Smut Marathon: Rounds Seven and Eight

I’m so late with this post! The marathon is over, but I still wanted to talk about my experiences in these rounds, where I got my inspiration and share my submissions.

Round Seven

The prompt for this round was a photo of love locks on a fence taken by Molly Moore. We’ve all seen these locks at some point or another, supposedly locked forever to some significant spot to symbolize endless love. The truth is, these locks often cause damage to whatever they are attached to, weighing down ancient bridges or gates. The locks have to be cut off periodically to preserve the structure, so they are not there forever. They are impermanent and a nuisance. I couldn’t help but play these facts through my mind as I tried to figure out a story. I didn’t want to write about locks on a bridge and endless love, and I’m glad I didn’t because there were a lot of stories that took place on a bridge!

A photo prompt is very subjective. What I see in a photo might not be what someone else sees. I saw padlocks, so I wrote a story about a girl padlocked to a post in the town square awaiting punishment. It’s a fantasy that I’ve often had, the humiliation, the exposure, for me it is extremely erotic.

The feedback for this story was very positive. People liked the sex scene and the BDSM element. They also liked that it was set in a different time period, although I kept the specific period vague so I didn’t have to worry about historical accuracy of any kind.

A New Love Song

Katherine pulled against the chain, testing the strength of the bonds that tethered her to the post in the village square. The metal chinks sang to her, a rusty melody of clinks and clangs that spoke of what was to come. They thought they were punishing her, the elders in their ridiculous tattered robes and musty powdered wigs, a farce of judge and jury. They roared out her sentence with obvious joy, their aging yellow eyes glowing with excitement. Thirty lashes and a night tied to the whipping post wasn’t much of a punishment to Katherine. She could already feel the coals of her desire smoldering, threatening to catch fire at the slightest breeze.

Katherine kept her eyes trained on the old rusted padlock that bound her to the post, not wanting to meet the eyes of her friends and neighbors who happily watched her public shame. Right up front were Mr. Abernathy and his wife, Jilly; her red-rimmed eyes bore into Katherine, hot with anger. Mr. Abernathy would not make eye contact, not like he did when his cock was inside her, rutting like a mindless bull. It was his fault she was here, it was his words that seduced her, his cock that speared her, and it was his guilt that made him confess.

Katherine could feel the slick stream of wetness coating her thighs, and she could barely contain a moan that threatened to bubble up from her chest. Judge Conner called out her crime and her sentence, the crowd answered back, a cacophonous bark of disapproval. The town whore would get what she deserved, what she craved. She waited, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled and the heat between her legs intensified. The first lash hit her back with a sharp slap, the sting bit into her skin and spread, snaking its way down to her cunt. They kept coming, kissing her back, her soft thighs, the rounded globes of her ass. She arched and cried out as the leather stroked her, the music of her cries echoed in the clanging chains, and the crowd roared with appreciation.

A song came to mind as she sunk into the rhythm of her beating, a love song of all things.

He carved a key

To unlock her heart

Her hardwood heart…

Katherine’s mind drifted, she floated away like the words of the song she no longer recalled, and then it was over. The crowd dispersed as darkness began to fall. She wondered if any cowardly scoundrels would sneak away from their beds to fill her bared cunt with their spunk, a dirty anonymous fucking under the cover of darkness. For Katherine, it would be a welcomed intrusion.

Later that night, the heat on her back had cooled, but she could feel the delicious ache deep in her muscles with every slight movement. The ache in her cunt grew with the appearance of each new star, but no man came to douse her fire with his seed. The moon was high when she heard a muffled footstep, delicate as a skittering mouse. The smell of lilacs filled the cool night air around her, and a vision of angry red-rimmed eyes flashed through Katherine’s mind.

“Jilly?”

“It should have been me instead of him!” an angry voice whispered into her ear.

“What?”

Katherine heard the familiar sound of heavy skirts falling to the ground in a heap, the unfastening of stays, and the feminine sigh of relief as restrictive undergarments were loosened and removed.

“I thought you loved me,” Jilly whispered, her soft hands rubbed the tender skin of Katherine’s backside.

“I do lov…”

“I made something for you. I carved it myself.”

Jilly wrapped her arms around Katherine, pressing her warm naked skin against Katherine’s cooled body, and her small fingers found the hardened nubs of Katherine’s nipples, rubbing, pinching and pulling. She felt Jilly’s hands slide down her naked body, slipping into the slick wet between her thighs. Katherine arched into Jilly’s embrace as she felt the hard shaft of a wooden cock press into her dripping cleft. Katherine’s heart swelled and tears filled her eyes as her greedy cunt grabbed at the handmade gift.

She carved a key

To unlock my heart,

My hardwood heart.

Katherine melted as Jilly claimed her, and her heart bloomed with the first pangs of love as they fucked in the moonlight. Their cries mingled with the clanging of the chain, and a new song rose to the sky.

Round 8

The prompt for this round ended up being really special to me. We were asked to write a story containing only two characters, and they could not be a hetero cis-gendered couple. I knew immediately I wanted to write a story with a transgendered character. I called Z, one of my dear friends, for an ice cream date and an interview. I wanted to know everything about having sex as a transgendered person. I told her that I wasn’t going to hold back and made sure she knew that if my questions made her uncomfortable, she could take a pass. I asked her everything I could think of, what her sex life was like before she began transitioning, what she called her genitals, what it felt like to orgasm, and I asked her to describe her number one fantasy in detail. We spent almost two hours talking and the main point I gathered from our conversation was that she wanted a love story for herself. A hot, steamy love story that involved some bondage and some impact and some passion. So, I wrote a story for her. Thank you Z!

An Ordinary Love Story

“Put that away and come to bed!”

Zelda’s dark eyes bore into mine, I could see the need in them. She always looked that intense, though. Even over a lighthearted game of Scrabble, she would stare right through me, making me forget the word working its way up from the farthest reaches of my brain.

I put down my tablet, and followed her. She was a distraction, but I loved her for it. I turned the corner to the bedroom to find her sprawled out, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“What is this? I thought you wanted to go to bed?”

“I want you to come to bed,” she giggled. “I want you to do bad things to me!”

The giggling ceased, and once again her intensity radiated with a veritable pulse that drew me in.

“At this hour?” I teased, slowly crawling towards her.

I hovered over her, locking eyes, prolonging the inevitable. Her breath quickened as I held her gaze, her mouth parting slightly, inviting my lips to meet hers with a soft kiss.

“Okay, good night!” I flopped over to one side and feigned sleep, but my beating heart was surely a giveaway.

“No! Come on!” she whined, her body stiffening in frustration until I turned over and kissed her again, harder this time, my teeth gnashing against her lower lip.

“You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you? Just can’t take no for an answer?” I smiled, knowing she’d fallen for my little game.

She moaned into my mouth as her body surrendered beneath mine, “I just want you too badly!”

I roughly tugged her shirt over her head, disturbing the silky dark hair that now flowed over her shoulders, and pulled it down over her arms. With her arms trapped to her sides in her t-shirt, she seemed to melt into the sheets. She was now just a warm body for me to toy with, and I was ready to play.

Her thighs trembled as I made my way down, nipping and licking her small tits before moving lower, finding the elastic of her panties with my teeth. I pulled them off slowly, grinning with my fabric-filled mouth as I watched her writhe and pant in anticipation. Her eyes met mine once more, hungry and desperate, her mouth hung open just slightly.

When I finally put my face between her thighs, she squealed in appreciation and pressed her hips up to meet me. My tongue lapped at her cleft, pushing inside to open her further, and she shuddered. After years of study, I knew exactly how to play her, how to elicit the squeaks and sighs that made my heart swell and made her convulse in pleasure.

I took her clit between my lips, gently sucking and flicking its spongy surface with my tongue, holding her squirming thighs firmly with my hands as she bucked beneath me.

“Yes, please, there! There!”

She spurred me on, her voice like velvet, tickled my ears, and I dove in, burying my face into her folds. If her hands had been free, she would have held me to her as I licked and sucked, desperately clenching at my hair, her muscles quivering.

“Don’t sto-,” her words cut short as she peaked, her legs flopping against the bed, her mouth gaping in a silent scream.

I could feel the waves crash through her, a silent but deafening pulse. Then she relaxed under me, her thighs falling open, a lazy smile on her face.

“Did you get what you wanted?”

“Mmhmm!”

I rolled her over and pulled her shirt off of her arms, the fabric, warm in my fingers, smelled of sweat and sex. I held it to my nose and peered down at her contented face as she slowly drifted off into a sated slumber. She’d changed so much over the years, but she was still exactly the same, still my Zelda.

I remember the first time I saw her. She’d chained herself to the men’s restroom door in the courthouse, her long dark hair swung wildly about her shoulders. She wore a wig back then, but I didn’t know. I just saw a beautiful, passionate woman with a fight to win.

She shouted, her eyes burning with an angry intensity, “I don’t belong in the men’s bathroom!”

My heart caught as I watched her bravely make a stand against discrimination, and tears welled in my eyes as I felt the pain of her struggle. At the time, I was just another onlooker curiously watching the commotion, but that struggle became my own when I fell in love with her.

Her spark caught me that day, and I have burned for her ever since. I felt the heat rise with the whispered insults as we walked down the street hand in hand. I felt the stab of resentment when I realized our marriage couldn’t be legal. I felt the fear of having to endure two major surgeries just so she could feel right in her own body.

But, that was a long time ago. I looked down at the silver band wrapped around my left finger. Time had healed much that was wrong with the world. We could finally walk down the street as wife and wife without the threat of violence.

We could finally be ourselves, just a regular couple with an ordinary love story.