squiggled up while I thought. I was on the hard part of the story. I wanted heat, action, and a feeling of urgency, but I had zero inspiration. Writing erotica was my passion, but my latest drivel left me cold. A frustrated growl rumbled from my lips, and I could feel his eyes peering over my shoulder.

“Kitten? You’re writing about a couple having sex in a hurricane? People don’t have sex when a storm is coming. They evacuate to safety. Hurricanes aren’t very sexy, sweetheart.”

“I know it’s bad. It BLOWS! My first idea was a story about a dude getting turned on by looking at a picture of red lingerie hanging in a tree. He tried crossdressing, but his giant furry body tore the thin fabric, and he freaked out because his prudish wife might discover his secret wish. The torn clothes reminded me of Hulk which led me to Googling “Hulk Porn.” I saw an enormous green peen touch Iron Man’s robot peen. It was so hot that it dragged me into a porn hole. My dildo snuck out of my drawer to play. I chucked the crossdresser because I couldn’t unsee the giant emerald penis when I tried to write more so I made up the hurricane story. It’s awful.”

My words tumbled out until I needed to gulp in a big breath. Daniel chuckled.

“Maybe take a little more time to think. Let me see your prompt.”

“No! It’s the contest rules! ACK! Nooooo! Don’t look at my computer!” I slammed my laptop closed and scrambled into the kitchen.

I heard him following me with measured footsteps. Daniel’s voice was hard when he found me.

“Did you just say no, Little One?”

“No,” I swallowed softly as he arched his eyebrows at me, “I mean, yes, Sir.”

“Computer. Kitten,” he ordered.

I placed my precious laptop in his hands, and he put it up on top of the refrigerator. Electric anticipation zipped through my body as I watched him slide his leather belt free and unbutton the cuffs of his shirt. He laid the belt on the kitchen counter and began to roll his sleeves. His unhurried movements entranced me with their grace. His eyes fixed on mine. My teeth pulled my lower lip in to worry it back and forth. Daniel noticed my fidget and reached to cup my chin before claiming me with a kiss. The dizzy drunk feeling of want erased my thoughts and narrowed my world to a pinpoint of him.

“Strip and bend over the chair, Kitten. You do not tell me no without a good reason. A spanking will help you remember our rule.”

I quickly dropped my shorts and panties to the floor and held the chair. He traced the curve of my spine with the belt. The cool leather against my heated skin gave me goosebumps as I anticipated the impending sting with the tension of an iron skillet. There was a rush of air before the first satisfying snap of the belt echoed in the room. His rhythmic strokes soon made me lose count. Tears spilled down my cheeks, but the slick heat between my thighs proved my excitement. My body wobbled. The belt immediately was dropped, and he steadied me gently.

Daniel eased me up onto the kitchen table. The cool surface soothed my sore bottom. He wiped the tears and kissed my nose before nuzzling my neck. I closed my eyes to savor his sweet touch. My body became an instrument that he played masterfully. Hands caressed my skin tenderly, but his lips grazing my belly made me arch my back and moan. I felt his breath whisper past my aching pussy; his smile inches from my frustration. Subspace bliss loomed at the edge of my consciousness. But instead of reaching for release, lovers entwined in passionate embraces flooded my brain. I had a hot little story to tell. My eyes fluttered open, and Daniel was looking at me with smug satisfaction.

“Ready to write, Kitten?”


11) Dust in the Wind

It was a dark and stormy night.

A shit way to begin, I know, but that’s how this starts.

Mid July, on a day that was supposed to be hot. The weatherman didn’t mention rain, but Mother Nature was a fickle bitch.

I’d been out running product for the boss. I was the only guy reliable enough to move it without it disappearing before it reached the buyer. He trusted me and that trust kept money in my pocket. It also kept me alive.

Anyway, dark and stormy.

The run that night had me in the middle of rural Oregon. It was raining so hard I couldn’t see in front of me. My Roadster can take it, but the crater sized potholes were slowing my trek more than the downpour.

I was ten miles from the buyer when the strangest thing happened.

The rain just stopped. I glanced in the rear view to see a solid sheet of rain and darkness behind me. In front of me was mid day gray skies, dotted with fat clouds.

Something red blowing in the distance caught my eye. It waved like a bright beacon, like a spot of mama’s spaghetti sauce on one of my white polos.

I pulled off to the side of the road, just beside a fallow field. The squish of my shoes as I stepped in mud made me hesitate. I groaned as I realized I was about to ruin my favorite pair of loafers in this muck. Grumbling under my breath, I sidestepped the worst of it until I made it to the fence.

Ducking under the barbed wire, I scraped a ragged line across the back of my suit. I felt the tug and cursed a blue streak. My brand new suit. Do you know how expensive a brand new Brooks Brothers is?

I managed to clear the fence and as I crossed the field the red speck flickered in my vision. It was a peekaboo, baby doll number blowing in the breeze one moment. Then it was a woman. I mean, woman with a capital W. The kind I pay to stand next to me, to strip outta their clothes for me, or pretend they care what I say.

She was bouncy in all the ways I loved. Bouncy blonde hair and big bouncy breasts. Add those dick sucking lips and pleading blue eyes, and my wet dreams had manifested.

My eyes had to be deceiving me. Perhaps I’d dipped into the boss’ supply because I had to be hallucinating. The whole moment was a fake out, but I couldn’t quite convince my straining dick that it wasn’t real.

The way she turned, her peach of an ass jiggling, she knew my eyes were on her. Her lingerie fluttered in the wind, giving peeks of pussy and that fine ass as she turned. She was stacked in the front too, her nipples threatening to pop out of the cups each time she twirled.

“What are you doing out here?”

The wind carried my voice away. It was trying to carry me away with it. That pricy tie I’d splurged on was flapping up in my face trying to block my view.

She just kept spinning.

The straps slipped down her shoulders on each turn. First one breast bounced free, revealing a lovely brown nipple the size of a dime, and then the other. My mouth was watering to taste her. It fell down to her waist, showing off the glint of a belly ring. It fell down her golden thighs leaving her spinning in a circle of blood red. She was glistening skin and pleading eyes. Fuck me, those eyes begged.

I was under her spell, the closer I got the deeper I fell.

Just when I was in touching distance, I could smell her wet pussy and almost touch the tip of one erect nipple, a breeze stiffer than my cock sent me to my back in the grass.

I lay on the ground, a wave of dizziness nearly overtaking me. There she was above me, gleaming cunt and pouty smile. I was definitely ready to sample this product.

“You shouldn’t touch things that aren’t yours, Danny.”

I was dumbfounded at the chain-smoking rasp of my boss’ voice coming out of those pretty lips.

“What?”

Another stiff wind sent my head back.

“You know my trust is a fragile thing.”

I blinked and my squat, pimple faced boss was hovering over me. I was in that field, alright, but was staring down a gun instead of up at a pink pussy. My recall of what lead me here snapped into sharp focus.

This was my mistake. My first, and last, time sampling the product.


12) The Girl in Red

The stack of books on the floor needed to go too. He glanced over the titles one more time and then tossed them in the box with the old coffee maker, shower curtain and a broken clock. As he did, something slid out onto the ground. A polaroid picture. He saw the writing on the back and froze.

“I still have splinters!”

He didn’t need to flip over the picture. He knew exactly what it was because the image of those thin black reaching branches and the splash of red were permanently burned into his mind. He tried so hard not to think of her most days but suddenly he was back there on that chilly fall day and the memories came in a rush. He smelled apple cider and pending rain, saw crackling leaves falling and that red strap peeking out at her shoulder in a striking contrast to her conservative navy dress. He remembered the satiny softness of the strap under his fingertips as he stroked her shoulder and the way she’d blushed and tried to pull it back under her dress. He’d hooked it with his finger though and pulled her closer. “Well, well, what have we here?” he growled into her ear as he stroked the strap and then the outline of her round breast through her dress.

He heard her breath catch in her throat as his lips slid down her neck. At first he just meant to tease her, but when he pulled that red strap down her arm and saw her nipples tighten to hard peaks through her dress, his cock hardened also.

He’d pushed her up against the tree that day, and slid his hands under her skirt. Shockingly, she wasn’t wearing any panties, which was so unlike her. He’d held her soft bottom in his hands and spread her wide, her pink cunt slick with moisture. She hooked her legs over his shoulders as he pressed his face between her thighs. The salty oceanic taste of her, the wet velvet of her lips and the pulsing of her orgasm against his tongue, he remembered all of it. The mental picture of her against that tree with her dress hiked up around her waist, her white hands gripping the branches and blond hair in disarray across her face, that was still the memory that returned to him at night, all these years later.

Eventually her dress came off and he had another vivid memory of her riding him. She was dressed only in the red lace, her blond hair streaming down her arched back and her cunt clenching around him. He only vaguely remembered pulling off the lace teddy and tossing it over his head. He had wanted her naked, her full breasts in his hands and his cock buried deep inside her.

In the aftermath, she’d collapsed panting on his chest. He glanced up then and saw the red lace tangled in the tree branch, hanging by one strap. They’d laughed so hard about that. She was the one who straightened it out, hung it up properly and snapped the picture. “For the memories,” she said with a wink. For one brief season he’d had that picture on his bedside table and it was the first thing he saw every morning.

It was the perfect day and they hadn’t gotten another.

He reached down to pick up the polaroid. For a minute he held it in his hand, the ghostly taste of her still in his mouth, then he set it down on the stack of books. It was time to let go. He took a deep breath and turned around to pick up the next box.


13) Marked For Life

Asira stood over her kill, breathing heavily underneath the bare branches of a dead tree. A sheen of sweat covered her exposed skin, and her long black hair stuck in sweaty ringlets on her forehead and back. The white, lacy shirt that covered her upturned breasts was splattered with the blood of the cougar that lay at her feet. It had put up a fight, but Asira was victorious. She touched her hand to her face and winced. The cougar’s claws had caught a glancing blow, and drops of blood welled from the fine scratches that crossed her cheek and nose.

She rested her spear against the dark trunk of the tree and untied her top, slipping it from her body. Her boots followed, and then her leather pants and panties. Naked, she bent to the ground, nudging its head aside. The cougar’s blood had pooled in an indentation on a large rock, and she pressed her top into the blood, saturating the white with the vibrant red.

Standing, Asira made her way carefully over the blackened ground, the dead grasses scratching at her thighs. The sky above was grey, and only the lone cawing of a crow broke the silence. She reached the broken fence, stepping gingerly across the strands of barbed wire trailing on the ground. Above her head was a long branch, and she looped the straps of her now-red top over two of its nubs. Blood dripped from the bottom of the lace and was absorbed into the dead and thirsty ground below. This was her sign that she had triumphed.

Asira made her way back to the tree and down to the brook below. She washed the sweat and the splatter of blood from her body as best she could, then she followed the water downhill, her feet leaving faint but distinct imprints in the black sand by the bank. The brook widened into a pool, and she entered the water, walking until she was waist deep. She cupped her hands and splashed her face several times with the cold water, rinsing the blood from her wound.

The coolness of the water was making Asira shiver, and she was thinking about returning to shore when she heard footsteps padding on the sand. She turned slowly and saw Jayger striding on long, sinewy legs towards the pool, his arms full of furs. Asira smiled. She had hoped he would be the one to come. Jayger was a warrior and a strong hunter, desired by most. His blond hair was long and usually tied in a ponytail with a leather strap, which accented his chiseled features and brown eyes. His chest was marked, like Asira’s face, by the claws of an angry cougar. She felt a stirring between her legs as she watched him, and her knees grew weak.

Jayger’s eyes lit up when they met hers, and his smile warmed her. He stopped and spread the furs upon the ground, smoothing them on top of the sand. Walking knee deep into the pool, he held out his hands and Asira came to him, taking them in her own. He bent and gently kissed her nose and her cheek, his touch easing her pain.

“I saw your shirt and knew you’d survived,” Jayger said between kisses.

“Yes. It was angry, and struck me when I cornered it. I was scared.”

“You’re a warrior now. Marked by battle.” Jayger nipped at her neck along her artery, and Anisa swooned. She looked up at him with desire in her eyes.

“Take me.”

Jayger scooped her up and carried her to shore, laying her down on the furs. Water dripped from their bodies as they kissed deeply. As his hands caressed her body, Asira untied his loincloth and tossed it aside. She grasped his cock, which was hard and throbbing, and guided it into her wetness.

She was starving for him, and her hips rose to meet Jayger’s thrusts as her tongue explored his mouth. As his tempo increased, her hands, which had been pressing into his back, began to clutch at his skin. Her fingernails raked down his back, drawing blood. She was the cougar now, marking him as her own.

Jayger was breathing hard, and when he felt Asira’s nails he grunted, and his muscles tightened. Asira began to whimper, then moan, and her cries rang out as her orgasm possessed her. She bucked wildly, and Jayger thrust harder and deeper, claiming her. He cried out finally in release, collapsing on top of her.

As their breathing slowed, Jayger stroked Asira’s hair and began kissing her face from her forehead to her chin. She sighed contentedly, caressing his cheek, and wished the moment would never end. She could lie here with her fellow warrior forever.


14) The Red Underwear

The red underwear had been hanging on her washing line for three days now. Polly had no idea where it came from or who it belonged to, but it had been there for three days and she knew the neighbours had noticed.

Flapping in the wind like a flag, there was no way anyone could miss it. The red baby doll called to her, fluttering ominously in the corner of her vision or forcing its way into her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Polly was scared; it looked like a bright warning, and a temptation.

On the fourth morning, she’d had enough. It was just underwear and it didn’t belong outside her house, marking her out as some sort of harlot! Taking a fortifying deep breath that felt both ridiculous and entirely necessary, she tugged it off the line.

And immediately dropped it as the touch of the fabric overwhelmed her. Polly felt winded and dizzy at the intensity of what had flowed into her from that single touch. She thought she might faint, expect that it felt good. It felt really good! Deep inside her, something caught fire and the pleasure this ignited flickered hot against her skin. Except the sensation faded so quickly once the lingerie lay on the floor that Polly briefly wondered if she had imagined it. Embarrassed at how flushed she must now look, she bent over to pick it up again.

But as soon as the scrap of delicate red fabric was clutched in her hand, Polly again felt that same white hot pleasure burning inside. Holding on longer this time so she could at least get inside, away from the gaze of her neighbours, she was assailed with flashes of sights and sounds that felt like memories – but memories she’d never experienced before.

A deep voice asking ‘is this what you want?’ And her answer, ‘I want everything!’

Hands. So many hands all over her body. These false memories were so strong that Polly could feel the brush of their fingertips on her nipples, feel their pull through her hair. Hands gripping her arms and holding them up over her head. Different hands spreading her legs and teasing between, probing and caressing her depths and making her body arch with need.

The same voice whispering in her ear was so close and so intense that Polly turned instinctively towards it but she was still alone.

‘Tell me what you are.’

‘I’m a fuck toy for you to play with. To fuck and tease and use as you want.’

At these words, an unstoppable moan burst from Polly’s lips as she barrelled in through the door. Panting, she pressed back against the glass, her whole body shuddering as she slid to the floor. She had no idea how or why, but she was coming. Without thinking, she pushed her hand into her knickers and swiped through the thick wetness pooled there to find her clit. It was swollen and throbbing, and the slightest pressure from her fingers started another climax that flowed outwards down her limbs, crackling through her skin and flashing in front of her eyes.

The red baby doll was still crumpled in her hand but as she rocked with the most intense orgasm of her life, it slipped from her fingers and, instantly, the power behind her pleasure began to fade. She could feel it ebbing away to nothing, and soon it was only the sticky residue still coating her fingers that convinced her it had happened at all.

What on Earth had happened? Where had those fantasies come from, and why did they feel so real? She hadn’t just imagined those touches; she remembered them.

Standing up and moving to the mirror, Polly turned to look at the back of her arm. The chain of small bruises she’d found four days ago was still there. Where they fingerprints? Had those hands she’d imagined holding her so tightly really happened? Really marked her?

Why didn’t she remember? Why hadn’t she known?

Slowly, nervously, but completely unable to resist, Polly stripped off her clothes and pulled the red baby doll over her head, letting the silky fabric caress her skin as it slipped into place. It fitted beautifully, like it was made for her.

Standing in her hallway, wearing this beautiful lingerie, Polly felt intoxicated. That same intense pleasure washed through and around her, surrounding her in a rich perfume and tinting her vision to add golden glows to her whole world. Reality seemed to slowly drift away as she lost herself in the heady hedonistic possession.

‘Baby.’ The voice that had so bewitched her had returned. It came from her bedroom. ‘Baby, we’re waiting for you…’


15) The Handyman Can

“It’s no problem, Carolyn. I understand. We’ll go another day. Thanks for calling.”

Since Gene had announced his plans at the breakfast table to drive over to Jolene McClurg’s place to help her repair a thresher, Felicity had secretly been hoping Carolyn would cancel. Sure, she had errands that needed running in the city, but she could wear her worn-out mules to church for one more week if skipping the shoe store meant spending the afternoon in Carey’s work-bulked, tattooed arms.

As soon as she hung up the phone, she scampered out the side door and across her garden to where the branches of an old tree bowed low enough that she could easily fling her red negligee into them. Often, when whispering into her ear while loosing her hair from its workaday braid, Carey professed how anxiously he watched for the fluttering of this secret signal as he went about his chores. For it meant that Gene had chugged off down the road in his customary cloud of dust, and that Felicity would be waiting for the hard-bodied handyman when he burst through her bedroom door.

Carey, Felicity knew, was seldom idle. It might take five minutes, it might take forty, but he always came when she hung out the invitation; she hurried back into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom.

It was Gene’s bedroom, too, of course. She just hadn’t expected to encounter him there. Least of all examining his bulbous sunburnt body in her vanity mirror with a satisfied smirk.

“Oh!” they cried at once, making and immediately breaking eye contact.

“What are you doing here?” they asked each other.

“I mean, I thought you were going over to the McClurg’s,” Felicity said in effort to smooth some of the guilt from her tone.

“I thought you and Carolyn…”

“She can’t today. Muffin’s having puppies.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” It had been a spell—since well before Carey came along—since Felicity and Gene had communed as husband and wife, but she could scarcely bolt from the room. For one thing, to her mild surprise, she was repulsed neither by the sight of his body nor by its proximity to her, and she didn’t want to imply by her flight that she might have been. But Lord help her, she had to get that negligee out of that tree, and pronto.

When Carey—flawless, guileless, shirtless Carey, with his tank-tread abdomen and those painted-on jeans—saved her the trip by appearing in the doorway, flashing a grin that could’ve guided ships to safety from a rocky point, Felicity blushed so red and hot she worried her clothes might catch fire. This was going to take some smooth talking.

“Oh, hey, Carey. You came. Quick, too. Um… so… I can explain.” Felicity was astonished when these words stumbled over each other in their rush to jump out of Gene’s mouth. He wanted to explain their half-naked—and fully aroused—handyman at their bedroom door? She indicated with a raised eyebrow that she would let him.

“It’s just…”

“Actually, I’m glad this happened.” This from Carey as he sauntered into the room, his boots clomping on the wooden floor. “I hate lying to both of you, and I couldn’t bear to lose either one of you.”

Was he saying…? Gene’s face—agog with appreciation for Carey’s self-care regimen—was all the answer she needed. Two years without marital intimacy explained by one held breath; she hadn’t seen stars like these in Gene’s eyes since… well, probably not ever, beguiling though she may have been in their early days.

She knew from hands-on experience that Carey took pains to satisfy a lover. She understood too those qualities of Gene’s that might attract admiration from a vigorous youth. Would she deny either of them these comforts if they weren’t to be denied her?

Wordlessly—where would she begin?—she turned, that Carey might unzip her dress, then let it fall to the floor. She undid Carey’s belt buckle and his button fly, then guided his hands so he could do the same for Gene. Watching her absurdly young lover press her husband’s lips to his stoked the flame that his awkward arrival had all but snuffed, and she spread herself across the bed. When Carey knelt to caress her clit with his skillful tongue, he presented his round, compact rump to Gene, who threw a worried glance her way. She gave an encouraging nod, and Carey lowed his pleasure into her pussy when he was entered. It wasn’t immediate, but they found a rhythm, and when Felicity and Gene came together, they locked eyes and laughed.

If Carey could bring them together like this, via the desire that had pushed them apart, Felicity determined she would willingly share him.

Sometimes.


16) Summer Fling

David licked his thumb and hovered it just outside Angie’s mouth. The electricity of her skin sizzled against his. The tip of her tongue glistened as she parted her lips, and he smiled and shook his head.

“No touching,” he teased.

Torn between regretting his challenge and wanting to rip off every stitch, he looked her up and down while strategizing his next move. Amber eyes sparkled like prisms with every flash of lightning. Rich brown skin begged for a good bite. Breasts that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. Thick legs that locked around his waist every time they kissed, yet never opened enough to let him in. Thin summer dress, top so tight it looked sewn on. The skirt flared on around her as she lay on the sunburnt grass.

A picnic at the side of the road seemed like a great idea until he got the desire to eat her instead.

Angie squirmed beneath him as he straddled her and clenched her top pearl button in his teeth.

“No touching you said,” she whispered.

“I don’t have one finger on you. Yet.” He growled and tugged at the pearl button as a joke, but it snapped off with a pop!

Shit. He didn’t expect to do that. Girls hate that stuff. He was gonna die.

But she moaned and arched her back, pushing her breasts out as if begging him to lay his mouth on them instead, tug her nipples between his teeth. He grinned and bit at the next button. When she didn’t protest, he popped it, then the next, laying them in a heart shape beside her. His cock twitched every time the rushing wind teased the dress open.

Pinching each side of the skirt in his fingers, he slid it up, slowly, barely grazing her skin. She shivered, biting her lips trying to keep still.

Within a sliver of everything, the skirt revealed a ribbon of red chiffon. “Hello, what’s this?”

“Just a little somethin’,” she said. “Too bad you can’t touch what’s underneath.”

He blew gently between her thighs, directing a hot stream of air against her clit.

“David,” she cried, clenching fistfuls of grass in her soft hands.

Another gust blew the skirt and the red slip waist high. Spreading those luscious thighs, she reached down and—

“Hey! No—”

“You never said we couldn’t touch ourselves,” she said, tracing her middle finger around the wet folds of her pussy. Thunder rumbled overhead. A fat raindrop hit her clit and she gasped. Sliding one finger inside herself, she raised her hips to give him a better view. She rubbed her clit with her thumb and moaned, writhing, breath coming in short bursts as she neared orgasm.

David yanked his zipper down, pulled out his cock so he could join her.

“Wait,” she said, raising one eyebrow. Stared him down, challenging him now.

Cheater.

“Can you wait for me?”

Sliding her finger out again made a soft sucking sound. She lightly circled the head of his cock, only her sweet juices touching his skin.

Rain pummeled them as he yanked off her dress and slip, touched the tip of his tongue to each nipple, sank his cock deep inside her. She tightened around him, pulsing with the beat of his heart, screaming his name into his neck.

In the distance, another voice, shouting, angry: a farmer was shaking his fist as he ran towards them.

David didn’t realize he’d pulled them onto someone’s land. He cursed and tugged Angie up.

His cock strained against the fabric of his jeans. She giggled as she tried to pull her dress back on while darting back to their car. He hit the gas the second she closed her door. She leaned over his lap, breasts pouring out of the torn dress. She freed his cock and teased it with little flicks of her tongue at the head and airy, infuriating kisses along his shaft.

Pulling out onto the road, he checked the rearview to make sure they were in the clear. She took him whole into her mouth, the red slip tangling in the branches of the trees.


17) Barefoot and Bitless

Naked, bound, gagged.

Yet only a few months ago I lived a tranquil existence alone, deep within Leymoor copse. Sadly, Father died on my thirtieth birthday last year. He left me enough to survive on. I bought a horsebox from my boss at the stable, converted it into a bespoke motor-home, and ran away from life, preferring my own company.

Leymoor was heaven. Time to think, read and paint.

That changed when clothes started disappearing from the washing-line-tree. Panties, blouse, even my socks. One day I hung a sheer red slip as bait and hid.

The perfect snare.

You appeared from nowhere – in a camouflage jacket – and snatched the dress. Stroking your face with the material, inhaling the freshly laundered scent. Relief in your sharp, animal eyes as they darted left and right.

Turning, you ran.

I followed.

Arriving at a clearing, you vanished into a tent. I peeped through the plastic window.

There, naked from the waist down – a wolf tattoo on your thigh – you sniffed the slip and began caressing your beefy cock, rubbing the shaft.

Engaged. Head back, committed. Your hand wrapped around its hardness, the material providing a sheath.

Creeping a little closer, cunt pulsing, beguiled – I clumsily dislodged a stone. Momentarily, we looked each other in the eye. Gasping I turned to escape. But you sprang – a greyhound from the trap – wrestling me to the grass.

Unable to move I stared into your eyes and instinctively our mouths met. A hand probed under my dress finding my sex. Already wet. Wanton.

I feigned a struggle and eventually the weight of your taut body bore down on me. At that moment I became yours. Lifting my pelvis I could smell my own need as I rode your intrusive fingers.

Wanting you so badly because you wanted me.

My orgasm close, but you were ahead, kneading your swollen cock with my cotton skirt and creaming the fabric.

Stuck for words I looked into your brown eyes.

“My name’s Mandy.”

Back at Leymoor I learned you were AWOL from the army. Trauma from combat meant you found it difficult to climax, but clothes provided an outlet.

My clothes, my aroma. Me.

Talking all night, I’d never felt so connected. You moved in with just a kit-bag.

Fucking all afternoon as if we’d been doing it forever. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming. Definite, deep thrusts, hips grinding mine until my body melted into yours, quivering with delight.

Memories from the military of – god knows – led you to take control of our life. Some things you refused to talk about. Whenever I disagreed a hand would crack my arse or thighs. I understood. Love is pain. You used a leather riding crop to teach me that lesson – my interests at heart – Taming of the Shrew you said, opening another beer.

But you cared. Cooking dinner. Talking me through old anxieties.

As time passed the thrashing got harder, face fucks rougher, but I certainly knew my place. And that’s where I was most nights, at your feet, while you took pleasure from my mouth. Whipping my back – grabbing a fistful of mane – and plunging your cock down my throat.

I cleaved to you, eager to please. Giving myself freely.

Just the two of us.

Consumed and complete.

Safe and secure.

Oppressed? Maybe, but I was happy. Until the suggestion – well, order – informing me your pleasure was paramount.

She was a waifish slut – the opposite of me. I found her for you at the town bar.

You smirked, tying me to a chair,

“Even a strong lass like you can’t slip a reef knot.”

Appalled yet aroused I watched the release of those pert titties into your mouth – then leaning your slut over the sofa you lashed her arse. Cock in hand, rubbing the knob along her moist, pink, naked slit – before invading her cunt. Banging so hard your balls slammed her peachy bum cheeks.

But pulling out, hand pumping, you soiled my clothes, my face.

I became insecure, anxious, alien in my own home – cleaning compulsively. Occasionally you would hold me explaining it was for my own good.

Slipping the slut money, so she always returned and a similar humiliating scenario ensued. Sometimes fucking us both, side by side, rag-dolls, ending by dirtying me with your juice because I was yours.

You threw away all my shoes – became a jailer – smothering me with degradation, love and punishment. I became nervous and twitchy – on the edge.

I look down at you awakening from a drunken night. Naked, bound and gagged with my knickers. Wriggling against your constraints – I’ve tethered a few horses in my time. Ignoring muffled orders I raise the crop and thrash you until you’re quiet.

I’m spent.

Barefoot, I walk out the door.


18) The Answer

Ten days before my release, I received this troubling letter.

Dear John,

I am so sorry. I’ve waited such a long time for you. Too long.

Your brother Francis came over last Friday to celebrate your parole. He brought champagne. Two bottles. You remember how congenial I become when I drink champagne? I remembered, but I drank anyway and must live with the guilt.

When I was sufficiently relaxed he carried me to our bed. Lost in lust and drink I nonetheless felt the tenderness in his fingers as he undressed me. I’d missed tenderness, John, so very much.

It was he who stripped me but I who put my feet in the air, I who beckoned him between my wide, willing thighs. When he kissed me—slowly, softly—it was I who kissed back, urgently. And it was I who gasped in passion as his cock slid over my cunny, slick with the desire dripping from me.

It cannot excuse me but in my mind it was your magnificent cock I was inviting inside me with soft, imploring whimpers. No man had touched me in seven years and I ached to be taken as you took me before you went away.

Francis growled, “Tell me how much you want it, Lizzie,” and that hated name saved me from myself. I gathered my will, flushing your brother from the house in a tsunami of tears. He did not have me, John.

But still, I kissed him. I encouraged him. I wanted him.

In my heart, I betrayed you.

I will understand if you feel you cannot come home to me but if you have forgiveness in your soul then I beg you, please, tell me I am,

Eternally yours,

Elizabeth

How does a man respond to such an admission? A conman in sight of my golden years, anxious to reform while I still have a life to turn around, I had no choice. I told the truth.

Dearest Lilbet,

You are mine for as long as you desire. I do not know how long that might be once I make my own confession.

I was lonely too, my darling. I missed intimate companionship for four maddening months until one evening, at my lowest ebb, I kissed my cellmate as urgently as I see you kissing Frank in my imagination. His lips were firmer than your rosebud, his cheeks less soft, his will less resolute. He fell to his knees, took the cock you remember so fondly and softened his lips around it, sucking me with enthusiasm but no great skill. It wasn’t your mouth, my tender lily. Its warmth was as welcoming as your precious pussy but I couldn’t fuck it—not like I would fuck you—and he couldn’t do that little thing you do with your tongue, although he has learned since. All his incompetent blowjob did was inflame my need.

I bent him over his bunk, without tenderness. Tearing down his trousers and pants I pulled his buttocks apart to spit on his own pert rosebud. It wasn’t sufficient lubrication for his comfort, nor even for mine, but we were desperate. At his whispered request I fucked him, roughly, in that place you never let me venture. But it was your name, Lilbet, that I murmured with every aching thrust. I emptied myself inside him—my jism, my loneliness, my awful despair—and I held him afterwards, all that night and every night since.

I am, I believe, more sorry even than you. I suppose you wish never to see me again.

Upon release I will receive travel vouchers enabling me to make my own way home. I’ll take the train to town and hope a 49 bus still goes by the end of the lane, past the old oak that bears our initials.

If you can forgive me, tie something to that tree—a yellow ribbon perhaps, just as the song suggests. Give me a sign that our love survives and I’ll come home.

If I see nothing, I will keep walking and start afresh elsewhere, forever regretting my choices.

Until next Wednesday I remain,

Yours,

John

Today I am a free man, home at last.

My fellow passengers didn’t cheer when the bus pulled up, but I heard sniggers. They all saw the red babydoll Elizabeth wore on our wedding night, fluttering from a bare branch.

I couldn’t go home, not immediately. I had to take it down, bury my face in the soft silk, smell her scent and weep with relief.

But as I stepped over the fence I saw her, behind the tree, beneath the carved heart that proclaims our love. My Lilbet, prostrate and shivering on a picnic blanket, naked as a winter oak, a bottle of lube in one hand and an extra-strength condom in the other.


15 thoughts on “Smut Marathon 2018: Voting Round #7

  1. Anon says:

    This was a difficult round; we’re getting into eliminating stories for nitpicks. It’s so hard to choose!
    3) I wasn’t convinced of the POV character’s arousal, because halfway through she’s still using words like “repulsed”.
    4) This story was so fucking hot. I felt like it needed the prompt within it, instead of as a backdrop.
    5) The scene seems to focus more on murder than arousal.
    6) Beautiful!! Romantic and fucking hot.
    7) The tension in this one is spot on. Great job.
    8) I found the pacing in this story and the characters’ connection much too quick.
    10) LMAO. What a great use of the prompt. I had the same block but not nearly as great a time writing through it!
    18) What an interesting way to use the prompt. Two letters, both incredibly sexy, a little dark humor thrown in, and a great happy ending. Wonderful! My only issue is the perspective: it seems like an era long past, but some references seem modern.

  2. These were all good. None were bad. But some were great and a few were outstanding. From my perspective as a reader that is. My top 3 were 2, 5 and 14 but there were at least three others that I really, really loved which is likely reflected in my comments.

    You have done so well and I am already excited to see what you pull off in the next round. Massive congratulations to everyone who has come this far. You are all doing amazing.

    1. Oh yes! That got this round off to a cracking start! If I’m being super picky there are a couple of places the writing lost its flow a bit, but I loved the story. I admit I had to go back when I remember there was an image to use, which I’m assuming is the field mentioned. Either way I love it.
    2.This was stunning! I really loved it and the ending was fabulous. A beautiful and captivating tale and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
    3. Got to admit I think he’s the weird one not her! I enjoyed the story but would have like more sizzle and sexiness. In terms of writing though I thought it was well written and definitely had me wondering ‘what is on the bit of paper?’ so you definitely had me hooked.
    4. This was super sexy! I am having some serious tingles of my own after reading it. Well written, nice build up and sexy and sweet ending. If this was a blog post I’d be saying more from these three please.
    5. Oh … My …. Goodness. This was dark and divine!! Wonderfully written, utterly enthralling, a little bit twisted and absolutely one to push my sex buttons. Love it. Love it. Love it.
    6. Bless. This one tugged at the heartstrings, as well as the sexy strings.
    7. This one didn’t quite hit the mark for me. I felt there was lots of story but not enough erotica, I think a little bit more of the ‘wolf’ element being explored before the end might have helped. I felt like the title and the last line didn’t necessarily gel with the overall story.
    8. This one gave me shivers. It really was very sexy, and I very much enjoyed the love story, but oh that ending. It gave me the sads but also the lovelies. Very well written, I got so many emotions from such a short story, which is a great achievement.
    9. This did make me chuckle, and I couldn’t help but imagine it being read by Stephen Fry for some reason, which actually made the whole thing even more delightful. Wonderfully well written and definitely put a smile on my face.
    10. Well if Kitten didn’t that session inspiration enough to get writing then heaven help her.
    11. Oh dear. That did not work out well for Danny. On the plus side though he imagined something super sexy before it was all over!
    12. Another very poignant tale, but with a wonderful dose of seductiveness thrown in there too. I very much enjoyed this one.
    13. I liked the writing very much, and I think the actual idea had some promise, but in terms of a piece of erotica it didn’t quite hit the spot for me.
    14. All the YES! I love the originality of this idea, the fact that it’s a little bit eerie but also incredibly sexy. Another one where if that had been a blog post I’d be begging for more.
    15. Well now, that was unexpected! But delightfully so. I hope these three had many more adventures together after this one. Great read.
    16. I think this could have been great, but it just didn’t quite make me have any of the feels I was hoping to have when reading it. While it promise a lot of passion, they clearly are keen on each, it just didn’t pop in the way it could have.
    17. Well that is a tale to challenge the reader. I think I liked this, but I think part of me also wants to not like it. It aroused me in parts, but always made me feel awful in parts. I’m glad she left, but I wish she’d never been there. I can’t not like it, but I can’t love it, but it definitely makes me feel a hell of a lot.
    18. I’m glad she was waiting for him. His dalliances were a lot hotter than hers to my mind, but I suspect what happened beneath the tree was even hotter.

  3. I found this round interesting in that like the last, some pieces were stories and some were scenes. I like that 800 words is enough for a story and looking back at the notes I made, I definitely found full stories more satisfying to read. I really liked the stories in this round, too – it was incredibly difficult to choose the ones to vote for.

    1) I Last Saw Red – fabulous supernatural take. Well paced and the ending suits so well
    3) El Matador – “Above her, his face clouds. Inside her, his dick softens.” is a really great line
    4) Washed Clean – I’m not sure about the consent in this: it’s half-written and needs to either be there or take for granted that it’s there.
    5) The Red File – I don’t think the first paragraph is necessary. Take that out and the story could have more space to breathe.
    6) Old Man Winter’s Farm – Beautiful and wistful, the last line pulling it all together. I love this.
    7) Little Red Riding Hood – Sexy take but didn’t really go anywhere.
    8) The Lingerie Tree – I really enjoyed this but the ending was rushed – I think the last paragraph didn’t add to the story so could have been removed to allow the ending to be paced better.
    9) Night at the Opera – This is a fun piece, the language and pacing absolutely part of the story telling.
    10) Writer’s Block – it’s a clever idea, but “You do not tell me no without a good reason” didn’t quite work for me in respect of adhering to the competition rules – the story just needed a bit of tweaking.
    11) Dust in the Wind – I like the twist at the end and the way the character is built up.
    12) The Girl in Red – this leaves a lot of questions – what was their relationship? what happened to it? I’d love to read this as a longer piece.
    13) Marked For Life – This is well written but I’d like to have seen it taken further – the red could be made more symbolic, for example.
    14) The Red Underwear – This is intriguing and like some of the other entries could be made into a much longer story, which I’d love to read.
    15) The Handyman Can – This is a brilliant take on a threesome, and the character’s history is very skilfully woven into the story.
    16) Summer Fling – this is a fun piece with good characterisation.
    17) Barefoot and Bitless – this was a lot darker than I expected at the start, the theme, tension and story building with perfect pace. And the ending is perfect, pulling it all together.
    18) The Answer – An interesting take on the unrequited lust of a long distance relationship.

  4. 1) what’s not to love about a vampire or three?Lovely rich descriptions, great setting, well drawn out.
    3) very clever story, and an interesting moral question at its heart. How readily we believe what we want to believe…
    5) a dark story but very evocative and emotive. I felt the poignancy as well as the triumph.
    9) lives of quiet desperation. Made me sad despite the flip nature of the interactions.
    10) for some reason I thought of Kayla and John. Domestic bliss…
    12) Sadly we’ve all been there… beautifully written
    17) captures the descent and the ascendancy very well. A balanced repulsion, but very believable.

  5. Marsha Adams says:

    I’m not good at writing feedback, so I just try to be honest without offending people. I’m probably going to achieve about half of that. There was a lot of death and blood this round, which I don’t find sexy: if you wrote some, sorry, but I didn’t vote for your story.

    1) Tough one: I loved the boldness of “seeing red and red and red” and using “Eternity” as a timestamp; there was nothing wrong with the story—except maybe “waist length ringlets”, which made me wonder how long her hair was before she curled it—but blood and death just doesn’t do it for me.

    2) I started writing feedback for this before I finished reading it: my immediate response was “It’s selkie, not silkie!” I’m glad I finished, even if I had self-spoiled the ending. Points for the Scottish setting and making effective use of Scottish weather but… the second sentence says there are no trees and at the end the narrator rescues her top from a tree. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been looking for references to the picture, but there we are. With the competition at this stage, and only three votes to distribute, that was enough to rule this story out.

    3) I liked this one, a lot: the characters and their relationship had depth, I identified with the narrator, her bull-like lunge was a great touch but the smut was brief and unsatisfying. If I was judging this simply as a story, not as a Smut Marathon entry, I would have voted for it.

    4) “Too hot for sex” isn’t the most encouraging opening line for a smutty story but the rest of the piece caught fire. This has made it onto my shortlist. If I find two more I like better, it’ll miss the cut because of minor practical details that I stumbled over—a few instances where I couldn’t make people’s actions fit the physical arrangements the writing had described—but at the moment I’m voting for this one.

    5) Hurrah for a “red lace negligee fluttering in the breeze”, because there are some quite sketchy references to the picture in other stories. The sudden switch in POV in the second paragraph confused me for a second but I got over that. The sex was well-paced and hot as hell, right up until I hit the same problem of personal taste I had with the first story: blood and death don’t get me off. Loved the story, couldn’t vote for it.

    6) “He falls into it, sense by sense” is an excellent line, made even better by the fact that you’ve actually written that happening. Sexy, romantic, includes the whole picture prompt, a little less filthy than I would have liked for a Smut Marathon entry but exactly filthy enough for the story it was telling. I’ve tentatively shortlisted it but it might get bumped off the list by smuttier stories.

    7) I wanted to like this one—it was well written and it dived straight into quality smut while still having enough description and characterisation to make it relatable—but it felt like it was addressing the reader directly and casting them as the wolf. That might work for someone else but for me it was enough to disconnect me from the story and to deny it a vote.

    8) Good use of the prompt image but the perfunctory nature of the hookup jarred with me and the ending kind of bummed me out. I’m eight stories in and there have been three deaths; yours was at least tragic and romantic rather than brutally bloody, but it killed the mood for me.

    9) I enjoyed this story, I appreciated the way the author had worked in the full prompt photo, I liked the particular mannerisms of the Tusks—my own story had characters with similarly slightly old-fashioned speech—but using everyone’s full name every time they were referred to grated on me and there was very little smut. I also wondered whether Peter Tusk would be able to relate the barbecue story so fluently while being “expertly lashed” by Natalie Byng.

    10) Wow. I love this: clever, funny and sexy. Everything about it felt real, with lots of little authentic details. I briefly felt bad for Kitten because “contest rules” seemed like a good reason for saying “no”, but I got over that with the help of a very hot spanking. I’m probably going to vote this one.

    11) There’s the germ of a clever idea in this story but, for me, it didn’t work. I had reservations straight from the title, because I was expecting the fourth death in eleven stories. (I don’t know what happened this round, but a lot of characters are dying and it’s not helping me enjoy the quality smut.) I liked the bravado of starting with “dark and stormy night” but it might have been better not to criticise yourself for that: if you tell me in the second line that your writing is shit I’m predisposed to believe you and it affects how I read the rest of your story. There were pronoun problems (e.g. “My mouth was watering to taste her. It fell down to her waist…”) and frequent close repetition of words that made the writing feel rushed or under-edited.

    12) Hot, gets bonus points for actually including the prompt photo as both a place and a photo, but ended with a “ghostly taste”. I might have voted for this one but for that ending: there’s been so much death in this round. (Twelve stories, five deaths. It’s doing nothing for my mood.)

    13) I’ve read thirteen stories and there have been six deaths. Okay, this one’s a cougar not a human, but all the blood is killing my mood. The sex was hot, if a little abrupt, and I liked the idea of her marking him, becoming the cougar, but after the extended opening it was just more blood.

    14) Loved this one. I liked the magic (cursed? possessed?) babydoll, especially as the author had the courage to just use that concept without attempting any sort of explanation. And no one died, which was a refreshing change after the last two stories. If I don’t vote for it, it will probably be because of one line that could have used some editing: “Without thinking, she pushed her hand into her knickers and swiped through the thick wetness pooled there to find her clit.” I think she probably knows where her clit is and I’m certain it isn’t in the pool of wetness.

    15) This one is practically perfect as a story. If I don’t vote for it, it will be because the smut was fairly brief and the fact that I couldn’t see a red babydoll hanging from a tree as a “secret” signal.

    16) Red hot, bursting with sexual tension from start to finish and no one died. The sort of story that makes me wonder why I’m even in the competition. I will definitely vote for this one.

    17) This is a good story, and I’m trying to judge it for what it is, but I’m struggling to get past the abuse. The writing is a little staccato, which can work for frantic sex scenes but feels here like it’s the result of trying (and failing) to get the story under 800 words.

    In the end, I voted for 10, 16 and 18, and including my own story felt like I was cheating a better author out of a vote.

  6. Well done everyone. All these stories are fabulous. Picking which ones to vote for was extremely tough but here goes. The first 9 are the ones I voted for.

    5) The Red File
    I was utterly hooked by this story. What a fabulous character you have created; ruthless and dangerous but also intoxicating. Yes the story is gruesome but I still found it very sexy in a taboo way. I love dangerous women. I have a feeling that policemen might want to be very careful who he goes on a date with. Excellent writing.
    1) I Last Saw Red
    Ohhhhh I like this a lot. Really rich story telling which flows beautifully. The only real criticism is be careful of missing words, eg was is missing after the word whether
    I don’t remember if I died with Inthamun’s semen in my mouth or whether it his blood that I swallowed reflexively. And this is an awesome by the way.

    18) The Answer

    Brilliant writing which tells a whole story in such a short piece. You have given us two really rounded characters with a strong plot to their tale. I was a bit worried that the ending of his letter meant there was really nothing left to reveal but I was wrong and the retrieval of the lingerie and her waiting for him with the lube was brilliant and made me chuckle.

    12) The Girl in Red
    This is so beautiful, tender and sensual and the descriptions paint a rich vivid image of their encounter and how much it affected him. My only word of caution is her legs over his shoulders while he licked her, that is a pretty athletic feat that I think most people can’t manage or certainly not for long and it risked spoiling the story for me so much so that I ended up getting Michael to attempt to act this out. Yes I know I am weird but I was adamant you can’t do it and he reckoned you could. The result is that I was right but the laughing didn’t help to be honest. Anyway, on a serious note it is a bug bear of mine, sex that is physically impossible as I find it really spoils a story for me if I feel like it is something only a the fittest of the fit could possible achieve.

    Barefoot and Bitless
    This is excellent story telling that rattle along and completely draw me in. There is a very strong taboo element to the story which turned me on in that way that was almost uncomfortable but having the wonderful ‘fuck yeah’ moment at the end meant that it finished on a positive high note.
    Short snappy sentences really work here and allowed you to cover so much story in such a short word count.

    14) The Red Underwear

    An enchanted piece of lingerie is a clever and unique idea. The story flows really nicely and the remembered bruises is a nice touch to bring in some doubt about what is real and what is in her mind. My only tiny issue is that it left me with more questions than it really answered and I totally think whoever wrote this should turn it into a longer piece.

    10) Writer’s Block
    This made me chuckle, struggling with an idea for a prompt is so something I can identify with and I liked how you basically embraced that and turned it into the actual piece.
    I thought this was a very clever use of the prompt and I found myself nodding along and seeing myself in the story as I am sure many other writers did too. His solution for her predicament was very hot and again I could strongly relate to their relationship dynamic.

    7) Little Red Riding Hood

    The urgency in this piece is beautifully done and the tension between them is glorious. This is really excellent writing and this piece definitely turned me on but the link to the prompt feels little tenuous

    11) Dust in the Wind
    This is a really clever use of the prompt, totally different and unique. The writing rattled along at a pace which kept me completely hooked until the very last line. However the reason it is at the bottom of my list is because despite it being a great piece of writing it didn’t turn me on.

    2) Call of the Sea
    This is a wonderfully sensual and magical story. It flows really well and captured me right from the beginning but the reason it is down the bottom of my list is that half way through the story she suddenly becomes sylive instead of silkie and that made me very confused for a bit as to what was happening.

    3) El Matador

    I was a bit confused about how he could be a bull fighter and still in school? That thought occupied too much of my mind and I found I didn’t engage with the story as a result.
    4) Washed Clean

    I feel like I am missing the reference to the picture in this story, is it the mention of fence posts? Also the 3some seems to be rather out of the blue. Why is Ryan in their house and how comes everyone is up for this with no explanation?

    6) Old Man Winter’s Farm
    This is lovely and tender and I liked the ending a lot but there are too many plot holes for me. How and why would he not know where the farm was until now if he had been there way back when, why would he buy an old picture of it, where would be even buy that? I feel like this plot lacks explanation.

    8) The Lingerie Tree

    A sweet summer tale with a tender ending. I felt like the characters leapt into the sex too easily. I think using more of your word count to explore their seduction or for Sheri to be a bit more conflicted and coaxed into it would have created a connection between the two that would have made the story much sexier.

    9) A night at the opera
    A great piece of storytelling but I just didn’t find it particularly erotic or arousing.

    13) Marked for Life
    This is lovely and very unique take on the image however the relationship/connection between the two characters is not there. There is no spark really, no tension, she just kinda swoons into his arms.

    15) The Handyman Can
    I like the premise for this story but I found some it a little bit confusing. “She understood too those qualities of Gene’s that might attract admiration from a vigorous youth.” what qualities? I didn’t find that explained and also

    “Carey lowed his pleasure”? Maybe this is just me but I don’t know how you low

    16) Summer Fling
    A nice little story but something is missing and I don’t really know what it is which is totally unhelpful to you as the author. Maybe it is the complete lack of context to this, are they lovers, married, fist date, I think it needs something to bring them alive

  7. Call of the Sea

    I think this entry will do really well in the scoring. It’s a very descriptive piece, the reader can visualise the scene easily. In my opinion some words could have been left out – use harsh OR unrelenting – not both as they carry virtually the same meaning.

    The Answer

    I wish this was my story! I love it. It’s brave, clever and funny. Well done. If I had to pick one bit to improve on I would say maybe, just maybe, the paragraph which begins “It was he who stripped me” – is a little bit clunky.

    Dust in the Wind

    This is a great tale with a fab title. Quite different in theme from the other entries. It pulled me along every step of the way. The only down for me was I don’t think there was enough sex – maybe that’s just me 😉

  8. I selected Red Underwear, Night Opera, and Red Riding Hood, each really were captivating and seductive. I liked Last Saw Red, it was very interesting, Summer Fling was fun and Call of the Sea reminded me of this cartoon I saw not to long ago, so that was neat. All of them were great it was hard to pick my three.

  9. Oh dear, it’s really getting harder and harder to choose between all these hot stories! These are all actual stories and all authors have been so creative with the theme!
    So, after reading them all with red cheeks, I had a hard time to make my selection. To succeed, I was very strict with my criteria: – is it a well built story? – does the author write well (sentences, words etc) – is it erotic enough to arouse the reader? – was the theme creatively processed? – did I believe what was said? – were the characters consequent? For all these subjects I gave points. It helped me to make my selection.

    10 points: Dust in the wind
    I thought it original, although the author soon gives away he is under influence. It didn’t matter. Shame it could only be 800 words, before he got the chance to ‘do’ her he was back in reality. Still, the author draws me into his desire, builts the story and the pace is slow enough to make me want it too! And what an intro, loved it! Well written, good choice of words and a solid character.

    9 points: The red file
    I love a good detective in combination with erotica. This story is believable, well written and I can picture everything that happens. How she is aroused by the kill is very well described and even sexy! That detective and murderess pass each other is great, but somehow it misses a good fight between them, Maybe he should be her next victim, or is he turned on by her mind or whatever. Or maybe she wants to draw him out, taking revenge on him. More interaction between these two would have made the story stronger for me. I missed a bit of motivation on her part. She is a perverted murderess, addicted to her thrills. Why? How? It doesn’t have to explain all the details, but a small hint would be nice.

    8 points: I last saw red
    Gosh, I wished it was full moon reading this :). It is a very horny thought, to let yourself be used like that. Scenes are very erotic, despite the bloodiness. However, her motives are not very clear to me and that left me unsatisfied. If she’s that bored or lonesome, or desiring for death, why does she want vampires, what desire drives her wanting this?

    7 points: Call of the sea
    I had to look up what a selkie was :). Although I thought, reading the beginning, ”yeah, right, as if this would happen on the shore”, I believed it anyway and the scenes are realistic and solid. You could have prolonged the sex-scene, it was rather short and not very detailed. Still, a beautiful story!

    6 points: The red underwear
    Well written and a sexy idea. I love the scene where she orgasms. I could have done with some more motivation or situation. Was she deprived of sex for a long time? Did she ever have an orgasm before or just ”good old plain superficial’ ones? Once she found the pleasure of deep orgasms, she doesn’t want to take it off…make the intro shorter, make her deprived of orgasm for a long time and let her die of exhaustion or something, make more of a mystery, to connect beginning and end, that would rounded up the story even better.

    5 points: The girl in red
    I’m a sucker when it comes to nostalgia, so this story immediatly appealed to me. The erotic scenes are well put and sexy. Still, it was a bit too mellow to be exciting. I think you could lift the whole story if you rewrite in ‘I’; using ‘He’ makes it more distant and hard for me to relate to the erotic scene. Also, there is too much ‘memory’ in it. It is clear form the start it is a memory, but you repeat that 6 or 7 times, that’s too much and disrupts the flow of the erotica.

    4 points: Writers block
    I thought the coversation between the two realistic, it draws you into the story. It left me with a want for release. More actual erotic interaction would have been nice.

    3 points: The lingerie tree
    The storyline is nice and hot and it is well written. But too long an intro and too little room for the actual sex for a short story. Also, too much mentioning of the names Sheri and Darlene. It leaves me with the feeling of “Sheri said, Darlene said”, namecalling. Try changing that, it will certainly make the story stronger.

    2 points: El matador
    I like this because it makes the reader understand how the painloving mind works. I also liked the fact there was no happy end between the two for a chance. It is a good story in general. However, this is an erotica contest and it is a short story. There were a lot of unnecessary details, and consequently no room left for real sexual interaction. There was too little erotica for me in it to be aroused.

    Well done you all! very much looking forward to the next round!

  10. Tiggs says:

    9 – this felt real right up until the last lines which didn’t feel quite right. Almost too uncaring which didn’t match the buying the of a gift.
    17 – loved the twist at the end
    7 – rare that a straight up description works so well. This bed tension. But wanted more of the people.
    1 – I’m a sucker for vampire stuff. This is no surprise as a plot goes but it gets you to the ending in a sexy way.
    11 – I liked the way the author draws the reader in like collusion
    14 – creative take and a fun way of getting lots of ideas into a short word count and being coherent
    18 – I liked the interaction and the ending. Tone felt old fashioned so I wondered about using diff language for condom – maybe French letter ?
    2 – a little over written for my usual taste. But it was a soft compassion and intimacy that draws reader in
    5 – liked the interaction between characters. Snuff is very dark and hard to pull off well. This does, because the potential for a wider story with the detective and the flaw in the murderers personality.

  11. Wow! It’s clear the marathon is down to a very talented selection of writers. I feel it has reached a point way beyond me being able to offer helpful feedback. I think it’s me that needs the help from you guys! As such, I’ve only been able to give my opinion based on my own preferences. I understand that is not especially helpful, as we all enjoy different things, but I always enjoy feedback personally so like to give it too.

    1. I think the longer the entries get, the more personal taste comes into it. This isn’t my kink, but sexual reaction aside, it’s a fantastic story. Beautifully written and with a great ending.
    2. I absolutely loved the beautiful introduction and scene setting. I also like how well you brought through the main characters personality. There was the error with Silkie/Sylvie, but that didn’t detract from it.
    3. What I liked most about this was that it wasn’t predictable. It felt more real. I really liked the ending and think it’s a feeling a lot of us can relate to. This was definitely one of my favourites.
    4. Extremely hot! Especially the part about the remnants of come.
    5. Voted! I’m a big fan of where your imagination took the prompt. You combined my two favourite genres and I absolutely loved it. Expertly written, I just wish I could read more!
    6. Voted! Wow! This story is just absolutely exceptional. Sexy, beautiful, interesting, unique… I could really go on and on. Very, very talented!
    8. I usually don’t enjoy ‘stranger sex’ stories as I find them hard to believe, but didn’t at all feel that way with this one. I don’t think the sad ending worked for me though.
    9. I love how well you portrayed his character! I didn’t find it very sexy, but it was still an enjoyable read.
    10. Such a cute story! A very clever idea and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
    11. I was a bit confused by the ending, which was annoying as it seemed like it would have been a really good one if I had got it! I felt a rising dislike for the character, which shows how well you portrayed them. Any emotional reaction is good, so great writing!
    12. A very sweet and sexy story. I’m left wondering why they never got another perfect day, which I like. It makes me want to read more!
    13. Wow, what a unique idea for a story! So imaginative and very well written. I really enjoyed reading something a bit different.
    14. Very strange, but very, very good! This is a story that definitely needs a part 2 for me to read!
    15. It was slightly predictable, though I don’t know that wasn’t your intention. You were able to include so many characters, so well, in such a short piece of writing. Plus MMF… Hot!
    16. This reminds me of the erotica I enjoyed so much in my teens. It’s a very cute and sexy story with the perfect title.
    17. I think you’re a very good writer, this just wasn’t to my taste. It had a lot of information in such a short piece and the abuse seemed unneccasary. I really do think you’re great with words though!
    18. I liked this a lot! Very different and imaginative and I really felt like I cared whether she was there or not. Impressive for such a short piece of writing.

  12. Marie Rebelle says:

    1) I Last Saw Red
    I love a good vampire story and like how you have worked with the timestamps in this one. Also love the part under the timetamp ‘Eternity’ which ties everything earlier in the story together into one whole. Nicely done!

    2) Call of the Sea
    I have never heard of a ‘selkie’ before, and had to Google it after reading this story. Once I did, I found the story even more special than I did when I read it. Beautifully done!

    3) El Matador
    You have managed to capture many emotions in only 800 words – her not fully accepting her body, but trying, their lust for each other, his hard shell but soft inside, and her desires, which she couldn’t tell him at that time and therefore she ran away, maybe even from herself. Lovely story!

    4) Washed Clean
    I would have loved to see a bit more reference to the picture, like maybe mention of the tree in the picture too and not only the fence. I love a good threesome, but maybe the onset to the threesome needed a bit more ‘explaining’.

    5) The Red File
    I love a good detective and I love a dark erotic story and this one has both! I really enjoyed this and would actually love to read a longer version of The Red File. Maybe a series? Hint, hint!

    6) Old Man Winter’s Farm
    I like everything this story implies. The old man, going back to his own history, to a beautiful place that holds sweet memories to him, and to find the one he remembers waiting for him too. Beautifully done and a lovely use of the prompt!

    7) Little Red Riding Hood
    A good, solid story, well written and I love the reference to Little Red Riding Hood. I just miss a bit of excitement in the story. There is erotica, and sex, and you are building the tension, and still I miss something.

    8) The Lingerie Tree
    I like the concept of this story, the lingerie tree and what the spot meant to them. However, the last paragraph somehow took me out of the story, especially the last sentence. A different last paragraph – even if the meaning would stay the same – would have kept the strength of the story.

    9) Night At The Opera
    I love the old-fashioned feel of this story, the two lives he has and the way the red lingerie has been worked into the story. Beautifully done!

    10) Writer’s Block
    When I started reading this, I had no idea whether I would like it or not, as it seemed like a bit of an easy way out, but I actually love this story, and just how the prompt is used!

    11) Dust in the Wind
    The conversational way in which this story is written really works for me. I love how you have worked with the prompt. It’s original and keeps the attention from beginning to end. Well done!

    12) The Girl in Red
    A lovely memory that turned into a melancholic story. I would have loved to see a bit of dialogue during the sex scene.

    13) Marked For Life
    I like the primitive feel of this story, and somehow can imagine the sexy feelings after her battle with the cougar.

    14) The Red Underwear
    Oh yes, give me underwear like this. I would wear it every day. This is such an original idea. Love the use of the prompt!

    15) The Handyman Can
    There is something about this story that totally melted me, but I am a sucker for stories that work out fine. Love how they both had a thing for the same man and how it worked out in the end.

    16) Summer Fling
    A nice, sexy story. Even though I know the prompt said that using elements of the image is enough, I was actually waiting for a mention of the fence, especially when the farmer came running to them. But that’s just my own expectation and this is still a sexy story.

    17) Barefoot and Bitless
    Dangerous men. Why is it that we are so attracted to dangerous men? Is it because of the thrill? Because we think they can protect us? That they will always protect us? Never harm us? And when they do, we tell ourselves it’s because they care? This story made me remember my time with a beautiful dangerous man, how I found excuses for him while he abused me. I recognize the courage she finds in the end to leave. Strong story, with enough erotic elements to show the lust for each other and then her devotion to him.

    18) The Answer
    Now, first of all, I am a sucker for any older music from the time I grew up, songs my parents played in the car when we had a long road trip. Tie A Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Old Oak Tree is one of those songs. I love how you have changed that to fit the prompt. You have managed to capture emotions between your lines, also nostalgia. The way you used two letters to tell your story is something I like too. Lovely piece!

  13. 1) I Last Saw Red
    I don’t know much about vampire stories, so I found it hard to say whether the plot elements of this were working or not – I suspect they are, but I personally found it a bit tricky to follow in places. I did like that you’d taken a bit of a risk with the vignette-like structure of it, though, and the bit which captures the prompt image (‘My lingerie grew stiff and red as the cuts on my body grew more numerous. Inthamun ripped it all from my body and flung it over the bare spring branches. He burrowed his face in the hollow of my throat and kissed me softly, when all over my body cuts stung and burned and bled.’) is seriously hot.
    2) Call of the Sea
    A clever idea, but as with story 1), this has slight mythical/magical elements which aren’t personally my thing, so don’t quite tap into my kinks. I did wonder if perhaps the ending would have been stronger if you’d just mentioned the symbol on the rock and left the reader to work out the selkie/silkie thing, rather than spelling it out to us explicitly.
    5) The Red File
    Yes! I really liked this! It felt like an original take on the prompt, but original without pushing the credibility of the story in any way, which is the best kind of original. I only had a couple of minor quibbles – one was how the hell she hadn’t been caught already, given the risks she was taking after committing the murders and the other was slight regret that the limited word count didn’t give you room to show either more of his fear or more about what was motivating her.
    6) Old Man Winter’s Farm
    This is romantic and the story structure is good. I didn’t quite understand, though, whether the bit in italics was something Jack was imagining while looking at the photo or whether he was reading it from somewhere. The ending is really nice, but I also didn’t really buy his motivation for going all the way to the farm because of a photo he’d bought – that’s quite some obsession he’s got!
    7) Little Red Riding Hood
    This is a promising idea, so I was disappointed that you didn’t take the red riding hood theme as far as you could have done in the story. It starts well with ‘They were the eyes of a wolf, glacier blue and penetratingly hungry,’ but this is one of very few references to wolf-like looks or behaviour in the story – it just becomes a bit of a standard BDSM tale. I’d have loved some ‘What big teeth you’ve got!’ type references.
    8) The Lingerie Tree
    This is great. It combines the romantic and the erotic really nicely and the imagery of the tree covered with lingerie is powerful and I think will stay with the reader for a long time. My only slight quibble was that the relationship between the two women seemed to move from sexual/fun to serious/romantic very quickly and we didn’t get to see how this developed, but this is understandable given the limited word count you had to work with.
    9) Night At The Opera
    I’m afraid this seems more tragi-comic than erotic, and so it didn’t really work for me – sorry. That said, you have used dialogue to give a good sense of your characters.
    10) Writer’s Block
    As I’ve commented on another story in this round, it’s not that this isn’t sexy, but that it feels like a story that could have been made to work with many different prompts, rather than one that’s specific to this round. Sorry if you were trying to just come up with a super-fresh take on the prompt and I’ve misinterpreted it!
    11) Dust in the Wind
    I think I’m being naïve, but I didn’t understand this – I didn’t know what ‘the product’ was. Sorry!
    12) The Girl in Red
    This story is hot, and the caption on the photo – “I still have splinters!” – is very cute, but there were two reasons for me why this wasn’t one of my top two picks in the round. One was that it felt like a fairly obvious take on the prompt and the other was that I wanted to know much more about why events unfold the way they do – why didn’t they get another day like it?
    13) Marked For Life
    I like the way you’ve used the prompt – it feels original – and the idea of the blood soaking all through her vest was one of the most erotic parts of it for me. The ending felt more like conventional romance, however, and so, while it was erotic, it wasn’t quite erotic enough to be the kind of story I could actually get off on.
    15) The Handyman Can
    I like the idea of the red camisole as a signal to a lover a lot – it’s an angle that didn’t occur to me when I was writing mine but it’s a good mixture of original and believable. Personally, I found it slightly more predictable that the handyman was sleeping with both people in the couple – it was either going to be this or that they got caught, so I was hoping for an alternative ending, but yeah, I liked the beginning very much!
    16) Summer Fling
    As an erotic scene, this works, but as a story, it works less well, because there’s no real plot arc or character development. I would have liked a twist or something to take me by surprise, and I was a little disappointed when this didn’t happen.
    17) Barefoot and Bitless
    I admire how much you’ve managed to get into this story, given the limited work count, but I do wonder if it ends up being a bit too much. On the one hand, I guess it makes it more plausible – the guy stealing her clothes is clearly a bit messed up, so a happy ending for the two of them might be hard for the reader to buy, I do see that. I’d have liked to have seen you end the story with the two of them getting an HEA, sorry!
    18) The Answer
    The letter format is original, `and working well, I think – I was enjoying this for most of it – it was only once I got to the bit after the letters that I was a little bit thrown. The letters felt old-fashioned because of your use of words like ‘cunny’, but the bit with the condom and the lube seemed set in the present day, which was jarring.

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