Gloveslapping - The Thread

The explanation for this thread can be found here: https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=190574&pagenumber=1

This is the official one and only gloveslapping thread. It'd probably be best if we used the other one (https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=190574&pagenumber=1) for discussion and the actual slapping and keep this one separate for the actual story results of the slapping.

And now let's see if anyone wants to play...

The Earl
Slapper in chief

Ok, here's my effort. I finished mine first Earl.

Here's the gloveslap challenge, set to me by The Earl:
Write a romance story which is under 1000 words.
It must include:
a small frog named Gilbert
The phrase "Can I call him little Joey?"
and mock-leather driving gloves.

Here's my story (in 997 words!)


Some Day My Prince Will Come
by Tatelou, copyright August 2003.

Driving along the beautiful little lane running behind my property, the roof was down and the wind was blowing through my hair, like kisses on the breeze. Life was good, but not complete. I wanted a man, not just any man, I was holding out for Prince Charming. One drawback of having the roof off my convertible down was the cold got in. The sun was shining, but it was winter, and my nose was going numb. My hands were ok, because I was wearing my mock-leather driving gloves that my Daddy bought me for Christmas. Lost in my thoughts, about my cold nose, I almost ran over a sweet little frog, cavorting in the road ahead.

With a screech of brakes I managed to bring the car to halt, within inches of squashing poor little froggy. I jumped out of the car, not even bothering to open the door, and ran round to check on the poor little green fella. He sat, well more squatted really, and looked at me, with big olive eyes.

‘Hello, my name is Gilbert’ said the small amphibian.

‘Hello Gilbert, my name is Mimsy,’ what else could I say?

‘Take me home, please,’ said Gilbert.

Who was I to deny the request of such a cute little frog?

I had a soft cotton handkerchief in my pocket, and quickly pulled it out. My hands were warm, from wearing the mock-leather driving gloves, and I didn’t want to heat up his delicate amphibian skin. I held out my hand, and he hopped on, maintaining eye contact the whole time, he had such a wistful look.

‘Mimsy, you are beautiful. Your skin has the radiance of a full moon on a cold winter’s night.’ He whispered to me. He was very eloquent, for a frog!

I was smitten, it mattered not to me that he was small enough to fit in my pocket, and that his skin was green and slimy, he was the most endearing little thing that I had ever met.

‘Come on Gilbert, let’s get you home.’ I said to him as I climbed in the car, opening the door this time. He was a very excited frog, and when I sat down, he hopped from my hand and sat on my thigh. I was then able to put my mock-leather driving gloves back on.

In no time at all we reached the huge iron gates, which were the entrance to my lavish country property. I pressed the button on my remote control device and the gates creaked open. I quickly drove the remaining fifty yards to the house, spraying gravel behind me as I went.

‘Weeeeeeee,’ cried Gilbert, I told you he was excitable!

I turned off the ignition, removed my mock-leather driving gloves, opened the door, and Gilbert leapt off my thigh, eager to go indoors. I walked up the steps, with Gilbert merrily hopping along side me. His tiny legs looked so cute.

‘Here we are, home!’ I proudly exclaimed.

‘I’m so happy,’ replied Gilbert.

After we’d gone through the door Gilbert stood in amazement, taking in the opulent surroundings. His little eyes blinked at the sight of the intricately carved oak staircase, at the gold embossed lampshades, at the sparkling chandelier, hanging high above us.

‘Shall we sit in the drawing room and take tea?’ I asked my little friend.

‘Oh, that would be wonderful,’ replied Gilbert.

Upon entering the drawing room Gilbert jumped onto the chaise, so I joined him. He climbed up to my shoulder, and began stroking my cheek with his skinny finger-like digit.

‘Fair maiden, I have dreamed of this day,’ he whispered in my ear.

‘Oh Gilbert, you are so romantic,’ I replied, and kissed him gently on his tiny forehead.

POOF!

He was no longer a frog, he’d turned into a man. I couldn’t quite see what he looked like at first, because he was still sitting on my shoulder, and I was blinded by the pain.

He lowered himself down, and sat next to me. I was able to take in the sight before me. He wasn’t what I’d call attractive, but he was beautiful nonetheless, because he was my Gilbert. His hair was greasy, and his skin looked bumpy, but I held him. I wrapped my arms around him, and held him tight.

He pushed me back gently, and looked into my eyes. ‘Oh Mimsy, you did it, I am yours, I give myself to you.’

‘Oh Gilbert, thank you for finding me.’ I replied, barely able to get the words out. I was gagging because the stench coming from his mouth was worse than a stagnant swamp.

He kissed me, I kissed him back, our mouths opened wide tongues reaching in, playing together, tasting each other.

Our lips parted and he stood before me, well more hunched really, but he tried.

‘Oh, take me sweet lover, take me now.’ He requested.

I couldn’t refuse, my ardour had risen, he had seduced me. I stood, and turned around.

‘Un-zip me sweetheart,’ I asked.

‘Of course, my honey-pot,’ he replied.

He seemed to have a little trouble with the tiny zip, his fingers were still rather curled up, but after fumbling for a while he pulled the zip right down, and my red, shiny dress fell away from me. My figure was revealed, he gasped, and stepped back.

‘Never before have a set eyes upon a bosom as large as yours, I am going to have fun with you, little lady,’ he said, in rather a smarmy way, but that didn’t put me off.

Of course, he was already naked, that saved some time. Looking down I could see that his member had grown, he was very keen.

‘Oh Gilbert, can I call him little Joey?’ I exclaimed.

We made such sweet love, and lived happily ever after, and even produced the ugliest kids that ever walked this earth, but we loved them.

Tatelou said:

Write an erotic horror piece, in less than 1000 words.
In the story you must include:
Tony, a respectable businessman by day... bloodthirsty, sexual deviant by night.
A bouquet of black roses.
And the phrase "Please don't put that in there."

Click to expand...

Okay, Tatelou - here's my attempt. 930 words. Not perfect, but fun to write = )

----------------------------------


“Please don’t put that in there.”

His voice cut through the room like a razor, and she shot him a wary glance. The look pleased him, and he smiled to himself, although he gave her no more visible attention. Nervously, she went about her business, straightening up the office, the file still tucked under her arm. The girl was his newest possession, although she didn’t know it yet. Her long, blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, the thick end hanging down to her shoulders. Tony could feel his body pulse with the thought of possessing her completely.

“Sir,” she said timidly, “Where would you like it?”

“Bring it here,” he said, holding out his hand. She brought him the file and placed it in his palm, her fingers brushing lightly against his as she did. Gasping, she pulled away. “What’s wrong, dear?” he asked.

“You’re so cold,” her voice dripped thick with concern, her eyes fixed on his hand.

Setting the file down on the desk, he reached for her, his body moving faster than anything human. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he captured her hand in his, bringing her palm close to his face.

“You’ve heard the rumors, I suppose?” he smiled.

“Y-yes,” stuttering, she kept a tight pull on her hand, begging with her eyes for him to release her.

“Anthony Sciore, businessman by day, but something completely different by night?”

Gulping, she nodded, tears beginning to form at the edges of those big, green eyes. Her glance darted from his face to the darkening windows, the sun’s last rays disappearing in the distance. She met his eyes again, her face blank with fear.

“You don’t need to worry, darling,” he purred, standing up out of his big chair and bending close to her ear. In a thick whisper he explained, “They’re all true.”

The girl’s body stiffened, and she began to whimper in a high-pitched voice. Tony took her in his big arms and pulled her close, moving his head down to hers for an insistent kiss. Her face twisted away from his, but he skillfully found his mouth with his. His soft lips pressed hard onto hers, pulling her open to accept his tongue. Almost instantly she went limp in his grasp, her body soft and pliant against his hard, unforgiving one. He put his mouth on hers and sucked deep, tasting her youth and innocence with his prying tongue. A moan escaped her throat and filled his mind with wicked sensations. She was going to be his.

Limp, the girl was helpless to fight him. Tony knew the effect he had on women, whether they liked it or not, and smiled wickedly down at the helpless girl. “Are you ready, love?” he whispered sinisterly into her ear. She shook her head slightly, her mouth open in mewling protests. She wanted to escape, but he knew she would soon find that impossible. By now her body was his, whether she willed it or not. Her acceptance didn’t matter; she would submit, whether she wanted to or not.

Tony’s large body engulfed her small one, folding on top of her, totally encasing him in her flesh. It was as if they were being welded together, her flesh to his flesh, her soul straight into whatever soul he possessed. His mouth sucked insistently at hers, dragging out long moans of passionate sensations; her body quivered against his as the pleasure he knew he could give filled her to the core. It was as if their clothes evaporated, so suddenly they were naked, her warm, pale flesh pressed tight against his dark, cold skin. Holding her tighter and tighter he squeezed his way inside, his thick maleness penetrating her hot body.

Crying out in an instant of pain, the girl twitched in his arms. He held her tight, supporting her as he drove deep inside her body, her insides tightening around him almost painfully. She was hot and wet inside, soft and tight. He took her hard, dragging himself out and thrusting himself back in, sucking through her mouth as he drove himself again and again into her softness. Soon he could feel the quivers in her flesh turn frantic, her limp legs struggling against their paralysis to squeeze around him. In that moment he possessed her completely, and the cries that she shouted into his throat turned to pleasure.

He drew in a deep breath as she climaxed, her body twitching frantically in his arms. He held on, pushing into her, penetrating her from the inside out. Their fused bodies shook together, and the pleasure she experienced swept into his own body, his own cold bones. Soon she went limp against him again, totally spent, and he reluctantly released her.

* * *

She woke up in a large bed, not her own. She felt totally drained, but completely satisfied. Opening her eyes, she blinked against the glare of the rising sun coming in through the windows. Memories of the past night were flooding her like a monsoon, and she shivered at the memory of the pleasure she had experienced with her fear. Turning her face towards the wall, she spotted a bouquet of roses so dark they seemed black. Tentatively, she reached for them. The petals were thick as flesh against her fingers, and just as warm. She pulled away, frightened.

Turning her head the other way, she saw an envelope on the pillow beside her. Opening it, she read with wide eyes.

My Love,

You are mine forever. Thank you.

Tony

Cheek to Cheek

Chicklet said:

Alright, cutie, you asked for it! <Slaps Carrie on the butt>

I challenge you to write a male/male piece, long or short, your choice = ) I want you to put the setting in a fantasy world and only one of the males to be <dun dun dun> an actual human! Take this however you like.

-Chicklet

Click to expand...

Cheek to Cheek

The winter wind ripped down the valley, tearing the exhaust from the sled's engine. He squinted into the weak sunlight as the road wound out of the shadows. The settlement seemed to sprawl around the volcanic vent, the houses looking for all the world like a parasitic infestation on the icy purity of the planet.

"Welcome home, tay-Lor," his companion's voice vibrated through the speakers in his helmet, "Hurry, I'm waiting!"

tay-Lor cranked the throttle and pointed his snowmobile down the road. Today he sped down the hill, eager to give Val the good news. He pulled up in front of the low rounded walls of the quonset structure the company had provided about 5 minutes later. Once inside, he waited impatiently for the hydraulics to seal the door; finally the green light flashed.

Slowly he unbuckled and lifted the frosty headgear off. The ice dripped from the helmet as the airlock warmed. He smiled as he felt the Earth-quality atmosphere engulf him when he walked through the inner door. Val loved the sultry heat of his birth planet and always tried to emulate it at home.

Val stood as tay-Lor walked into the lounge. tay-Lor could see his pet had been in the UV room again, his skin was bronze and smooth. The clone felt that delicious twinge in his groin as he thought of the human's body rippling beneath him. Val was obviously intrauterine grown, with that quality of yeilding hardness only a mother could instill in a boy. His pure humanity was incredibly arousing to the off-world raised "gen-mod".

tay-Lor's blastocyst had been genetically modified to allow him to survive the extreme temperature changes found outside of the sealed living spaces on this planet. He was then incubated invitro and raised at the Company's clone development center on Io. Now, he was here with a gorgeous human to call his and to use as he willed, not to mention a challenging planetary exploration and cartography mission to keep him otherwise stimulated. Val moved to kneel at tay-Lor's feet and eagerly reached for the fastners of the environmental suit.

tay-Lor grunted as he felt his cock sink into Val's hot, wet mouth. His blood pounded, filling his prick, throbbing with his pulse. He flexed, thrusting into that oh so willing, sucking mouth. tay-Lor stroked the slick skin of Val's shaved head, loving the steps his dear one took to please. He quivered as Val pressed a finger against his asshole, the stroking of his sensitive pucker an exquisite counterpoint to the caress of Val's tongue on his cock. Selfishly he fucked that youthful face, his own pleasure all he sought.

"Stop," he groaned, "I need to cum inside you Val. Stop."

tay-Lor shuddered as Val licked along his shaft. Val looked up, "Your need is mine. I want to cum with you inside me tay. Fuck me, please."

Grinning, tay-Lor helped Val to his feet, "No, Val. You fuck me." He led the way into the bedroom, stretched out on the bed. His cock lay heavily against his abdomen, a slippery strand of semen stretched from just below his belly button to his cockhead. His seminal fluid was almost dripping as he imagined Val's tight muscles opening for him. tay-Lor watched as Val took the tube of lubricant off the table and squeezed a generous gob onto his fingers. The cold of the jelly made his gut clench as Val prepared his cock.

tay-Lor reached down and urged Val over his body. The touch of so much hot skin was a powerful aphrodisiac and tay-Lor could hardly wait. Val straddled his waist and leaned forward to kiss him. tay-Lor wet his own fingers with saliva. He probed Val's ass even as his tongue stroked into that hot mouth. He heard his lover's sweet moans as his finger worked through the sphincter. He twisted it round and felt the opening soften and stretch. He slowly inserted three fingers. Fucking Val's tight hole with his digits, lubricating him.

"tay-Lor! Now!" Val cried out.

The clone gripped the human's thighs and pulled them further apart. Val raised up onto his knees and grasped the slippery cock, rubbing it against his wet, wanting ass. He moaned loudly as he sat back, impaling himself. tay-Lor cupped Val's balls and tugged gently, pulling the man down onto him. He moved his hand and squeezed Val's shaft, sensing his precious human was going to cum.

Val rolled his hips as he started to fuck tay-Lor. He quivered as he rose up and sank back down. tay-Lor was balls deep inside the tender sleeve of his lover. He stroked Val's cock, milking it with his fingers. They panted, their passion nearing culmination. The scalding splash of Val's orgasm ripped loud growls from tay-Lor's throat. They tensed as cum spurted onto and into each other. Val weakly fell onto tay-Lor's chest as the post-orgasmic tremors shook through him.

tay-Lor stroked his lover's back absently as they descended from sex-induced euphoria. "Good news today, Val. I received notice that I'm authorized a clone litter. Will you donate your cheek cells for the production?"

Val laughed happily at the news, "Of course, tay! You're the only person who will ever have them!"

"I look forward to a whole lotta little val-Tor's running around. Especially if they look just like you!" tay-Lor got out of bed and presented Val with the swab kit, "Now's as good a time as any, I guess."

Dedicated to Pear:
“Write as a Welshman (with an aversion to sheep) who seduces a female don, his tutor in linguistics, at Oxford. It's your first term, you're your age, you're blond, as fit as can be, and a virgin. You lose your virginity, so to speak, but never get inside her knickers.”

This story started off fairly sensibly. Then the sheep took over and the flippancy escaped. Sorry .

The Earl


Dedicated to Pear:
“Write as a Welshman (with an aversion to sheep) who seduces a female don, his tutor in linguistics, at Oxford. It's your first term, you're your age, you're blond, as fit as can be, and a virgin. You lose your virginity, so to speak, but never get inside her knickers.”

This story started off fairly sensibly. Then the sheep took over and the flippancy escaped. Sorry .

The Earl


I really, really hated sheep.

The most stupid phrase in the English language is ‘Oh they’re not going to hurt you!’ I know they’re not going to hurt me, but I still can’t bear to be near them. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s the eyes. Those featureless dark eyes that spook me so much.

Either that or the fact that they always stop me having sex.

Sheep have ruined my sex life. I mean look at me. I’m blonde, tall, as fit as can be, but still I’m a virgin. Well, technically a virgin anyway. The sheep have kept me a virgin. How could any species be so cruel as to do that to an eighteen year old boy?

You have to understand something about Wales – sheep are everywhere. There are more sheep than there are women, so behind every available girl is a sheep waiting to pounce at an inopportune moment. And they do wait. The next time you go to kiss a girl, look over her shoulder. I guarantee you’ll see a small lamb glancing in through the window. Vindictive little bastards.

However that summer things seemed to be looking up. Oxford University appeared at first glance to be fairly sheep-free and my chances of getting it on with girls increased exponentially. But alas, the sheep has deprived me of my prime ‘heavy-petting’ learning years and so I lacked the wit, intellect and wandering hands required to impress the higher class of girl that you got in England. I may as well have been Ian Beal to them.

As I sat there in my student accommodation, eating tinned Ratatouille, I pondered my dilemma. I’d finally escaped the sheep and yet their influence still constricted me. How was I ever going to get to shag without any skills. I needed to brush up on my groping techniques or I was never going to brush up against anything.

What I needed was a tutor. Someone who could educate me in the ways of sweet sweet Welsh loving. A Mr Miyagi for my libido. The mental image crossed my mind – Mr Miyagi teaching me how to fuck. Ewww, bad picture. I needed new imagery.

Then it hit me: Professor Caldwell could be my sex guru.

Cerys Caldwell was my linguistics professor and the undisputed fit bird of the entire faculty. I could, and in fact had, spend hours just sitting and staring at her rack. She gave off an air of untouchable superiority and she knew exactly how men stared at her. A real classy lady.

Besides, the number of times she’d shagged students, I was sure that I could persuade her to show me some of her skills.


I wasted no time. I grabbed a cheap bottle of wine and the remains of the Ratatouille as an impromptu gift and ran all the way over to her apartment. By the time I got there, sweat was dripping from my body and I was panting heavily. Everybody passing by was giving me strange looks. I guess that’s what you get for sprinting from Oxford to Aberystwyth wearing only a pair of boxers.

Well I wasn’t going to waste time putting any clothes on, was I? Especially not if I was going to be taking them off again later.

I knocked on her door, holding the cheap wine and Ratatouille up to the peephole to make my intentions clear. With any luck she’d accept the gift in the spirit in which it was offered – pure naked lust.

She looked through the peephole and saw what I had with me. I could hear her gasp through the door. “Arwel? Is that Ratatouille?”

“Yes Professor.”

The door swung open and she grabbed the wine and pasta. “Come in Arwel.”

I stepped into her house and was taken aback. She was dressed only in a sheer silk negligee which clung tantalisingly to her curves. “I see you waste no time in undressing,” I said as I shut the door behind me.

“I could say the same for you.” She cast an eye at the tent in my boxer shorts. “So what can I do for you Arwel?”

“I am on a sacred quest to learn the ways of sheep-free sweet sweet loving and I thought that you might be able to help me.”

“Do you think that every woman can be bought by cold Ratatouille and cheap wine?” she asked indignantly.

I thought for a second. “Yes, actually I do.”

“Then you have learned everything you need to know in the ways of seducing girls.”

I was stunned. The secret to getting into women’s knickers was cold pasta and cheap wine? Of course! It all made sense now! I shook my head in shame at my naivety. Then a thought struck me. I fought back of course; I wasn’t going to be attacked by every random thought that came along, but his one overpowered me and made it into my consciousness.

Did my gift of Ratatouille and wine mean that I’d successfully seduced Professor Caldwell? I looked at her and she smiled at me. She shuffled her shoulders and the silk negligee slipped from her shoulders with a quiet rustle, sliding to her feet.

I stared at her astonished, as she sashayed over to me and pulled my head to hers for a long kiss. Her tongue pressed against mine, stroking over it as she explored the inside of my mouth. I reciprocated, uncertainly at first, but with growing confidence.

I could feel her hand snaking down between our bodies, fumbling into my boxers. The touch of her hand against my dick was incredible and I could feel myself harden against her hand as she slowly caressed and squeezed me. The sensations were electric as she slowly moved down my body, sinking onto her knees as she tugged my boxers down my legs. Her lips fastened around my cock and began to suck.

I groaned deep in the back of my throat as her tongue played up and down the length of my shaft before teasing across my bellend. I closed my eyes as waves of pleasure overwhelmed me making my body shake as I came.

Suddenly I heard the worst noise in the world. “Baaa.” They’d found me. I didn’t know how or why they kept persecuting me like this, but the sheep had come for me. I looked down at Professor Caldwell, briefly tempted by her sweat-sheened body, but realised there was no way I could stay. The sheep were coming for me. So I ran.

Nun the Better

Perdita slapped:

Hugs: The year is 1957. You will be a gynecologist, 60 years of age, fit, well hung and virile; you've been widowed and celibate for two years. Your parish priest's sister, a nun, comes to you discreetly as she thinks she may have an STD. She is 40, voluptuous, and obviously struggling with her vocation.

Here goes:

Nun the Better

( 981 words)

“Who is the next patient, Nurse Ratchit?” I asked.

“That’s Cratchett, Doc Halliday, you know that,” the crone replied, “next you see Sister Agatha. She wouldn’t tell me what her problem was. Please explain to her that I must know these things!”

Battle-ax Cratchett was the main female in my life. My wife’s early death had led to two celibate years. This being 1957, the town doctor just couldn’t up and start dating. All the eligible women were my patients. After a few breast exams, my cock would stretch my pants so tightly I often had to retreat to my dictation booth to jerk off. Perhaps I should succumb to the fine tradition of doctors marrying their nurses.

It was never Cratchett that featured in my masturbatory musings however. White starched linen and support hose just never did it for me. My late wife had been a nurse in training when we met, but it was never her uniform that excited me. It was knowing that she wore the skimpiest panties underneath. Or, horror of horrors, nothing at all.

That had been decades ago, in the Roaring Twenties. A sixty year old professional ought not to have such thoughts in the Fifties. The Cold war had frozen morals.

Sweet Agatha, the 40 year old virginal sister of the parish priest, had returned home from the convent a few months ago, to assume a teaching post at the school. She struggled with returning to society after 20 years of contemplative living. I gad provided several sessions of counseling to calm her fears. In the course of those sessions, she had confided a terrible secret. Her Mother Superior had sent her out of the convent after Agatha has been caught ringing a hunchback’s bell. Shamefully, her confession had caused a surge of blood to my loins. My eyes had bored in on her heaving shelf of bosom. At that moment, I had really just wanted to ask, “What sort of bra is that? One of those new Jane Russell models?”

I entered the exam room to find Agatha lying prepped on the table, feet in the stirrups. Cratchett was present, as usual. “What seems to be the trouble?” I asked in my best doctor voice. Instinctively, as I had for thousands of exams in forty years of medicine, I squatted on my stool and slid under her skirt. Unlike most patients, Agatha’s panties remained in place. These were no baggy bloomers like I expected. Instead, they were skimpy silk briefs, with tiny red roses. Exactly what my wife wore the night we took each other’s virginity. Cratchett heard my sigh.

“Yes, Doctor?” she prompted.

I covered up by asking her for a better light. To her horror, none was set up in this room. She huffed out, looking for a porter to torture. Since Agatha was exposed, she gently slammed the door. The explosive bang startled me. I jumped on my stool. My nose buried itself in Agatha’s crotch. It was a pleasant smell. “Rosewater?” I asked before thinking.

“Yes, Doc.”

“You never did say why you are here.”

“I waited. I’m so happy you sent that nurse away. She is such a nosy bitch. If I had to talk about VD with her here, I’d die. Well, I might die anyhow. Can you die from syph, Doc?”

I recovered from my shock from her blunt talk to explain how modern medicine offered a cure if VD was caught early. “But, you, how…” I stupidly asked.

“Tommy Moore, the quarterback. That boy has a cock as big as a horse. At first, he was happy just to have me suck him, like I used to do for the sexton of the convent. But after awhile, I gave in and let him fuck me. Huge mistake. Now he’s got a drip. And I’m all itchy.”

I pulled Agatha’s panties aside. Even without better light, I saw that the rash was abrasions, not VD. I reached for some salve. “This should cure you. But you need to be more careful.”

“I don’t know how to rub it on Doc. Will you do it?”

“We should wait for Cratchett, let her do it.”

“I will not have that woman fondle me.”

Without more prompting, I worked the ointment around Agatha’s privates. The rustle of the silk reminded me of my wife. My cock stiffened. For the first time, I saw Agatha had opened her blouse. Her breasts were displayed in a red silk lace bra unlike anything I had seen on any woman before. I was so aroused, I don’t know what point I stopped massaging in cream, and started stimulating Agatha’s clitoris. My cock grew so large the buttons popped off my pants, bouncing around the room.

Agatha by this point was panting loudly, her feet pushing against the stirrups. She reached out, and grabbed my erect cock, pulling it towards her face. A woman’s touch was too much. My cum exploded all over Agatha’s face. As I did so, her tongue darted out to catch a few drops.

My fingers thrust fully into the nun’s pussy as she humped up off the exam table. With a single scream, I felt what I knew was am orgasm crescendo through her loins. Quickly, she gasped. “is that what the call cumming, Doc? I’ve never felt anything so good in my life. I love sex more than God.”

I had no chance to reply to this blasphemy. Cratchett burst into the room. “I heard a scream,” she said. Looking around, she quickly sized up the situation. But I wasn’t about to lose my license, as I feared. Instead, my grumpy old nurse started licking my cum off Agatha’s face, then cleaned Agatha’s thighs with her tongue. “You won’t be good to go for a bit, Doc, but I’m looking forward to later.”

But that’s another story.

quote:
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Originally posted by Chicklet
Okay, I looked but I didn't see if anyone had slapped you yet. If not, please allow me <thwap>

You're challenge, should you choose to accept it: Write either a reluctance/nonconsent or BDSM story about two women.

These two women can be in a relationship or involved in a threesome, it doesn't matter.

One woman must live with her parents and have to sneak out to see the other.

Make it between 1000 and 1500 words.

Include the sentence "I think about you when I'm on the toilet"

-Chicklet
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Well it's done. And it didn't hurt too much...

Jayne

Just Like Old Times (1499 words)


"Are we all set?"

"Sort of, I have to wait until they're in bed."

"Oh for god's sake Merrilee, you mean you're still sneaking around after all these years?"

I giggled, "Nah, but I thought just once more for old times sake."

My parents always told me that Cordelia was no good. The first day of kindergarten my mom looked over my classmates and settled on the skinny little red head with the green snot running out of her left nostril and said, Stay away from that one, she looks like trouble. Of course, that kind of negative endorsement from a parent was all I needed to make up my mind that I'd just found my new best friend.

And through the years we'd been just that. Cordelia and Merrilee, friends forever. That's what was carved in the tree outside my old bedroom window. The bedroom I was now bunking in again after four years of college and two more living in London. I'd just been transferred back by my company and hadn't had time to look for an apartment yet. My folks weren't in any hurry to see me leave though. They were happy to have their only home.

But they'd be less than thrilled to know I'd run into their old nemesis again. Cordelia, the wild child, the girl who'd taught me how to make a martini at eleven—and how to drink it. Had taught me that driving a car was best done fast and that bad boys were more interesting than the ones my parents tried to introduce me to.

That had been the final straw. The reason the next week my bags had been packed and I'd spent my senior year at Lawrence Academy for Girls. Why I'd never come home that summer but had started at Columbia in June instead of waiting for the fall like the rest of the freshman class.

I'd protested at first, but absence doesn't always make the heart grow fonder. There had been a wildness to my friend that, while it always attracted, sometimes scared the hell of me too. A world without Cordelia may not have been as much fun, but it was safer and I secretly was relieved.

Until today. Today I'd seen her again. She was standing at the corner of Hyde and California wearing a white lab coat and eating bau. As I pulled up, a chunk of pork oozed out of the steamed bun and splatted onto her chin.

"Hey Merrilee," she swiped a blue nailed finger at the mess around her mouth and looked at me like she'd seen me last week instead of eight long years ago.

A MUNI bus slid in behind me, the driver looking daggers and nudging perilously close to my father's pride and joy's bumper. Jensen Healey's are mainly plastic—very expensive to repair plastic. I was going to have to move.

"Here's my cell," I rattled off the number. "Give me a call." I took of seconds before the bus claimed the space I'd just been in.

"So where are they now?" Cordelia's voice brought me back to the present.

"In the lanai."

"And where are you?"

"In the john," I flushed a little at how suddenly stupid I felt about the subterfuge.

"Jesus, Merrilee, how old are you?"

"Like I said," I protested. "It brings back memories. I think about you when I'm on the toilet."

She snorted, "How sweet."

"Anyway give me the address and I'll meet you."

She did. Two hours later I found myself in a part of the city I didn't remember. But then, I wouldn't. My parents were funny about some things and one of them was that nice girls didn't hang out on Polk Street after dark.

I walked into the club and looked around. At first it didn't look like much. The second glance didn't change that. Cordelia was sitting at the bar. I weaved my way through the leather and chains that adorned the mass of male bodies that weren't looking at me and finally stood in front of her.

"Interesting place."

She shrugged, "It sucks, but it's convenient." She stood. "Come on."

I followed her out the back and into a doorway that lead upstairs. Convenient indeed. We climbed the rickety stairs and reached a narrow dark hall that had that San Francisco smell of sea mist and dust. Cordy dug a key ring out of her pocket and let us into an apartment.

"Home sweet home."

I looked around. "Not bad."

It wasn't, at least not as bad I'd been afraid of when I'd seen that hallway. It was old, but the paint was new and there were books and plants and a really good print by Gilot. A pentacle took up space over the fireplace and I looked at Cordelia.

"Just for show," she shrugged. "I thought about Wicca for a while, but there's a lot to it and I'm basically too lazy."

I knew that about her though I really didn't think it was laziness. Cordy just distracted easily. There was always something new to try and that didn't leave enough time to really learn anything well.

"So what's the latest?"

She grinned, "Let me take a quick shower and then I'll tell you."

She peeled off the lab coat and tossed it next to me. I'd thought it been just some weird fashion statement when I'd first seen it, but now I noticed the St Francis badge that had her name and initials after it.

"You're a lab tech?" I called after her.

I heard the water turn on. "Yeah, I had to pick something and you know the only thing I really ever understood in school was chemistry. Get yourself some wine out of the fridge. I'll only be a few minutes."

I did as ordered and poured one for her too. Then I settled back and waited sipping half my glass before I heard the shower stop. The door opened.

Cordelia strolled out drying her hair lazily with a towel. That didn't surprise me, but the fact that she was naked did. Not that I hadn't seen her body before, but it had been years and what was common place in gym class didn't seem so usual now.

"Oh good you got me a glass too," she leaned down and I watched her small breasts droop and dangle in front of my face.

She stood and the soft breeze was full of the smell of soap and roses. I didn't like the way my stomach clenched. Likef even less the slick feel between my legs.

"I can't stay long."

Cordelia smiled and stepped over the narrow coffee table flashing me with what was between those muscled thighs, dark pink lips framed with a thatch of red. I felt myself flushing and looked up to see her laughing softly.

"Well, you did ask what I was into now."

"Oh," was all I could up with.

She sat down next to me. I thought she was too close until she scooted in further. Then I knew it.

"Hey Merrilee," she purred. "Remember how much fun we used to have acting out on my little ideas."

"I remember how much trouble we used to get into."

"Uh huh, and you loved it," she reached over and stoked my blonde head. "Guess what? I thought of something."

"Cordy, really I don't think…"

"Good, it's better that way," and then she kissed me.

I tried to move my head, but she'd been expecting that. Her hands came up and cupped my jaw holding me in place as a hot tongue traced the edges of my quivering mouth. She laughed a little when I refused to open and leaned back and winked at me.

"Welcome home, Merrilee."

I gasped and started to say I had to go, but she saw her opportunity and before I could get the words out the tongue was back and this time it wouldn't take no for an answer. I moaned and backed away, but my head met the soft resistance of the couch and there was nowhere to go and nothing to do, but allow her in and tell myself it didn't mean anything even though my heart was racing and the dampness in my pussy had become a river.

"I can smell you," she whispered. "I knew it would be like this. The minute I saw you, I knew."

Her hand slid up under my blouse and it was so soft, so tender I found myself arching helplessly into it and that was it, the capitulation and I found myself open, needing, wanting and when her hand slid down I welcomed it and when her body followed, her face melting into me, I screamed.

"So?" We lay in each other arms and Cordelia nibbled at my ear until I finally turned and looked at her.

I smiled and kissed her soft wide mouth. "You always did have great ideas."

Earl, you said to write at least 500 words about a man masturbating. There are to be no other characters apart from this one man. During the story you have to tell me:
- Why he has decided to jack off (and 'because he felt like it' is not good enough)
- That his girlfriend has cheated on him with four guys and he's still taken her back
- And he has to answer the phone at some point during his masturbation.

You did not say he had to climax or how much detail to give about the onanistic act. This was fun and if I hadn’t used the full Russian names as in the old style the piece might have been half as long. My story is 664 words.

Happy Birthday Moi Malchik, Pear
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko was home alone on a Saturday night knowing his dyevuskha-slut, Feklushenskaya, was giving him the old Moscow horns a fifth time. (Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko was from Petersburg so anything plohxod was always from the capitol.) Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko took the Stolitznaya out of the freezer, grabbed the red caviar and black bread from the fridge, and went to the den to surf among his favorite pornyaskii sites—homegrown snippets of real people with real bodies and real orgasmicummskiis.

Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko spoke aloud in his deep Russkii bass voice, with dynamics rather like Paul Robeson’s in the Chernih-Amerikanski’s version of the ‘Song of the Volga Boatmen’.

“That gluppka slutskaya had last chance. No more horniskiis for Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko. No more Young Pioneer games with BDSM brainwash technique. Nyet, nyet. Nikagda!

Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko kept spilling the vodka, red beads and bread crumbs all over his half-erect dihkskii while watching 15 seconds of a MMF trio of Japanese salary-men and hostess, a seventy-something babushka giving a thirty-second blohjhawb to an Armenian cab driver in New Jersey, a 12 second shot of a huge hairy koshkah slowly oozing cummskaya, a 25 second scene of six “London Lesbians” gangbanging each other with a translucent purple vibrating dildo, and a 10 second shot of a Welshman in sheep’s clothing being buggered by a Yorkshire boot boy.

“Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko, you gluppkii,” Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko said aloud to himself.

“Fuck that sooka, give your petoox an old-fashioned Russkii vanking, cummski like a Russkii bear all over her forklift operator’s certificate. Da, da!”

Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko rose from his desk chair, caviar and dark crumbs falling off like heavy duty dandruff, and went to the bathroom to fetch the Kay-Vai djelly. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko’s still semi-erect prikskayevskii bobbed up and down like a lone Georgian sausage being eyed by a family of ten in the old butcher shop on the Nevsky Prospekt. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko thought about washing his hands but decided, “Nyet.” They would be covered with cummskii soon enough.

Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko dropped off his trousers and old Russian Army issue tattered boxer shorts in the kitchen while getting more caviar, Amerikanski cream cheese, and a big krassnii onion. Still bobbing like a lone birch tree in the tundra, Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko’s cock grew as his rage stormed inside his mind like a Siberian blizzard. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko’s very bolshoi hardon began to ache as if it had the Moscow klapp.

Taking a last chomp out of the red onion, Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko switched to his very favorite website—“Yekaterina Petrovich Petrova Does the Kremlin”. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko started fondling the bolshoi helmet of his petoox as if it were a rare mushroom in the woods by his babushka’s old dacha.

Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko’s bass voice began to moan low and deep, like the lead cantor at the cathedral of Sts. Pyotr and Pavel. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko liked the added lubrication of the caviar beads and Amerikanski cream cheese on his very bolshoi petoox.

Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko kept his free hand on the keyboard in order to click randomly on the scenes of Yekaterina Petrovich Petrova doing the entire duma from lowly clerk to chairman. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko fantasized he was sergeant-at-arms and that Yekaterina Petrovich Petrova really did have a big orgasmicumskii as she tit-fucked his bobbing very bolshoi petoox while he stood guard like those funny-hatted queerski blokskis at Buckingham Palace. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko was gritting his teeth and groaning as low as Paul Robeson’s lowest notes. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko knew he was ready for his bolshoi ruble-shot.

At the very moment before Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko was about to erupt like the 1*** revolution, the phone rang. Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko knew it was the dyevushka-slut calling to be picked up.

“Gospuhdiin Bohg! Vaht the fuckskii?” Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko asked himself rhetorically.

Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Da, da, lyubushka. Give your Vassilii Vassilyeivich Vasililyenko ten minutes.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Edited to add translations; any other Russian-sounding or -looking words were made up; some of these words are used incorrectly and only for literal meaning; phonetical spelling is mine.

Babushka: grandmother
Bohg: God
Bolshoi: big
Chernih: black
Da: yes
Dacha: country cottage
Duma: ‘parliament’
Dyevushka: girl
Gluppka/ii: stupid
Gospuhdin: Sir, Lord, Mister
Koshkah: cat (pussy)
Krassnii: red (also beautiful)
Lyubushka: beloved (darling)
Nyet: no
Petoox: cock
Plohxod: bad, poorly
Sooka: bitch

1***, edited by the moderator I presume, was that of "the" Russian Revolution.

Edited to add vocab. word.

Original Slap-Challenge from The Earl:

You have to find some way of writing an orgasm scene (male or female - your pick) in the future tense. I'm going to give no requirements apart from that, because this is a stinker of a challenge.


Well Earl,

Not sure if this is exactly what you had in mind. If disappointed, let me know and I will come up with something different.


Future Tense


Madalaine sat back in her seat on the subway and tried to relax. Today, she had received some incredible accolades at work resulting in a large raise. And she was despondent. Madalaine worked for an investment company as investor for a fund manager. She had only been out of school for three years, but with her promotion, she was in one of the most senior positions.

Madelaine was very thorough in her work, but what set her apart from her peers was her extremely developed intuition. In fact, it was actually more precognition than intuition. She would have mental images of the future flash into her consciousness. Her latest endeavor at work had been based on such foreknowledge. She had been flipping through an annual report when she had flashed on a ticker tape that showed a large increase in stock price. There were plenty of indices that pointed to this stock being at least an adequate buy, so she was able to justify her actions. The results were phenomenal.

But it was a hollow victory. Her colleagues were congratulatory, but also envious. Their words and emails had a hollow ring. She really wanted someone to with which to share this. Her life had been alone and lonely since Steven left her six months ago. He had left her for a woman with bigger breasts, bigger hair and bigger ego. It had only lasted six weeks, but when Steven asked to come back, she had said no. There had been no one since.

Madelaine sat back and mused on her life. She casually watched the people as they got on and off the subway, not really paying his attention. She caught a glimpse of a man reaching for the overhead rail. She had her first vision of that future when she saw his hand grab onto the rail.

…Madelaine gazed down at the hand that until seconds ago had been holding hers. She brought it to her lips and lightly caressed the palm and each fingertip with kisses. The man’s hand pulled away and cupped her face, tilting it up until they looked eye to eye. He leaned into her and pressed his lips to hers with a kiss of desire…

Madelaine blinked. The image was so real. The feel of his lips and his hand had seemed so solid, so real. It was unlike any vision she had seen in the past. It was more like she was there and not like a vision at all. She traced with her eyes down his arm to his body. What she saw was a muscular, well shaped chest. Face framed by long dark hair and dark eyes. His white tee shirt provided a nice contrast to his dark skin and displayed an arm that was well toned and muscular.

Madelaine continued to watch him, wondering at her vision. Wondering more about this man and what it might mean to her. He leaned over and disappeared from sight for a moment. He came back into view with a book in hand. His long dark hair had cascaded over his face. With a flip of one hand, he cleared his face of the long hair.

…He broke their kiss, and leaned back for a moment. He brushed his hair from his face, exposing his look of desire. She looked upon his face and upon his bare chest that until now had been pressing against her bare breasts. He leaned back down, but instead of kissing her lips, he moved to her throat, her breasts, then worked his way down her belly. His hair trailed behind like feather dusters against her nipples. She grabbed onto the sheets and arched her back when she felt him invade her sex with his tongue…

Madelaine found that she needed to breath. For some reason her body had forgotten to. She found that she was very aware of her body. Her nipples were taut, her breath came very quickly and her heart was pounding. Never had she experienced visions like this. So very strong and not just seeing, but feeling and tasting as well. She could almost taste his lips that had pressed against hers in the vision.

Not sure if she wanted to know more, she tore her eyes away from the man. But soon she found herself looking once more. Her body was controlled by passions and feelings that she had not even experienced, yet. As she continued to watch, someone close to him must have spoken to him. She saw him look up from his book as if listening. She saw his lips move in reply. Then his mouth broke into a wide grin, showing his even white teeth and a smile in his eyes.

…Madelaine looked down on the man in her bed, whom she had just been kissing. His bright smile both from his mouth and from his eyes mirrored her own feelings and she smiled in return. His eyes were filled with affection and desire. So were hers. Then she turned down the affection and turned up the desire as she trailed a finger down his body. Deciding that two can play the game, she leaned down and instead of meeting his lips, started kissing his neck, his nipples and on down his belly, scraping her nipples and fingernails down his flesh as she went. She caught his glance once more as she traced rings around the head of his cock with her tongue. Then she plunged down, taking him almost all the way into her mouth. He moaned and she felt his fingers play with her hair as she moved up and down upon him…

Madelaine was embarrassed at the wantonness of the vision. She was embarrassed by how her body responded to her perception of the future. She know her eyes were wide and she probably had a look of shock upon her face. She asserted some mental discipline and schooled her face into her normal inscrutable look, showing only a slight pleasant smile. She was now unable to keep her eyes off the man, so caught was she by the vision. Since she was practically staring, it was only a matter of time before the two made eye contact. Their eyes locked.

…Madelaine’s eyes played over the face of the man on top of her. She was very conscious of the moment. She was very conscious of his hard cock pressed against her. Her eyes finally met up with his. Their eyes locked. This was the moment that he had waited for. He stared into her eyes as he slowly slid into her, not stopping until he had completely sheathed himself. She felt him grind his pelvis into hers, then felt him withdraw and then slam back into her. His motion was too much for her. She wrapped her legs around his and pulled him in tight. She wrapped arms around his head and guided his mouth to her nipple. She held him fast, but he still managed to flex away from her, then slam back into her as deeply as he could. At the same time he sucked her nipple into his mouth over the sharp edge of his teeth inflicting painful pleasure. The many and varied sensations placed her on sensory overload and sent over the edge into oblivion…

Madelaine closed her eyes and took a very deep ragged breath. She had just managed to stifle a moan. Her body quivered with reaction to the echo of that future orgasm. She had not actually experienced one, but her body was reacting as if it did. She knew that she was on the ragged edge of composure. She sat quietly, with her eyes closed and hoped her stop would come soon.

He got off the subway, glancing back at the girl that had caught his eye. He was pleased to see that she had opened her eyes, glanced out the window and got up as well. He couldn’t remember why or where, but he felt as if he should know this girl. Working up his courage, he touched her on the shoulder as she walked past.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but you seem so familiar. Do we know each other from someplace?”

She looked at him appraisingly keeping her inscrutable expression. “I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

He blushed and started to turn away, embarrassed by his obvious faux pas. “Sorry to have bothered…”

“But I could be mistaken,” She blurted out as she caught his arm. Her face broke into a bright smile.

“Maybe we should talk about it more. Compare notes. Over dinner?”

Slap from Sir Hugs:
Write a Loving Wives story, 750 to 1000 words
Daughter brings her roomate home from college for the weekend. They are secret bi lovers, but thats not the point of the story.
During the night, the gf sneaks into the master bedroom, and gives Daddy/hubby great head. Except, the wife isn't really asleep.
include a rubber ducky
no bondage allowed

Hugs: couldn't do better, not my style or genre, but your requirements are covered except for 26 extra words. - Perdita
-------------------------------------------

Lola Leigh-Smythe had it made—a successful investment banker husband, a beautiful and brainy daughter at Stanford, the most prestigious collection of rubber duckies in North America, and a San Francisco Symphony French horn player as a lover. Sitting on the deck of her Nob Hill penthouse, drinking a low-fat latte with a hint of freshly ground Moroccan cinnamon and a dash of Ethiopian ginger-root, Lola sighed heavily so that her bosom seemed to rise in melancholy empathy.

“It’s Friday night and I am bored to crappin’ death. I am bored with Viagra-stoner Jack, even bored with precision-lipped Jean-Pierre. And I can’t show my face again, not in less than a week, at Good Vibrations. Those dykes on staff will think I’m an OCD sexaholic.”

At fifty-one and past menopause, Lola was having a major mid-life crisis, and focused all her anxieties and philosophical thoughts, but mostly anxiety, on her libido. It seemed to be stuck in first gear. She was faking orgasms with both her husband and lover and needed every high-powered item her home town’s sex-toy store offered.

Just two days ago she paid a hundred bucks for the Super Silicone G-Spotter Kit. Nothing, nada, zip. Her perfect Susan Sarandon breasts cost her the stimulation of her nipples; now her only source of pleasure was her clit but neither Jack nor Jean-Pierre could manage the minimal fifty minutes lately necessary to get her off.

“Oh, fuck it, Lo. Get off your perfect buns and find out what Lulu’s doing this weekend. Get her and her roomie Yoko to the city for some girl-time and shopping.”

“Hon, am I interrupting? Have a minute for Mom?”

“Mommy, let me call you back, ten minutes tops. Love ya, bye.”

Lulu Leigh-Smythe put the phone down and turned her naked body around to see that Yoko was no longer spread-eagled over the edge of her bed.

“Yo-koooooo, Kokoyokoooooo… Come here pussy, pussy. Don’t drip on our outrageously expensive Persian rugs. Here, kitty, kitty…”

Lulu was about to check the linen closet when Yoko Ohara giggled, as only nubile Japanese girls can, and sprung forth from behind the hall closet dressed only in her Hello Kitty thong, which had just enough space on the vee crotch patch to display Hello Kitty’s cute round head. Lulu wrestled her back to bed, giggling uncontrollably herself, and set her damp twat on the full giggling lips of her asoko.

“Oh, oh, Yoko-ko, if only Good Vibrations could patent your mouth. Omigod, omigod, Yo! You’re making me come clouds and rain. Oh fuck fuck fuck Yo. . . “

Saturday afternoon Lola took Lulu and Yoko to the new shoe store on Maiden Lane. Each woman left with two pairs each of Jimmy Choo’s newest strappy high heel sandals in bright hot colors.

“Mom, let’s all sunbathe nude on your deck, wearing only our new heels. When we flip over we’ll change shoes. Gawd, it’ll feel so deliciously decadent being naked and tanning in five-hundred dollar sandals.”

Jack Leigh-Smythe came home from a special weekend meeting just in time to see the three bronzed beauties walk in from the deck.

“Jezusfuckeroo, darlings, you are the perfect sight for this worn out exec. Lola, you should have warned me. Lulu, doll, give your Daddy a hug. Welcome to our spa, Yoko. Now stop that giggling or I’ll start showing you my latest data.”

Near midnight, after bringing Lulu to more clouds and rain and watching her drift off into a deep sleep, Yoko needed to brush her teeth, just an old habit, “After every meal,” her mother always said, “not matter how small the dish.”

She put on her special semi-transparent silk kimono and walked softly down the hall. Passing the master bedroom she stopped to look in the partly opened door. Lola was spread out wide, sleeping and still but for her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Jack on the other hand was standing naked at the foot’s headboard, his back to Yoko and seemingly staring at his wife’s perfectly and expensively sculpted body.

It was obvious to the young woman that he was beating his one-eyed Elvis. Yoko walked in, letting Jack hear her. He turned and gasped quickly at the vision of youth and beauty wrapped in the delicate robe. Yoko put her finger to her lips to signal silence. She bowed courteously then knelt in front of Mr. Jack and with her hands clasped behind her began to take The King in her mouth. Jack held onto her head and with great effort remained dumb, but the sounds of his hands rubbing Yoko’s head, and more, the sound of her sucking and affected breathing woke Lola up.

She could see the two were unaware of her, Yoko with her face now smashed on the smooth buff lower belly above Jack’s cock, and Jack with his eyes closed. Slowly Lola rose to see better. In less than a minute she felt an old familiar pulse between her legs. Her clit had resurrected itself with no effort on her part. She began to rub and massage her hot-button and was amazed at the wetness surrounding it and already dripping slowly down her inner thighs.

“Thank you godalmighty,” she said to herself, “just like old times.”

Yoko was doing the same to her lotus bud and though no one was aware of anything but their deeply internal sensations, they each happened to come at the same time. Jack left his hands resting on Yoko’s head while he kept his eyes closed dreaming of Lola before the change. Yoko brought her arms around Jack’s thighs and laid her head against one, content and thinking about her dear Auntie Suki and Uncle Sessue back home. Lola lay back down in a stupor, feeling the subsiding tide between her legs and dozed off with a grin on her puffy silicone lips.

Yoko rose, bowed, and quietly left Jack standing there. He caught a sniff he recognized, opened his eyes, looked at his wife’s exposed cunt, climbed like a hungry lion onto the bed, and went down between his wife’s legs to continue his dream.

1026 words
Edited only typos.

Originally posted by champagne1982
Meeting SSBC on a foggy sunrise. Our seconds stand behind us as I bend to retrieve her gauntlet. Walking within a step or so from her I flick my wrist and flail the glove across her cheek:
I challenge you to write a tale of a newly retired couple who are travelling to Arizona in their monstrous RV.
------ tell how he finds new interest in his wife after watching a group of college-aged young women play miniputt in montana...
------- you are prohibited from mentioning viagra...
------- more than 750 words...

Click to expand...

At last, here's my slap . . . .

Oh Howie!
By SexySoBeChick
©2003


Oh Howie, it's soooo big and long!

From the moment Howard Peterson heard his wife, Midge, coo those appreciative words, he'd known he was a goner. He tried to tell her that she could have just as much fun with a smaller, more compact model—but no. Midge wanted the biggest one she could lay her hands on.

So here he was . . . wrestling the beast with a white-knuckled grip, trying to keep the monster under control.

"Oh my God!" Midge gasped with amazement. "Would you just look at that."

Unable to look away for even a second, he asked through gritted teeth, "What?"

"You just have to see this for yourself, Howie," she insisted. "Look at the couple in the next lane. In the convertible."

"Midge, they didn't have this hulk of an RV in mind when they created the lanes on this highway," Howard groused, maintaining his death-grip on the RV's steering wheel. "I don't dare look anywhere except straight ahead."

"Don't be silly. It won't hurt if you glance to the left. They're in the car right next to us."

"A millimeter either way would spell certain disaster. Just tell me what's so goddamn important."

"All right, Howard, you don't need to get so testy," she said with a sigh. "It's just so romantic."

"What!" Howard snapped with impatience.

Standing behind him, Midge placed her hands on his very tense shoulders and leaned down to speak intimately into his ear. "There's a young newlywed couple next to us—at least, I assume their newlyweds, since they have "just married" painted on the back of their car. Anyway, the husband's driving and the wife is . . . well, the wife's . . . uh . . . giving him a blowjob. While he's driving. Can you imagine?"

"Oh," Howard said, not entirely certain what to say to that.

"That's all you have to say?" Midge asked, kneading the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders.

"Good for them."

"Hmmmm," she murmured, her warm breath teasing his earlobe. "You're so tense."

"You'd be too if you were driving the automobile equivalent of an aircraft carrier."

"Maybe I could help you relax," she purred, snaking an arm down his chest and over his still-flat stomach.

"How?" he asked absently, even as her hand reached his groin.

"Well," she said, massaging his flaccid cock through his slacks, "I was thinking a blowjob might do the trick."

"Are you nuts," Howard exclaimed. "I can barely keep this thing under control as is. And you think I could keep it up with you giving me a blowjob?"

"Okay then," Midge said, still trying to encourage his cock to rise to attention, "why don't you pull over and we'll go in the back for some hanky-panky."

"Look, Midge, now's not the time. If we don't keep going, we won't get to the RV park in time and we'll lose our reservation. So could you please stop playing around? It's hard enough handling this thing—I don't need you distracting me."

Sighing dramatically, Midge's hands disappeared and she moved away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her go to the passenger's seat right next to him, and then heard her flop down into it.

"You know, Howard, I thought things would be different once you retired," she began what Howard suspected was going to be a very long-winded speech. "You couldn't keep your hands off me when we were first married. Then we had the kids, you began working long hours, and when you were home, we were both too tired to keep up our active sex life. But I'd thought after the kids had graduated college and began their own lives and you finally retired, that we'd start over and maybe recapture the passionate we had when we were newlyweds."

"But we're not newlyweds, Midge," Howard protested. "It's unrealistic to expect us to go backing to fucking every five minutes like a couple of rabbits in heat."

"Oh Howie, I'd be happy if you just fucked me once a week. But it's been three weeks since we last had sex—and then only because I instigated it. I don't think you're even interested in sex anymore. I'm too old, is that it? You don't find me attractive anymore?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Howard scoffed. "You're the most beautiful, sexiest woman I've ever known."

"So what's the problem then?"

"There isn't a problem. Now's just not a good time and I already told you why. Maybe tonight after we get settled in the RV park."

"Fine," Midge huffed, getting up from her seat. "I'm going into the back to read, so I won't distract you."

Knowing he'd really put his foot in it this time, Howard started to call her back, but stopped himself because he didn't know what to say to make things better.

While heading east on I-90 just outside Butte, Montana, Howard thought about what Midge had said. Had he really lost interest in sex? His gut reaction was—hell, no! It was true though that it had been awhile since he'd thought about sex. Christ, when had that happened? He used to think about sex all the time. But with the stress of retiring, selling their house and buying this RV, and planning their roundabout trip to Arizona to visit their grandkids . . . well, sex had been the last thing on his mind.

Apparently, not so for Midge. Of course, Midge was still a spry and frisky fifty-five whereas Howard was a more seasoned sixty-five. Deep down he'd always known the day would come when he wouldn't be able to keep up with her.

A sudden loud buzzing snapped Howard out of his thoughts. What the hell? He glanced away from the road long enough to look at the RV's control panel and saw that the fuel light was flashing. Great, they were still two hours away from the RV park and he needed to stop for gas.

"Midge," he called as he took the next available exit, "I have to stop to fill up this gas-guzzler again."

"Fine," was all she said.

Hell, he was really in the doghouse now.

Having finally spotted a gas station that sold diesel, Howard managed to maneuver the beast up to a pump near a chain-link fence that bordered a miniature golf course. Once he'd set up the gas pump to start filling the RV's enormous tank, Howard walked around stretching his legs and working out the tension he'd developed while driving.

A peal of girlish laughter caught his attention and through the fence he noticed three very nubile college-aged young women playing a round of mini-golf at the Lewis and Clark Mini-Putt. It seemed everything in this part of the country was named after Lewis and Clark. But that was the last thing on Howard's mind once he saw how the three beauties were playing mini-golf.

All three were wearing very short shorts and extremely tight tanks tops, showing off their long tanned legs, shapely asses, narrow waists, and firm, young breasts. One girl, a brunette, was in position, ready to putt, and a second girl, a blond, had her front plastered against the brunette's back. While the blond ground her hips against the brunette's ass and fondled the brunette's medium-sized tits, the brunette swung her putter, missing the hole by a mile. The blond squealed with delight and began jumping up and down, her large tits bouncing with her.

Howard immediately understood their game. In their erotic version, they had to get the ball in the hole while the other players distracted them.

As Howard continued to watch, the third girl, a redhead, took her turn at the tee and the other two double-teamed her—which didn't seem fair to Howard, but the redhead didn't complain. Why would she? The blond was on one side of her, squeezing a tit and an ass cheek while the brunette was on the other side, rubbing the redhead's pussy through her shorts and fondling her other ass cheek. When the redhead swung, she too missed the hole, but threw her head back in obvious pleasure. This time, both the blond and brunette squealed and bounced up and down. Then, to Howard's disappointment, they all scampered out of sight after their balls.

It was then that Howard realized he had a huge erection straining inside his slacks. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Howard quickly replaced the gas pump's nuzzle and went inside the RV to find Midge. Sure, Midge wasn't as young and lithe as the vixens who'd gotten him excited, but she was still a hot-looking woman thanks to her active nature and jazzercise three times a week. Howard peeled off his clothes as he walked through the RV and leaned against the bedroom doorway, ogling Midge as she lounged on the king-sized bed, reading one of her romance novels.

"Hey, Midge, look what I've got."

Midge sighed and lowered her book to look at him. When she saw him standing there completely naked with an erection the likes of which he hadn't had since he was a hormonal youth, her eyes widened with surprise. Sure, she'd been mad at him, but Midge did love 'em big, so he was quickly forgiven.

She promptly tossed her book aside, launched herself at him, and exclaimed, "Oh Howie!"

And for the next couple of hours, Howard made sure Midge screamed those two words over and over again. Needless to say, they lost their reservation at the RV park . . . but neither really seemed to care.

The End

Okay, it's over 1000 words. So sue me. I couldn't find a way to cut it that made sense.

nicely done, but for cheating I think you ought to get slapped again!

TheEarl said:

Right Raphy, I'm going to give you a nice easy one because you're new. You have to write an erotic story involving at least two members of the Lit forums. You are allowed to use any details that you know, but you can't make anything up, eg. You can't include me and talk about my 15 inch penis. Everything has to be true.

I'm so mean.

The Earl

Click to expand...

Well, I finally did it. Thanks to 'dita, Lou and Gauche for letting me use and abuse them in the story - And no Earl, you didn't get asked, you just got used.

=============================================
Synergie
-----------

"Sure thing, Paul. I'll be right over. Let me just finish up what I'm doing and I'll see ya in a moment, mate."

Gauche put the telephone down. It slid into its cradle with a satisfied 'beep'. He pondered, momentarily, the merits of writing an erotic story based on the freudian image of a cordless telephone sliding neatly and easily into its slot, but decided against the idea. Besides, it would be a helluva a challenge to fit it into his latest story.

He glanced at the PC before throwing his coat on. He had to be down the pub in 15 minutes. He'd promised Paul. Still, there was time to write down at least a line or 3, wasn't there? This had been running around in his head (and other parts of his anatomy) all day and this evening had been the first peaceful moment, the first chance he'd had to exorcise it and get it out of his groin and into the computer.

Yeah... He could write the first piece, at least.

He first saw her on a Friday. He knew it was Friday, because it was always Friday that he bought the Zigalo's, the special Russian cigarettes that he used to treat himself for the weekend. He'd walked out of the tobaconnists and she was standing there on the other side of the road, the wind whipping her hair around her head and her dress around her legs. She had very shapely legs. Long and tapered, with the right hint of muscularity.

He watched her, hiding behind his sunglasses, watching as she crossed the road. Watched the sway of her hips, the tilt of her head, her quick little steps as she hurried up onto the busy Bond Street pavement out of the way of the oncoming traffic. She was tall, and blonde, and confident. He liked that. He watched her until she climbed into a taxi, and then he went home and masturbated about her, hot fantasies chasing each other around in his head.

It was three weeks before he saw her again. Three weeks where all he could think about in his fantasies were the shape of her legs under that dress, the way her hair had moved as she'd shaken her head, the way her breasts had shifted as she'd hopped up onto the kerb and the way her lips had pursed when she whistled for a taxi. He'd had so many fantasies about those lips, almost feeling them around his rock-hard cock as his hand pumped back and forth in the shower.

He was in the office. In a meeting. There was a contract. An important contract. His boss wanted him to deal with it personally. He'd even stayed behind because the client couldn't make it until late. Long after everyone else had gone home. And then out of nowhere, there she was. Standing in front of him, tall and beautiful and so very sexy. Her hair, her skin, her legs and her lips. Those lips.

He almost spilt his coffee.

Not too bad, as a starting piece. Actually, that was about as far as Gauche had got in his head when thinking about it earlier, but he figured that once you get started everything else flows easily. He'd finish it up when he got back. Grabbing his wallet and watch, he headed for the door. He was late. Paul was gonna make him buy the next 3 rounds if he didn't hurry up.

~*~

Perdita stared defiantly at the computer screen. The computer screen stared back, just as defiantly. Writer's block? Never. Well, maybe. What had Gauche said about writer's block? Damned if she could remember. The blank screen mocked her, and her poised fingers hovered over the keyboard like an olympic diver afraid of the water. When the plunge was finally taken, the result would be skilled, poised, artistic and slick, but right now she was staring down the lapping blue waves and thinking, 'Damn, but that's a long way down.'

Slick. Yes. That's a good start. After all, it *is* supposed to be erotica, right? She thought for a second, then her fingers started moving of their own accord. She'd start wherever she started. Anything that needed filling in could be written later. Right now, she had to listen to her muse.

She was slick. She was dripping. She was sodden. She could feel her pussy juices soaking the gusset of her panties as she stared at the man in front of her. How could he do this to her? His masculine scent, musky and powerful. The way his shirt sleeves were rolled up, proudly displaying his forearms, taut with corded muscle.

They circled each other like predators, the conversation intelligent, dry, subversively seductive without being openly flirtatious. He bent his head to murmur something in her ear and the feeling of him so close, his .. maleness .. almost made her dizzy. Was she reading him wrong? She couldn't tell. He was unreadable. Maddeningly, torturously and erotically unreadable.

He took her hand, lifted it to point something out, and the touch of his fingers on her skin burned like a fire, adding to the warm wet sensation between her thighs, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her nipples. She was sure he could see them standing up straight and proud, erect under her thin cotton blouse. She tried to sneak a look at the front of his slacks, but she couldn't see. Was that luck, or was he deliberately hiding something from her? She had no way of knowing and the thought excited her yet further.

And suddenly, it was time to leave. The conversation was over. She almost wept with frustration, searched desperately for a reason to stay. An excuse. Any excuse. As she left, she turned and looked in his eyes and for a split second, she saw it. She knew. He wanted her, too.

They fell upon each other like starving animals.

Good stuff. Perdita felt a definite dampness between her thighs as she re-read what she'd just written. Certainly good enough to suffice as the first draft of the middle section of a new story. She could flesh it out later, put all the details in. Either way, she'd taken the dive once again. The computer screen was no longer blank.

~*~

Earl grinned. Halfway through and he was doing okay - He hadn't really slowed down any, and now it was just about to get to the good stuff. Get their clothes off and have him bang her hard up against the wall. He took another sip of his coffee, drew in a deep breath and began to type again.

This was the bit he liked. Well, hell, wasn't this the bit that everyone liked? After all, that's why people wrote sex stories, right? For the sex. Well, as they say in the industry - Time for the sex scene.

Their clothes had been forgotten in an instant- Her blouse, his shirt. Her skirt, his slacks. Her hands were all over his body, feeling the muscles in his back, the texture of his skin, but he was more demanding than that. His strong hands turned her round, facing the wall and he stepped up close behind her. She could feel his cock nestling in the crack of her ass and she moaned, grinding her ass against him slightly. He said only two words.

"Bend over."

She complied immediately and without warning or preamble, he was inside her; quick, hard and deep, filling her almost instantly. She gasped and arched her back, pushing herself back towards him. His low, gutteral chuckle from behind her made her realize that he knew she'd be ready for him. He knew she'd be hot, and wet and willing. Oh so willing.

He held himself still for a moment, allowing her to adjust to his cock. Then, without a sound, he started to move, driving himself deeper into her. His hands were on her breasts, pulling and pinching and squeezing and the sound of his balls slapping against her clit became part of the rhythm, part of her pleasure.

She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, the hair on his stomach scratching against the soft flesh of her butt. The synergie of energy between them fanning the flames in her pussy, making her wetter, hotter, tighter, closer to cumming. And far away, as if a stranger's voice, she could hear herself moaning, louder and louder, begging him not to stop, to make her cum.

She felt the familiar feeling building up in her pussy, in her nipples, in her clit. Her moans got louder, more urgent, more demanding, and he removed one hand from her breasts and slid it between her legs. He slammed his cock into her, held it there for a long timeless moment and then, with unerring accuracy, pinched her clit. Hard.

She thought she was going to die. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She felt herself contract around him, cumming and cumming and cumming. Her legs buckled, became weak and she would have fallen but for his arm around her waist, the pressure on her clit perpetuating the orgasm. Instinctively, he knew when to start pounding into her again, driving her to climax yet again, her juices freely running down the inside of her thighs now, soaking and staining the tops of her stockings.

Until eventually, she couldn't stand. He let her slide to the floor, gently.

Oh yes. That would definitely do. Earl's hand dropped to his lap, subsconciously adjusting his own hardening cock in his jeans. Well. That meant it worked, at least. If you can't turn yourself on by your own writing, what hope do you have at turning anyone else on?

~*~

She was almost done. Endings were sometimes the hardest things in the world to write, but Tatelou had a pretty good handle on this one and besides, erotica wasn't tough to end, right? Your characters do the dirty deed, and you wind it all up with some pithy throw-away exit line.

She shifted in her seat a little, feeling dampness between her thighs. Writing always made her hot and horny, and damn, why wasn't her husband home from work yet? Just like him to be late when she was just about to finish up a damn good story and needed a good hard fucking. She slipped a hand between her legs, putting pressure on her clit through her Levis. Damn, but the throbbing felt good. She grimaced and put both hands back on the keyboard. Later. Must write story now.

Maybe he'd be home by the time she finished it. He always did have good timing. She decided she'd better type fast.

He tasted so sweet. Slick with her pussy juices and his own leaking secretions. She stuck her tongue out and licked him all up and down like a lollipop, teasing that sensitive area just underneath the head.

He moaned, a hoarse gutteral sound, male and primitive and she felt a surge of arousal flash through her pussy, making her wetter. She wrapped her lips around just the head of his cock, her tongue dancing over his skin, drawing maddeningly erotic circles. He moaned again, his cock twitching in her mouth, as if it had a life of its own.

Slowly, she slid his entire length into her mouth, nestling her nose against his coarse mat of pubic hair. Up and down she slid, enjoying the feel of him between her lips and the taste of him in her throat.

His hands dropped to her head and she instinctively knew what was coming. The pendulum was swinging the other way. His hips moved more urgently now, sliding his cock in and out of her lips, fucking her face. His hands on her head, wrapping themselves in her hair, moving her back and forth in the rhythm he wanted. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensations of his thick cock in her mouth.

He was moaning louder now, closer to cumming. He was in that stage that men reach, that animal moment, where nothing else matters. His head thrown back, his back arched, his cock deep in her throat. And she danced her tongue over it as best she could, trying to please him, wanting to please him.

His hands tightened on her head, his entire body stiffened and then she was swallowing, spurt after spurt of hot salty seed. His cock pulsed and jerked in her mouth every time he spurted and she mercilessly pumped him with her hand, greedily trying to get every last drop of cum out of him, until he could stand it no longer and pulled out of her hungry mouth, his legs shakey.

She grinned up at him, eyes bright and impish.

"How 'bout we try it in bed next?"

Tatelou cocked her head, listening. Yup, that was a car. And that was footsteps. And that was the sound of a key hitting the front door. Oh yes, her hubby definitely had the best timing in the world. She threw herself out of her clothes and went to stand by the door, naked. Time to welcome him home in the best possible way.

~*~

It was done. Finished. Completed, or at least as completed as these things ever get. The computer beeped on command, saving the file. The spellcheck had found some errors; they'd been fixed. It had been proof read a few times. It was ready to go. Cut and paste was such a wonderful invention. Cut from the text editor. Paste into Lit's submission forum. The mouse pointer hovered uncertainly over the submit button. Why was it always like this? Stage fright. Last minute nerves. The omnipresent question - 'Is it good enough?' The button sat there, waiting patiently for the final click.

As the old saying went - If you don't try, you'll never know.

Well, then. Time to try.

Click.
=============================================

Wow, my first ever piece of Erotica!

Bump

The Earl

Did anyone ever post theirs as a submission to Lit?

I'm tempted to go over mine again and do exactly that! I quite liked Gilbert.

Lou

Tatelou said:

Did anyone ever post theirs as a submission to Lit?

Click to expand...

Loulou, I expanded mine a bit and it's now part of the "Worst Chain Story Ever". P.

edit for p.s. I used the Russkii story. I saw my other above and I swear do not even recall writing it!

Tatelou said:

Did anyone ever post theirs as a submission to Lit?

I'm tempted to go over mine again and do exactly that! I quite liked Gilbert.

Lou

Click to expand...

My one about the football game turned into Coming Second, but I'm not particularly proud of that one. I'm quite proud of my Welshman one from Pear's slap actually - forgotten I'd written that.

The Earl

perdita said:

Loulou, I expanded mine a bit and it's now part of the "Worst Chain Story Ever". P.

edit for p.s. I used the Russkii story. I saw my other above and I swear do not even recall writing it!

Click to expand...

Oh, cool! I didn't realise that about your Russkii one. That was so bloody funny! And, hahaha! You forgot you wrote the other? Brilliant!

To be quite honest, I'd completely forgotten about the whole gloveslap thing, until I saw Earl had bumped the threads this morning.

Lou

TheEarl said:

My one about the football game turned into Coming Second, but I'm not particularly proud of that one. I'm quite proud of my Welshman one from Pear's slap actually - forgotten I'd written that.

The Earl

Click to expand...

Your Welsh one was hilarious! I read back through them all again this afternoon. Creative bunch, aren't we?

Lou

Tatelou said:

Did anyone ever post theirs as a submission to Lit?

I'm tempted to go over mine again and do exactly that! I quite liked Gilbert.

Lou

Click to expand...

I dressed up mine and submitted it as "Nun is Better"....as with most of my stories, it gets mediorce scores. I enjoyed the inspiration of perdita's twisted challenge....

...and nice to visit chicklet again- did anyone here where she went?