View Full Version : Story Challenge: In & Out

09-02-2006, 06:56 PM
Writers, are you up for some fun? One of the first story challenges I participated in involved the inclusion and exclusion of certain words. It was so difficult to find alternate terms for some words which caused my entire story to veer off in another direction. Let's see who is up to the challenge...

Words that must be included (please bold face the words):


Words you must exclude :


Give it a try! All submissions welcome!

09-04-2006, 05:26 PM
I odn't post here very often, but they don't let me out except on long holiday weekends .... here's my submission, fwiw: :doorpeek:

In the beginning, he eschewed ergonomic fulfillment and fractured the ugliness of the spatula across her bedknob which had shaped itself suspiciously like an aubergine.

Eventually, he looked at her, her leafy legs akimbo on the bed, with accusation and contempt furrowing his obfuscated brow.

She began to weep, cosmic and subhemodomal tears that would have torn at the heart of a lesser man. He screamed:

“That’s the end of that story, Bitch.”


“Oh, now you’ve done it, you dumb ____,” she screamed at him. “My ______ will rip your ______ and ______ you in the ass with your own ______.”

He was aghast. He could not help but watch as she removed the local
tram schedule from her tender bits and threw it at him. “Here, titbrain, chew this.”


Creative: Tingling Tess
Editorial: JassWolf
Publisher: Lilith
Key Grip: What the hell is that, anyway?

09-04-2006, 05:57 PM
damn I forgot to exclude "tit" :D

Great job!!!! Wildly entertaining.

09-05-2006, 05:49 AM
Tracy and Susan only had five minutes before the head butler would find them. Working for Lord Sullivan was an absolute bore, and they were watched for almost every minute, of every day; but for five minutes when they were left to clean Lord Sullivan's bedroom and make the bed, the head butler James would sneak downstairs for a quick cup of tea and bite of breakfast.

As soon as James walked out of the door, Susan dropped to her knees and hid her head under Tracy's skirt. Tracy obligingly lifted her stocking clad leg and rested it on the edge of the bed, giving Susan a better view of her honey pot. Susan quickly got to work and buried her tongue deep between her partner's lips. Tracy let escape a small gasp and instantly panicked. A quick look around the room told her no-one had noticed, so she relaxed back into Susan's face.

A few seconds later, and Tracy pushed hard down into Susan. Susan gagged, partially suffocated by Tracy, but Tracy pushed down harder still onto Susan, as she could feel the first wave of an orgasm swelling up inside her. Her body clamped down and she came violently, giving Susan a good taste of her special juice.

Tracy's body fell away beneath Susan. She lay on the ground breathing heavily and Susan watched as Tracy's hand sought her own heat out and was violently rubbing herself away. Susan lay herself down on top of Tracy, and removed her hand. She replaced it with her own and started to lick the juice from Tracy's neck and proceeded to nibble on her ear.

Susan started to whisper:
"Do you remember when we were in the kitchen?"
"Do you remember what I did to you with the rolling pin and the spatula?"

Tracy loved this kind of dirty talk and came over Susan's hand. Susan hadn't finished yet though and bunched her fist and pushed it into Tracy's quivering hole.

When she arrived at Lord Sullivan's household, Tracy had never made love, had never even kissed, boy or girl. But when she had been introduced to her room mate, Susan, she had noticed something stirring in her groin. That night, she felt something warm in her face, and something electric between her legs. It lasted for a few minutes, and ended with flashes of light before her eyes. When it ended, Susan slunk back to her bed and fell into a deep sleep. Tracy knew she was getting a good thing. Susan continued to make regular visits to her bed like this until they were given another room-mate, a straight laced Christian by the name of Laura. Tracy was convinced that whatever was between her legs had died long ago. So now they were forced to perform their dirty acts elsewhere in the house, when they were left well alone. So far, they had performed in the kitchen, the master's bedroom, the washroom (but the caustic soda left them itching for weeks), and the master's study.

Susan's fist in Tracy's hole was too much for Tracy, and she started to moan quite loudly. Susan gave her her arm to bite down on, and bite hard she did. Susan could feel Tracy getting raw, but since she already came four (or was it five) times, she decided to give her a rest. She rolled off Tracy and lay next to her, staring at the ceiling.

It was then that Susan noticed the end of the bed. Lord Sullivan had an ornate oak two-poster bed in the room, and with a canopy suspended from the top posts. But the bottom bed-knobs were two small, thick stubs. Shaped like aubergines Susan wondered if she could get Tracy to swallow one of those. She grabbed her, hushed her and directed her to stand on the end of the bed. Tracy was oblivious to what was going on, she was still somewhat spaced from her previous orgasms. Susan took a finger, and starting at her mouth, ran it down Tracy's heaving, confined chest, and down towards that little pot of gold. Susan ran her fingers over her lower lips, and almost by reaction, Tracy started to lower herself onto the bed-knob. Squatting over the bed-knob, Susan paused for a moment, and considered the ergonomics of what she was trying to do.

Would this rip her in half? Oh Gods, I could do some serious damage with this thing, it's huge. But not to be deterred, Susan grabbed Tracy's shoulder with one hand and with the other hand parting her labia, pushed her down onto the large phallice. Tracy straightened bolt upright to take it inside her, and she could feel the long thick slightly curved shape of the oaken aubergine as it slid inside her. So tight, Tracy screwed up her face and gave a yelp. She had never, never been stretched so much before, but she was determined to take the thing in it's entirety for her own little mistress and pushed herself hard down onto it. It finally slid all the way in, and she paused for a minute, dripping in sweat and this huge thing inside her.

Susan realised that they didn't have much time and quickly set to work on Tracy's rosebud. Tracy looked like she had smoked too much opium (she never actually touched the stuff), a zombie she simply squatted there, leaving her body to be used. Hastily, Susan ran her tongue over the erect nib, running it around her swolen lips given a chance. It wasn't long before Tracy was screaming in a combination of ecstasy and agony. There was nothing Susan could do to silence her, so she simply worked as fast as she could. A final bite on the bud brought Tracy over the edge and her body started to convulse harder than it had ever done before. Susan stepped back, watching this fit before her, a look of shock and panic on her face. What had she done?

Forward, back, forward, lashed Tracy's body, lost in the throes of orgasm. Finally, she sat bolt upright, arched her chest out and gazed at the ceiling.

There was a thunderous crack, and then Tracy fell forward, limp. "Oh Lord! Was she dead?", thought Susan. No, she could still see her chest moving. Then what on earth had given that almighty crack? Had God sent down lightening to smite them both for their heathen actions?

Susan pulled Tracy from the over-sized bed-knob and lay her on the ground. She quickly felt inside her, and found no damage. With limited knowledge, she looked over her ribs, her back, nothing there either. Relieved, Susan rolled over onto her back once more, and noticed the fractured bed-knob.

"Good lords", she thought to herself, "she couldn't have". But she had indeed, Tracy had fractured the solid oak, oversize bed-knob. Realising their time was almost up, Susan straddled Tracy and started to do her clothing back up. Tracy herself was in no fit condition to tidy herself up. When she was done, she did the same to herself, and determining that both of them were looking presentable, started to tidy the room. God know's how they were going to explain the bed-knob.

Just as they had finished making the master bed (it's not like they had actually used it), they heard a creak at the door, and James peered his head around. Susan sidled her way up to the bed-knob and stood in front of it, obscuring it's view from James. She was going to have to come up with a story later, but feeling how she did now, she did not think she was in any position to do so right this minute without reeling off her fantasy play. Tracy could just about stand upright, and was still looking rather flushed, and rather damp, from the antics that had been going on only a minute or two ago.

"Good lord, what happened to you?", exclaimed James looking at Tracy.
"Well, if you've quite finished, there's more work to be done in the guest rooms."
"You however", he said, indicating to Tracy, "need to get yourself back to your quarters and clean yourself up. You're a state".

James then put his head back around the corner and wandered off down the hallway. Susan leaned over to Tracy, still stood bolt upright and gave her a little kiss on the cheek. She then ran out of the room, and down towards the guest rooms. Carefully, slowly, Tracy made her way back to the servant's quarters.

09-05-2006, 06:18 AM
Oh shucks, someone else entered. Now I won't win. Sheesh.

Nice job, OD. :corn:


09-05-2006, 03:17 PM
Great story, OD! Ya' did good.

09-05-2006, 03:39 PM
Thanks dicksbro and JassWolf.

09-09-2006, 05:19 PM

09-23-2006, 10:04 PM
We join tonight’s couple near the end, boys and girls, long, long after they began the ass-grabbing kisses and over-the-bra paws and dry-humping embraces we all know better as foreplay. You, yourself may have had the distinct pleasure that the people you are about to meet are having right now—that is to say, a lengthy session of full-on monkey sex. Perhaps it was the culmination of an intimate dinner with an intimate friend and many bottles of wine shared, or perhaps it was the aftermath of a mid-day sojourn to the pub on Dime-a-Draft Mondays. Whatever it was, if you’ve been lucky, it’s happened more than once.
Sadly, I must tell you that we will leave this tale before it—well, comes to fruition seems an appropriate turn of phrase, but even so, if you continue on, I dare say you may enjoy yourself anyway and perhaps even learn something.
And now on to a bit of voyeurism at no.19 Maple Lane.

…the wall above the headboard, so he can rest his head against it. He looks down at his body, past her shifting hand, past his knees on the pillows, and thinks how used-up he feels. He’s grateful she has taken over, and he can rest a moment. She presses close behind him, insinuating herself between his legs and slipping deeper as well. She bites the back of his neck and shoulders, and strokes him, and talks dirty. Not in the shyly mumbled phrases of the neophyte—she can be obscenely graphic when the mood strikes, as it has now. She wraps a forearm around his waist and thrusts her hips and he catches on quick, more than happy to let her conduct. His body mimics her every undulation, directing his shaft into her waiting hand, sliding it free again. The full head pushes through the tight O her curled fingers make. The blood surging in him tinges the oil and spit on their skin and paints it the glistening aubergine of a fat, ripe plum. It is hot, and distended, and pregnant with portent. That he is on the brink is very clear. He also hopes he has energy enough to revel there for a while.

The slim strap-on she’s wearing surges and retreats from his own tight slick O, while her hand plays with him like a sculptor would contemplate a hunk of marble; studiously examining her medium, sliding up and down the length in calculated strokes, then lingering for exploration, slick fingers poring over every dimple and ridge and vein. She centers on the tip for a spell, rolling it through her fingers the same way Chinese chimes are rolled and made to sing, then settles back into elongated strokes, lavishing attention on him with unmistakable appreciation for her task. Long minutes pass like this; in perfect harmony with his state of mind.

On the brink when it slowly dawns that no longer does she gently rock him on his knees or guide the penetration of her hand. Her body collides casually with his now, but she is steadily upping the tempo, colliding persistently rougher, and harder, and faster with every minute that approaches. He steadies himself—one hand white-knuckling the headboard, the other cupping the crest of an oak bedknob. Her hand on his shaft is a blur of motion. He’s increasingly tossed about by the impetus of her thrashing. Everything is fast fast fast now, and all he wants to do is to cede to whatever force is driving her. He’s a lazy puppet swinging at the ends of her string and there is no need to plan or think—so he isn’t—only react and feel, which he is. His vacuous thoughts and piqued senses are drugging him. He feels queerly indifferent toward his body, and how it moves—or doesn’t—and so he feels detached from it. Asea and disconnected but not—no, definitely not disinterested. All this is happening to him yet to someone else, too. He is tripping on sex.

On the brink when her fist closes impossibly tighter around him. He reflexively arches away from her hand to stop the tide. The tilt is subtle, yet it’s enough to finesse the ergonomics in his favor. She enters considerably deeper faster than he anticipated, evincing a keen masochistic pleasure that redoubles when their momentum presses his head a little too hard against the wall.

On the brink and trying to stay there because any second longer he can last is one more second he can spend sex-crazed. Sex, he thinks, is better than the end of sex. He reaches back and grabs hold of her thighs, arching into…

We need to go now, but I want to tell you something first because I worry that some of you might be feeling a bit anticlimactic about the whole experience.
People can screw with total abandon—like these two people were when we left them—and when they do, the bedsprings squeal and the headboard goes BAM! against the wall and flesh smacks against flesh. They will say anything, do anything, ask anything. Their grunts, and gasps, and curses form a language that conveys more about lust than any words can. Lurid, loud, seething: they come close. But listening to it, now that’s a whole n’other animal. Its affects on him were heady to say the least and, so, what finally fractured his restraint were the sounds of their mating as much as the mating itself. He was on the brink and then on the brink no longer. He was able to hold the brink brilliantly for a while after we left, but there finally came a time when he burst through that O in her hand a split second before a white streak of cum flew. In fact, I can tell you that in the end it hit the headboard with enough force to splash back onto his thigh and the rest of it dripped slowly down toward the pillows.
And just think, a couple hours ago he’d been cleaning up after their late dinner when she called to him from the bedroom—“Honey?”— He put down the spatula he’d been drying and walked to the stairs where she stood wearing a shiny pair of come fuck me heels and a boa that covered all the wrong places.

The moral of this story is obvious—

Washing the dishes only gets you screwed.

09-23-2006, 10:26 PM
Superb wyndhy! I love the style.

09-24-2006, 12:17 PM
thank you, pretty lady *x*

i was just proofing and i realized i used the word fuck afetr all. :(:o

09-24-2006, 02:19 PM
I saw it too but wasn't gonna beat your ass for it ;)

09-25-2006, 06:23 PM
it was supposed to say get but i guess the phrase come fuck me springs easily to my mind.:p i never even realized i didn't type what i thought i was typing.

Irezumi Kiss
09-25-2006, 06:45 PM
This was done in the space of two days during downtime while at work as my own laptop at home is on the fritz. I've been off the grid of doing erotica because of it, so this itched my writing jones and it was fun trying to keep it short whilst incorporating the limitations. I tried to edit as best as I could and I'd still edit it further, but I wanted to get it out. I couldn't think of an overall title as of yet. It was fun, tho. I might just do another one! Thanks, Lil!

Jaye couldn't help but gaze at Jumi's thick ass as he sat across from her at the dining table, spinning his half-full bottle of Corona between his fingers as he watched her stir in spices and diced vegetables for the sumptuous stew she'd been preparing for dinner. The combination kitchen-dining-living room of her intimate but spacious one-bedroom apartment was wide enough to permit her figure's graceful movements to and fro in front of the stove and preparation countertop. Movements that allowed Jaye's eyes to fixate on her muscular, dancer legs and shapely, rounded buttocks clad in form-fitting grey tights. Her inviting flesh there screamed to his senses, Feel me. Squeeze me. Liberate me. Do me.

He blinked himself out of his erotic reverie. "Are you really okay with me not helping you?" he asked her, trying to distract himself from a burdgeoning erection he wouldn't be able to do anything about. "I can at least chop the onions."

Without turning her body towards him, Jumi pointed her left arm in his direction, flicking a wet spatula held in her hand. Hot drops of simmering stew hit him in the face, tingling his skin like hot wax.

"For the last time, I told you to sit your ass down," she commanded. "It's not right if I don't do it all by myself. My kitchen and me are like puzzle pieces. I know where everything is and goes and shit like that. You'll just distract me."

Oh, I'll distract your ass, alright, Jaye thought, using his idealized x-ray vision to peer through her clothes, visualizing her naked in his brain as he had done countless days and nights since meeting her for the first time back in art school. Beneath those smooth grey tights was the soft skin he'd fantasized about caressing for ages. Forever wondering if she was shaven or bushy in the valley between those solid thighs and wishing his fingers would have the chance to explore and settle the argument. Directly above that area and under her agonizingly sheer aubergine-colored button-down blouse was a soft but firm belly pierced with a ruby gemstone navel ring he'd only seen on occasion when short t-shirt and summertime weather permitted. Further north were plump, slightly pendulous breasts capped by thick eraser-nubbed nipples that he'd only seen impressions of against fabric, leaving him to gauge Jumi's busty mass through deep cleavage and brassiere silhouettes. He wanted to lick and suck those tits like a starving newborn. It'd be the least he'd do to her, if they were lovers.

But they were just friends. Flirtatious friends at shameless drunken best, but platonic friends in the inevitable sober worst. And since a friend in need is a friend indeed, she was cooking him dinner in exchange for his help with moving a no-longer-necessary couch with a fractured leg out of her apartment, down four flights of stairs and over to the local Salvation Army furniture depot. Jaye reckoned it was worth helping her out as a good friend, with the proverbial cake being a home-cooked meal and the icing being in close proximity to her lovely body as much as possible.

He rested his hand on his chin and continued to watch Jumi brew her magic. She stretched her body upwards to collect an object on the top shelf over the counter, making her blouse ride high and giving him a grand, sculpted view of the callipygian ass he longed to run his hands over, both the sight and naughty notion inadverdantly making him breathe an audible, wistful sigh.

Misinterpreting his sigh for restlessness, Jumi turned to look at him with a sympathetic smile. "Hey...I know I don't have a PlayStation or shit like that for you to mess around with while I cook, but...this stew of mine is worth waiting for, trust me. So be patient, okay?"

Jaye smiled, taking a swig of beer as he waved his hand in aquiesensce. "I know, I know. Don't worry, it's all good. Now that I think about it, I should've brought my laptop with me. Didn't think I'd need it today, but it helps to kill time creatively. Mind if I screw around on yours for a bit?"

"Go 'head, Fred," she replied, raising a leg in a pirouette, pointing her foot toward a pile of odds and ends in the far corner on the other side of the room where the discarded couch formerly resided. "I think it's underneath that box I set out earlier when we were clearing space."


Jay finished the Corona, got up and strode over to a pile of stacked coffee table hardcovers and noticed that Jumi's MacBook was between them and a box on top. He put a hand to the box in order to scoot it over as he pulled the laptop out from underneath, but the box was weighted heavily on one end, causing it to tip over and fall to the floor, spilling out a few smaller digest-sized books and a chrome-like metallic object from its unsealed top. He righted the box back onto the pile of books and bent down to collect the digests back inside.

As he picked up the silvery object, he held it in his palm, giving it a once over. It appeared at first glance to be some sort of toy rocket. But upon closer inspection, Jaye realized it was a toy of an entirely different sort that sent you into space.

It was a vibrator dildo. Not just any old vibrator, but something very new, modern and high tech. The head was as bulbous as a brass bedknob and seemed like it should be heavy, but its overall heft was as light as an empty aluminum can. The ergonomic member felt cool to the touch, but no doubt it would be hot and slick in its owner's intended use, with both the electric current surging through it to make it hum, complimented by Jumi's vaginal juices glazing its shiny surface.

The thought of her laid out on her bed naked with her legs splayed and churning it in and out of her tight, wet quim in orgasmic abandon made him brick hard. He began losing himself once again in his vivid erotic reverie until the sound of his name being called snapped him back to reality. He turned towards Jumi with the vibrator in hand, feeling guilty for his libertine thoughts as if he knew she had read his mind.

"Umm...Jumi..." he began, "...I didn't mean to — "

"You know, Jaye..." she interrupted, seemingly growing in size by putting her hands on her hips and sticking her chest out towards him like a cobra raising its hood before striking. "...I wasn't intending for you to hold that in your hand until AFTER dinner."

Jumi's tone of voice was hardly accusatory and her lips curled into a wicked, knowing smile that complimented a raised brow above a telling, randy eye. And as recognition dawned on Jaye's face, his eyebrows raised as well and his lips grew a wicked smile of their own.


09-25-2006, 06:50 PM