Blue : Fuck Me Friday

It’s another Fuck Me Friday. Here is how hostess Aisling Weaver describes it :

Welcome to another week of smut! Writing challenges can be found far and wide, and this one has just one goal – to inspire you to write!

We’ve been rolling around rather well here for a while, so I thought I’d mix it up a little.  Starting today, the prompts, while still being mostly random, are going to have some sort of tie between them for each month.  For instance, the rest of May will be colors, June will be sensations…essentially, the months will have a sort of theme to them.  This will allow those who enjoy working on a larger scale the option to do an overreaching arc of stories, if they like, while still offering up the differences that I’ve grown to enjoy in the offerings each week.

The result of all of this, I hope,  is two-fold; for writers, a weekly challenge to keep the, err, juices flowing.  For readers, you’ll find all the stories linked off at the bottom of each week’s prompt. Are you game?  Will you try your hand at some on the fly writing?  Will you expose your work to new readers, will you read along and find new authors?   I do hope so.

So, without further ado, let’s get this thing rolling!  To join in is as simply as this:

Write a story with the prompt as your title.  Today’s will be :

#Blue

Tweet it with both the prompt hashtag and the hashtag #FuckMeFriday
And lastly add it to the links at the bottom of this post.(note, if you don’t want to tweet it or don’t have a blog, I invite you to post your story in the comments section.

Blue

The answer came to Serena Moran out of the blue when she walked in on her flatmate Betty and found her sucking her boyfriend’s cock.

“Sorry,” she said, and was about to back out of the lounge room, where Betty was bending down stark naked with her pert pink bottom in the air and Matt’s stiff cock filling her mouth. Her fingers were between her thighs rubbing her slippery stiff clit.

“No need to apologise,” insisted Matt, with a cheeky smile and a twinkle in his eye, as he lay back with his muscular arms behind his head. “Come on in and watch if you like. You know you want to.”

“Yes,” agreed Betty, slipping Matt’s cock out of her mouth and stroking it sensuously with her right hand. “We wouldn’t be fucking in the lounge room if we didn’t like the idea of being watched. Doesn’t the sight of Matt’s burgeoning boner make you juicy in your panties?”

“Of course!” cried Serena.

“I thought so,” smiled Betty.

“No, not that,” Serena tried to explain. “I mean, yes, of course, seeing Matt like that gives me a happy little clit. But, more importantly, it gives me an idea about how to solve my cash flow problems and fund my next documentary.”

“How are you going to do that?” asked Betty impaling her pulsating pussy on Matt’s man meat, with a shivering moan which make her little belly jiggle.

“We’ll make a blue movie!” Serena announced triumphantly. “You and Matt wouldn’t mind being masturbation fodder for the masses, now would you?”

“Today the living room, tomorrow the world!” cried Betty, bouncing up and down joyously on Matt’s manhood.

Serena was a documentarian who specialised in films about artists. And there was something of the frustrated artist in her. Thus it was that she decided that her proposed porn directing career would take the form of a single conceptual artwork centred around the idea that her movies would be blue in more than one way. She would follow the porn cliche of parodying famous movies and television shows, but only ones which had something blue about them.

Of course she would have to begin modestly, as she had no money, but once her imagination was fired she imagined a glorious future which would lead up to her directing the world’s first 3D all CGI porn film. She would call it Pervitar for obvious reasons.

But for her first carnal creation she decided to go for something small but classic – a parody of Joseph Von Sternberg’s The Blue Angel. This would be cheap, but stylish, and would allow her to exploit Betty’s second talent – the fact that she could sing well enough to take part in Karaoke night at the local tavern. She might not sing as well as Marlene Dietrich, but, then, Marlene Dietrich couldn’t shoot ping pong balls out of her cunt.

It took a while to organise the costumes and a few props, but by the following Thursday evening Serena was bribing the night watchman at the local church hall to let them in for a midnight-to-dawn filming session. All they really needed was a stage and a dressing room and the hall had both.

“It’s kind of a depressing story,” pointed out a worried Betty, who had just watched the original film on DVD the night before.

“Don’t worry,” Serena assured her, “we won’t be sticking too closely to the Sternberg version. For a start, Matt’s not a pathetic fat middle-aged guy, and also we’re going to give the story a happy ending. We’re making a blue movie, but we don’t want to leave people feeling blue. Nobody wants to beat off to movie that’s down-beat.”

“I don’t know the story,” pointed out Matt. “What’s my part?”

“You play the Professor,” Serena explained. “You’ve discovered that some of your students are fans of singer and live sex performer Lola, so you’ve come to the club to try to catch them out. But once you see Lola, you are lost. Cue a veritable Cabaret of copulation.”

“So this is my costume?” asked Matt, holding up an old fashioned frock coat liberally coated with chalk dust.

“That’s right,” nodded Serena, “along with the baggy pants over there on the chair.”

Betty already had her costume on. She wore a pink silk top hat, a red bodice, pink high heels and purple stockings with suspenders attached to a suspender belt around her waist. The only difference between her costume and that of Marlene Dietrich is that she wasn’t wearing frilly white knickers. She wasn’t wearing any knickers at all.

“We’ll do your song first,” Serena explained. “You start with your leg up in the typical Dietrich pose, but as you sing you put your leg down and then spread your thighs apart so we can come in for a close up on your bare cunt.”

Betty looked at the lyric sheet once more.

“Are you sure about these lyrics?” she asked.

“O.K. So I’m no Bernie Taupin,” Serena responded defensively. “But you try fitting a feminist critique of porno movies to the tune of Falling in Love Again.”

“But they didn’t have porno movies back then,” Betty complained.

“Actually they did,” Serena pointed out. “But the lyrics are deliberately anachronistic. It’s an art movie thing. Think Ken Russell or Derek Jarman.”

“Think protentious twat, more like,” huffed Betty. She didn’t mind spreading her pussy lips for the camera, but she did have some dignity.

Serena plugged her I-Pod into the speaker system and the room filled with the sound of a lone pianist playing the melancholy song. Betty reluctantly began to sing the lyrics Serena had written :

Face full of cum again

It’s so de rigeur

Spunk all in my hair

Let’s change it

Porn’s always been the same

Laid the same old way

Every single day

Let’s change it

Men wack off to me like monkeys at the zoo

Let’s cast some hot guys, so girls can do it too

Arse full of cock again

Poking in my poo

When I need the loo

Let’s change it

Mouth full of meat again

I’m a vegan girl

Think I might just hurl

Let’s change it

Porn’s always been so lame

By the second take

All the cums are fake

Let’s change it

Men wack off to me like monkeys at the zoo

Let’s cast some hot guys, so girls can do it too.

“Cut!” cried Serena. “Perfect. Now on to the dressing room scene.”

Fifeen minutes later, Matt and Betty were in full swing acting out a scene they felt comfortable with.

“I came here as a teacher to save my students from the primrose path,” Matt declared in his best German accent. It wasn’t a good German accent, but it was his best. “But now it is I who am the student, and you, dearest Lola, are my teacher in the art of licentiousity.”

“I always wanted to be the teacher’s pet,” purred Betty, in a slow lazy voice which hung in the air like cigarette smoke. “Especially if he was into a little bestiality,” she added, stroking his stiff cock through the front of his trousers.

“What kind of pet do you want to be?” he asked, licentiously. “Shall I give my little puppy dog the bone? Or pamper my favourite pussy? Or maybe the beautiful little beaver wants a mouth full of wood.”

“Nobody has a pet beaver!” she scoffed. “Now before you get too excited, I want you to have a look at the new song I’ve been writing.” She handed him a lyric sheet.

“Not bad,” he replied reading it, “but how many times have I told you that clitoris is spelled with a C not a K?”

“We’re not in the class room now,” she sighed softly.

“Spelling is not just something which is important in the class room,” he pointed out. “The whole of our civilization depends on our ability to communicate and be understood. I think the only way to make you understand is to do to you what I do to the boys in my class when they don’t apply themselves to their lessons.”

With that he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her over his knee. Her bum was still bare.

“Don’t you dare spank me, you brute!” cried Betty, wriggling in just the right way to generate plenty of sexy bum wobble for Serena’s camera.

Matt began slapping her butt cheeks enthusiastically. She never let him spank her “in real life” so he was determined to make the most of the opportunity to turn her behind bright pink and feel the sexy heat of the injury he was inflicting radiated back from the silky skin to his sensitive palm.

Being spanked made Betty feel deeply humiliated. She loved it. When Matt tried to paddle her heinie at home she always told him to stop. She didn’t want him to think she was some kind of deviant. But now she was determined to soak up every sensation so she would be able to return to it later when masturbating.

Serena was glad she’d decided to use the tripod. That meant that she could point the camera with one hand and slide her other hand down inside her wet panties and play with herself.

The night watchman was glad he’d accepted the bribe and let these deviants in to make their art movie. These were the kind of people who wouldn’t object to the fact that he was standing in the wings with his cock out.

“I’m sorry, my love,” apologized Matt, gently stroking Betty’s sore bottom. “Can you forgive me for being such a schweinhund?”

“Only if you kiss it better,” she insisted, trying to maintain the smoky voice even though her clit was now quivering ecstatically like a tuning fork.

He stood her up and bent down to press his lips against her hot cheeks, raining down a shower of passionate kisses before parting them and beginning to lick his way down her crack towards the glistening wet lips of her pussy. She bent far forward and he stuck his tongue deep into her region of pleasure.

“Invade Poland! Invade Poland!” Betty cried. It was an improvisation, and one that Serena felt grossly cheapened the work of art she was going for. She was no Mel Brooks. But she was so caught up in her wanking that she couldn’t bring herself to yell, “Cut!”

Matt tore down his pants, pushed Betty over the couch and began slamming his cock hard into her sloppy pussy.

“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” she cried, as Matt’s belly kept slapping against her spanked bottom.

“Do you want me to pull out for a money shot?” grunted Matt.

“No,” explained Serena, “this is feminist porn. No need for money shots.”

“I’ll give you a money shot!” cried the night watchman running in from the wings and shooting a huge stream of cum straight into the camera lense. At the same moment, Matt and Betty orgasmed loudly together and collapsed onto the sofa.

“I don’t know what we got there,” admitted Serena, scratching her head with pussy juice soaked fingers. “But I know it was unique.”

Half an hour later, they were wrapping up the film’s final scene.

“The Nazi’s are taking over,” said Betty. “Let’s go escape to a more egalitarian society.”

“Egalitarian?” queried Matt.

“Yes, a society were any woman, Jew or Gentile, can fuck her way to the top! Hollywood, here we come!” she cried.

“And… cut!” shouted Serena. “It’s a wrap.”

The film was a success. They set up a website from which they could sell it as an instant download, and soon it had a cult following as the worst porn movie ever made. Everyone wanted to see it.

“What’s next?” asked Betty.

“I was thinking of Blue Lagoon,” said Serena. “But we might have to work our way up to that. We haven’t got quite enough money for location work on a Pacific Island.”

“Might be some legal problems, too,” pointed out Matt. “Those kids were only about fifteen.”

“Easily fixed,” said Serena. “In our version they are so shy and repressed that they don’t discover sex until they are eighteen.”

“Porn about characters who are shy and repressed?” queried Betty.

“Sure,” pointed out Serena. “It’s super sexy when they finally do it. That’s the problem with most porn. It’s about studs and sex goddesses. So the sex doesn’t mean much. It’s like watching a Steven Seagal movie. That dude’s three times the size of all the bad guys. The outcome is a forgone conclusion. But shy characters… That way it’s a whole new adventure for them and we get to go along. And, anyway, everyone knows that shy and repressed characters are only like that because deep down they are total deviants.”

“We should get some more cast members for the next one though,” suggested Betty. “I’d love to be gangbanged by a whole bunch of guys.”

“Then you’ll love the project I’ve settled on,” said Serena. “You’ll be the only girl in the movie, and there will be lots of guys. I just hope you don’t mind all-over body make-up.”

“Nah, I’m easy,” Betty replied, stating the obvious. “What’s the title?”

The Smurfs – An XXX Parody!” announced Serena triumphantly.

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Life, The Universe & Chocolate Bunnies

Although the most important holiday for the Christian religion, celebrating its central figure’s alleged return from the grave, Easter derives its name from a pagan goddess named Éostre. The concept of a new beginning and life’s triumph over death are represented in the symbols of eggs and the notoriously fertile rabbit.
Whether one is a believer, or an unbeliever like myself, there is something to be celebrated at Easter time.
Some of my atheist friends act a little embarrassed by religious holidays and try to distance themselves, for instance renaming Christmas as Newtonmas (since December 25th was Isaac Newton’s birthday.) To me this has always seemed kind of silly. Christmas and Easter, while specifically Christian holidays, are also about the celebration of things which are not limited to one form of belief, but are, in fact, universal. Christmas is a celebration of love, community and generosity. And Easter is a celebration of life’s persistence and of fertility.
In recent times we’ve seen some terrible natural disasters as well as man-made conflicts troubling various parts of the world. The wonderful thing about life in general and humans in particular is that such things do not defeat us. In the wake of each disaster, the survivors reestablish their communities, homes are rebuilt, babies are born and life goes on. For me, this is what Easter celebrates. Death doesn’t win.
But also it celebrates fertility. This is not just biological fertility. If I wished fertility on you, many of you would probably scream, “No, that’s the last thing I need!” But fertility is not just about producing babies. It is about the fecundity of the soil in which we plant a seed, be that seed an idea, a monetary investment or a literal seed that we plant in our garden. To toast fertility is to wish that those seeds bare fruit. Unless they are vegetable seeds, in which case it would just be weird for them to bare fruit.
One need not believe in Heaven or Hell to believe that life is not limited to our physical bodies, finite as they are in time and space. Our deeds and our ideas sow seeds which can have a life of their own, bearing fruit in places we will never visit and also long after we cease to exist as individuals.
The internet is the perfect example of this. The inventors of Facebook, Twitter or Google could die tomorrow, but that which they created would continue to have a life of its own, providing a conduit for social interactions the outcome of which noone can possibly predict.
Recently I’ve been taking part in the Twitterotica challenges created by Ruby Kiddell and Aisling Weaver. Here is another example of seeds which bare fruit. A seed word is sown over Twitter and lands in the fertile minds of sundry degenerates who set to work to create some prime filth. Nobody could predict the fruity tales of debauchery they produce. These in turn are disseminated over the net where they themselves perhaps inspire much stiffness and wetness of generative organs. And what happens after that is anybody’s guess. But the point is that a simple idea in one person’s mind ended up effecting the lives of many in ways that they will never fully know.
So what can make us more fertile in this broader sense? Well, just as the fertility of a woman is unlikely to bare fruit if she doesn’t open her legs, so an open mind is most conducive to the success of productive endeavours of all kinds. And nothing stands in the way of such success like a closed mind. The most wonderful of creations are those which could never have been predicted. And the belief that we can predict the future closes us off to the seeds of such creations. Few of us would claim to be psychic, but we think we can predict the future when we say such things as : “I’ll never get that job promotion!” ; “No member of the opposite sex could find me attractive!” ; or “All my problems will be solved when I win the lottery!” It is welcoming the unknowability of the future with open arms and following ideas to see what they lead to, rather than presupposing that they are worthless, which allows us to make the most of life’s creative principle.
But let us also not forget that Easter is a time for perving at scantily clad girls in bunny ears and eating lots of chocolate!
Check out the full post with pics.

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Tide : Wank Wednesday

Wank Wednesday is an erotic writing challenge started by Ruby Kiddell at the Erotic Notebook Blog. Here is how she explains it :
Welcome to Wank Wednesday, your weekly festival of smut.

With so many great writers of smut and erotica on Twitter and the web I thought it would be a nice idea to get a smutty blog carnival going. For writers or would be writers a weekly prompt will get you writing and as a reader well you’ll be able to get your fix of sexy stories all in one go.

To join in all you need to do is write a story with the weekly prompt as a title. This week’s prompt is #tide. Then:

  • Blog it – post it on your blog then come back here and add it to the link list.

  • Tweet it – write it on twitter using the prompt hashtag and the #wankwednesday hashtag

  • Add it – if you don’t want to blog or tweet it then please do add it as comment to my post

  • WE it – if you are a member at Word Ejaculation you can submit with them too, just remember to link back to me here and to add your entry to the link list.

Please link back to this page in your post and please also do take the time to read and comment on the other contributors, we’ll all keep on writing but it is so much nicer to do so with feedback.

Thank you for writing and reading.

Here is my contribution for today – Wednesday 6 April :

Tide

My stiff cock twitches as the stream of chocolate syrup hits the glans and runs tantalisingly down its length.
“Try not to move too much,” orders Celeste. The curvy redhead is dressed in a lacy purple teddy with matching stockings and suspenders. She is wearing no panties, her forest of auburn pubes catching the afternoon sunlight.

“I really can’t move all that much you know,” I inform her, struggling against the ropes with which she has bound my wrists and ankles to the chair.

“If you keep wagging your cock like that I’m going to end up wasting some of the syrup,” she complains.

I’m really not sure that Celeste and I are all that compatible sexually. I told her early on in our relationship that, when it comes to sex, I’m a meat and potatoes man. The next thing I knew she was shoving Tater Tots up my arse while wanking me off with a sirloin.

Celeste is an erotica author. A popular one. And I’ve become her main research victim. She likes to write from experience, so we have to act out all of her strange scenarios.

Of course, at the moment, with the tip of her tongue slowly sliding up my cock, gathering the sweet brown liquid as it goes, I don’t feel like divorcing her on the grounds of cruelty.

As she squats in front of me, I have just enough movement in the binding of my right foot to twist it and tickle her pussy with my big toe. “You keep your toe to yourself,” she scolds. “This is all about your pleasure.” With that she opens her mouth wide, slides it down over the top half of my chocolate-coated member and begins slurping and sucking away at it hungrily.

All about my pleasure indeed! She’s so full of shit. I know she likes chocolate even more than she likes sex. I tested her. I bought her a chocolate dildo for Christmas last year. And she ate it.
“I’d be able to enjoy the blow job more if these ropes weren’t biting into me,” I complained.
“But that’s an essential part of the project,” she insisted, with chocolate syrup dribbling from her lips and the end of her nose. “See!”
With that she turned and picked up her laptop, holding it where I could read her Twitter page.
There was a message saying “Wank Wednesday : Today’s prompt is #tide.
As well as being sexually voracious, Celeste is dyslexic.
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Lusting While Dusting

Here is a little story I wrote that was inspired by reading Kendall Swan’s ebook Naked Housecleaning.

LUSTING WHILE DUSTING

I’d been working for Clobber-Free Cleaners for only two weeks when I met up with Dora. Most of the women I worked for just quietly watched me as I cleaned their house naked. Afterwards they might make me a cup of tea and we’d have a friendly chat. With Dora it was different, she took an evil glee in having a defenceless naked man at her mercy. I felt like a mouse being played with by a tiger cub.

I should have seen the warning signs on my first visit when I noticed an enormous purple vibrator sitting on the television in the lounge room looking for all the world like a decorative ornament. I lifted it gingerly to dust the top of the set. It felt a little sticky.

“Oh, how embarrassing!” cried Dora. “I forgot I left that there.” She grabbed it out of my hand, standing uncomfortably close as she did so. “There was a George Clooney movie on the telly last night,” she added with a wink.

There are no hard and fast rules about how we are to speak to the customers. The only rules are that there should be no physical contact more intimate than a handshake. Personally, I think it lends an air of class to come on a little posh, so I always refer to my clients as “madame”.

“I don’t think you should really be doing that, madame,” I said, on my second visit, when Dora came up behind me and began to gently stroke my right thigh while fondling my left buttock and nibbling my left ear lobe.

“I don’t think you really mind,” she teased. “If you did you would tell me to stop. You wouldn’t be all ‘I don’t think you should really be doing that’.” She actually did quite a good impersonation of my manner, I have to give her that.

“I’m sure madame is just trying to be affectionate,” I replied, “but my only interest is in upholding the reputation of Clobber-Free Cleaners by doing the most thorough job I can in removing dirt and grime and your domicile.”

“I really don’t think that that is your only interest,” she responded, “or else your cock wouldn’t be standing out all big and stiff and dripping precum all over my bedside stand.”

“Oh, I am sorry ma’am,” I spluttered, grabbing a Kleenex to wipe up the mess. I looked down at my stiff cock and muttered “Traitor!” under my breath.

“I like your cock,” said Dora. “He’s on my side.”

Luckily I was nearly finished for the day, so I was able to escape before things could get really unethical.

From that time on I never knew what Dora might do next and the erotic tension was so strong that my cock would be erect before I even came through the door and stripped off and would stay that way the whole time. On the up side, it did give me somewhere to hang my dust cloth. But when Dora caught me doing the vacuuming with the skirting board attachment stuck over my dick for later use she yelled at me for not being fully nude.

Of course she would take the opportunity to parade around in all kinds of skimpy clothes, bending over front ways so I could see her cleavage and bending over the other way so I could see the ripe curve of her butt.

Then one day, just as I was coming out of the bathroom after cleaning it, she appeared in a skimpy towelling robe and pushed past me, accidentally on purpose brushing my cock with the back of her hand, and started to run a bath.

“Come in here, will you?” she called out a couple of minutes later.

When I entered the bathroom I saw that she was sitting naked in the tub covered in soap. She had a stern look on her face.

“You left a smudge on the mirror,” she said, pointing at it. “Clean it off now.”

As I ran a cloth over the mirror, I watched her reflection. She’d slid her right hand down between her legs and was clearly masturbating.

“You’re watching me, aren’t you?” she teased. “Well, I don’t care what you think. It’s my pussy and I’ll wash it as fast as I like.”

“It is my opinion,” I said, “turning towards her. That madame is a dirty little slut.”

“Well, you are under contract to clean everything in my flat,” she smiled. “I have a dirty cunt that needs cleaning and it looks like you have just the perfect utensil to do the job.”

She reached over the edge of the tub and grabbed my cock with her soapy hand and tried to pull me into the bath with her, but it slipped through her sudsy fingers. “Oh, bugger me,” she cursed.

“Madame will have to make up her mind which service she wants first,” I laughed.

In response, Dora stood up and pulled her creamy wet bum cheeks apart to display the rosebud that lay between them. “Clean this with your tongue!” she giggled.

“Just don’t tell the agency about this,” I told her, as I stepped over the side of the tub and took her in my arms.

“Because you’d get fired?” she asked.

“No,” I said, giving her playful smack on the ass. “Because all the guys will want to work for you.”

The End

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