The Blogable Fiction Marathon. I am quite new to the world of writing, so I had never heard of it before. But back in February, I received a subtle (or maybe not so subtle) message from the lovely May More (who I am rather in awe of) suggesting I take part. Now, I do love a challenge, so probably rather too quickly I said yes and signed myself up.
For the uninitiated, it is a fiction writing challenge – starting out with 50 writers facing different challenges in each round. With each round more writers are knocked out and the writing challenges become longer (and, in my opinion, harder!).
Having happily signed up, I then reflected on the fact that most people entering are probably “proper” writers. The sort of people who can write eloquently and know what things like an adverb are. Not people like myself, who can just sum up kinky, smutty scenes in a rather naughty way. Pondering the combination of my lack of writing skills, and my rather competitive nature, did make me wonder what an earth I was doing. But I had already signed up by this stage…
And so, the first challenge landed in my inbox.
The assignment for round 1 is:
Write an original pickup line.
*Only ONE sentence, no dialogue*
*20-50 words, with a title of maximum 2 words*
My first thought on seeing this challenge was one of repulsion. I hate the concept of chat up lines. I find them cringeworthy and the whole idea just makes me rather uncomfortable.
Secondly, how am I going to come up with anything clever with just 20-50 words to play with.
Fortunately, the wonderful Blogable Babes who organise this competition give you a Top Tip!
Top tip: Start writing your piece as soon as possible after receiving the assignment. Let it rest for a while and then start editing, deleting, re-writing. Never leave the writing until the last moment.
Now this advice really resonates with me. I am the girl who when I was at school did all my homework as soon as I received it (I do realise you probably all despise me now!). So, straight away I started thinking about the task, thinking about what my chat up line could be.
Slowly, ideas started to come to me. I have written many pieces about being a good girl or a naughty girl and about my love of a good spanking, so gradually my chat up line started to form.
I played with it, I changed phrases around, I counted how many words I had used, until I had something I was broadly happy with. I still had moments of self-doubt that my line would pale when compared to that of the “proper” writers. But I liked it enough to summon up the courage to send it back to the Blogable Babes.
Naught Girl
I hear Good Girls go to heaven and Naughty Girls get a firm spanking; I am not sure I have been a naughty enough girl today, do you think you could help me?
It felt rather thrilling to send it off. I waited excitedly for the results of Round 1.
When they finally arrived, I was pleasantly surprised. I came joint 6th in the Public Vote and 2nd in the Jury Vote, putting me in Joint 3rd overall. Note my earlier warning of my competitive streak – but I was very pleased with Joint 3rd.
I also enjoyed reading all the comments and feedback. One of the judges described my line as
“Fun and cheeky. Full of verve”. Yup, I’m happy with that.
——————————–
So, on to Round 2 I went!
The assignment for round 2 is:
Write a flash fiction story, using one of the pickup lines from round 1, with the following conditions:
* the pickup line you choose may not be your own *
* you have to use the sentence in your story exactly as it appeared in round 1 *
* you are allowed to use the line in dialogue, which means, you can add the quotation marks *
* remember, a story has a beginning, middle and an end *
*350-400 words, with a 2-4 word title*
I had enjoyed the process for Round 1 and the challenge of writing something to a set criteria, so I felt fairly happy with the assignment for Round 2. I re-read the chat up lines from the previous round and played around with ideas in my head, to decide on my story outline and which line to use.
Hotel Room Whore
I walked across the hotel bar to his table. I bent over provocatively, my cheap dress clinging to my curves and barely concealing my cleavage
“You look like just the sort of man the sisters who taught us in our How to keep our vows of celibacy classes at the convent warned us about; I really hope looks aren’t deceiving”, I said huskily
He stared back at me and raised one eyebrow wolfishly. “What an appalling chat up line. It makes you sound like a cheap whore”
I held his gaze. “Well, I am certainly not cheap”
He very deliberately looked me up and down, and smiled appreciatively
Picking up his glass he downed the last mouthful of Scotch, the ice cubes clinking as he placed the glass firmly back on the table
“Come with me” he commanded. I followed him to his hotel room
Inside the room he reached for his wallet. He selected a sheath of twenty-pound notes
“£300 and I can do whatever I choose with you”. It was more a statement than a question
I took a deep breath and nodded, tucking the cash into my purse
A sense of foreboding filled the air. I could feel my body responding, my heart rate quickening
His broad hands reached for the neckline of my dress and with one strong tug, he ripped the flimsy material from my body
I stood, feeling exposed, in my skimpy bra and knickers
“Get them off” he growled ominously
I complied obediently
My naked body became his to use for his pleasure. My holes and my flesh were his toys to play with. It was wild and intense, and, oh so, erotic
Finally, I collapsed, breathless on top of him. My body still trembled with the final waves of such intense orgasms
“Oh wow” I managed to utter
He wrapped his arms protectively around me. “That was amazing. You are amazing”. He paused and laughed rakishly, “Do you think we can get your mother over to look after the kids again next Saturday night, so we can role play some more?”
“I wish!” I giggled. “Just one thing though, did you really find my chat up line appalling?”
He smiled and kissed the top of my head
“No. I thought it rather clever and arousing. But I could not possibly tell my hotel room whore that!”
I had one small concern about my story. I felt bad about criticising someone else’s chat up line at the beginning. So, I crossed my fingers that the author of that line would read to the end and realise I genuinely found it rather clever.
It also felt like it played to my strengths – I tend to write erotica and that is one clear outcome from a successful chat up line! I was pleased with the twist at the end. And so, off went my entry for Round 2.
Joint 9th. Humph! Now 5th overall. Humph!
“A role play story with a nice twist but it didn’t engage me”. Humph!
“I enjoyed the twist; it used the borrowed line well. Your writing is let down by underuse of punctuation and overuse of adverbs”. Humph!
Note to self: really must find out what an adverb is!
“While I very much enjoyed the storyline, the lack of punctuation drove me bonkers. Good writing, but nothing clung to me”. Humph!
Note to self: much as I like not putting a full stop at the end of paragraphs (considered very “new economy” among business folk), is clearly not appreciated by “proper” writers. Will force myself to use full stops at end of paragraphs!
“Yay! I loved the intensity of this romantic encounter and how it ramped up to a spicy wild night. The writing was great and I got a real sense of the characters”. Yay! Somebody liked it.
“I loved this story! I guess I’m too naïve but I really didn’t figure she was the wife until the final paragraph. Very well done, it made me laugh out loud. Every sentence in this story works for me”. Second yay! Someone else likes it and, double yay, it made them laugh.
Nonetheless, I felt rather flat at the end of Round 2 and considered the idea of just giving up. Maybe I really am not good enough to compete with “proper” writers. Humph!
Okay, bring on Round 3. Must do better! Must use full stops properly! Still must check what an adverb is!
Write a story where an argument is central,
with the following conditions:
* At least 50% of your text should be dialogue *
*the story should use proper punctuation* (is this aimed just at me?!?)
*between 650-750 words, title of 2-4 words*
I was still rather despondent after my lacklustre performance in Round 2. I also felt I probably need to push myself further outside my comfort zone. The confines of erotica and smut felt comfortable to me, but I sensed this assignment called for something a little different.
Again, I played with ideas in my head until I had a theme I was ready to write about. I found this piece much more challenging and uncomfortable to write. Yes, this is a fiction challenge, but I drew on personal experiences to make this piece authentic.
The Inevitable Crescendo
Content warning: Contains violent scenes
He walked into the kitchen behind me. His lunch sitting ready on the counter.
“Why didn’t you put the last of the smoked salmon in it?” he asked.
I was distracted and answered without thinking. “I was saving it. One of the kids asked if they could have it later.”
The instant the words left my lips I knew my mistake. I heard his plate smash on the floor. The next moment, I felt him barrel into me, knocking me off my feet and backwards onto the window seat.
When he had got home from work on Friday, I had sensed the dark mood he was in. All weekend I had felt the tension building. It was like an orchestra, building to that inevitable crescendo. And, as always, it was the tiniest action or comment that triggered that crescendo.
“How fucking dare you,“ he hissed into my ear. “Everything is about you and the kids, never about me.”
“You know that is not true,” I whimpered.
He jumped onto me, his knees landing heavily on my chest, his full weight on top of me.
I felt my tears welling.
“Please stop,” I begged. “You’re hurting me.”
I don’t think he even heard my words through his fury.
“Always you, you, you,” he snarled. “Thursday night at my work drinks, you turn up in that low cut top. I could see other men looking at you. I bet you dressed like that deliberately, like a provocative little slut.”
He spat in my face.
“Please stop.” I said again, trying to keep my tone calm, trying to diffuse the situation.
I watched in apprehension as he grabbed at something on the kitchen counter. I almost giggled with relief when I saw he was just holding a banana.
His palm closed against my face, squashing the overripe fruit into my face, smearing it into my hair.
“I bet those men wouldn’t find you so attractive now, would they? I suspect some of them were jerking off after seeing you on Thursday. Not if they saw you now. What a complete mess you look.”
“Enough,” I exhaled. “I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t sorry. I knew I had nothing to be sorry for. I just wanted it to stop.
“Damn right you should be sorry. Sorry for always putting yourself and the kids first. Sorry for leading all those other men on. Sorry for looking such a state now!”
I felt my own frustration and resentment swirling inside me.
“Get off me,” I raged. My anger fuelled my strength and I tried to push him off me. My nails clawing at him as I tried.
“You bitch!”
Roughly, he grabbed both my wrists in one strong hand and pinned my arms above my head.
“You stupid little bitch!”
His other hand tore at the front of my blouse, ripping it open. The now redundant buttons fell to the floor.
“You enjoyed displaying these big tits for those other men, didn’t you?”
He tugged my bra down and I felt horribly exposed before him. I wanted to wrap my arms across myself, but he just held them tighter.
Lowering his head, he sank his teeth cruelly into the soft flesh of my breast.
“Stop! Don’t do this to me,” I cried.
He bit again, harder. Pain surged through me.
“Please,” I murmured, almost overwhelmed by the onslaught. Tears ran down my cheeks.
And almost as suddenly as it had started, it finished. He climbed off me and just walked away, out of the room.
Cautiously, I sat up. I pulled my knees up against my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs.
I spoke to myself, almost silently, but as my own private way of soothing my hurt mind and my aching body.
“You’re going to be okay. It is over now.”
I felt embarrassed by the sense of relief I experienced. I knew the tension had been building and had known the inevitable crescendo.
“It is done for now. He has done what he needed to do to release his aggression.”
I rubbed gently at my throbbing chest.
“Yes, there will be bruises and marks, but nothing that anyone else will be able to see. There never is.”
Inside, a part of me knew it was wrong. Wrong what he had done. Wrong that I was worried about others finding out and judging me for being weak.
“It will be okay,” I whispered, trying to convince myself.
It took me quite a few attempts to ensure I had the correct number of words and the correct percentage of dialogue. I found that element very challenging.
I felt more apprehensive sending this piece off. It is not a topic I have written about before and knew I would also take feedback much more personally.
Equally, I felt that stepping outside my comfort zone was good for me. So off it went!
By this stage, only fifteen writers submitted an entry – a combination of some being knocked out in prior rounds, but I believe a few also dropped out in this round. After the battles I had to get my percentage of dialogue correct (including the Blogable Babes sending back my first attempt), I did not blame them.
Joint 8th with the public (not entirely surprised by this, not exactly light-hearted reading), but Joint 3rd with the Jury (pleased with that!). This put me in 6th place overall. I knew by Round 5 there would only be 10 writers left, so I felt reasonably comfortable I would make that cut – assuming Round 4 would not be a disaster.
“A brutal story written with feeling and good dialogue.”
“This is a difficult topic to address in fiction and to attempt to do so with a 750-word limit is ambitious.”
“It’s a good thing there is a content warning on this story. Reading this, I repeated a mantra in my head: get out, get out. A well written story, and a good balance between his anger and her talking herself down.”
“Phew, that’s an intense story. The build-up was very good, as was the ending with the release. It’s a sad story, but unfortunately one that happens too often. It is very well described. It’s brave of you to write a story like this. Well done.”
I breathed a bit of a sigh of relief after reading the feedback from this round. I had written a piece that made me feel rather emotionally exposed – and people seemed to “like” it. I felt rather proud of myself!
Back to feeling excited and ready for the challenge of Round 4.
The assignment for round 4 is:
“massage”
*the word “massage” should appear in your story at least once*
*the story doesn’t necessarily have to be about a massage*
*between 900-1,000 words, title of 2-4 words*
On first glance, this appeared a much simpler task than the previous assignment. The one thing I was adamant I did not want to do was write a typical massage story. So, I rolled ideas around in my head until I found one I liked.
In hindsight, I think I could have done better here. This fell at a busy time for me – I seem to recall I was on holiday for much of the writing time, but I think I was also too fixated on it just not being a typical massage story. However, I do like the google search at the start – I think these are the sorts of things people genuinely want to know before they go!
Anyway, it definitely reverted back to erotica, so here is what I submitted…
Sex Club Virgin
I giggled at the phrase in my head. “I am a Sex Club Virgin, and I am about to pop my cherry!”
I felt giddy with a mix of nerves and excitement.
My google history told the story of my mind that week.
“What to wear to a sex club?”
“What to expect from my first time at a sex club?”
I eventually dealt with my sartorial dilemma and decided on a beautiful blue corset and thong, with stockings and high heels. I wore a flirtatious little dress over it to arrive in. It felt like suitable sex club attire, but mostly importantly, I felt sexy in it.
Butterflies played in my stomach as I drove there. I pulled into the car park, and I saw him waiting there exactly as agreed. He knew I was feeling anxious and the sight of him softened my nerves.
He had been to the club a few times before and was friends with several of the attendees. That evening, he was accompanying me, as my playmate – helping me live out this fantasy.
A wave of delicious anticipation surged through me.
He greeted me with a kiss and whispered into my ear, checking I was okay. I took a deep breath and nodded. He returned the smile, but with a wicked glint in his eye. “Tonight, I am your Dominant. I expect your obedience, but I will also take the upmost care of you.”
And with that he led me into the club. I visited the changing room and removed my dress. I walked out in just my lingerie, and he whistled appreciatively. I laughed but it allowed me to start to enjoy the thrill of walking around in such provocative attire.
He showed me around, with our tour ending in the bar area where I took a seat on one of the bar stools.
A glass of champagne appeared, and I took a sip, enjoying the sensation of the cool liquid and the dancing bubbles on my tongue. “Good girl” he caressed me with his voice. “Now spread your legs wider.”
I felt a moment of self-consciousness in front of the other people chatting and flirting nearby, but I did as he requested. He slipped two fingers beneath my thong and gently rubbed them over my pussy. An audible moan escaped my lips.
He stared at me intensely, holding my gaze. His fingers moved lower and probed at my opening. I bit at my bottom lip as his fingers slipped inside me.
“Just as wet as I imagined you would be,” he asserted.
I felt myself blush at his words. He pulled his fingers away and brought them to his mouth. I could see other people watching as he licked my juices from them.
“Delicious,” he smirked. “Now I have a little treat for you.”
Options swirled ominously through my head. I finished my champagne and followed him through to another room. He pointed to a spanking bench in the middle of the floor and encouraged me to position myself accordingly. The prospect of the pleasure and pain fuelled my arousal.
My skin felt hot as I lay my flesh against the leather. He walked around me, tying my wrists and ankles to the bench. Then he fastened a wide belt around my middle, holding me tightly in place, forcing my back to arch and my bottom to rise.
From my prone position, I could see the legs of people entering the room. I could hear them moving around, ready to watch the spectacle.
Leaning down, he brought his mouth close to my ear. “You look perfect. Just remember your safeword and that there is no shame in using it.”
Then he moved behind me. I waited.
A first firm slap landed across my right cheek. I inhaled sharply.
A second and a third followed quickly. Each one stinging my flesh. I could not help but cry out.
He worked expertly over my bottom and upper thighs. A deluge of slaps landed, some light and teasing, some harsh and firm. Fronds of pain burned across my skin.
My legs tried to kick out, but the restraints held me firmly in position. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my lower back.
As more spanks rained down on my throbbing flesh, I felt waves of agony and sparks of exquisite pleasure.
I was hugely conscious of the crowd of onlookers. And that just heighted everything for me.
I knew my screams were filling the room, but I could not stop myself.
Finally, he paused. My body was shaking, I knew my skin would be glowing red.
He slid his hand between my legs and found my swollen clit. I moaned at his sensual touch.
His hand rubbed backwards and forwards, stimulating me. The build-up of tension inside, made me yearn for my release.
Then he pulled his hand away and pushed two fingers into my aching pussy. It felt wonderful but I wanted the pressure back on my clit. I groaned in frustration.
“Do you need to cum, Little One?” he asked innocently.
“Yes,” I pleaded.
Cruelly, he started to massage my aching bottom.
“Tell me what you want me to do.”
I felt so wanton in front of all those people. But my body was crying out with need.
“I need to cum. Please touch my clit again. Please,” I almost sobbed my request.
His fingers caressed my clit, exactly as he knew I needed. I ground against them.
“Cum for me, Little One.”
The pleasure overwhelmed me. My body tensed and bucked against the restraints. My orgasm ripped through me. I cried out over and over. I came undone in front of all those strangers.
When my body finally stilled, he ushered the onlookers from the room and wrapped me in his arms. I relaxed in his embrace but knew for the rest of the evening, every person I saw, I would wonder if they had been one of the spectators.
I knew this wasn’t my best effort and my overall ranking dropped from 6th to 8th. Not where I wanted to be, but good enough to get me into round 5. In round 5 all previous scores are wiped clean and voting is dependent on the individual round alone.
“I like a good tale from the Dungeon, and this short story paints a lovely scene. Using a new paragraph is for new thoughts or changes in pace. You don’t need a new line for each sentence. It makes the reader feel disconnected from the story because they’re expecting a change.”
Note to self: Stop envisaging every reader to be jerking off while reading and therefore believing they want short paragraphs, so they do not lose their place (in both respects). “Proper” writers clearly use proper paragraphs (as well as full stops and adverbs!).
“The start of the story was a little clumsy. However, once in the sex club the story became alive and was extremely well told. Not to mention hot.”
Read story back. Very fair feedback, the start was a bit laboured.
“Wonderful story, the vocabulary used really enhanced the storytelling.”
Well done me!
But honestly, I knew it was not my best effort, but on to Round 5
Congratulations! You have done it! You are through to the semi-finals of the Blogable Fiction Marathon (BFM) 2021 – round 5!
Firstly, I was pleased with myself to have made it this far.
Then I received the assignment for Round 5:
The assignment for round 5 is:
There’s a magic talisman that allows its keeper to read minds. It falls into the hands of a young barista.
Write your story.
*the word “talisman” and “barista” should both appear in your story at least once*
*between 900-1,000 words, title of 2-4 words*
Ugh! I do think the Blogable Babes who organised this competition are great – but on reading this assignment I may have used some unflattering expletives about them!
A magic talisman – really! My initial reaction is that this is the sort of story I hate to read, let alone attempt to write!
I had to ponder ideas for quite some time. Eventually I came up with one I liked. The problem I grappled with is I dislike the idea of magic, or things that I can’t perceive to be true. Once I came up with a way round this, I found the story much easier to write.
Despite the expletives used about the Blogable Babes, I have to admit, they forced me out of my comfort zone again. And again, to the benefit of my writing.
I can’t bear lattes!
Okay, so I won Barista of the Week again. Honestly, I know I make great coffee, but I need some more excitement in my life.
I sneak another peek at the advert in my handbag.
Special Assistant required – must make fantastic coffee and be very sexually liberated. Interested applicants should email to discuss their suitability for the role!
I can’t quite believe I replied. I definitely can’t believe I am going for an interview tomorrow.
Yet at nine the next morning, I find myself buzzing the door of the stylish offices in Central London. His secretary greets me knowingly and shows me through to Mr Hartman’s office. I must admit, Mr Hartman is a very attractive man.
He welcomes me into his office and shakes my hand firmly. I feel his eyes rove over me. I am pleased with my outfit choice. The fitted pencil skirt accentuates my curves, and the white shirt looks business like but with just a hint of cleavage. I sit down, crossing one stocking clad leg over the other, hoping I look suitably seductive.
“As you know, my job advert focused on two key attributes,” Mr Hartman begins. I nod and try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. “The first of which is the ability to make fantastic coffee.”
I nod again and feel a moment of relief that the conversation is starting with coffee. I begin to elaborate, telling Mr Hartman about my coffee shop experience and the Barista of the Week awards.
He stares at me intently as I talk and then nods thoughtfully as I finish. “You can demonstrate those skills shortly,” he continues.
“And now for the other required attributes for the role.”
I feel a wave of nervous anticipation roll through me, but also a soft ache beginning between my thighs.
“My job requires me to work hard and efficiently, but I also have a powerful sex drive and need regular stimulation and release. Do you think you will be happy assisting with this?”
I squirm in my seat at the directness of his question. “I believe so,” I reply.
“Then you can also demonstrate those skills shortly. I know we discussed safe-words and your limits by email, and these will be fully respected at all times.”
I adjust my position slightly and can feel my knickers becoming sticky and clinging to my sex.
“There is one other requirement”. I look at him attentively. “I like a Special Assistant who can read my mind. I don’t want to have to ask for either of my two favourite pleasures – coffee or sex.”
My gaze becomes more quizzical, as I wonder how exactly he expects me to read his mind.
He laughs gently at my perplexed expression and opens the drawer to his desk. “Your hand,” he requests. I stretch my arm across the desk and open my palm. He drops a small metal figurine into my hand and closes my fingers around it.
“This magic talisman will allow you to read my mind,” he whispers. “So, you will know my every desire.”
I giggle as I look back at him.
“Give it a moment,” he says. “Let it start to work its magic.”
I grip it tightly in my hand. I feel my natural scepticism kick in.
“You have to believe that he works,” he encourages. I want to laugh, but I stop myself. I try to imagine that it could work. And then I realise I do know what he wants.
I get up from my chair and make my way to the coffee machine in the corner of his office. I hesitate, wondering what style of coffee he favours. I grip the talisman more tightly and know he wants a latte. I make it with the upmost care and attention, before presenting it to him.
He sips at it slowly and then looks up at me. “Exactly as I like it and a delicious cup of coffee. Well done.”
I smile proudly and hold his gaze. “So, do you know what else I want?” he asks rakishly.
I take a deep breath. I know exactly what he wants.
My fingers move shakily to the buttons of my shirt, and I undo them one by one, letting the material fall away from my body. I reach round and unclip my bra, dispensing with that as well. Teasingly, I keep my hands over my full breasts and step in front of him.
He raises one eyebrow at me. I let my hands fall away. “You do have fabulous breasts,” he sighs appreciatively, before cupping them in his hands.
His fingers massage at my sensitive flesh and then he brings his mouth to my nipples and starts to suck on them in turn. A decadent whimper escapes me at the delicious sensations he is causing. He sucks harder and tiny throngs of pain intertwine with the pleasure. My hips buck towards him.
He pauses. “Already so wanton?” he asks playfully. “Do you know what happens to wanton young ladies?”
“Do wanton young ladies get punished?” I ask provocatively.
“You read my mind,” he grins. “Assume the position.”
I know what he wants. I pull up my skirt and reveal my thong and barely concealed bottom. I bend over the desk.
He runs his hands over the thin fabric. I know he can see just how wet my knickers are.
“A very wanton young lady indeed!”
A firm spank lands on my left cheek, making me cry out with shock.
He rubs it gently, reassuringly, yet stimulating my needy flesh further, before delivering the second spank. A third and fourth quickly follow and my cries become wilder.
“Pull down your knickers,” he commands.
I reach behind and obey.
He pushes my legs open a little wider. “I need to inspect just how wet you are for me,” he says, bringing his face closer to my pussy.
The humiliation of his words mixed with the incredibly intimacy of his actions just flames my arousal. His fingers part my pussy lips and he caresses my sex. He starts to draw tight little circles around my clit. I moan hungrily.
“What do I want to hear you say?” he asks.
I don’t even need to pause. I know.
“Please Mr Hartman. I want your cock inside me.”
“Good girl” he breathes. I hear him pull on a condom and then the head of his cock is against my opening. I can feel just how big he is as he pushes against me, stretching me as he starts to enter. I cry out as each delicious thick inch slides into me.
I can read his mind; I know what he wants. I push back onto him, letting him impale me completely. He places a hand on my back, pinning me in place on his desk and he thrusts harder and faster into me. Everything about the scene feels so incredibly naughty and intensely erotic.
Every buck of his hips drives me closer to my impending climax. I breath out slowly in a low moan, trying to control my body, wanting to wait for him. I hear his groans becoming more animalistic, his thrusts more frantic and I know he is there.
I let myself go and the most exquisite orgasm rips through me. My back arches against his hand, my hips rise to meet him, and I clench tight around his throbbing cock as he empties himself into me.
We lay there; panting, luxuriating in the pleasure of what just happened, enjoying the feel of our bodies against one another. Eventually, he kisses the back of my head and slides his body away from mine.
He cleans up and watches as I finish dressing. “Well, I think you definitely excelled in this interview,” he smirks. “Would I be right in assuming you will be accepting the role?”
“Oh yes please.”
“Very good. I need you in promptly at 8.30 tomorrow morning. I have three important Executives in for a meeting and we need to keep them completely satisfied. I assume you know what I want you to do?”
My mind whirls for a moment, and I reach into my pocket to clasp the talisman. I feel a surge of confidence as I realise exactly what he wants.
“Four delicious coffees and then me under the table in your office, using my warm, enthusiastic mouth to pleasure yourself and your guests?” I proffer coquettishly.
“Absolutely right,” he exclaims.
I turn to leave his office. “One last thing,” he calls out. “I can’t bear lattes. I only ever drink an americano with a dash of hot milk.”
“But I knew from the talisman….” I begin.
“No powers whatsoever,” he chortles. “But thinking everything was my idea, let you be very naughty indeed. See you in the morning and keep up the good work!”
I was pleased to come up with something that felt true to the type of story I like but also squarely met the criteria of the assignment. I was also rather proud of my story title – not even a hint of smuttiness!
5th in the Public Vote, 4th in the Jury Vote. Not as high up the rankings as I would like to have been – these pesky “proper” writers are clearly as issue – but high enough to make it through to the final.
“Great story! I had to laugh at the last part, the twist at the end, as all through reading, you really had me thinking the talisman had powers. I enjoyed reading this.”
“Well you suckered me in – the punch line of the story was great. The writing was skilled – just the right blend of emotion, action and sensation – the way I like my erotica.”
“This flowed brilliantly once I accepted she was up for that kind of job. I found the story both erotic and sensual. While reading I wondered why you hadn’t let the character show off her coffee making abilities while at the interview. When I got to the end I understood why. Well done – excellent! Wasn’t expecting that.”
Pretty pleased with those comments and set me up with enough confidence for the final.
The lovely Blogable Babes started their email for the final round with:
Congratulations! You are the finalists of the first edition of the Blogable Fiction Marathon!
You have done it, and now it’s time to write your best story ever for the final round!
So, I have a turmoil of feelings now.
- – How come they have not spotted I am not a “proper” writer yet?
- – Really pleased I have made it to the final and that feels like achievement enough
- – And I don’t think I can win this
- – But I damn well want to try to!
Remembering that I disliked the description for Round 5, well this one was even worse!
The assignment for round 6 is:
Write a story of time travel
*between 2,000-2,500 words, title of 2-4 words*
I know I said I hated the magic talisman idea, but I hate time travel even more. If someone presented me with a story or a film about time travel, I would say no thanks. I have once watched “Back to the Future”, but not of my own free will!
I really struggled with this – a topic I felt no passion towards. But I was also undecided on which genre route to go with – erotica as a known area, or something different again. I realised I needed to step, at least partly, out of my comfort zone again.
I came up with a concept and liked the idea of three different themes – testing myself in different areas. The element I had the most turmoil over was the ending, I spent a long time questioning if it was too much of a cliché, but ultimately, I decided it fitted the story. I’ll let you read and decide what you think!
Behind Closed Doors
Content warning: Contains violent scenes
I sat on the sofa in my best friend’s flat. The rain poured down outside the window, mirroring the tears on my cheeks. The storm raging outside, matching my emotions.
“It’s just not fair, Tasha,” I sobbed. “Everyone else seems to have such perfect lives. Their happy smiling faces all over social media. I hate the fact that Dave and I are getting divorced. I seem to be struggling at work. And I’m not getting any younger. My life is such a mess.”
Tasha pulled me into a big hug. We have been best friends since we first met at university, and she is always there for me. Kind, big-hearted, but also one of those people who always seems to know everything about everyone. Whenever we talk about old friends, she always seems to know all about their lives and how they are getting on.
“I have so many regrets,” I continued, blubbing against her shoulder. “I wish I had done things differently, made different decisions.”
Shifting positions, she moved me, so I was lying on my back on the sofa, my head resting in her lap. Tasha looked down at me. “Come on then, let’s travel back in time. Imagine we could travel back to our university days. I am going to give you three chances to imagine you had made different choices. So, what is your first one? What different decision do you want to make?”
I smiled at Tasha and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Really?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” she replied. “I know what most people are doing now. So come on, let’s time travel.”
I laughed and paused to think for a moment. “Okay. Well, given how things have turned out – falling for Dave and choosing a creative job doesn’t seem to have worked. Remember, that big bank that approached me and wanted me to join their graduate scheme. I want to go back in time and say yes to that offer. Hopefully I would then be a rich successful businesswoman by now.”
“Fine,” said Tasha. “So, if you had taken that route, let me tell me where you would be today.”
She gently ran her hands through my hair soothingly and started to talk. I let my imagination float with her words. Then a huge crack of lightening sounded, and I found myself transported into that life….
I glanced down appreciatively at my expensive looking suit and picked up my Prada handbag. I climbed out of the taxi and onto the elegant London street. I nodded to the doorman and headed up to my apartment. It had been a long and stressful day in the office, and I was glad to be home.
My husband, Steve, called out in greeting as I entered the flat. “Hi” I responded, more focused on reaching the fridge and pouring myself a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Relieved, I sat down at the table and took a long sip of the delicious, cool liquid. I kicked off my heels and retrieved my phone from my bag. I started to skim the latest emails as I enjoyed my glass of wine.
All too quickly my glass was empty, and I poured myself another – a little larger, hoping it would last longer than the first.
Steve entered the room. He leant over me, his lips briefly brushing mine in a very perfunctory kiss. “Day okay?” he asked.
“Stressful as ever,” I sighed, barely looking up from my emails. Pausing just for another large mouthful of wine.
“Mine too,” Steve continued. “Thanks for asking.”
I ignored the hint of sarcasm. “Have you eaten?” I enquired.
“Yeah. I didn’t know when you would be back. There is a ready meal in the fridge.”
I nodded. I collected the ready meal and refilled my glass again.
“Another?” I could hear the hint of judgement in Steve’s tone. “It’s a Monday night.”
I glared at him. “I deserve it, today has been a particularly tough day.”
“Aren’t they all,” he retorted and walked out of the room.
I took a large glug of wine, needing it to deal with the interaction. I picked at the ready meal and finished dealing with my work emails. I poured one more glass, starting to enjoy the effects of the alcohol.
Then I started surfing social media, mindlessly killing time while I drank the rest of the glass. Looking at my watch, I knew I must retire for the night.
In my slightly drunken haze, I went through the motions of getting ready for bed and climbed in beside Steve. He was already asleep, his back towards me, snoring faintly. I passed out into an alcohol fuelled slumber.
I woke again and glanced at the clock beside my bed. 3.09 stared back at me accusingly. I felt thirsty and my head ached, but worse were the feelings of regret and self-loathing. I had told myself I needed to stop drinking during the week, but I had failed on a Monday night. I wanted to drink less but also felt I needed to numb the stress of work and the loneliness of my marriage.
“I don’t want this life,” I called out and suddenly, I found myself back on Tasha’s sofa.
“That was horrible, Tasha. I don’t want to live like that. She looked so glamorous and successful from the outside, but her life was so lonely. No, I don’t want that.”
Tasha stroked my hair some more. “Okay. Let’s time travel again then. What different decision do you want to make this time?”
I thought some more. “Well, that marriage definitely lacked passion, so I want something different. Do you remember that boyfriend I had, Johnnie, who was really good in bed?”
Tasha giggled and nodded. “I do recall you telling me that. Repeatedly!”
“I dumped him because I thought I preferred Dave overall. I want to travel back and change that decision. I want to stick with Johnnie.”
“Your wish is my command,” Tasha said in her best Fairy Godmother impression. She started to talk once more and as the storm raged around us, I was again transported into another life.
I felt a tug on my arm as Johnnie secured the rope, attaching my wrist to the leg of the bed. I was naked and tied spreadeagled. A tall dark-haired man stood between my legs. He looked over at Johnnie. “Time to check how wet your missus is, Johnnie,” he chuckled.
My eyes flicked to Johnnie’s face, seeing him smile back at his friend, I felt a rollercoaster of emotions. My body already felt deliciously stimulated. But I also felt a jolt of trepidation at what lay ahead and who these people were.
“Go on, Jack,” Johnnie encouraged. “You know she loves the way you touch her.” Hearing them discuss me felt humiliating but nonetheless flamed my arousal further.
Jack rubbed two fingers against my pussy. I could not help but emit a small moan of pleasure. His fingers paused at my opening and then pushed inside me. “Just as wet as I expected,” he proclaimed to Johnnie and the others in the room. I felt so sexy and desirable.
He gently thrust the two fingers in and out of me and brought his thumb to my clit. He drew tight little circles with his thumb, and I could feel myself getting even wetter. I pulled against the ropes as my body became heightened, my back arching off the bed.
“Look at her wantonness,” Johnnie sniggered as he moved to one side of me. He bent forward and started to suck on my left nipple. The amount of attention my body was receiving felt so indulgent.
I watched as another girl knelt at Johnnie’s feet. Leaning in towards him she started to gently suck on his balls. He groaned in response and his teeth closed around my nipple. I cried out in an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain.
A third man moved to the top of the bed. He adjusted the position of my head, so it hung back off the end of the mattress. “Open wide and say ahhhhh, sweetheart,” he told me. I obeyed obediently and he pushed his throbbing cock into my mouth.
I felt incredibly used but so unbelievably naughty. The three men worked in unison. I slobbered on the cock in my mouth. Johnnie caused wonderful sensations in my breasts. Jack eventually replaced his fingers with his thick cock, driving deep inside me with every buck of his hips.
Then his fingers found my clit. I could not contain myself any longer and I cried out, cumming over and over in a spasm of ecstasy. Through the crescendo burning in my head, I was aware of each of the men climaxing, shooting thick ropes of cum into me and over me.
I closed my eyes, panting as the men withdrew. I heard Johnnie escorting them out. Then he came back to me and started untying the ropes. I was ready to curl up in his arms, needing him to hold me for a while.
He undid the last rope. “Well, that was cool. The girl sucking my balls was amazing – you should ask her for tips,” he laughed. “Anyway, you better get cleaned up. I’ll try and think of something even wilder for next weekend.”
I watched as he walked out of the room, and I felt the most unbearable pang of loneliness. The pleasure had been so exquisite but the realisation that there was no more depth to our relationship than wild sex, left me feeling used and empty.
“I can’t live like this,” I whispered despondently and there I was, back with Tasha again.
“It seemed wild and crazy and amazing and exciting,” I gushed. “But it was actually such a sad and lonely existence.”
“Maybe lives that look perfect from the outside, aren’t so perfect on the inside,” Tasha reflected.
“Or maybe I have just chosen badly,” I retorted.
“One more chance to find out. Let’s time travel again and change one more decision. So, what will it be this time?” Tasha asked.
“Well, I don’t want anything as wild as that. And I don’t want an incredibly stressful job either as we saw where that led me,” I paused to ponder my options. “I recall that night at university when Piers asked me out. The very rich one. I said no. I didn’t think he was my type. But now I wonder if I should have said yes. He always seemed very in control of everything, it might be a very charmed life with him.”
“Is that your choice?” Tasha asked.
“Yes, yes I think so.”
“Then let’s time travel again. Back to university days to change that decision and then to see what your life looks like now.”
I felt more prepared this time as Tasha stroked my hair and started talking. A huge rumble of thunder reverberated around us, and I tumbled into my alternative life.
It was a beautiful Spring morning, and I waved the two girls off at the school gates. One of the other mother’s turned to me and engaged me in conversation about the new teacher and whether I wanted to get involved with organising the School Easter Fair. I enjoyed chatting with her, but for some inexplicable reason I could feel myself becoming anxious as the conversation went on. I could not work out why, but I felt increasingly desperate to excuse myself and return home.
Eventually I did and I walked briskly back along the country lanes. I breathed in the clean air and reprimanded myself for my silly anxiety. The scenery was beautiful and as I approached our big country house, I thought what a wonderful life this is.
I walked in and I called out to Piers. “I’m in here,” he responded from the kitchen. “I made us coffee.”
I smiled to myself. A gorgeous house, beautiful children and a husband who cared enough to make me coffee for when I returned from the school run.
“Hello darling. Thank you for making me coffee,” I chirped happily.
“Do you know what time it is?” he asked ominously.
“Just after nine I believe.”
“Yes. And you know I expect you back at nine. I have coffee ready at nine,” his tone was low and emotionless.
He dropped my cup of coffee onto the floor. I watched as the china smashed against the tiles, leaving a pool of hot black liquid.
I gasped in shock.
In one sudden movement he stepped towards me. He punched me hard in the stomach and I doubled over in pain. He grabbed a handful of my long blonde hair in his fist, pulling me backwards. Tears prickled my eyes.
“Stop, you’re hurting me,” I cried out.
He ignored my protests. “Why are you late?”
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. “One of the mother’s wanted to speak to me at school.”
“Liar,” he spat at me.
“I’m not….,” I started. A firm slap across my face stopped me mid-sentence. I wanted to sob but was too scared to utter a sound.
“I bet it was one of the Fathers. I bet they tried to speak to you.”
I shook my head mutely. He reached up under my dress and grabbed roughly at my knickers, ripping them off me.
“Did you get all excited talking to those men?” he sneered. He forced my face and torso down against the kitchen counter. “Do they not know you belong to me?”
He kicked my left ankle, forcing my legs wider apart and I heard him undo the buckle of his belt.
“No,” I cried out. “I don’t want this.”
“Tasha, make this stop,” I pleaded, and instantly I was back with her. My heart was racing and my breathing ragged.
“It’s okay. You are back here now,” Tasha reassured me. She stroked my hair again as I calmed.
“I don’t want any of those lives.”
“I know,” said Tasha. “From the outside each of those lives look wonderful. Other people would see the high achieving business executive, or the super sexy desirable woman, or the idyllic wife in the country luxury.”
I nodded.
“We only get to see what others choose to let us see. The pictures they want us to see of them looking their best on Instagram or Facebook. But nobody else gets to see what happens behind closed doors, or to know how each of those women feel behind the façade.”
“So, what do I need to do?” I asked hesitantly.
“You need to stop thinking about everyone else’s life,” Tasha smiled. “Stop worrying about the decisions you made in the past. Focus on what you want from the future.”
The storm reached a crescendo outside, but this time I allowed myself to start feeling excited for the future of my own life.
And then I waited. Waited for the judges to read and score it. Waited for the public to read and vote on it.
I came second. I was the runner up in the competition. I was first choice in the public vote.
Was I pleased – absolutely!
Did I think Marsha who won deserved to – absolutely! Her final entry was amazing.
Would I recommend entering next year – absolutely!
If you want to hear me chatting about my experience and reading one of my naughtier stories – head to this podcast
I am rather pleased with myself for persuading you to enter, lol, and I was thrilled to see how well you did along the way. The best bit about all this is you mention the comp pushed you out of your comfort zone – wonderful and precisely what we want the Fiction Marathon to do, what ever level of writer you are.
Having got to the final of the Smut Marathon in 2018 when I was very much a novice fiction writer, I do feel that the less experience writer can do well if they are willing to grow and learn. Which is exactly what you did. The more experience writers have something to prove, whereas a newbie only has to be brave 🙂 and step into the un known.
Thank u so much for entertaining us with your tales
May xx
PS. going to be listening to your podcast this eve with a glass of wine in hand 🙂
Thanks so much May – still remain awe struck!!! x
Really enjoyable
Thank you x