For the greater part of this year I have been participating in Alison Tyler’s Smut Marathon, a merry war of words between smut writers to see who can last the longest.

I’m sad to say today marked the end of the line for me.  I lasted longer than most, longer than I initially thought I would.  It was a fun sexy time and I am so very thankful to Ms. Tyler for hosting the competition.

To celebrate my efforts, below I have compiled all my entries, from my first sentence to the last thoughts of my characters.  I hope you enjoy.

Assignment #1: One Sentence

He was the one I pushed away, had to push away, because, so often, I lost myself in him.

Assignment #2: Using someone else’s words

Each writer chose another participant’s first sentence from assignment #1 to use in their second entry for the marathon.

Life Lesson by Poetic Desires

“Death changes your perspective on life.”

I was not in a position to disagree with him. Here I was at my great aunt’s wake, bent over the bathroom sink. He was fucking me from behind, and doing quite a good job of it. I would’ve agreed with almost anything he said.

For a moment, I wondered if he’d given this speech to someone before me, someone who had been in the same position I was currently in. Had another, had many others, come just as hard as I did now, screams muffled by his hand clenched over their mouths, skirts wrenched up, stockings torn, hair a mess?

I didn’t care. I stopped caring a long time ago what anyone thought of my sexual choices.

When I’ve told this story before, some found it morbid. Others uncouth or simply rude. If you’d known my aunt, though, you’d view the situation differently. My freedom from the shame of others was a life lesson I learned from her. She lived a life full of not giving a fuck.

The current rumor about her latest exploits involved her final days. Even as her health faded, she supposedly whispered to her lover one night, “I want to spend the most of my last moments with you inside me.”

As he pulled my hair and slammed his cock into my cunt, as I came harder than I had in months, I said a silent prayer, a thank you to my aunt for her life lesson.

Assignment #3: Musical influence

Inspiration: Jeremih feat. Lil Wayne & Natasha Mosley – All the Time

Morning, Noon, and Night
by Poetic Desires

We go to bed each night, and wake up each morning wanting, needing, to fuck.

12pm sex is our quickie. Filthy morning phone calls send us rushing home on lunch breaks. I hike up my skirt while he unzips his fly and we go at it against the kitchen counter, using the same dirty language that led to the dirty sex.

3am sex is the funniest. Tipsy romps after parties, clothes torn off and thrown wherever. I devolve into giggles as he kisses my belly button before tearing off my underwear. Once he’s inside me, though, my laughter turns to curses reverberating off the walls.

11pm sex is rough. Hair pulling, scratching, biting, and hands around a throat as either I ride him or he rides me before we drift off to sleep.

But 7am sex is my favorite. Saturday or Sunday mornings, sunlight peeking through the window, the smell from last night still lingering in the air. We have all day to fuck, and we know it.

In the summer, when we both sleep naked, he uses a gentle hand to ease my legs apart. I wake up moaning, riding his face, my hands somehow already ensnared in his hair, pulling his mouth more onto my clit. I love those first moments of my day, so near orgasm, tears running down my cheeks as the ecstasy soon washes over me.

In the winter, when we wear matching men’s pajama pants, my hand slips inside his front slit and brings out his half erect cock. I watch his face as I lick my lips, then circle my mouth around his cock head. His eyes always shoot open as his back arches and now his hands find my tangle of hair.

If we could, we would fuck morning, noon, and night.

Assignment #4: A found postcard

I call you every month, and meet you at the bar for a drink, even though you hurt me, and I still feel the pain, because if I don’t see you a part of me aches without end. For the sound of your voice. The warmth of your hug. The smell of your skin in our embrace. I get lost in recent memories and long for your touch to soothe my sleepless nights. But all I can manage are small moments with you. So please, let me have them. Pick up the phone. I hate you, miss you, love you.

Assignment #5: A tattoo

Every time I miss one, or all, of them, I rub the same spot on the inside of my wrist: the small heart with the interlaced infinity symbol.

I came to this life unexpectedly, one fuck and stumbled upon affection at a time.

When Jamie first entered me, I felt a ridiculous smile cross my face as tears traced the line of my chin. Jamie taught me orgasm as ecstasy.

When Alex kissed my boot and presented an ass to be kicked. I had to stop myself from proclaiming my well of emotion and ravishing them immediately.

When Kay dropped down onto the floor and curled her arms and legs around my boots, whimpering like a puppy and nuzzling against me. I pet her head and planned our collar shopping.

Every time I touch my tattoo, I remember them. I feel them. I wait for their return.

Love is infinite; time is not.

Assignment #6: Eavesdropping

Overheard
by Poetic Desires

I heard the rip of the condom wrapper. Heard her gasp. And his moan.

I laid in my hotel bed, trying to stay as still as I could, keeping my breathing even, and ignoring the growing slickness in between my legs.

On trips, I sleep with my ear buds in, but my music had stopped. I don’t know why I woke up that night. Had no clue what time it was. I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but listen.

He stifled her screams with a pillow. As they fucked, I imagined everything he did to her. Yelps when he pinched her nipples. Moans when he sunk himself deep into her. Gasps when he bit her. The way that man growled sent shivers through me.

Sherry attracted gorgeous men wherever we went. He was no exception. His eyes caught mine as I turned in for the evening. He gave me a wink as I departed. A hint of jealousy passed through me as I left the two of them in the bar.

As his breathing grew heavy, I knew they were working towards their end. Even as I hated Sherry for fucking some random in our hotel room, I could feel my arousal pulse throughout my body.

If all I could get was hearing how good of a lover he was. If my only release that night would be in his breathing and his carnal utterances. If he could only ever be my lover in my fantasies, I would take it.

Categorised as: Erotica | Writing

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