Smut Marathon 2019: Voting Round 9 (Semi-finals)

When I decided on the assignment for the semi-final round, I knew it was going to be a difficult one. Being in this stage of the competition, the writers needed to be challenged into making a real effort to reach the final round of the competition. As always, they grace you with their words. It’s up to you, the reader, to decide whether the writers have fulfilled the assignment and get your vote to secure them a place in the final.

The assignment

The assignment for round 9 was:

Write a humorous erotic story about a love triangle.

Specific requirements:
– Your story has only three characters. NO other people allowed, in no way… not in thoughts, not in action, nothing!
– Make the jury and the public laugh!
– Don’t forget, your story should be erotic too.
– Your story is between 1200-1500 words. No less, no more.
– Give your story a title of 2-4 words (this is not part of the word count required)

What should you do now?

Read all entries – you have a week to do so – and vote for the three stories you enjoy the most. 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 25 October 2019 at 23.00 CET
  • Results of the voting round will be published on this site on 27 October 2019 and then I will announce the author of each story.

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 chose. Make sure your feedback is composed in such a way that the writers can learn something from it. This will be highly appreciated.

Enjoy reading and start voting!

~ Marie Rebelle
Source image


1) Too Hot to Handle

Mateo had never been slapped before. As he thoroughly washed his hands, he gazed at himself in the mirror above the sink. Chuckling aloud, he admired the reddening print on his cheek before sauntering to his couch and opening his laptop. Still grinning, he pulled up the video chat Daisy had so abruptly interrupted when she’d shown up at his apartment, all drenched tresses and tear-stained face. Flinging herself into him, she’d left a trail of snot on his fitted tee, her sobs reminiscent of a howling bobcat.

“That’s it!” Daisy wailed. “It’s over! How dare he do this to me?!”

Mateo peered over her shoulder and winced when he realized he hadn’t folded his laptop entirely closed. Taking her hand, he led her to the couch anyway, depositing her with a squishy plop. Thoughts of whether the cushion would fit in his clothes dryer or not were postponed when Daisy pulled on his arm, causing him to awkwardly land on her cold, soggy lap. He promptly slid over to the adjacent cushion.

“Take a deep breath and try to calm down. Let me get you some wat…” Mateo began to say as he attempted to stand, but Daisy pulled him right back down.

“No!” she huffed. “I need to tell you something before I explode!”

Mateo furrowed his brow, but quickly mustered warmth on his face.

“OK, D. What’s troubling you?”

Instead of answering, Daisy proceeded to fumble with the buttons on her blouse and pull on the satin that clung to her skin. “Help me with this first. I can’t breathe in it, I’m so upset!”

She flung her chest toward him and brought his hands up to her blouse. Mateo gulped. Daisy’s rack was the fodder of men’s legends with its supple hang and nipples that stood at attention even when not aroused. He soon realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. Knowing Daisy, she’d likely figured he’d see it as the desperate oversight of a damsel in distress rather than the calculated move he’d come to expect from her. Typical, he thought to himself, noting that her tears had dried up.

“Alright…I’ll give you a hand. You’re shivering” he acquiesced and quickly undid each pearl button. When he got to the last one, Mateo leaned in close to work the blouse over her shoulders and down her arms. Daisy pounced on the opportunity to lean into him further and plant a soft kiss on his ear before whispering, “I’ve made up my mind, Mateo. I choose you!”

Pulling back, Mateo searched for her aquamarine eyes. He found them drippy with black mascara that clumped at the corners of her sockets with every exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes — not a bobcat anymore, but a hot as fuck raccoon. Pity she had the claws to match. At that very moment, the loud pings of message notifications emanated from his laptop. Daisy looked over at it. Before her gaze could linger, Mateo rose from the couch with the kind of bounce such a declaration should inspire. “But…but, what of David?”

“Fuck David,” Daisy retorted. “I’m convinced he’s up to no good!”

“Really? What makes you say that?” Mateo exclaimed while working hard to ignore the laptop just on the periphery of his vision.

“I just know, Mat. He’s taken to spending inordinate amounts of time in his office ‘working,’ even when I spend the night!” She stood. “But I’m onto him and anyway…I should have been with you all along.” She headed toward the kitchen. “I need a drink.”

Relieved she was walking away from the laptop, Mateo ushered her forward. “I’ve got some wine open!”

Seconds later, Daisy struggled with her wet jeans, finally discarding them in a puddle on the floor as Mateo pulled the bottle from his fridge. Of course she forgot panties, too, he noticed, reaching for a glass. He turned back to find Daisy primping her hair. It struck him how much he’d have killed to have her naked and wet in his kitchen just a few months prior. But now, it wasn’t raging lust that occupied his mind, but rather amused curiosity. I wonder how far she’ll take this.

“Ugh,” Daisy griped. “Please don’t tell me we’re drinking that piss you insist on getting from the grocery store!”

“All I got,” he calmly retorted and handed her a generous pour that he knew she wouldn’t eschew despite her uppity inclinations. He continued her previous thread.

“So you’re all done with David, huh?”

Daisy drained the glass in two long swallows and leaned against the counter, head in her hands, ass jutting from her torso like a perfect, poisoned peach.

“I don’t want to talk about David, Mat. Let’s talk about us. Our future.”

She sang the words as she rose to walk toward him, but Mateo retreated. While he was certain that any future with Daisy would be a freight train of beautiful disaster, he didn’t trust himself not to crumble like a shortbread cookie if she touched him again. He flinched and it was then he saw the scheming smile grace her pouty lips like a neon sign blinking — YOU’RE FUCKED DUDE.

Daisy gathered her hair above her head. Her breasts swayed like a breeze loaded with the stench of manipulation as she advanced again. Rising up on her toes, she bit his bottom lip and flicked her tongue across his chin. Mateo’s cock stiffened. He instantly remembered that the last time she’d done that, he’d ended up balls deep inside her, professing his love over and over again like some lovesick Romeo. But then he remembered what came after. He cleared his throat.

“The last time we started like this, the night ended with you confessing you were only with me to make David jealous. That I should get with the program. That I was silly for…”

“Shush,” she stopped him with a finger to his lips. “I was…confused.”

Mateo shook his head.

“A mistake, I swear! David could never make me happy.”

“You were pretty fucking adamant, Daisy.”

“I’m pretty fucking adamant now, my love!”

Mateo stood as still as a teenage boy who just realized he could see his hot neighbor undressing from his bedroom window.

“Here, let me prove it…”

With that, she slid his cutting board into the sink and brushed away the remnants of his meal prep to clear the counter. Then, heaving herself up on to it, she faced him, spread her legs wide, and leered at him wickedly.

“Don’t resist me, Mat. We can get past all that shit with David. Come and kiss me…here.”

Her right hand slithered from her belly to her pussy, which she patted with wanton intention. Mateo sighed and almost surrendered. But the amusement on her face soon had him replaying that scene from Star Wars when Admiral Ackbar warns, It’s A Trap!

Undeterred, Daisy spread her thighs even wider and brought her heels up onto the counter for support. Free to use both hands, she parted her lips and slipped her practiced fingers between the folds, alternating between caresses to her clitoris and teasingly inserting them in and out of her pussy. When she moved one finger down lower, to run circles over her twitching rosebud, Mateo knew he was a goner.

“Fuck it” he muttered, and started toward her.

Her sudden exclamation stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh fuck! What…the fuck?!”

Daisy leaped off the counter, landing with such force that she struggled to get back to her feet. Mateo lunged to assist, but she was jumping around like a drunken kangaroo and clutching her pelvis.

“What’s wrong?!” Mateo entreated, trying to keep pace with her.

“It burns! Fuck! Shit! Something is burning me!” she shouted.

What burns?” Mateo puzzled. “Your…your pussy burns?”

Daisy didn’t answer. Instead, she hopped to the sink, turned the faucet on full blast, and furiously splashed handfuls of water between her legs. When that proved futile, she shoved past him and hobbled toward his bathroom. Mateo began to follow, but doubled back to the kitchen examining first the counter and then the sink. It was then he noticed the errant remains of the jalapeno he’d cut up earlier to make dinner. Gliding his finger across the wet sheen on the counter Daisy had just occupied, he smelled it. Took a taste. Yup. Jalapeno juice!

He’d tried to help her. Even suggested some ice might soothe the sting. But she’d have none of it. Her speedy exit was dramatic, of course — the coup d’état being that slap to his right cheek. Mateo felt a stab of pity at the thought of what jalapeno juice might feel like on his own sensitive areas. But then David answered the video chat, smiling mischievously with his magnificent cock already in hand, and all thoughts of Daisy evaporated. Mateo grasped his own cock and smiled back.

“So, where were we?”


2) Integrative Therapy and Countertransference

Treating both partners in a relationship can be something of a minefield: the therapist must maintain Chinese walls around each client. One cannot allow, for example, Mrs Smith’s perspective on her marriage to influence one’s unconditional positive regard toward Mr Smith.

Of course, there are other, more fundamental, ethical considerations. We are encouraged in our training not to hide behind a professional facade, but I suspect that the licencing bodies would insist that only Mrs Smith lie on the couch, that she not be naked, and that I use my voice to communicate my desire to understand her perspective, not my penis. Fortunately, I do not trouble the licencing bodies and they remain unaware of me.

As promising as this session has become, if Mrs Smith is to make any progress in the remaining forty minutes I need to get things back on track. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Full,” she purrs.

“I meant your husband’s failure to ‘perform’ last night. What was your initial emotional response to his dysfunction?”

That is a legitimate psychotherapeutic question, and not one I’ve asked solely to elicit her perfect pout, to remind me of how those lips feel when they slide slowly down to leave a lipstick kiss framing my cock.

“Frustration, I suppose,” she says, “But it wasn’t as if I was expecting anything special. I’ve told you how tiny he is.”

This is where the Chinese wall comes into play. Mrs Smith is lying, but I cannot let her know that I know. Her husband’s penis is around fifteen centimetres long, which is statistically above average. It’s a little slim, certainly, and that suits me, but she prefers my girth. And my length. Also my tongue, my fingers, my teeth, and in one particularly memorable session, my letter opener. The handle, obviously; I’m not entirely irresponsible.

One shouldn’t be stern with clients, even when they’ve previously requested it, not even when they have in the past gone as far as turning up for a session in a school uniform and begging for discipline, so I keep my tone neutral. “We’ve discussed managing our own satisfaction, Susan. Did you masturbate?”

There’s that pout again. I’m a professional, so I have self-control and I won’t ask her to manage my satisfaction by swallowing every drop of it. Almost every drop. Perhaps one might remain on her lower lip, the glistening, wet tip of her tongue flicking out to collect it, the corners of her mouth turning up as she savours the taste. I do like to see my clients happy.

“I didn’t. Is that bad?”

It’s important that I do not express disappointment, in order that the client not feel judged. “It can be difficult for us to internalise unfamiliar concepts, which is why constant repetition is helpful. So, once again: there is no bad. Some outcomes are more helpful than others, certainly, but each presents an opportunity for growth if approached with an open mind.”

“But I feel like a bad girl. I should be chastised.”

I agree. It would help her marriage enormously if she were to allow her husband to chastise her, because that man really knows how to deliver a spanking, how to time each stroke so that the heat builds in waves, how to judge the perfect moment to switch from hand to paddle, to crop, to belt, to abandoning punishment altogether in favour of soothing caresses and tingling kisses and explosive orgasms. That, unfortunately, is a skill I’ve never mastered.

“There is no role for punishment in personal growth, Susan. But it might be revealing to discuss why you feel guilty and how you feel that guilt could be addressed.”

We will not discuss her guilt, we’ll explore how her guilt can be assuaged. We both know this, which is why she reaches into her handbag for lube the moment I stand up.

“I think if I bent over the couch, like this, and you beat me on the bottom with your copy of Speaking the Unspeakable, then I’d feel much better about myself.”

I do not enjoy being put on the back foot by a client. Her suggestion is not unexpected but it seems my therapeutic techniques are inadequate, because she’s had time during our sessions to peruse my bookshelf. I wonder why she’s chosen that particular volume. It deals with the ethics of dual relationships, but it is also a perfectly proportioned paperback and an effective instrument for impact play.

While it is generally preferable to allow the client to lead the session, sometimes it’s necessary for the therapist to seize control. Or in this case, to seize the base of Mrs Smith’s butt plug. A gentle tug concentrates her mind wonderfully.

She whispers her need. “Take it out, please. I want your dick in there.”

I pull more firmly, withdrawing the plug just enough for it to stretch her sphincter as far as it can, for her to tightly grip the widest part of the plug’s body. “Do you remember when we spoke about using our voice assertively, Susan? Quiet pleading isn’t assertive, is it? Is there a better way to ask for what you want?”

“Take it out, you bastard, and fuck me!”

Okay, we’ll work on assertiveness another time. Right now, I’ll focus on anger management. “We do not advance by sidestepping obstacles. We must patiently and persistently deal with them.”

I tap the base and watch as the plug slowly slides back in.

“Asshole!”

Yes. And it’s a beautiful one, a deep coral pink, puckered like I imagine her mouth is right now. She has two enticing pouts and I’m happy for either one to be wrapped around my cock.

I tug, and tap, and tug, and tap, teasing her until she’s crushing the couch cushion with her grip and thrusting her ass at me in frustration. Clients can easily become discouraged if they do not see tangible progress during their sessions, so when her response approaches mania I remove the plug completely. She does not achieve closure.

Integrating my ego with her delicate id requires careful preparation. Both will need copious amounts of Mrs Smith’s lube, the disturbingly-named ‘Gun Oil’. Freud would have a field day, if he were not a dreadful fraud with all the sexual appeal you’d expect of a repressed Teutonic coke fiend.

When I slip two greasy fingers inside Mrs Smith she buries her face in the back of the couch, stifling her low moans. That’s helpful. It means she doesn’t see that I’ve lubed both hands and I’m also pushing two fingers into myself. Her husband’s next appointment isn’t until Thursday, but I do like to keep my clients in mind between sessions. One never knows when one might have an insight.

As a rule, a receptive client has the most to gain from therapy. Mrs Smith gains the opportunity to assimilate and accommodate my cock as I thrust its full length into her. I judge her squeal to be helpful, so I reach my free hand round to pinch a nipple, encouraging her to continue her emotional release. Perhaps we’ll achieve a primal scream before my three o’clock arrives.

I’m concentrating on my own pleasure—a regrettable lapse of professionalism—so I don’t hear my office door open and I don’t realise we have company until an unseen hand pulls my fingers from my ass, and a familiar voice tells me, “We thought we might make more progress in couples counselling, Doctor.”

I feel a slim cock pressing against me. My own low moan lets Mrs Smith know that her husband has achieved a significant breakthrough.

They must have planned this. I’m so glad they’re finally communicating with each other.


3) Cupid’s Chokehold

“That’s my competition?” I ask, frowning at the gorilla as he crams the last morsel of a banana into his over-sized mouth.

Nerida laughs and rubs my forearm with her gloved hand.

He,” she emphasises, smiling at my expression, “is named Allen. And he is not your competition – I love both of you equally.”

I pull a face as the ape-man discovers a bit of leftover fruit on his shirt and dabs at it with his thumb, mashing it further into the fabric. Grunting, he rips the garment off and throws it on the ground, making his way to the edge of the boxing ring.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I say, “didn’t he see the change room?”

“You know the Ancient Greeks used to wrestle in the nude, right?” Nerida replies, giving me a coy smile. “Maybe he’s just re-discovering his roots.”

She slides off her worn singlet to reveal a simple, black sports bra. Though I have held and fucked her lithe body many times, the sight of her bare olive skin always sets my heart racing. She dons her mask, and struts away, butt perfectly rounded by the curve of her leggings.

“The only roots he’s discovering are tree roots,” I mutter, watching as they both enter the ring.

Allen wraps her in a hug, thick arms engulfing her petite frame. It seems grotesque, reminding me of the time I saw an octopus devour a fish on the Discovery Channel.

Not one to flaunt my figure, I head into the change rooms and undress. I slide my costume on – silver leggings in contrast to Nerida’s gold – and almost put on the matching shirt, until I realise how prudish it will be if I am the only one fully clothed. I decide that my bra will be sufficient to cover my torso and slip on my gloves.

Nerida and I have always been experimental with our partners, but the ape-man is different. Usually we make the decision together, but Nerida chose him all on her own. And now she has invited him to join our wrestling, as if that will somehow change my mind. To be honest, I would rather she’d invited the damn octopus, tentacles and all.

Nerida’s laughter echoes from outside, setting my teeth on edge. I stalk out into the main room, picking up one of the breakable chairs on my way through. I almost grab a real one, then relax, acknowledging that that might be taking things a step too far.

When I emerge, Allen has Nerida pinned in a simple headlock and is tickling her ribs. She struggles in his grasp, one foot stomping at his toes until she spots me.

“Quick, Lucy! Give him the chair before I pass out!”

Only too willing to oblige, I vault the rope and slam it into his back, enjoying the satisfying crunch as the object splinters. Allen laughs and pulls away from me, dragging Nerida with him.

“Another challenger enters the ring!” He bellows, giving Nerida a noogie as he goes.

“Oh, that was a mistake, King Kong,” I say, “you don’t mess with that woman’s hair.”

Though her face is beginning to flush, Nerida furrows her brow in concentration. While petite, her body is both flexible and muscular, allowing her to slip free of most holds. All she needs is a little distraction to help her on her way.

I use the rope to my advantage, springing forward and collecting Allen about the waist. Where Nerida is flexible, I am fast, and I push him back before he gets the opportunity to counter. Off-balance, he lets go of her, arms swinging wildly. He makes a desperate grab for me but misses and I dance away.

“Didn’t realise we were playing this kind of game,” he mutters, clutching something in his fist. My jaw drops as I realise my bra is suspended by a single strap.

Face burning, I bring my arms down to cover my breasts, but Nerida catches me in a full Nelson, pinning the limbs above my head. She’s slipped out of her bra too, her skin warm against my back.

Caught by both her proximity and the thought of being exposed in front of a stranger, I feel my nipples harden.

“Now, now,” Nerida whispers in my ear, “you don’t get your bra back until you submit.”

She exerts a little more pressure then switches the hold so my arms are free. I start to struggle, but she arches her back, increasing the strain on my joints until I stop.

“Strip,” she commands. Then to Allen, “you too.”

He gives me an almost apologetic smile before dropping his trousers. No longer concealed by the fabric, I notice the swell of an erection inside his boxers. I manage to shimmy out of my leggings but can’t quite bring myself to remove the underwear.

“All of it,” Nerida orders.

Allen complies, dropping his underpants. No longer contained, I observe his cock greedily. While he may not be my type, his dick definitely is, and I begin to think that maybe we can have our own Dickscovery Channel feature after all.

Nerida turns me so I am facing her, brown eyes alight with mischief.

“Allen, please help Lucy out of her clothes.”

I stiffen at his approach, suddenly anxious. Nerida catches my expression and relaxes her grip.

“Don’t worry, my love, he’s under my control.”

Despite his size, Allen is surprisingly gentle as he takes my panties off. He moves to discard them, but Nerida catches his hand.

“I have a better idea.”

She instructs me to close my eyes then wraps my underwear around my head, creating a makeshift blindfold. I hear fabric swishing then she pinches my nipple, presumably to test if I saw it coming. My answering jolt seems to satisfy her, and she instructs me to lay on the mats face-up.

“Drag her to the edge of the ring so her ass is just hanging over,” she says to Allen.

He grabs both ankles and slides me easily over the rubber mats. Positioning me as per Nerida’s commands, he stands outside the ring with my legs on his shoulders, presumably facing me. In this position, he’d have a perfect view of my cunt and I tremble at the thought.

Clothing rustles above me and then I feel a pressure on my face as Nerida sits down. I know her by her scent, but she still wears her leggings, preventing me from lapping at the soft folds of her vagina.

“This must be torture for you, baby-doll,” she simpers, “and it’s about to get a whole lot worse.”

I feel her shift towards Allen, then hear them kiss.

“I want you to fuck her. Hard.” Nerida says between breaths. “But don’t stop kissing me.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Don’t worry,” she replies, “I know my slut.”

Despite Nerida’s request, Allen is still merciful as he enters me. My cunt is already slick with yearning and he lets out an involuntary sigh, filling me with long, slow strokes. I relax into his rhythm, my body inviting him deeper, and he begins to pound me, rocking all three of us with his motion.

He continues to kiss Nerida as he goes, and the thought of them both using me brings me dangerously close to orgasm. A ripple of sensation curls through my abdomen and I shudder, prompting Nerida to pinch a nipple. I wonder how this situation can possibly benefit her until she begins to grind against my face. She always gets off on my subjugation.

Allen takes my hips in his hands, pressing me down so that he can fuck me harder. My breathing is laboured due to Nerida’s smothering, but she doesn’t let up and soon her scent is the only thing that sustains me. I arch my back in pleasure, feeling Nerida tremble as her orgasm approaches.

She scoots back, clothing crinkling, then I feel the heat of her sex on my face. I open my mouth greedily, but she hovers above, coating me with her juices. Allen’s thrusts quicken as she orgasms, close to climaxing himself.

“Shower her with your cum, baby,” Nerida purrs, “give her what she wants.”

Allen pulls out and sprays his hot seed across my abdomen. He grunts in satisfaction and Nerida shifts forward to fix him with one last kiss. Beneath them both, my underwear still strapped around my eyes, I realise just how expertly I’ve been used. Small tremors race through my body as I climax, heat running down my thighs.

Nerida sits back and plants a kiss on my forehead.

“That’s my girl,” she says, “I knew you’d grow to like him.”


4) Madeline for Brunch

In a lot of ways, Madeline still felt like a stranger in New York. She had made friends, got a good job, found a comfortable apartment, but sometimes, like when she was invited over to someone’s house for brunch, she felt like an imposter who was going to be found out at any moment.

Which was why she was so nervous the whole time her friend Lana served her quiche and frisee salad with lardons and a quail egg.

Lana’s apartment was like something out of a magazine. A Williamsburg loft with a massive island in the kitchen and a skylight. Not only that, but Lana was beautiful and so was her best friend Eric.

Lana had large brown eyes that seemed gold in the sunlight. She was small-boned, but had that tightly coiled strength of someone who did yoga and was a dancer as a girl. Her skin was a dark amber and her hair short and black. As always she wore complicated flowing things that looked both comfortable and elegant in a way that seemed foreign to Madeline.

Madeline, in her blue jeans and burgundy sweater, felt ordinary next to someone so put together. She had her curves though, which perhaps subconsciously she had chosen the low cut sweater to accentuate.

Eric, on the other hand, looked like a dashing and rugged professor. His smart dress shirt with the sleeves folded up. A light stubble on his well-defined cheeks. Well worn pinstriped pants and even more worn leather boots. Always a crooked smile and something dark flickering in his eyes under his tortoiseshell glasses.

“Would you be a dear and help me with the dishes?” Lana asked sweetly after they ate.

Madeline was up like a shot, piling dishes in her arms like a diner waitress.

It was more than good manners, Madeline liked to help. It made her feel useful, and it gave her something to do with all of her nervous energy. When she got to the kitchen with the plates and glasses, she went to work washing them. It was only when she saw Lana and Eric standing at the kitchen door she stopped.

“I got a little carried away. I don’t mind doing dishes,” she said, putting the last of the plates on the drying rack.

Eric walked over and helped her dry a pot, and she noticed a massive grin on his face. Lana looked like she was holding in a laugh.

“Yeah, we noticed how intent you were,” Lana said, walking into the kitchen.

“You looked so happy I didn’t have the heart to tell you I have a dishwasher,” she said with a laugh, opening up a door under the counter Madeline hadn’t noticed.

A blush appeared on Madeline’s cheeks, and she looked like she wanted to crawl into the dishwasher and hide.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think-” Madeline started, but Eric cut her off, patting her on the back.

“No more apologizing, I don’t trust the dishwasher to get things really clean anyhow,” he said, his hand felt warm and strong on her back, which made her blush deepen.

Eric towered over Madeline, his hands moved to her shoulders as Lana moved over to them and hugged Madeline from the front, sandwiching the girl between her two friends.

“Oh, Madeline, what are we going to do with you?” Lana laughed, as her breasts pushing against Madeline’s larger breasts.

Madeline tried to laugh off the silly mistake, but it caught in her mouth. The warmth of two bodies against her made her knees week. The feel of Lana’s breasts and the strength of Eric’s hands on her.

She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but she thought she could feel Eric’s cock pressing against her ass.

Lana moved in and whispered into Madeline’s ear, her breath hot on her neck.

“I have to admit, one of the reasons I invited you over is because I’ve wanted to kiss you and I’ve gotten some hints that you might want to kiss me,” Lana said.

Madeline’s eyes went wide, and she sort of stopped breathing for a minute.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Lana burst out laughing, but then, mid-laugh, she moved in, and suddenly Madeline was overcome by the softness of her lips. Everything was the smell of Lana’s hair and the lingering taste of coffee and maple syrup.

It was a long deep kiss. It started teasing and coy, then went soft and sweet, and finally hungry and wild, their tongues slipping around each other, their hands eager, sliding around each other’s waists.

When they parted, Madeline was dizzy, unsure of whose body was touching her. She turned to see Eric, his eyebrows raised. He looked impressed.

He was handsome and kind, though behind his politeness she sensed some sadistic, sarcastic cruelty.

“Can I kiss you now?” Madeline asked Eric, surprising herself.

His eyebrows raised a little more. She felt pride run down her spine.

“Sure,” he mimicked.

Then she was kissing him, his lips so different, the slight stubble on his face, the smell of aftershave, his hands larger and stronger, cupping her face then pulling her in. They moved against each other, Madeline trying to turn to face him fully, but somehow managing to slip on the rug and ending up on the floor.

Madeline wanted to crawl into a ball. Kissing two ridiculously hot people and she managed to fall on her face.

She covered her face with her hands, and as she looked up at the two of them through her fingers, she heard them laughing.

“Oh Madeline, what are we going to do with you?” Lana said, kneeling in front of her.

“It’s a good thing you look so cute when you are embarrassed,” Eric said, getting on the floor with them.

She smiled sheepishly, about to apologize, but suddenly she was in their arms again, Lana in back of her this time and Eric in front. Madeline kissed him again, and he let out a little growl as he kissed her back.

Eric took greedy handfuls of Madeline’s enormous breasts, as Lana kissed and licked and dragged her teeth across Madeline’s neck.

“Oh Madeline, you are so helpful,” Lana whispered in her ear.

“We have a lot of things we need help with. Like I am going to need someone to suck Eric’s cock. Can you do that for me?”

Madeline was speechless, but she nodded.

“And someone to eat my pussy,” Lana added.

Madeline nodded even more emphatically.

“We’ve been talking a lot about it, and we really want you to be our little fuck toy for a while. Will you do that?” Lana asked as Eric pulled up Madeline’s shirt, his strong hands slipping around her, unhooking her bra expertly and then pulling the cups of that bra out of the way so that he could rub and knead her bare breasts.

“If you are a good girl for us we promise to give you a bath and cuddle and kiss you all night,” Lana added between kisses.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for us?” Eric asked.

Madeline was so aroused and confused that she could hardly speak, but she managed to squeak out a desperate, “yes!”

Eric’s hand snaked between Madeline’s thighs. He stood up and joined Lana’s kissing of her neck.

“Oh my god, she is fucking soaked,” he laughed.

Lana laughed too, her hand moving to join his at Madeline’s crotch.

“Oh my god, right through her pants!” Lana laughed.

“What a perfect little slut she is,” Eric’s gravelly voice teased.

“I can’t believe we wasted time on brunch, she probably would have gotten on her knees the minute she got here,” Lana added.

“I think we need to take this to the bedroom,” Lana decreed breathlessly.

Madeline went to stand up, but Eric put a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, but you look so pretty on your knees. Won’t you be a good girl and crawl for us?” He asked, sweetly.

They turned, not even waiting to see if she followed orders. They knew she would. The knowledge that she was so predictable made her blush almost as much as being naked did.

She thought about standing up. There were fun and games, and then there were silly kink rules, but somehow she found herself crawled after them. The pain in her knees made her cunt ache.

As she entered the bedroom, she passed a mirror, shocked at the sight of herself crawling, topless, red-faced, and wild-eyed.

And in the end, they did all they promised to her. Used her and fucked her and then put her in the bath and pampered her before serving her dessert.

She still had to do the rest of the dishes in the morning.


5) End of Eden

“Obviously I didn’t mean to get you kicked out of Eden.”

Lilith is practicing her reunion speech; the End of Days is close at hand and sometime soon she’ll be face to face with her only love – and her oldest enemy. She wants to be as thoroughly prepared as several. No screeching rageflights off into the sunset, no wriggling around doing covert ops in gardens, no revenge plots; this time she’s going to be a grownup dammit. She’s going to apologise. Gracefully. Get over herself.

“Didn’t mean you get you both kicked out, I mean.”

Yikes. No. That doesn’t sound good at all. Lilith weighs up the conundrum of truth versus peace and harmony; decides that one tiny white lie of omission shouldn’t undermine her genuine attempts at reconciliation.

Better not mention apples then.

She drifts into reverie.

In the honeyed afternoon sunlight, Eve’s dark skin is burnished with a golden glow, her eyes amber-lit and afire with mischief. Soft curves, hard planes; an easy life of leisurely forage for fruits and roots, berries, nuts and leaves has padded her stomach and hips, honed her upper body, calloused her feet.

She is perfect. By definition, in fact: the only woman in existence must therefore be a perfect woman. That’s what Adam tells her when they lie peacefully together under the stars, says Eve, and Adam is usually right about these things.

Making puking noises is difficult when one is disguised as a snake, so Lilith manages not to.
Instead, she drapes her smooth coils around her friend’s warm limbs, revelling in the pulsing radiance of Eve’s body heat.
“Look” she says “how pretty we are together.”
Eve laughs with delight, the touch of the snake’s skin against her own awakening an unfamiliar hunger in her. It’s hot and sweet and sharp in her belly; a little like the feeling she gets when she and Adam join together, but more. So much more. Her thighs part of their own accord, her breathing accelerates.
“You’re not really a snake, are you?” Eve whispers, her face so close to Lilith’s head that Lilith can taste her breath. “You’re Someone. Like me. Like Adam.”
“Like you.” hisses Lilith. “Not like Adam.”
“Show me.” demands Eve. “Teach me how you do it.”
“What do I get in return?”
“Whatever you want.”

So Lilith shifts to her true form; pale human skin, all angles and sharp bone from her millennia-long exile, red curls tangled and eyes like glacier ice.
“Oh!” says Eve. “You’re perfect too.”
And then comes Adam blundering among the fruit trees, calling for his mate.

Lilith finds herself grinding her teeth. Adam.
What a dickhead.
What a dick.
What a lovely dick in fact; it had always been Lilith’s favourite part of him, and she resented being separated from it.

That first day, she had been mesmerised, newly-created and wondering at the world; the sight of Adam’s fleshy, curved-slightly-to-the-right cock lolling insolently against the dark tangle of tight curls beneath, had been the most wondrous thing of all.

She sinks to her knees, instinctively knowing what she wants, what he desires, and tilts her gaze upward to meet his eyes, opening her mouth.
“Yes.” he says hoarsely, nodding his head for emphasis as she guides his twitching cock between her lips. Soft, pliant flesh is heavy on her tongue as her lips close around its increasing solidness, and he exhales deeply, pushing his hips forward, himself further into her mouth.
It’s becoming harder, heavier by the second, so Lilith starts to suck, a little more intensely, and then a little more still. Bobbing her head in time to his rhythm, feeling the smooth, slick tip butt against the back of her throat; Lilith tastes salt and swallows, suddenly aware that his hands are grasping her shoulders, clutching, stroking, rubbing as he groans his orgasm to the sky.

Adam’s knees buckle. He slumps to the ground as his wildly-beating pulse slows. After a while, he opens his eyes and a faintly puzzled smile settles on his broad, handsome face.
“Well, say something then.” prods Lilith, once the tinge of companionable wonder to their silence has worn off and only a residual awkwardness remains.
“Hello,” he grins happily. “I’m Adam.”
And then he lies back on the lush grass, closes his eyes and falls asleep.

Lilith is grinding her teeth and clenching her fists.

Adam, the First Man, that idiotic, happy-go-lucky buffoon. Stretch him out and he falls asleep, show him food and he eats until it’s all gone, give him the faintest whiff of competition and he’s ready to do battle. He should have been the one banished, not her!

Blood starts to trickle from the half-moon cuts Lilith’s long nails have made in her palms.

She’s not very good at this forgive-and-be-at-peace stuff.

Deep breath.

If she’s honest with herself, she might have contributed a little to her banishment from Eden. There was that small matter of the dildo…..

Lilith is admiring her handiwork; a replica dick she has carved from a fallen branch. She realises that the disadvantages of the flesh-based version being attached to Adam have become insurmountable. He’s been pretty unimpressed when he finds her indulging in her craftship, stomping around and shouting about emotionally unavailable she always was, how she never showed him affection, how she’d rather open her legs for him than her arms. Lilith unleashes her grievances back at him; why would she waste her affection on a man who ignores her advice, scoffs at her opinions, contradicts and condescends to her and sulks when she does anything better than he can manage? If he thinks so little of her, he can fuck off out of the forest and leave her in peace with her new toy.
He turns to storm off, and, overcome with rage and frustration, she hurls the wooden dick at his departing back.

Violence is not permitted in Eden. In the blink of an eye, Lilith finds herself outside the garden walls, alone in the dry air and dust of the desert. She mutters curses under her breath as she walks away towards the horizon.

All right, she shouldn’t have thrown the dildo. But he deserved it, far more than she deserved to be banished for doing so.

And then he’d been given Eve; docile, sweet, affectionate Eve who thought Adam was simply marvellous no matter what he did, while she, Lilith, could only seethe and scheme from afar. And scheme she did.

A smirk sidles across Lilith’s angular features.

Disguising herself as a snake had been a stroke of genius. Wriggling through a loose stone in the outer wall of the garden had been a doddle. Being back among the grass and trees and life inside the garden had been bliss. Making friends with Eve had been easy, spending time with her an unexpected pleasure.

Eve’s cheeks are flushed, her breath still hitching and her pulse racing as the unbearably sweet ache ebbs to a throbbing ember in her core. Raising her head, she squints down the length of her outstretched body to meet Lilith’s gaze.

“Here” says Lilith, holding out one hand. “You sound hungry. Have an apple.”

Eve reaches out to take it.


6) Cut ‘n’ Shunt

Raani Veronica Ravani loved to fuck-with men… in every sense.

Her Llanfairfechan garage was called Ronnie’s Motors. Some men said the name was ‘misleading’.

“A man challenges me? I tell him he’s a bastard-racist for pronouncing Ranni-wrongly – bill him double! I’m an Indian-Welsh woman doing what men still stupidly think is a business only they can do. I have to be cunning!”

Ronnie did whatever it took to outstrip the competition. Some women presumed she was a lesbian. Brilliant with her hands, Ronnie left both cars and women shining: seemed rude to correct them.

She’d been introduced to ‘off-the-books’ jobs by her husband, Royston. She worked miracles with cars that’d been written off. Petite, five-foot-nothing, Ronnie’d swing a man around in hydraulic-lifting-gear, get him just where she wanted, smoothly as she’d drop an adapted-engine into a cut ‘n’ shunt. Royston could personally vouch for this. He loved Ronnie for it. Their relationship was unconventional: both horny for the smell of tarmac, hot rubber tires, Swarfega. Ronnie loved Royston: his support, his fucking.

***********************************************
One Tuesday, Ronnie returned from contract-chasing in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
The business, fancying itself a bit gangsta, was van upkeep for meals-on-wheels.
She dressed in hold-ups, Louboutins, balcony bra, diaphanous blouse, navy pencil-skirt. Hair built-up, very-much-needed-specs, paid-off. She swung from school-girl-to-power-secretary, almost giving herself lead-poisoning, suggestively sucking on the pencil eventually used to sign the contract.
She arrived, triumphant, with tongue-whittled-pencil, ready to celebrate.
Seeing Royston’s fuzzy back stretched in quiet consideration over a car engine, overalls so loosely-tied they barely held at his hips, she knew how!

A cat, she gently padded the engine to check it was cold, reached for a cleanish oily-rag. She sprung her prey, stuffed cloth in Royston’s mouth, kicked boots apart. As he lay face-first on the engine, Ronnie swung-down the bonnet across his chunky back and stirruped bungee-cords to secure the bonnet-to-wheel-arches.

Ronnie smiled at glamourgirl wall-calendars around the garage. She liked all their eyes watching. Fingering the battered-subwoofer, she chose Destiny’s Child, pressed play. Independent Women. Ronnie sashayed forward to the car hood. She stood crotch-close to the bonnet and wheel arch, rode up her skirt, pressed her pussy against the gap. Royston loved that Ronnie never wore knickers.

Ripping his overalls around his ankles, exposed Royston’s firm buttocks.
Ronnie, in husky-Welsh-authoratitive whisper, “A Health-and-Safety-lesson about covering your whole body at work.”

Thwack! Ronnie’s hand came down-hard on Royston’s pert buns. The bonnet flexed as he jerked-upwards in surprise. His bubble-butt arched-up in approval. Ronnie slid her hands between his legs, cupped his balls, freed his cock, allowing it to spring against chrome. Spreading his cheeks, dribbling spit between them, Ronnie slowly kneaded Royston’s solid mounds,

“Big-Nubian-Fuckerrrrrr!”

Royston was actually of modest height. And Nigerian. Ronnie’s emasculating-payback came after roleplay backfired: Royston’d blurted-out “Ronnie, you Indian-Princess’ while he’d fingered her last week.

Glutes parted with palms, Ronnie blew air between. Spittle and breath saw Royton’s cheeks splinter into goosebumps. Now panting, Ronnie’s plump cock rose, forced at a ligament-straining-angle against the front grill. Royston was oozing precum from “Stubby”. She loved his jawbreaker girth. Ronnie’s own juices, unrestrained by knickers, trickled down her inner thighs, pooled at her holdups.

“Duuuuurty fucker. You loooooooooove when you can’t escape.”

“Mmmpppphhh,” agreement permeated beneath the bonnet.

Ronnie drew fuschia nails down Royston’s buttocks, he yelped a little.

“I’m gonna milk you.”

Roystons’s body juddered.

She improvised, “Mooo! Or I won’t milk you!”

“MmmmppphhhhhhhhhhhhhhMooooooooo?” the confused reply.

A soothing, stroking palm followed by a rain of blows on Royston’s buttocks: short, sharp, left, right. Ronnie, skirt hitched-up, knee raised to gain purchase, used juices from her untouched cunt, to ride the bumper. Royston’s cock was so engorged it developed lateral grooves, so-tightly was it pressed against the grill. Strings of precum smeared the chrome.

Ronnie was impressed by Royston’s stamina, wishing she’d skipped glasses of red at her meals-on-wheels meeting, suddenly worried the hooked finger she lined-up for Royston’s arsehole might tire before he did! Panicked eyes scoured the workshop. She couldn’t release him, he’d just bend her over the hydraulics: wasn’t fucking stupid enough to fall for that twice! What could she do?

There it was.

A brand-new, small, beautifully-formed, shiny spanner.

Royston pleaded Ronnie use WD40, but they regretted it by morning. She couldn’t abide his itchy-botty-whinging, so invested in a special jerry to dispense silicone lube. He was too sex-dumb to question a bountiful supply of ‘oil’ from the repurposed can. Squelsh-squelsh-squelsh-squelsh. Lube mingled with nervous sweat.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

“You don’t deserve it warmed. Think that’s cold? Gonna-fucking-love-this-fella!”

Getting her own back, after he’d carelessly stripped difficult-to-import spark plugs last week, Ronnie silently pressed the icy-cold spanner against Royston’s lower back.

“FFFFFFFFffffuuuummmphhhhhheeeeee!”

Royston wriggled. Between his cheeks, the spanner hovered on a sea-of-lube. Using small circular motions, the head of the spanner against Royston’s wet sphincter, Ronnie witnessed his rose open, his buttocks blister with goosebumps. Royston shuddered. Ronnie applied pressure to the spanner. She growled as the tip disappeared into his arse. Spanner-play was new, she took it slow, fingers securely-curled through it. A gentle sawing-motion pushed the lube-smeared-spanner into his hole. Ronnie congratulated herself on her ingenuity, moving the tool deeper into Royston’s accommodating arse.

“Such a greedy manhole!”

As Ronnie’s spanner-rocking was matched by Royston’s massaged prostate, she rose to Full-Dom,

“Gonna milk your man-cunt, you sleazy-slut-monkey!”

Ronnie needed a tune to keep the milking rhythm. Her wrist-action conjured up a music-hall classic her beloved Nani-Ronnie taught her. She sang,
“The-blushin’-bride-she-looks-divine,
The-bridegroom-he-is-doin’-fine,
I’d-rather-have-his-job-than-mine,
When-I’m-cleanin’-windows…
I-know-a-fella-such-a-swell,
He-has-a-thirst-that’s-plain-to-tell,
HE-TAKES-A-SEVEN-INCH-SPANNER-QUITE-WELL,
When-I’m-cleanin’-windows…”

Trailing-through ten verses, cheerily spanner-sawing Royston’s satisfied arse, Ronnie watched his elated cock quiver. What ditty might make her squirt? She took pride in her sound-a-like-George-Formby-Medley as Royston’s legs shook violently, arse puckered chirpily. He suddenly shot. Gushed a geezer. Jetted cum in a downward-fountain across the number plate, onto his steel toe-caps. Thumbs-up for Spanner-Formby-Method. Royston lay completely spent, like a pearl in a sleeping clam.

Releasing bungee-cords from wheel arches, Ronnie wondered if Royston was too done-in to finish her off? At this moment she looked up…

… and saw Royston.

Not half-human-half-machine-spent-cum-clam-Royston.

Having-a-biscuit-Royston.

Royston’s biscuit drooped, over-dunked in his tea, “What’cha’ doing?”

“You…I thought,” Ronnie’s eyes widened, “Oh-fuck. Haven’t, have I?”

“Haven’t what?”

“Done it again, Royston?”

Below the bonnet, the engine spoke, “… just checking the oil…”

Ronnie gingerly pulled-up the car bonnet, to find a man smiling ear-to-ear, the imprint of pistons all-over his face, tar-stained from the oily-rag he could now pull from his mouth.

“Hi… loooooovely to meet you. Nnnnnn’you are…?”

“Raz” replied the smile, lifting one finger up to shake Ronnie’s outstretched hand, “Pleasure.”

“Literally, “ sniffed Royston, “Ok, mate?”

“Yes, spanks…”

Ronnie’s eyes rolled-down, “Help you pull your overalls up?”

“No thankooooo,” replied Raz, struggling to form words in his squashed face, “just gonna rest here… ”

“Who the-fuck is he, Royston?”

“Your potential new-hire.”

“Oh…Forgot… red wine… afternoon… contract with meals-on-wheels…”

“Frightened to ask how you got those men to sign-on-the-dotted-line.”

You actually. Gay couple. I promised I’d put you in their hands, next week.”

“Fair enough.
Went out for a quick smoke and tea. Handed Raz some overalls, left him that defunct engine to have a tinker, to see if I could stretch him. Then found you managed to do that without me.”

Ronnie and Royston side-eyed Raz. He unfolded like a paper doll: blushing, slightly-bruised. Cock still bobbing, “How’d I do?”

Royston smiled, “Pretty-damn-good, from where I was standing.”

“Meant the engine actually. It’s working. Frightened you’d turn ignition on,”

“Nope, just you pal” grinned Royston.

Ronnie, shook her head, “Oh no, Raz, I’m not a sadist… Not that much of a sadist… last time A & E took hours…”

“Don’t mind m’asking- do I have the job, Ms. Ravani?”

“…start 9am tomorrow.”

Ronnie, glancing at Royston, mouthed, “Better than being sued…”

“Will work be mainly-mechanical, or require more of today?” enquired Raz, finding his feet, “I’m comfortable with flexible working conditions. Hoped the rumours were true: pleasantly surprised to be introduced to them in the interview…
Magnificent bulge in your overalls, Royston, more needed to persuade you?”

Royston slipped his whole-wet-biscuit into his tea.

“Royston,” wryly queried Ronnie, “What if Raz sucked you off, while I rode your face? We’ll pump air across your nipples?”

“Fair enough,” responded Royston, fingering Digestive from his mug.

***********************************************
In court, a witness recalled a naked woman “screaming-in-delight” as she was being skull-fucked by one man, and arse-fucked by another. Witness thought these overalled-men were “overstepping-garage-mechanic-customer-service.”
However, the witness conceded the woman (jammed, arms-to-her-sides, into a row of Michelin Tyres, while rolling around the garage, being DP’ed) did look like, “she may fill out 5-stars on the “How’d-we-do-you?” card.”

When asked how the threesome, caught in flagrante, responded. She replied,
“They told me I’d missed a treat, when Raz-fisted-Royston, while Ronnie had zapped Royston’s dick with jump-leads.”

Raani “Ronnie” Ravani’s garage remains open: she was cleared of cut and shunting.

The Bangor Magistrate managed to say these words on his third attempt.


7) Shared Interests

I looked up from my phone, aghast. “He’s a Tory.”

“What?” Gemma swivelled her chair round so quickly that she had to jam her heel against the floor to stop it doing a full 360-degree spin.

“A Tory. He’s a fucking Tory!”

“How do you-“

“Stalked his Twitter profile.”

“And you…”

“Twice. I didn’t even ask him to return the favour.”

“Ha, and I bet he didn’t offer, did he? Classic Tory scumbag. Take blow jobs from the poor to make themselves richer, without paying any dick tax themselves.”

“Hey, who are you calling poor?”

Gemma laughed and held up her hands in mock-apology. I tried my best to keep the wounded expression on my face, but felt my jaw relax at the sight of her barely-controlled smirk. Flipping closed her laptop, she pushed her chair away from the desk and let it roll slowly towards me.

“Poor or not, you certainly have a dick deficit right now, don’t you?” she said, coming to a stop close enough to my thighs that she had to spread her own legs either side of them. “Two blow jobs given, none received. You must be ready to explode.”

I started to reply, then thought better of it. With her fingers already working the buttons of my jeans, it was clear she needed no further encouragement. And she was right: after a heavy make-out session with Pete the Tory at his swanky rooftop pad just off Chelsea Embankment (yes, that should’ve been my first clue), followed by two long, jaw-aching rounds of unreciprocated oral, I was damn ready to get my dick sucked.

Gemma gave a low murmur of appreciation as it bounced out of my boxers, already hard. Never one to waste a decent erection, she gripped it tightly around the base and held it there as she parted her lips over the head. I flinched at the first application of pressure – after five years, she knew exactly how hard to suck to achieve a range of different outcomes – and gasped out loud as she slid her mouth all the way down the shaft to meet her fingers.

In my entire life, I’ve given maybe 25-30 blow jobs. Gemma’s tally is considerably higher than that: and it shows. Within two minutes – three if we’re being charitable – she had my jizz all over her lips and chin, and I had to reach blindly for the wall next to me in order to stop my legs buckling entirely.

“Yep, you were ready alright. Mm. Now pass me a wet wipe – I should probably go get ready for my date.”

I pulled Gemma out of the chair and gave her a tap on the butt as she made for the shower. Whereas she’d dated other people – of all genders – on a regular basis since we got together, I had only recently dipped my toe back into the water, and was relieved to find that the scheduling burden it placed on our relationship had not (yet) been a stressful one.

“I’ll be back late,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Or maybe not at all. Don’t wait up, anyway.”

~
The next morning I rolled over in bed and reached for Gemma, but found only the cold, smooth surface of a sheet that hadn’t been slept on. As my brain slowly de-fogged, I realised I could hear the shower running in our en-suite. Images of her naked body, dripping wet, pushed their way into my mind, and I moved my fingers absent-mindedly towards my cock.

She came in from the bathroom to find the duvet pushed back over to her side of the bed and my morning erection pointing skywards like a rocket halfway through its launch sequence.

“Woah,” she shouted, covering her eyes as if she’d looked directly into the sun. “Someone’s woken up full of…um…well, full of beans, I guess!”

“Uh huh. Want to come over here and find out just how…full?”

“That really doesn’t-“

“I know. I know it doesn’t work. But still – come here.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a finger contemplatively up my thigh. I waited patiently for the debrief I knew was coming.

“It went well,” she said, a faraway smile on her face. “He was pretty. Confident. A bit boring – wanker-banker, so yeah, obviously. But very good with his tongue.”

“Only his tongue?”

“I don’t know. He said we should wait till next time to fuck. Hey, I wasn’t complaining – he made me come, like, 10 times. That’ll do for a first date!”

I pulled Gemma across the mattress. With a shriek, she dropped her towel and scrambled up to straddle me, her cunt directly above my cock. I held her there for five seconds, ten, enjoying her squirm of anticipation, then allowed her to slide onto it till every inch was inside her.

“If you’ve come 10 times, maybe you don’t need to be fu-“

“Oh. Ohhh. I definitely need to be fucked. Please?”

And who can say no to a request like that?

~
The following evening I waited impatiently in my local pub for Greg to arrive. A city trader by day (okay: second clue), I knew that an 8pm meet would be ambitious, but after spending most of my afternoon thinking about his thick, meaty cock I’d been reluctant to push back our date any further.

He strode in purposefully at a quarter to nine, and after a brief wave in my direction made a beeline for the bar. I held up a hand to indicate that yes, I would like a drink please, and yes, feel free to make it an expensive one, then settled back and watched him from a distance, picturing those soft, capitalist hands twisting my hair.

We drank quickly and kept conversation to a minimum; we both knew what this was and what it wasn’t. Besides, I knew that it we strayed too far from general pleasantries, his political views would insert themselves between us and I’d be duty- (or maybe class-)bound to chuck my champagne all over his pretty face. And no, that’s not a euphemism.

With Gemma out at rugby training, I knew we’d have the flat to ourselves for a couple of hours at least, so when I dragged Greg through the door I forced myself to calm down and take things slowly. I didn’t need his cock in my throat right away – I could wait till we’d kissed our way across the living room to Gemma’s grandmother’s Persian rug, so my knees would have something soft to rest against as I blew him.

Greg surprised me though. After his greedy enjoyment of my mouth the previous time we hooked up, I’d expected him to want it again, but instead he eased me back onto the sofa and made a show of unhooking my belt. I raised an eyebrow.

“I loved the way you sucked me last time. But I’m a giver at heart. I had a woman come all over my tongue the other night and it made me want to feel a cock in my mouth too.”

I sighed and waited for his lips to work their magic. Politically selfish he may be, but if Greg had socialist leanings in the sack – if he wanted to pay his fair share, despite his impressive endowment – I could put my class warrior instincts aside for one night, couldn’t I?

He took me in deep on the first stroke and I felt my hips thrust into him, without any provocation from my rather preoccupied brain. He gagged and swallowed, holding me at the back of his throat and moaning around my cock. I closed my eyes and opened them again, scanning the room for something to distract myself – something to stop me coming with almost embarrassing speed.

Gradually I managed to focus on our wedding photo, framed and propped up on a table next to the sofa. I smiled. Gemma was such a good wife, and not just because she was happy for me to fuck the willing mouths of hot, earnest young men on an otherwise dull Tuesday evening. Greg glanced up and smiled back, a cock-drunk look on his face. As he followed my eyes, he realised I wasn’t smiling at him, and he frowned as he caught sight of the photo.

While my hips pushed up impatiently, I watched the frown on his face turn into something more complicated. Something a little shocked even. And something I knew I’d want to come back to later…but much, much later…because…mm…


8) The Two Sisters

Andrew Beech, remembered fondly his acclaimed performance of Vershinin in The Three Sisters. Sadly, the potential he had shown in that drama school production was never realised. After a few years of doing bits and pieces in rep he took the role of a hapless handyman in a popular television soap.

Due to a recent ‘misunderstanding’ in his dressing room he had been sacked and found himself on the front pages for all the wrong reasons. One headline referred to him as “Randy Beech”, which was later surpassed in ugliness by “Randy Bitch”. It was all a pack of lies. The newspapers had to retract their comments and offer fulsome and grovelling apologies. But the damage had been done and his contract was not renewed.

To escape the furore, and to lick his wounds, he had left London and was now holed up in his tumbledown Cotswold cottage. It was a time for reflection and a time to ask himself that burning question, where did it all go wrong?

His mind had wandered back to The Three Sisters because in recent weeks he had found himself in an unscheduled performance of the The Two Sisters. This was not a cut-down version of the Russian classic written especially for small theatre groups with budgetary concerns. No, this was a modern improv version with two real sisters. Two gorgeous women in their thirties who by lucky chance just happened to live close by. How long the run would last he had no idea but for the time being he was happy to be a performer in this avant garde pop up. Though fairly dim, Andrew realised he was in some form of triangle. What sort of triangle was anyone’s guess, (Euclid had never been his strong point at prep school) but it was most definitely a triangle and it was awash with sex.

It had all started three weeks earlier with a broken teapot.

* * *
Carol Dutton was busy throwing a clay pot on her wheel when she was disturbed by the sound of a car churning up her gravel drive.

‘Who’s this idiot,’ she cursed, as the pot wobbled out of control.

When she opened the front door she was greeted by a man in his late forties who looked familiar. He wore the smile of someone permanently pleased with themselves. He was also clutching a small box containing a broken tea pot.

‘I’m sorry to trouble you but I saw the sign at the bottom of the lane saying Carol Dutton Pottery.’

‘That’s me.’

‘I had a bit of an accident,’ he said, holding up the box. ‘I was wondering, if by some alchemy, you might be able to repair it for me.’

‘Not a chance in hell. It’s brewed its last.’

‘Oh that’s a shame.’

She knew who he was now. The accent, the clothes, the hairstyle were all different but he was definitely the randy handyman off her favourite soap.

‘I was just going to have a cup of tea. Do you fancy one? And you could have a look at some of the teapots I’ve got for sale.’

It was chilly in the cottage and Carol was wearing a big fluffy cardigan, which gave her the look of a friendly chinchilla. She tossed a couple of logs on the fire.

Andrew perused the pottery. It was a bit on the chunky side but he did find a teapot that would do the job.

‘This is a bit like my cottage,’ he said, as she poured the tea.

‘You local then?’

‘About a mile away, up the hill.’

‘I thought you’d been condemned. I mean I thought it had been condemned.’

‘No, it’s still habitable, just, but I hardly ever stay there.’

‘Been away?’

‘I live in town.’

‘Just like my sister Ellie. She’s an interior designer but has a place here. It’s an old mill with a modern addition. She calls it bucolic brutalism with eco-friendly credentials.’

‘I think I caught sight of it.’

‘Why don’t I give her a ring and you can call round there and have a chat about her doing up your place.’

‘There’s no rush is there? I mean, I quite like it as it is.’

The room had warmed up and Carol took off her cardi. As she leant forward to top him up she made sure he had a good look at her breasts, which were spilling out of her barely buttoned shirt. A bulge inside the folds of his corduroy trousers attested to the success of the operation.

Sadly, he said he had to be getting along, so when he’d departed, she hurriedly selected one of her dildos. About his size, she guessed and as she slid it in she imagined it was Andrew the handyman fucking her to oblivion.

* * *
Ellie Fitch heard the sound of a car. She’d just put the phone down on her sister, who was breathing rather heavily, and was intrigued to see what this actor looked like. She never watched soaps and had only heard of Andrew Beech because of the recent bit in the papers. First appearances didn’t seem promising. Yes, he drove a smart old car, an Alvis, but his clothes were stuck in the past and not in a good way. A pleasing enough face but the side parting with a floppy fringe did nothing for him.

He had a gorgeously smooth voice though and when he said,

‘Your sister Carol, who very kindly just sold me a teapot, asked if I wouldn’t mind dropping off these mugs, which I believe you are expecting. She’s very trusting. I mean, I could have run off with them.’

She wished he had. She loathed her sister’s pottery.

‘That’s very kind of you. Nice car by the way.’

‘Thanks. I like to give the old jalopy an airing when I’m in the country.’

She led him into the house, all glass and stainless steel. A floating staircase and walls hung with contemporary art. One large vibrant painting of a naked woman caught his eye.

‘Quite arresting isn’t it. I love it but some people find my thrusting vulva rather off-putting.’

‘Oh, shame on them.’

He put the box of six mugs down on a glass table, which she quickly whisked away out of sight.

‘My sister tells me you’re an actor.’

‘Yes. For my sins.’

Close up, he was a handsome fellow with a nice line in self deprecation. It would be good to fuck him before her sister got her potter’s paws on him.

‘As I was lying in the bath this morning Andrew, I saw smoke from your chimney.’

‘I was trying to dry the place out. It’s a bit damp.’

‘Is it rising?’

‘Very possibly.’

‘I’d be happy to take a look.’

‘But I love your house. So modern.’ As he said this he held out his arms as if he were performing the prologue from Henry V .

‘I’ll show you round, if you’ve got time,’ she said nonchalantly.

‘Thanks. I’ve nothing on at the moment.’

Hopefully, that would soon be the case.

‘This is the bathroom.’

A large white room containing a marble bath, with floor to ceiling glass about nine feet high, allowing a panoramic view of the countryside’

‘My word. This is incredible.’

She pressed a button and the glass slowly and almost imperceptibly turned opaque.

‘Whoa, How did you do that?’

‘It’s magic Andy.’

As the bathroom lights started a long slow fade to black Ellie placed her hand on his rough corduroy-clad groin and said softly,

‘Yes, it’s definitely rising.’

She then unbuttoned his flies and released his cock. Holding it tightly, she led him willingly to her bedroom.

* * *
Two sisters, both alike in dignity and both with voracious sexual appetites. Carol, warm cuddly Carol, who loves nothing better than a vigorous tit fuck while running him through the rudiments of clay preparation. And Ellie, wonderfully adventurous Ellie, who likes nothing better than to fuck him with a strap-on while discussing the whys and wherefores of having another tattoo.

Old Andrew would have failed to cope with such demands upon his virility. Like a poor player he would have strut and fret his hour upon the stage and then be heard no more.

But new Andy is different. He never mentions old British war films, or discusses the decline of spin bowling in the minor counties. He has consigned his actorly baggage, both spiritual and physical into a number of black bin liners and delivered them to local charity shops in and around Stroud.

Andy is a new man. The slate has been wiped clean and every day is a new beginning. For him, the past is now a foreign and long forgotten country. He is, as he delights in telling Carol and Ellie, no longer the old square riding on a hippopotamus. Or words to that effect.


9) The Kinky Girl

I wanted to be the big-D domme who knew what she was doing, but the truth was I was very much still a little-d domme looking for that magical submissive man who could put up with my fumbling explorations. The guy who wouldn’t laugh at me if I dressed up like a stern librarian and turned my ankle in my stilettos when I sauntered his way. Nick seemed to be that guy.

Armed with just enough information to be dangerous I agreed to meet him one chilly fall night. He was tall and cool and young, a hipster who wore a black leather jacket and flipped his hair out of his eyes every few seconds. He smelled of tobacco and wore cowboy boots that made him 2 inches taller than his 6’1”. Me, I had big boobs and a smile going for me.

We went through the regular kind of chit chat at first only interrupted by refills of wine and the occasional outburst of mock horror as we watched gigantic cockroaches scuttle up and down the trunk of a heritage oak tree in two lanes. Texas was a weird place.

We quickly moved on to share our kinks and our curiosities and giggled as other patrons, innocent faces lit by the little red candles on the tables, discussed boring things like their jobs and bad relationships.

We even imagined what another couple who was clearly also on a first date were saying. We snickered at our awfulness, clinked our glasses, and I knew then that we were a good match. I leaned in and pressed my knee against his, the stars above us twinkled and the roaches pressed on with their busyness behind him.

“So…” I began, “are you seeing anyone else right now?”

He leaned back a little and took a breath. “Well, sort of.” I winced and waited. “I met her just a couple of weeks ago and things seem to be going well, but,” he paused, “she’s vanilla…” his voice trailed off.

Ah, yes, the alluring Vanilla Girl I often found myself up against. The woman who won’t let anyone touch her butthole and can’t wrap her head around the scintillating joys of a man on his knees because she’s the one who’s supposed to follow the leader, not him. She’s also the one who gets taken out on dates, meets his friends, and who gets him to apologize for not texting her back right away. Sometimes I want to be that Vanilla Girl if only to feel fragile and cared for by a man for a change.

Instead, I’m the Kinky Girl. The one who becomes a cog in the toy that is pulled out to be played with only on occasion, hidden and tucked away most days.

I sighed and leaned back and took a sip of my wine. So, Vanilla Girl got to him first, I thought. They weren’t exclusive yet, so he felt morally in the clear to pursue this side of himself with me. I hadn’t met anyone I hit it off so well with ever, so I guess I was going to be a part of this.

I put my hand on his knee and squeezed. “C’mere,” I said and beckoned him to my lips. I took the back of his neck in my hand and pulled him in for a kiss. He tasted of Malbec and tobacco and I felt him tremble a little. His lips were soft and pliant, his tongue that delicious soft wetness that always made me melt a little. The whole kiss was perfect.

I left that night feeling confident that I was making the right decision in pulling the thread and seeing what happened between us. I could handle this.

He became a steady presence in my life, texting me promptly and carving time out of his busy schedule just for me. He would arrive at my door as instructed, with his hair tied back and out of his face with a toothsome grin. I loved reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss his scruffy face knowing that I was the boss. Our eagerness to learn how to do all of this was matched only in our enthusiasm to try anything.

He wore my panties and sent me pictures; he’d ask to do chores and I’d let him so long as he put on another pair of my underwear. He would hold perfectly still as I wrapped a petal-pink satin ribbon around his erection and warm sac. I didn’t know if he could tell I was making it all up, but his rapt attention and utter submission allowed me not to worry.

The night I finally got to fuck his virgin ass I’d tied a second piece of black satin around his throat. His eyes shimmered in the candlelight in my room and he vibrated from head to toe. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I’d always imagined pegging a man doggy-style – their hole is in the back, after all – but his legs were so much longer than mine there was no way for my very modest finger-sized dick to reach him. I adjusted the strap-on harness for the umpteenth time and told him to lie on his back.

This was a view I had never expected. Everything was for me. Him, his submission, his spread legs, his short, heavy breaths. I spread his knees and squirted lube onto my fingertips and watched him jolt as I put the cold gel on his hole. I moved closer, angled my hips and slowly pressed my prosthetic penis inside.

I kept my eyes on his face, rapt with wonder and lust, and wished I could feel him in this way. Like, really feel him. I remembered all the times a man pressed into me and how full I felt, how delicious and whole. I began to thrust, gently, and he hitched his ankles up to my shoulders. Holy shit, I thought. His legs are fucking heavy. But I kept going and clutched his legs for balance.

I watched his cock twitch and bounce and untied it with one tug of the ribbon. I stroked him out of sequence with my thrusts and he pushed against me and writhed with pleasure. I felt like a goddamned dynamo, invincible almost. Having a dick was awesome!

And then one particular surge of passion swept through him and he nearly knocked me right off the bed. Little-d domme emergency!

I recentered myself and kept going braced for more of this full contact sport. A film of sweat covered my entire body. Holy shit, fucking was hard! My legs trembled as I fought to stay on top of the bed as he couldn’t help but push powerfully against me so lost in himself he was. I, on the other hand, wasn’t too sure how sexy me in a heap on the floor would be.

“Pet,” I said huskily trying to hide my fear of being literally fucked off the bed, “you can’t push against me so hard.” I tapped his thighs and he relaxed some just in time for me to jerk him off to completion with my little black cock buried in his ass.

It was just another beautiful night with my sweet Nick and I stroked his hair and purred into his ear what a good boy he’d been. I settled into his nook and waited for him to be ready for his cigarette. It was our routine where after playing and aftercare, he’d head outside for a smoke. I knew he’d be leaving soon after the ember was crushed out and felt sad.

When I stood up to get dressed my legs buckled and I found I could barely walk. My entire body hurt from trying to stay on the bed while pegging him. I laughed and cried out and he helped me get dressed and walk out to the patio. I felt like I’d squatted 1000lbs.

Vanilla Girl lurked in the background of my consciousness as he smoked his last cigarette just like she hovered in my thoughts as I pinned his wrists above his head and rode his face, just like she penetrated my mind as I penetrated his tight little anus with my nimble fingers. Sometimes I thought I should just invite her over, too. She was always there with us anyway.

His cigarette finished he announced his departure. I smiled languidly and walked him to the door. I kissed him goodbye from my tiptoes and he passed out into the night with promises to see me again soon. That was the last time I ever saw him. Vanilla Girl wanted to be exclusive, he texted, and he had strong feelings for her, so he was going to give it a whirl. Why not, right? She had more to offer anyway. I just had big boobs and a smile and a burning desire to stay on top of the bed.


10) A Fuck-tastic Review

Review by: BigDickRick69

I gave Master Daddy’s Fuck-tastic Sexual Enhancement Tincture FIVE STARS because this shit is amazeballs, like seriously, my balls have never produced so much spunk in my entire life. I don’t think I can fully describe the ecstasy that this tincture induced without goin’ into some dirty details. I mean, I could say, “Yeah, it was great! We fucked all night long!” That don’t really paint an accurate picture of the sex hurricane that turned our kitchen upside down.

I don’t even know why I bought this stuff, really. I was browsin’ some low budget porn site at like three am on a Tuesday and got this stupid pop-up ad. I don’t ever click on those things, they’re so annoying when you’re just tryin’ to bust a good nut! I guess my butterfingers slipped and accidentally clicked the mouse. Anyway, I was curious when I saw the reviews. I mean, they seemed too good to be true, but $19.99 is a small price to pay for “a tool harder than steel that can drill right though her.” I was also pretty sure that my darlin’ wife Rhonda would really like to have a “pussy slimier than an American politician,” so I bit the bullet and bought it.

I told Rhonda about it the next mornin’ while she was cookin’ my bacon and eggs. She nearly flung the spatula at me, goin’ on about the power bill or some shit. I told her that if she didn’t spend so much money on those rainbow-colored talons of hers, that it wouldn’t be an issue, shut her up real quick! She said, “Fine. I’ll take your stupid mystery sex drug, but only if we can have Tammy over too!” Well, I was okay with that for sure. Tammy had a big pair of titties on her that I’d been wantin’ to get my hands on since she and Rhonda started hangin’ out. Plus, I was itchin’ to see my lovely Rhonda gettin’ down and dirty with another woman. That shit is hot, no lie!

So, we made plans with Tammy and I checked the mail everyday like a little kid waitin’ for a letter from fuckin’ Santa Claus. Every time I opened that rusty metal box to find a stack of bills and not my tincture, I’d get a little more disappointed. Maybe, I’d been ripped off by some jerk on the other side of the world! Then finally, the day came, and I swear the inside of that mailbox lit up like it was holdin’ a pile of gold nuggets from a cowboy western movie. I jumped up like I’d been nipped by a rattlesnake, hootin’ and hollerin’ all the way to the front porch where Rhonda was watchin’ me, shakin’ her head. The box it came in was wrapped in shiny gold paper with a red velvet ribbon tied around it, real fancy. I knew then, that this stuff was gonna be good. I mean, who takes the time to make somethin’ look so special if it ain’t worth a shit?

Tammy came over that night wearin’ some skimpy ass shorts and a crop top. Why she thought she needed to try so hard is beyond me; I’m a sure thing, baby! But, she looked hot, all tan and blonde with those big pink lips. My dick was already chubbin’ just thinkin’ about them wrapped around it. We stood in the kitchen like some rookie college kids dosin’ acid for the first time and each took a dropper full of this sex tincture. It tasted like shit, all bitter and thick, coatin’ the back of the throat like a medicine. I chased mine with a nice cold Natty Lite and the girls had their Smirnoff Ice bullshit, so it wasn’t so bad, I guess.

It wasn’t but five minutes later, we were still standin’ in the kitchen talkin’ when I felt a change. I looked over at Rhonda and she was rubbin’ her ass against the kitchen cabinets like she didn’t even realize she was doin’ it. Tammy’s eyes were all big and she kept runnin’ her tongue across her bottom lip, both of them, teasin’ me like some sex buffet laid out just for me. I looked at them, they looked at me, and it was on, baby!

Now, this wasn’t your typical threesome where it starts out slow and people are tryin’ to be polite and give everyone a turn. No, this was like the zombie apocalypse and we were trying to eat each other up, brains and all. We all converged in the middle of the kitchen floor, ripped each others’ clothes off like they were on fire, and just started kissin’ whatever was closest to us. Rhonda’s mouth was latched onto the side of Tammy’s face, I was somewhere close to Tammy’s tits, but my brain couldn’t quite find ‘em yet, and Tammy was sucklin’ the top of my head, right on that fuckin’ bald patch. We fell down to the linoleum and rolled around a bit, touchin’ and rubbin’, lickin’ what ever we could, and we just didn’t care one bit about nothin’ but the feelin’ between our own legs.

The girls got tangled up in each other for a bit, and I stepped back to gather my thoughts before my Little Head took over and I nutted too quick. Now, they don’t call me Big Dick Rick for nothin’, I tell you what, but I looked down and my dick was bigger than a turkey leg at the Renaissance Fair! I mean this thing was thick and greasy, like you just wanted to sink your teeth into it and let the juice run down your chin. When I held it in my hand, I felt like Thor holdin’ his hammer, fuckin’ great!

Rhonda rolled over onto her back, and Tammy straddled her face, cunny dripping like a droolin’ dog waitin’ for a bone. Rhonda’s legs were spread wide and I finally got a good look at her cunt. Like my dick, her lips were swollen, glistenin’ with her nectar like two basted sausages ready for the grill. She looked tasty as fuck, but my dick wanted to get wet. I knelt down between her legs, not even feelin’ my bad knees on the hard floor, and just started jack hammerin’ in her. Tammy was havin’ a time ridin’ her face, her mouth open like some dumb sex doll, her eyes rolled back in her head as her titties bounced for my viewing pleasure. I grabbed her hair and pulled her head down to my crotchal region, somehow findin’ the athletic prowess to remove my dick from Rhonda’s hungry snatch and shove it down Tammy’s throat in one smooth motion. She choked and gagged on it for about point five seconds before she started goin’ to town on me, suckin’ it all the way down to her gullet. I could hear muffled protests from under Tammy’s big ass. Rhonda wanted to be filled again. I pulled my dick from Tammy’s mouth vacuum and shoved it back into Rhonda. Once Rhonda got back what she wanted, she started buckin’ on me good. We all found this rhythm, like we were dancers in a fancy show, and one by one we popped off. I think Tammy went first, gushin’ all over Rhonda’s face, her mouth makin’ noises like a steam engine. Rhonda was grabbin’ at me with her cunt, pullin’ and squeezin’ as if she wanted to take me all the way in and birth me out later. It was all I could do to hold out for her. When she came, cheese on a cracker, it was fuckin’ fantastic! She rippled around me like she required six D batteries to operate. Her cunt reached deep into my soul to pull my spunk out. I musta shot out a gallon of it too, ‘cause it spilled out the sides of her cunt. Crazy shit! We all sat there panting for about five seconds, I think, lookin’ around like, “WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?”

Seriously, this is what makes this stuff so great. I’m a one hit and quit kinda guy, like I can’t just get up and go again right after I spew. I need a nap at least. Well, like I said, five seconds and I felt it again. My hammer was gettin’ hard, and I could see Tammy startin’ to grind her hips against Rhonda’s sticky face, and we just looked at each other and smiled.

So, yeah, it was great! We fucked all night long! Loud, desperate, animal fuckin’! Butt fuckin’, face and fist fuckin, went-through-seventeen-condoms fuckin’. Fuckin’ mess! The next day, I had to reattach the pantry door while Rhonda cleaned the spunk off the floors and Tammy put the kitchen table back. This shit is seriously insane. I’ve already ordered three cases to have on hand, you know, for a rainy day!


11) Birthday Sex

Olivia knocked on the back door and let herself in. The scent of pastry filled the air and reminded her of weekends with her grandmother. She loved visiting this house for her job. Instead of work, it always felt like home.

“Mrs. Taylor? I’m here.”

An elderly woman wearing heels and a slim-fitting blue dress hurried into the foyer. She had a smear of flour on her cheek and her beehive, blonde wig had tipped sideways. Mrs. Taylor’s hair had thinned out and she refused to look anything other than marvelous. She called herself a belle of the south and carried herself that way at all times. Olivia gave her a hug and carefully wiped Mrs. Taylor’s cheek while moving her hairpiece back into place.

“I’m so glad you’re here. My husband has been pestering me all morning. I barely got his birthday cake in the oven.”

From the living room, Mr. Taylor must have heard them talking.

“Is there a girl here?”

“Yes, darling. It’s Olivia, our health aide.”

“I don’t care who it is. Tell her to get her sweet ass in here. Daddy’s lap is waiting.”

“Don’t talk like that! She’s not a lady of the evening. She’s here to help us.”

“I could use a little of her help right now.” Mr. Taylor chuckled to himself.

Mrs. Taylor threw her hands in the air. “Dementia for the past year and all he remembers is his birthday and sex.” She marched into the living room with Olivia.

“Patrick Joseph Taylor, what are you doing? You’re going to scare this poor girl away.”

“Ah, she seems tougher than that. Besides, I bet she has a crush on me.”

Olivia laughed quietly. Watching the two of them bicker was more entertaining than television, especially when Mr. Taylor was having a good day. On the bad days he would be quiet and withdrawn, almost catatonic. It broke her heart because she’d already grown to love both of them. To see Mr. Taylor fade was like watching her own grandfather drift away. Olivia admired Mrs. Taylor’s strength and was happy to work with them. They applied for a grant through Hilarity for Charity which paid for her help 25 hours each week. Olivia would often stay longer, although most of the time Mr. Taylor didn’t know who she was.

“You are ridiculous. I’ll be in the kitchen making lunch.” Mrs. Taylor stomped off.

“How are you feeling today Mr. Taylor?”

“Like I’m 25 years old again. Did you know that it’s my birthday today?”

“Yes, I heard. Happy Birthday!”

“You know, when I turned 25, my Josie made me a special dinner even though she had no idea how to cook. I can still taste that burnt roast and the charred potatoes.” Mr. Taylor smacked his lips. “I ate all of it and told her that dinner was the best thing I’d ever eaten.”

“It was sweet of you to say that.”

“That’s what a good husband does. Especially if he wants dessert!” He rocked back in his wheelchair. “Josie made me a bowl of chocolate pudding and dragged me into the bedroom. She poured some on her belly and told me lick it off.” He chuckled. “That was one of my favorite birthdays.”

“How about we get you cleaned up while the cake is in the oven?”

“You just want to see me naked, don’t you?”

Olivia’s cheeks reddened. “Don’t be silly.”

She wheeled him into the bathroom only to discover that Mr. Taylor had a tremendous hard-on. Olivia had encountered many different scenarios while caring for the elderly, but this was unusual. Even for horny Mr. Taylor.

“Mrs. Taylor? Could you come to the bathroom?”

Mrs. Taylor showed up moments later. Her wig had tilted again.

“What’s wrong dear?” Olivia pointed at the body part that was pointing at both of them. Mrs. Taylor put her readers on and leaned forward.

“What is that?”

“I know it’s been a while darling, but you don’t remember?” Mr. Taylor had the smile of a cheshire cat.

Mrs. Taylor gasped and straightened as her readers fell off.

“What did you do?”

“Doctor slipped me a couple of Viagra for my birthday.”

“You’re not supposed to have that. It could give you a heart attack!”

“I’m gonna die eventually. I might as well do it with a smile on my face.” He smirked lasciviously and looked at Olivia. “When I turned 40, Josie and I rented a cottage up in Adirondacks. It was a long drive and she looked so good sitting next to me with her hand on my leg.”

Mrs. Taylor blushed. “Don’t tell her about that.”

Mr. Taylor kept going. “We were on this quiet country road when she moved her hand toward my cock. Almost swerved the car off the road.”

“Darling, she does not want to hear our sex story!”

Mr. Taylor ignored her. “She unbuttoned my pants and gave me a blow job. It was incredible.”

“You said you always wanted to do that. I thought it would be a nice birthday gift,” Mrs. Taylor interjected.

“I wanted more. Since we were all alone, I pulled over to the side of the road and we both hopped into the back seat.” Mrs. Taylor giggled. “We’d just started when it felt like we were being watched.”

“We looked up to see a huge black bear standing near the car.” Mr. Taylor snorted. “You should have seen Josie’s face.”

“My face? You were so pale that I thought you were going to be sick!” Mrs. Taylor looked indignant.

“I hopped in the front seat faster than you’d think a man could and we peeled out of there. That poor bear was left looking awfully puzzled.”

Mrs. Taylor put her hand over her husband’s mouth to make him stop talking and turned to Olivia. “Could you call 911? We need to get him into the hospital before this sex-starved fool kills himself.”

As Olivia left the room, she heard him continue. “I felt like the luckiest bastard alive that day because of you.”

While on the phone with 911, Olivia heard Mrs. Taylor wheel her husband out of the bathroom. Olivia returned to the living room, expecting to find them waiting, but they weren’t there. Puzzled, she walked back to the bedroom only to find the door closed.

“Mrs. Taylor? Mr. Taylor? Are you okay?”

From inside, she heard Mr. Taylor groan. Frightened, she opened the door to find Mrs. Taylor sitting on Mr. Taylor’s lap, facing him. Her legs were dangling on either side of the chair as she moved up and down. Olivia gasped when she realized what they were doing.

Mrs. Taylor must have heard because she put her readers on and turned toward Olivia. She beamed like a kid with a cookie.

“We can’t let an opportunity like this pass us by, can we?”

Mr. Taylor peeked at Olivia. “We could let her watch.”

Mrs. Taylor slapped his shoulder. “You are such a pervert! We’re not going to have an audience.”

“Why not? She might learn something.” Mr. Taylor kissed Mrs. Taylor and lowered his voice, “Promise me that when I’m gone, you’ll find someone who will love you as well as you have loved me.”

As she closed the door behind her, Olivia heard Mrs. Taylor call out, “Be a love and let me know when the ambulance arrives and check on the cake!”


12) Lights, Camera, Action

‘Hells, no. Not a strap-on.’ Max eyed the leather belt with the large, black cock in Jax’s hands.

‘She’ll lube it up good.’ Jax idly stroked the rigid, veined silicone.

He fastened the belt around his hips, the impressive dong projecting out like a phallic Pinocchio nose. ‘I could DP Melly all by myself with this.’ He waggled his hips, the cock swaying from side to side.

‘Geez, Jax. Keep your cock to yourself.’ Max grabbed the flapping appendage just before it demolished a box of condoms on a shelf. ‘Melly doesn’t need one of those. She’s got us. You fuck me. I fuck you. We both fuck her. One big, happy family.’

‘That’s the thing, Maxy. There’s something missing in that equation. She doesn’t fuck us.’

‘How do you know she’s even into pegging? Surely we’ve uncovered all her fantasies?’

Their gorgeous woman, the love of their lives, was a total slut. Up for anything. They’d certainly run the gamut of kinky shit, but Jax wanted something extra special for her ‘big’ birthday.

In their poly triad they had plenty of individual time with Melly and it was totally her call as to when they all shared the same bed. But her birthday was a celebration that called for a full on, hardcore threesome.

‘So,’ Jax put a reassuring arm around Max’s shoulder, ‘we’ll surprise her with a fantasy she doesn’t know she has yet.’

***
Happy birthday to me! My two beautiful men are spoiling me rotten.

Breakfast in bed this morning. Bliss. All my favorite food, then Jax’s tireless tongue on my clit and Max’s finger in my arse, creating a tsunami of pleasure that had me squirting like Niagara Falls.

While Max changed the sheets, Jax had run me a bubble bath. They left me to soak and disappeared for hours, plotting something, but what? I’ve been asked, no told, to put on something sexy and wait in my dressing room until further notice.

I’ll wear something slutty, but classy. Like me. Four-inch stilettos, and I’ve already put on stockings, the ones with seams. The highway to paradise, Max says, because he’s an ass man. A lick-ass man. Mine. Jax’s. He doesn’t even mind if we fall asleep from the relaxing sweetness of it. He just keeps at it till he’s had his fill.

My boys have amazing stamina. I hope they put it to good use tonight.

I’m in a baby pink mood, so I choose the baby doll with maribou feather edging because I’m a girly girl. A slut with a heart of pink.

The silk slithers deliciously over my skin, the feathers teasing my freshly waxed cunt. I check myself out in the mirror. Perfect. Simple, but definitely sexy. The fabric clings and my nipples, already hard with anticipation, protrude enticingly. I give them a tweak and a trickle of wetness slides down my thigh.

I’m about to slide my fingers there to get a cheeky head start on things when there’s a crash and hefty cursing from the bedroom. Then ‘Shhhhhhh.’ Then ‘Don’t shush me. She knows we’re here.’

Maybe they’re installing a sex swing?

I’ve always wanted to wrap my legs around a guy and have him pound me against the wall. But being far from petite, that’s not something even their ample quads and biceps can manage. I’m sure they’d give it a re- hot go, but I don’t want to be responsible for us featuring in an episode of Sex Sent Me To The ER.

I sit on my fluffy ottoman, jiggling my foot, waiting. All dressed up and no one to fuck. Ohhhh, maybe they’ve brought in an extra? Or extras? We’ve discussed a private gang bang and they’ve teased me about becoming the next Annabelle Chong.

It is my thirtieth. Maybe they’ve got me thirty guys? Not quite up to Annabelle’s score, but …

The door bursts open and my beautiful, naked men are all big smiles, and big hard cocks.

They lead me to the bed where a box, elegantly wrapped in black with gold ribbon, lies in the middle of the white duvet.

‘Happy birthday, Melly.’ They plant kisses on my cheek.

I crawl inelegantly across the king bed, butt and pussy bare to the air as the baby doll rides up, and grab my gift like a child at Christmas. Wrapping and ribbon are dispensed with, I pull out my prize and hold it aloft.

The plump, round head of a black dildo on leather strapping dangles in front of my face.

‘Do you like it? You’re fucking Jax first,’ Max volunteers.

The deliciously thick cock fits snugly in my hand, and it’ll be oh so snug in Jax’s arse. I’m getting hot just thinking about working my way past that initial resistance, then sinking it in. I’ve enjoyed using my fingers and tongue on his sweet hole but this? This is going to be next level.

‘You’ve outdone yourselves, guys.’

‘There’s more,’ says Max.

‘With love from us.’ Jax points to the chest of drawers.

A camera on a tripod with a gold bow.

And a shining red light.

‘Is that filming already?’ I’d crawled onto the bed with my butt to the camera?’ I’m no selfie queen, but my size sixteen cheeks aren’t my best angle.

They come next to me on the bed, the three of us, all with cocks pointing skyward, and I giggle.

‘Mine’s bigger than yours.’

Then a pang of guilt hits and I stroke their cocks.

‘But these are just perfect for me. You’re both perfect for me.’ I’m also not a size queen, and my men fill me perfectly. Fill my cunt, and my heart.

‘So, are we getting this show on the road?’ I kneel up and wrap the harness around my hips. Max’s hand slides up my thigh as Jax fastens the harness. Max’s fingers brush my clit.

‘Keep that up and forget doing anything else.’

‘Just teasing. This little baby’s going to do the work, while you do yours.’ Jax’s hand slides between my legs from behind, finds the triangle of leather and draws it through to secure.

‘Just,’ Max gropes under the cock now protruding from my lower belly, ‘like this.’

A breath-sucking vibration buzzes on my clit.

‘Turn it off. Turn it off.’ I grab them both by the shoulder. ‘I’m gonna cum.’ These two have honed my body to the point where it doesn’t take much to tip me over the edge.

‘Go for it, darling. Come for us.’

My mind and body are consumed by the shuddering orgasm that’s pulses from my clit to every extremity. Then the vibration stops, and someone’s mouth is on mine, a tongue softly probing between my lips, meeting mine in a languorous slow dance while a hand cups my breasts and pinches my nipple through the silk.

I could easily disappear into the comfort of our intimacy, but tonight is about going somewhere new. I break the kiss.

‘I’ve got the biggest cock, so I’m in charge. On your knees, Jax. Warm him up for me, Max.’

They oblige and Jax responds with a growl of approval as Max’s tongue laps his puckered hole.

Normally Jax would give the same avid attention to my clit, but tonight I have a cock, so I move in front of him and rub its fat head against his lips. His mouth opens with Pavlovian predictability.

I fuck his mouth with a gentle rhythm, the head at first, then deeper. His moans change to a garbled sound. ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ I admonish, and pull out.

‘Are we on a good angle for the camera?’

We all check.

‘This way a bit more,’ Max shuffles around, palming his cock and waving it at the camera. ‘Ready for my close up, Mr DeMille.’

‘Put that to good use.’ I move between them. ‘But pass the lube first.’

‘Assume the position again, Jax.’ I squeeze a stream of lube between his cheeks, and he squirms.

‘Geez, you could warm it first.’

I slather some over the dildo and press gently. Resistance, a guttural groan and I’m in, but freeze momentarily, not wanting to hurt him.

‘More.’ He pushes back and as I sink deeper, Max’s cock nudges, then possesses my cunt.

We move in unison. A mini sex train. A Melly sandwich. I don’t even need the vibe and I’m almost at that point of no return. So are they.

A-bloody-mazing.

We’re a well-oiled machine.

Until someone gets out of sync, and the wheels fall off the sex train.

Max spurts all over my back. I squirt all over him. Jax sprays my pristine, white duvet and we collapse in a wet, sticky, happy heap.

***
Snuggled between my men as they give in to sated sleep, I reach out to hold their dormant cocks. My cocks. Given to me in love, and received with love.

Jax murmurs contentedly. Max farts. All is well with the world.


13) Trio of Thieves

Magynhilde stoked the fire and poured elderberry wine into Sun Elven goblets. She used them once a year, sighing with anticipation with each extraction from the safe and reverently wiping away the accumulated dust. Capping the decanter, she surveyed the chamber: a morsel-laden table, a barrel of wine tucked away in one corner, and of course her enormous bed in the middle of the room.

Everything was perfect. Everything, that is, except her guests had not yet arrived.

Twilight cloaked the earth and owls hooted, beginning their evening hunt. Magynhilde forced away her worries; her guests were as capable and dangerous as she. With a deep breath, she willed herself to relax, sink into her grand leather chair, kick her feet up on the desk, and indulge.

As soon as she got comfortable, there was a familiar metallic scratching at the door. Her pulse quickened. Beneath her silk robe, her body tightened. The door opened and heavy steps echoed through the cavernous chamber.

“You’re late,” she said, training her gaze on the large ruby ring she’d recently acquired that now fit snugly on her middle finger.

Valfar closed the door behind him, unburdened himself of his bags, and lifted his hood. His throat went dry at the sight of Magynhilde: silver hair bound in a long braid, elegant fingers holding a delicate glass, and bare, shapely legs covered in tattoos.

“Had to take back trails,” he answered and made his way to the smorgasbord.

“Trouble with guards?”

“As always. Puss took a liking to a bauble and wouldn’t let us leave Whitehall until it was cleaned to his satisfaction.”

Magynhilde rolled her eyes, then noticed one of Valfar’s bags wriggling and—

“Valfar, is that bag growling?”

The beastly man helped himself to a glass and shrugged. “Might be.”

“Open it.” She said it sternly, using the same tone she used to instruct new recruits in their guild.

Valfar hesitated, his brilliant green eyes dancing over her features. Magynhilde raised her eyebrows and nodded. Control established, she watched him bend over and untie the cloth sack.

A yowling black cat leaped from the bag and jumped onto her bed, where it became entangled in a red silk robe she had laid out. Clad in scarlet and now panicking, it began tearing around the room, knocking treasures and trinkets off their perches. One of Magynhilde’s rarer vases crashed on the stone floor, which prompted a startled exclamation from the bundle of chaos. Had this occurred in the mead hall, filled with the recruits, the place would have devolved into raucous laughter. This pair knew better than to chase the creature; he’d calm himself in due time.

The cat disappeared into Valfar’s shadow. Magynhilde cleared her throat. “And the diamond that was worth so much trouble?”

Valfar swallowed a huge mouthful of wine. “It’s his to offer, Maggie.”

Before she could reply, she looked over his shoulder and saw her other guest. A lean man of dark complexion and smooth, black body hair approached them, now filling out the robe Magynhilde had laid out for him on the bed.

She stood and held out the final glass for him. Valfar rose from his chair. A sense of calm descended upon them. “Valfar, Zh’argo, it’s been too long.”

Zh’argo accepted his glass and the trio raised their glasses. “What shall we drink to?”

Magynhilde’s spirit hummed with her companion’s silken voice, one that had charmed people across the realm into ridding themselves of their clothes and, when spent from exertion, their possessions.

“Reunion, my loves.”

The men nodded and they drank to glad tidings. They settled into the luxurious chairs.

“Care to tell me why you’re late, gentlemen?”

Zh’argo shrank into his chair while Valfar grinned at him. “Yes, cat. Why were we late?”

Zh’argo hissed at him. “Just give her the—”

“Drink your wine and get that fat cock ready,” Magynhilde retorted. “Valfar, do continue.”

“Our beloved comrade had made the acquaintance of an heiress in the Imperial City. Apparently, she’d been so isolated that even a black cat was enough companionship for her.”

Zh’argo grumbled. “We clean ourselves, unlike you Northern men who bask in the scent of your filth.” Magynhilde stifled a giggle while the two men bickered like they were back in short pants.

“If I may go on,” Valfar said, “the girl was betrothed, and her dowry was impressive. We catalogued the material and decided that the jewels would be ideal for a heist.”

“Yes: the first lesson of thieving. What makes this so amusing?”

Valfar chuckled. “Zh’argo masquerading as a jewel-laden dandy at night—”

“I can’t help that rubies compliment me in the best possible way!”

“Please tell me you did this alone,” Magynhilde pleaded.

“Well…” Zh’argo took a long drink.

“He did, until he didn’t!” Valfar descended into laughter.

Zh’argo was exasperated. “Look, yes I used her looking-glass to admire how the tiaras and chokers and rings looked on my flesh. Yes, I investigated their value and dreamt of keeping some of the pieces for myself because they sparkle and are delightful. And yes, I made sure I did this while she was sound asleep.”

“So, what happened?”

Valfar jumped in. “Turns out the worst way to defend your daughter’s virtue is to lock her away until she breaks. She’d snuck out while Zh’argo slept by the fire—”

“It was cozy; what else was I supposed to do?”

“—and must have gone for a rebellious night of passion. Our friend resumed his nocturnal jewel modeling when the door opened prematurely.”

Magynhilde couldn’t stop chuckling. “So now our young miss enters her chamber expecting a sleeping cat and happens upon a man wearing naught but her jewelry and—”

“And doesn’t scream, thank the gods!” Zh’argo interrupted. “All she did was stare in stunned silence while I…”

Valfar urged him on. “Go on, kitty, what next?”

“I swallowed the diamond ring.”

The wine was long gone. Magynhilde watched as Valfar reached into one of his innumerable pockets and pulled out an enormous diamond ring, offering it to her. When she didn’t take it, he placed it on the table.

Magynhilde coughed. “I hesitate to ask, but how did you extract this?”

Zh’argo flushed with embarrassment. “I shifted, fled the palatial prison, and Valfar quite unceremoniously stashed me in that horrid sack.”

“When one poses as an exterminator of vermin, one must commit to the role,” Valfar said with a proud grin.

Magynhilde blinked at Zh’argo, sighed, and said, “For your sake, I hope you passed this with your human arse.”

Now Valfar laughed heartily while Zh’argo scowled. “I’ll have you know that I had it thoroughly cleaned.”

Magynhilde rose from her chair and came around her desk, gently stroking Zh’argo’s cheek. He leaned into the touch. “I’m sure. It’s a dazzling gift, my beloved pet.”

She made her way to the bed, shrugging her own robe from her shoulders. Valfar and Zh’argo made their way towards her. From over her shoulder, she said, “Your company is far more precious to me.”

Magynhilde climbed on the bed and leaned against the pillows. She watched their expressions change from charmed to primal, both men staring at her tattooed body. Zh’argo climbed up from the foot of the bed while Valfar stood to the side and began to strip. As he unbuckled his belt, Zh’argo placed himself between Magynhilde’s legs, his dark hands stroking her delicate skin. He fumbled with his remaining clothes and once he was fully nude, he saw that Zh’argo was lapping at their master’s quim.

Decadence, wealth, and hedonistic pleasures, she mused. These were hard-fought joys and well-earned luxuries. The trio had been raised as slaves, surviving on their strengths and unflappable commitment to each other. Her cunning and ruthless ambitions propelled them to unimaginable heights, becoming the leaders of a far-reaching network of pickpockets, forgers, and henchmen. The world may have been theirs, but it came with a stark price: for their safety, these reunions could happen but one night each year.

She sighed as Valfar joined the pair, his cock jutting out and gleaming with sticky fluid. He grunted and Magynhilde beckoned him to join in the earthly delights. Valfar mounted the bed and knelt by her head, cradling her skull. She gleefully parted her lips and took him into her mouth inch by glorious inch.

Zh’argo made a growling noise and the other two chuckled, saliva escaping Magynhilde’s lips and dripping onto fine silk sheets. Callused hands met sculpted thighs and scarred backs. Tongues entwined with each other and burrowed into entrances. Flesh pierced flesh and limbs were entangled, no one quite sure where one partner ended and another began. Sighs turned to grunts, grunts turned to moans, and moans turned to cries of ecstasy.

Afterwards, she stretched while Valfar redressed and Zh’argo shifted back into his cat form and climbed onto Valfar’s shoulder. As he strode towards the door, Valfar winked at her.

“Until next year, Maggie.”


7 Replies to “Smut Marathon 2019: Voting Round 9 (Semi-finals)

  1. I love this round as I am a great believer that funny can go with sex – but many I didn’t find were funny – it is a difficult combo –

    1) Nicely written but I didn’t find this particularly funny or erotic. I knew what was going to happen
    2) I found the sex very clinical so not erotic. Nice ending though.
    3) Now this was hot and quite amusing but not my scene.
    4) This was hot but not amusing.
    5) Clever tale – not amusing to me though
    6) This is good – made me lol and is amusing and sexy. These guys had a life/history too.
    7) Knew what was going to happen. Hot in places – didn’t make me laugh
    8) This is witty, more subtle than being funny, nice dialogue – and the character had a history
    9) I really liked this tale, amusing and sexy in places– but wanted more from it.
    10) Loved the writing style of this one. Made me smile and was hot in places.
    11) This was a brave entry. A proper story. Very amusing in places and a little erotic in others. And I loved it. There was not only humour and sexy stuff here. There was life and emotion – good job!
    12) Some fab imagery here. Would like more of a story and was not keen on jumping form third person to first.
    13) Interesting theme to this well written tale. More sex needed.

    I have four favourites –

    Clear fave for me was 11 – but l also liked 6 8 10
    Well done everyone – not an easy round.

  2. Too Hot to Handle – First of all, this was super hot! With the prompt, I assumed it was David on the video chat, but you laid nice clues throughout that, without knowing the prompt, will make this a nice twist ending! Great job!
    Integrative Therapy… – Hot! Definitely a taboo fantasy. Very well written with a nice twist at the end.
    Cupid’s Chokehold – Great descriptions in here! At first I thought they really were talking about a gorilla!
    Madeline for Brunch – Very interesting idea for this. There were a couple errors, but overall, I thought this was hot!
    End of Eden – I love your idea for this! Great imagination! There are a few errors and but getting thrown out of Eden for throwing a dildo at Adam is probably the funniest thing ever…
    Cut ‘n’ Shunt – I have to admit that I couldn’t really follow this and almost gave up trying to read it. There was a lot of lingo and I still don’t really know what “cut ‘n’ shunt” means.The sex was hot, but maybe taking this line by line and thinking about whether it would make sense to a layman would be a good idea.
    Shared Interests – At first I thought you had more than three people in this, but I think you just switched the Tory’s name – it was Pete in the beginning and Greg in the end. The story is hot, but I think the clue about having a woman cum on his lips gives it away a little too much.
    The Two Sisters – Great descriptions, but you cut the scene right when it was getting really hot! I also wonder if you could weave the backstory into the story of the two sisters instead of making it exposition?
    The Kinky Girl – Awww that was kind of sad! I think you did a great job with the characters, making them real and vibrant. There was just enough narrative and smut to balance this out nicely. Great job!
    A Fuck-tastic Review – This was fantastic! Just a fun, funny, enjoyable piece. The characters were great and the product review format really worked well. Great job!
    Birthday Sex – Ha! Super cute story! I was a little afraid that Olivia was going to join in, but I think the way you left it is perfect!
    Lights, Camera, Action – This was fun! I love the triad! I love that she is a “big girl”. The story is light and fun. Nice job!
    Trio of Thieves – First of all, it was very ambitious of you to take this into the fantasy realm! Good job! Unfortunately, I had a bit of a hard time following it, and you really glossed over the smutty parts!

  3. 1) Too Hot to Handle: I found myself scrolling from the first to the last paragraph, trying to see the logistics of the video chat. If I read it right, Daisy had interrupted the video chat (first paragraph), but in the last paragraph David only answered the video chat. This kind of confuses me, or I u. Other than that, a great and damn hot story, where Daisy doesn’t seem to know what she wants and is playing both of them. Love the jalapeno scene. That was kind of funny, even though it made me push my legs together tightly!

    2) Integrative Therapy and Countertransference: Somewhere in the second half of your story I suspected that the doctor was also fucking the man, but what a twist at the end! You had me laughing long before the end, and by the end of the story I had this huge smile on my face. In my eyes you have nailed the assignment! Well done!

    3) Cupid’s Chokehold: There is much fun in this piece, which can be seen as humorous, but I would’ve loved to see something that made me at least giggle. That said, this story is damn hot, I absolutely love the sex scene!

    4) Madeline for Brunch: Where your story is sexy, I didn’t find it funny. The first six paragraphs all felt like it was one long intro to your story, and there was too much tell not show. Also, when I read “Oh, Madeline, what are we going to do with you?” for the second time I was out of the story because I thought I had skipped back to the previous “Oh, Madeline, what are we going to do with you?”. It was confusing. Honestly, I like the idea of your story a lot, but there were just too many elements in the story that didn’t do it for me.

    5) End of Eden: I absolutely love the setting of this story, and it definitely made me smile. I like how Lilith seduced Eve, how Eve lusts after her. Should the sentence “Didn’t mean you get you both kicked out, I mean.” have been “Didn’t mean to get you both kicked out, I mean.”?

    6) Cut ‘n’ Shunt: Where I absolutely love the idea for this story, and love the Raani character, and had to laugh when I read the sex scene, this story was difficult to read. Some of the hyphenated words took me out of the story, which meant I had to go back and re-read the sentence or the paragraph to get back in, and this happened several times. A shame, because like I said, I love the general tongue-in-the-cheek idea of this story.

    7) Shared Interests: Another story where I like the idea of them sharing the same man, but this story didn’t get me excited, and I also didn’t see the humor in it. Fun yes, but not humor. Also, I think there is an error with the name of Pete/Greg?

    8) The Two Sisters: I like how you started in the present and then jumped back in time. The story is sweet, the humor is there, like the dialogue about the damn chimney. That made me laugh, so suggestive! I really love how the two sisters are total opposites of each other, but so similar in their lust.

    9) The Kinky Girl: I love how you have managed to combine a tinge of sadness, humor and sex all into one story. That sex scene had me laughing as I pictured a big man and a small woman in that position, and her almost being thrown off the bed. The way you wrote that part I could feel her distress not to be thrown off bed.

    10) A Fuck-tastic Review: I seriously like the ‘review format’ you have used here, and how the language from beginning to end is like you are listening to BigDickRick69 talking and telling us about the potent stuff he has used. I love the sex scenes, like that you mentioned the damage they had to repair in the end, as that’s testament of how much fun they had. Great story!

    11) Birthday Sex: I really like the mischief in this story, not only that of Mr. Taylor, but also in the end of Mrs. Taylor. Where this is not technically about a love triangle (although I bet Mr. Taylor would’ve liked that) the humor is there, and the sex too. The sex scene befits the setting of the story.

    12) Lights, Camera, Action: Where this is definitely a love triangle and the three of them seem very happy, and I like the idea for a birthday present. However, I miss the humor in the story. I don’t know if you meant the farting in the last line to be funny, but (this is me, not you) it sort of degraded the rest of the story for me. Sorry.

    13) Trio of Thieves: I love the three characters you have created here, and it’s only on this reading that I wondered whether I should’ve allowed the mention of the heiress. However, the rest of the story totally distracted from that fact on the first couple of readings. Great fantasy story!

  4. It seems worth saying that I used a slightly different approach to score the stories in this round than I’ve used in previous rounds. Up to this point, I’ve read each story and decided if I like it more or less than the one(s) I’ve read previously, which gives me a list of stories in preference order. Once I have that list, I then read them all again to check that my order of preference is correct.

    This time, however, I drew up a kind of mark scheme with four criteria, as follows:

    How funny was it?
    How erotic was it?
    How good was the writing quality? (In practice this ended up being a mix of writing quality story-telling ability and whether the story met all of the other criteria in the brief – I’ll probably choose to mark these things separately in the next round)
    Were the spelling and grammar accurate?

    I gave each story a mark out of 10 for each of the first three criteria and out of 5 for spelling and grammar and then ordered them based on their overall mark. Where two or more stories had the same total score, I ordered them based on personal preference.

    I’m not going to share the breakdown of marks here, but I thought this information might be useful for participants to be aware of.

    Anyway, here is my feedback:

    2. Integrative Therapy and Countertransference (10)
    What I liked: The way the dialogue was handled. It genuinely made me laugh out loud (‘Full,’ she purrs’) and you trod the line between erotic and comedic incredibly well.
    What I thought could be improved: Very little, to be honest. I wasn’t convinced that any lube would be called ‘Gun oil,’ but that’s about it!

    5. End of Eden (9)
    What I liked: For me, this was the sexiest story in this round. It’s also a very clever idea and the writing is just beautifully done.
    What I thought could be improved: This only missed out on the ten points because it didn’t make me laugh quite as often as the story I gave the ten points to.

    10. A Fuck-tastic review (8)
    What I liked: LOL! The funniest story by far, in my opinion, and you went with the idea wholeheartedly – the voice of the character is convincing and super consistent. Such a fantastic idea for a story.
    What I thought could be improved: Because of a combination of the character’s voice (he doesn’t seem like someone I’d find sexy) and the humour, you sacrificed the eroticism a little bit for me. Parts of the story are definitely sexy, but not quite as much as the stories that scored more highly.

    3. Cupid’s chokehold (7)
    What I liked: I found this quite sexy, which was not true of every story in this round. Also, the opening image of the gorilla sets the humour up well.
    What I thought could be improved: It might just be me, but I didn’t understand why Allen was dressed as a gorilla, which impacted my enjoyment of the story overall. Plus, sometimes I was concerned about the fact that Nerida seemed to be consenting on behalf of the narrator.

    8. The two sisters (6)
    What I liked: I enjoyed this story a lot. I liked that you’d taken characters who I don’t think you’d traditionally find in erotica, and still managed to make it sexy. It also met the humour part of the brief.
    What I thought could be improved: I felt that the sexiness of some parts could have been made hotter/described in more detail, such as the bit with the dildo.

    7. Shared interests (5)
    What I liked: Tory men are one of my odder kinks, and I thought you rendered the obnoxiousness well. I loved the line ‘picturing those soft, capitalist hands twisting my hair.’
    What I thought could be improved: This would have benefitted from an additional proofread – changing a character name midway through a story is a careless error that makes the writing seem sloppier than it actually is. Essentially though, this scored less highly than other stories because it didn’t really make me laugh out loud.

    13. Trio of thieves (4)
    What I liked: This is lovely writing and it’s sexy, too. Plus, it was nice to have a fantasy story in among a lot of contemporary, real world settings.
    What I thought could be improved: I just didn’t find this laugh out loud funny, I’m afraid, although bits of it did make me smile.

    12. Lights, camera, action (3)
    What I liked: I liked that I could sense the intimacy between this trio, and that often you rendered it in really nice language at times – the final line, especially.
    What I thought could be improved: There wasn’t a huge amount of humour, I didn’t think, and also, this felt more like a standalone scene than a story with a plot.

    9. The kinky girl (2)
    What I liked: I liked this premise a lot – I thought it had huge potential both for exploring character motivation and for providing emotional depth to the story.
    What I thought could be improved: This was the only story where the third point in the triangle is referenced, but never actually appears. It’s a calculated risk to take, and I admire you for being willing to take it, but for me it didn’t quite pay off.

    1
    What I liked: The line ‘not a bobcat anymore, but a hot as fuck raccoon’ made me laugh! Also, even if the jalapeno juice sounded too painful for me to personally find it very funny, I did think this was a good way to try and get some humour into the story.
    What I thought could be improved: I wasn’t entirely convinced this was a ‘love’ triangle – it seemed that nobody really liked Daisy very much at all!

    4
    What I liked: I could very much relate to this being attractive: ‘He was handsome and kind, though behind his politeness she sensed some sadistic, sarcastic cruelty.’
    What I thought could be improved: I was looking for a story that felt more like a ‘love triangle’ than a threesome hooking up for the first time, and this didn’t quite meet that requirement for me. Also, I felt that the humour level would have benefitted from being ramped up a bit.

    6
    What I liked: Well, this certainly scores very highly in terms of humour points – it is very funny!
    What I thought could be improved: Unfortunately, because it’s funny, I felt that, for me, it sacrificed the eroticism almost completely – I couldn’t imagine getting off to this story, sorry.

    11
    What I liked: That you were brave with your premise – obviously older people don’t appear very often in erotica, and it was nice that you wanted to explore this idea.
    What I thought could be improved: I don’t think that this could be described as a love triangle, because Olivia mainly seems like a sympathetic, but not sexually involved, witness to proceedings.

  5. 1) Too Hot to Handle: I enjoyed this one quite a lot! It was well written, funny, there was good character and conflict development…and I enjoyed the twist and how it comes full circle. Nice job! This one should have been pleasing for any reader. It ticks all my boxes and meets the prompt perfectly.

    2) Integrative Therapy and Countertransference: I found the internal monologue of this one quietly amusing. All the little details and description make the story very satisfying. The professional and patronizing uses of “one” and “we” are funny…a way to keep distance (which is ironic – a stylistic move that tickled the English major in me). And I love the end…the slow build and all he witty little lines. And the development of the protagonist is excellent.

    3) Cupid’s Chokehold: Meh. I just never really managed to care about the characters, and I find the scene a bit confusing.

    4) Madeline for Brunch: I love all the specific details at the beginning; they pull me right into the scene. Overall, this one isn’t bad, but it’s not really funny. The fall on the floor felt forced, and that was the only part that could have remotely been seen as humorous.

    5) End of Eden: Quality writing! The descriptions are excellent. There is good character development, and I like the plays off the original story. A few moments made me chuckle, but it isn’t terribly funny.

    6) Cut ‘n’ Shunt: So much about this story confused me. Maybe it’s because I know diddly about cars, but the dialogue was strange in places and the jargon was jarring. It just didn’t do it for me.

    7) Shared Interests:

    8) The Two Sisters: I like this one. It’s humor is subtle. I’m not sure how the backstory connects; it feels like the first part of the story floats there, waiting to matter more than it ends up actually doing. But the characters are interesting, and the writing is good.

    9) The Kinky Girl:

    10) A Fuck-tastic Review: Great voice! And the premise is very creative. The turns of phrase dialect, and hilarious metaphors really make this one stand out. One of my favorites, for sure!

    11) Birthday Sex: This one was cute, and I’m happy to see older characters having sex in a story. That doesn’t happen often, so the story stood out because of the characters and situation.

    12) Lights, Camera, Action: Farts just aren’t that funny to me.

    13) Trio of Thieves:

    My faves were 10 and 2, with 1 being a close third. All three exhibited good writing and met the requirements of the prompt in very different ways. Very creative!

Comments are closed.