No. Clip.
Not that way.
Today you grow this way. The other ways are not for you. clip clip clip
Tomorrow maybe. Maybe a new way tomorrow.
Clip. clip. clip. clip.
No. No. No. No.
Yes. This way.
This way is release.
This way is comfort.
I will take all the other ways from you.
With each clip
you are freed. clip.
owned. clip.
every clip, choice denied.
clip.
bliss.
His.
Whisk of flog, slap of the paddle
spiced with degradation.
Possession. Consumption.
A function of
lifestyle or cruelty?
For the last 23 years, I have been living a lie.
So far, so good!
Always be kind, because you have no idea what another person is going through.
But then I look at a person and think, "what if this douche has been skating through life without a care in the world?"
So fuck him.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
God is a promise whispered in your ear
as you shit the hospital bed.
Me? I'm short on trust these days.
Cursing, begging.... deaf ears.
There's you, the clock, the cheap motel art
and waiting.
Death is patient, disinterested.
It's exhausting staying alive for the sake of others.
But what else do I have to do?
I'm fresh
out of control.
I've none left to give.
If you want control, look elsewhere.
lesswhere.
Or you can stay
in my bed
on the floor
against the wall
but you've been told. buyer beware
I'm out of control
and you'll have none while you're here.
Debbie threw the ice tongs off the bed, turning her head so she wouldn’t have to look at them. Finally free, she wriggled out from under the corpse, too scared to scream. The image of a fat bumble bee dying without its stinger flashed across her mind.
She’d had lovers sneak out on her, steal her money – hell, she’d even been drugged once or twice. But she never had one die on her!
Die in her.
She felt ill. Still avoiding the tongs and their gruesome prize, she stumbled to the bathroom sink. Debbie turned on the cold water and splashed her face, and the wave of nausea passed.
I’ve got to get out of here.
The thought of her daughter seeing her on the news almost made her sick again. “Women Severs Dead Lover’s Penis. Details at eleven!”
Not going to happen.
She quickly fixed her hair as best she could. There was a crazy woman staring at her from the mirror. There were red blotches on her neck and stomach, and one of her tits was turning blue.
Shit, he was heavy.
The other one has a brighter red mark just above the nipple. When Debbie recognized the hickey, she threw up.
She quickly dressed in the bathroom, not wanting to see the body or, she swallowed, or the tongs. She was numb now.
I’m in shock. That’s okay. A-Okay. Whadda ya say, Jay?
She hadn’t packed anything. The hotel room had been a spur of the moment thing, and with enough tequila and Viagra, a couple could do without toothpaste and clean underwear for one night. She grabbed her keys and phone from the dresser.
“I should take his wallet. Make it look like a robbery. That’s what they do on TV.”
She shook her head.
How the fuck would making this look like a robbery help? And what kind of thief steals a dead man’s cock?
Debbie laughed, then quickly covered her mouth. The wallet stayed, and she left, remembering to hang the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle. That was the extent of her criminal mastermind. The rest of her brain was focused only on escape -- and a bath. The hall was blessedly empty. It wasn’t until Debbie was in the elevator, that she felt her pussy tingle.
She frowned; then her eyes grew wide with horror.
“No. No, no, no, no.”
But she could feel it now. Rubbing against her in a disgustingly pleasurable way. With real horror now, Debbie unfastened her jeans and slowly slid her hand under her panties. She felt gently around until her fingers brushed against something that felt like damp paper.
Debbie gave a soft yelp of alarm, and involuntarily closed her legs together. The stiff member shifted with the movement, sending another unwanted wave of pleasure through her body.
She closed her eyes and waited for it to pass.
There was a ding. Debbie’s eyes flew open in time to see the elevator door open. She started to pull her hand from her pants, but her panties had caught on her bracelet.
The woman from housekeeping stood there, safe behind her wheeled laundry hamper, frowning at Debbie. Debbie pulled harder, but only succeed in pulling her panties tightly against her pussy, causing her to moan again.
Oh my God!
Finally, she worked her hand free. The elevator’s doors closed with the woman still on the other side.
The walk to the street was unbearable. The dead cock moved inside her with every step. She had to stop in the lobby and lean against a brass luggage trolley; she was shaking so bad. By the time, she got inside a cab.
The cab driver was a Middle Eastern man, with one of those unpronounceable terrorist names.
“Good day. Where can I take you?”
“325…Rockside Drive,” Debbie gasped.
The car started moving. Part of her knew the terrorist was looking at her with alarm in his rearview mirror, but she didn’t care. As the cab turned onto the highway, Debbie was in the middle of a full blown orgasm.
By the time they reached the house, Debbie was soaking wet, perspiration above, something else below.
Now she could feel the cock slipping. Perhaps it was finally getting smaller, or it might have been her wet pussy. At that moment, she didn’t care which. Inside, she went to the kitchen, grateful that Karen was still in school. She quickly got out of her jeans and panties, keeping her legs closed as best she could, not wanting to have to deal with a mess on her kitchen floor.
If I had kept my legs closed last night, none of this would be happening.
And if “ifs” were ships, we’d all be sailors, as her dad was fond of saying.
She quickly quashed the thought, preferring not to think of her father right now. She grabbed a brown paper lunch bag from the small stack next to the toaster and hurriedly squatted over it.
Closing her eyes, she pushed gently, reminding herself again, to sign up for those free Kegel classes at the “Y”.
After a few seconds, she felt it begin to slide down slowly. It came out about an inch before stopping. Debbie suppressed a gag and pinched the outside of the paper bag between her fingers and pull.
She almost fainted with relief. She tossed the paper bag on the kitchen counter and quickly washed her hands. She was halfway to the shower when her cell phone started rang. The ringtone announced that she was “making money moves,” whatever that meant. Debbie’s daughter was always changing her ringtone to something she thought would embarrass her mother. A new wave of fear washed over Debbie. Had the police found out already? How would they have her number? She put the bag down next to the sink and found her phone. The screen said it was “Johnny.”
“Johnny,” she asked the empty room? “Who’s Johnny?”
Her phone stopped buzzing; the call going unanswered.
Wait.
That’s not my phone.
Debbie leaned against the counter, breathing in great ragged gasps.
“Not…my…phone…Fuckall!”
I started writing this novel under another name about five years ago. I have no real idea where it will be going, but I've decided to finish it.
I'm posting my WIP here for my enjoyment and yours. Originally titled A Slash of Gash. As always, comments are welcome. If you want to follow along, make sure you follow da blog. Let's start with a Prologue and a quick chapter...
A Flash of Gash: The Story of Debbie
By G.S.
Prologue
Dinner turned out to be better than she expected. The food was perfect. The drinks were strong. And her date was charming. For dessert they shared an obscenely large slice of decadent chocolate cheesecake and strong coffee. She had a tad too much to drink, but he didn’t seem to mind. She talked and talked, and he listened and smiled. That was good enough for Debbie.
The kiss in the elevator had left her pleasantly woozy, and when his hands wandered, she didn’t protest. He wasn’t such a gentleman in the bedroom, but who wanted a gentleman in the bedroom? She drifted off with strong hands stroking her neck and breasts.
Months later, she’d remember all this as the last normal evening of her life.
PART 1
HARD CHOICES
Debbie came to with a smile on her lips, a face in her neck, and a hard cock in her pussy. For a moment, she didn’t move - enjoying the sensation. The best thing about new lovers, was the certainty of morning sex. Well, almost always. She was forty-something, after all. When you got to be her age, the men became fewer, older, and softer.
Not this tiger, she thought. She squirmed under him and whispered, “Someone remembered their little blue pill.”
The hotel room was cold. They must have left the air going full blast all night. She barely remembered making it to the room. The two empty bottles of champagne in the ice bucket might have something to do with that, she suspected. She closed her eyes and made a mental note to take a Prilosec as soon as Tiger (she didn’t recall his first name, but Tiger seemed as good as any) finished her morning wake up call.
His lips felt cool on her neck and the mustache tickled her in a pleasant way. She stretched her arms over her head, allowing her breasts to masquerade as taught.
“Come on then. Let’s finish what you started.”
Tiger kept his face buried in her neck, his bone buried inside her, and - Debbie’s eyes flew open. His lips weren’t cool. They were cold, and as stiff as the rest of him. She wiggled a bit, trying without success to get out from under him.
“Hey. Hey!”
He felt so heavy. She didn’t remember him being so fat last night. The fuzz from last night’s activity burned away and bright, shiny panic took over.
“Hey!”
She pushed at his head and managed to move it so that it lay on the mattress. Now she could see her one night last stand’s face. Like all morning afters, Tiger didn’t hold up so well under sunlight. He had more wrinkles and blotches than she remembered. He was also a lot bluer that she’d expected. And the fly landing on his cheek, rubbing its greedy little forelegs together in anticipation, didn’t help things.
Debbie stated to scream, then stopped herself. It took her a second to understand why. It was her daughter of course. And her friends, her co-workers - the world, really. “Debbie Fein Fucks Corpse!” If she screamed now, that would be her life; her one known achievement.
“No. Not. Going. To. Happen.” She pushed at the weight with each word.
Nothing.
She was in pain now, and terrified. Tiger had died hard, she was dry, and this cork was not going to pop out of the bottle so easily. She was sweating, despite the coolness of the room and the coldness of her companion. The fly kept flying off and returning to various parts of Tiger.
Debbie didn’t know much about corpses, and less about fucking them. But she figured things were only going to get stiffer. He wasn’t about to deflate and slip out on his own.
No. And I’m sure that cock ring he’s wearing doesn’t help.
He’d said it was great at keeping him hard, and that seemed like a good idea at the time. She’d even helped him put it on and then coaxed him to attention with her mouth. The thought made her blush. Then gag.
No. He was hard, stiff, cold, and he wasn’t going anywhere on his own. She closed her eyes and tried to think.
I could maybe push him off the bed. Maybe. But what then? Would I follow him to the floor? Would he tear me up? She imagined it would be more than painful if he withdrew that way. What if he doesn’t withdraw? What if it just snaps off and stays inside me? It was a ridiculous thought, but given her situation, seemed like a perfectly reasonable fear.
Then it came to her.
He will stay hard forever. But you don’t have to stay dry. You could make yourself wet.
Could she do it? Ten minutes later, she had her answer. She’d thought about Brad Pitt. She’d thought about her first husband and how he loved to go down on her, his mouth glued to her until she begged him to stop. She thought about dildos and vibrators and threesomes, and the time her boyfriend videotaped her sucking his cock. She thought about porn and romance. Finally, after thinking about getting fingered at prom, she gave up.
“Fuck.”
Dry as Dick Cavett.
Debbie started crying and turned away. Soon only her face was wet.
Time dragged. She missed the free continental breakfast. Housekeeping knocked, she yelled, they moved on.
She was about to give up when she noticed, really noticed the ice bucket and she had another idea. It wasn’t the ice bucket that caught her attention though.
It was the tongs.
And it was a terrible idea.
You know the rules?
SPOILER ALERT: I just realized that you can't even listen to audio of a premium elite star if you have the basic cage, filthy animal package (no judgment). So, for all of you freeloaders taking advantage of socialized kink, here's the joke in writing...
What do two tampons at a part say to each other?
Nothing, because they're stuck up cunts!
lol.... wheeeee!