Six men in the kitchen (The Lady, October 2015) & competition reminder

Someone once told her that she only needed six things in her kitchen: a food processor, a microplane grater, a good set of knives, digital scales, a stand mixer and a vegetable peeler.

It’s not true, she realises now. Sometimes you need other things. Sometimes you need six men, all of whom you’ve bedded, leaning against your worktop – not because you have doubts, but because you want a reminder of how you got here.

Her hen do was supposed to be mixed, but it has separated out, somehow – the girls and the plastic, novelty cocks in the living room, the boys – and their real flesh and blood ones – in the kitchen. She intends to flit between the two groups, but there’s an easiness to hanging out with the men. She’s never been one for slick, organised parties; she’s certainly never been one for pin-the-dick-on-the-fireman.

Instead, she plays her own game. She weaves between the guys, topping up their champagne, and for each one, she challenges herself to remember a specific moment or detail about the way they fucked.

Jamie’s fingers, and the way they curved against her G-spot until she drenched his sheets.

Max, who taught her to love face slapping, though she can’t for the life of her remember what made them try it in the first place.

Edward, bestower of tiny yellow thumbprint bruises all over her tits, and bigger, purple ones on her arse.

Stephen, the biggest of the six, who liked to slide into her before she was quite wet enough, stretching her wide around his cock.

Zac, who she only fucked once, at uni, when she was so drunk she can barely remember it, but whose pale arse, disappearing out of her bedroom door the following morning, will stay with her forever.

Fraser, who made so much noise when he came, the neighbours complained. More than once.

She’s found a man who is all these things for her now, but she would’t have got there, without these men. She wouldn’t have known that these things mattered to her.

*

The day itself doubles the contents of her kitchen cabinets. There are vegetable steamers, beautiful stoneware casserole dishes, cheese knives, and, from her grandma, cutlery for best, a concept that is still beyond her.

The boys don’t bring gifts – it’s not their style. Besides, they don’t need to – over the past ten years they’ve given her more than she could ever have hoped for.

For obvious reasons, this isn’t an entry for my competition to win a signed copy of Girl on the Net’s new book, but it is a reminder that you only have four and a bit days left to enter.

I’ll put up a separate post linking to the entries as soon as I have a few more, but for now, check out this epically-titled entry by Jo at Teachers have Sex.

e[Lust] #79

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Photo courtesy of Marie Opens Up

Welcome to Elust #79

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #80? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Joy of Sucking Cock

Making Porn

My Valentine

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The One

Midweek Fantasizing – The Portrait

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Marionette
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A kiss is just a kiss
Turning Corners
Another Day, Another Planned Parenthood Visit
My first vanilla date
Want, Need the Power of your Masculinity!
I don’t know how to date.

Erotic Fiction

Soft Lips
The Introduction
Erotic Fiction: “Words”
Darkness and the Rose
Taste
THE SESSION THAT WENT WRONG
Be Careful What You Wish For
Motivation
porn
The Tube

Erotic Non-Fiction

For You, It’s Always Yes
Gawan: Intro to Flogging
The Talker: An Introduction
My wildest fantasy: Ship slut
Marionette
Time for something quick…
Spread Legs and Open Mouth
My Girl in Havana
Let’s Watch some Porn

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

An Artist’s Story: Tails and Portholes
Sleeping With Our Future President
To Dude Who Was Offended By Lack of Escort
Try Love, Not Anger
Risky Sex
Why Cosmo is the worst (again!)

Writing about Writing

Condoms: fictional contraceptive of choice
Writing Fat Characters In Erotica

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Masochistic Mastermind
Take me to where I need to be.

 

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[e]lust #78: The one with ‘£10.53’

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Photo courtesy of Malin James

Welcome to Elust #78

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #79? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

£10.53
Balance of Light
Advent Calendar 2015 – Day 24

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Why Sex Fiction?
On using him

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Guest blog: ‘Quite Delightful’, James Deen and me
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Make-Up Sex
Wide Open
Believe in You
I am softly athletic
Making a Short Story Long

Erotic Fiction

First Kiss
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
A Spicey Christmas Eve Tale…..
The Annual Christmas Party
If Only He’d Said Yes…
Very Very Necessary
concrete
Holly and Ivy…
Frothy White Stuff
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
30 Minutes

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Boundaries
Stress Makes You Blind and Your Cum Orange
On Eating Ass
Confessions of an Ambivalent Masochist
Joyous Jizz

Poetry

Ode To My Favorite Sex Toy
Earth
Fuckable

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Lady Fapping: The Itty Bitty Kitty Committee
Does Size Matter?
A Feminist’s Guide to Sexting with Cavemen

Erotic Non-Fiction

Having Angelic Sex With The Virgin Mary
New Lingerie

Blogging

The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives
40. 41. One.
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Free porn

  
 
‘It has a great bar, and -‘ Emma pauses for effect and she and Jason chime at the same time ‘Free porn!’

Bless them. They had their first baby three months ago, and this was the first time they’ve spent alone together since. We should be kind.

I picture the two of them in a hotel room, watching said porn. Emma drifting off and Jason …

Urgh.

‘Sounds great!’ you say. ‘We should book it; have a weekend away. What do you think, Soph?’

‘Fine by me!’ I say.

‘You must try the strawberry margarita,’ Emma says. ‘Best cocktail I’ve ever had.’

I knew she hadn’t watched the porn.



The hotel has everything they promised, though the gin fizz is better than the strawberry margarita. When we’ve put our bags down in the room, you flick the TV on, and sure enough – free porn!

But the carpet is covered with random words, and you make me pick one – I choose ‘sign’ – and then you scrawl ‘Free porn’ on the back of the room service menu, tell me to strip, and make me stand, naked, in the window, holding the sign you’ve made for thirty minutes, while you lie on the bed and drink a glass of red.

And then you fuck me against the glass, because you’re not a man to break your promises. 

Over the course of the weekend, the action in the window varies. You make me wank, you order me to suck your cock, you press my face to the cold pane while you stick your dick in my arse.

We take breaks to head down to the bar. I rank the cocktails. The gin fizz is better than the strawberry margarita, the strawberry margarita is better than the negroni.

It’s a good hotel. And there’s free porn.

But we’re making it; not watching it.

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We three kings …

IMG_6239.jpg

France is … well, France is fucking lonely, actually.

Coming back after Christmas is hard, even though she loves him, even though she wanted to live here. She just didn’t know it would be *so* damn hard. She makes plans with her friends for them to come and visit and she trawls the papers for a job.

Working will help.

Adam agrees – it will. He likes his colleagues, has even joined the five a side office football team – he plays on Thursday nights and then a few of them grab a beer in the cafe down the road.

‘Bring them here this week,’ she suggests. ‘We have beer. And pizza.’

‘Sure,’ he agrees. ‘But it’s the sixth on Thursday. I guess some of the guys will be heading home for la galette.’

Shit, I forgot! We could do that here though? With beer. It’ll be cool … right?’

‘It’ll be cool.’ He kisses her forehead. ‘Every party you’ve thrown has been damn cool. Right?’

He holds up a hand, and she high fives him, grinning. ‘Right.’

The three guys he ends up bringing back adore her. He’s not surprised. Everyone adores her when they get to know her – she thinks her snark is a barrier, but it just endears her to people even more.

Drinks poured, he pulls her aside. All of these men are single –  they’re the ones who don’t have girlfriends, wives or families to head home to – Epiphany is a big deal for the French. They’re hot, and charming and they have a plan.

‘You know your New Year’s Resolution?’ he asks. ‘Were you serious about it?’

‘Is this a dare?’ she asks. ‘Because I’m competitive, remember?’

‘Oh, I know,’ he says. ‘Which is why I’ve upped the stakes. You wanted to go down on a stranger. How does tonight sound?’

She’s learnt so much with him. He makes her want to try stuff she’s never tried before, makes her believe in herself. She clinks her beer glass against his. ’You’re on.’

She’s a stickler for tradition, and it works well with this plan. Tradition dictates that the youngest person gets under the table and decides who gets each slice of the cake. As luck would have it, she’s the baby of the room.

Beneath the tablecloth, she flirts. More than flirts, in fact. She takes her time calling out their names, stroking their stiffening cocks through the denim of their jeans, running her hands up their thighs, stoking the anticipation.

By the time she crawls out from under the table to claim her own dessert and see who the victor of the spoils is, every dick in the room is rock hard.

Nobody speaks, and when Xav digs his spoon into the cake, the clink of metal on porcelain is audible to them all.

She smiles; lets him finish his dessert. Then she fetches the paper crown, ceremoniously places it on his head, and tugs him in the direction of the sofa.

The other guys gather round – there’s no way they’re missing this. Xavier opens his fly and frees his cock, and she kneels, takes his hands and puts them on the back of her head. He gets the message.

‘You want it rough, huh?’ he says, and she nods, eagerly. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sure enough, she takes him deep and she’s vocal in her pleasure – she slurps and whimpers while Xavier pulls her hair and arcs upwards, forcing even more of himself into her mouth. When he comes she swallows, licks her lips and turns to face Adam and the other two guys, all of whom are wanking unabashedly.

She lifts her skirt, slides her knickers down. ‘As far as I remember,’ she says, grinning wickedly. ‘The three kings all brought different gifts. Fancy showing me the other two?’

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Réveillon

The Eurostar is half empty. It’s not due to arrive in Paris till 20:30 – most people’s festivities will be underway by then, she thinks.

She has no particular plans. She’s alone – she has been for three months now, but unlike at Christmas, tonight she’s grateful for the solitude. It doesn’t even bother her than the train has no power sockets; her phone is dead, and she’s uncontactable, at least until she gets to the hotel.

She goes straight to a bar.

At a corner table, she sips a Kir Royale, slowly. A man gestures to the seat opposite her. ‘T’es d’accord si je laisse ma veste ici?’

She smiles. ‘Bien sûr.’

Even once he’s draped his jacket over the chair, he lingers. He was breaking the ice, she realises – there’s a coat stand in the corner. She’s not in the mood to make conversation just yet, and turns back to her book.  He gets the message, and leaves her in peace. It doesn’t stop her checking out his arse as he turns away.

Her second cocktail is on the house. The barman laughs off her attempts to pay – ‘J’insiste, mademoiselle!’ – and holds her gaze as he pours. She hangs out at the bar for a while, flirting with him between orders and in return he shows off – there are flaming drinks, bottles being juggled, and champagne fountains.

Because she has no intention of fucking any of them, no man is off limits. She smiles broadly at a guy with a wedding ring, makes eyes at another while his wife is in the Ladies’. She glances at bulges in trousers, at well fitting black tie, at stubbled jawlines. When midnight comes, she’s not short of kisses – they’re practically queuing up to wish her a Bonne année. 

And it will be. She knows it.

She takes a taxi to her hotel a little after one. She’s tired, but exhilarated, alive with the possibilities that await her in the year ahead. In the elevator mirror, she smiles at her reflection. It’s one of those rare evenings where she can see her own beauty; has utter faith in it.

In her room, she takes off her make up, hangs up her clothes, and lays down between cool sheets. Her fingers find her clit and she rubs firmly, thinking about those men, imagining them without the black tie, without the wives, with hard cocks and eager hands. She imagines going back to the bar, naked this time, and them pushing tables back, making room for her to get down on all fours.

The men in her head are queuing and jostling not to kiss her, but to fuck her. She conjures up one – the barman, with his cheeky grin and deep blue eyes – fucking her mouth, and another – the one with the salt and pepper hair and the gold band on his ring finger – in her cunt.

She doesn’t have to imagine her orgasm.

Satisfied, she curls her knees up to her chest, and drifts off. There are so many potential men out there, she realises now. And they can all wait until tomorrow.

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Flash fiction: Piper

She’s tired of her own voice, the irregular click of her heels on the ground, her laugh, which sounds braying to her now, and her breathless, anxious sobbing.

More than anything she’s tired of fucking sobbing.

She’d like to be gracious – elegant, even – in her sadness: all weak smiles and silent weeping, but her anger demands otherwise. Her anger demands she gets drunk every Saturday and rants about him in the street. Not only did he dump her; the fallout has seen her refused entry to three different nightclubs.

Even her friends are sick of it.

‘I’ve booked a spa weekend,’ Emma tells her. ‘In the highlands. You deserve a break.’

She knows an intervention when she sees one.

The hotel is quiet, just as Em promised. The average age is perhaps forty years their senior. And it’s nice, really it is, but neither massage, nor hours in the jacuzzi, nor the wine at dinner can stop his goodbye from playing on loop in her head.

It stops when the entertainment starts.

The ‘entertainment’ is a solo piper. A solo piper who distracts her not only with the godawful noise he’s making, but with his epic legs and twinkly blue eyes. For the first time in maybe a month she stops wondering if she’ll be alone forever and wonders instead what’s under that pleated tartan.

He plays on, and on, and on. The grannies love it. Or maybe they love a man in a kilt. Hard to say.

She marvels at how, in spite of the racket he’s making, this man is causing her to grow wet and twitchy. At one point, he starts a new song (she thinks – it’s hard to tell), and catches her eye across the room.

Once upon a time, she’d have said the most awkward thing that could happen with a guy you liked was catching his eye when he looked up from giving you head. Now she sees that this is untrue: it’s far more awkward to make eye contact with a sexy bagpiper mid-blow.

Emma knows, she can tell – her desires and emotions have always been transparent – and when the ‘music’ finally ends and everybody – piper included – makes their way to the bar, she makes herself scarce.

He packs the damn windbag away, and makes a beeline for her. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he asks. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, I know that’s unprofessional, but I promise it’s not something I do every time I play here. As – ‘ he gestures at a group of old ladies playing cards, ‘ – you can probably tell.’

‘I believe you,’ she says. ‘Gin and slim, please.’

They drink in companionable silence, companionable at least until her mind fails to catch up with her mouth and she says ‘Well, this is a little more peaceful, isn’t it?’

For a moment, he’s speechless. As if he can’t believe she had the nerve to say that. To be honest, neither can she.

‘You’re not a fan, then?’

She shakes her head. ‘Er … no.’

‘You didn’t even like that last tune?’

She makes air quotes with her fingers, hoping it comes across flirty, not bitchy: “Tune…”

‘Hey!’ he protests, ‘It’s a tune! And you didn’t answer my question. I thought you might have enjoyed that one.’

‘Why?’ she asks, curious now. She has no idea where this is going.

He grins a wicked grin; adjusts his sporran. He leans in, so the grannies can’t hear him. ‘”Cock o’ the north,” it’s called,’ he says, the grin widening. ‘I’ve heard it said it’s the one I do best.’

Her grin mirrors his. She looks around urgently for Emma. She needs to persuade her to sleep in the bath.

£10.53

The  coins are for her, but he decides their purchasing power. He pushes them round on the table as he does, sorting them by size.

‘2p for vanilla, 5p for a hand job, 10p for anal, and £1 for a blow job.’

‘What?! How is fucking my arse worth a tenth of fucking my mouth?’

He smiles, and tosses a pound coin in the air, snapping his fist closed around it as it falls.

‘Twenty-four days. Ten pound coins. You sure about that?’

She hates it when he outwits her.

‘Let’s stick with the original plan.’

She thinks it’ll be easy. There are twenty coins and although they usually fuck at least once a day, with Christmas parties, family visiting and work deadlines, she’s sure the coins will last the length of advent.

But he’s strict.

When they fuck that night, she drops to her knees from sheer habit, wrapping her lips around the thick length of his cock.

‘A pound down already,’ he says, as his cock pulses in her mouth. ‘Quite the little spender, aren’t we?’

She yanks her mouth free. ‘This is foreplay!’

‘Nuh-uh. My rules.’

December is still in its infancy and she’s £5.19 down. She hadn’t bargained on the way he’d play the game – rubbing his cock against her arse as she searches for something in the pantry, his parents just metres away, as if they were teenagers again. Nor, it seems, was she paying enough attention when he assigned the values, since there are only four 2p coins. Three and a half weeks, weeks in which she has to find a gift for her crotchety grandfather, along with at least twenty others, sew an angel costume for her youngest, and find time to attend rehearsals for her choir concert and she’s only allowed to actually fuck him four times? It’s the worst advent calendar ever.

Her cunt aches for him. She jerks him off one morning before work and her underwear is so soaked she has to change it.

‘Tonight?’ she suggests, as he tucks himself back inside his suit trousers, and straightens his tie. ‘Please can we fuck tonight?’

There’s only one 2p left.

He sips his coffee, and she waits, patiently. It still astounds her that he has this power over her – she has no patience for anything else: not for traffic jams, late people, cancellations or delays – but with him she’d wait forever.

‘Tell me how you want it.’

It rushes out of her. She’s been thinking about it for days. ‘I want you to hold me down, make me beg, my mouth filled with fingers and my cunt filled with cock. I need you to pull my hair, to bruise me, bite me. I want to do stuff I’ve never dreamed of.’

He leans in and nips at her neck with his sharp, white teeth. ‘My brother’s coming for dinner, remember?’

‘Not till 8. Leave work early.’

But he’s late; so late in fact that her frustration turns to anger, and her anger turns to worry. What if he’s been in an accident? She texts him, but there’s no response. Her calls go to voicemail. She burns herself on the roast chicken dish. What will she tell his brother?

There’s a knock at the door. She guesses she’ll tell him the truth; that she has no idea. She likes his brother, trusts him. It’ll be ok.

He’s brought flowers, and wine, and she hugs him, tighter than she might normally. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, as he lets go of her, ‘It’s just I can’t get hold of Mike. I’ve tried calling but his phone – ‘

‘Shh, shh,’ he comforts, ‘He just called me. He’s on his way. But first he wanted me to give you this.’

And he drops two pence’ worth of chocolate into her hand.

e[Lust] #76

Elust header
Photo courtesy of Charlie in the Pool

Welcome to Elust #76

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing,

relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #75? Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Sex and the post-birth vagina

Lonely Things

Just the two of us

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Tiny, shiny, bity snaps of steel…

I have fallen in and out of love with myself

 

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

I had An Abortion

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and

the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Fiction

The End of the Run
Ladies Who Lunch
kink of the week: dirty panties
Release
Brutal Nights
Because I Knew I Shouldn’t
Erotic Fiction: “Everything”
Look, Don’t Touch
As one night ends…
String Quartet
Unmasked: Part 1: The Gift
The Secret Rolls

Erotic Non-Fiction

The lick of love.
Tickle & Tease
Oral Sex, Don’t Forget Oral Hygiene – Whoops!
Feed my senses
Camming With A Foot Lover
Finding the Edges
Word power
The Mail Room
Doing It Herself

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

I Had An Abortion
The 7 Dimensions of Cock

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

When I Thought the Scene Was Done
Introducing the Abject Kitten, Part 2
The Joy of Fear
Talking About BDSM With Your Therapist
On Denial (and topping from the bottom)

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

I Did It My Way
Two
Fuckin With Fuck Boys Part II
You don’t need my permission to fuck my lover
Undercovers

Writing About Writing

The Hunt for Adult/Sex Friendly Businesses

 

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#Lippie: The Results

It’s taken me two full weeks to get round to judging #Lippie. I’m kind of sorry, not sorry, because I wanted to wait until I had the time to read all the entries in one sitting and to really figure out what I loved about each one. Because god, there was a lot of great writing submitted.

I should say, before I start with what I loved, that the comments on the entries are in no particular order (they’re linked by theme), with the exception of the final five. Although there’s only one prize this time round, there were loads of entries that deserved to be commended and I couldn’t get it down to three, so, yeah, one winner and four runners up.

Two themes that I found particularly interesting came through in a lot of the entries. Lots of the stories dealt with reinventing yourself, which is, after all, the huge joy of lipstick. Brave by @TomWatched was one such example, with the added benefit of great dialogue. @RiaRestrepo also did a fab job of it in Kinda Sexy, where she wrote a great, modern version of Girl Power (yes, I did like the Spice Girls), which also has room for a very hot man. Finally, there was Fanfare by @IAmAnnaSky, which did a beautiful job of combining the will to recreate yourself after a relationship ends with the sometimes huge appeal of being lost in the crowd. Plus, it had the wonderful line ‘She tastes sweet and sour.’

When characters weren’t reinventing themselves, they were generally superbly strong nonetheless. @cherrytartblog’s Flamingos and wolves (yes, she drew a particularly short straw in the lipstick name game) has a heroine with serious attitude. I adored her! @Mollysdailykiss gave us a similarly sassy FMC in On Hold, as well as a lovely bit of alleyway action, which is one of my favourite things. And talking of my favourite things, @Mandapen used remarkably few words to tap into all my kinks and left me lusting for some bruises. Dancing cropped up twice, in @Innocentlb’s Impassioned and Flat Out Fabulous by @Katya_Harris – the first of these saw a narrator who gets lost in the music only to leave me wistful for the girl he misses out on in doing so, and the latter an epic female character who’s so into her dancing she doesn’t need anyone else to make this a really hot story. There was also a lovely bit of character detail in @CollaredMom’s Politely Pink, where the female character says ‘he knew I hated pink’ and the themes of both pinkness and politeness carry the whole way through the story, too. In Dubonnet, by Robert S, the female character wasn’t typical of erotic fiction, which always pleases me, and the male character liked her imperfections, such as her selfies. The sense of place was really well portrayed in this one, too.

Costa Chic by @GoodnightAngela genuinely had me wondering where the story was going. The same was true at the start of @BilliousOne’s Runway Hit, which I expected to be about fashion but actually turned out to be set at an airport. I liked how the arrivals and departures of the planes gave the whole thing a sense of fleetingness, which was the other theme that came up multiple times. I loved too, how the heroine left the hotel after the scene. The sense of fleetingness was also my favourite thing about Peter Stone’s Real Redhead.

Several of the stories had wonderful multi-sensory details, like Lipstick Color by @cammiesonfloor, whose heroine is left with a ‘grotesque, clownish smile (I also loved the line ‘more like the “O” she wanted than a plea’) , Peach Blossom by @Juniper3Glasgow (‘She can still smell the outside on her’), which also had a beautifully balanced and healthy relationship between the characters, and Creme in your Coffee by @fdotleonora (‘[she] could not help but notice that the lipstick was the exact color as her nipples’), which takes an everyday scenario and makes it hot as, well, coffee.

Although @VidaBailey2’s non-fiction piece Cosmo was sad in places (‘…no one knew how to make me come’), it’s ultimately very uplifting, not least due to the description of ‘happy, heavy cock.’ @VenaRamphal’s No Persistence here was equally a bittersweet combination of fun and sadness, with the added twist of being told from the perspective of the actual lipstick! Sexy, too…

Syrup by @AbsolutelyRuby is not sad, but it is bloody dark, and was so powerfully written, I found myself holding my breath for the first few paragraphs. It also had a very cool male character, this time because he didn’t always know what he was doing, which, while terrifying, also strikes me as very true to life. BDSM is also handled well in @StellaKiink’s See Sheer, which reminded me just how wonderfully calm it can make you feel.

In Lady Danger by @Mansplanation, it’s the dialogue – ‘Am I your King,’ I ask her, pinning her down by the throat,’ contrasting wonderfully with ‘Tilt your head my queen.’ Somehow, it’s so powerful it also makes the ending even more of a surprise. Rebel by @loucheasfuck had the beautiful line ‘she’s hit a rich seam’ as well as very powerful repetition – ‘And her. And her.’

This brings us to the top five. The runners up, again in no particular orderwere @Girlonthenetwith Sin, @19Syllables, with Cockney, @JillyBoyd, with Hot Tahiti and @Octogirlscares with Saigon Summer. I went to a writing talk recently where the speaker talked about the writer needing to take full responsibility for the imagery they create, and not leave the reader to have to fill in the gaps, and Girlonthenet certainly does this. ‘Each detail pulses with raw, bright colour’ she says, in the story, and then she totally follows through, writing in a way that allows us to experience all of this raw, bright colour for ourselves.

Cockney is similarly vivid, while less graphic, and does a masterful job of mixing the everyday with the seriously hot. In the comments on this story, Girlonthenet said ‘I think I have a proper kink for anticipation, and unrequited lust, and this captured that *ache* so beautifully,’ and I can’t really express it better myself…

The other two runners up both deal with trauma, although in very different ways. In Hot Tahiti, Jilly deftly pulls off writing about death while keeping an immense sense of life in her piece, which is bloody tricky to do, and she has a wonderfully strong male narrator whose self-assurance allows him to say things like ‘She was never too much,’ which utterly delighted me. @Octogirlscares went braver still, using Saigon Summer to write about the horrors of the Vietnam war. The main character in this appeared so vividly to me I felt I’d met or seen her somewhere, and I was just astounded by the author’s courage is using something as frivolous as a lipstick name to inspire something so powerfully bleak.

And so, all that’s left is to announce the winner: Myth, by @DarkJezebelle. With both this and Girlonthenet’s piece making the top five, it would seem that cheating is quietly one of my kinks, but what I really loved about this piece was that it wove lipstick in, but did it in a way that made it utterly crucial to the story, and the strong, short but confident voice that @DarkJezebelle maintains throughout. I was a also a sucker for the way the paranoia builds over the course of the piece, and the fantastic imagery, such as ‘Or was it left there, around the base, where I’d struggled to breathe, eager to impress a new lover.’

So, that’s it. Thanks to you all for joining in and helping me raise cash for Refuge, and huge congratulations to @DarkJezebelle – drop me an email or DM with your mailing address and I’ll get your prize sent out asap!