Or maybe Y marks the spot. Or &7. It's your choice. For this contest, you can peruse the 127 different typewriter key pendants offered by GwenDELICIOUS. Choose one as your starting point and go from there. 250 sexy words. (No incest, underage, or insane. I mean, animals. Insanity's up to you.)
You must be 18 to enter — I just wrote 198. You must be 198 to enter. Heh. What else? Post your piece here using the anonymous option. Deadline is next Sunday, which is the 21st. (I think I'm doing an interview that day! I'll let you know!) La-dee-dah... just trying to remember what I'm supposed to say. Oh, give your piece a title so I don't have to. Put the link at the bottom to the piece you were inspired by. Be creative — there are many pendants. Some are letters, and some are symbols. I'd be ever so impressed if someone made that semicolon one sexy, or wrote a whole story about fractions. Or back spacing.
Any questions, drop me a note at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com!
XXX,
Alison
12 comments:
Self Starter
What was the big deal about sex, anyway? she thought, wondering why she’d even agreed to tonight’s date. Nothing against Louis: She simply wasn’t motivated.
Really, she thought, as she sat to do her makeup, what was so special about feeling the touch of a warm male hand on her bare arm? Or about, you know, smelling his masculinity when he leaned in to share an observation? What was so freakin’ important about, oh yeah, about that tingle she always got when Louis let his chest graze her nipples on the dance floor, or ... the way the tiny hairs just above the nape of her neck felt electrified when his palm steered her back to the car by the seat of her clothing? That pressure of his palm, right there on her ass cheek. What was so goddam essential about ...
About—what?—about her clit responding to the sound of his zipper coming down, anytime they were alone. Wet ... she got gloriously wet, whenever Louis undressed for her—so eager to take his cock inside her. Oh wow, it was all hers, rigid but alive in her pussy, it just made her thrash it felt so ... yeah yeah, but what, *what* did it oh fuck matter, why was this on her calendar tonight when she’d rather read a b—oh f—it was absurd oh g-god absurd she should just call and oh fuck his cock his hot thick hard oh fuck coming coming coming coming
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=40720253
Pin-up
(or, for the love of proper punctuation)
April was squirming gorgeously on the X-shaped cross, four palm-sized circles decorating her naked skin. The bottom one had a tail curling above her right hip. She whined so cutely:
“This isn't fair!”
That was true, but I didn't say so. Instead, I started clipping tiny clothespins around the circle on her left breast.
“Colons are used before a list or a quote. Was there a colon in the email you sent asking me if we could play tonight?”
I moved on to the bottom left circle.
“Yes.”
“Before a list or a quote?”
“Um... no?”
The circle on her right came close to her nipple. She made the most delicious squeaks every time I added a clothespin.
“Should you have used a semicolon instead?”
She was on her toes to escape the pinching. The tail was in a sensitive spot.
“Yes!”
“So why this isn't fair?”
“You're just annoyed at the grammar butchery you see at work, not at me!”
This was true, too. I could have agreed but instead I told her to save her voice.
“For what?”
“For screaming.”
And she did, in a wonderful, orgasmic crescendo when I yanked the string connecting the pins, popping them all off at once, to leave an angry red colon and semicolon on her skin. Beautiful. I let her down to collapse all quivery in my arms.
It might not have been fair, but I sure did feel better.
I'm illiterate today! I just commented in an entry (Pin-up or for the love of good punctuation), but the link was *not* at the bottom as requested but instead at the top, embedded in the title. This is me apologizing for sucking at the instruction-reading thing. Sorry! Here's the link again at the bottom where it should have been in the last comment:
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=40183075
Number Three
“You’re not serious.” The genie started at him incredulously. In three thousand years no-one had ever asked for this. Oh they had wished for sex, but always with the Sultana, or Pamela Anderson or their best friend’s wife or whatever unobtainable goddess they’d had in mind before they stumbled on the magic ring she called home. They never had so much as a second glance for the skinny dark-haired girl who would make it all happen for them.
“Perfectly serious,” the man replied. “I’ve got my youth and vitality back and all the money I could want. Now I want somebody to share it with, at least for a little while. Besides, I’ve heard the stories. There’s always some catch with these deals, some moral lesson you’re supposed to get out of it. It never works out if all the wishes are totally selfish.”
The genie looked at the silken bondage ropes he held.
“You know, in the Aladin’s last wish was to free the genie, not tie her up,” she said suspiciously.
“You’ll be free to go at any time if you want to. I’m just banking on you not wanting to.”
He cleared his throat and said solemnly “I wish for you to stay with me as long as you’re enjoying yourself.”
The genie looked over his newly restored, nineteen year old body, her gaze lingering on his crotch where his trousers had formed a tent big enough to house a whole tribe of Bedouin.
“Wish granted.”
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=39242792
Overdue
She's never been interested in an older man before. They always seemed...well, creepy. She wonders why him. He's not even that handsome, but he's kind. - No. He's kind, but there's the faintest whiff of menace. If she's busy he won't let anyone else check him out; he waits for her. Smiles at her. She blushes. She wonders if he's single. He always comes in alone, chooses books that seem particularly male.
She fantasizes about kneeling in front of him. He'd make her keep her eyes open. No way to hide behind her eyelids, half-pretending she's someone else, some beautiful, rarefied whore. No: just depraved, another common slut. His cock hitting the back of her throat, his hand in her hair, the other gripping her jaw. She'd gag, convulse, come. Without him even touching her anywhere else.
Then one night he's late. She can barely speak. "You - sorry, but you have an overdue fine of $4."
He hands over the bills. "Let me make it up to you," he says, like this is normal.
He takes her out for a drink, and then, in the darkened corner of the parking lot: "On your knees."
It is just as she had imagined. And when he hauls her up, bends her over the hood and shoves his fingers inside her, she hears her own moans as if they belong to someone else. She comes effortlessly, expansively, like it's what she was born for, and weeps, grateful.
That is how it begins.
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=38557772
If it makes sense...
“Is there anything I should know before I undress you? An ex-lover’s name on your ass?”
“Well I do have one tattoo…”
“Yeah? Let me see.” She pealed her babytee off and raised a hand to her bare chest, over her heart. A semi-colon. “Why?” I asked as I reached to trace the simple dark mark punctuating the curve of her teacup breasts.
“To remind me what a good balanced relationship is like. See, a semi-colon is a punctuation that takes two complete ideas, two complete sentences, and joins them.”
“Joins them huh?” I was getting distracted, leaning in to nuzzle her soft skin as she flushed pink.
“Yes…” she sighed and cupped a hand under my chin, raising my face to hers. “The sentences are fine to stand on their own, but joining them makes sense; they add to each other.” Her eyes were bright with need but rolled back slightly as I stroked the fleshy pad of my palm across her nipples.
“I love it when you make analogies between sentence structure and sex.” And I loved finally being able to stroke her body while looking into her eyes. She gave a slight gasp as I pressed my thumb against her clit through her lilac yoga pants.
“Well if two people add to each other… it only makes sense for them to join…” she was panting slightly between words, pressing her pussy against my hand. I could feel the moisture soaking through.
“Well if joining makes sense….”
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?ref=sr_gallery_1&listing_id=40183075&ga_search_query=semi+colon&ga_search_type=user_shop_ttt_id_8174034
Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me
We let ourselves move closer, bit by bit, throughout the day. Let our touches grow more protracted, more intimate as the shadows lengthen. And eventually, dinner is over, music is no longer background because all our bustling is stilled. The dancing is done, it’s talking alone, and the songs, and we press closer.
I’m already throbbing from the contact of your hand playing with my boot strap, the slide of your fingertips to my knee. I finger your shirt button and raise my eyes to yours. Isn’t it time now? It’s been so long coming. Kiss me, please, please, kiss me, kiss me. It’s all I want, the whisper of your lips against mine, once, twice, three times, a taste, a tease. And then your hand on my face, your thumb brushing across my closed eyelids, my bottom lip. Just lean in, lashes closed against your cheek for a second, before I’m wrapped in those tentative beginnings, the first touch of wetness, the smell of your skin and oh, the soft, slick slide of the tip of your tongue against mine. It sends long forgotten lightning bolts deep down into me, crackling into the centre of me to pulse and throb in my womb, into my cunt, make me wet. And the desire will make me brave, make me fierce, whimper into your mouth, lost, and oh, my love, I’d go to hell for this. This kiss. Kiss me.
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=37044786
Top Five Per Cent
“Suzy and I figured it out yesterday.” I trailed my fingers across your crotch. “Out of all the partners I’ve had, only a small per cent have ever given me mind blowing orgasms. And I find that sad.”
You nodded. “So do I.” Your voice was husky as you shifted closer to me on the couch, leaning in to nuzzle my ear. “What exactly WAS the percentage?”
“Five.” The number came out softly, as your hand reached between my thighs. I sighed, my head falling backwards. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve had horrible, selfish lovers. They all made me come, one way or another.” My pussy twitched as I said ‘come’. “But toe-curling, atom splitting orgasms? Very few were generous that way.”
I felt your finger on my clit, which was suddenly slippery. My legs spread wider, very aware that we were both naked in the middle of my living room. But as you slid two fingers into me, I didn’t care. I moaned as you slowly fucked me, your tongue abrading my right nipple.
My breath came in one long shudder, as I fought for words. “I mean, shouldn’t every woman expect to come so hard she passes out every time she fucks?”
You stopped all your attentions. “Oh I totally agree with you.” Confused, I almost whined. “So why did you stop?”
Kneeling between my legs, you spread my lips with your fingers. “Honey, prepare for unconsciousness. Because I’m gonna give til it hurts.”
Whoops, Alison forgot to add the link for Top Five Per Cent - here it is.
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=39243075
Got an itchy trigger finger. :P
Don't you kinda hate it/kinda love it when you post a story that you think is pretty great and then you settle in to see what else comes up and for a little bit you think "hey I'm in the running here, I could actually win this" and then a story gets posted that just blows your fucking mind and you can't even consider voting for your own because this other story is just that damn good?
@ the last poster- LOL! I was just thinking the same thing!
What!! People vote for their own???
:D
Keep it pure, peeps, keep it pure :)
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