Old 07-02-2012, 02:52 AM   #1
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Not everything you write is going into a story. Write a scene or post an old blurt you have no use for now. Not to say you can't use it later, you just might not be sure where to go with it now.
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Old 07-02-2012, 02:59 AM   #2
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This was mine, I'll write another tomorrow.

She smelled like cupcakes. He had a few moments to study her figure in the dulled reflection of the brass elevator doors. Her smooth, bountiful calf funnelling into her thong sandals, running down from below her thin, floral sun dress. The dress itself dangling loosely from her round buttocks, then rounding a bit more tightly above her hips, up her belly to blossom around her breasts. She had some cheap jewel plunging downward into her ample cleavage from a long silver chain. The loose strings of sandy blonde hair that somehow escaped her ponytail. That brilliant red lipstick as she sucked soda from a straw -. The elevator stopped. What were her panties like? He hoped they were purple and velvet. Or satin. Or lace. Or anything. The images raced through his brain. He was beginning to get a hard-on. David quickly moved his gaze to the LED display, above her head. He knew it was 9th floor already without looking - he had seen her before on the elevator, but this time they were alone. Averting his eyes and thoughts were strictly a defensive maneuver against the pressure building against his fly. If she saw his face now, she'd know he had just imagined himself being one of those stray strands. The pores on her shoulder whoring out to the hair loosely petting her neck. He wanted to drop down her side and smother his nose in her quim. The doors opened. She looked down, smiled a little and mumbled "Have a good time", walking out. The doors closed. David was alone except for the intoxicating smell of cupcakes. His right hand was in his khaki pocket. If he moved his thumb slightly, he could trace the edge of his head where the foreskin had begun to pull back. Then it occurred to him, "Why would she say that?" A small bent from the standard "Have a good day" of elevator etiquette....
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Old 07-02-2012, 10:47 PM   #3
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Still working on the second, but should be done soon.

No one else has any throaway scenes?
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Old 07-03-2012, 12:48 AM   #4
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Here's one from a year or more ago. It's a first draft, so ignore the errors.

He couldn’t move. There might have been a question as to whether he could think. When Grant walked through the private gate moments ago, he never expected to see his gorgeous wife in the throes of an orgasm. Her raw, guttural cry brought images of her beneath him. But a mocking voice reminded him it had been far too long ago.

Staying close to the fence, he crept closer, watching her slender frame buck and thrash on the narrow chaise. The urge to take her had never been so strong. Staring at the junction between her thighs, he moved toward her once more. When he was almost there, she opened her eyes. Grant froze mid-step.

“I . . . this . . .”

She didn’t know what else to say. The look he had on his face was new to her. Grant was a skilled lover, but she needed him more than once or twice a month.

“No, don’t say anything.”

He found himself at her side without realizing he had moved. Sweat trickled down his back as he knelt on the rough cement.

“I didn’t see how selfish I’ve been until now. How long have you . . .?”

His reaction wasn’t what she had expected. Allie gave him a confused look as she tried to figure out what he was asking.

“I haven’t been satisfying you.”

“Grant, you do,” she said, uncomfortable with their conversation.

“When? How long has it been? Two weeks? Three? Hell, was it even this month? No, you don’t have to answer that. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You have a stressful career, a position that demands a great deal of your time. I know that and accept it.”

“So my job is more important than you?” Frustrated, he stood and began to pace.

She tugged her miniscule bathing suit back into place before standing. The rigid set of his jaw told her how upset he was. Three steps brought her to his side.

“Comparing the importance of your job to me—neither will come out the winner.”

“What should I do? Ignore the fact that my wife masturbates when I’m not home?”

“Damn you, there’s nothing wrong with it. You can’t tell me you’ve never given yourself relief when you were gone for weeks at a time on business. Lying there in some hotel room at the end of a long day, wanting to do what the couple on the TV was doing. Working off excess energy after a rough meeting? Frustrated because the contract you spent weeks on wasn’t approved?”

His shoulders sagged like an old mans by the time she stopped. Each sentence became an accusation even though that wasn’t her intent. But every single one told him how much she hurt. That he caused her pain was more than Grant could take.
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Old 07-03-2012, 03:32 AM   #5
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A. Thank you, MistressLynn. At first I thought he'd walked upon her with another dude. And as he tried to explain himself, she couldn't care less. All manner of crazy potential where it could go! But then it was discovered she was masturbating - which is ALWAYS AWESOME.
Thank you, ML!
B. Was going to finish mine tonight but got a call to run sound at a bar. Two really good out of town bands, and a local. Good times, but wanted to come through on this thread. I'll finish tomorrow, promise.
I got inspired the other day on another thread here about men looking at tits. I do, but I try to be as discreet as possible. Getting caught is weird, but hot. The new scene is using an office window in the smoking area outside. Getting erotic, but not done. Tomorrow, I promise.
C. Please, other authors with throw-aways, post away.
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Old 07-03-2012, 08:07 PM   #6
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I've had this one for a long time, too.

Staring at the phone, I willed it to ring. The silence mocked me, torturing my already frazzled nerves. He was late after promising to be home on time. Max was punctual to a fault otherwise, and that’s what worried me.

“Don’t move.”

The raspy whisper so close to my ear turned my heart into a sledgehammer. Warm fingers covering my mouth trapped my scream and forced it back down my throat.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Instinct told me not to fight, to follow whatever commands the voice told me to do. Yet that made no sense. I should be kicking and clawing at this stranger who held me. Maybe it was because of what Max did, his other job, when he took off in the night and disappeared for weeks. Those secret missions that took him to places most people never imagined existed. We talked about some of it before, the men who stopped in, men giving names I knew were fake, talking to me one way, in riddles to Max.

“Put your feet on mine and lean into me.”

Lifting my left foot, I moved it back until I felt the solid shin belonging to the man behind me. It felt strange to step on him, but I eased my foot down and repeated the action with the right side. I guessed him to be at least a head taller than me from how I fit against him.

“Good girl. Now we’re going into the bedroom.”

I wanted to protest or question him, yet something still made me comply. It wasn’t Max, of that I was positive. And I didn’t recognize the voice as belonging to any of the men who had been over before. Was I wrong? Was this to be the end?
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Old 07-04-2012, 01:10 AM   #7
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Here it is. I know I want her to start jilling away, but it seems implausible. And what is David (I always name my main male character that, just to keep moving; I'll figure out the real name when it's close to done) supposed to do? Jerki it in the bushes? Maybe, I don't know. Just another throw away. Going to make a goal to try this once a week.

Her lipstick coated the tip of the white filter. The cigarette stood erect, yet her slender fingers drooped from a lazy hand atop a tanned, skinny forearm, propped up by the iron patio chair. She held an open book in the other hand.
He didn't like talking to co-workers (or anyone, for that matter) when he smoked. Smokers were always the worst offenders of rumor and gossip in the workplace. His take was always, "if you don't really know what's going on, there's no real reason to discuss it, is there?" And the small-talk. The mind numbing small-talk of children, weather and weekend plans.
He had noticed she didn't speak to anyone either. Her glasses gave her a studious look, and she was always reading. She was always by herself, even when others were standing near.
He had his usual place staked out - a few feet from the edge of the concrete access, outside the manicured shrubs and bushes guarding the entrance to the building. She was on the other side, reading and now twirling her hair in the shade of the narrow patio next to the building.
He always tried to be careful. He had is sunglasses on, always trying to look lost in thought. If he were ever caught, he would blame it on distraction. He almost timed the way he would look in one direction, then at the ground, then elsewhere. Always smoking.
But be certain, he was looking her up and down - her gorgeous face, the glimpse of bra inside the cut if her dress, her hair, the cigarette-dangling fingers - he wanted to see all of her.
She shifted in her chair. She propped her leg up and rested her ankle on the seat. Without turning her eyes away from the book, she settled her hem back atop her knee. She was sitting with her back towards the entrance. If anyone were to come out to the patio she would appear covered. Or maybe she would drop her leg back. David, however, could see more.
She was facing the windows of the vacated glass corner office that jutted from the building on the other side of the paio. From where he was standing, he was looking over the shrubs and into the mirrored glass. The glass reflecting the enire length of her inner thigh.
Her slender fingers lightly brushed the skin on her leg, and then moved to snuff out her smoke.
Almost like a cue, David changed his glance elsewhere. She was leaving or she was going to light another.
He was looking down now, rocking back and forth a little on his heel. Something was slightly different. Apparently blood had started to move to his cock, and as his body swung back and forth slightly (all in keeping up with trying to "seem" lost in thought), he was growing down there. Not an erection, but the initial thickening. His cotton boxers scraped his head a little.
He moved again and used his periphery through his sunglasses to look at the glass.
She had neither left nor started another cigarette. Her hand was back on her thigh. Her fingernails scratched the inside lightly, up and down, slowly. What was she reading? Her hand went down again, lower and lower. He couldn't see through the azaleas, but her hand must have been near her crotch. It seemed like an eternity before she lifted it back up, this time, up her belly, scratching gently in one slow motion. Up her belly to her breasts; not touching them with her playful fingers, but some kind of adjustment of the underwire. She pulled at the bra's bottom, but her palm seemed to almost grope her. She did the same to the other cup for a little longer, and then started her way back down again. Doing so, her thumbnail plucked at her hardening nipples.
Not sure, but maybe, the GB is like reading de Sade's Philosophy in the Bedroom; awesome-crazy, depraved sex, interrupted by boring politics.
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Old 07-04-2012, 02:17 AM   #8
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The Piper

Something I started years ago, but it never got beyond this.

She needed to play; I could tell that just by looking at her.

It required a flat surface, where there was stillness of motion save for her hands upon the slim reedy thing, where her breath could be made to be even, yet forceful when needed.

The notes of her song without words were a yarn of past problems, and when she made eye contact with the people who passed by in the park, they looked away. Her bowler hat lay upturned on the cracked concrete at her feet, holding precious few bills; perhaps enough for a cup of coffee and a McMenu offering that wasn't terribly filling.

Me, I sat crosslegged in front of her, looking up at her with those bemused-yet-admiring eyes of mine, not wearing the guise of rapt attention, but daring her to ask me what I wanted. She would have to stop her music for that, however, and to quit her refrain mid-song would be to break the spell she had so carefully woven around herself.

And so she played, and I sat in wait, a solitary finger waving back and forth in time to the imagined beat. The immovable object versus the inexorable force; music that would tug at a lesser soul versus a heart that could not be moved.

She bobbled the ending, and took a bow to the other listeners over my head, and then knelt to offer up a hissed question, offered past a brittle, plastic smile. "Enjoying the show?" Implied suggestion that I pay the piper for her efforts, instead of taking up her valuable real estate, 'center stage', so to speak.

I merely inclined my head. "Not really. There's no joy in it."

She colored, her fair skin flushing to half-match her freckled cheeks, and looked about before she leaned in closer still. "Look. A girl's got to eat, and if you hate it so much, I would appreciate it if you moved on. You're interrupting my rhythm, you punk."

I laced my fingers together under my chin. "I didn't say I hated it. I just said I wasn't seeing the joy in it enough to feel it vicariously through you."

"So you're one of those New Age weirdos. Information lives to be free, feng shui, bla di blah?" she said, studying me perhaps for the first time. Denim jacket, battered blue jeans with a hole wearing in the right knee, unadorned black tee shirt, no wedding ring on the left hand, and a pair of fairly new high-tops. Deep brown eyes to match the dark brown hair. And that faint grin, an encouragement rather than an amusement.

"Oh, no. Weird, yes. New, no. Age, well, you never ask that sort of thing unless you're wondering when I'm going to retire." I lift a shoulder in a shrug. "I honestly don't think you like what you do right now, no matter how much it doesn't pay. If you think this is the best way to make a buck, then more power to you." I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a crisp, folded twenty, dropping it in her hat. Made a show of stretching, standing, and raising myself to my not-so-impressive height.

She looked between the take in her bowler and me. "Are you a pimp?" she said. "Because I don't do that sort of thing. My life is worth more than that."

I shook my head. "Pimps have more anger in them than a dozen chimpanzees with a single banana between them. And you look for answers in me when you do not know the questions that you should be asking about your own life." I started walking, and she remained behind, anchored to the flat spot in the park by the promise of money.

"Weirdo." she growled.

I looked over my shoulder. "If being strange and enigmatic and a little more enlightened in a moment of inspection is weird, then I would be guilty as charged. But the reality is that I am simply who I am, and it is what I do with my time and my life that matters most. If the time I shared with you was unfulfilling, then I apologize for wasting your time. You do have some skill with the flute and I'm glad to have stopped to listen." And I started walking again.
"You asked me once if there were coyotes in the hills, my friend. And I'll simply tell you the same thing I said before; we're all around you, though you simply do not see. Some of us are even laughing at you."
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Old 08-06-2012, 10:53 PM   #9
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Long Awaited Arrival

Just the beginning, still working on where I want to go with it....

It had been three months since he'd left for college. Three months since she had physically seen him, since she had felt his breath on her neck, his lips on hers, the shiver of his hands grazing, ever so gently, over her skin, the way his bare skin grew hot on hers, the friction, the passion. Three months. Nothing but video chats, phone conversations, and letters.
Sure, she was an able woman, she could masturbate, she could relieve herself to some extent, but there wasn't the love, the excitement. All that got her was a bit of relief. But what she longed for was something else.
And this is what she thought about as she lit the candles in his bedroom. He'd just gotten home for fall break. Gone and picked her up and brought her to his house, he was cleaning up from the trip home as she moved about the room. His parents had gone out, and wouldn't be back until late that night.
As he came into the room, he looked at her, crossed the room, and took her into his arms.
Fool's Baby Girl
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Old 08-17-2012, 12:49 PM   #10
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Richter's boat skipped across the waves as he headed toward Shillenn Isle. The sun was shining bright but a bitter northern wind accompanied it making the sea rough. The motor over reverberated whenever it left the water for a split second or two. He didn't care one bit. Even if the sea took his life today he would die a happy man.

He loved this job. It was by far the best he had ever had and it was unlikely he would ever lose it. He did not have to go through the rigmarole of clocking in or putting up with moody management who didn't care for his life of debauchery. All Richter had to do was drop a girl off at the wierdo's island once a month. He would be paid a ridiculous sum of money for dragging a whore off the streets once in a while and taking her to Shillenn Isle. He would have his fun on the way free of charge of course. Not that a whore so fucked up on rohypnol would realise what he had done until she came around in the 'cleansing house' very sore. If she did wake she would not be coherent enough to be able to demand payment or even beg for her life. He had killed two of them accidentally, he considered that a pretty good record out of forty one.

The Shillenn Isle folk insisted the girls, or witches as they preferred them to be called, be drugged before they reached them to ensure the totally naïve Sister Gin would remain brain washed and oblivious to the reality of what went on there.

Gin was twenty two and was lead to believe that she was the chosen one. Gin actually looked forward to her death in three years time when she would be taken to Elysium and her Lord Payta O' Payta A fabricated deity to keep her mind far from anything other than prayer, innocence and purity.

At Shillenn Isle Richter was, in Gin's eyes, a Payta. A father who was to be looked upon with reverence and undying respect. She believed he had powers of the mind to help him find the Witches that had disobeyed her beloved Lord. Those who were to be externally cleansed by her hands and internally by Paytas Cardinal and Bishop. The highest ranked mortals on earth.

The 'Witch' Richter had with him now lay on the deck of his boat. She was out cold and unlikely to wake for a good two hours. The drug he had administered would keep her delirious for at least a few more leaving him plenty of time to drop her off at Shillenn Isle before she stirred. He would have to put her underwear back on but before he did he would enter her again. He didn't care that she would not feel a thing. The important thing was he could, and would, soil her in any way he pleased.

Sister Gin was the reason he ravaged the 'Witches' before they reached her delicate hands. Firstly he would fantasize they were the twenty two year old virgin and secondly his semen would be what she would be cleaning from them. She was the purest of the pure and knew absolutely nothing in regards to sexual pleasures. How he would love to be the one to take her. The long list of lies he would tell to make her do such filthy, filthy things were all ready and waiting for the day he found her alone at the dock. That would be the day he took her back with him.

Richter held his stiffening penis over his jeans and looked at the young whore lay in his small boat with her tee shirt and bra pulled up above her breasts with her legs wide open. Her short denim skirt pushed up to her waist exposing everything about a woman Richter enjoyed. He looked to the horizon and saw the small island seemingly rising from the sea. Two minutes away. Two minutes before he could fantasise that the young woman unconscious in his boat was Sister Gin. Tall, slender and unbelievably beautiful. She truly was angelic and Richter could almost believe the rubbish the two senior sadistic hedonists had fed her on since she was born. Poor, pure innocent Gin truly believed she was the immaculate conception, the purest of the pure.

Richter's penis was hard now. He rubbed it over his jeans feeling his excitement forming a damp, sticky blotch in the underwear he'd been wearing for two or three, maybe four, days he could not remember. His gaze veered from the approaching beach to the hooker's near naked body. Her breasts jiggling at every skip the boat made across the water. Her shaven pubis still swollen from the attention he had already reigned down upon it. He couldn't care less if the cold took her life with hypothermia. If that happened he'd simply throw her over board for the fishes as he had with the previous two.

When he reached the beach he discovered that she was still very, very warm where it mattered to him.


I am a newb on Lit, and evidently an amateur writer. I'm well aware I will need the help of an Editor when I submit stories so all apologies if this 'scene' is not up to scratch... I just wanted to play.
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Old 01-20-2013, 08:42 PM   #11
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One that I wrote a few years ago and have never particularly liked.

Crowded party
I’m the one in the back, looking bored
Walk past me on the way to the bar
My eyes follow for a time
I look away before you catch me
Don’t notice my blushing
Let me just blend in
I’m too shy to make a move

Suddenly you’re there
Standing in front of me, smiling
With the right amount of confidence
I manage to smile back
Hoping I’m not looking too nervous
Your hand feels so soft as you extend it
I love the way your lips move
As you tell me your name
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Old 02-18-2013, 04:01 PM   #12
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The jailer moved Spinks to a cell in the southwest corner of the building, and the boy sat so that the few rays of the sun passing through the bars shone down on him. The last sunshine he would experience for eternity.

The preachers and an assistant sat outside and in front of him. Spinks sat on his heels, back pressed against the wall, arms resting on his legs, alone inside the cell. These austere walls and iron bars have, on many occasions, reverberated with the screams of the mad, the ribald songs of the hardened criminal, and the anguished sobs and wailing of the repentant murderer, as he arouses up from sleep to a cold sweat and a very real nightmare.

Shortly before 11 o’clock Jailer Alvarez came up to the cell and gave Spinks a cigarette, which the boy accepted thankfully and smoked as his last material solace. A little later Mr. Alvarez brought Spinks a suit of new clothes and a hat; the preachers helped him dress. Soon thereafter the ominous clanking of the heavy locks sounded below, and the sheriff entered, accompanied by Deputies. Time was up.

Spinks was handcuffed without defiance, opposition, or resistance, and the solemn procession went out of the jail, led by the preachers, down the stairs and up the steps of the scaffold.

Spinks looked around at the huge crowd; the crowd looked back at him. The trap doors of the scaffold were open and the boy looked through the opening. To allow a drop of the eight and a half feet, a pit was dug beneath the gallows, and looking down was virtually the same as looking into your own grave. The boy didn’t flinch. There were more prayers and songs, and Deputy Sheriff Cameron read the death warrant.

Spinks stood quietly by while the trap doors were closed and the trigger carefully adjusted. Sheriff White distributed the binding straps to his deputies, to make escape impossible after the drop, which they fastened on Spinks after first removing the handcuffs. As Mr. Alvarez was tying the straps to the prisoner’s wrists, the boy said, “They are tight enough.” Alvarez then guided Spinks forward till he stood on the trap where more straps were added, this time around the ankles.

After the noose was dropped over Spinks’ head, the next to last task on the program was to cover the boy’s head with a black hood. The hood was small and did not fit properly, and there was some trouble getting it under the noose. When the hood was down as far as possible, the knot of the noose was moved below Spinks’ left ear. Almost everyone on the scaffold then pressed the boy’s manacled hands in farewell, saying, “Good-bye, Abner.”

At the appointed time, White seized the lethal lever, gave it a quick pull, and Spinks’ body fell through the trap. When the rope tightened, his 180 pounds shook the scaffold till it swayed. This was at 11:47 a.m. The fall broke Spinks’ neck and the body never moved again after the gallows ceased moving. The audience gasped.

Last edited by JAMESBJOHNSON : 02-19-2013 at 06:48 AM.
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Old 02-18-2013, 05:06 PM   #13
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The world was covered with snow. By four o’clock the thermometer hovered at zero. The wind had moderated to a frigid breeze, and my breath floated from my mouth across the porch into the yard in large languid clouds. Christ! It was cold. I smoked my pipe and went inside to warm by the fire. I pulled a comfortable chair close to the hearth and fell asleep.

From the same story as above.
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Old 01-09-2014, 02:04 AM   #14
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In my Snowed In at the Library Natasha is the nerd and Xavier the student is a very confident studly guy.

It's clear that they are trapped as they listen to the battery powered radio reporting on road closures. The library is on a hill overlooking the town - and they can see the huge blanket of snow taking the town to a standstill.

The guy : Xavier is very hot - from a different town - tall, a little older and insanely confident. He eyes up Natasha and her frumpy hair and clothes as they hear the reports....thinking..."I've fucked a lot uglier chicks than her"

Natasha is thinking about sex too - of course, reminded by the snow of the many bodice-ripping novels she has read in between tackling more serious materials. She wishes Xavier wasn't so darned hot so she might have the nerve to talk with him. He strides up confidently and they look out the window at the graders failing to move the huge snow in town. The road up to the library is becoming so impassable, you wouldn't even know there is a road there.

" Doesn't look good " she says looking outside - actually feeling that this was fantastic luck!

" Gonna be quite a while" he says confidently putting his hand over hers. Her eyes open wide - what is he doing? He walks behind her and whispers in her ear past her messy hair. " You like it slow and easy ? " he says touching her tushie with his pelvis behind her. " Or you like it deep and rough? " he sneered tugging her by her hips back towards him.

" what the?... " Natasha stammers off balance flushed and shocked and hornee and stunned by how brash this man is. She steps away tripping a little and turns back to see him leaning back on her desk - his big half-hard cock in his hand as he smirks at her. " I know you want it girl ... this is gonna' be your lucky day ".

Natasha's mind races and is a total mess - part of her wants to scream rape ( not that that would help ) and part of her wants to submit fully and begin an oral adoration of this gorgeous Adonis who she has alone in a snowstorm.

" I get no complaints from the ladies so far honey " He smirks jacking himself slowly getting harder and smirking at her. " you'll get into it...I promise "

In her confusion Natasha imagines running away from him - out into the blizzard - only to be caught and dragged back inside and pinned to the ground by him before taking his raping thrusts. She imagines trying to out run him inside the library - make it to the bathroom and lock herself in. After going through so many absurd scenarios - her eyes fixated on his cock - she just takes to her knees in front of him slowly - as if there is no point of doing anything else. in truth she is in heaven - now she even has an excuse so she doesn't have to feel at all like a slut for having sex with this stranger.

As she blows him on her knees she can see her own reflection in the big window, her hair let down now and her glasses off. She looks pretty.

When she looks at a different part of the window her reflection disappears and she can see her house - her old school - the whole little town. She looks out the window as he does her doggy style over the edge of her own neat desk. She makes sound s like a cat in heat - and he just chuckles so cockily as he fucks her like a stallion. Again she sees her own reflection and sees the cocky smile of this stranger rocking her body with his thrusts. The blinking grader is just halfway up Elm street she sees - it's going to take hours and hours before they get up here. Her ass taking a slap as his heavenly thrusts get harder. " ooohhh fuck meee ..." she whines looking over her shoulder at him.

( what do u think? )

chrissee -
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Old 01-25-2014, 08:20 AM   #15
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Super short scene :)

It stings. Strong hands are grasping my hair and throat. Not hard enough to do much damage, but enough to let me know who is in control. He’s driving into me from behind, and you’d think he was part jackhammer with the power behind each thrust. My eyes roll back, and I moan from the waves of pleasure spreading from my core down to my toes. They curl. We haven’t been this rough before, and while it’s exciting, complicated thought escapes me. Suddenly, he’s no longer there and I whimper and whine at the loss of fullness inside of me. An unexpected slap on my ass draws a yelp out from my lips, and he does it again on the other cheek. The room tilts and spins. Flipping me over so I can see his hungry gaze, his thumb grazes over my swollen clit. It’s as if I've never known the true meaning of desire until now. Then, lifting my legs up to his shoulders he plunges into me, and I’m tighter in the new position. He knows I love it like this. As soon as he leans down to kiss me, my animalistic sounds silence so that my tongue can dance with his. Our movements are feverish, and we clutch each other as if for dear life. I can feel him at the precipice, so I nip his exposed neck and swivel my hips to drive him over the edge. I can feel the powerful jets of his cum emptying inside of me, and then our muscles relax, spent. We exchange a few playful nibbles and kisses before rolling of the bed to clean each other off in a steamy shower.

I have no use for this, as I didn't intend to write anything in the first place. I actually write poetry, not stories, so if it's horrible I'd like to blame my inexperience. Obviously this is from the female perspective, as I haven't got a clue as to how to write from the male's. Oh, and I used spellcheck, so I'm sorry if there are any technical errors that I missed.
My brain: http://painful-rapture.deviantart.com/
Cybering: Thank you, but no.
The more I learn, the less I know.

you'll find it in that gradual crescendo, in low, slow songs
the ones that remind you of her, you'll find it there
at dusk when the colors soften, before you get lost in the dark
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