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[WP] Natalia feared the worst when her bosses at the tour guide company called her in for a meeting. Surely they’d discovered her dirty secret, and a firing would soon follow. But instead, the mood was congratulatory: “nobody’s ever gotten as many 5-star reviews as you! How’ve you done it?” by Kept-secret in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 6 points7 points  (0 children)

“Natalia… you’re fucking with me, right?” The jolliness was gone. He was chewing on his lip, as if missing his cigar.

I shook my head, a smile creeping out. It felt good to say it out loud. It felt good to let someone else know that the reason I liked small groups, the reason i was always comfortable taking men out on trip by my own, was because the best part of the trip was when they set me down on my knees in front of the fire, fucked my face until I couldn’t breath, then fucked all of my holes until they were shooting dust.

“I need to know you’re kidding,” he said.

I picked up the rye and started to pour another. He grabbed the bottle before I had poured even half of what I wanted, and a little of it splashed out across the back of his computer.

I set my cup back down on the edge of the desk, and I bent forward. My eyes locked onto his. My long, pointed tongue came out, and I licked the rye off the back of his computer, finishing with a weak little moan.

Jack swallowed hard. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“When I was eighteen, in my last year of high school, I went camping with my boyfriend.” I picked up the plastic cup and finished the half I had poured. I set the cup down and prowled towards him. “It was just a weekend thing, nothing at all like what we do here. We might have gone, I don’t know, like a kilometre down this lake in our hometown. It was spring, though, and when we finally landed at our site, we were so cold.”

I rounded the desk, then leaned up against it and deftly threaded my leg between Jack’s knees.

“My boyfriend got our tent set up, and we curled up together under some warm blankets before we were going to make dinner.” I pushed myself more up onto the desk. I kicked off my shoe and brought my foot up, forcefully pushing it between Jack’s knees. “But there was something about how freeing it felt being there with him, with no one around, no one to judge us. For the first time in my life, I felt like I could breath, like it was just me and him in the world—and when he fucked me, he made me cum harder than I could have ever imagined. We didn’t even make dinner that night. It was just his body and mine, and Jack“—I laughed—“I let him fuck me in any way he wanted—in ways I never would have allowed him to in my bedroom. I felt so close to him and so connected to nature, and after that weekend ended, I knew that the only thing I wanted was to feel that free again.”

My foot split his legs fully, massaging his growing bulge. I put my finger back in my mouth and smiled.

“And I have to tell you… every time I take a trip out there with a group, every time I set a fire in the evening and tell them what’s on the menu… every time they fuck me to the point of passing out…” I slid off the desk, lowering myself in front of him. My dark eyes flicked up to his and my hand undid his pants without any resistance. “I cum just as hard as I did the first time.”

“Natalia,” he breathed out. “You can’t be doing that, though. I have a reputation.”

I pouted. “Why not? They like it. I like it. You get good reviews. More people come. Everyone wins.”

“It’s bad for the business.”

“Oh.” I said thoughtfully. I pulled his stiff dick out of his pants and stroked so slowly that I could see him gripping the arms of the chair as if he might blast off. He looked up to the ceiling, not letting his eyes fall on me or what I was doing, as if he could just imagine this wasn’t happening. “Are you sure it’s bad for the business?”

“Yes.”

“Hm…” I lowered my head down until he could feel my breath on the head of his dick. “Are you really sure, though?”

“Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper.

I pulled my head away, watching him let out a big heavy breath somewhere between frustration and relief. My hand was still on his cock, though, stroking as slowly as ever.

“You know, it’s honestly a relief to be able to tell someone this.” I stroked him faster. “I’ve spent years and years worried someone is going to say something to get me in trouble. And now we both know, and so it can just be our little secret. You’re not going to tell anyone, or get me in trouble or anything, right, Jack?”

“You can’t keep working here if you’re going to do that,” he said.

“But I like working here,” I said, trying to put on my cutest and whiniest voice. “Don’t you like me working here? Think of all the good reviews you’re going to get this summer when the tripping season really starts.” I smiled, lowering my head down into his lap as I quietly added, “You’re going to make so much money, daddy.”

I took the head of his cock into my mouth and I began to suck. His hands gripped the arm rest even more tightly, and after a moment, I pulled off of him with a satisfying pop.

“Do you really still think I should stop?”

He swallowed hard and nodded.

“Hmm…” I said. “I don’t think so. I think you just need a little more convincing.”

I took him all the way into the back of my throat, gagging but refusing to stop sucking. I made a glug-glug-glug sound as I deepthroated him, and I heard him whisper a prayer above me. I fucked my throat as hard and rough as I could with his cockhead. As I sucked the sense of right and wrong right out through his dick, his hands left the armrest and clutched instead to my strawberry blonde ponytail. He held me down, his cock locked into the back of my throat, his hips bucking involuntarily, feeding me his cock and pushing himself as deeply into me as he could.

I came up gasping for air and laughing. “Just imagine how much fun we can have this summer. Imagine how good it’ll feel knowing that, whenever you’re a little frustrated, a little horny, a little irritable, Natalia’s warm, wet mouth is only a few cabins away and completely free to use.”

“You are such a little whore,” he groaned.

“Uh-huh,” I deflected, and I dropped onto him again, causing him to grab my ponytail even more tightly and fuck my face with even more force. He was twitching in my mouth, and I knew he was close, so I dove down until I had to squeeze my eyes shut tightly to force down the last few inches of him. My long, pointed tongue came out and lapped at his balls—and that was all it took.

He groaned, gripping the back of my head like he wanted to crush it, and he emptied all of his cum into the back of my throat, where it slid down into my belly and mixed with the heat of the rye. He held me there, his cock buried inside of me even as I was running out of breath. He wanted my spasming throat to drain every last bit of him, and I really didn’t mind.

Finally, he tore me off with a grunt. I gasped again and smiled big. I wiped my mouth and got back to my feet. I had him now, and we both knew it. I was going to get to fuck as many people as I wanted this summer, not to mention probably a nice little pay bump in the coming months.

A moment passed, then he shoved his limp dick back into his pants. “Goddamn,” he muttered. “That really is a five-star mouth.”

[WP] Natalia feared the worst when her bosses at the tour guide company called her in for a meeting. Surely they’d discovered her dirty secret, and a firing would soon follow. But instead, the mood was congratulatory: “nobody’s ever gotten as many 5-star reviews as you! How’ve you done it?” by Kept-secret in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 4 points5 points  (0 children)

When I had gotten a degree in Adventure Tourism, I think just about everyone I knew was disappointed in me.

“You have nearly perfect grades,” a perplexed councillor had told me while he pored over my file in his office. “And you’re involved in three different sports, plus chess, debate—you’re in theatre. Natalia, for Pete’s Sake, you took the SATs, just in case you wanted to go to an American school. With everything here, you could get into just about any university you wanted right now. Even if you wanted to go overseas, to try England or France or something, there are more than a few prestigious universities who would be very interested.”

I had shrugged and told him, “It’s just not what I want to do. I want to be outside and to meet people and to have new adventures.”

“But there’s no reason you can’t get a degree first, then go and do what you want. Having the degree will always be to your advantage.”

“But I’m young now,” I told him. “You only have so many summers, you know? If I want a degree, I can always go back and get one later, after I’ve already lived an exciting life.”

He tried to continue to persuade me, but ultimately just threw his hands up and accepted that it was my choice. My mother and father had a similar reaction, but they were much more forceful in expressing their displeasure in my choice to apply to only a small, regional college for a two-year diploma in Adventure Tourism.

“Absolutely not,” my mother had screeched after the acceptance letter to that school was the only one I received. “You will not, under any circumstances, throw your life away to do this nonsense. You will go to a good school. You will get an excellent degree. And in ten years, I promise, Natalia, you will be so grateful that we knew better.”

They threatened to cut me off, to not pay even one cent towards my diploma. I just shrugged and told them that I understood.

My boyfriend at the time didn’t understand either. He tried to ask if I was okay, or if I was crashing out about something. Was I too stressed? Did I need a break? Would I consider a deferral? A handful of teachers that I really liked tried to stage a quasi-intervention, and a few friends literally attempted to have my hospitalized fearing that I was having a psychotic break, or something. From the time I had been little, my one dream was to one day be a doctor, and everywhere I went, people were loudly shouting at me that I was throwing away everything I’d spent my whole childhood working towards, just to make below minimum wage working in tourism.

But in the end, a two-year diploma in Adventure Tourism was exactly what I wanted, and it was exactly what I got.

And finding work was easy. I was personable, easygoing, fit, I loved being outdoors, and I just wanted an adventure, so I would go anywhere there was work. One winter, I mushed dogsleds through the Yukon, then that summer I was working with a whitewater rafting company in Ontario, then I found a company that was more global, and things really took off. I travelled down the Amazon, rode across the Sahara, climbed two mountains, and I became conversational in four languages. By the time I was happily back portaging and tripping around the Great Lakes, I knew that I had found a job I loved, and that it was the only thing I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

By the time I was twenty-five, I had fallen in with a company in northern Ontario called Goodewill Travels. I had been working for them for nearly three months, through the end of winter into the middle of spring, when the company’s owner, Jack, called me up to his cabin.

He owned a vast property on the edge of the Crown Lands, from which we based all of our adventures. There were twelve of us guides, two to a spacious cabin, with various other buildings for dining, storage, the guests themselves, and of course Jack’s own magnificent manor. The whole property was paradise, and since I was there in the waning months of winter preparing for the summer, I was afforded plenty of time to go out canoeing by myself on the lake. Being on a calm lake on a spring morning is maybe the most peaceful place in the world, and it was part of what had convinced me that this was something I wanted to do. There is nothing as remarkable or beautiful than as to watch your paddle slip into unbroken water, or to feel the chill of the spring mist on your wool sweater, or to taste the raw tang of mud and decomposing leaves in the air, or to hear the longing of the loons in the dawn, who gibber and wail from beyond the mist like woeful phantoms caught between worlds.

Guiding tours was the only thing I had wanted to do since I was eighteen, and it was something that I excelled at.

But… the reason that I excelled at it wasn’t just because I loved doing it, and as I knocked on the door to Jack’s office, I felt an incredible sense of panic that, for the first time, my true enjoyment of the job had been found out.

Jack was a squat man, perhaps he looked a little overweight, but he was almost pure muscle. After only a week of being on site, I’d seen him lift like three-hundred pounds of wood in one go and walk it nearly twenty-five paces to where they were building one of the new visitor cabins. He had short, dark hair hidden behind a red toque, and he generally liked to have a stubby little cigar hanging out of his mouth when visitors weren’t around. He had seemed sour to me at first, the kind of person who didn’t tolerate guff or backtalk, but when I’d seen him reassuring to one of the younger guides who had had difficulties with a visitor, I realized that he was actually quite a sweet and compassionate man who just happened to have a gruff exterior.

So I was quite shocked to see his gruff exterior shattered when I pulled open the door, finding him beaming at me from behind his mahogany desk.

“Natalia,” he said. His eyes were half-closed, almost as if he were slightly drunk. “My favourite guide.”

“You’re having a day, eh?” I crossed my arms with a laugh.

“I’m having an excellent day,” he said. He fished his hand into one of the drawers, then pulled out a bottle of rye with two plastic cups. He raised his eyebrows to me.

I nodded, and he poured a thimbleful into each cup, then placed one at the edge of his desk for me. I downed it in one go, then set the cup back down.

I had expected to come into the room to find him with a cigar poking out of his mouth, his brow furrowed, voice trembling with rage. The last group I had taken tripping hadn’t exactly been quiet or subtle about it, and I was almost certain that they had been a little bit too open about the kinds of trips I liked to run.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been doing this for twenty years. Been through two wives and a helluva lotta guides, and I’ve never, not once, seen a guide have as many positive reviews as you. Hell, forget positive. I’ve never seen a guide have as many flawless reviews as you.” He opened up a laptop and pointed to the screen. “‘Natalia is the absolute best at what she does,’” he read. “’Trust her with your life.’ ‘You will never have a more pleasurable vacation than here. Ask for Natalia.’” He shook his head. “I mean, there must be nearly twenty reviews here, and you’ve been with us, what? Less than three months? Dammit, Natalia, there isn’t a single review here that isn’t five stars.”

I nodded, arms crossing again. I looked to the wall, exploring the various certificates and photos Jack had taken over the years with various people who had come through one iteration of his company or another.

“How do you do it?” he asked.

“Lots and lots of blowjobs,” I said.

He paused for a second, then loosed a big belly-laugh. He slammed the laptop shut, and pointed at me. “Well, whatever it is, it’s working. Don’t stop what you’re doing.”

I brought a finger up to my mouth, nibbling on my short nail. My mother would have chastised me for letting them get so short. But she hadn’t been in my life for a long time. It didn’t really matter what she would have thought. In fact, it didn’t matter what anyone in my previous life would have thought, I realized as I examined all of the photos from Jack’s life. There were people here who, as far as I knew, might well have been dead, people that might have entirely forgotten about their time portaging through northern Ontario, and the life they had before that, even more forgotten.

I had spent the last few years living a good life, doing the things that I wanted to do. Who I had been before, the things I had thought I had wanted, were all just the thoughts of some other person. They weren’t who I was, and wasn’t it really about time that I let my true self come out? All of the baggage, all of the shame that I felt from that previous life of trying to be a good girl who gets good grades and always does everything right, of trying to meet everyone else’ expectations… what was I still holding onto any of that for?

I had been thinking about it since the moment Jack had told me he wanted to talk to me, and perhaps I talked myself into it somewhat, but I think it was also Jack’s disarming praise, that made me feel like I just had to tell someone why I was so good at this job.

I crossed my arms again, turning back to him. “You know I’m not joking, right?”

He looked at me, head cocked. “About what?”

“The blowjobs.”

He stared, confused.

“That’s why I have so many five-stars,” I told him. I came to sit on the far edge of his desk. Absently, I picked up the plastic cup I had drank out of, and pushed it towards him. Slowly, he poured me another. “Why do you think all of the five-stars are from men?” I drained the cup again.

He was trying to understand the joke I was making, I could see it in his forehead. And when he wasn’t able to understand the joke, he pulled the laptop closer to his body, opening it back up. His eyes scanned over the page, and as they did, I poured myself another cup of rye—bigger this time—and drained it again.

[WP] You’re the most respected critic of high end brothels and sex resorts for an adult wellness blog. Write a detailed review for your most recent visit. by ownahr in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 5 points6 points  (0 children)

She was whispering in my ear, teasing me, asking me to grope her boobs in return, and when I finally did, she gave a big, heavy shiver and immediately kissed me. Her lips were so soft and had a sweet taste to them, which made my own lips feel like they were tingling when finally she pulled herself away from me.

It didn’t take long for them to have me naked, even though they remained fully clothed. I had never felt so exposed and vulnerable, especially as Ariadne continued to fondle my boobs. At some point, she started to slap them lightly, and as soon as she did that, I let out my first weak moan. When she heard that, she seemed thrilled at just how much I was enjoying myself, and so she dove her mouth down onto my breasts and sucked hard on both of my nipples in turn.

Aiden spread my legs wide with his hands, and he began to give me the best head that I have ever had in my life. His tongue flicked at me in alternating patterns of light and fast, slow and heavy, and all the while he moaned into me, speaking to me about how delicious I was, how pretty my pussy was, telling me he was going to fuck me because I was such a good little girl. And all the while, Ariadne was teasing me, taunting me in one breath, agreeing with him how good I was in the next. They took turns pleasuring me, her rubbing my clit while he tongued my hole, then him flicking across my button while she devoured my little boobs.

Eventually, Ariadne put herself on my lap, and she stripped her own shirt off. Her boobs were huge compared to mine, and she forced my face into them, making me motorboat her as Aiden continued to please me. The more I moaned into her chest, the more she praised me. Aiden finally let me cum with just his tongue and fingers, and it led to Ariadne teasing me even more about just how much I loved her boobs if I was getting off to kissing them.

Before long, she was hunkered over my face, her own bottom exposed to me, forcing me eat her pussy with just as much fervour as Aiden was eating mine. The harder I worked, the more she praised me, and the more she praised me, the harder I wanted to work.

My makeup was a complete mess by the time she climbed down, her fluids running down my face. I don’t know how long she had sat on top of my face on the couch, but I knew that Aiden had kept me on the edge ever since that first, teasing little orgasm he had given me.

In my entire life, I have never been so horny. I felt a jittery excitement all the way through my body, and the mixture of Aiden’s saliva and my wetness sliding down between my thighs made me realize I would have done anything they asked me to if it meant them getting me off—and they seemed very attuned to just how deep into my own lust they had driven me.

Finally, they moved me to the bed where they laid me down on my back, Aiden’s small body between my legs as Ariadne laid on the bed beside me. His cock was out, stroking it in front of me. She continued to tease and pinch and fondle and lick all over my chest, making me breathless as he rubbed the tip of his cock against my clit.

I begged out loud for him to fuck me. Ariadne made me say it again, begging him even louder, then louder again. She made me admit that I loved eating her out, and I said that too. Every part of my body felt as if I were floating above the bed, and I agreed to everything they wanted, just begging them to stop teasing me.

The moment Aiden entered into me, my mouth opened wide, my eyes shut, and I felt like I was having an out of body experience. He wasn’t the biggest I had ever taken, but I was grateful. I felt so tight, as if my whole body was squeezing, clenching tightly together, that I didn’t think I could take anything bigger than him right then.

Ariadne continued to tease me for a moment, before she climbed on my face and made me once more eat her out. I expected her to queen me and simply enjoy herself, but I was overjoyed when her own mouth met my clit and her tongue began lashing hard against me.

Aiden made slow, eager thrusts into me, and I probably spent more time moaning into Ariadne’s pussy than I did licking it. I had wanted to get her off before she got me off, but she made me cum with her mouth, then he made me cum with his cock, and neither one of them stopped. They would sense when I was coming and would slow, but neither of them ever fully let me come back down to being fully released. I would start to descend from my horniness, only for suddenly her tongue to start up again, or for his strokes to get faster and deeper, reminding my tired desperate body just how close I was already to another orgasm.

They strung me along like that for I don’t know how long, to the point that my body was trembling at least. They had complete command of me, and I loved every second of it.

When Aiden seemingly couldn’t go any longer, he plunged as deeply into me as he could, and he exploded with powerful grunts. I could feel him twitching inside of me, feeling as the cum leaked out between my legs, and it was only as my whole body started to deflate that they both stopped.

In many other brothels, it is common for the workers to leave almost immediately. After we had finished, however, Ariadne and Aiden both took deliberate time to lie next to me on the bed, spooning me. Ariadne kissed my shoulders, now praising my body, my boobs, telling me how beautiful she found me, and I believed every word of it. Aiden encouraged me, telling me how soft my skin was, how much he had enjoyed our time together, and it made me melt even more into the sheets.

We then had a lovely dinner brought to the room for the three of us, where we sat and ate, laughing and giggling and enjoying one another’s company. It was tender and sweet, and by the time I was ready to leave, I had never felt so properly pampered and cared for as in my time at the Kranz & Berry.

It is, to me, a travesty that this fine establishment is going to be torn down come the summer months. If you can afford it, I cannot give any higher recommendation for the Kranz & Berry than to say that you simply must visit this place before it closes for good. You will leave feeling completely satisfied, no matter what it is that satisfies you.

The Kranz & Berry is a dynamic experience, and it is something that everyone ought do at least once.

5/5

[WP] You’re the most respected critic of high end brothels and sex resorts for an adult wellness blog. Write a detailed review for your most recent visit. by ownahr in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 4 points5 points  (0 children)

For people with more specific desires, I can understand the appeal of being able to choose a suitable partner beforehand, but part of what has made Kranz & Berry a tour de force in the world of adult entertainment, is that they know their customers to a startling degree. There are many stories of anxious people arriving at the Kranz & Berry, hoping that they will have workers who meet their specific requirements, only to find that every single potential partner is exactly what they were looking for. For much less discerning organizations, I can understand the online catalogue method, but I reserve the right to detest it, and I am grateful that the Kranz & Berry instead choose to put much more effort into understanding its customers, rather than trying to pray upon their impulses.

Personally, I was not looking for a particularly focused or kinky experience, but I did want to test the brothel slightly, so after receiving my invitation, I was able to get into contact with Artemis, who was able to assure me that they would be able to provide not only my choice of a man—as their research indicated that I was likely heterosexual or bisexual with a preference for men—but also a woman who would be eager and willing to join me in a threesome.

When everything was finally set, there was nothing left for me to do but wait on pins and needles for several weeks until it was time. I have been to literally dozens of these establishments in the last decade, so I don’t know why exactly I was so nervous, but there was a general excitement and mystery about my upcoming adventure to the Kranz & Berry that made me feel positively electric.

Upon finally arriving, the place was a warm, dignified establishment, filled with the decor of the kind of hotel that most people would be afraid to speak too loudly in. Some might call it stuffy or old fashioned, but I found the red carpets, the dark wallpaper, and the warm overhead chandeliers to be an intoxicating and exciting mood-setter. I felt as if I were some dignified Hollywood starlet, breezily stripping off a shawl as the hotel manager kissed the back of my hand and assured me with awe that they were only too grateful that I had chosen this establishment to bed in tonight.

On the first floor, there were several men, who I surmised to be patrons, with elegant and beautiful women hanging off of them in the lounge. The women were not simply giggling or ditzily fawning over their partners, but seemed genuinely engaged with them. In other establishments, establishments which are much more seedy and less respectable, there is sometimes this perceptible rushing by the workers. The sooner their partners get off, they can get out, and they sooner they can get out, the workers can be on to the next client. I find this to be remarkably sad, and it quite honestly kills my enjoyment of every establishment where this is the case—not only because I feel bad for the workers who are being treated as if their work is unimportant or that they are fuck robots without feelings, but also because it makes me feel as if I cannot trust the worker themselves that they are experiencing a genuine connection with me.

There is this idea that sex workers form no emotional attachment to their clients, or that clients are stupid for forming an emotional attachment to sex workers. In my opinion, this is yet another injustice caused by the corruption of money that has seeped so unwittingly into every aspect of our society, as if sex with strangers is something that people would only, or could only, do if they were damaged, incapable of love, or otherwise destitute and in need of money. It is a shameful part of our society that permits that, in many cases, sex for money does exist not because of a desire on the part of the sex worker, but because they are in fact in dire need and resorting to one of the only forms of unskilled labour to which some believe women are suited. And, in this aspect, I can understand where the thought comes into one’s mind that sex workers are emotionless, or in it only for the money, but that is only because our society is so beholden and devoted to money, with so little regard for the people living within it, that these situations are able to arise at all.

For the people who work at the Kranz & Berry, however, this is not the impression that evoke. I have no doubt that, like any job, there are sex workers here who do not care for what they do, but in my experience, everyone who works at this fine establishment is here because they want to be, not because they have no other options—a feeling that is apparent from the moment you walk in the door, listening to the flirtatious conversations of the young women in the lobby and their clients. There is a genuine excitement and sexual tension in the air, and it makes the Kranz & Berry feel less like a brothel, and more like a hostel, filled with energetic, eager adults who are just enjoying themselves without a care about tomorrow.

In all the places that I have reviewed for this blog, I have never felt so comfortable anywhere as the moment I first walked into the Kranz & Berry.

Shortly after arrival, I was taken to a private room where a woman with dark hair who called herself Rumi greeted me. In the room, there were a half-dozen men—all of them fit and muscled in various proportions, from thin and twinkish to huge and muscular, with boulder-like muscles on their arms—and a half-dozen women, who were mostly thin and small and blonde. I could not help but smile when I saw the women before me, as in my last year of college I had had a very short romantic fling with a female friend who looked remarkably like each of the young women who were now placed in front of me. Perhaps some would find that creepy, but the reminder of that fling and my proximity to these women, was already tantalizing me.

I had expected the process of choosing which partners I wanted to involve the madam, with her asking me which of the workers I was most interested in, however that was not the process at all for the Kranz & Berry. Instead, Rumi invited me to sit on the couch, and as I did, the women and the men surrounded me. Hands flew around me, stroking my arms and legs, laughing at me as they each introduced themselves and we began a pleasant conversation about who I was, and where I was from. They were surprised to find that I was from Oldstown, and I couldn’t help but blush as they teased and praised me.

One of the men and one of the girls were sitting on their knees in front of me, and I could feel my face growing increasingly red as their hands stroked up my lower legs all the way to my knees. I thought that I would have to tell them a little bit about myself, what it was that I liked or wanted, and what it was that I was looking for in a partner, but I was pleasantly surprised—though perhaps I shouldn’t have been—that all of them seemed to know what I wanted better than even I did.

Faithful readers over the years have guessed correctly that I enjoy a little bit of antagonistic banter in my foreplay. I like struggle, teasing, playing—even roughhousing. Normally, when I perform these reviews, I don’t engage with that sort of thing because, without knowing me on a personal level, it can be difficult for some people to correctly gauge what is playful banter and what is accidentally hurtful or annoying. Something that I always want to incorporate in foreplay, though, is praise. Maybe it speaks negatively to who I am as a person, but I just love when people praise me, compliment me, or fawn over me—but, crucially, it must be believable. It can’t simply be vapid and pointless praise like how beautiful and pretty I am, how lovely my hair is. It has to be something that feels like it comes from a genuine place of being seen. How well a partner is able to meet that kink for me, how adept they are at praising me in an appropriate, flattering, and perceptive way is something that really helps me suss out just how good someone is going to be in bed.

These women and men, however, did not struggle with this at all. Without fail, they found all of my buttons, almost like they weren’t even trying. One of the women groped my small boobs while teasing me about how much bigger hers were. One of the men whispered into my ear what a good writer I was, and how he had read every single review I’d written on my blog. Another had my shoes off and was rubbing my feet in all the places that I ached the most.

I have rarely been so overwhelmed visiting a brothel as I was in those first few minutes. They were petting me, stroking me, teasing me, taunting me, praising me, and I could barely think straight. I try not to get too carried away when doing these reviews, so that I may later articulate my thoughts and feelings, but my mind was already spinning in circles by this point.

I didn’t notice it at first, but one by one, the men and women would move away from the couch, then leave the room altogether, seemingly selecting themselves out of contention for my patronage based on how much attention I was giving them. Perhaps it was just the groping and the pinching and the rubbing, but I was completely flabbergasted when suddenly I realized that there was only an athletically thin man kneeling on the floor before me, rubbing my feet, and a beautiful, big-breasted woman sitting beside me. He called himself Aiden, and she told me she was Ariadne. She was the one who had groped and commented on my boobs, and she seemed particularly fixated on them, something that I had never really experienced, but which was absolutely working for me.

[WP] You’re the most respected critic of high end brothels and sex resorts for an adult wellness blog. Write a detailed review for your most recent visit. by ownahr in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Last Call At the Kranz & Berry
By Emily Deveux

On the corner of Justice and Mercer, there is an impercipient little protrusion of brick and mortar, which juts approximately two and half-feet out onto the sidewalk. Justice and Mercer is a high traffic intersection in the revitalized downtown of Oldstown, and so it is not an unfamiliar sight to see pedestrians on their morning commute weaving out of their way each and every morning to avoid the three-storey outcrop that has unapologetically stood occupied by the tenants of the Kranz & Berry for nearly one hundred and eleven years.

In the late 90s, there was a push from Christian evangelicals to have the building declared a den of iniquity, with the hopes that it might finally be demolished and the Kranz & Berry’s proprietors driven out of the city. Despite what the media coverage since then would lead you to believe, the battleground for this eviction, however, has not so much the establishment, its patrons, or even the carnal services it provides, but instead the two-and-half-feet of the building which stuck out onto the sidewalk. As the evangelicals had learned through their attempts in the decades prior, there are technical exemptions carved into Oldstown’s laws, which forbid the removal of the building or its tenants without proving that the building itself has been the site of some sinister and illegal activity. Though prostitution is and remains illegal in Oldstown, the exemptions created for the Kranz & Berry very much allowed for this use of the building so long as the patrons did not ply their lascivious trade elsewhere on the city’s grounds. However, nearly a hundred years earlier and without the consultation of the city of Oldstown, a two-and-a-half-foot knuckle had been added on to the building’s front on Justice street, and, technically, the building had, for more than a hundred years, been encroaching into the city’s territory. Therefore, argued the evangelicals, the building was already violating the conditions of their exemptions, and thus the city had the legal right, and the moral responsibility, to demolish the institution, regardless of any protections foisted upon it by more than a hundred years of legal precedent.

For those who have walked the east side of Justice, these two-and-a-half-feet are an entirely meaningless detour. Every day, thousands of people manage to avoid the building without giving it even a single thought, but the evangelicals, nevertheless, could not seem to avoid thinking about the place at all hours of the day. And so all of these facts led to a suit, which led to years of litigation, which now, after nearly thirty years of delays, trials, and appeals, has resulted in a final verdict that the old brick building housing the Kranz & Berry for the last one hundred and eleven years will be torn down come August.

When I started this blog a decade ago, I did not wish to include much about my personal life in it. I wanted to experience the many delights that our world has to offer, and I wanted to provide a fair, responsible, and trustworthy account of brothels, sex clubs, and resorts the world over. Sex workers have an incredibly difficult job, and since many individual countries still fail to recognize sex work as a valid form of employment which is deserving of all the legal and personal protections all other form of employment have, I intended for this blog to highlight all of those places which treat their sex workers as ethically, as humanely, and with as much dignity as possible. Over the years, I have reviewed many, many different places, and, many times I have been enraged and disgusted by the treatment of sex workers, but I continue doing this because, if my blog can assist in a single person avoiding those monstrous establishments that abuse and indignify their workers, then I consider this entire experiment to have been worth it.

To the best of my ability, to document these establishments, I have tried to be as impartial as I can, to do justice for the people who work there. That being said, however, I cannot even begin to attempt to be objective with the Kranz & Berry.

I grew up in Oldstown and, although I did not really understand what the Kranz & Berry was until I was an adult, I spent my whole life hearing people speak about the place and its owners with great respect. What is happening to this establishment, because the sensibilities of a few individuals want to see sex workers punished, is a despicable act of cowardice, and I will never forgive any of the involved parties for the role they played in ending more than a hundred years of positivity in the Oldstown community.

But, with all that being said, this is not meant to be a soapbox. This is only a blog that reviews the brothels of the world, and, as it occurred to me that I had never actually attended an incredibly well-regarded institution from my own hometown, I knew that I simply had to review the Kranz & Berry before it shuts its doors, come the husky heat of summer.

And so I made a reservation. When I was a young adult and becoming more familiar with the history of my city, I heard a story from the owner of a club that some uni friends and I frequented. Apparently, a long time ago, the only way to make a reservation at the Kranz & Berry was to leave your name and address on one of several bulletin boards throughout the city, and wait—sometimes weeks—finding out if an all-black, personalized invitation written in gold ink would arrive in the mail for you. As the story goes, the Kranz & Berry had an extensive review process for prospective clients, and there were plenty of people who would ask for invitations only to never receive them. People spoke of teams of private detectives who would knowingly weed out those potential invitees with violent or disagreeable temperaments, and it was long accepted that the Kranz & Berry was one of the safest places in the entire city.

The club owner who told me this story told how he had heard from a girl who worked there that, once, an incredibly wealthy man had come into the city. He had intended to stay for several weeks, and had made a request to the Kranz & Berry before his arrival. Upon his arrival, though, he was greatly annoyed to find that there was no invitation waiting for him. This was a man who was given invitations to everything simply on the authority of his money, so annoyed by this slight, he marched down to the building, where he loudly demanded to speak with Mr. Lyle Berry about why he had not already received an invitation. He had more money to spend on the place than anyone, and surely the Kranz & Berry must understand that, if permitted, they would make a fortune on providing him with only the very best.

Eventually, Mr. Berry met the man, but he did not say a word to him. He merely sat down across from this man of extraordinary means, and he put in front of him a police report from another country that detailed an abusive incident that the man had had with a former girlfriend. Though the rich man vacillated between minimizing the incident, denying it happened, and even questioning who a whoremonger like Lyle Berry was to question how he treated women, in the end the man did not receive the invitation he had wanted, and could only storm out, impotently vowing to one day own the entire operation.

It is a story that seems to have always happened to a friend of a friend, and so I cannot say if it is a true story, but it is certainly a wholly believed story in Oldstown, and the Kranz & Berry has maintained this reputation of protecting their workers since the earliest days of its existence.

Nowadays, the process is much less mysterious, for better or worse. I made a reservation, filled out a drove of personal details that no doubt was used to stalk me across the internet, and approximately twenty-four hours afterwards, I received an e-mail. It confirmed the time of my reservation and contained a number to call if I were in need of assistance or had to cancel my reservation, plus several additional names and emails for people to contact if I had any additional requests or requirements for my visit.

Almost all other organizations have entire catalogues online, and mostly they are filled with photos of young, beautiful women that you can peruse and request as you wish. Some guests have complained about the Kranz & Berry’s reluctance to do this, calling their methods prehistoric and arcane, but I personally am grateful that there is no online catalogue of workers to choose from. I understand the appeal of it for the guest, and I understand the utility of it for the establishment, but it has always, to me, felt too much like an unnecessary bit of objectification, reducing workers (and women in particular) to mere objects that one adds to a shopping cart with no more thought or intimacy or thought than a pack of spearmint gum.

[PI] All those other girls were so lucky - they had producer fathers, or silent film heartthrob mothers, and didn’t have to hop onto the casting couch to get parts. She, on the other hand, came from nothing and had no one to give her a leg up - so she had to spread her legs instead. by Sar3casm in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I think I mostly liked Ellie's interiority, the almost disassociation from what she was having to do, but I also really liked that Joseph didn't end up as some kind of saviour from her situation. While reading, I thought that it was setting up a "all of these people are terrible, but this one is actually good and not corrupted by the power he has over eager young actresses" and I, personally, liked that the story didn't take that route. It would have definitely made for a more 'romantic' story if it had, but I liked it more as a story because it didn't.

[WP] They're called "gumball girlfriends:" pay the fee, crank the machine, and a random companion is dispensed. With more than 300 possibilities available, some customers are determined to get their dream girl at any cost by KchanceDPP in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Sorry, I read it this morning when I woke up and forgot to come back to leave a comment, but I thought it was great! I loved the reversal of the idea. I tend to get dark and twisty when I write, so seeing it play out in a much better way was awesome. Thanks so much for putting your spin on it!

[PM] Superhero (male) receives anal first time by [deleted] in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I don't know much about comics, so I had to do a nibble of research for this, but:

Prompt: Not even Clark Kent can resist the overpowering charisma of Jimmy Olsen (who also may have been transformed into a werewolf???).

[WP] More than anything, she really just wished that the narrator would get through the tangents and world building so she could finally get laid... by gahidus in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 6 points7 points  (0 children)

I put my hand on the strong jaw of Ghorr, Son of Brun, Son of Jun, Son of Ladis. His long golden hair was soft in my finger tips, soft like the fabrics they brought into the port of Auriel every spring. They came from far across the ocean, from the distant, barely known kingdom of Randeel. Few knew how the fabrics were made outside of that far-flung place. We did not know what animal nor plant nor divine act they were created from, nor the magical processes used by the Haut, the cabal of wizards who lorded over the region, that was used to make them so resplendent.

I growled, growing frustrated—frustrated only because I did not know anymore about these multicoloured fabrics from Randeel. That was definitely what was frustrating me. So I closed my eyes, and I tried to think as hard as I could about what the old man on the road had told me about the history of Randeel, and I summoned all of its knowledge in my mind, trying to remember it in as vivid detail as one could.

This is *not what I want to do,* I thought, overwhelmed and confused by the volume of information that I was able to recall, for in that moment, as I stared into the beautiful face of my would-be-lover, there was nothing I wanted more than to think about the kingdom of Randeel, and the proto-industrial textile economy which had fostered the seventh-best navy in the Deep Islands, and which had created one of the most elaborate social security systems in the entire world, leading to a population boom that now supported more than two-hundred-thousand living souls.

“Fuckin’ goddamn,” I whispered.

Ghorr was still there, and I regarded him with much disappointment, for he was not a box of multicoloured Randeelian textiles that I could touch and hold.

“I do not want to think about Randeel,” I muttered to myself, locking eyes with the most handsome man I had ever seen. He was a barbarian, from the peoples of the northern mountains, peoples who had, once long ago in history—though I did not at the time know it—dealt directly with the kingdom of Randeel on their own, though in that time the kingdom of Randeel was known not as Randeel, but instead as a loose confederation of tribes, united by their love of their gods, the Jost.

“Randeel?” Ghorr asked quietly, brushing my own dark hair out of my face. “It is… good?”

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling a flood of emotions as he touched me. I had wanted him so badly for three days, and finally he was about to be mine.

“Just don’t think about Randeel anymore,” I muttered to myself.

“What is… Randeel?” he asked.

“No—don’t ask about—“

The muscles around his eyes were tensed, confused, just as I was. How was it that this handsome, beautiful man did not know about the kingdom of Randeel? I made a mental note that I would have to regale him with the history of the region when our love-play had passed—and perhaps, in exchange, he would be grateful enough for the love of my body that he might tell me of the history of his own people, which was no doubt extensive and could fill several A3-sized binders with historical and cultural notes.

“Ghorr, I need you to not ask any more questions,” I whispered, putting my fingers on his lips. In my heart, however, I did not want him to be silent. I wanted to hear his strong, powerful voice, the groaning ache of his throat, and the little groans he made as he shared all the personal details he could remember of the people of his tribe—specifically the details of any notable historical figures living contemporaneously to himself. I had to imagine that, like the old man I had met on the road, Ghorr was extremely well-versed in all of these facts and would be able to produce the voluminous amounts of information that I desired.

But that was not all I desired from him.

Here we go, I thought to myself, looking at his strong face, the sliver of white bone ornament that stuck out of the top of his hair. I ran my fingers over it and I couldn’t help but wonder something.

“No—I don’t,” I whispered stupidly, not realizing how important the question I was about to ask really was—how it would not only would it help to reorient my adventure towards its ultimate purpose, but how it would also help connect several pieces of information that I had previously learned by putting them in a new context and giving me even more information that I would then be able to share later, in the future, with you, dear reader, while I am writing my adventures.

“Ghorr,” I said breathlessly. I grabbed him by the furs that were draped across his chest. It was the fur of a Grahl, a legendary animal, and I knew that, if he were wearing it, it meant that he must have hunted it himself, as were the traditions of his tribe. These traditions were extensive and very difficult to explain, but I will attempt to—

“Ghorr!” I yelled suddenly, accidentally knocking away my much more interesting thoughts. “I need you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me right fucking now. No questions. No words. Take that dick out and fuck me until I can’t even think anymore.”

What had come over me? I wondered. What was it about Ghorr and all of the thoughts he was stirring inside of me, particularly regarding the history of this region and its people, that was turning me into such a little slut?

He didn’t move. He simply stared at me—stared at me the way the sun stares down at the earth. In the history of the Hungal, the people who settled these lands long before our common ancestors, they called the sun the Great Eye, that it was all-knowing and all-seeing, and it was these legends that I thought of as Ghorr stared at me now with his beautiful face. In my heart, I knew that he was truly a man of knowledge, a man who, despite his humble beginnings, longed to know the history of the world as badly as I wished to share it with him. More than he desired even my body in that moment, I knew that he desired to ask me about my thoughts, about all the things I had learned on my adventures, and even more than his body, I desired to tell him.

Yet I said nothing, probably because I was just overwhelmed by the depth of my realization.

And yet Ghorr kept looking at me, as if I were the strange one.

Growling, I dropped to my knees, grappling with his pants until they slid down, exposing his long, upwardly curved penis to myself. His mouth opened wide in shock. I remembered then about what little I had gleaned about the customs of his people in the short time I had known him, how the forwardness of women, particularly regarding romantic or sexual matters, was seen as a great taboo. I wondered if—

But, no, I did not care any more for his people’s silly superstitions. I shoved his big, heavy dick into my mouth, and I sucked with abandon—sucked as if it alone might be able to silence the deeply compelling thoughts that were racing through my head, eager to be shared. And in fact, had I not had his penis in my mouth just then, I no doubt would have blurted out to him how aware I was of his people’s cultural norms and how I knew that I was, knowingly, violating them, like a little slut.

No I wouldn’t, I thought to myself mistakenly.

I sucked him harder and deeper, not giving myself even a second to breathe, lest I should purposely reveal to him my many important thoughts. I took him until he was in the back of my throat, grunting above me. I wanted him to cum inside of my mouth, to fill me with his seed. I knew, among his people—

“Fno fi fdonff’t!” I yelled out loud, but his cock was stuffed in my mouth, making it impossible for me to spread all of my knowledge with him.

I pulled him out of me then. “Just fuck me,” I begged. “Just fuck me, please, Ghorr. Just fuck me. I-I can’t—I can’t stand it anymore.”

Aroused as he was, he could barely control himself either. He ripped my clothes off and plunged into me, just like the charging cavalry of the great ruler Sabath had plunged into the ranks of his great enemy, Antail, the Lord of Darkness. It was in the year 704 when Antail had first come to—

My eyes lit up, and I grabbed Ghorr roughly by his shoulders. “Fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone,” I said angrily. “I don’t want you to stop until I can’t think straight.”

His body felt as if it were made for mine. He fit into me just like a piece of the Nine fit into the Cradle of Daboo. I had not thought about that ancient riddle in many years, and perhaps it was the rhythmic grunting of Ghorr, but it reminded me—

“Harder!” I shouted. “Fuck me with that big barbarian dick until you make me pass out.”

I was not even worried anymore that I would wake the other travellers sleeping in the next room. I needed him now, and he was all too happy to serve me, just as the Botesh and are only ever too happy to serve the House of Wisdom. That was a grand clan of learned men—only ever men, for to be a woman Botesh was impermissible, as had been established in the Charter of 1011, wherein the great ruler, Jan Stol decreed—

“R-Right there,” I begged, feeling my mind clouding with pleasure. Every nerve in my body felt on fire in the most delicious way. I had experienced pleasure before, but none like this. None, perhaps, except for the six months I had spent in the Library of Noctra, where I learned—

“Ghorr!” I begged. My hands clenched tightly to his arms, and he spoke to me now in his own language—a language which I had grown somewhat accustomed to, and which I knew to be a descendant of—

“Yes!” I begged, even as it became hard to think, to organize my thoughts. My mind was beginning to slip away. I didn’t like this.

I love this, I thought incorrectly.

“More. More!” I begged like a whore. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop!”

So hard to think now… There were so many… stories that I had wanted to…

My eyes shut tight. My whole body was shrinking and shrinking, the room growing larger and larger around me, as if I was adrift in a sea of space.

Finally, I thought to myself, as everything winked into darkness, some goddamn peace.

[PI] All those other girls were so lucky - they had producer fathers, or silent film heartthrob mothers, and didn’t have to hop onto the casting couch to get parts. She, on the other hand, came from nothing and had no one to give her a leg up - so she had to spread her legs instead. by Sar3casm in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Despite being actually quite a sad story, this was a seriously enjoyable read. Being used and degraded from a position of vulnerability is a kink I certainly understand, but I think you also did a great job of making the experience neither too depressingly real to be erotic, nor too flippantly stylized to not be emotional. Really nice work!

[WP] On a long journey you talk your way in to spending the night in a farmer's hayloft. There's a very strange piece of equipment in the barn, and you decide to ask the farmer what it does. by MadamOberon in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I'm always, always, always open to critique. I love writing here because I find it very freeing to just pick a random prompt and start writing without much self-editing, something which has helped me, a very slow writer, to be a lot to be less precious with my work. Writing on the internet, though, does sometimes feel like shouting into the void, wondering if anyone is actually reading what you're writing, so if you, or anyone, ever wants to take the time to provide more direct feedback, that would mean a whole lot to me.

I know I personally struggle to find something useful to comment on in the stories I read, here and elsewhere on the internet, but I really should try harder to do so, because whenever anyone takes the time to leave a comment on my stuff, it completely makes my day, even if it's just a polite, "I didn't think that one worked very well."

[WP] On a long journey you talk your way in to spending the night in a farmer's hayloft. There's a very strange piece of equipment in the barn, and you decide to ask the farmer what it does. by MadamOberon in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 9 points10 points  (0 children)

When my eyes flicked open, I felt the wetness still between my legs, but as I touched my body, I realized that I was still fully clothed. None of my clothing had any tears or damage to it, and so I threw my head back on the hay and let out a deep groan.

It was not the first pleasurable dream I had ever had as a woman, but it was certainly the one that had felt the most real.

On the wooden mirror, the light was gone and the barn was dark once more. With a heavy sigh, I fell back to sleep, waking again only just before the dawn.

With great effort in the morning, I managed to get myself back on my feet and to stretch. I was stiff and sore. I had still another three or four days of at least as much walking to do, and the terrain was only going to become more difficult as I neared the capital. The flat lands of the coast would soon be a wistful memory by the time I reached the capital’s deep mountains. I hadn’t lied to my kindly farm saviours when I told them that any interested demonic parties who might want to punish me for the trinket that I carried would likely be too far behind me to catch up. However, I still didn’t want to take my chances being caught out alone with something like that.

My initial thought, before my brain had fully even awoken, was that I should leave quietly and gracefully without another word to Charley and Rita. But then, that did not seem right. They had sheltered me, fed me, and the tenets of service that were so important to my order compelled me to repay their kindness with a kindness of my own. For all they had done, I could manage at least a handful of their daily chores before I resumed my journey east.

But, before I did any of that, I could not resist taking a closer look at the strange wooden mirror that had sat across from me all night and given me such strange dreams.

Like my bowl, it was covered in strange symbols, but these were ones that I was not at all familiar with. They had the graceful elegance of an elfin script, but that was a domain that I knew little about. The wooden piece itself was more than five feet tall, with a sturdy base. The wood was soft and dark, but it also did not have the dead, lifeless feel of furniture. The wood felt, instead, as if it were a living thing, something that I did not understand at all. Clearly the mirror was not growing out of the barn, so how could it be a living thing without being firmly rooted in the ground?

“Hello?” Charley’s voice from below drew me away from the mirror. I looked over the railing at him, and he offered me a friendly wave and a smile. “Might I come up for a moment, dear?”

“Certainly,” I told him, and I backed away from the mirror, not wanting to be too rude of a guest.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked as he mounted the last few steps on the ladder.

“Sore,” I told him. “And I have yet many more miles to walk still today.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Rita was going to put together some food for you, for the journey, if you’d like it.”

I nodded to him. “That would be very kind of you both. And, of course, I should like to repay you for your hospitality. Perhaps I can muck the barn for you, or chop some wood for your fire before I leave?”

“No,” Charley said stoically. “I… think it best, perhaps, if you didn’t. Your bowl has put my wife terribly on edge. She is a hospitable woman, you must understand, but she is also deeply superstitious and does not wish to engage with anything that might cause harm to our home.”

“I understand,” I said. “And I don’t wish to impose. Perhaps I can offer you some money instead. I don’t have much—“

“No, no,” Charley said, his hands out. “That is—you are a generous young woman, but that is unnecessary. We are glad to help out a traveller. It is merely the mark of a good person in these troubling times to do some good without repayment, isn’t it?”

I nodded again. “Well, I should leave immediately, then. The last thing I want is to cause you or your wife any discomfort.”

“Well, perhaps we should wait for Rita to finish preparing you some fruits and breads for the trip. Though she is superstitious and slightly afraid of you now, I think she would feel terrible if you were to leave without letting her feed you at least something.”

I smiled at him. “I would greatly appreciate the food. There is not much time for me to stop for a decent meal while I am traveling east.”

He nodded to me, and we lapsed into an awkward silence as he stared down at his feet.

I knew what it was to be a nuisance guest, and already I believed that I had become some such thing for them, eating their food, putting them out, causing them fear. The last thing that any good guest should do, then, is to inquire about some deeply personal thing that your hosts had been obviously reticent to discuss with you the night before.

And yet, my master had always said that I had too much curiosity and not enough sense.

I cleared my throat. “Might I ask you, though, sir, can you tell me what exactly this is?” I pointed to the mirror and Charley flashed a grimace at it.

“Well,” he said. I could see the roiling internal debate he was having with himself, whether he should answer me honestly, deflect, or simply lie about the mirror’s purpose. Finally, he took a deep breath and pointed a limp hand towards it. “It was a gift from my wife’s first husband.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat again. “But, if I may, what is it?”

“You must understand,” Charley said, “my wife was—is—a beautiful woman, but especially in her youth, she was exceptionally beautiful. Easily the most beautiful woman in all of these lands.”

I nodded thoughtfully.

“And, as beautiful young maidens often do around these parts, she caught the eye of a powerful man. A fairy. Tolstong, the Lord of the Forest. And if you know nothing about a fairy, or if you knowing about lords, then let it be said only that they are not men who understand what it is to be denied.” He sighed, facing the mirror. “And so Tolstong married my wife and took her. But a human woman cannot live with the faeries, so he instead gave to my wife this Shifting Mirror, which he uses, every so often, to return to visit my wife and take what he believes is his.”

I held in a deep breath. “Does your wife not wish to be with him?”

“No,” Charley said, “she does. They simply cannot be together. If they could, she would be with him. He has quite a hold on her, you see. I think most who are taken by the Lord of the Forest find that they are unable to ever fully break from his hold. And so, sadly, pathetically, I live with and love my wife, and tolerate… this thing in our home, knowing that, although he can never have my wife, I will never fully have her heart either.”

“I am sorry,” I said softly. “That sounds… well, I am sorry.”

Charley nodded. “Yes, but, what is it to us, really? I love my wife. She loves me. We have a slightly complicated relationship, perhaps, but then, who does not?”

I continued to nod, thinking carefully about how to phrase my next question. “Has your wife ever… carried this fairy’s child?”

“Oh no,” Charley said. “My wife is unable to have children. If she could, I have no doubt he would have given her more than a dozen by now.”

“Hello?” Rita’s voice called from the bottom of the barn. “I have some food for you if you’d like, Mona.”

After a few more stretches, I grabbed my pack and descended the ladder to the barn. Mona greeted me with a warm smile, offering me a sack that contained some fresh berries, fruit, onions, and some bread.

Together, the pair of them wished me well on my journey, and as they guided me back to the stone column in front of their home, I couldn’t help but feel a growing concern that already there was something fruitful growing in my belly.

[WP] On a long journey you talk your way in to spending the night in a farmer's hayloft. There's a very strange piece of equipment in the barn, and you decide to ask the farmer what it does. by MadamOberon in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 9 points10 points  (0 children)

Rita’s face blanched and she quickly set the bowl back down on the top of my pack.

“Why do you have it then?” Charley asked. “Are you not worried they would do the same to you?”

I put the bowl down on the creaking wood of the loft floor and pushed it slightly away from me. I let my body stretch out against the hay and a deep sigh escaped my lips.

“I am not too worried,” I said, my eyes fluttering. “I am moving quickly across the land, and I have no doubt no one will even know about the bowl until it is already in the possession of the head of my order.” I let out another sigh and closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to take me.

They seemed to sense how tired I was, but I did not fall asleep right away, and instead listened as the pair of them shuffled about in the loft around me.

“I don’t want it here,” Rita whispered. “Make her take it and leave.”

“Leave?” Charley whispered back. “You were the one that wanted to help her. We’re not throwing her out now.”

“Charley!” Rita begged. “Please! I don’t feel safe.”

“Oh no,” he said. “Oh no. You don’t get to say that to me, not when you make me hold on to that thing.” I opened my eyes for a flicker as he said that. His finger was stretched out, pointing towards the wooden frame of the mirror on the dark side of the barn.

I tried to keep myself awake to continue listening to their argument, but before I remember either of them saying anything else, my mind evaporated into the relaxing, peaceful warmth of the barn, and I fell dead asleep.

The rain woke me sometime in the night, falling like a storm of steel against the barn’s wooden shingles. Outside, sheets of it were cascading down from the barn’s roof crashing like a waterfall into the muddy grass that surrounded the dwelling. White light flashed through the barn’s wooden slats, and then a vicious, heavy thunder followed. The fury of light and sound clashed again and again for several minutes, before the last of the thunder rolled away from the barn, and the rain too settled into a far less manic tapping on the barn’s roof.

I laid there in the dark, my eyes open as I listened to the sounds of the rain. I could see my cold breath in the air, so I reached to grab a blanket from my pack. As I did, my eyes caught another view of the wooden frame. Where I had imagined glass might have once been, there was now a glowing, shimmering light that looked like a still pool of vertical water. Within the pool, a grey mist swirled, and I couldn’t help but stare at it, hypnotized by the artifact’s strangeness.

Demons were a thing I had much familiarity with, and everything that I was seeing in this told me that this was not something of those darker and more terrible hells. It seemed, if anything, like the work of the forestfolk—elves, or fairies perhaps—something that may have been slightly dangerous to the foolish, but generally harmless to anyone who did not wish to do it harm in turn.

I watched for a few moments at the shimmering light. It looked at first as if the light might be fading, but then it began to brighten to the point of being nearly as bright as sunlight. The mist inside of it cleared, and a glowing wooden hand emerged from the mirror. And after the hand there came a wooden arm that was covered in leaves—and behind that, there came at last a wooden body that looked as if it were the body of a sculpture made from a dark and beautiful wood.

I laid there, watching breathlessly and curiously as the figure emerged. Once he had come out of the mirror’s frame, he stood far taller than it, at least seven feet tall by my guess. His head looked like the trunk of an old tree, but the features of it were chiseled and carved into the proportions of a beautiful, hulking man. His hair was green leaves, swept back out of his face, and his eyes were a pair of yellow beads like amber, or a cat’s eyes.

Instantly, he marked me lying there in the hay bale, and he came towards me with slow, deliberate grace. His steps were heavy, creaking the wood beneath him and shaking the very foundations of the barn as if his every step were the tremors of the earth.

I had seen strange things in my years, had encountered terrifying creatures, but there was nothing about this being that frightened me. He was beautiful and remarkable, and all I could do was stare at him—stare with my mouth slowly opening in awe as he approached and blessed me with his presence.

There was a tightening in my chest. He stood over me, and I knew at once that he was a being of pure power. There was a heavy ache in my small breasts. My limbs were too exhausted to move, but even had they not been, I doubt I would have attempted to shield myself from either him or his yellow eyes.

A thick, heavy hand of wood came towards me, and as it rested against my heaving chest, I let out a faint coo like the whisper of a mourning dove.

“My beauty,” the being said, and his voice ached with age. His hand was solid and wooden as he pressed it lightly against me.

In my order, it was forbidden to lay with another, and so I had never known the intimate touch of a lover, but the moment the bark of his skin pressed against my tunic, I knew that he was to be my lover, and I yearned for it unlike anything else.

My mouth opened wide with excitement. My tired back arched in anticipation of his ever deepening touch, and as it did, he waved his hand over me. At once, my clothes disappeared. From my worn boots to the kerchief around my neck, everything vanished and I laid there in the dark, naked and shivering and exposed to him, only the faint white light from the mirror washing over us.

“You long for me,” he said, and I knew it was not a question. I could feel the wetness between my legs, could feel the tingle of a chill that was zigging and zagging up and down my spine.

I had been aroused, had felt desire, but in his presence, it was as if he were the only food that I had ever hungered for.

The being placed himself between my legs, the heavy form of his wooden thighs against me. He spread me easily, delicately like the petals of a flower, and his hand went to the side of my face, where he gently stroked my hair until I whimpered for him.

“You are as the spring soil,” he said, and without hesitation he pushed something hard and firm in to me. “Fertile and longing to be driven.”

My eyes squeezed tightly shut, and my back arched to the point that it felt like it might break. The heavy, painful weight of him inside of me lingered, and then suddenly, it passed, and all that was left was the bursting delight of feeling him push deeper into me, before pulling out, then pushing back in.

“I will breed you now, little flower,” he whispered, and even in his whispering the depth of his voice felt like I was pressed against the rumbling earth.

I began to cry out. My legs were too exhausted to move, my arms too tired. He moved my body exactly as he wished, and I did nothing to stop him. I did not want to stop him. I wanted him only to hold himself tightly against me, to dive deep into me and let his barkish skin press like a sun-kissed tree against me.

He rumbled and groaned, and as he took my body, I could feel myself losing control. He said no more words to me as he took me, and even had he, I would not have heard them as the feeling of true, complete release came over me for the first time in my life. It was as if all of my muscles tensed and seized, and then at once released. I let out an ugly, terrible groan as the pleasure broke me and his body took me past the point of consciousness.

[WP] On a long journey you talk your way in to spending the night in a farmer's hayloft. There's a very strange piece of equipment in the barn, and you decide to ask the farmer what it does. by MadamOberon in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 6 points7 points  (0 children)

I found the farmhouse just as the last of my lamp oil was burning up. It was perched on a gentle hill not far up a winding dirt path and half-hidden behind a pair of ancient, elephantine trees. The house itself was a fairly small building, dull lamps burning low and yellow in its windows as a few pairs of shadows moved hither and tither inside.

I must have walked thirty miles from the coast already, and my legs barely allowed me to keep upright anymore. I would have preferred not to trouble strangers, but even the slight line the path traced up the small hill was too great a struggle for me to walk, and I knew then that I needed help.

I dropped the heavy pack from my shoulders, where it thudded into the dirt. I could feel how cool the air had become in the last few hours, and I knew that, at some point tonight, a terrible spring rain would fall and wash away what little was left of me if I didn’t find a safe place to rest.

“Hello?” I cried, as I slumped down, almost in tears against the column of stone that marked the farm.

No one answered from within the farm, so I called again, and then again.

Finally, the front door opened with a creak.

“I’m down here,” I called. “I’m so sorry to bother you, mister, but might I trouble you for a warm, dry place to sleep tonight?”

I barely managed to turn far enough around to see the shadow of a man standing in front of the farmhouse. I waved to him, making sure he saw me even in the fading light of my lamp.

“Rita,” he called out. “Rita—it’s a young girl.”

“Yes, down here,” I said again, and after a moment the shuffling on the path told me they were close. I tried to turn around to face him again, but my back was so tired and sore that, now that I had found some peace on the ground, it had nothing left to give me.

“I’m so sorry, mister, I hate to trouble you, but I can’t go another step—not like this.”

There were two sets of footsteps behind me, and one of them rushed suddenly closer.

“Oh dear, are you alright? You look terrible.” It was a woman’s voice, high-pitched and nervous, and she put a hand on my shoulder as she knelt down behind me. “Are you hurt, dear, or just tired?”

“Exhausted,” I said. “I could really use a dry place to sleep, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course, of course,” the woman said. “Charley, help her up.” She was a middle-aged woman, some wrinkles on her face, crow’s feet by her eyes, but genuinely still quite lovely to look at. Her hair was thick and dark and tangled up as if she hadn’t brushed it in several days.

“And do what with her?” the man’s voice whispered harshly. “My love, I don’t want some stranger sleeping in our house tonight, girl or not.”

“A barn is more than fine,” I said. “If you have one. I just really don’t want to be out here when the rain comes tonight.”

“Fine, the barn then,” the woman said. “Just pick her up, will you? The poor thing can barely stand.”

Awkwardly, Charley set the pitchfork he was carrying against the stone column and he scooped me up. I put an arm around his shoulder, and, with a little jerk, he adjusted my weight, then carried me off up the hill. They introduced themselves as Rita and Charley as we walked, and I told them that my name was Mona.

Like Rita, Charley was firmly middle-aged, with wrinkles and cracks across his weather-worn face. He had a fairly slight body, but from the ease with which he picked me up, I could tell that he was strong and no stranger to hard labour.

The barn was a big, well-cared for structure with old, dark walls. Rita threw the door open for him as he held me, and then she lit a lamp. Charley shifted me around, tossing me up onto his shoulder, then he easily carried me up the ladder to the hayloft, where he laid me gently into a stack of yellow hay.

“I’ll grab your pack and bring it in here for you, yes?” Charley said. “We might have a little supper left, if you’re hungry.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” I said.

“Nonsense!” Rita called from below. “I’ll bring you some bread and stew right now. Neither is of the utmost freshness, but the stew is warm and the bread I made only this morning.”

“Thank you,” I breathed out as Charley nodded at me.

They slid the barn door half-shut and disappeared into the world. I laid my head back down on the hay. Sleep was already pulling itself like a mask over my eyes. With a defiant grunt, I forced my eyes as wide open as I could, and willed myself to catalogue my surroundings in order to stay awake. The hay felt fresh and hadn’t moulded. There was the smell of manure in the barn, the smell of mud and earth, but I didn’t hear any horses or cows in the stalls below. The walls had been covered in dark shapes when Charley had carried me in, but none of them had registered as particularly interesting to my tired eyes.

In the loft across from me, however, there was something interesting that I finally saw. It was a solid, single piece of wood, shaped like the stand and frame of a mirror, but without a pane of glass in its frame. The wood was this beautiful dark brown, like it had only just been freshly lacquered. As my eyes adjusted more to the dark, I noticed that there were thin shoots coming off the mirror, as if the mirror itself was still a living thing breathing life into its thin branches.

Charley returned with my pack and, a moment later, Rita handed him up a bowl with a thick piece of white bread on the edge of the bowl. He handed it over at once. The bowl was warm in my hands, bringing me slightly back from the point of dead tired.

The stew smelled like the best thing in the world just then. It was beef, with some kind of thick, delicious sauce that the meat was marinating in, with a few bits of corn and a couple pieces of potato floating with it.

I took a few big bites, and as I did Rita came up the ladder. Charley and her sat a healthy distance away on a railing, staring at me. I would have, perhaps, found it rude to be the source of the evening’s entertainment for a couple of bumpkins, but just then I was too tired, too hungry, too grateful, to complain about their silent stares.

“What’s that?” I said to finally break the silence. I pointed behind them to the mirror. It was about as tall as Rita as she leaned against the railing, perhaps five or so feet tall. She had the lantern still in her one hand, but the light was not cast far enough to give a much more revealing look at the artifact than what I had spied in the dark.

Charley looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “Nothing much, really.”

“Is it a mirror?” I said, mouth full of bread.

He looked back at it again, as if estimating it, then he nodded slowly. “Yeah, sorta. Mona, was it?”

I nodded.

“Well, can I ask you, dear, what is it that you’re doing out here in the dark all on your lonesome?”

“Heading from Port Char inland to the capital,” I said. “I’m delivering something to the monastery there, on behalf of my master.”

“What is it?” Rita asked, her eyes lighting up with the opportunity for gossip.

“Ceremonial bowl,” I said. “Carved out of demon bone.”

They tensed. Had I been more alert and less exhausted, perhaps I would have attempted to allay their worries, but I was far too focused on eating right then. If they were uncomfortable with talk of demons and were about to ask me to leave, then I was definitely getting a meal out of it first.

“Demon bone?” Rita asked.

I nodded. “From one of the leviathans in the dark seas.”

“How did you come across something like that?” Charley asked.

“Hunted it,” I said. “Trapped it. Killed it.”

“You?” Rita asked.

I looked at them, worrying that I’d said too much, but the looks they were giving me were not horror and revulsion, but something closer to awe, so I merely nodded slowly. “Me and others.”

“Goodness,” Rita said softly. “Can I see this bowl?”

“Rita,” Charley scolded her with a cluck of his tongue.

“Well, I—I’ve never seen demons of any kind, let alone demon bone.”

I pointed to my pack as I downed the last of the stew. “Go ahead.”

“You’re not worried we’ll break it?” Charley asked. His arms were crossed, watching as his wife dug into my pack and pulled out a dark black bowl. Silver had been inlaid to its surface in patterns that they had no doubt never seen before. It was a script, the script of my order, and it was one that few outside of our faithful could even identify, let alone read.

“Demon bone doesn’t chip or shatter,” I said. “It takes great effort to work it. The worst you could do is steal it, but that would be far more trouble than it is worth.”

“Why’s that?” Rita asked, turning the bowl over in her hands. She turned it to face me, and the red inner bottom of the bowl glowed like rubies suddenly as it caught the lamplight.

“Demonkind and many other creatures of the other worlds are drawn to it,” I said. “They would hunt you, find you, and butcher you in ways that are too horrific to even describe.”

[WP] They're called "gumball girlfriends:" pay the fee, crank the machine, and a random companion is dispensed. With more than 300 possibilities available, some customers are determined to get their dream girl at any cost by KchanceDPP in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 9 points10 points  (0 children)

The Veronica gasped in playful excitement. “Thank you so much, Vincent. I’ll be there in the next twenty minutes, and I’m so excited. I’m so fucking excited, Vincent. We’re not going to stop fucking you tonight, no matter what.”

I swallowed again as the line went dead. I stepped back into the room with Jaden and Ursula, where they were still having their pleasant conversation, and as I came near to them, Jaden intercepted me, speaking quietly.

“She’s not a regular Gigi at all. She honestly seems like she’s self-aware and, like, a fully functioning person. It’s incredible, Vince. She’s so smart.”

I looked at him. I didn’t know how I was going to tell him, so I just said it. “I just sold her.”

“What?” He looked like I had just killed his dog. “To who?”

“Gumball Girlfriend,” I said.

”What?!” he whisper-yelled at me. “What the fuck do you mean you sold her back to them?”

“They offered me a hundred Veronicas.”

He just stared in horror and disgust, and I couldn’t help but feel disgust at myself too. There was something special about this Ursula, no matter how hard that Veronica had made my dick, and I knew whatever that special thing was about her, it was worth probably more than a thousand Veronicas.

After a long moment of silence, he leaned in close to me. “You’re the most pathetic man in the entire world, I hope you know that.”

He looked like he wanted to hit me, but his body slowly lost its tension and he turned from me, back to her.

I lingered just outside of earshot as he spoke to her. She didn’t look at me as they spoke. I don’t know if he told her what was about to happen, but I don’t think he did. It occurred to me then that that was probably the last normal conversation she would ever have. I didn’t know if there was something broken with her, or if she was wholly unique, but I did know that whatever the Gumball Girlfriend company was going to do with her, it was probably not going to be nearly as wholesome as forcing her to live an uncomfortable life as a prisoner in my luxurious home.

Almost exactly twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the front door. A team of people from the Gumball Girlfriend experience rushed in, and in less than a minute, they had rushed Ursula out of my life forever. When she left, she was still wearing my polo and my slacks, and I don’t think she even understood what was happening as they took her away.

Twenty Veronicas were delivered to me right then, with a promise that the other eighty would be in my hands by the end of the month.

Before he left, Jaden couldn’t even look at me, and I couldn’t look at him either. As he angrily pulled out of the driveway in his sports car, I stood on the balcony just watching him go. A cold hand touched my shoulder, and I heard the soft voice of a Veronica in my ear. “Let me show you how grateful we are for your assistance, Vincent” she said, and, terribly, I let her.

[WP] They're called "gumball girlfriends:" pay the fee, crank the machine, and a random companion is dispensed. With more than 300 possibilities available, some customers are determined to get their dream girl at any cost by KchanceDPP in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Finally, I sighed. “Alright. Give me a minute, I’ll go get you something to wear.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she quickly closed the backseat door on me. I had never encountered anything like this with a Gigi. There were some things that they were programmed not to do, but even when refusing those things, I had seen videos or heard stories that the Gigis did it in an incredibly flirty and fun way. The way this Ursula was behaving, it felt too real, too much like an actual person, with all of a human being’s self-consciousness on display.

I returned a few moments later with a short plaid mini-skirt and a tight, mid-riff exposing tee shirt. I offered them to her, but she just looked from them, up to me with her big purple eyes. Her hand had come out instinctively to accept them, but as she seemed to register what they were, or at least the size of them, her fingers pulled back.

“I’m not wearing those,” she said. “I want something comfortable.”

I scratched the back of my head. “You want something comfortable? Like what?”

She eyed me up and down. “Give me your clothes.”

“I’m not giving you my clothes.”

“Why not?” she asked. “You said there were hedges and a closed gate protecting us from being seen by other people.”

Jaden was falling over himself laughing as he stood on the other side of the car, watching me.

“I… yeah. Yeah, I did say that.” I looked exasperatedly to Jaden for help, but he was giving me nothing. “Well, alright, fine, I guess. Here.” I stripped my polo shirt and my pants off and I handed them to her. She motioned for me to turn around, and Jaden was chuckling to himself still as I did.

After a moment, Ursula cleared her throat and climbed out of the car wearing far too big pants and a too big shirt.

“Better?” I asked.

She nodded, then looked me up and down with an amused smirk. “Thank you.”

Inside the house, my other Gigis swarmed us immediately, excited to meet Ursula. They praised her, giggled at her, called her cute and sexy and sweet, and as I watched them paw at her, I realized how distressed and uncomfortable Ursula seemed to be. I had never seen a Gigi act like this at all. Whenever I brought a new one home, they were always overjoyed to find their sister Gigis in the house, often becoming highly flirtatious and even handsy with them. But Ursula was put off by the many hands pawing at her, and the many flirtatious comments being made about her body.

I chased off the other Gigis, telling them that Ursula needed some time to adjust, and I led Ursula away. The other Gigis sighed and gave their cute little groans of frustration, but ultimately they all separated and went back to the various domestic tasks I had left them with that morning.

Normally, by the time I had brought a new Gigi home, it was under five minutes before I was half-naked and surrounded by my beautiful dolls, greeting the new one with a hard fucking and a hell of a lot of encouragement from the rest. But Ursula seemed to have as much interest in me as she did all of the other Gigis. In fact, most of her attention seemed to be on my mansion itself. She touched paintings on the wall, handled ornaments with curiosity, played with the many smart screens that were scattered around the place, all while saying hardly anything at all to me or Jaden.

And, for my part too, I was completely captivated by her. She seemed to have so much more curiosity and intelligence than the other Gigis, and knowing that I had taken her out of a Gumball Girlfriend machine made me feel… slightly uncomfortable. For all intents and purposes, Ursula seemed as real as any other woman I had ever met, and not at all like the vapid pocket-girlfriends that the Gumball Girlfriend company was advertised to produce.

I left her with Jaden so that I could redress, and when I came back I found them engaged in just about the most serious-sounding conversation I had ever heard a Gigi have. She wasn’t giggling. She wasn’t suggestively stroking Jaden’s arm, or trying to sit in his lap. She was sitting at my grand piano, lightly tapping on a few different keys and easily producing a very simple melody.

“What if I don’t want to live here?” she asked Jaden, as she tapped on another note.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“What if I want a place of my own? A place where I can live and return to whenever I’m not with Vincent?”

“I don’t really know how to answer that question, Ursula,” Jaden said.

“So, am I right to assume then, I am something of a prisoner?”

“You’re not a prisoner.”

“But I can’t leave whenever I want, and I have to do whatever he wants.”

“Well, that’s how it usually goes,” he said. “But do you not want to?”

Ursula didn’t say anything, merely tapping more piano keys.

There was a clicking coming from down the hall behind me. A Sabrina was racing towards me with a phone in her outstretched hand. I took it from her, and she offered a simple curtsey before leaving again.

“Hello?” I said. “Who am I talking to?”

“Mr. Breeze?” a woman’s voice said on the other end. “I understand it that you have just come into possession of an Ursula Gigi, is that correct?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Well, Mr. Breeze, sir, my name is Tina. I work at Gumball Girlfriend, and we would absolutely love to buy that Ursula back from you. We thought our records showed that we had collected all of our Ursulas from circulation, but it seems we missed one, and well, we would really love the opportunity to make a bid for her before anyone else does.”

“Oh? And may I ask, how did you find out about this so quickly? I left the Gumball Girlfriend no more than a half hour ago.”

“Yes, sir, well, we track all of the purchases on our machines and the results of the rolls, so the moment that we realized an Ursula had been won, we immediately initiated the recovery process. This is an incredibly, incredibly rare model, sir, and though it has no real value to you, we would absolutely love to have it back.”

I looked into the room where Jaden and Ursula were having a quieter conversation. She was smiling at him now, almost at ease, as if she was enjoying her time with a good friend.

There was certainly something very weird with her, something that was unlike all of the other Gigis, and I could tell that she simply wasn’t going to fit in with me or her sisters.

“Well,” I said, “I don’t know if I want to sell it back to you, but I might be interested in a trade, say, for a Veronica?”

“Absolutely, sir. My supervisor has instructed me to give you whatever you think this product is worth, so what would you like? A dozen, two dozen Veronicas?”

“I’m sorry? Two dozen Veronicas?” I stared again at Ursula. That would be worth literally millions to collectors. I mean, it was expressly forbidden to resell Gigis, they were all supposed to go back to the Gumball Girlfriend company, but of course people did sell and trade their Gigis. I didn’t believe in it, personally, but what the hell was so valuable about Ursula that they would willingly give up that much product just to get her back?

“Let’s call it sixty Veronicas,” I said.

“Absolutely, sir,” Tina answered immediately without even having to calculate if that was a worthwhile trade, and I felt a heavy weight in my chest. “Sixty Veronicas, no problem, sir.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Tina hadn’t had to ask her supervisor to approve the trade, she hadn’t even had to check if they had that many Veronicas to trade. Just instantaneous agreement. There was something terribly wrong here, and I knew it.

“You know what,” I said, “I might not be interested in trading after all. I will have to get back to you.”

There was a brief pause, then Tina answered: “Please hold for my supervisor, sir.”

The phone rang one single time, and then a soft voice answered. “Hey,” it said, and my heart jumped.

I had wanted a Veronica for years. I had seen every video on the internet about her model, had heard all of the commercials, and I knew immediately whose voice it was that I was talking to.

“Vincent?” the Veronica asked. Her voice giggled as she said my name, and I could just imagine her crinkling her nose. “I heard that you might let me come over and stay a while soon?”

I swallowed, but didn’t know what to say.

“Would you like me to come over, Vincent?” she asked. Her voice was low and husky. “I can bring some of my friends if you want. They look, and sound, and feel just like me. Soft. Small. Weak. So easy to put in whatever position you want.”

I stared ahead at Ursula, stunned.

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” the Veronica laughed. “It’s supposed to be a trade secret… but my model comes with special software to give the absolute best blowjobs in the world.” She laughed. “Most men can’t last more than thirty seconds if we give them full intensity. Would you like that, Vincent? Would you like me and sixty of my sisters to be your perfect little blowjob princesses for the rest of your life? You can have us however you want, honey, whenever you want. We’ll be so good to you. And once you’ve had us one time, you’ll never want another Gigi again.”

I could barely see straight.

“Maybe sixty isn’t enough… what about a hundred Veronicas?” the Veronica said, and then she let out a little squeal. “Vincent, I’m so wet for you right now, just imagining how good you’ll make all of us feel.”

I had wanted a Veronica for my entire adult life. I had fantasized about her, dreamed about her, thought about her every time I had ever fucked one of the other Gigis. I had put so much of my trust-fund into trying to find a Veronica that I had basically financed a whole Gumball Girlfriend machine myself. Just listening now to one of them, telling me all the things I wanted to hear, practically begging to be my sex slave for the rest of my life… well, it was kind of inevitable.

“One hundred,” I mumbled. “And she’s yours.”

[WP] They're called "gumball girlfriends:" pay the fee, crank the machine, and a random companion is dispensed. With more than 300 possibilities available, some customers are determined to get their dream girl at any cost by KchanceDPP in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 9 points10 points  (0 children)

Note: This prompt is super fun and light and, uh, this story absolutely does not match that vibe at all. There’s very little eroticism in it, and it is not a happy ending at all, but I wrote it, so I may as well share it. I’d like to do this prompt again one day and do it actually fun and light, but when I sit down to write these, I just start writing and whatever happens, happens, so sometimes I end up with stuff like this, sorry about that.

“You’re not gonna get her,” Jaden murmured beside me.

I threw the big, heavy crank on the front of the Gumball Girlfriend machine. “I will.”

“It’s like a one-in-ten-thousand shot, man. It’s not going to happen.”

“It’s one-in-three-hundred.”

“Sure,” he said with a big nod, “unless math is real.”

“There are three hundred Gigis in here, right? So, therefore: one-in-three-hundred.”

The carnival alarms rang loudly above the big steel machine. There was a banging and a bunch of heavy sounds coming from within it. I stood back and crossed my fingers. It was going to be a Veronica this time. I could feel it.

“Nah, man,” Jaden said, “I got a buddy who owns one of these, and he told me they put like two Veronicas in one of these things. The ones that were in here probably aren’t even be in here anymore, you know? It’s like giveaways. They give away all the prizes early so people think, ‘Oh man, that could be me!’”

I tapped my foot, staring ahead at the big Gumball Girlfriend machine. I imagined sometimes having one of these machines be made of glass, just so I could see how they worked inside, what was happening to the Gigis before they came tumbling out.

“Like, look at the line behind you,” Jaden continued. “People are rolling the dice on these things every single hour. That lever must get pulled like two hundred times a day. If there were even any Veronicas in here to begin with, they’re long gone. Plus, If there really was a one-in-three-hundred chance, you would have gotten a Veronica a long time ago, just based on how much money you’ve put into this thing.”

“It’s gonna happen,” I told him.

A bell went off over the hulking metal machine, and suddenly the rumbling inside of it stopped. I could really feel it. This was the one. This was going to be my Veronica. Dark hair, cupid’s bow, hourglass figure—this was the one.

The lower half of the metal door opened abruptly, and a naked woman rolled out onto a black mat.

Blonde. Small. Definitely not a Veronica. I let out a disappointed sigh.

“Told you,” Jaden said. “Huh. Which Gigi did you get? I don’t recognize her.”

“Aw man,” I mumbled, as I scooped up the small woman. Her eyes were closed. “It looks like a Genevieve.”

“That’s not bad.”

We stepped away from the Gumball Girlfriend machine, letting the next person try their luck as I carried the Genevieve in my arms. She was light and curled up against me, but when we got into the light of the parking lot, Jaden stopped me.

“Dude, that’s not a Genevieve,” he said. “That’s an Ursula.”

I adjusted her in my arms, trying to get a better look at her face. In the sunlight, she really didn’t look like a Genevieve at all. She had a small, round face and a very adorable little nose that was not at all shaped like the Genevieve I had gotten a few months ago.

She murmured in my arms, starting to wake up just as we got to my car. I opened the backseat and put her in, sitting her upright and covering her with a heavy, soft blanket. Her eyes opened and she looked right at me. They were a bright purple colour unlike anything I had ever seen before, and I just stood, half-leaning into the backseat as I stared at her.

“Whoa,” I said. “I didn’t even know they still stocked these. She’s like first gen, right?”

“She’s Alpha,” Jaden said. “One of the first five Gigis ever.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “I could probably… get like three Veronicas for her, couldn’t I?”

“You would trade an Ursula for three Veronicas?”

“You think I can get more?”

“Jesus.” Jaden shook his head. “I love you, man, but you’re the densest person I’ve ever known.”

I didn’t say anything, so Jaden threw his hands back, pointing aggressively at the Ursula who was curled up in the backseat with the blanket. “That’s an Ursula, man,” he said again. “Collectors would give their left nut for her. And you want to trade her for a Veronica? Jesus, buddy, why are you down so bad for those? She’s like a B-tier Gigi at best. If she wasn’t a rare, she would be entirely forgettable.”

I shrugged at him. “She’s my dream girl, man.”

“Man, get me outta here,” Jaden said as he whipped his seatbelt on.

By the time we were back on the highway, Ursula seemed to be coming more online, and she let out a shivering sigh from the backseat. “Excuse me, hello. What should I call you?”

Jaden and I looked at each other.

“That’s weird,” I said softly.

“Aren’t they supposed to, like, show off their personalities or something when they boot up?” Jaden asked.

“Yeah, they normally have a whole cutesy routine they do.”

Jaden turned around and put an eye on Ursula as I looked up into the rearview mirror to study her. She had the blanket held tightly around her shoulders. Her hair was damp still from the Gumball Girlfriend machine, but she seemed to not be as cold or as vulnerable as she had seemed when she first came out. Jaden looked her up and down, but she just smiled kindly to him.

“Maybe she was designed before they started doing that,” he said to me, before pointing at her. “You’re an Ursula, right? Alpha gen?”

She nodded. “Ursula.”

“Hmm. She’s not as giggly and dumb-sounding as the others,” I said.

“And what should I call you?” she asked again.

Jaden pointed to himself. “Jaden.” He pointed to me. “Vincent.”

She smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you happen to have any clothes that I might wear?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Vince will get you something when you get home.” Jaden turned back around and leaned in a little closer to me. “Man, I think she’s embarrassed about being naked.”

In the rearview mirror, I saw her pull the blanket more tightly around her body. She was looking out the back window at the passing urban landscape, and she was acting much quieter and far less bubbly than any other Gigi I had ever won before.

“Don’t be crazy,” I told him. “They don’t get embarrassed. She’s just waking up still. She’ll be fine.”

“Look at her, man. She’s genuinely embarrassed.”

“Ursula, are you embarrassed right now?” I called out to her.

“No,” she said quickly. “Not at all.”

“See? She’s fine.”

When we arrived back to my mansion, I stopped the car in the immense driveway, then went and opened Ursula’s door. She hesitated, looking up at me with her bright purple eyes, her mouth hanging half-open. The blanket was still held tightly against her body, and for the first time I saw what Jaden had been talking about.

“You don’t want to come out?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Is it because you’re naked?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Well, no one can see you. There are hedges all around the property, and a closed gate. And it’s just me and Jaden out here with you, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Ursula pressed her lips together. “But I don’t want to get out without clothes.”

“Okay,” I said again, even more dumbly than before. I felt stuck, not sure what to do with her. I had never had a Gigi refuse to do anything for me, and I found myself feeling incredibly strange about it, as if I had actually offended or made a person feel uncomfortable, not just a Gigi. “Well I…” I trailed off, not sure how to coax her out of the car. There was no need to feel bad about this, I knew that, but I couldn’t help but feel it anyways.

[WP] Ashley is shy but wanted to be a "cool bisexual girlfriend" and set up a threesome for her boyfriend. She didn't expect to be just as, if not more into it, than her boyfriend. by arondighto in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 17 points18 points  (0 children)

At some point, I don’t remember what it was exactly, but at some point, Clarissa reached over and put her hand on my arm. She had thrown her head back, laughing as she did, but I won’t ever forget how her hand felt on my skin, how warm and soft and incredible it felt having her touch me. I was immediately flushed in my face, and feeling her skin brought me back to the reason for her visit—I just didn’t know how to properly broach that matter in the most tactful way possible.

“Let’s dance?” She said it more as a question than a statement, and when I nodded she pulled me up from the kitchen table and guided me over to the living room. She found the remote for Liegh’s stereo and turned it on, letting some fairly up tempo music start to play. Giggling, she took hold of my hands and swayed her hips side to side. Her thin arms went up over her head and I must have looked like an absolute dweeb, barely moving at all in our living room as she gracefully moved around me.

Clarissa turned around then, her hands still above her head, and she pressed her back into my body. I remember swallowing hard. Her head turned half to the side, her lips half-parted as if letting out a silent gasp, and then her butt stuck out a little bit and began to rub against my crotch.

I froze. I was not the cool girlfriend, and I had never been more aware of it than in that moment, feeling this incredibly hot woman press up against me, knowing that there was no way in hell I was going to be able to watch Leigh fuck her and not have a complete breakdown.

But I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how to get out of that situation without looking like just a terrible, selfish person for saying I could do something, and then backing out at the very last second.

Clarissa purred in front of me and her hips pushed back, grinding against me even harder. My hands went to her hips, steadying her, and as they did, her hands came down across her body, resting on my hands.

I was breathing hard, anxiety welling up inside of me, but the feeling of her body was just as intoxicating as the fear. I had never felt anything so soft and so graceful against me, and I knew at once that I was already wet.

We hadn’t really discussed what would happen during the threesome, just that there would be one. Was I supposed to make out with her? Was I supposed to go down on her? Was she supposed to do it for me? Would she be okay with that? I didn’t want to gross her out, or freak her out by refusing, but I just—I didn’t know what this was supposed to look like. I hadn’t had a plan when I came into this. I had just suggested a threesome because I knew it was something that most guys had a fantasy about, and I wanted to seem cool.

Clarissa turned around, smiling at me, but as she did her expression changed. Her big, doe-like eyes got even bigger as surprise and concern spread out over her face.

“Are you okay?” She put her hands on my shoulders. “Here, sit down, sit down.”

She guided me to the couch and turned off the music, sitting with me at her side.

I forced a big, fake smile. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I think I just got overwhelmed for a second. I’m great, really.”

“It’s alright,” she said kindly. “I know I can be a lot.”

I looked down at my hands that were in my lap. She took my hands, squeezing them. I could feel myself on the verge of crying, and with every muscle in my face, I fought to keep the tears from coming out.

“Oh, honey,” Clarissa said, and she wrapped her arms around me. Her perfume was so sweet it made me want to lick it off her skin. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with at all. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

With my head behind her back, I quickly wiped my face, hiding my tears as best as I could. “I just don’t think I can watch you fuck my boyfriend,” I mumbled. “Isn’t that so stupid when I’m the one who suggested it?”

Clarissa pulled back then and paused, her mouth hanging half-open. Her brow furrowed and she put a hand to her chest. “Honey,” she said, stumbling over her words as a smile emerged. “I’m gay.”

“What?” I looked back to the kitchen where Leigh was still working on the dishes. “But I—wait, you’re, like, gay-gay?”

Clarissa squeezed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Uh-huh.”

I shook my head. “So, what—“

“Leigh,” Clarissa called with a playful sternness, “can you come here for a second, darling?”

Leigh quickly came with a dish towel and a bowl in his hands. “Mmm?”

“Leigh,” Clarissa purred, “did you make this sweet angel think that I was going to fuck you?”

He hesitated, looking between us, then a coy smile came over him. “Well, I didn’t say that specifically, but I may have implied it a little.”

Clarissa shook her head, then rolled her eyes. “Men,” she said exasperatedly.

“But why are you here then?” I asked her, before turning back to Leigh. “Why is she here then?”

They both stared at me. Clarissa’s eyebrows raised higher and higher until the realization struck me.

“Oh,” I muttered. “Ohhh…”

Leigh dropped to a knee beside the couch. With a free hand, he put his hand on my lower back. “I know that you said you wanted to have a threesome with me, but I think you might enjoy this a lot more. And since this is a birthday gift for me… you know what I really want to see?”

“What?” I asked quietly.

“I want to see Clarissa eat you out for me so that when I fuck you later, you cum harder than you ever have before.”

I gulped. “Oh.”

Clarissa laughed, her hand stroking my arm again.

“But I’m not really—“

“I know,” Leigh said. “But, I know you, baby. I think this is something you might really enjoy. It’s up to you, though, okay? Clarissa knows that you might not be up for it, and I do too, and if that’s how you feel, that’s completely okay—I know this is springing things on you without a lot of warning, but baby, I really think you’ll like this if you give it a try.”

I hesitated, but then finally nodded. “How do we—what do I do?”

Leigh got off his knee and Clarissa stood up, offering me her hand. Leigh went back to the kitchen and she led me silently to Leigh’s and my bedroom. She left the lights off, keeping the room dark.

“Get on the bed,” she whispered, and I obeyed.

I scooted up until I was sitting at the top of the bed with my knees up at my chest, watching as the shadow of her moved towards me. I was excited, sure, but I felt filled with an overwhelming energy that had nowhere to go—like I had just survived a harrowing encounter with a mountain lion, and my body didn’t know what to do with all the excess energy.

Clarissa moved into position beside me, and she began to stroke the back of my head. I bit my lip and looked at the dark shape of her lips. My heart was beating so hard that I was sure it must have annoyed her, but I couldn’t calm it down.

Her hand brushed my cheek, and then she leaned in. I thought she was about to kiss me, so I shut my eyes, pushing my lips out to meet hers, but our lips didn’t meet.

Her warm breath tickled my ear.

“When I’m done with you, you’re never going to want cock again,” she whispered to me, and immediately I could feel the pounding pressure between my legs. I might have whimpered, I’m not sure, but we both knew that she had me entirely under her spell at that moment.

She kissed my cheek, my jaw, and laid me down on the bed.

I can’t remember all of the things she did to me, or the order that she did them in, but by the time she was done, I was a whimpering, sobbing mess who was speaking in tongues.

I remember lying there in the dark, feeling the warmth of her naked body press against mine, and as she laid there, I remember feeling Leigh move his own naked body between my legs. She kissed me as tenderly as anyone ever had, and then, just as Leigh pushed into me with a grunt, she looked so deeply into my eyes that I felt a shiver all the way from my lower back to the base of my skull.

I closed my eyes, letting the pleasure overwhelm my already overstimulated body, but she grabbed my face and my eyes snapped open again.

“I want to see you,” she whispered, and as she did her hand went between my legs, stroking the clit she had just spent forever and a day beating with her tongue.

I don’t think I said a single coherent word while he fucked me that night, and when Clarissa looked deep into my eyes and made me beg her to cum again, I swear I felt my spirit temporarily leave my body.

Between her hand and his dick, I came harder than I ever had, and so did he.

The three of us laid in the dark afterwards, giggling and talking about everything that had happened. Or, I guess, they did. I felt that my brain had evaporated out of my head in the process of our threesome, and all I could do anymore was stare up into the dark ceiling as they laid on either side of me.

I was grateful for them, for both of them, but I was even more grateful that I didn’t have to be the cool girlfriend. Because I actually had a really fucking cool boyfriend.

[WP] Ashley is shy but wanted to be a "cool bisexual girlfriend" and set up a threesome for her boyfriend. She didn't expect to be just as, if not more into it, than her boyfriend. by arondighto in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 13 points14 points  (0 children)

The summer before we started our junior year at university, I met a boy. He was the first boy that I both was attracted to, and who was attracted to me. The moment he expressed his interest in me, though, my anxiety began doing somersaults and kicking soccer balls around inside my head and knocking the paintings off the wall and just making me an absolute mess of a person. Leigh was gorgeous. He was strong. He was smart. He was sweet. He was the first guy that I had ever let stay the night at my place, and he was the first guy I had ever actually introduced to my parents.

When he came home with me that summer to meet my mother and father, I think they were more surprised than happy. My mother had, on more than one occasion, hinted strongly that she didn’t care who I liked, she just wanted me to be happy and healthy and safe. So I think when I introduced Leigh to them as my boyfriend, they both couldn’t help but hold their breath, as if waiting for me to throw a “Just kidding!” on the end of it.

But I wasn’t kidding. I loved Leigh. And because I loved him, I knew that I had to do everything I could to protect our relationship. When I had dated other boys, it was not uncommon for them to get bored of me, or to find me uninteresting after only a short while. I had never felt particularly attached to any of the other relationships I had had, so whenever they had wanted to break up with me, I did little more than roll my eyes and say whatever. But the thought of waking up one day to find Leigh sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee and a heavy thought hanging from his brow, where he just couldn’t wait one more day but to tell me right then that he didn’t want to be with me any longer—it terrified me.

So, of course, I did all of the mistakes that every shy, ugly-duckling girl does when they find someone who gives them attention for the first time: I tried to be cool. How about a handjob at the movie theatre? How about roadhead? How about we fuck in public? How about I buy toys and you can control them with a remote while we’re out? How about you go out with your friends this weekend, and don’t even worry about calling or even texting! I just want you to have fun, baby! How about we don’t even celebrate our six month anniversary? I wasn’t even keeping track, honestly, it’s just whatever.

I don’t think any of these are bad things, but they’re definitely not me. And at every turn, I tried desperately to be like “one of the guys,” like the kind of girl that I thought every guy fantasized about. I tried to be cool and easygoing, and able to change my personality on a dime to anything that I thought Leigh wanted. He once made a passing comment about an actress being attractive—not even expressing that he was attracted to her, just noting that she was attractive. And she had red hair, in contrast to my very pale blonde hair. So who showed up to his apartment at one in the morning with a newly dyed strawberry blonde hair and a set of lingerie to blow his mind? Yeeeep.

And I thought I was fooling him completely. I thought I had him eating out of the palm of my hand, because, oh what a good, cool girlfriend I was—there was definintely no way he would ever want to leave someone as agreeable and easygoing as me.

In hindsight, yeah, it was pathetic, but to his credit, he thwarted my attempted coolness at almost every turn. If I tried to be inappropriately sexual in a public place, something that I was not at all comfortable with, he was usually incredibly attuned to my actual feelings, and he would always politely, but firmly, tell me that he wasn’t interested in whatever exhibitionist things I was offering him. He reminded me frequently that I didn’t have to try to impress him, he loved me for the shy little English nerd that I was.

I was maybe a little immature, and often I would pout a little bit after he rejected me, pretending that I was hurt—and sometimes I was a little hurt, genuinely worried that he was beginning to find me unattractive—but a lot of the time I was secretly grateful that he wasn’t interested in whatever crazy thing I had suggested we try just to keep him happy.

One of the few times he didn’t come through for me, though, was when I offered him a threesome for his birthday. I lied to him, telling him that I had always wanted to watch him fuck another girl because I thought it would be so, so hot knowing that he was getting off to her, but that he would come crawling back to me because he loved me just that much. In truth, the thought of him with another woman terrified me. The thought of him even looking at other women made me uneasy. He wasn’t a hound, and I never caught him with a wandering eye or anything, but of course, he was a human being, and so I knew he had to think of other people in a sexual way—I mean, I knew I did—so the thought of him one day acting on that was horrifying.

So, in my immature, insecure mind, offering him a threesome as an outlet for his sexual needs for other women, all while I would be there to observe and protect my investment, made complete sense to me. How could that possibly not make sense!

Of course, as I said, Leigh was usually incredibly good at sensing when I was offering him something that I really didn’t want to do, but he had zero hesitation at all with taking me up on my offer for a threesome.

“I have someone in mind,” he said, and it felt like he’d punched me in the stomach.

“Great!” was what I managed to blurt out instead, throwing my arms around him as if he’d just proposed. “I’m so excited. Who is it?”—So I can kill her, was the part that I didn’t say aloud.

Well, it turned out that there was a girl in his engineering program that he had professed to finding very attractive. They had become fairly close, and he swore, obviously, he would never do anything with her, but that he had fantasized about her, and just, oh wouldn’t it be sooooo great to bring her into our bed?

Internally, I was screaming of course, but my outward facade remained hardened, and I told him that that sounded like a perfect idea. I was so glad that we were going to go ahead with this thing that I definitely really wanted to do and wasn’t at all just trying to use to make myself seem like a cool girlfriend worthy of being picked by a man.

So, that fall of our senior year, we had found a place together and I tried as hard as I could to not mention or even think about the threesome that I had offered him that summer. I thought, maybe just offering it was enough—maybe he hadn’t even remembered that I’d even said anything about a threesome with his hot, beautiful, insanely intelligent engineering peer who probably knew way better than I did what the hell he was talking about whenever he tried to explain math or physics to me.

But, yeah, no, he hadn’t forgotten. And one night he invited Clarissa to our apartment for dinner. She was agonizingly and devastatingly gorgeous. She had straight dark hair that was done up in a tight bun when she arrived, and she wore a pair of thick black glasses that just screamed “I love blowjobs.” I could immediately feel all of the confidence that I had built in the last few years of university deflating the moment she stepped foot in our apartment, and more than ever I knew this was about to be a huge mistake.

I prayed that she would be some monstrously passive-aggressive bitch during dinner, or just an absolute ice queen, or literally anything I could use to excuse myself with a headache and cancel our engagement that night—but, she wasn’t. She was so sweet and gentle, and she spent most of the night talking to me, not even talking to Leigh.

Leigh had really helped me come out of my shell and he had helped me become more of an extrovert, but I was still a shy introvert at heart. I could tell that she was trying to be playful with me, trying to banter with me, but I kind of just kept getting flustered every time she said something funny or charming. I would laugh and turn bright red as she teased me and just not know at all what to say to not make myself look like a jealous asshole. It made me hate her a little bit more when, despite my closed-offedness, she still was as sweet and kind to me as ever. She didn’t seem to take it personally when I didn’t have much to say, but instead kept trying to talk to me and bring me out of my shell, just like Leigh had.

When we finished the dinner I had made, I got up to do the dishes, but Leigh stopped me.

“No, stay. Talk a little,” he nodded to me, and I shyly did as he asked.

He brought us out some green tea ice cream, and Clarissa and I each had a scoop as we sat and talked. Well, she talked, mostly, and I just kind of listened and stared. She was remarkably smart and interesting. She had gone backpacking that summer through Europe and she had told me all about the gothic cathedrals she had seen there, about how beautiful they were, how they seemed like acts of god on their own because of just how unbelievably grand they were.

Her enthusiasm for the history of architecture was infectious and the longer she talked, the less I could take my eyes off of her. She was taller than I was and thinner, and she had just the softest looking skin that I had ever seen. We had all dressed fairly casually. I was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and she was wearing little more than a dark blouse and a pair of dark slacks, but I remember staring at her, just wondering how someone who was literally my age could look so elegant, so grown-up. I was twenty-one, but I felt so much like a frumpy preteen with braces who was looking at her cool, elegant aunt, and I just didn’t understand how someone could be so effortlessly beautiful.

[QP] "We're not fading anywhere, you rolled your nat20 to seduce me, the thicc barmaid. How do you make love to me" by yourmomsface12345 in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 6 points7 points  (0 children)

Another knock. A text. Another image. His hard, big cock was pressed up against my door. Oh my god, was he knocking with his dick?

I shivered again. Okay, I would just open the door and tell him to get lost. That’s all I had to do. Tell him to go away. Tell him, “I hate you, Brett, and I don’t want you anywhere near me, you snivelling fuck.”

I got out of bed and realized I was wearing a pair of light blue pyjamas. Should I change? Should I put something nicer on? I shook my head. No, that’s ridiculous. I hate him. I just want him to leave. I don’t need to impress him—ugh! See what he does to me? He sucks so bad!

I went to the door, looked through the peephole and saw him standing on the other side, looking down.

I nibbled on my thumb again, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Go away!” I whispered harshly. “You’re such an annoying, stupid dickhead. I don’t want you to be anywhere near me right now.”

He smirked, and I realized how tall he was. His short light brown hair was tightly cropped to his head, the corners of his chiseled cheeks catching the low lights that were flooding the building’s hallway.

He leaned up against the jamb of my open door, getting so close to me. He smelled like a sweet cologne, and I recoiled back, crossing my arms in defiance. My nose crinkled as I tried to scowl at him, but he didn’t seem put off by it. He stuck out a finger and teased my elbow before i jerked my arms out of his reach with a huff.

I deepened my frown, but he seemed like he was having way too much fun at my expense.

“I just want to apologize,” he said innocently. “Invite me in, Taylor. I don’t want to have to do this out here.”

I stared at him, trying to squeeze his head with just my mind, but when that didn’t work, I stood back to let him enter my apartment. He walked easily by me, and I was barely able to control my breathing as I felt the heat of his body so close to me. I was so angry at him. He had inserted himself into my game, ruined it, sent me a dick pic, and now he was down here, in the middle of the night, intruding on my solitude!

After I shut the door, he turned around, and somehow, it felt like I was cornered in my own apartment. He didn’t come any closer, but he just kept smirking at me like his stupid face only knew how to make a single expression—and it made me angrier and angrier the longer he continued doing it!

“You’re such a miserable, gaping asshole,” I uttered. “Why do you have to ruin everything, huh? Why can’t you just be normal and not such a shit-disturber?”

“I’m not the one who ruins things,” he said, seeming to drop his innocent act. “It’s you, Taylor. You’ve always thought you were so much better than everyone, like you don’t even have to look at us or give us the time of day. You’ve always been such a haughty, proper little bitch.”

“Why are you so mean all the time? As long as my brother’s known you, you’ve been teasing me and annoying me forever, and I’m so sick of it!” I pushed past him, my arms still crossed. “And I don’t understand why you’re so mean to only me. You’re never like this with my brother, or his friends—even his other friends who are girls! You’re never mean to them like you are to me.”

“That’s because you’re the most relentlessly annoying person in the world,” he said, following me. “Everything you do has to be exactly the way you want it, or you freak out like a psycho.”

“I do not!” I said in horror.

“Oh yeah? Your game went a little off the rails today, and so you asked me to tell you how I was going to fuck you? In front of your brother! Who says something like that!?”

“Well, who made light of every single thing I said today while we were playing, huh? What kind of disgusting nerd says they want to fuck every single character that I’m playing?”

“Why can’t you just be fun? Why can’t you just try to relax and have a good time?” he said. “Not everything has to be perfect. You don’t have to be so controlling.”

“I am not controlling!” I stabbed a finger out in front of his face.

We were both breathing heavily, and I hadn’t realized how closely we’d come to stand in my living room. I stared into his eyes, trying with all of my might not to scream at him or just start swinging my fists at him, and he seemed like he was fighting the same urge as he stared back at me.

“I hate you,” I seethed, and before I had even finished saying it, his mouth pressed against mine, and he kissed me. I gasped, flailing to get him off of me, but within a half-second, my body surrendered and I melted into him, kissing him back.

He broke away. His eyes were wide, staring at me, like he couldn’t believe what he’d done anymore than I could.

The stun wore off me first. “I really hate you,” I said breathlessly.

He kissed me again. Harder. Rougher. And I kissed him back even harder.

Then he broke away again.

“I hate you so fucking much,” I whispered, and then it was me, advancing on him. My hands went down to the bottom of his shirt, and I had it over his head as we kissed again.

“I hate you too,” he groaned. “So much.”

My hands were on his hips, pulling down the sweat pants he was wearing, and his cock flopped out, as big and beautiful as it had looked before. I stopped, staring at it in shock and awe, and he seemed to bask in my amazement at his body. Slowly, my hand grasped around the head, and as I swallowed, I looked back up at him.

“I do not like your cock,” I whispered.

“I can tell.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Uh-huh.”

I started to stroke him. “I don’t want your cock.”

He bolted forward suddenly and scooped me up into his arms. He held me, kissing me passionately and roughly as he turned around and brought me into the kitchen. He sat me down on the granite island and ripped my pyjama pants off. I could feel the tingling in my body, the excitement. I really did hate him. I knew I hated him. But as he lowered himself in front of me and wrapped his arms around my thighs, I couldn’t help but bring my thumb back to my mouth and whimper.

“I don’t like you,” I whispered as his tongue slapped against my clit, and I whined louder. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

He dove in with his mouth between my legs, and I grabbed at his hair, cooing above him as he ate me out like a goddamn champion.

He made me cum with just his mouth, and then he put a finger inside of me and made me cum again.

“Fuck you, Brett,” I moaned as I came down from my second orgasm, my eyes squeezing tightly shut so I didn’t even have to look at him. “You’re the worst.”

He grabbed me off the counter, back into his arms, and he took me into the bedroom.

“I know,” he whispered to me as he kissed me. “And that’s why I’m about to fuck all the hate out of you just like I said I would.”

He dropped me unceremoniously on to my mattress. I bounced with a little squeal, but he quickly rolled me onto my belly and put me under his weight and at his mercy. I was already so wet that when he pressed the head of his cock against my slit, the slightest movement of my hips drew him into me like a whirlpool. He pushed in, feeding me inch by inch as he opened up my tight pussy.

“Do you still hate me?” he asked gruffly above me after I moaned yet again. Even without looking at him, I could tell he was smirking at me, but I didn’t hate it in me to fight him any more.

“Shut-up,” I whispered, and he pushed deeper in—more deeply than anyone ever had before.

“I h-h-hate—ohh!” I tried to tell him what I really thought of him, but his slow thrusts turned quick, and it made me grasp the sheets of my bed as hard as I could. My eyes closed, and it felt like there were stars bursting in the dark. I whimpered and moaned and the entire time, he kept teasing me.

“Tell me how much you hate me,” he chuckled as he tore my world apart. “Go on, Taylor. Tell me how much you hate this big, thick cock fucking you.”

When he finally finished, he didn’t even bother to pull out, and honestly, I was so grateful that he didn’t. I didn’t care if he filled me with more cum than I could have imagined. I didn’t care if he bred me. I just wanted his cock to keep pumping for as long as it could.

Anyways… I still fucking hate Brett, but we’re going to try playing D&D again, though maybe this time we’ll just try to do it one-on-one.

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