Archive for June, 2011
My submission for this week’s Aisling Weaver’s Fuck Me Friday writing challenge.
My fingers flutter against the keyboard, the rhythm soothing as it helps me to pull things – ideas into creation. An enticing phrase here, a playful double entendre there, it’s all part of the art.
I can tell that I’m getting into the scene because I can almost feel a warm puff of breath by my ear, gentle fingers caressing my shoulder, soft lips pressing against my skin. The phantasmal touches become stronger as the story flows and I can almost feel fingers brushing along the pale hair on my arms. They move down to rest on my hand, helping to guide the scene in a surprising direction; one I never see coming.
I’m almost used to you now, my ghostly muse.
My pulse jumps as I feel teeth gently scrape against the side of my neck and a rush goes up my spine as I suppress a moan, stopping for a moment to try to reorient on the story.
With a shaky hand, I begin typing again, breathing a little heavier now. I can never quite decide if it’s irritating or irresistible, the way you tease. A few uninterrupted moments pass, then a light brushing of fingers against a nipple causes me to shiver. It’s followed by a pinch that takes my breath away. Something brushes against that oh so sensitive spot back behind my right ear, and all my words fall out of my head, forgotten.
With a chuckle that I’m not entirely certain that I’ve really heard, you’re gone. I try to bring you back by writing something full of heat and promising slickness, but the moment’s over. I notice it lasted a little longer this time. I sigh, then smile, falling back into the story easily now. I don’t know if you’re real, or if my subconscious is really good at this headfuck.
If you’re part of me, I just need to find a way to bring it out more often – when I’m ready to play.
I’ll figure it out eventually, cheeky bastard. Then we’ll see.
Do go read the other stories as well. Enjoy.
Just sent my submission in for the Coming Together : In Flux anthology. Woot!
So – I need to write stories for two different anthologies (one erotic and one fantasy), and I’m starting on one that could be good for either of them, really – but at some point I need to figure out which one it’s going to be. It’s a slippery slope, I tellya *rimshot*
Jilah discovers that human males aren’t her only targets, presenting a possible political problem for her lover.
The intro theme music for this episode is track 25 off of the Nine Inch Nails creative commons release Ghosts III. You can find them online at nin.com
I smile as you turn to lock the door behind you, feeling that first jump in my muscles as your eyes meet mine. Another weeknight dare. This time, it’s the inside of a small bathroom; walls covered in old punk rock band flyers for shows. Filthy, flirty little scribblings meander from announcement to announcement. Some loop largely, trying to cover as much space as possible. Others are tight and furtive, as if the author themselves had one hand in their pants while scrawling words of moist exposition on the walls.
Grinning, I cock a leg up, resting my foot on the seat of the toilet and hiking my skirt up a little.
You laugh and step into me, gripping my hips hard and growling, “Such an eager little slut.”
My breath comes hard and fast as you pull me into you and my foot slips into the bowl itself, water splashing out onto the seat and floor. At first, I’m horrified. We both breathe out a sigh of relief that the last occupant had been respectful enough to flush. Another pair of combat boots, trashed, however.
“Fucker,” I growl out, wanting to bite you. I move to pull my foot out and you push me back against the wall. It really is a tiny room.
“Leave it. Better things to do.” You snap back, challenging me.
Eyes narrowing, I pull back to slap you and you laugh, leaning in and kissing, then biting me. Hard. Just the way I like it. You know I like to struggle, and that I like to lose.
I groan as you press against me, my arms snaking up and around around your neck, pressing the length of my body into you. I can feel your cock, tight and hard beneath the confines of your jeans, and now you’re groaning too.
There’s a sharp knock on the door and I yell out, “Gimme a fuckin’ minute!”
In moments, your cock is free and slamming into me as your lips crash around my mouth. There is the vague taste of copper on my tongue and I realize that you’ve broken skin with that bite. My body trembles; I love it when you mark me.
My synapses flare, wild and white hot as we both rush to the edge, quicker than we both expected. It’s probably for the best, though, as the asshole on the other side of the door can’t seem to get in quickly enough.
When we’re both able to breathe again, I punch you in the shoulder as you release me, pulling my foot free and wincing as water splashes us both.
“Gonna need to shower with bleach when we get home, dammit.”
This is the story that I hammered out in twenty minutes for the Iron Chef Erotica a la Carte panel at Balticon this weekend. It is unedited.
The artichoke. Peeling open to reveal a soft center, covered with a light feathering of fur that when consumed would choke. The very idea was almost scintillating. She loved the feeling of her throat convulsing and itching – so she’d throw the rest away, and go straight for the fur itself. Taking a healthy bite, she chewed, her eyes rolling back into her head as she felt her nipples harden as the fur tickled the back of her throat. A flush colored her skin as her throat closed; she tried desperately to swallow, but it was difficult to get the first bite down.