Just one Line.

You read about hearts in mouths, I felt mine had been ripped upwards out of my chest and that a torn aorta was spraying crimson into the room.

Fragile
Bizarrely, having proof read this to death. I only noticed a typo when pasting it. Wood for trees syndrome 🫣.

Em
 
From the one I'm currently working on ...

"My talents lay with academics -- as well as with double dribbles, travelling, and an inerrant accuracy in hitting directly to opposing left fielders. So yeah, sports were out for me."
 
Bit of a prat is my MC, but he'll get his cumuppence

“Oh ye of little faith. You’ll see Brenda… mark my cards, she’ll be here, unable to stay away from my manly charms.”
 
"Next, we went to do the dreaded bane of male existence, shopping for female clothing. After what seemed like several years, they each decided on a dress."
 
Why didn't I punish Erin? Her existence was her punishment. Richards had clocked her: she'd never be happy with enough, only with more.
 
Then I took the opportunity to do some writing. Quite a lot as it happens, I ended up flooding Laurel's inbox, I am sure she was delighted; then what woman doesn't appreciate a flooded box?
 
To those persons with Literotica authorly ambitions, writers past, present and potential, scurrilous scribblers of sex, with vast unreasonable expectations of writerly recognition and wanton wishes for immortal fame, yet whose grandiose visions exceed their meager talents by immense margins, who find new and imaginative ways to violate time-honored literary conventions of the language, who recklessly run rampant through natural and normal rules of grammar, employ both clichés with impunity and plots rife with logical inconsistencies, develop character motivations of the flimsiest fabric, sodden prose of the most execrable flavour, stories of repulsive depravity - may you be cursed.
 
“Well, between the two of us, who’s happily married and whose wife fucked another guy just so her husband would stop gaslighting her?”
 
To those persons with Literotica authorly ambitions, writers past, present and potential, scurrilous scribblers of sex, with vast unreasonable expectations of writerly recognition and wanton wishes for immortal fame, yet whose grandiose visions exceed their meager talents by immense margins, who find new and imaginative ways to violate time-honored literary conventions of the language, who recklessly run rampant through natural and normal rules of grammar, employ both clichés with impunity and plots rife with logical inconsistencies, develop character motivations of the flimsiest fabric, sodden prose of the most execrable flavour, stories of repulsive depravity - may you be cursed.

May the run-on sentence gods smite you.
 
Here's a line or two from a sequel to my big story that will never, ever see the light of day on LitE:

"Una! Dammit! Let us know before you bring boys over to fuck in the ball pit! And stay out of the dungeon!"
Sigh. You know how it goes with kids.
 
One of my female leads, on condoms:

"Thank you, U[niversity] of A[rkansas] Student Health, for giving these out free, like candy."
 
"You know, with a little nail polish, lip gloss, highlights, foot creme, spray tan, tooth bleach, lip waxing, duct tape, Dremeling, Oster with #40 blade, orbital sander, carnauba wax, and a paper bag, you'd clean up pretty nicely."
 
Double-dipping…

The first line pleased me so much, I started a thread about lines that writers love. But still:

I pushed such foolishness out of my head and my tongue into hers.

The second I worked out in retrospect is me unconsciously channeling Jane Austen:

If a woman is kind enough to allow you to probe her anal cavity, then she should, at the very least, be extended some consideration.

Both from The Pornstar Experience.

Em
 
Cassandra's eyes went wide as I slid my pants down and stepped out of them. "Holy shit! Kim may be Malibu Barbie, but you sure as hell ain't a Ken doll."
 
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