Story Discussion: March 23, 2009, "Vice Cream" by Keroin

[Keroin]

This piece is actually seven short-short, erotic stories that share a common theme. The word count is 7000. I plan on submitting this to Lit but I’d like some feedback first. Because this has not yet been submitted, I will have to paste the contents into my second post.

Also, there is a strong BDSM theme in some of the stories – just in case that’s not your cup of tea.

I hope you enjoy!

 

[Keroin]

Vice Cream - Dessert in Seven Parts


Note from moderator
The copy below is the pre-submission version of the story, which was the topic of the original discussion. If anyone else would like to read 'Vice Cream' and add their thoughts to this thread, the author would prefer to receive any additional feedback on the submitted version instead, which may be found at this this link:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=413852


Vice Cream
Dessert in Seven Parts


Vanilla

“Boring.” The word drops out of Master’s mouth and rolls around on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, coming to rest next to my ear.

A clink of a spoon against a ceramic bowl, I hear it but don’t see it.

Boring. The word was mine, the reaction swift, the result – I tug at the cord of Master’s housecoat around my wrist – inescapable. Lifting my head is an effort but, as I do, he kneels between my spread legs and I see the bowl, then the spoon heaped with a white mound.

Cold! A spoonful of ice cream is ladled into my open pussy. When my hips jolt upward, Master pins them down again using only his eyes focused on mine. His eyes say, Things can always get worse. Another spoonful and another and another, until the heat of my sex can’t keep up with the frozen cream. The river of melted stickiness dripping out of me, running down to the crack of my ass and onto the floor, slows to a thin stream. Deep breaths help keep me still.

“Boring,” he repeats, in a monotone.

Now it’s the fridge door I hear, opening. Bags rustling. Containers bumping against each other. My world, tied down on the floor as I am, is the world of sound.

Master is between my knees again. He shows me a strawberry before shoving it inside me. Some peach slices are next. Blueberries stain his palm as he feeds them between my hungry folds. Cherries, mandarin orange slices, even a few grapes, he pushes each new fruit in a little further and a little harder.

Scrambling to define each new sensation, the walls of my pussy tighten and release. The ice cream, melting, begins to flow again. Master’s hand is empty. He holds up three fingers, high enough for me to see, then stuffs them inside me and mashes the fruit and ice cream together.

My neck arches at the plunging. I groan and pull against my restraints. His fingers drive in and out. The pulpy mess splatters the insides of my thighs and pools beneath my ass cheeks. I’ll come soon if he doesn’t stop and I’ve not been given permission.

“Boring,” I hear him mutter at the same instant his fingers stop pounding me.

With his clean hand, he picks up the spoon, slips it inside me, pulls out a helping of milky mush and smiles. I smile back, panting, thinking he’s about to enjoy a snack. Stupid me. He carries the dripping spoon over my stomach, up to my chest and drizzles the concoction over my left nipple.

Gasping, my back arches as my always sensitive button sends electric shocks down my spine to the ice cream sunday between my legs.

He gives my right nipple – primed by expectation – the same treatment.

The third spoonful he carries to my mouth.

Eyes wide, lips sealed, I shake my head a fraction. The cold spoon rests against my lips and his eyes order them to open. They do.

Master tips the spoon and I swallow my dessert. When the spoon is clean, he pulls down a napkin from the kitchen table and fastens it snugly around my head, gagging me, making sure I cannot rid myself of the flavour.

He holds the empty spoon up high enough for me to see. The handle is made of plastic, thick and round. Bending it into a crescent shape, he slides the handle into my pussy, jostles it around and pulls it out. I pout into my gag, yearning for more.

I get more.

The tip of the spoon handle presses against the delicate pucker of my ass. I bite down as he slides the handle inside me, working slowly, extending my discomfort. I know he’s done when I feel the metal end biting the soft skin of my ass cheeks.

Master stands. I hear a drawer open, the dull rattle of cutlery. Kneeling down, he shows me a fork. My molars clamp down on the back of the napkin sawing at the corners of my mouth.

Same routine. This time however, he leaves the handle of the fork in my pussy; the tines prod my swollen lips. Once again, he stands.

Another drawer opens. What now?

This time he returns with a roll of plastic wrap, pulling out an arm’s length and tearing it off. The wrap he winds around my waist, between my legs, around my waist again, until he’s fashioned a cellophane loincloth for me, just tight enough to hold the two spoons in place.

Repositioning, he lowers his head until it is over top of mine. I can see him reading my eyes, gauging my discomfort. A smile melts across his face. He licks my top and bottom lips and moves south.

Master’s mouth lands next on my nipple, licking and sucking up the mess he left. As he does, and the electrical shocks start in earnest, I start to tense and squirm, feeling the spoon handles inside my ass and pussy fill me with pleasure while their cold counterparts dig into my flesh.

From one nipple to the next, my master works his hot tongue around, cleaning every drop from my body. I buck harder, willing the inanimate objects to fuck me, groaning at their cruelty. My ass slips on the slick liquids seeping out of me and the spoon end digs hard into my left cheek, moving the handle, causing my hips to thrust, driving the fork tines into my clit. I yell into my gag. More slipping, more poking, more sucking and licking, I drive myself to the edge of the cliff.

Master pulls away. He stands yet again and watches me as I writhe on the linoleum. My begging is stifled but I know he hears it. I need release. I need it. Why won’t he give it to me?

“So, tell me, my precious whore,” he says, looking down at me, tall as a skyscraper, “do you still think vanilla ice cream is boring?”



Mango Sorbet

A day off at last. Even better, a day off and a beach all to myself. It was worth the paddle against the current to get to this quiet motu, this tiny patch of sand and palm trees, surrounded by water more shades of blue than any paint store can invent.

That’s what I was thinking when they came around the corner.

Tourists. No matter how friendly they may be, I’m tired of the small talk and the same five questions, and the “hot enough for you?”’ and the “boy, the mosquitoes are eating me alive”. I think I would have liked this island better when the natives were still eating each other.

They were a young couple. Giggling and running, as best they could with a cooler held between them, they barged around the corner and kicked sand in the face of my afternoon alone. About ten feet away from me, they stopped, dropped the cooler to the sand, nodded in my direction with twin smiles and resumed being giddy and stupid.

Belly down, on my towel, I tried to read my novel as the love birds stretched out a blanket and rubbed sunblock on each other. Porn stars could have taken writhing-in-ecstasy lessons from those two.

From the snippets of babble and their lean, coltish bodies, I figured they must have been French. Good. At least I could speak English and feign ignorance if they tried to speak to me.

But they didn’t speak to me; they were consumed with each other. Not that I cared.

From behind my sunglasses, I saw the man open the cooler and produce a small tub. The woman reached a hand towards the tub and he slapped it away. It was a playful slap and she adopted the kind of sexy pout only the French can pull off.

A trickle of sweat ran down my back, as the man removed the lid from the tub, dipped his fingers inside and offered up something orange to his playmate. She unpouted her lips and spread them wide, I could even see her tongue come out a little. He fed her his fingers and she sucked back the offering, closing her eyes as she did.

The second time, she moaned.

The third time, the man didn’t offer his fingers to his lover, he offered them to me.

Had my spying been so obvious? Embarrassment glued me to my towel but then the woman also looked at me. Her smile was as warm as the breeze.

The afternoon heat had melted my muscles, I found myself crawling across the sand, on all fours, as if I were the couple’s lazy house cat, coming for a treat. By the time I reached the man’s fingers, the orange was dripping off them. I felt bad for taking so long; I opened my mouth and let him feed me.

A tidal wave of mangoes engulfed my brain. Cool and sweet, every tropical memory I owned pulsed through me and I found my eyes closing as I suckled the juice off two slender, male fingers.

The second time, I moaned.

He didn’t offer his fingers to me again. Instead, he fed himself, turned his dark eyes to the woman and she leaned in to kiss him. I was close enough to smell their sweat mingling with their coconut scented sunscreen and hear their tongues fighting over the sorbet.

I’d never felt so hungry.

When they pulled apart, a silken string of saliva stretched between their lips for a moment before breaking. Hypnotic.

A gust of wind rustled the palm leaves overhead as the man lowered his fingers into the tub again. I was greedy for those fingers but he gave the treat to the woman instead. Maybe I pouted.

She opened her plump lips just wide enough to show me the sorbet on her tongue. Her face was a flower; the orange on her tongue was her nectar, my tongue was that of a yellow wasp coming to pollinate. I leaned in to drink from her mouth.

Warm lips, cool tongue. I sucked slowly and she sucked back Sweat tickled its way down my stomach and I shivered, lost in a stranger’s mouth. The man’s fingers were untying the straps of my bikini top, the woman’s fingers were painting my nipples with something cool and sticky. I moaned, again.

Mmmmm, mango sorbet.



Licorice

This was definitely not my crowd. I tugged down on the edges of the mini-skirt Master dressed me in, for the umpteenth time, as a man in a leather hood was led past me on a leash. Not my crowd, not our crowd for that matter. We’d never been part of any scene.

I tottered on spiked heels, clinging to Master’s side, not physically but with every psychic rope I could wrap around him. He’d told me once already to mingle. Half an hour later, I was still following him, puppy-like, through the party.

No surprise when he turned to me, face a black cloud, and growled, “Go! I don’t want to see you for an hour.”

I wobbled my way out of the living room as fast as I could, dragging my wounded ego behind me. Where I was going to go? I had no idea.

The party was packed; my direction was determined more by the flow of traffic than by my inclinations. I told myself, These are just nice, normal people, bankers, housewives, everyday folks, just like me, but that didn’t stop me from feeling like a penguin wandering through the Serengeti.

I was funneled into a long hallway and a tall woman, with day-glo pink, cropped hair offered me a welcoming smile. Relieved to see a friendly gesture, I smiled back. She stuck out her tongue, displaying a large metal piercing, and waggled it up and down. Maybe I only imagined her laughing at me, as I stumbled and ran past her, wide eyed and trembling, but I doubt it.

Pushing my way through the throng, I spotted a closed door, grabbed the handle and thanked someone’s god that it was unlocked. The room I’d escaped into was dark and quiet – perfect.

Dark, yes, but there were lights on. Dark because, as my eyes adjusted and my pulse slowed enough to allow observation, the room was black. Black walls, black stone floor, black ceiling, one long, black table and, seated at the far end of the table, a woman. She wore a white dress, barely discernable against her pale skin, and had hair as light blonde as mine but longer, almost down to her waist. I was rude to stare but the scene was striking, mesmerizing.

“Come here, Pet,” she said, in a voice I would describe as white, also.

I did as she asked. Her demeanor was firm but calm; she put me at ease.

My heels clicking on the stone floor made me too aware of my gait. I tried to walk gracefully, I wanted to impress the Snow Queen.

“You look lost,” she said, no real concern in her voice but no threat, either.

“I am…” I’d never been out like this before, what was I supposed to call her?

“You may call me Miss Lily, if you like.”

“Miss Lily,” I liked how her name wiggled out of my mouth.

“Kneel,” she said. It wasn’t an order, only an instruction, and I was glad for the direction.

Once I was kneeling front of her, she reached out a long, ivory-painted fingernail and lifted up the metal, heart-shaped tag attached to my collar. Her silver eyes were the definition of neutral as she read the inscription.

She nodded, then smoothed a hand over my head. “So soft. Lovely”. Her fingers drifted through my hair.

I lowered my gaze, ashamed at my nipples coming alive at her touch, following the laces of her boots down to the tips, and around to a set of heels so high and narrow my toes curled just looking at them.

“Are you hungry, pet?”

“Yes, Miss Lily,” I answered.

Her chair didn’t make a sound as she turned it out to face me, as if she and everything in the room were made of air. She placed a black bowl on the floor, just beyond my reach. There was no cutlery; I’d have to bend over to eat. My short skirt would show everything. Everything.

No panties, no bra, Master insisted on this when he dressed me for the party.

Shuffling, I tried to move into a position where my head would be facing my hostess but she tapped a fingernail on the table top to halt me.

“No, where you were.”

Biting my bottom lip, I moved back and dipped my head down to the bowl. My ass was high in the air, facing the lady in white. Could she see the pink folds between my legs, swollen and glistening? I knew the answer and that only increased the temperature in my nethers.

The bowl was empty.

Was she playing a trick on me? I looked again, lowering myself even further. No, there was something there but it was as black as the bowl and impossible to identify. My tongue reached out to explore, it burned with cold. Now I knew.

This time I took a healthy lick but paused when I felt something hard resting on my tailbone.

“Don’t you like it?” Miss Lily asked.

Yes and no.

“Yes, Miss Lily,” I managed to answer, without breathing.

“Then go on.”

My face lowered to the bowl, I licked. The cruel heel of her boot pressed against the opening of my pussy.

I wanted to stop.

I licked again and gasped when the heel dug its way inside me. She was going to fuck me like this and I was going to let her.

I wanted to stop and I didn’t.

The pain and humiliation were bad but the black licorice ice cream was better.




Bubblegum

Of the four flavours of ice cream displayed beneath the dusty glass of the Sip-n-Go mini mart, why did I choose bubblegum? I shrug, lick the blue mound on top of the cone and wander a little further into the desert.

High noon has eaten my shadow. Vegas seems a universe away. I’d only stopped for gas, a pee and a cold snack, so why am I out here, in the middle of Emptyville, with only hard pack, a few cactus and some rusted car parts for company?

Another tongueful of bubblegum; years start to roll backward.

Thirty-five, twenty-six, twenty-two, nineteen, seventeen, fifteen. Fifteen. I’m fifteen now. Sweet bubble gum lips. Naïve and curious. I’m still a virgin. Not for long.

My tongue drags its way across the cool blue; my footsteps scare a jackrabbit hiding in the scrub. I stop and watch it bound away in terrified leaps. Poor bunny. Maybe I should be scared, too? After all, I’m just a young girl, alone.

I wait for moment, a thin trickle of ice cream dribbles onto my hand. His footsteps are getting closer. Not very nice, following a poor, helpless bunny into the wild. When he’d smiled at me, in the Sip-n-Go, he’d had rattlesnake teeth and coyote eyes. Maybe I should be scared?

I resume my walk. Just up ahead, there’s a wreck, mostly intact except for the missing tires and the sun burnt paint. Licking and ambling, I make my way to the abandoned car. Once there, I don’t turn around. Fifteen year old girls are so clueless. I lean my elbows on the hood, bending over, swaying my hips to the music in my head – some band I’m, like, totally in love with.

Footsteps scratch their way closer and closer until I can smell him, sour from too many hours on the road, in the heat.

“I can’t fuck you,” I say, turning around, “I’m a virgin.”

Coyote eyes narrow.

A stream of blue runs down my hand, my wrist, almost to my elbow, like blood from a wound. Lifting my hand high, I lick up my mess, ending at the cone. I watch the stranger swallow.

“But I can suck you off,” I say.

He answers with a grunt, taking a few steps forward and turning so that his back is against the passenger door. I let him undo his own fly. Filthy pervert.

Small rocks chew at my knees, as I kneel in front of the man. He holds his hard cock out to me like a piece of candy he’s using to lure me into his car. It’s a big cock, a grown up man cock, the kind I’ve only seen in the dirty magazines my dad keeps hidden under the bed. Working up a little saliva, I coat the tip of his man candy with blue spit and use my free hand to rub it around.

Coyote growl.

At the smell of his crotch, all sweat and danger, I wrinkle my nose. I take a long lick at my cone, which is melting fast now, and then lower my lips to the stranger’s cock. He shivers. One coat of bubble gum. Raising my head, I take another lick of cone and go back down on the stranger – now he tastes better.

My sucking is slow, not because I’m inexperienced but because I like the feel of the veins against my tongue and the walls of my mouth. He is big for me, though, so big that sometimes I choke.

The ice cream is running down my arm; I have to stop now and then to suck on my cone instead. When I do this, the strange man makes a noise, kind of an impatient moan. I like his noise, I like teasing him.

I’m starting to like the choking, too. A few times, I try pushing his dick as far into my mouth as I can, until my throat is full and I can’t breathe. Then I have to stop. When I pull away, long, gooey, blue strings hang from my mouth. The gooiness isn’t gross, though, it helps make his member slippery and each time I can get him down my throat a bit farther.

I feel the man’s hand grab my pony tail. Tight. He wraps it around his hand like a cowboy with a set of reins. My hair is cinched so tight in his hand, it tugs on the corners of my eyes. He uses the reins to push my head further onto his cock.

I gag and feel the cone crunch in my hand.

He pulls my head away. I catch my breath. He pushes it back down. Another gag. Tears roll from my taut eyelids. Pull and push and gag and moan, he fucks my throat. Blue cream coats my left arm, another kind of cream is soaking through my pink, flowered panties.

He yanks my head away and grabs his blue cock in his hand. His blue, bubble gum, candy cock. I want to eat his candy. I open my mouth and stick out my matching blue tongue.

A rattlesnake rattle.

His hand pumps hot juice from his cock onto my tongue, my lips, my tear stained cheeks. He lets go of my pony tail, gasping, wipes the jiz from my cheeks and lets me suck it from his fingers. It tastes like bubblegum. Candy for a good girl.




Rocky Road

“Up. Now. Bitch.”

The voice shook me out of sleep. Where was I? Hotel, yes. Hotel room. I pulled off my eyeshades.

“Up on all fours, move it and keep your mouth shut,” a black, meat bus was parked at the foot of my bed, barking orders at me.

A scream caught in my throat but in the light of the bedside lamp I caught sight of my master, sitting on the couch. Surely he would explain everything. As I thought that, a hand grabbed the bulk of my hair and tugged me up and onto all fours.

“Looks like someone skipped a few obedience classes.”

Looking from my attacker to Master, my eyes were question marks.

“What are you looking at him for? What, you think he’s here to save your scrawny ass? Dumb ass bitch.”

For the first time, I gave the man a good look. He was as black as espresso and every bit as powerful. The dim lamp light made a sculpture of his muscles, every one on display since he was shirtless. I couldn’t help myself, I looked back at my master for some reassurance. Instead, I got annoyance.

Then a slap. I whimpered. He’d held back, Mr Espresso, but my face still stung from his hand.

“Now, do I have your undivided?” he asked and I nodded. “Good. You are not to look at that man on the couch, you keep the pretty blues on me at all times. Seems you have a punishment owed and I’m it.”

Flipping through my mental rolodex, I tried to remember any outstanding punishments but came up blank. Not that it mattered, not that I could even concentrate under these circumstances.

“Now, I hear you like ice cream, is that true?” his voice became sickly sweet.

I nodded just enough for him to notice.

“Good, because tonight you’ll be having some Rocky Road. You know what’s in Rocky Road, don’t you?”

Mr Espresso didn’t allow me time to answer.

“Well, you got your chocolate,” he gestured to himself as if he were a game show hostess displaying a prize. “And you got your nuts,” as he said the last word, a smile crept over his face. Unzipping his jeans, he pulled out his already hard cock, tilted it skyward to show me his balls, his nuts, and chuckled.

I felt guilty for staring even though he wanted me to look. His was the most monstrous cock I’d ever seen. In his bear paw hands, it looked big; in mine it would look freakish. My mouth was probably hanging open, because he laughed again.

“That’s right, slut, sometimes the stereotypes are true.” Mr Espresso paused to stroke the beast and soak in my obvious fear.

“We’ve got chocolate, we’ve got nuts, now all we need for Rocky Road is…” he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a bag I hadn’t noticed in all the confusion, “marshmallows.”

Marshmallows?

As he tore open a corner of the bag, he kept one eye on me. “Here’s what’s going down, slave girl, you’re going to hold one of these marshmallows between your teeth, you think you can do that?”

I nodded as cautiously as possible.

“Good. Open wide.”

He held out the sugary pillow to me as I opened my mouth. With fingers that hinted at restrained power, he placed the marshmallow halfway in my mouth and positioned my jaw so that I was barely holding it.

“We’re almost there.” He said, moving around the bed, running his hand down the length of my body as he did. “Remember, it’s called Rocky Road, not Smooth Road, so you best prepare.” His hand stopped on the curve of my ass; I inhaled, quick and sugary.

His one hand remained on my ass while the fingers of his other hand started prying open the lips of my pussy. My mouth may have been dry but those lips were not. I felt my face burn, ashamed.

His voice deepened, “This hole is first.”

I couldn’t help myself; I turned my head around to size up his cock once more. That was a mistake. When I turned my head back, I snuck a peek at Master, on the couch, slight smile playing at his lips.

Whack! A bear paw came down on my ass and I gasped around the marshmallow in my mouth.

“Don’t pull that shit again. I told you not to look at him.”

I shivered.

“As I was saying, I’m going to start by fucking this undeserving cunt of yours. When I’m done, I check that marshmallow you’re holding all nice and delicate like. If I find teeth marks, we start over. Maybe I plug up that pussy of yours, maybe…” he rested his thumb on the pucker of my ass, “maybe I move onto another hole. No matter, we’re going to keep doing this ‘till I pull that treat out of your filthy mouth as clean as it went in.”

Had I already bitten down on it? I couldn’t remember.

“You ready?”

It felt as if an hour passed before I worked up the courage to nod.

“Good,” he said, stretching the word out like a melted marshmallow as he pulled me, by the hips, to edge of the bed.

It was going to be a rocky road.




Coconut

Sleep was not coming. Walls as thin as cardboard were no defense against the boom, boom, boom from the nightclub next door. The fan over my bed wasn’t cooling me, merely moving the hot air back and forth. I dragged myself to the bathroom and showered, for the seventh time that evening, under a dribble of water from a pipe with no shower head attached.

Tossing on a pair of shorts and a tank top, I fought my way out the wood door that was too big for its frame and stumbled onto the ‘deck’ of my hotel room. The deck consisted of a plastic chair, which may have been green once upon a time, and a metal table, tilted at an angle, both on the sidewalk, facing the parking lot.

“If you ask me, this place is worth all of the seventeen dollars a night,” a man’s voice said.

My neighbour was sitting on his deck. Earlier that day we’d exchanged hellos and waves. His face was painted in the yellow light of the single, bare bulb between our two motel rooms. Story was etched into the lines around his mouth.

“I’m just here for the free toiletries,” I answered.

“I know a place not far from here that makes the best coconut ice cream in Costa Rica, maybe the world.”

Wandering off with a stranger, in a strange land, in the middle of the night was not my usual operating procedure but I was too tired and hot to think of a reason not to.

Then again, maybe it was those lines and their promise of tales of intrigue that talked me into it.

As we walked around the corner and along Avenida del Sol a few drunk gringos – kids freshly hatched into the wide world - passed by every so often, but it wasn’t long before we left them behind to their boom, boom, boom and their back alley puking.

“Can I guess your name?” I asked my new companion.

He smiled and spread his hands, palms up, as an invitation.

I gave him a once over. Late thirties, blond, blue-grey eyes, pale skin but he wasn’t sweating, which meant he’d spent enough time here, or some place as hot as here, to acclimatize. Nordic features hidden beneath layers of jungle grime.

“Eric?” I asked.

He turned his head to me and smiled again. No answer, just lines.

“Well, I’m going to call you Eric, it suits you. You can call me whatever you like. Tit for tat.”

“OK then, Miss Marigold Puddingpants.”

His look was dead serious; I cracked first. Soon we were both laughing, then a quiet settled over us. The only sound was our footsteps, muted by the heavy air of the night, and the faraway thrum of the disco.

“Have you ever known something you wished you didn’t know?” I asked.

Eric’s lingering smile vanished. “Too much.” When I didn’t interrupt, he looked skyward for a moment and sighed. “Once upon a time I was a journalist. Erase all those glamorous images from your mind, I was a nobody. I spent most of my time based in Butt Fuck Indonesia or Butt Fuck Central America, working for Reuters, writing about conflicts too unpopular for more than a paragraph stuffed in the bottom of the World News section of most newspapers. Yeah, there’s heaps I’d like to un-know. How about you?”

“Nothing,” I lied. As I looked away and across the street, I felt him sizing me up.

“Have you been to Cambodia?” he asked, cupping my elbow with his hand and steering me away from a pothole I was about to walk into.

“Thanks. No. I hear it’s beautiful, if you can stand the heat.”

“It is. Hot and beautiful.” He stopped and gazed up and down the street.

“What?”

“I love places like this at night. Latin countries should only be seen by night.”

His words hit me like second hand déjà vu. I looked at the row of shops and restaurants crammed in together, their daytime shabbiness transformed by lights the way an ordinary pine tree becomes a marvel at Christmas.

Eric started walking again.

“In Cambodia, there’s a memorial for victims of the Khmer Rouge, I was thinking you should never visit that place. You’re a carrier.”

“A carrier?” my laugh was uncomfortable. “As in disease?”

“No, I mean as in someone who carries things with them. Always. Most people will walk through this town, take some pictures, look at some monkeys, go home, share their stories and gradually forget. You, you’ll absorb it all and carry it with you forever. The stuff you want to un-know but you think is too petty to tell me, it’s all part of your cache. Ah, here’s the shop. Still open. You have to love the third world.”

I had questions but we walked in the open door of the neveria and the bright lights rendered them irrelevant.

“Bueno,” an old man, with raisin skin, greeted us.

Eric ordered for us in perfect Spanish, I envied his fluency and felt a tinge of guilt that I hadn’t studied the language harder. Singing a tune, the old man scooped out two cones of white ice cream for us. I held them while Eric paid.


Out on the street, I rested my back against a lamp post while I licked at my cone. My new friend gestured to the shop window and we watched the old man sing and clean as if we were watching a movie, a romantic musical about a Costa Rican ice cream vendor.

I was still smiling at the show when Eric turned back to face me. Our eyes had a brief conversation.

I know you. You’re the other half of my soul that’s been missing.

And we kissed.

No, we blended, merged, melded, made ourselves whole. His lips were so soft and pliable, I lost track of where they ended and where mine began. Our tongues were fearless, tumbling over each other in slow motion. Our eyes were closed and our mouths were pressed together but we still spoke to each other.

I need you.

When we pulled apart, the singing had vanished. I would always hear it, though.

I can hear it now.

He raised his left hand and brushed a strand of hair from my face. The ring I’d tried to ignore was touching my cheek. My eyes asked the question for me.

“It’s complicated,” Eric answered.

“It always is,” I said.

I’m always drawn to the stories.

“You’d like her. She’d like you,” his mouth said, but his eyes were handing me an invitation. A map to a road less traveled.

I took another lick of my cone then leaned forward to meet Eric’s mouth. ‘He’s right,’ I thought, as I felt us rejoin, ‘this is the best coconut ice cream in the world.’




Neapolitan

Easy. When Master uses that word it is always with the highest sense of irony. The challenge was simple: three flavours of ice cream in one tub, three bowls, three men, one flavour for each man, one spoon, one kitchen timer. Easy.

Strawberry for Jordan. A childish flavour to match his shaggy, surfer boy look and demeanor. For Mr Black, chocolate, dark and slightly bitter. And vanilla for Tomas, my master. Boring vanilla, he would say.

I glance at the timer, why must it move so quickly?

My task: scoop out a bowl for each man, in sixty seconds, without any of the flavours crossing over. Even I thought this was going to be below my abilities. Silly girl. The spoon I was given was a big wooden one and the tub of Neapolitan ice cream was rock hard.

The ticking of the clock is tugging at my nerves.

Fail to complete the task on time and be punished. Each man gets a turn. This is my eighth attempt.

My hand trembles as I try to push aside the melting chocolate and scoop up only the vanilla. It’s useless; a brown river is muddying the white plain.

“Twenty seconds, K,” Master calls out from the adjoining living room.

The spoon slips from my hand, bounces off the edge of the tub and drops to the floor, splattering ice cream on Black’s white, tile clean floor. This is bad.

He is next in line.

“Leave it,” Black barks, when I grab a cloth to clean up the mess.

I pick up the spoon, conscious of the welts on my ass as I bend down. I’m never going to succeed, everyone knows it, but Master expects me to try my best. Once I’ve run it under the tap and wiped it clean, I lower the spoon into to the tub, again. I can do this.

BUZZ.

Fuck.

Hanging my head, I listen to the timer buzzing my defeat. One bowl, that’s as far as I got and even that bowl has bits of the other two flavours in it.

“Oh boy, K, you’re in for a lickin’ now,” Jordan says. I imagine him bouncing up and down in his chair.

I’m paralyzed, remembering the last two lashings I received by Black’s hand.

“K, get over here, now!” Master’s voice.

How long have I been standing here?

Hurrying from the kitchen to the living room, I stop and kneel in front of Black as I’ve been instructed to do. If I had the nerve to look up, I’m sure I’d see his dark eyes boring holes into me and his sharp jaw set in a scowl.

“Clumsy, messy and slow. Why Tomas suffers you, I’ll never know.” Black speaks as he stands. With two fingers, he lifts my chin until I’m looking up, then he slides his thumb across my lips and forces it into my mouth.

Even as I promise myself I won’t, I start sucking. I can’t help myself.

“Oh, right, that’s why,” Black says. Jordan howls and even Master chuckles. “But you’ll have to wait. Stick before carrot…so to speak.”

He grips my lower jaw with his thumb and fingers and pulls me forward until I’m on all fours, my face almost touching the couch.

“Open wide and wedge that suck tool of yours onto the edge of the couch cushion,” Black orders as he removes his digits.

I obey, wincing at the dry rub of the heavy fabric.

Black steps beyond my field of vision but I can feel and hear him. He yanks both my arms out from beneath me and pulls them behind my back. Without their support, my body weight drives my head further into the cushion and I gag against it.

Next I feel rope wrapping around my wrists, binding them behind my back, and my heart rate quickens.

“Tomas, do you mind if I try my new toy?” Black’s voice has an edge of excitement to it. I shiver, not because I’m naked but because excitement for Black means pain for me.

“Go ahead. I’m curious myself,” Master answers.

Every muscle tensing, I strain to decipher what Black’s new toy is from the sounds. Not that I need to. He sets a long, slender piece of rattan on the couch, an inch or two away from my nose.

“K, I realize you’ve never been caned before but let me assure you this…” he picks up the cane and drags the tip of it over my head and down my spine, “is going to hurt. A lot.”

Black may be a sadist but he’s an honest one.

The first strike catches me on the bottom curve of my butt cheek and stings. Master has shared me with Black enough times for me to realize this is only a warm up, which makes me shiver again.

The second and third strike, each in a different spot, each more intense, send my nerve endings into high alert. On the fourth hit I cry out into the couch cushion. I can feel my body taking over. Just as with Black’s thumb, my mind may set itself against him but my body can’t help but respond.

Counting strikes in my head doesn’t work, as soon as the sweet pulses of pain start flaring I lose my grip on reality.

Was that eight or nine?

Whack. Fuck. I don’t know. Please stop.

Whack. I scream. It’s muted. No one can hear.

Whack. Please. More.

The strikes come faster, harder, in the same spot. It feels as if someone is lighting sparklers in my brain. Everything is bright lights and burning and sparks. I can hear a noise, guttural, primitive. It takes a moment to realize the sound is coming from me. I’m weeping, salty tears are pooling in the corners of my mouth.

Whack. Time is irrelevant. All thought vanishes. I am pain.

Ten? Twenty? How many lashes have I received?

Whack. Pain.

Whack. Pleasure.

Whack. Pain.

Warmth washes its way down the vertebrae of my spine. By the time it reaches the bottom, I’m overwhelmed. The cane comes down, the walls of my sex swell to bursting with heat. The pleasure and pain centers in my brain have touched, setting off an earthquake. Convulsing, the first waves of orgasm hit me like the resultant tsunami.

My whole body surrenders, every nerve ending flooded by sensation. My arms strain upward awkwardly, bound together, my back arches, I howl into the cushion. I come violently, shaking and twitching until my muscles ache.

Then everything goes dark.


Silence. Where am I? I’m so light. I can feel hands, cool hands, on my flaming skin.

A low whistle calls out. Is a train going by?

“Jesus H, Black, that was in-fucking-tense.” Jordan’s voice. He sounds so far away.

Eyes open, I try to focus. Hands are untying my wrists. My arms fall free. Hands are on the back of my head, now, smoothing my hair, pulling me away from the edge of the couch. Air. Hands move me until I’m sitting, the sting of the cane still biting me. I look up to thank Black but it’s my Master’s face looking down at me. He’s smiling.

He sits on the couch, right in the spot where my face had been. He motions to me, extending a hand, and lifts me up on his lap. Sinking my head into his chest, I inhale, taking in his smell and letting his warmth bring me back to humanity.

Master pets and soothes me. Happiness radiates from his fingers. I’ve pleased him.

“K?” Black’s voice is gentle.

I lift my head and turn. He’s standing next to Jordan, who’s holding a huge bowl of chocolate ice cream with a sparkler stuck in it.

“Happy birthday,” the two of them say.

Is it? I’d forgotten in all the excitement about today’s visit.

“Happy birthday, my pet,” Master says, kissing the top of my head. “Your day isn’t over but you’ve earned a treat.”

I can think of a thousand sappy things I want to say, about pain, about love, about friendship…but I think I’ll wait until I’m finished my ice cream.

<<<<>>>>​

 

[Keroin]

This is not my first attempt at erotic fiction but I write primarily mainstream and speculative stories, so I’m still very green in this genre. Primarily, this was a fun piece - playing with flavours to create moods, settings, scenarios – and I hope it reads as such. I also wanted to take the reader on a journey through the head of my protagonist (no, not me, despite the initial).

While I appreciate any feedback and comments here are some specific questions I have:

1. Did you find the switching of tenses (past, present) between the stories confusing?

2. Though there is a predominantly BDSM theme to the piece, I wanted to include other types of erotica, alternating between hard and soft themes. How well do you feel all the stories fit together?

3. Any ideas what category this should go under? (I’m thinking BDSM but I don’t want to mislead, since some of the stories are not).

4. This is only the second draft so if you see any grammar or spelling boo boos you may come across please point them out.

Thank you so much, in advance, for taking the time to read this. I look forward to everyone’s comments.

Cheers,
Keroin

 

[Penelope Street]

Hi Keroin,

Vice Cream is such a clever title. And the tales are clever too- if generally a bit too short for me to really get into them. Occasionally, I thought the rich style bordered on cloying, but then I recalled the theme and decided it was ok to indulge.

1. Did you find the switching of tenses (past, present) between the stories confusing?
Since each is a separate story, I didn't have any issue with the tenses.

2. Though there is a predominantly BDSM theme to the piece, I wanted to include other types of erotica, alternating between hard and soft themes. How well do you feel all the stories fit together?
I don't think the stories have all that much in common- which is actually a good thing.

3. Any ideas what category this should go under? (I’m thinking BDSM but I don’t want to mislead, since some of the stories are not).
BDSM is probably a safe category choice, but are you really about safe?

4. This is only the second draft so if you see any grammar or spelling boo boos you may come across.
I don't recall any English-use issues, though there was a line I had to read twice.

~ ~ ~

While it's well-written, I didn't really care for 'Vanilla'- though probably for very personal reasons. My ex talked my into trying an ice cube once, which I'd pretty much managed to forget until this story brought it all right back, go figure! So, yeah, on to Mango...

~ ~ ~

I enjoyed 'Mango', except her transition was just a little too abrubt for me. With a little more seduction, I might have *really* liked this one.

Ten feet away on an otherwise empty beech also seems like serious personal space invasion to me- but I never got that she was *really* angry like I would have been about it. Or is this a subtle hint that her transition isn't so abrupt after all?

This is such a great line: I was close enough to smell their sweat mingling with their coconut scented sunscreen and hear their tongues fighting over the sorbet.

~ ~ ~

I enjoyed the opening to 'Licorice' because she's clearly in an awkward situation where it's easy to empathize.

This was the line I had to read twice: I tugged down on the edges of the mini-skirt Master dressed me in, for the umpteenth time, as a man in a leather hood was led past me on a leash. I think it might be that first comma that's awkward for me. Or maybe it should be 'the mini-skirt Master had dressed me in'?

What a pair of clever lines: ... feeling like a penguin wandering through the Serengeti. and .. a set of heels so high and narrow my toes curled just looking at them. I really like that second one!

...but she tapped a fingernail on the table top to halt me. Ok- nitpicky time- I'd have liked this sentence a little better without the "to halt me" at the end.

~ ~ ~

Bubblegum is another tale where the transition was just too abrupt for me to go there with her. If she was thinking of Mr. Coyote when she walked outside, that might have helped. Other than that, it's a sexy little romp.

Bubblegum might also catch the attention of the age-rule censors, even though she's only pretending to be fifteen again and not reliving something that happened at that time. Fortunately it's an easy issue to address without really changing the story.

~ ~ ~

Rocky Road is a clever little tease. I thought it was obedient for her to look to her master at least the first time, so I'm not sure why that particular action was dubbed disobedient- though every relationship is different. Other than that, I thought this was a fine little story.

~ ~ ~

Coconut was my favorite because of the sense of mystery.

I wonder if I might have believed her actions just a little more without this line: Wandering off with a stranger, in a strange land, in the middle of the night was not my usual operating procedure but I was too tired and hot to think of a reason not to.Sounds like she's already thought of one very good reason not to, and I don't think she needs a second! The subsequent line is good, so I think it would work just fine without giving me reason to doubt her actions in the first place, if that makes any sense?

Though I get the impression you like it, this is another line I think the story can do without: I’m always drawn to the stories.

One final quibble: we hear voices, but persons actually speak- right?
“If you ask me, this place is worth all of the seventeen dollars a night,” a man’s voice said.

~ ~ ~

While maybe not for everyone, Neapolitan is an intense (or should that be in-fucking-tense? ) little glimpse of masochism. Great job of putting us right there- so much so that this brief moment of exposition stood out for me in a bad way: I come violently.

~ ~ ~

Altogether, this is a great little collection of super-shorts. Thanks for sharing them with us.

Take Care,
Penny

 

[Keroin]

Hi Keroin,

Vice Cream is such a clever title. Thanks but I can't take credit for it. A friend suggested the title after reading the first draft. And the tales are clever too- if generally a bit too short for me to really get into them. Occasionally, I thought the rich style bordered on cloying, but then I recalled the theme and decided it was ok to indulge. Thanks again. Originally, the stories were much shorter but I decided to expand a bit and may still add more.

1. Did you find the switching of tenses (past, present) between the stories confusing?
Since each is a separate story, I didn't have any issue with the tenses.

2. Though there is a predominantly BDSM theme to the piece, I wanted to include other types of erotica, alternating between hard and soft themes. How well do you feel all the stories fit together?
I don't think the stories have all that much in common- which is actually a good thing.

3. Any ideas what category this should go under? (I’m thinking BDSM but I don’t want to mislead, since some of the stories are not).
BDSM is probably a safe category choice, but are you really about safe? Not usually, no. LOL.

4. This is only the second draft so if you see any grammar or spelling boo boos you may come across.
I don't recall any English-use issues, though there was a line I had to read twice.

~ ~ ~

While it's well-written, I didn't really care for 'Vanilla'- though probably for very personal reasons. My ex talked my into trying an ice cube once, which I'd pretty much managed to forget until this story brought it all right back, go figure! So, yeah, on to Mango... No worries. I don't expect everyone to like every story.

~ ~ ~

I enjoyed 'Mango', except her transition was just a little too abruct for me. Yes, I was concerned about this. I may add a few more lines. With a little more seduction, I might have *really* liked this one.

Ten feet away on an otherwise empty beech also seems like serious personal space invasion to me- but I never got that she was *really* angry like I would have been about it. Or is this a subtle hint that her transition isn't so abrupt after all? Exactly.

This is such a great line: I was close enough to smell their sweat mingling with their coconut scented sunscreen and hear their tongues fighting over the sorbet.Thank you!

~ ~ ~

I enjoyed the opening to 'Licorice' because she's clearly in an awkward situation where it's easy to empathize.

This was the line I had to read twice: I tugged down on the edges of the mini-skirt Master dressed me in, for the umpteenth time, as a man in a leather hood was led past me on a leash. I think it might be that first comma that's awkward for me. Or maybe it should be 'the mini-skirt Master had dressed me in'?Good catch, I'll rework it.

What a pair of clever lines: ... feeling like a penguin wandering through the Serengeti. and .. a set of heels so high and narrow my toes curled just looking at them. I really like that second one!

...but she tapped a fingernail on the table top to halt me. Ok- nitpicky time- I'd have liked this sentence a little better without the "to halt me" at the end.Again, good detail. I'll remove the ending.

~ ~ ~

Bubblegum is another tale where the transition was just too abrupt for me to go there with her. If she was thinking of Mr. Coyote when she walked outside, that might have helped. Yes, I think you're right. I will address this. Other than that, it's a sexy little romp.

Bubblegum might also catch the attention of the age-rule censors, even though she's only pretending to be fifteen again and not reliving something that happened at that time. Fortunately it's an easy issue to address without really changing the story. I'll keep that in mind during the next round of edits, thanks for the warning.

~ ~ ~

Rocky Road is a clever little tease. I thought it was obedient for her to look to her master at least the first time, so I'm not sure why that particular action was dubbed disobedient- though every relationship is different. Other than that, I thought this was a fine little story.

~ ~ ~

Coconut was my favorite because of the sense of mystery. It's my favourite, too. Shh, don't tell anyone.

I wonder if I might have believed her actions just a little more without this line: Wandering off with a stranger, in a strange land, in the middle of the night was not my usual operating procedure but I was too tired and hot to think of a reason not to.Sounds like she's already thought of one very good reason not to, and I don't think she needs a second! The subsequent line is good, so I think it would work just fine without giving me reason to doubt her actions in the first place, if that makes any sense?Yep. Makes tons of sense. I'll revisit those lines.

Though I get the impression you like it, this is another line I think the story can do without: I’m always drawn to the stories. Hmm, I'm somewhat attached to that one but perhaps it could be placed or worded differently. I'll play with it.

One final quibble: we hear voices, but persons actually speak- right?
“If you ask me, this place is worth all of the seventeen dollars a night,” a man’s voice said.Excellent catch. Thanks.

~ ~ ~

While maybe not for everyone, Neapolitan is an intense (or should that be in-fucking-tense? ) LOL little glimpse of masochism. Great job of putting us right there- so much so that this brief moment of exposition stood out for me in a bad way: I come violently. Ah yes, and now it stands out for me. I will go flog myself for such lazy narrative.

~ ~ ~

Altogether, this is a great little collection of super-shorts. Thanks for sharing them with us. You're welcome!

Take Care,
Penny

Thanks so much for your insightful comments, PS. You picked up on exactly the types of things I was wondering about. You've given me lots to work with as I fine tune. I am very grateful for your time and effort.

Mil gracias amiga!

 

[Verdad]

Hi, Keroin,

I was just toying with a similar idea, of stringing a couple of mini stories together in an attempt to break out of my legendary unproductiveness. Needless to say, I thought the format of your piece brilliant!

You're clearly an accomplished writer, so I'll more or less just answer your questions and add a couple of impressions about each story:

Did you find the switching of tenses (past, present) between the stories confusing? As Penny said, switching was not an issue because every story stands alone. However, I was put off by the present tense in the first story. In the last story, I thought it worked well, read unobtrusive, and accomplished the goal of suggesting the couple's routine, and in the bubblegum story, you used it to a great effect. In the first story, though, I thought it sounded awkward and gave your writing an entirely undeserved amateurish feel. Possibly the fault lies less with you and more with all the first person, present tense stories out there that create the expectation, yet the effect might be worth considering because it's the first impression one gets when one begins to read.

Though there is a predominantly BDSM theme to the piece, I wanted to include other types of erotica, alternating between hard and soft themes. How well do you feel all the stories fit together? It was an obviously good idea to go for diverse stories. If anything, I felt there might have been too much of BDSM. There's already a binding motif appearing in every story, so if BDSM were another, the purpose of writing an omnibus would have been lost.

As for the stories fitting together, I hope you clarify what you meant by that. If you meant for the whole to become something more than the sum of its parts, I'm not sure it did. Was there a Big Story that should have emerged? If so, I couldn't detect it, but neither did I think that necessary for the enjoyment of the fragments. If you meant just whether they fused into an appetizing blend, that they certainly did.

Any ideas what category this should go under? (I’m thinking BDSM but I don’t want to mislead, since some of the stories are not). Erotic Couplings, perhaps? That category strikes me as a catchall with a wide readership, but BDSM readers shouldn't be disappointed either.

This is only the second draft so if you see any grammar or spelling boo boos you may come across please point them out. The only thing that jumped out at me was the plural of "cactus" which I thought should have been "cacti" or at least "cactuses", but Merriam-Webster lists all three options, including yours, so I don't know if there's a definite answer to that.

Vanilla. This was my least favorite piece, what because of the present tense, what because of the content. I'm saying this only for whatever it's worth, because content is subject to personal tastes, both in erotic buttons and in one's ideas as to how much realism there should be in a story (e.g. do characters need condoms) but here's how I reacted: stuffing a woman's privates with something sugary made me cringe. I loved the cleverness of the last sentence, though, which transformed the piece from a scene to a story in one blow.

Mango Sorbet. All the pieces I liked best featured vivid imagery, and this was one of them. I was only sorry you didn't allow it to be just a voyeuristic scene, because the narrator's joining in the action struck me as unbelievable and forced. The story felt weak, but thumbs up for making the heat and the colors blaze off the screen. I hope you rework this piece a tiny bit and pull it on the level it deserves.

Licorice. Another non-favorite. I might be biased against BDSM stories, not because I don't like the activities but because they seem to come with every problem of erotic writing cubed. Motivation gets neglected because subs and doms apparently only need to act according to their axiomatic 'natures', and surprises are nearly impossible to pull off. I found that true of this piece as well, which didn't manage to rise from the level of a scene to the level of a story. I might add too that the description of the Ice Queen struck me as an overkill, so much so that it suggested fantastic elements where that wasn't the intention.

Bubblegum. I loved this piece without reservation. It could stand on its own, and it could stand as an epitome of an erotic short. The writing is evocative and vivid once again, and even more important, the story accomplishes the Holy Grail of saying incomparably more than is written. With barely a word of explanation, the characters come off as entirely believable and real. Simply excellent.

Rocky Road. I guess I'm becoming a bit predictable here, but this one barely held my attention. Truly, I'm all but disinclined toward BDSM, but all the usual story complaints apply here too. I see the scene, but not the story, plus, I thought the dialogue uncharacteristically clunky. The black dom's lines sounded very unnatural to me.

Coconut. Another favorite. Nothing but praise here, except for one tiny question that bothered me. I thought we were going to learn what the narrator was doing in Costa Rica? Her using the words "operating procedure" seemed like a hint, her reflecting about things to unlearn as well. Yet the question wasn't resolved and I was a tiny bit disappointed for that.

Neapolitan. Just to break the pattern, I liked this piece. The touch of humor and the ending twist made it more than just another BDSM scene, and its connection with the first story rounded the whole beautifully.

Overall, it's clear you're aiming for erotic short story more than for porn, and clever plot twists together with deliciously fresh descriptions ensure that you succeed. If there's a word of warning, it's just that there's always danger of one's strong points turning into one's weaknesses, so at some places, like the ones Penny suggested, some trimming wouldn't hurt. It's not a half bad problem to have, though—having to cut out an occasional lovely line, in order for another lovely line to have more space to breathe.

Thank you for a very enjoyable read; I hope some of this was not too general as to be of any use!

Best of luck,
Verdad

 

[PrincessErin]

.....

 

[manyeyedhydra]

7 classy little scenes. Short, snappy and a strong theme running through them.

I can understand the dilemma over category. BDSM is a strong theme in over half of them. If you put it in the BDSM category they they might be put off by the non-BDSM stories. If you put it in a more mainstream category then the readers might be put off by the BDSM part. I'd lean towards putting it in BDSM, but as I've never posted any story in any category other than erotic horror, I'm probably not a good source of advice on that

Tenses didn't jar for me. It's clear they're all separate stories with a shared theme. I didn't find much to moan about to be honest. They seemed trim and well written. Nothing jumped out at me spelling and grammar wise.

I thought vanilla was the strongest. Loved the last line.

Mango sorbet was a little too trim at the end. Would have liked a couple more sentences on the joining in part.

Like Penny, I thought of the age-rule censors with bubblegum. The fifteen year old part jumped out at me, but then I backtracked and realised I'd missed the line about her pretending she was getting younger with each step.

The last one seemed intense and made sense at the same time. I don't understand a lot of BDSM, but this seemed to give a good insight in why someone would allow someone else to thrash them with a cane.

cheers for sharing

 

[Penelope Street]

Though I get the impression you like it, this is another line I think the story can do without: I’m always drawn to the stories.

Hmm, I'm somewhat attached to that one but perhaps it could be placed or worded differently.

The reason I suspected you liked that line is that it seemed so out of place to me, but if no one else has an issue with this particular line, it's probably not worth worrying about.

I would definitely say BDSM. That is a category that I don't like reading as although your writing was amazing, it was a topic that I did not find arousing and that is normally how I feel whenever I read a BDSM story.

Since the collection is so diverse, I wonder if including a forward is a good idea?

I might be biased against BDSM stories, not because I don't like the activities but because they seem to come with every problem of erotic writing cubed. Motivation gets neglected because subs and doms apparently only need to act according to their axiomatic 'natures', and surprises are nearly impossible to pull off

If you mean too many feature stereotypes both shallow and thin, I agree.

I was only sorry you didn't allow [Mango Sorbet] to be just a voyeuristic scene...

What a great idea!

Loved the last line.

I loved the cleverness of the last sentence, though, which transformed the piece from a scene to a story in one blow.

Am I missing something about this line besides the reference to the opening paragraph?

I thought vanilla was the strongest.

Since I thought it was a horror story, I suppose it makes sense that you'd like it.

 

[Keroin]

Hi, Keroin,

I was just toying with a similar idea, of stringing a couple of mini stories together in an attempt to break out of my legendary unproductiveness. Needless to say, I thought the format of your piece brilliant! Thanks! You should try it, great fun. I love flash fiction and short-shorts.

You're clearly an accomplished writer, so I'll more or less just answer your questions and add a couple of impressions about each story:

Did you find the switching of tenses (past, present) between the stories confusing? As Penny said, switching was not an issue because every story stands alone. However, I was put off by the present tense in the first story. In the last story, I thought it worked well, read unobtrusive, and accomplished the goal of suggesting the couple's routine, and in the bubblegum story, you used it to a great effect. In the first story, though, I thought it sounded awkward and gave your writing an entirely undeserved amateurish feel. Possibly the fault lies less with you and more with all the first person, present tense stories out there that create the expectation, yet the effect might be worth considering because it's the first impression one gets when one begins to read. Yes, I realize present tense, in this genre, can be tricky. I think I'm going to leave it but I'm curious to see what the response will be.

Though there is a predominantly BDSM theme to the piece, I wanted to include other types of erotica, alternating between hard and soft themes. How well do you feel all the stories fit together? It was an obviously good idea to go for diverse stories. If anything, I felt there might have been too much of BDSM. There's already a binding motif appearing in every story, so if BDSM were another, the purpose of writing an omnibus would have been lost. Originally it was all going to be BDSM but the characters had other ideas. But this comment is one of the reasons I think I will submit it under that category and hope the BDMSers don't grumble too loudly about the vanilla stories (pun intended, yes).

As for the stories fitting together, I hope you clarify what you meant by that. If you meant for the whole to become something more than the sum of its parts, I'm not sure it did. Was there a Big Story that should have emerged? If so, I couldn't detect it, but neither did I think that necessary for the enjoyment of the fragments. If you meant just whether they fused into an appetizing blend, that they certainly did. Yes, that's what I meant. Good to hear it worked.

Any ideas what category this should go under? (I’m thinking BDSM but I don’t want to mislead, since some of the stories are not). Erotic Couplings, perhaps? That category strikes me as a catchall with a wide readership, but BDSM readers shouldn't be disappointed either.

This is only the second draft so if you see any grammar or spelling boo boos you may come across please point them out. The only thing that jumped out at me was the plural of "cactus" which I thought should have been "cacti" or at least "cactuses", but Merriam-Webster lists all three options, including yours, so I don't know if there's a definite answer to that. I've spent a lot of time in the desert and everyone I know always says "cactus" so I don't think it should jump out too noticeably.

Vanilla. This was my least favorite piece, what because of the present tense, what because of the content. I'm saying this only for whatever it's worth, because content is subject to personal tastes, both in erotic buttons and in one's ideas as to how much realism there should be in a story (e.g. do characters need condoms) but here's how I reacted: stuffing a woman's privates with something sugary made me cringe. I loved the cleverness of the last sentence, though, which transformed the piece from a scene to a story in one blow. I wanted to come out swinging. I know this means the opening will probably turn some people off but I'm willing to take the risk. Good to hear the ending came together as planned!

Mango Sorbet. All the pieces I liked best featured vivid imagery, and this was one of them. I was only sorry you didn't allow it to be just a voyeuristic scene, because the narrator's joining in the action struck me as unbelievable and forced. The story felt weak, but thumbs up for making the heat and the colors blaze off the screen. I hope you rework this piece a tiny bit and pull it on the level it deserves. This story will be getting a little tune up before I submit it.

Licorice. Another non-favorite. I might be biased against BDSM stories, not because I don't like the activities but because they seem to come with every problem of erotic writing cubed. Motivation gets neglected because subs and doms apparently only need to act according to their axiomatic 'natures', and surprises are nearly impossible to pull off. I found that true of this piece as well, which didn't manage to rise from the level of a scene to the level of a story. I might add too that the description of the Ice Queen struck me as an overkill, so much so that it suggested fantastic elements where that wasn't the intention. Mmm, I think this was my love of spec fiction and the fantastic bleeding onto the page.

Bubblegum. I loved this piece without reservation. Thanks you.It could stand on its own, and it could stand as an epitome of an erotic short. The writing is evocative and vivid once again, and even more important, the story accomplishes the Holy Grail of saying incomparably more than is written. With barely a word of explanation, the characters come off as entirely believable and real. Simply excellent. Thank you again.

Rocky Road. I guess I'm becoming a bit predictable here, but this one barely held my attention. Truly, I'm all but disinclined toward BDSM, but all the usual story complaints apply here too. I see the scene, but not the story, plus, I thought the dialogue uncharacteristically clunky. The black dom's lines sounded very unnatural to me. That's cool. With seven stories I'm happy if fifty percent get the thumbs up.

Coconut. Another favorite. Nothing but praise here, except for one tiny question that bothered me. I thought we were going to learn what the narrator was doing in Costa Rica? Her using the words "operating procedure" seemed like a hint, her reflecting about things to unlearn as well. Yet the question wasn't resolved and I was a tiny bit disappointed for that. If it were a longer piece, I might have gone into greater detail. I wanted to leave big question marks at the end for the reader.

Neapolitan. Just to break the pattern, I liked this piece. The touch of humor and the ending twist made it more than just another BDSM scene, and its connection with the first story rounded the whole beautifully.

Overall, it's clear you're aiming for erotic short story more than for porn, and clever plot twists together with deliciously fresh descriptions ensure that you succeed. If there's a word of warning, it's just that there's always danger of one's strong points turning into one's weaknesses, so at some places, like the ones Penny suggested, some trimming wouldn't hurt. You're absolutely correct.It's not a half bad problem to have, though—having to cut out an occasional lovely line, in order for another lovely line to have more space to breathe.

Thank you for a very enjoyable read; I hope some of this was not too general as to be of any use!

Best of luck,
Verdad

All your comments are useful, Verdad. Many, many thanks for your time and input!

 

[Keroin]

Hi,

I'll start off by answering the questions that you asked.

1. Did you find the switching of tenses (past, present) between the stories confusing?

I didn't find that to be distracting or confusing at all. Whew! Looks like my fears were ungrounded.

2. Though there is a predominantly BDSM theme to the piece, I wanted to include other types of erotica, alternating between hard and soft themes. How well do you feel all the stories fit together?

I felt that the stories fit together very well. You indicated that it was a collection of shorter pieces and I enjoyed them a lot. Thank you.

3. Any ideas what category this should go under? (I’m thinking BDSM but I don’t want to mislead, since some of the stories are not).

I would definitely say BDSM. That is a category that I don't like reading as although your writing was amazing, it was a topic that I did not find arousing and that is normally how I feel whenever I read a BDSM story. Yes. My gut feeling is that BDSM folks will be more accepting of vanilla stories than the other way around. Shock and awe is fine but shock, awe and disgust is not what I'm trying for.

4. This is only the second draft so if you see any grammar or spelling boo boos you may come across please point them out.

I'm horrible at grammar and spelling myself but there were no glaring errors that distracted me from enjoying the story.


Overall I found your stories to be very well written and although I don't normally read BDSM I would really love to read stories that you've written in other categories. I think for someone who enjoys that topic you really put them into the scene and made them care about the characters and feel what the characters were feeling.

Thanks Erin! I'll let you know if I submit stories in any other categories on this site.

Again, my sincere thanks for helping me out with this.

Cheers,
Keroin

 

[Keroin]

7 classy little scenes. Short, snappy and a strong theme running through them.

I can understand the dilemma over category. BDSM is a strong theme in over half of them. If you put it in the BDSM category they they might be put off by the non-BDSM stories. If you put it in a more mainstream category then the readers might be put off by the BDSM part. I'd lean towards putting it in BDSM, but as I've never posted any story in any category other than erotic horror, I'm probably not a good source of advice on that No, this is excellent advice. Thanks.

Tenses didn't jar for me. It's clear they're all separate stories with a shared theme. I didn't find much to moan about to be honest. They seemed trim and well written. Nothing jumped out at me spelling and grammar wise.

I thought vanilla was the strongest. Loved the last line. Hooray! Finally a Vanilla lover. LOL

Mango sorbet was a little too trim at the end. Would have liked a couple more sentences on the joining in part. Yes, officially under re-construction.

Like Penny, I thought of the age-rule censors with bubblegum. The fifteen year old part jumped out at me, but then I backtracked and realized I'd missed the line about her pretending she was getting younger with each step. I might have to throw in another line, just to be safe.

The last one seemed intense and made sense at the same time. I don't understand a lot of BDSM, but this seemed to give a good insight in why someone would allow someone else to thrash them with a cane. I can't ask for much higher praise than that.

cheers for sharing

Cheers back atcha! Can't thank everyone enough for all the comments and suggestions. Just what I needed.

Gracias,
Keroin

 

[Keroin]

Since the collection is so diverse, I wonder if including a forward is a good idea?

This might be a wise idea. I'll play with it and see what comes out.

 

[Pure]

comments.

Thanks, Keroin, for letting us have a look.

OVERALL:
All very well written; imaginative; mostly fresh. Overall, i think the first four are most successful.

NOTES:

1. vanilla, master fills orifices--positions unclear at the beginning; can you 'ladle' ice cream into a pussy? not clear why she can't see.; "sunday"?; good ending. tightly written. surprises. strong.

2. mango; threesome; wasps don't pollinate; good ending. nice little vignette

3.licorice--ms fucks sub fem with heel; "nethers"? --conventional; ordinary ending. sub's personality slips away to commonplace.

4.bubble gum.; bj; good ending. tightly written. strong.

5. rocky road. black guy fucks slave in front of her master; 'bus'? unnecessary to repeat, 'his nuts'; not so good ending. plot seems contrived (attempt at rocky road).

6.coconut. brief encounter, couple; eric; ending could be stronger. this particular last sentence on ice cream seemed weak.

7.neopolitan. spooning neo ice cream, caned to O. birthday cake; rather conventional. 'caned to orgasm' fantasy. ending with birthday cake is odd.

--
overall; two of the 'hardest' bdsm seem the least strong [5,7]; characters too 'stock' and events are not quite so interesting as in your other stories. 'master' is too typical. sub's reactions are stereotypical. i'd say the first is the strongest of the bdsm stories, because of some novelties.

i think perhaps lighter stories allow more scope for surprise and imagination, as usually written.

**thanks a lot for posting these for critique!**
==

NOTE: the above was written before reading other critiques. as to realism: some woman have objected to the first story; i think it's the best, though of course too much cold numbs things (make the quick melting clear!). maybe this 'stuffing' thing is a male fantasy.

that said, the caning scene of the last, applauded by some, is hardly 'real' at all. there'd be blood and torn flesh unless it's the thinnest of canes; and whether she'd come that way, well, i'm skeptical (always one in a million i suppose). unless she was grinding during the process.

the stereotypy and fantasy of ALL ordinary bdsm stories is what's striking. it's DAMN hard to break out, and because of the sub's reactions in story 1 (NOT just ooo,ooo, do me, i'm coming), i think it's the best.

 

[Keroin]

Thanks, Keroin, for letting us have a look. You're welcome, thanks for looking.

OVERALL:
All very well written; imaginative; mostly fresh. Overall, i think the first four are most successful.

NOTES:

1. vanilla, master fills orifices--positions unclear at the beginning; can you 'ladle' ice cream into a pussy? not clear why she can't see.She can see but her field of vision is limited. I'll have to fix the location/position descriptions to make them read more clearly.; "sunday"As in in "Ice cream sunday".?; good ending. tightly written. surprises. strong.

2. mango; threesome; wasps don't pollinateYep, some do. Yellow jackets do. I asked an entomologist.; good ending. nice little vignette

3.licorice--ms fucks sub fem with heel; "nethers"Nether regions.? --conventional; ordinary ending. sub's personality slips away to commonplace.

4.bubble gum.; bj; good ending. tightly written. strong.

5. rocky road. black guy fucks slave in front of her master; 'bus'? unnecessary to repeat, 'his nuts'; not so good ending. plot seems contrived (attempt at rocky road).

6.coconut. brief encounter, couple; eric; ending could be stronger. this particular last sentence on ice cream seemed weak.

7.neopolitan. spooning neo ice cream, caned to O. birthday cake; rather conventional. 'caned to orgasm' fantasy. ending with birthday cake is odd.

--
overall; two of the 'hardest' bdsm seem the least strong [5,7]; characters too 'stock' and events are not quite so interesting as in your other stories. 'master' is too typical. sub's reactions are stereotypical. i'd say the first is the strongest of the bdsm stories, because of some novelties.

i think perhaps lighter stories allow more scope for surprise and imagination, as usually written.

**thanks a lot for posting these for critique!**
==

NOTE: the above was written before reading other critiques. as to realism: some woman have objected to the first story; i think it's the best, though of course too much cold numbs things (make the quick melting clear! Good point, thanks.). maybe this 'stuffing' thing is a male fantasy.

that said, the caning scene of the last, applauded by some, is hardly 'real' at all. there'd be blood and torn flesh unless it's the thinnest of canes; and whether she'd come that way, well, i'm skeptical (always one in a million i suppose). unless she was grinding during the process. I'll post the question on the BDSM board but from what I've read, I think quite a few reach orgasm via pain. Will clarify cane details but from what I've read, the degree of force can be controlled, though certainly it is a potentially damaging weapon.

the stereotypy and fantasy of ALL ordinary bdsm stories is what's striking. it's DAMN hard to break out, and because of the sub's reactions in story 1 (NOT just ooo,ooo, do me, i'm coming), i think it's the best.

I think when you start getting into narrow niches, such as BDSM, the stereotypes do get more difficult to break away from. If it wasn't 2am, I'd probably ramble on about my theories of why this is. LOL.

For now, let me express my thanks! I love going back to work on a story with a full tool box!

Cheers,
Keroin

 

[christabelll]

Vice Cream
Dessert in Seven Parts


Vanilla


Cold! A spoonful of ice cream is ladled into my open pussy. “Boring,” he repeats, in a monotone. Perhaps "onto" instead


Fruit stuffing seems to me to be the epitiome of BDSM beginners leastwise that seems to have been my experience in SanFran.


Gasping, my back arches as my always sensitive button sends electric shocks down my spine to the ice cream sunday (Sundae) between my legs.

The tip of the spoon
Kneeling down, he shows me a fork.
just tight enough to hold the two spoons in place.
Here you went from one spoon to, spoon and fork to, two spoons---- the fork was prodding her lips then it was a spoon... as I didn't see him change what instrument he was using. So I must assume that there are two spoons and a fork the way its written...


“So, tell me, my precious whore,” he says, looking down at me, tall as a skyscraper, “do you still think vanilla ice cream is boring?” Nice wrap.

I had to laugh at this story--- as I mentioned earlier - this whole fruit mashing thing was very indicative when I was exploring BDSM of beginners trying to figure out what the limits were... Not saying its wrong not saying its right it just made me laugh.... I like the icecream part of it - Sunday versus Sundae -
Ice Cream Sunday versus Ice Cream Sundae - the one reminds of treats from Grandma after church at the local frostee freeze - the other -Ice Cream Sundae with banana's and whipped cream....


Mango Sorbet


Belly down, on my towel, I tried to read my novel as the love birds stretched out a blanket and rubbed sunblock on each other. Porn stars could have taken writhing-in-ecstasy lessons from those two.

This might be where you include just a tiny bit more of her reaction to the above line - it might make the transistion below it from pissed off to turned on a little more believable. It was too quick as we didn't see the transition.
This was one of my favorites despite not getting her transition from pissed off to turned on and participating....


Licorice


I knew the answer and that only increased the temperature in my nethers. possesive- I don't think theres any thing wrong with this pluralization.

The pain and humiliation were bad but the black licorice ice cream was better.

I would change bad to good - it makes the story in one line more plausible. In my experience not many would take advantage of a slave without the masters permission first. And what is it about being fucked by a stilleto heel that just makes me cringe inside? A true rendering none the less... and Ick I hate licorice! but it worked in this story


Bubblegum

I just liked this one period. Yes, as said before the age rewind in her head needs to be clarified and defined else the censorious trolls will slam you.


Rocky Road

Personally I would like to have seen the "Giant Blackman" be the epitome of grace and manners. So the juxtaposition of him disciplining her with his body would be more intense....But thats me... Nothing bad to say abut this story - just "stereotypical" for me.


“We’ve got chocolate, we’ve got nuts, now all we need for Rocky Road is…” he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a bag I hadn’t noticed in all the confusion, “marshmallows.”

Marshmallows?

I would love for you to have used more about the marshmallows - especially before the trite little ending - it was going to be a rocky road." there was no suspense. Just a sense of plodding through just another "master has another discipline his slave."



Coconut

My neighbour was sitting on his deck. Earlier that day we’d exchanged hellos and waves. His face was painted in the yellow light of the single, bare bulb between our two motel rooms. His Story was etched into the lines around his mouth.

“I’m just here for the free toiletries,” I answered. Perhaps a smothered chuckle from the man?



“OK then, Miss Marigold Puddingpants.” LOLOL


Over all this is the best of your vignettes here. I would love to see this particular story go full length. The part where he is talking about being a "carrier" was a brilliant little piece of writing - so much so it deserves its own explorations.


Neapolitan

Nice story nothing glared at me -





Over all the stories do relate to one another if in nothing else the Ice Cream theme. The overt and subrosa aspects of BDSM run nicely through the entire collection. I've never read your offerings before. I enjoyed the spare prose very much. There were a couple of things that I tried to point out that have stuck with me since first reading - I hope I have made sense in pointing them out.
I believe BDSM would be a good category choice with a "forward" so you don't get trolled to death that it wasn't "all" inclusive enough for the average reader. And the other Might be Erotic Couplings... The spankings and "orders" might omit the choice however.

Thank you for sharing this work with us... I found that the rise and fall of the rhthym (sp?) of this piece was subtle and alluring - and I am not at all a fan of the genre. Thanks Again.

 

[Pure]

follow up.

1. ice cream sundae.
2. wasps. Ok. See below. Minor, because they’re smooth.
3. ‘nether’ is literary or humorous; not consistent with bald slang elsewhere.


http://www.pollinationcanada.ca/index.php?n=Yellow+Jacket+Profile

Because of their interest in nectar, the yellow jacket wasps are considered to be part of the main pollinating insect group. They prefer flowers with easily accessible nectar sources. Although they do not transfer large amounts of pollen because of their hair-less bodies, these wasps do appear in great numbers and therefore accomplish some pollination.

 

[Keroin]

Vice Cream
Dessert in Seven Parts


Vanilla


Cold! A spoonful of ice cream is ladled into my open pussy. “Boring,” he repeats, in a monotone. Perhaps "onto" insteadNo, it has to be "in", I'll fiddle with the verb.


Fruit stuffing seems to me to be the epitiome of BDSM beginners leastwise that seems to have been my experience in SanFran.


Gasping, my back arches as my always sensitive button sends electric shocks down my spine to the ice cream sunday (Sundae) between my legs.
DOH! Can't believe I missed that one.

The tip of the spoon
Kneeling down, he shows me a fork.
just tight enough to hold the two spoons in place.
Here you went from one spoon to, spoon and fork to, two spoons---- the fork was prodding her lips then it was a spoon... as I didn't see him change what instrument he was using. So I must assume that there are two spoons and a fork the way its written... Nope, one spoon, one fork. Thanks for the catch!


“So, tell me, my precious whore,” he says, looking down at me, tall as a skyscraper, “do you still think vanilla ice cream is boring?” Nice wrap.Thanks.

I had to laugh at this story--- as I mentioned earlier - this whole fruit mashing thing was very indicative when I was exploring BDSM of beginners trying to figure out what the limits were... Not saying its wrong not saying its right it just made me laugh.... I like the icecream part of it - Sunday versus Sundae -
Ice Cream Sunday versus Ice Cream Sundae - the one reminds of treats from Grandma after church at the local frostee freeze - the other -Ice Cream Sundae with banana's and whipped cream....


Mango Sorbet


Belly down, on my towel, I tried to read my novel as the love birds stretched out a blanket and rubbed sunblock on each other. Porn stars could have taken writhing-in-ecstasy lessons from those two.

This might be where you include just a tiny bit more of her reaction to the above line - it might make the transistion below it from pissed off to turned on a little more believable. It was too quick as we didn't see the transition.
This was one of my favorites despite not getting her transition from pissed off to turned on and participating....Thanks. Transition will be worked on today.


Licorice


I knew the answer and that only increased the temperature in my nethers. possesive- I don't think theres any thing wrong with this pluralization.

The pain and humiliation were bad but the black licorice ice cream was better.

I would change bad to good - it makes the story in one line more plausible. In my experience not many would take advantage of a slave without the masters permission first. Yes, there is a line I need to add there, in regards to the tag on her collar. And what is it about being fucked by a stilleto heel that just makes me cringe inside? A true rendering none the less... and Ick I hate licorice! but it worked in this story


Bubblegum

I just liked this one period. Yes, as said before the age rewind in her head needs to be clarified and defined else the censorious trolls will slam you. Yep, will get on that.


Rocky Road

Personally I would like to have seen the "Giant Blackman" be the epitome of grace and manners. So the juxtaposition of him disciplining her with his body would be more intense....But thats me... Nothing bad to say abut this story - just "stereotypical" for me.You have given me a fantastic idea! I was disappointed that my goals for this story fell so short. Now I think I know how to fix it.


“We’ve got chocolate, we’ve got nuts, now all we need for Rocky Road is…” he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a bag I hadn’t noticed in all the confusion, “marshmallows.”

Marshmallows?

I would love for you to have used more about the marshmallows - especially before the trite little ending - it was going to be a rocky road." there was no suspense. Just a sense of plodding through just another "master has another discipline his slave."Good point.



Coconut

My neighbour was sitting on his deck. Earlier that day we’d exchanged hellos and waves. His face was painted in the yellow light of the single, bare bulb between our two motel rooms. His Story was etched into the lines around his mouth.

“I’m just here for the free toiletries,” I answered. Perhaps a smothered chuckle from the man?Will think on this.



“OK then, Miss Marigold Puddingpants.” LOLOL


Over all this is the best of your vignettes here. I would love to see this particular story go full length. The part where he is talking about being a "carrier" was a brilliant little piece of writing - so much so it deserves its own explorations.


Neapolitan

Nice story nothing glared at me -





Over all the stories do relate to one another if in nothing else the Ice Cream theme. The overt and subrosa aspects of BDSM run nicely through the entire collection. I've never read your offerings before. I enjoyed the spare prose very much. There were a couple of things that I tried to point out that have stuck with me since first reading - I hope I have made sense in pointing them out.
I believe BDSM would be a good category choice with a "forward" so you don't get trolled to death that it wasn't "all" inclusive enough for the average reader. And the other Might be Erotic Couplings... The spankings and "orders" might omit the choice however.

Thank you for sharing this work with us... I found that the rise and fall of the rhthym (sp?) of this piece was subtle and alluring - and I am not at all a fan of the genre. Thanks Again.

Thank you Christabell, especially for catching the spoon discrepancy. You can never have too many eyeballs on your work. I'll be tinkering with this piece today.

Glad you enjoyed!

 

[Keroin]

1. ice cream sundae.
Yes, I'm a complete twonk for missing that one!
2. wasps. Ok. See below. Minor, because they’re smooth.
I chose wasps over bees because they are far more prevalent on many tropical islands. Also, a bee would just feel too cliche.
3. ‘nether’ is literary or humorous; not consistent with bald slang elsewhere.
Interesting. It's a term I use frequently in my own slang repertoire. I'll have to look at it again more objectively.

I did some asking around with the BDSM crowd and it seems my caning description is accurate. However, I can see how it would appear unbelievable to those outside that community. I think putting the story in the BDSM category will help with credibility.

Thanks again for the help!

 

[Pure]

orgasm from caning only.

from your inquiry thread in cafe. surely the clear result, to date, by vast majority, is no orgasm, but lots of pain.

 

[Keroin]

from your inquiry thread in cafe. surely the clear result, to date, by vast majority, is no orgasm, but lots of pain.

I don't know. Homburg's girls both climax from it and he says he has brought other women to orgasm through caning. BB says she has reached orgasm via caning.

I think it would be difficult, but not unlikely, for someone who is wired up that way. It would also depend on the skill of the person wielding the cane. I can see it happening for me as I have a very high pain tolerance.

But I think what might help with believability is a mention that my protag has already been punished seven times and she's in a high state of arousal.

I didn't mean to question your knowledge, I've just read threads before where "lifestyle" BDSMers have talked about climaxing through the administration of corporal punishment, so it didn't seem so far fetched to me. No offense was intended.

 

[Penelope Street]

...maybe this 'stuffing' thing is a male fantasy.

The appeal will likely cross gender lines the day yeast infections become arousing.

I think when you start getting into narrow niches, such as BDSM, the stereotypes do get more difficult to break away from.

I believe some of us have our proverbial horizons expanded by our experiences, and some of us have them narrowed.

I think it would be difficult, but not unlikely, for someone who is wired up that way. It would also depend on the skill of the person wielding the cane. I can see it happening for me as I have a very high pain tolerance.

I think it all but impossible for someone to be wired that way- yet the vast majority of women don't need to be, only one does- and you need only achieve suspension of disbelief for that one. For me, you did.

 

[Keroin]

The appeal will likely cross gender lines the day yeast infections become arousing.LOL!

I believe some of us have our proverbial horizons expanded by our experiences, and some of us have them narrowed.

I think it all but impossible for someone to be wired that way- yet the vast majority of women don't need to be, only one does- and you need only achieve suspension of disbelief for that one. For me, you did.

Thanks Penelope. I do want to make sure that I stay within some bounds of reality, though. So, I'm glad the point was raised. I'm really curious to see how the BDSM people respond to these stories.

I spent the day making changes. So far, I'm really happy with them.

Cheers!

 

[Keroin]

Since the collection is so diverse, I wonder if including a forward is a good idea?

I've decided to put this in the BDSM category but I've written a brief forward. What do you think?

Vice Cream is a collection of seven short stories, with a common narrator, featuring nature’s most perfect food. Not all of the flavours are BDSM but I hope you will sample each one. As the saying goes, “Life is short, eat dessert first”. Enjoy…

Also, if I upload my story in a .doc format, will the italics, underlining and such be retained or do I need to make a mention of that when I submit it?

Thanks,
Keroin

 

[christabelll]

I've decided to put this in the BDSM category but I've written a brief forward. What do you think?

Vice Cream is a collection of seven short stories, with a common narrator, featuring nature’s most perfect food. Not all of the flavours are BDSM but I hope you will sample each one. As the saying goes, “Life is short, eat dessert first”. Enjoy…

Also, if I upload my story in a .doc format, will the italics, underlining and such be retained or do I need to make a mention of that when I submit it?

Thanks,
Keroin

Sounds good to me ----

I've found you have to go in and manually input the bolds or italics ... now that the earthday contest is up and running - it will be even more important to make sure you get it right or it will take upwards of 10 days to post, longer sometimes - unless you put it in there for earth day -

hope that helps!