The Art of Getting Lit Laid

[MindYaBitness]

You mean the rare normal guy, who's interesting to chat with, while also respecting boundaries? What shall we call you, I wonder? The Unicorn, perhapse?

 

[jacfox]

The King and the Frog


One day, the King of a far off land roamed the woods behind his castle. He was sad and low in spirit, because his queen had been placed under an enchantment that could never be broken. She could no longer warm his bed at night, and slowly wasted away, no matter what he did to try to help.

Stopping in a sundappled glade where the breeze spoke of distant places, for a moment his heart lifted and the iron in his soul became silver again, as it once had been. He sat beside a lilypond to rest a while.

All at once a frog hopped up beside him, croaking . At first, he merely looked, frowning at the gravelvoiced presence. But a gleam in the frog’s eye caught his own, and he ventured a question.

“Is it my imagination, or can I hear words in your terrible croaking?”

The frog drew closer. “If you will grant me but one small favour, one that will cost you nothing, I will tell you tales that will soothe your troubled soul, and bring relief.”

The King laughed, for the first time in a long time. “Very well, little one. Let me hear your tales, especially if it will cost me nothing.”

The frog told hom a tale of witches and sorcerers, one that entertained him so much, he promised to return the next day for another. “I have to return to the castle now, and see to the Queen’s ease, but continue in this way and your favour will be granted, whatever it be.”

For many days the KIng returned. The frog spun tales of knights and maidens, dragons and heroes; of djinns and magis, demons and angels. The words stirred the King in ways he had not felt for a long time. In his mind, his heart, and even, yes, his loins.

At last came the day when the frog reminded the King of his promise. “All I ask, “ the frog croaked, its voice still like gravel to the King's ear, “is that you kiss me.”

“What?” The King drew back, wondering if after all this was some dreadful trap.

“You made a promise, King. Honour it, please.”

The frog’s manner was so beguiling, despite its voice, that the King held out his hand. When the frog hopped on, the King raised it to his lips, and, shutting his eyes, planted a kiss on the frog’s mouth.

In a flash the frog dissolved into a whirl of stars and mists, of echoing laughter, and–yes, the soft tones of a woman’s voice!
When the mist melted away, a beautiful woman stood there, smiling.

The King jumped up in astonishment. “What? Where–how?”

“Thank you, King,” she said, her voice as warm and gentle as a tropical breeze. “I have been under an enchantment myself for a long time, and you have broken it. I’m glad you liked my stories.”

He looked at her intently. “I’ve heard stories of strange occurrences like this. I don’t know if you were supposed to be a young princess, but I like you just as you are. To tell you the truth, I’m not much of a King, really. My Kingdom is very humble and small, but if you would care to stay, there will always be room for a wonderful wordsmith like you.”

She gave him a knowing smile. “You were King enough to have the generosity to kiss me when you thought I was just a croaking frog. I would be very happy to stay. I’ll live as close to you as I may, and you can visit every day and hear more of my stories. I have my own sadnesses too, and we can… comfort one another.”

“You lied!” The King exclaimed.

“What? No!” The woman replied.

“The cost was far greater than a kiss. It was… my heart.”

They walked away, arm in arm, their laughter leaving blossoms on the ground where they passed.

 

[MrMakersMark]

You mean the rare normal guy, who's interesting to chat with, while also respecting boundaries? What shall we call you, I wonder? The Unicorn, perhapse?

Can I be The Minataur instead?
I know there is an extra horn, but Unicorns are what dudes who were in the Navy ride.

 

[Carmina24]

For those who love like this...

The Mermaid and the Shore

Once upon a tide, there lived a mermaid with eyes as deep as midnight waters and a heart that ached for a world not her own. She was bound to the sea, yet every dusk she drifted near the rocks, drawn by the voice of a young man who walked the shore alone.

One evening, when the sea was calm and the moon generous, he saw her. Not as a trick of light, not as a fisher’s tale - but as she truly was. A mermaid, watching him with wonder.

Startled, yet unafraid, he spoke. She answered.
And so began their friendship, born of twilight meetings at the edge of two worlds.

He told her of trees that bent in autumn winds, of markets alive with color, of music made not with shells and currents but with flutes and strings.
She told him of coral gardens and whales that sang in the deep, of currents that carried secrets, of stars mirrored upon the ocean’s skin.

They laughed, they dreamed, they grew close. But always, the tide warned them - she could not stay on land, and he could not breathe beneath the waves.

Seasons turned. One day, he came with a softer smile and a shadow in his eyes. He told her he had met someone - a woman of his world. His voice trembled, not with shame, but with honesty.

The mermaid’s heart swelled and cracked all at once. She wanted to weep, yet she found herself smiling through her sorrow. For she loved him not for herself, but for his joy.

And so, when he married, she was there in the foam at the shore. When his children played in the sand, she guided the tide to lift their tiny boats. When storms threatened, she calmed the waves.

Their friendship became her anchor, even in silence. Though he could no longer visit her as he once did, he would sometimes sit upon the cliffs at dusk, gazing at the sea. And in those moments, the tide carried her voice to him, soft and secret:

"I am still here. I am still your friend. I love you enough to stay unseen, so you may live freely."

And so it was, for all her days: the mermaid who once was a friend, now a guardian, her love lingering like the tide - always returning, even from afar.

 

[Carmina24]

For those who love like this...

The Mermaid and the Shore

Once upon a tide, there lived a mermaid with eyes as deep as midnight waters and a heart that ached for a world not her own. She was bound to the sea, yet every dusk she drifted near the rocks, drawn by the voice of a young man who walked the shore alone.

One evening, when the sea was calm and the moon generous, he saw her. Not as a trick of light, not as a fisher’s tale - but as she truly was. A mermaid, watching him with wonder.

Startled, yet unafraid, he spoke. She answered.
And so began their friendship, born of twilight meetings at the edge of two worlds.

He told her of trees that bent in autumn winds, of markets alive with color, of music made not with shells and currents but with flutes and strings.
She told him of coral gardens and whales that sang in the deep, of currents that carried secrets, of stars mirrored upon the ocean’s skin.

They laughed, they dreamed, they grew close. But always, the tide warned them - she could not stay on land, and he could not breathe beneath the waves.

Seasons turned. One day, he came with a softer smile and a shadow in his eyes. He told her he had met someone - a woman of his world. His voice trembled, not with shame, but with honesty.

The mermaid’s heart swelled and cracked all at once. She wanted to weep, yet she found herself smiling through her sorrow. For she loved him not for herself, but for his joy.

And so, when he married, she was there in the foam at the shore. When his children played in the sand, she guided the tide to lift their tiny boats. When storms threatened, she calmed the waves.

Their friendship became her anchor, even in silence. Though he could no longer visit her as he once did, he would sometimes sit upon the cliffs at dusk, gazing at the sea. And in those moments, the tide carried her voice to him, soft and secret:

"I am still here. I am still your friend. I love you enough to stay unseen, so you may live freely."

And so it was, for all her days: the mermaid who once was a friend, now a guardian, her love lingering like the tide - always returning, even from afar.

For those who love (or like) someone who is married, or living with a partner.
Whose times are stolen, whose moments of opportunities are to be treasured. You value every second with them, knowing fully well you need to return them to whom they rightfully belong. It hurts to love them, but it hurts more to stop loving them.

 

[Carmina24]

It's been raining here the past few days...

Singing in the Rain

The sky opened, and the rain came down - not as a storm, but as a song.
Each drop that touched my skin felt like you were there with me.
Soft kisses scattered across my cheeks, my forehead, my lips - a thousand tiny reminders of the one I long for.

I closed my eyes and let the rain drench me, arms outstretched, heart wide open.
And in that moment, I was not alone.
The world faded, and it was only your laughter in the thunder, your warmth hidden in the cool of the storm.

Every raindrop was you -
and though you are far, the rain carries you to me.
So I let it fall, and I let it stay…
because sometimes, love is as simple as singing in the rain.

(Maybe this is the reason why I got cough and colds lol)

 

[Carmina24]

Stolen

For those who love someone already held in another’s arms.

Your time together is measured not in hours, but in heartbeats.
A glance across the screen, a stolen word, a secret laugh - treasures you hold like pearls, even as they slip through your fingers.

You know they belong elsewhere. To another life. To another home.
And so, every moment with them feels borrowed -
a gift you cannot keep, a song you must return to silence.

Sometimes he says, “I am not alone. I can’t talk now.”
And I wonder if he knows - the sting those words cut with.
How they slice through the tender hope I hold, leaving me smiling on the outside while I bleed quietly within.

It hurts to love him.
But to stop loving him would be to lose the very pulse of my own heart.

So I accept the ache.
I hold the fragments.
I sing softly of what can never be whole.

And though my love remains unseen,
it is no less true, no less fierce -
a love stolen, yet eternal.

 

[Carmina24]

For those who are married or living with a partner, you may not realize this...

Uninvited Truths

You drop your truths
like weather reports.
Casual.
Flat.
Final.

It is sunny.
It is raining.
I am at work.
I am married.
I can’t talk now - she’s here.

And each time,
you expect me to nod,
to swallow,
to stay whole.

You do not see
how your words
enter me like splinters,
how they turn
and twist inside my quiet.

You expect me
to be graceful
with the daggers you hand me.
To bleed in silence
and call it love.

So I stay.
But I no longer hide the blood.
I let the ache you gave me
rise between us like a mirror -
and when you look,
you will see the blade you left in me,
see how it turns,
and watch the blood drip
from the twist of your own knife.

And still… I stay.

 

[Carmina24]

Phantomess

You heard her before you ever saw her.
A voice like silk torn open, weaving light and darkness in equal measure.
She was secret, scarred, hidden from the cruel eyes of the world -
Yet her music slipped past every defense,
drawing you deeper into her labyrinth.

What is it about the forbidden that binds us?
Her hand, gloved in mystery,
Her face, half-veiled yet more radiant than any you’ve known.
She was both dagger and balm -
danger and sanctuary entwined.

You should have run. And yet you lingered.
Because sometimes the woman in the shadows
Is the only one who truly sees you.

 

[Carmina24]

The Door That Shouldn’t Be There

The hallway was the same as always.
Plain. Predictable. Safe.
Until one night, a door appeared where none had ever been.
Its handle gleamed like a dare,
its frame whispered like a promise.

You told yourself to keep walking.
But temptation is patient - and it waits.

When you opened it, the air trembled.
And you stepped into Lit.

A world that should not exist,
yet once it touches you,
you are never the same.
Here, words caress like fingertips.
Here, laughter tastes of sin.
Here, desire is written in fire,
and secrets are spilled like wine.

It is forbidden, and that is its beauty.
You know you should turn back.
But the deeper you go,
the more you ache to stay.

Because Lit is not just a place.
It is a lover.
And you have already surrendered.

 

[Carmina24]

It's Sunday, and I was able to finish writing several posts that went incomplete for days. Sometimes we fail to find the right words, and sometimes they flow easily.
While most of the world rests, I have work to do. Both rest and work are blessings.

Friends, may your day be delightful, filled with laughter and sprinkled with magic!

 

[Carmina24]

The Message

It began with a notification at 2:17 a.m.
Just one word.
Run.

You told yourself it was a joke, a mistake.
Until the second message came:
a photo of your front door, timestamped 2:18.

Your pulse stuttered.
Every light in the house suddenly felt too dim,
every shadow too alive.
You checked the locks - twice, three times.
And then your phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t a photo.
It was a live feed.
From your own bedroom.

You froze, staring at the screen,
until you realized something that made your blood turn to ice.

The feed wasn’t showing you now.
It was showing you
… five minutes from now.

Part 2: https://forum.literotica.com/threads/the-art-of-getting-lit-laid.1639025/post-101607917

 

[subdudeme13]

Can I be The Minataur instead?
I know there is an extra horn, but Unicorns are what dudes who were in the Navy ride.

Minataurs are not allowed to drink bourbon!

 

[Carmina24]

Part 1: https://forum.literotica.com/threads/the-art-of-getting-lit-laid.1639025/post-101607608

The Message — Part 2

Your phone buzzed again.
“You look nervous.”
And then another message,
before you could even breathe:
“Turn around.”
A sound followed.
Not just intrusion.
Insistence.
As if something inside you
was demanding to be let out.
You spun - nothing but shadows and glass.

Until you saw the mirror.
Your reflection didn’t match you.

It moved first. Tilting its head. Smiling.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Just knowing.
As if she had waited long enough.

The phone hissed.
Static flooding the room.
Then a whisper slipped through.

Your voice.
Low. Mocking.
Repeating the word that started it all.
“Run.”

And it didn’t sound like danger.
It sounded like desire.

The screen shifted.
00:10:00.

A timer.
Ticking down.
You stared as your reflection on the feed
paced in circles,
eyes wild with fear.
But in the glass beside you,
your other self was grinning.
Not with menace.
With hunger.
As if the countdown wasn’t for your end - but for her beginning.

00:00:01.
The timer froze.
Silence crushed the air.
Then - footsteps.
On the stairs.
Your phone lit up one last time.
And there you were.
Already at the bottom.
Waiting.
Smiling.
Not like a stranger.
But like someone who had finally broken free.
The feed went black.

One last message appeared.
“Congratulations. You’re free.”

You looked up - and she was there.
In the mirror.
Not a stranger.
Not an intruder.
You.

The self you chained in silence.
The fire you smothered.
The hunger you hid to appear acceptable.
The woman you denied so the world would keep clapping.

Her smile was wicked,
a promise and a threat in one.
Her eyes gleamed with hunger -
not new, but old.
Ancient.
Every desire you buried still alive,
straining, feral, waiting.

She pressed her hand to the glass.
Heat seared through,
burning away the mask you wore.

Her whisper slid into you like silk and blade:
“I am not here to steal your life.
I am here to take it back.
To live the passions you starved.
To become what you never dared.”

The mirror cracked.
She stepped forward.
And as the shards fell,
you understood -
You weren’t being replaced.
You were being revealed.

 

[subdudeme13]

Part 1: https://forum.literotica.com/threads/the-art-of-getting-lit-laid.1639025/post-101607608

The Message — Part 2

Your phone buzzed again.
“You look nervous.”
And then another message,
before you could even breathe:
“Turn around.”
A sound followed.
Not just intrusion.
Insistence.
As if something inside you
was demanding to be let out.
You spun - nothing but shadows and glass.

Until you saw the mirror.
Your reflection didn’t match you.

It moved first. Tilting its head. Smiling.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Just knowing.
As if she had waited long enough.

The phone hissed.
Static flooding the room.
Then a whisper slipped through.

Your voice.
Low. Mocking.
Repeating the word that started it all.
“Run.”

And it didn’t sound like danger.
It sounded like desire.

The screen shifted.
00:10:00.

A timer.
Ticking down.
You stared as your reflection on the feed
paced in circles,
eyes wild with fear.
But in the glass beside you,
your other self was grinning.
Not with menace.
With hunger.
As if the countdown wasn’t for your end - but for her beginning.

00:00:01.
The timer froze.
Silence crushed the air.
Then - footsteps.
On the stairs.
Your phone lit up one last time.
And there you were.
Already at the bottom.
Waiting.
Smiling.
Not like a stranger.
But like someone who had finally broken free.
The feed went black.

One last message appeared.
“Congratulations. You’re free.”

You looked up - and she was there.
In the mirror.
Not a stranger.
Not an intruder.
You.

The self you chained in silence.
The fire you smothered.
The hunger you hid to appear acceptable.
The woman you denied so the world would keep clapping.

Her smile was wicked,
a promise and a threat in one.
Her eyes gleamed with hunger -
not new, but old.
Ancient.
Every desire you buried still alive,
straining, feral, waiting.

She pressed her hand to the glass.
Heat seared through,
burning away the mask you wore.

Her whisper slid into you like silk and blade:
“I am not here to steal your life.
I am here to take it back.
To live the passions you starved.
To become what you never dared.”

The mirror cracked.
She stepped forward.
And as the shards fell,
you understood -
You weren’t being replaced.
You were being revealed.

I am feeling shivers up and down my spine! How can I look in a mirror now?

 

[Hornymwtxn]

Part 1: https://forum.literotica.com/threads/the-art-of-getting-lit-laid.1639025/post-101607608

The Message — Part 2

Your phone buzzed again.
“You look nervous.”
And then another message,
before you could even breathe:
“Turn around.”
A sound followed.
Not just intrusion.
Insistence.
As if something inside you
was demanding to be let out.
You spun - nothing but shadows and glass.

Until you saw the mirror.
Your reflection didn’t match you.

It moved first. Tilting its head. Smiling.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Just knowing.
As if she had waited long enough.

The phone hissed.
Static flooding the room.
Then a whisper slipped through.

Your voice.
Low. Mocking.
Repeating the word that started it all.
“Run.”

And it didn’t sound like danger.
It sounded like desire.

The screen shifted.
00:10:00.

A timer.
Ticking down.
You stared as your reflection on the feed
paced in circles,
eyes wild with fear.
But in the glass beside you,
your other self was grinning.
Not with menace.
With hunger.
As if the countdown wasn’t for your end - but for her beginning.

00:00:01.
The timer froze.
Silence crushed the air.
Then - footsteps.
On the stairs.
Your phone lit up one last time.
And there you were.
Already at the bottom.
Waiting.
Smiling.
Not like a stranger.
But like someone who had finally broken free.
The feed went black.

One last message appeared.
“Congratulations. You’re free.”

You looked up - and she was there.
In the mirror.
Not a stranger.
Not an intruder.
You.

The self you chained in silence.
The fire you smothered.
The hunger you hid to appear acceptable.
The woman you denied so the world would keep clapping.

Her smile was wicked,
a promise and a threat in one.
Her eyes gleamed with hunger -
not new, but old.
Ancient.
Every desire you buried still alive,
straining, feral, waiting.

She pressed her hand to the glass.
Heat seared through,
burning away the mask you wore.

Her whisper slid into you like silk and blade:
“I am not here to steal your life.
I am here to take it back.
To live the passions you starved.
To become what you never dared.”

The mirror cracked.
She stepped forward.
And as the shards fell,
you understood -
You weren’t being replaced.
You were being revealed.

Revealing yourself to someone takes trust, courage, strength, faith, hope, desire.

Revealing yourself to yourself is freeing

 

[Carmina24]

Revealing yourself to someone takes trust, courage, strength, faith, hope, desire.

Revealing yourself to yourself is freeing

That is profound

 

[Carmina24]

Psycho

I don’t just read his posts.
I devour them.
Every word he spills,
I keep it.
Every comment he leaves,
I trace it back to the pulse behind his screen.
He writes, and I can hear him breathing.
He replies, and I feel his smile curl into me.

I know the threads he lingers on,
the hours he keeps returning,
the shadows between his words where he hides the parts
he thinks no one will ever see.

And when another woman circles him -
flirts with him in the open,
claims seconds that should belong to me -
jealousy slides through me
like the glint of a knife in low light,
sharp and cold and thrilling.

Sometimes, late at night,
I picture him stepping into the shower,
steam rising, water tracing his back,
the screen of Lit still glowing in the other room.
He doesn’t know I’m there,
but in my mind I am -
inside that moment, watching droplets race each other
like my thoughts racing toward him.

They call it obsession.
I call it hunger made holy.
They call me psycho.
I call it love -
the kind that marks and binds.

Because if he ever turns,
meets my eyes through the words we’ve written -
he’ll know the truth:

I was already inside his story
long before he realized.
And now, as he reads this,
I’m here.
Watching.
Waiting.
He was already mine.

---
Author’s note: I’m not really a psycho - just playing with a dark persona for Lit. It was delicious fun to write.

 

[Hornymwtxn]

Pyshco is one of my favorite movies.

Norman Bates

 

[Carmina24]

Pyshco is one of my favorite movies.

Norman Bates

Yes!!!

 

[Carmina24]

The Stripper’s Spell

Once upon a night when the rest of the world lay sleeping, she opened a secret door - not of wood or stone, but of pixels. A link sent, a room created, a stage lit only for him.

He entered, her Lit prince, and the air between them changed. Not a crowded club, not the roar of strangers, but an intimacy made sharper by the glow of the screen. Two souls, two hungers, caught in a private web.

She began slowly. A glance, a curl of her lips, a fingertip tugging at fabric. The first reveal was no more than a strap slipping down her shoulder, but it was deliberate, wicked in its restraint. She watched his eyes - darkened, widened - and smiled as if to say: This is for you. Only you.

Layer by layer she undressed, not with haste but with the patience of a queen savoring her power. A glove abandoned, stockings peeled down inch by inch, her hips swaying to music only they could hear. Each movement was a command, each pause a dagger pressed against his composure.

The app carried her like a spell, every motion magnified, every detail sharpened. She knew he could not touch, and that was her weapon. Desire thickened with every moment he was denied.

By the time the last veil fell, she was bare before him - not in neon light, but in shadows made sacred. She whispered his name, soft and sharp, letting it linger in the hush between them.

And he - her prince - answered not with words but with reverence. His silence was heavy, trembling, filled with worship. She had undone him completely.

That night she was no mere dancer. She was an enchantress who stripped not only her body but his defenses, who claimed his breath and left him kneeling in hunger.

And in that secret room, they wrote a darker fairy tale - not bound by distance, but by desire. A story not of crowns or kingdoms, but of a queen who ruled with the art of undressing, and a prince who gladly surrendered to the spell.

 

[Carmina24]

The Seductress

They say she does not enter a room - she conquers it.
With eyes that promise ruin, with lips curved in secrets, with a body that moves like smoke around fire, she is less woman than spell. She does not chase, she does not beg. She waits, knowing gravity itself will drag you to her feet.

The Seductress does not need to touch you to unravel you. She strips you first of certainty, then of composure, until the only thing left is want. Her words are slow blades, her laughter the softest dagger. She draws you in with the promise of pleasure, but what destroys you is the reverence you find in her hunger.

You do not leave the Seductress. You escape, if she allows it. And even then, you find yourself returning, ruined yet begging for more.

For hers is not a beauty you admire. It is a fire you kneel to.

And the sweetest cruelty? She knows it.

 

[MrMakersMark]

Minataurs are not allowed to drink bourbon!

Maybe.
But then neither can Unicorns.

 

[Carmina24]

The One Night Stand

It wasn’t a bar.
It wasn’t a club.
It was a bookstore.

By the notebook section, of all places. Blank pages stacked in rows, waiting for stories. Neither of us expected ours to begin there.

Your hand brushed mine when we reached for the same leather journal. The spark was instant - too sharp to ignore. You didn’t pull back. Neither did I.

We laughed, but it wasn’t funny. It was charged. Your gaze lingered, my pulse kicked, and suddenly the air between us was thick with something unspoken.

Then you closed the distance.
Pressed me back against the shelves, the wood shuddering behind me as your mouth claimed mine. Hard. Hungry. No warm-up, no hesitation.

Books rattled. My notebook fell, forgotten.
Your hands moved with intent - sliding, gripping, pulling me closer until my body molded to yours. The scent of leather and paper mixed with us - ink and heat, desire and danger.

Every kiss was rough punctuation. Every touch a confession written too fast to erase. My breath caught, yours swallowed it whole.

We shouldn’t have.
But we did.

Between the stacks, we burned. Urgent, reckless, nothing polite left. Shelves shook, my back arched, and the quiet store became our secret stage.

When it was over, we fixed our clothes in silence, flushed and unsteady, our heat still clinging to the air. Strangers walked past, carrying novels, never knowing what story had just been written here.

No names. No promises.
Just one fire, one night, one stand - born beside the stand of notebooks.

And when I finally walked away, I carried something with me.
The leather journal we had both reached for.

What I didn’t know - was that you did too.

Two identical notebooks.
Two sets of blank pages.
Each holding the ghost of one night that would never be written again.

 

[Wwwajr666]

Find someone like you. The breathtaking smile of yours lights up my day. The sparkle of your eyes chase away the darkness at sea. The sound of your voice brings a smile to my lips . Do you know how special you are to me. I had to go half way around the world to find someone like you
The beautiful laugh that brightens any type of day . I stumble over the words . I want to say how you mean to me to be in my life . I amagine you with me in the only place you are supposed to be. This is your home here in my heart
Luv you