[Guest Blog] Vote by Mr CK

Today’s bonus post is a piece of guest smut by none other than Mr CK himself!

Content note: this is a medical play scene featuring aspects of CNC, public humiliation, voyeurism, and mindfucks. If any of those things are difficult for you, feel enormously free to skip this one. All characters are fully consenting adults!

Five (More) Smutty Flash Fictions

I wasn’t kidding when I said y’all delivered with the prompts! To that end, for my third post of Smutathon 2020, here are five more smutty flash fictions inspired by the one- and two-word prompts I requested on Twitter.

Follow the Twitter account to keep up with the event – and don’t forget to donate!

Afterward

(Prompt: “biscuits,” offered by @V_greyauthor)

My wife fucks other men.

She does it with my blessing. In fact, I really, really enjoy it. Knowing that she’s out getting laid, while I’m at home wondering what she’s up to and who with, makes me so fucking hard I can hardly stand it. Which, of course, is the idea.

I’m not allowed to get myself off while she’s out. She expects me to be hard and waiting when she gets home. Her sex drive is such that half the time, getting laid just makes her hornier for more. If she’s in the mood when she gets home, she’ll push me down on the bed and ride me until I explode inside of her recently-fucked cunt, then have me eat her out until she comes two or three more times.

Of course, sometimes she’s too tired when she gets home. Then I have to wait until the next day. On those nights, I go to sleep with my cock throbbing, aching for release.

Whatever happens, we always end the night cuddling, eating biscuits, and talking about her adventures.

My wife fucks other men, and I get off on it. But I also love knowing I’m the only one she’ll come home and eat biscuits in bed with.

Unrequited

(Prompt: “you wish,” offered by @makeupandsin)

Unrequited love is the fucking worst.

He doesn’t want me. He’s never wanted me. I know the kind of women he dates, and they’re nothing like me. Truth is, feeding this hopeless crush – this hopeless love – turns me the fuck on. It’s like a bruise I can’t stop poking. The little jolt of emotionally masochistic pleasure is addictive.

Night after night I lie in bed, rubbing my clit and thinking of him. I imagine him pinning me to the bed with those strong, muscular arms. Sometimes, in my fantasy, he tells me I’m beautiful and he loves me. Other times, he tells me I’m a filthy little slut and it’s pathetic how long and how obviously I’ve mooned over him.

I’ve tried to train myself out of this habit. I’ve tried to read erotica, watch porn, fantasise about other men, fantasise about women. But it always comes back to him. Even if I manage to get into another fantasy, at the point that I reach the point of orgasm it’s always his face I see, his voice I hear.

Unrequited love is the worst, but thinking of him gives me the best orgasms I’ve ever had.

Multiples

(Prompt: “once more,” offered by @QueerCourtesan)

(TW: CNC, forced orgasm)

He buries his fingers deeper into me, pounding my G-spot. “Again,” he orders. I don’t want to obey the order, but my body is conditioned to do as he says.

“Again.” 

“No, please…” 

“Fucking do it, slut.” 

He’s made me come so many times already that I am long past the point of pleasure. This is what he does after he’s denied me for a long time – forces the orgasms out of me until I beg for it to stop. The first one is blissful relief. The second and third, satiating pleasure. After that, I start to get oversensitive. By six or seven, it hurts. We passed ten a while ago and I’ve lost count. 

The torment comes from knowing this is a game I can’t win. As soon as I safeword, he’ll stop. However, until then, he’ll make me come as many times as he likes. Every forced orgasm takes one day off my next chastity sentence, which starts at six months.  

“Again.” The orgasm racks my body, making me buck my hips off the bed as another rush of wetness leaks out of me. 

“Again. Again. Again.” This time, they’re in such quick succession that I don’t have time to catch my breath between.

“Red!” The word slips out of my mouth before I can pause to decide if I can take any more of this torment in exchange for a shorter period of denial. 

“Seventeen. You did well this time. Your sentence is reduced to five months and fourteen days.”

Sharing

(Prompt: “your turn,” offered by @WitchoftheWands)

Master likes to share me with his friends at these parties. I love it, too, of course. It satisfies my slutty tendences without me feeling like I’m putting our D/s dynamic aside.

They’re all trusted friends, experienced in the lifestyle and trusted by Master with his favourite toy – me. I have a safeword, of course, but until I use it, they can do whatever they want with me.

Sometimes they want to spank me, bending me over their laps and reddening my ass in front of the whole room. Sometimes they just want service, sending me to fetch their drinks or shine their shoes.

I like it best when they want to fuck me. It seems that that’s what tonight is going to be. Being at the centre of a gangbang, with five or six men who all want me desperately. I might be the submissive, but god it makes me feel powerful.

The second man of the night is fucking me and I can tell he’s getting close to coming. I watch his muscles tense, listen to his incredibly fucking sexy groans. I won’t come unless one of them decides to be kind enough to give me the clitoral stimulation I need. But that’s okay. I get more satisfaction out of service than I do from orgasm.

When they’ve all finished with me, I know that Master will use me last. He’s happy to share, but at the end of the night, we both need the reminder that I’m his.

Anonymous

(Prompt: “swords,” offered by @just_a_gremlin)

I never knew her name.

We met in the queer bar downtown the first week I moved here. I didn’t ask her name, and she didn’t offer it or ask for mine. Her hair was shoulder length and dyed the colour of blood. She had a sword tattoo on her left arm.

She kissed me on the dance floor with lips that tasted of vodka and coke. Later, she pushed me up against the wall in a locked bathroom cubicle, pressing her fingers to my lips to keep me quiet and sliding my other hand down the front of my skirt.

Her fingers manipulated my cunt until I squirmed helplessly against her hand. When she made me come, she kissed me to swallow the sound I made. I wanted to reciprocate, but she didn’t want me to. She kissed me once more and slipped away into the night, leaving me still trembling.

I haven’t seen her since, but every time I come to the club, I still look out for a flash of scarlet hair and a sword tattoo.

I hope you enjoyed these smutty flash fictions! Thank you to everyone who offered a prompt. Please donate to Endometriosis UK using the link above!

Five Smutty Flash Fictions

Hey everyone! Smutathon 2020 is well underway, with writers from all over the world typing furiously for 12 hours to raise money for Endometriosis UK, a wonderful charity who deserve all your support.

I asked for one- or two-word prompts for smutty flash fictions on Twitter, and y’all DELIVERED. To that end, here are the first five inspired by your words.

More Tea?

(Prompt: “tea, please,” offered by @luminiferous)

It takes about 15 minutes before my knees and wrists start to ache. 25 minutes before “ache” turns to “pain”. Maybe half an hour before I can feel my muscles trembling with the sheer effort of holding me up.

Have you ever noticed how long half an hour is when your task is to stay very, very still in one position and not do anything?

I’ve been on all fours with the tea tray resting on my back for thirty one minutes, and my body and mind are engaged in a battle of wills. I know I could safeword if I had to, but I keep bargaining with myself to hold out for just another minute. Then just one more minute. And another. And another.

Sir and his friend are mostly ignoring me, except for occasionally reaching out a booted foot to caress me. I have long stopped listening to their conversation. I like doing this because I don’t have to talk, I don’t have to listen or think. Instead, I can let my mind go blissfully blank.

The feeling of Sir’s hand sliding across my naked ass sets my nerves tingling. Coupled with the challenge of staying still and in position, it takes all my concentration not to drop the tray.

I feel him pick up the teapot from the tray on my back.

“More tea?” he asks his friend.

Dessert

(Prompt: “hive mind,” offered by @jennkryst)

I don’t know how, but it seems that all this time, they were both thinking exactly the same thing as me. When I got the text message – “dinner at ours on Friday night?” – I allowed my mind to wander into a delicious fantasy realm for just a moment.

Dinner was delicious, of course – Kate is a chef and everything she makes is incredible. What I didn’t realise until part way through the meal, when their flirtation switched from “plausibly deniable” to “too obvious to ignore,” is that they had something very special in mind for dessert – me.

The way they laid out their proposition, seeming almost nervous for the first time all evening, might have been sleazy coming from anyone else. But from my two dearest friends, married for over twenty five years, it was both sweet and incredibly enticing.

From there, it happened with all the fluidity of long-term lovers coupled with the excitement of a brand new partner. First she ate me out while I sucked his cock, then he fucked me from behind while I went down on her until she squirted in my mouth. Later, they spit-roasted me, her strap-on filling my cunt while his cock filled my mouth until I came so hard I saw stars.

Hours later, and I’m the filling in a sweaty, exhausted, but very happy human sandwich in their big bed. “How did you know I wanted to fuck you both?” I ask them.

Their eyes meet over me and they both grin.

“Just a feeling,” Joe says.

“Call it the hive mind of thirty years of friendship,” Kate adds.

Bake Sale

(Prompt: “cookie,” offered by @ayalamoogsigan)

My wife is up shortly after dawn, making cookies for the church bake sale. Chocolate chip, lemon, peanut butter, oatmeal and raisin. She can’t decide which variety of her famous treats to bake, so she makes them all.

To my surprise, when I wander into the kitchen to get my morning coffee, she’s rolling out dough completely naked except for an apron. She flashes me a wicked grin as I pour coffee, my eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“Well, I only get flour all over my clothes otherwise,” she says. I lean against the counter and sip my coffee, watching her. She slides a tray of perfect, golden-brown chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and replaces it with a new tray of neat balls of dough.

She unties her apron, takes it off and hangs it on the peg on the door. “These take 8 minutes to bake so if you want to fuck me, you’d better do it quickly,” she says. I almost spit out a mouthful of coffee in shock. In eleven years of marriage I don’t think I’ve ever heard my shy, demure wife use the word “fuck” to describe sex. My cock, already half erect from the sight of her gorgeous mostly-naked body, springs fully to life. We haven’t connected much sexually in the last few months, and I have no idea where this new version of her has come from. Still, I have no complaints.

When I bend her over the kitchen sink and slide my hand between her legs, she’s already dripping wet. I push two fingers inside her but her hips thrust back against me, seeking more. My cock quickly replaces my fingers inside her, harder than I can remember it being in a long time.

She moans deeply and I feel her cunt clench around my cock. The gutteral noise I make involuntarily encourages her and she does it again and then again.

“Fuck… I’m not going to be… able to hold off… much longer if you keep doing that!”

“Don’t hold back, then,” she says, squeezing her vaginal muscles around me again. “Come in me, my love.”

The invitation and a couple more of those delicious squeezes is all I need to tip me over the edge. As I come down from my orgasm, I hold her close with one arm, while my other hand finds her clit. I’m wondering if I can get her off before…

Fuck. The oven alarm goes off to indicate the cookies are ready.

My wife extricates herself from my embrace and plans a kiss on my lips before retrieving the apron. “Later,” she says.

Commuter Train

(Prompt: “tickets please,” offered by @witteringwench1)

The jostling of the commuter crowd and the rattling of the train makes me very, very aware of the plug filling my ass. I feel it with every movement, just a little too big to be comfortable. Stretching me. Reminding me, with every step I take all day, that I’m hers.

“Are you going to be a good little slut and wear this for me all day?” she asked this morning when she slid the well-lubed plug into my ass. I know her well enough to understand that the question was rhetorical. She wanted it, so of course I would do it.

I didn’t complain, just like I don’t complain when she spanks my ass until I cry, just because seeing me in pain amuses her. Just like I don’t complain when she brings me to the edge of orgasm, laughs at my frantic whimpers, and then stops and tells me to go and make dinner. She expects obedience, and I willingly give it.

The train pulls into my stop. Only nine more hours of this to go.

First Light

(Prompt: “what time,” offered by @polyladyincali)

“What time is it?” she asks sleepily. I glance at the green digits on the bedside clock.

“Early enough.” We have exactly thirty seven minutes before I need to get up and start getting ready to go to the airport. I wrap my arms around my girlfriend from behind, burying my face into her hair and breathing in the faint scent of her strawberry shampoo.

After a minute or so of blissful, naked cuddling, she reaches behind her and slides her hands between our two bodies. Her fingers quickly find my clit and I shudder as she strokes it in that perfect way that only she can. I bite my lip, a gasp escaping.

She shifts, positioning herself between my legs. She looks up and her eyes meet mine for a moment, before she wraps her lips around my clit.

“Fuck!” I gasp. We’ve been dating for three years but every time we have sex, the skill with which she pulls the responses from my body astounds me. She alternates between sucking my clit into her mouth and pulling back to draw circles around it with the tip of her tongue.

I never squirted until I met her, but she can coax it from me with surprising ease. When I come, I gush, flooding her mouth and soaking the sheets beneath us.

She grins and kisses the inside of my thigh. The first light of morning is seeping around the edges of the curtains, and I know we’ll soon have to go.

“Something to remember me by,” she says. “Until next time.”

So there you have it, folks! Did you enjoy these five little smutty flash fictions? If so, please donate to Endometriosis UK using the link above! And stay tuned for more #Smutathon2020 content.

Masturbation Monday: “Small Hands”

Content warning: this story contains fisting

This is not the first time I’ve fucked my husband’s girlfriend. She and I aren’t dating, and mostly their relationship is separate – but the three of us tumble into bed together from time to time, when the urge strikes us.

Whenever I hold hands with someone new, they notice how small my hands are compared to theirs. Usually at this point I crack a joke about fisting, just to assess if they’re enough of a pervert to be worth dating. But until now, no-one has taken me up on the idea. Until last week, when my husband approached me with an idea for our next polycule date night.

“Anna wants to try being fisted, but she’s scared to let me do it because my hands are too big. So I came up with a creative solution. You’re going to do it for me. I’m going to use you and your small hands to fuck her.”

I gave this idea a second to sink in, and then felt a wide smile spread across my face. It was just the kind of deliciously filthy idea Scott is always coming up with. I gave my enthusiastic approval to this idea, and he went off to sound Anna out about it.

So that’s how I find myself kneeling between Anna’s long, spread legs now, watching her writhe as my husband holds the Magic Wand against her cunt, warming her up. He bends to kiss her lips, murmuring that she’s a good girl, asking her if she’s ready to take my hand inside of her. She nods so emphatically I can’t help but giggle.

The wand is switched off and laid to one side. Scott positions himself at Anna’s side, holding her hand. It’s only as I reach for the supplies – latex gloves, lube – that we stashed nearby before playtime started that I realise I’m actually nervous. Giving someone their first taste of a new experience is a big responsibility.

I take a breath and make a show of confidence as I slip a latex glove over my hand and cover my index and middle finger in lube. I slide my slick fingers over Anna’s vulva, the lube mixing with her own wetness. When I push those two fingers into her, she moans and arches her hips off the bed to meet them. Even through the glove, I can feel her warmth. I press my fingers against her G-spot, which is swollen, and stroke it.

Encouraged by her reactions, a third finger joins the two already inside her. I glance at Scott for approval. The look on his face, as he watches his wife fingering his girlfriend, is pure lust tinged with awe. I return my attention to Anna’s cunt, slowly sliding my three fingers in and out of her, warming her up and stretching her open. When I experimentally try adding a fourth finger, she welcomes it eagerly. I hold my hand still, allowing her to accustom to the sensation. She bucks against my hand, using my fingers to fuck herself.

“Are you ready for more?” I ask her. She nods, eyes closed, a blissful smile on her face. I curl my thumb under, remembering the instructions in the “how to” video I dutifully watched in preparation for tonight, and add another slather of lube to my hand before pushing very slowly back into her. To the first knuckle, then the second. Her cunt seems to be trying to swallow my hand whole.

“Breathe,” I instruct her. “We’re at the widest part of my hand now. I won’t go any further until you tell me you’re ready.” I watch her chest rise and fall as she takes one, two, three deep breaths.

“Okay,” she says, “go on.” I take her free hand with mine, hoping she can feel the love and affection that I’m radiating towards her. She takes another breath and as she exhales, the widest part of my hand

“One more little push and my whole hand will be in,” I tell her. “Do you want to take it for me?” Her nod is emphatic. I mentally thank the universe for my small hands.

Another slick of lube and another gentle push, and my entire hand is inside her up to the wrist. The sound that comes from her is somewhere between a moan and a growl. I experiment with gently moving my fingers inside her, and then slowly turning my wrist 180 degrees, feeling her vaginal walls enveloping my hand.

I meet Scott’s gaze, and my eyes flick to the Magic Wand and then back to him. He grins, understanding my meaning, and grabs the toy. He turns it to full power and presses it into Anna’s vulva. The way she squirms, the sounds coming from her, make me so fucking wet that I can feel myself soaking my knickers.

“I’m really close…” Anna gasps, her cunt clenching around my hand.

“Come for us, darling,” Scott tells her. I feel her gush, fluid leaking around my hand and pooling on the bed beneath her arse. A flush creeps across her skin and her breathing slowly returns to normal.

“That was… fucking incredible,” she gasps.

It’s only when I withdraw my hand and peel off the glove that I realise I’m still wearing my wedding ring. I smirk to myself. Fisting my husband’s girlfriend on his instructions might be one of the hottest and filthiest things I’ve ever done.

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Erotic Literature

I manage not to blush too deeply as she starts ringing up my purchases. That’s progress, at least. I’ve been coming to this bookstore for the entire three years I’ve lived in this neighbourhood, and most of my purchases are from their incredibly well-stocked “romance” (read: erotic fiction) section.

I don’t give a fuck when the older male owner is working the cash register, or the college student who must be all of nineteen. They can think what they like. But when this girl is working – this thirty-something soft-butch with her short turquoise hair and well-tailored shirt and lip-ring – I get all tongue-tied and feel like a clueless teenager buying her first Jilly Cooper and furtively skipping to the naughty bits, not a sexually confident woman of twenty-nine.

“You must really like this author,” she says, holding up one of my purchases. “This is the third one you’ve bought this month.”

“I…” I stammer over my words, feeling suddenly caught out as I hand over a twenty pound note. “Yeah, she writes great… characters.”

A raise of an eyebrow. “Characters. Sure, sweetie.” She drops my books into a bag and hands them to me. “Enjoy.” She winks. “By the way, you’re cute when you blush.”

“I am not bl…”

She cuts me off by leaning over the counter and planting a kiss, quick and soft, on my lips.

We stare at each other. She seems almost as shocked as me. “Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have asked..”

“No. Don’t be. I liked it. I mean, I like you. And…” Fuck. What’s the correct way to say every time I’ve seen you for the last three years I’ve been wishing you’d just fuck me against one of these bookshelves?

She comes around from behind the counter and switches the door sign from “Open” to “Closed.” Flicks the latch to lock the door. Then she comes to me, lifts my chin with her hand to make me meet her eyes. Her eyes ask the question before she asks it out loud.

“Yes?”

“God, yes.”

Her lips press to mine. She tastes of peppermint chapstick. As our tongues entwine she pushes me back against the hard edge of the counter.

Her hand finds the waistband of my skirt. Yes, yes… but she pulls back at the last second. “Much as I want to fuck you right here, anyone walking past could see us. And while I’m sure they’d enjoy seeing you being a dirty little slut, I don’t want to get fired. Come with me.”

The back office is small, messy, and piled high with books. Books in boxes, books in piles on the floor, books strewn haphazardly across the desk. She sweeps a few papers off the desk chair and points to it. “Sit.” Powerless to resist her dominance and not even wanting to, I do.

“Now,” she says. She takes the carrier bag I’m still clutching from my hands and pulls out one of my purchases. She opens it and hands it to me. “You’re going to sit in that chair and read for me from this smut you like so much. While you do, I’m going to eat your cunt. If you stop reading, I stop licking. So if you want to come, you’d better do a good job for me.”

Fuck. Seriously? My cunt definitely likes the sound of this game. I worry I’m soaking through my knickers.

She goes to her knees and reaches under my skirt, putting her hands on my thighs to spread my legs. Then she peels my knickers off and grins wickedly up at me. “I might be on my knees, pretty girl, but don’t forget who’s in charge. Now start reading.”

I bite my lip and look down at the page. Concentrate, I tell myself. Hesitantly at first, I begin to read. My face flushes at hearing the kind of erotic filth I like to read spoken out loud. Her tongue makes contact with my clit and I fight back a moan. Keep reading.

The scene heats up quickly and by the time I’m on the third page, her flicks of my clit with her tongue mirrors what’s happening between the characters. I try not to squirm too much and to concentrate on the words in front of me, though they’re all starting to swim together. God, she’s really good at this. I can feel my wetness dripping onto the chair underneath me.

She slides two fingers into my cunt and my voice falters as my eyes flutter closed. She takes her mouth away from my cunt just long enough to say sternly, “don’t you fucking dare stop reading.” As if to emphasise her point, she nips she inside of my thigh with her teeth. I squeak at the sudden pain.

Fuck, she’s really good. My legs are shaking and the hand that isn’t holding the book is gripping the edge of the desk, white-knuckled. Her fingers stroke my G-spot in the come-hither motion I love as she laps more forcefully at my clit.

The words are coming out of my mouth more erratically, now, as I frantically try not to lose my place. Until now I’ve always assumed I need perfect concentration to be able to come – but her tongue and fingers are pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

She looks up from between my legs and her eyes meet mine. “You can come when the girl in the story does,” she says.

Knowing I’m not going to last much longer, and desperately not wanting to disobey this gorgeous dominant woman, I try to speed up my reading to reach the climax – ahem – of the scene.

Getting close!” I read as the woman in the story is finger-fucked by her partner.

“Her fingers worked their way in and out of me, harder and faster, and I knew I was seconds away from coming and that I was probably going to gush all over her hand…” I read, my voice now shaking. The woman between my legs presses harder against my G-spot and encircles my whole clitoris with her warm mouth.

“I’m coming…” I read. And with one last flick of her tongue, she pushes me over the edge at the same moment as the woman in the story. I feel the rush of fluid from between my legs and I know she’s made me squirt. The book drops from my hand to the desk as I hold her head against my cunt, fucking her face until the last waves of orgasm have subsided.

She sits back, licking her lips and looking very pleased with herself.

“I just realised,” she says. “I forgot to ask your name.”

This piece was written as part of Smutathon. Please donate if you can – all funds raised to go support safe, legal abortion access. You can read everyone’s smutty work at the Smutathon website.

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Yes, I Have a Problem with Fifty Shades… But It’s Not What You Think

It’s actually more accurate to say I have several problems with Fifty Shades of Grey, the infamous erotic trilogy (plus rewrites-with-the-pronouns-flipped) about the kinky-ish love between naive college student Anastasia Steele and young handsome billionaire  Christian Grey.

Yes, I’ve read the first book, and enough of the second and third to get the gist. I’ve also read Cliff Pervocracy and Jenny Trout’s recaps (which are hilarious, by the way). Make no mistake: these books are horribly written and I did not find them erotic in the slightest. The sex depicted in them is either boringly vanilla, dubiously consensual (or straight up rapey), or both. The main characters are both awful people and the dialogue is about as sexy as a root canal. As a kinkster, I hate that people think this is what we’re about. As a writer, I think it’s a travesty that Ms James has made more money than anyone ever needs in a lifetime, while genuinely talented artists are underpaid and undervalued every day.

So yes. I have issues with this book. But they’re not that it’s an unrealistic kinky romance between a virginal college student and a vampire billionaire.

“But it’s fantasy!” fans cry.

And yes. It is. Look, I’ll be the last person to tell you that you can’t have your fantasies, even your problematic ones. Fantasy is not reality and fantasy exists to enable us to escape from the real world for a while. And nowhere is that more true than in sexual fantasy.

A huge part of the reason that erotica and porn should only be accessed by adults is that adults, typically, understand the difference between fantasy and reality. Jaime Mortimer wrote a really good post on this recently.

I’m not going to infantilise everyone who reads Fifty Shades or any other problematic book and tell you that it’s going to turn you into a rapist or make you leave your husband for an emotionally stunted billionare (or a vampire in a Volvo). I read plenty of erotic fiction and plenty of it has themes that would be super problematic if they were real – doctor/patient scenarios, professor/student scenarios, consensual-non-consent roleplay, voyeurism and exhibitionism, public sex and more are just some of the themes I’ve enjoyed in my sexy fiction.

Guess what? Fantasy. And again: adults, overall, have the capability to understand the difference between fantasy and reality.

So enjoy Fifty Shades, if it’s your thing, as a fantasy about a naive young woman being seduced by an dude with more money than God and pants that hang from his hips (yes, this is an actual line in the book). Enjoy the light BDSM, the sexy  helicopter rides, the grumpy, brooding, damaged male lead if you want to. I’ll be the last person to judge you for enjoying some silly escapism or some improbable erotica if that’s what gets you off.

My problem with Fifty Shades is actually in the social and cultural narrative surrounding Fifty Shades.

Because this is not a great love story. This is not something to which young women should aspire! And the problem is that it’s being sold that way.

There is tonnes of erotica (and straight romantic fiction) out there that relies on problematic tropes and scenarios that are hot in fiction but would be a terrible idea in reality. That’s fine. Again: fantasy is cool, y’all!

But none of that has the marketing power behind it that Fifty Shades does. Ms James and her publishing team have made their collective fortunes not on selling Fifty Shades as fluffy erotic fantasy, but on selling Fifty Shades as a style of relationship to which we should all aspire.

And that is what is dangerous about this book. Not the fantasy it depicts, but the marketing power that sells that fantasy as genuinely aspirational. Because make no mistake, the relationship between Christian and Ana is very often abusive.

How many young women do you think have watched this movie, and decided that if this is romance, my boyfriend obviously only super jealous and controlling because he loves me? Or, Ana loves Christian out of abusing her, so if only I behaved better my husband would stop hitting me? Maybe not in quite so literal terms, but make no mistake – these messages are out there, and victims of abuse are listening and absorbing.

You might think this is hyperbole, but it’s not. This is the kind of power that massive marketing budgets, ingrained cultural narratives about love, and a total lack of sensible sex-and-relationships education has.

I don’t blame Fifty Shades for my own experience in an abusive D/s relationship, of course. But I do partly blame growing up surrounded by the idea that if a man hurt me, my job was to heal him so he could love me properly in the end.

Fifty Shades is far from the only story to suffer from this phenomenon

We have always built collective cultural narratives around these deeply problematic stories. I am reasonably confident in saying I doubt that Shakespeare intended Romeo & Juliet to be considered the greatest love story of all time. If you read it as a love story and analyse it for more than three seconds, it’s a ridiculous play. If you reread it as a satire about “love at first sight” and teenage stupidity, though, it becomes utterly brilliant. (While we’re at it, Wuthering Heights isn’t a great love story either. And Christian Grey bears a passing resemblence to Heathcliff in a variety of ways.)

Despite being for children, even Disney movies sell us some pretty horrible messages about relationships. Think about it: marriage is the ultimate goal for any girl. Once a man chooses you, you’ll live happily ever after.  Cinderella tells us to be good and subservient and pretty until a man rescues us; The Little Mermaid tells us that what we have to say is the least valuable thing about us; Sleeping Beauty suggests that kissing a sleeping stranger is totes a sensible and romantic thing to do… and so it goes on. We’re drip-fed these messages from earliest childhood, so is it really any wonder that so many of us grow up with totally screwed up ideas about what relationships are actually supposed to look like?

Don’t ban – educate

In closing: I don’t support the banning of Fifty Shades or other problematic stories. Fantasy is important and something we should all be able to have access to. Instead, we need a greater cultural understanding and greater education around separating fantasy from reality, and understanding what healthy relationships actually are.

I’d be much happier with the thousands and thousands of twenty-something women enjoying Fifty Shades as sexy, escapist fantasy if they weren’t already surrounded by a culture that teaches them if he hits you, it’s your job to be better so he can heal from his fucked up past.

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Masturbation Monday: “On the Prowl”

A "support me on Patreon" buttonThis is an experimental piece, unlike the erotica I usually write. Let me know in the comments what you think! And if you love my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon to get some bonus content and awesome perks.

A pair of black cat ears on a headband. For a Masturbation Monday post called On The Prowl

She is on the prowl tonight. The black latex clings to every inch of her perfect body, the heels of her boots are spikes to crush anyone who gets in her way. The cat ears could be considered cute on someone else, but she will eat you alive if you call her cute.

She’s in the mood to fuck tonight. Not to get fucked; no. Tonight she wields the cock and you will submit.

She’ll extend a long finger, her nail a perfect pointed claw the colour of blood, and from across the room you’ll feel that nail and her gaze pierce you. You. She has chosen you, and she knows you will follow. That finger beckons you, and you come. The heat of the bodies and the thump of the music swells as she draws you in, close enough to feel the heat of her breath on your lips, close enough to see yourself reflected back in those startling feline eyes. She’s assessing you; will you pass? You must choose, in this moment, to obey or not. If you don’t, she will have no hesitance in casting you aside with a flick of her tail and seeking a more suitable worshiper.

Satisfied, she grants you a single nod of approval. You lap it up as though you are starving. She will not allow you to touch her. You have not earned that right. Your hands must stay obediently at your sides, a test of your willpower and devotion.

Later, you will find yourself prostrate on her bed in submission as she slides in and out of you. You revel in the gentle hiss of her breath at the exertion. She revels in the sheen of sweat glistening upon your back as you take her in. She might reach beneath you to wrap her claws around your longing cock – if you’re lucky. More likely she will simply use you, take what she wants and ignore your aching need, and you will adore her all the more for it. You are here, after all, to serve her.

Tonight she is on the prowl, and her hunt will be rewarded.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

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Image is by me.

Masturbation Monday: “Tired”

A painting of two women close up, the front one wearing a black collar. For a masturbation Monday post called TIred.“I’m so tired.”

“I know, Sweetheart.”

My poor girl. She’s worked so many hours this week and I know her mental health is kicking her ass too. Tonight is all about her – I’ve made her favourite dinner, and now we’re sharing a bottle of wine and watching a silly comedy show. I might be her Dom (don’t fucking call me a Domme, ever) but to me, that means taking care of her is the most important job I have.

She snuggles up to me on the couch, resting her head in my lap. “Miss?”

I brush a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “Mmm?”

“Could I have a spanking? I think it would help.”

I think about it for a moment. Does it feel safe to play with her when she’s in this vulnerable space? But she’s an adult and she knows what she needs. We both say that kink isn’t therapy, but it can be therapeutic. I look at her adorable, exhausted face and I feel like I know exactly what type of session she needs.

“Of course, darling. Get your sexy butt over my lap”.

She stands and wriggles out of her jeans, then tosses her boy-short knickers aside too. I love the way she looks in just a t-shirt, naked from the waist down. She crawls up beside me on the sofa and positions herself over my lap.

I run a hand over her ass and watch her tremble. I give her a couple of very gentle swats to warm her up. The goal of this spanking isn’t to hurt her, but to give her the catharsis and emotional safety she needs. I spank her a little harder, first one cheek then the other, and watch her perfect pert ass jiggle. She moans, lifting her ass up to meet the blows, and I know I’ve found the sweet spot.

“That’s my good girl,” I tell her, pausing to stroke her lower back. I up the intensity again, just a little. “Such a good girl, taking her spanking for me”. She lets out a noise that might be a moan of pleasure or might be a purr of contentment at the praise. I choose to read it as both and continue my rhythmic slapping of her ass.

She’s squirming on my lap now, and I can smell her arousal. God, I love the smell of her cunt when she’s turned on. I contemplate reaching between her legs to finger her, but decide to let her squirm for a little while longer.

Her ass is looking nice and red. “My good, brave girl,” I tell her. And she is. I’m so proud of her. This might seem like a weird way to show it, but my dominance and her submission is how love is expressed between us.

My right hand keeps up the spanking, first one ass cheek then the other. My left slips under her and finds her cunt. She’s dripping. I knew she would be. I stroke the soft, wet folds of her labia, teasing her, and run my fingers through her curly patch of pubic hair. Her wriggling on my lap intensifies. She mewls when I brush her clit, which is very erect. I begin to rub it in circles in the way I know she likes. Her moans and whimpers are music to my ears.

“My beautiful little slut,” I murmur, rubbing her harder. She can’t control her reactions, and knowing this gets me as wet as she is. I love reducing her to a squirmy, wet mess with just my hands and my voice.

“Miss…” she gasps. I spank each butt cheek again while my fingers continue their dance on her clit.

“Yes?” I prompt.

“Miss, please can I come?”

She asks for permission, because it turns us both on, but she knows that I usually give it. Seeing her come is one of my favourite things in the whole world. Plus, usually allowing her makes it much sweeter and less predictable when I do deny her and edge her for a few days without release.

“Yes, my girl, you can come.”

My word is all she needs. She gushes, soaking my hand and the lap of my jeans. She cries out as she comes. When she collapses, spent, I see that there is a single tear on her cheek. I know I have given her the emotional release she needed.

I stroke her hair. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed. My tired girl needs her rest.”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

 

Masturbation Monday: “The Patterned Carpet”

A black and white photo of a naked woman kneeling on a patterned carpet about to take a clothed man's cock into her mouthThe patterned carpet is rough against my knees. When I put my just-above-the-knee dress back on, will everyone see the redness there and know exactly what I’ve been up to? Will they think I’m a slut? Do I care if they do?

My thoughts are silenced at the sight of his cock springing, already fully erect, from his unbuttoned jeans. This is what I’ve been wanting all night, and he knows it. When he brought me out here to this deserted corridor, told me to take off my dress and pushed me down on my knees, he was in no doubt that it was exactly what I wanted.

I lick my lips and part them eagerly, wordlessly inviting him to fuck my mouth. He takes his cock into his hand and holds it towards my waiting lips, offering it to me.

“Come and get it then, girl.”

I take him all the way into my mouth in one swift movement. It’s been a while since I sucked a cock, especially one as magnificent as this. But muscle memory is powerful and he moans loudly as his head hits the back of my throat. I slide my mouth up and down on him, sometimes deepthroating as far as I can go, sometimes pulling most of the way back and teasing the head of his shaft with my tongue.

I close my eyes and surrender to the taste of him, the salty pre-cum that begins to drip onto my tongue, the surprising softness of his rock-hard erection. Nothing matters except getting him off. I can tell when he’s getting close, because he grabs the back of my head to hold me in place. To hold is cock in the back of my throat. I gag, but he doesn’t care. Good. I don’t want him to care. I want to be a vessel for his cock, thoughtless and blank, naked before him for his use.

He gasps and then, with a long moan, releases down my throat. I revel in the taste of hot, sticky, salty come. When he eventually releases me, satisfied, I pull back and  some of it drips from my mouth and down my chin. I catch it with a finger and suck the finger clean, needing to taste every drop of him.

He buttons his jeans and  leaves me there on the floor, patterned carpet burning my bare knees, my cunt and inner thighs slick with my arousal. And I am satiated.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image is by Zen Nudist AKA Kilted Wookie, and was first published here.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Words Words Words”

A woman's breast just out of the water in a bubble bath with erotic words written on it.There aren’t many rules in our dynamic. My Sir is pretty laid back and isn’t really interested in micromanaging me or placing so many restrictions upon me that I’m bound to trip over one or another. One of the rules I do have to follow, though, is this: I’m not allowed to talk negatively about myself.

I’m so sick of this fucking thesis. I’ve been battling it for weeks and every time I think I’ve beaten it into some form of shape, I find something else wrong with it that needs fixing. I sigh and shut my laptop with a click. Put my head in my hands on the desk. Across the room, Sir spins around in his chair to look at me.

“You okay, Kitten?”

“I can’t do this!” I blurt out. “Just… I can’t. I’m too fucking stupid to do this. Why did I think I could?” Fuck. It takes me a second to realise I’ve broken the rule.

“Kitten…” his voice has a note of warning in it. I almost no longer care.

“What? It’s true”.

He pushes back from the desk and stands. “Come upstairs with me. Now”. Shit. I follow him meekly. In the bedroom, he tells me to take off my clothes and lie face up on the bed. My mind starts to race as I strip off. What’s he going to do? I was expecting possibly a spanking, but he clearly has something else in mind. That’s when I notice he’s got his favourite fountain pen in his hand.

He straddles me on the bed, his knees either side of my thighs. He’s still fully dressed. He pops the cap off the pen.

“Keep still,” he tells me.

“Sir?”

“I’m sick of you putting yourself down. Obviously punishing you hasn’t worked, so we’re going to try something else. Don’t move. If you squirm and make me mess up, I will punish you”.

The pen makes contact with my stomach first, just below my belly button. It tickles. I squeak but manage not to move. He’s writing something. I can’t tell what. Higher up my stomach, he writes something else. Then he leans over and adorns each of my breasts with yet more words. Down both my arms, along my collarbone, along the tops of my thighs.

He shifts position and uses one of his legs to make me spread mine. I resist the temptation to grind my cunt into his knee. His hand so close to my cunt that it brushes against the outer lips, I can feel myself growing wet. He writes something on my inner thigh. And just like that, this tiny bit of non-stimulation is all I get and he’s pushed my legs back together and is writing something on my lower abdomen. The whole thing probably takes less than five minutes, though it feels like much longer. He sits back and replaces the pen cap.

“Now go and look in the mirror”.

I hop up and cross over to the full-length mirror in the wardrobe door. For the first time, I see the words he’s written all over my body in his beautiful handwriting.

Beautiful. Capable and competent. Imperfect perfection. Talented. Kind. Funny. Sexy. Cute. Gorgeous. Smart. I feel tears starting to prickle in my eyes.

I part my legs to see what he wrote on my inner thigh, close to my cunt. The word is backwards in the reflection but there is no mistaking what it says, his favourite of all the words he uses about me: MINE. The first tear spills over.

He comes over and brushes the tear from my cheek. “Don’t cry, Kitten. You’re going to stand there for fifteen minutes and feast your eyes upon your gorgeous body with the way I see you written all over it. Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you while you read them all back to me”.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week. Featured image is the utterly gorgeous Livvy and was first published as “Erotica“.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.