Truth be told, I found judging this a lot harder than I thought I would (or perhaps I knew I’d find it hard – I didn’t intend it as a competition, after all.) But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thoroughly enjoyed reading the nine entries and the fantastically creative ways in which their authors have all responded to their respective prompts.

All the entries had something to commend them. @codexonline’s Speed dial I liked for two reasons: firstly, the fact that the phone had been deliberately stolen came as a surprise to me, and I loved that the main character tried to regain the upper hand. As for @HornyGeekGirl, well, what can I say? In a way, this piece was the bravest of all, as HGG was the only one to break out of fiction, the result being a stunningly honest blog post. 

@JillyBoyd wrote a beautiful little piece of flash fiction and really made the most of the prompt – the surroundings felt real to me, which matters a lot when I’m reading erotica (but more on that later.) @FSolomonRR cleverly used the prompt both figuratively and literally, and I *loved* that her heroine was a proper sassy hot mess who I could relate to. And that picture! 

In @IamAnnaSky’s piece, it was the second paragraph that rang particularly true, especially given the current weather. ‘Foreplay for the apathetic’ sounds like a wonderful way to spend time. @The_Lady_Sybil’s piece was brave too – I had no idea she wrote erotica until she got in touch and asked for a polish name! I was more than happy to host her writing, especially given the little details like the way the heroine orders vodka knowing full well it’ll be the last choice she makes that night, the fact that Daddy asks her to write lines. But most of all, it was the sense of shame that did it for me: ‘You taunted me. Showed people. Told me what they said. It didn’t matter that my face wasn’t on them, I knew.’ 

@MSM1647’s Pedicure was a great tease – for the reader and for the main character alike. Pedis do nothing for me generally in terms of sexiness, but this really was a sexy little piece. And then, coming back to little details that do it for me, it was the little touches of Glaswegian dialect in @Juniper3Glasgow’s piece that drew me in and, in @EA_Unadorned’s Eternal Optimist, the insouciance with which the slick-haired city boy ‘jogged back to the comfort of his corporate box’ left me horny as hell. 

Anyway. Of the nine stories, I didn’t have *too much* difficulty narrowing it down to three potential winners. And then I got stuck. I’m usually pretty scornful of people who introduce a 2nd and a 3rd prize at the time of judging (Just pick one, already!) but in the end I decided that’s exactly what I’d have to do here.

Third prize goes to @FSolomonRR. Aside from what I said above, it was the ending of this that really did it for me. I don’t often get off on erotica that ends before the main event, but the sense of longing and anticipation in those final lines (‘Afraid he would get it all over his fingers, she tensed biting his lip before remembering the polish was not wet anymore. But she was.’) stayed with me all of today. I wanted to send her the polish that inspired the story, but it seems to have been discontinued, so instead, she wins another of my favourite nail colours.

The final two are *almost* a tie. I found it so hard to choose between them that I ended up sending them to two friends for their take, only to have one friend choose one story as the winner and another choose the other. So much for trying to delegate judging responsibility! 

I mentioned earlier that surroundings/sense of place are weirdly important to me when I’m reading erotica, and both of these pieces do that. You could argue that @EA_Unadorned potentially cheated a little bit here – by writing about Cheltenham when I’d done the same some months back, he knew the setting would turn me on. But earlier I mentioned that the details matter too, and I could list the hot ones from this piece almost endlessly – the tights around the heroine’s ankles, the flowing Guinness, the slap on the arse – all those things made me wet. Couple that with the fact that I think this is a bit of a departure from EA’s usual longer erotica pieces/style and it more than deserves second place. So, what does he win? Well, Alison Tyler’s anthology for Sommer Marsden has just come out, and it’s a great cause, so it seems like a fitting prize.

Incredibly, 1st prize goes to someone who hasn’t written fiction before (although you’d never know it) and who said they thought their story potentially read like a ‘bad porno,’ which I can assure her it doesn’t. Given a nail polish called Marrakech, it would have been so easy to write a piece set there, and I really like that @Juniper3Glasgow decided to put a different spin on it. Sure, I kept reading ‘comeable-on’ wrong, but I *fully* emphathised with ‘I’m not interested in the family he buys them from in Marrakech, because I wish I was slipping a hand inside his trousers.’ Then there’s the risk of getting caught (‘He’s not even flipped over the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed”) and that irresistible trickle of come down her side. Hot, hot, hot. Nor does this piece win because Juniper hasn’t written fiction before – it’s especially good considering that, but it’s a fantastic piece and a worthy winner even without taking that into account. 

Thank you so much to everyone who joined in, and winners, email or DM me your addresses and I’ll send your prizes ASAP.

Charlie x

Charlie (@The_Lady_Sybil) asked if I’d mind hosting her entry for ‘Polished’ here, and I’m delighted to, so here you are…

You’ll find links to all the other entries here.

Over the edge

If you’d asked, I’d have told you, but you didn’t ask. Never did. But it was always the colour you favoured.

When I sent the message this morning, asked you what colour, when you said ‘black’, I knew. It was always that colour that meant trouble.

I never figured out if it was conscious or not. I didn’t care. I painted my nails, took the photographs, sent you the images.

Waited.

Moments later the reply. You weren’t happy. I had disappointed you. No explanation, no arguments.

My heart fluttered into my throat, blood rushed around my head, breathing quickened. Panicked, I typed

“I’m sorry daddy, I don’t mean to disappoint you. What can I do daddy, please daddy, let me make it better?”.

The pause. The wait. The phone in my office rings, I ignore it. It’s not important, this is. This is… vital. I refresh, check my phone, check my emails. No reply. You keep me on the edge of my seat. I can’t concentrate on anything but checking, watching the clock, minutes go by. I deal with calls tersely, visitors to the office speedily. I need to know what you want.

Don’t they understand? The hold you have, the information you keep, the images? The last time I disappointed it was lines – 300 of them delivered to your office by 9am. It didn’t matter that I’d be disastrously late for work, that the boss noticed. It wasn’t important. The time before that, images that I know you still hold. You taunted me. Showed people. Told me what they said. It didn’t matter that my face wasn’t on them, I knew.

We slip into an hour. I’m now almost frantic.

My phone goes.

“Hello dirty girl”.

I’m relieved, scared and at the sound of your voice a part of me melts all at once.

“Hello daddy”

Your confidence, the strength in your voice calms and excites.

“Tonight my pretty little slut you will meet me in the usual place. We will dine. I will make selections for you. As usual you will sit next to me, with one part of your body touching mine for the entire evening and as usual when you need to excuse yourself you will ask permission and I will consider it”.

“Yes daddy”

“I haven’t finished. Tonight you will wear no underwear at all. In fact you won’t for the rest of the day. Is that clear?”

This was it? Everything?

“Yes daddy.”

“I will contact you again ahead of this evening. In the meantime, remove your underwear. I expect proof within the next two minutes. Go.”

You hang up. This is far too easy. Simple even. I run to the bathroom remove my knickers and bra and send you a picture of them on the floor. An image of my skirt around my waist, my shaven naked cunt, wet, wanting. My naked tits, soft underneath my shirt. I want to show you what a good girl I am. The images are slow to send, I clock watch. Just in time. I think. I hope.

There is no response, but I don’t expect it. Work cannot go fast enough. Head down, plough through. No running down the corridor, can’t, daren’t. Lunch? Work through, distract myself, while I wait for your contact. It’s only when there’s a couriered package delivered I realise.

I know your handrwriting. I shakily sign for it, shut and quietly lock the office door. It feels like you’re here, watching me. I score through tape, peel away paper.

Wear this. All evening. No excuses.

I pull the rubber toy from the box. Start to fit it. Straps of elastic circle my thighs, my waist. Jelly rubber sits snugly into my cunt, a little nub against my clit. I can feel the weight of batteries, but no control.

Oh god.

I pull my dress down, unlock the door and sit.

Oh. Wow. I can feel it. Everywhere. Pressing, teasing. I have one more hour. Sixty minutes of teasing. Torture. Pressure that becomes unbearable. Hints of something beneath my skirt make me feel self conscious, the straps look like a strange panty line. I feel like everyone knows, must know. Must be able to see…?

Finally. 6PM and I can leave. I go via the ladies and tidy my make up. Adjust the… toy. Oh god. Feels so good like that. If I just rub the little bumps across my clit… Yes. Like that…. Just…

I realise I’m standing in the middle of the ladies loos. My face flushes. My legs wobble slightly. Anybody could walk in.

Jesus. Enough.

I wash my hands, straighten myself and leave. I can’t be late. I’m already in trouble.

The bar is quiet, as usual. This is how you prefer it. Public, quiet, with a full view of everyone. I sit in our usual spot and wait. Order a drink. This is the last choice I’ll get to make tonight, so I order a vodka. I think I’m going to need it.

I know when you’re here, I don’t have to look, I can smell your perfume as you walk over, hear your footsteps, each click clack of your heels against the wooden floor. I mustn’t raise my eyes unless I am told.

“Cara, look at me.”

I raise my eyes to yours. I love how you look. Long black hair, fringe perfectly blunt, lips painted red, eyes bright blue. I wonder if you see the guilt I feel for disappointing you. For playing in the ladies. Do you see the embarrassment in my cheeks at sitting here so naked, so bare? Do you see how much I want to please you.

“Good girl.”

You indicate I should lower my eyes and I see your feet in their red stilettos move over to the bar. I hear muted conversation, the chink of ice in glasses and a glass of wine appears in front of me. I’m confused. This isn’t usual.

“I have one instruction for you tonight Cara. You cannot come without permission. Do you understand?”.

The words are quiet and clear. I nod. “Yes daddy.”

It’s then you put something on the table. Your phone. Your finger unlocks it, red painted nail tapping on the screen. It’s then I feel it. There’s a soft pulsing between my legs, against my clit. The tempo changes as I watch your finger slide across the screen. Then the little dick, the little cock of rubber inside me moves and I have to close my eyes.

Punishment.

The pulses build, I can feel myself flush from head to toe. My toes curl, legs tense and as fast as it’s built, it’s gone.

“Three times Cara. Three times I’m going to push you. And you are not to come. Do you understand?”.

I nod. It’s all I can do. I sip my drink, my thigh pressed against yours. I can feel your heat, your scent, florals mixed with spice.

Our table is ready, so we walk through to the restaurant. They know us well enough in here that we’ll sit next to each other. You order wine, ponder the menu and ask about my day. I respond, we chat. It all seems so normal and usual. Red wine is poured, food ordered. We chat about a film that’s been advertised, books, mutual friends. I barely concentrate.

As our starter arrives, I feel it begin. Slow, gentle pulses flow. These are delicious, I can feel my thighs quiver, my fingers press into your skin. Gentle enough that I can keep up the pretence, sip my wine, nibble at my starter. I see your fingers move on your phone and the speed adjusts. I carefully replace my fork, clamp my thighs together. Quietly close my eyes.

“How does it feel Cara? Does it feel like my mouth on you? My fingers inside you? Circling, teasing?”

I quietly nod. I don’t trust my voice. I feel the pulses deepen. How does it do that?

“Are you close Cara? Do you want to come for me?”

“Yes”, I whisper it. I know you want me to say it.

“Good. Now eat up like a good girl.”

It stops. Suddenly, wrenchingly. And I carefully pick my fork back up. One down, two to go. I can do this.

We return to our chit chat. Plates are cleared, our main appears and is eaten. It’s as the waiter flutters around clearing our plates that I feel it again. This time it’s sudden and fast. I can feel it flow hard and fast. I feel my nipples tighten and his gaze hovers around my chest. I find myself fascinated by the idea of him getting turned on, by the thought of his cock hardening in his trousers and my relief as he disappears is short lived. The vibrations become stronger, the little jelly cock inside me moves and all I can think about is his cock, him bending me over the table here and now and fucking me hard.

But I must not come.

I can hear your soft laughter. You know. You love this. You love seeing me struggle, fight.

“Please daddy.”

You laugh again. “I wondered how long you would last. Ask me again Cara, properly this time.”

“Please daddy. Can I come?” I want to. Release is so close.

“Good girl. That’s better.” You pause. I know what the response is, but my heart still sinks when I hear it. “No”.

My thighs squeeze tighter and I feel a bead of sweat run down my back. And then. Nothing.

“Much better.” You hand me my clutch bag, You’re looking a little flushed. Why don’t you freshen up?”

I unsteadily get to my feet, relieved at having worn flat shoes. In the ladies I lean back against the cool tiles and let myself calm. I want to relieve this torture, play, make myself come. It would be so easy to do. Quick, quiet.

But you’d know. You always know.

I dust my face with powder, straighten my fringe and it’s while I’m standing there, looking in the mirror, I feel it again.

Gentle again, soft, lulling. I stand there, I can’t even look at myself. My hands are on the side of the sink, cool ceramic against my skin. It’s then that I feel you.

Your breath is against my ear, your lips move against my neck, hands stroke over my nipples, then pinch and twist. I feel my cunt flood, I press back against you, feel that rubber cock shift, sending shivers through me.

Your hand wraps itself in my hair and you pull me into the biggest cubicle and lock the door. Your mouth is on mine and I can taste wine, and chocolate. Your teeth nibble at my lips, your hand still in my hair, pulling me down, then pushing, til I’m on my knees. Your skirt rides up, a tiny piece of lace covers your cunt and you press my face into you. I almost scrabble in my haste to taste you, push the lace to one side, press my face into your sweet cunt and taste you. Oh god. Sweet and salty, I push my tongue inside you before I move to suck and lick at your clit.

I feel the buzzing between my thighs grow more intense. I moan into your cunt and suck harder. I need to please you. I need to come. My thumb pressing into your hole fucking you while I flick my tongue across your clit, you’re so wet and so am I as I feel that rubber dick start to move too.

“Please daddy. Please daddy let me come.” I mumble into your cunt, moan as you make the vibrations harder.

“Again.” You say, I can hear you getting out of breath. I’m torn between my needs and yours. I push two fingers inside you, feel your juices on my hand, suck harder at your clit. I feel your thighs tense. I remove my mouth, just long enough.

“Please daddy. Please let me come. I’ll be a good girl.”

I’ve now got four fingers inside you, your so wet and taste so good, but it’s enough to distract me from coming, just enough as I roll my tongue over our clit again and again. It’s now become my mission to make you come.

“Again dirty girl. Beg me”.

Oh god. I want to sob into your cunt, I’m so desperate now. I need come. I’m going to come, but I need you to say I can.

“Please daddy. Please. I’ll be a good girl. Please daddy. Please let me come.”

You’re close. I can feel it. The pulses between my leg get faster and I suck hard at your clit, I need to make you come now, need to let you have your release. I need to taste you when you come. I lap at you, my jaw aching, before I press on. Pushing my face hard into you I flick my tongue across your clit again, hard.

Your thighs tense and your hands are in my hair, I feel your cunt squeeze on my fingers and flood as you come, I can barely breathe, as I move my face to taste.

Suddenly the vibrations stop. End. I feel bereft. So close, but still nothing? I can’t do this again. I just can’t.

You pull me back up. Kiss me and remove the device. My cunt is aching and hot and desperate.

“Daddy please. Please daddy, can I come?” I need now. Truly need.

You push me onto the closed lid of the toilet.

“Wank for me. Come for me. Show me.”

I raise my skirt and show you my sodden cunt, hot and wanting. My fingers go down and you tilt my chin up.

“Good girl. I want to see.”

My fingers need no urging and as you watch me, eyes on my face, I play, for you. Show you. It takes minutes, no seconds, for it to flow over me, that wave of pleasure that runs to the tips of my fingers and my toes, I can’t drag my eyes from yours and it’s only the very last second I close them. I bite my lip to stop my moan becoming a shout.

It feels so good.

My whole body is there with me, tingling, goosebumps, pleasure flows and I don’t think I’ve ever felt something this strong and this good.

It’s as my breath returns, my heart rate begins to slow that I open my eyes and see you. Dressed, tidied, as if nothing has happened.

You move away, open the door wide and leave it there.

Click, clack go your heels.

“Good girl.”

Fireworks where I am tonight, which made me think of this erotica short that I wrote a while back and did nothing with. There’s a lot technically wrong with it, but I still like the way it captures a mood.

***

I always miss the party.

It’s not that I’m one of those geeky girls who thrills at hanging around afterwards discussing the finer points of the presentation of the industrial revolution in the 19^th century novel, but I’m easily lured in by the girl who claims to have written twenty-six sides, reduced to panic despite knowing that she’s probably reproduced the study notes verbatim. I’ll let her take me through what she wrote and the whole time I’m mentally calculating how I need to have done in the other papers to still be guaranteed honours.

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