Sensual Sunday – Bodice Ripper Train Ride

Sensual Sunday is a weekly sensual micro-story, poem or word association. It’s mostly sexy writing practice. I encourage others to do Sensual Sunday – share your links with me!

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This is a bit longer than a micro-story so we’ll just call it a short story. This is in the erotica category, so it’s NSFW. It is a rough draft. I have not gone through to do edits. I am still working on tense shifting, so I try hard these days not to shift tense in the first draft, but I have yet to manage that feat. I am sure somewhere in this story there are improper tense shifts. I can’t promise that I won’t go through and edit something if I see it later and it bothers the hell out of me. But part of these Sensual Sunday writing exercises is to push outside of my comfort zone. And leaving barely edited work hanging out there is definitely outside of my comfort zone.

Do you have any special writing exercises?  Do you have a blog where you practice?  I’d love to hear from you!

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SStrain

Lindy straightened her hat and stepped onto the train, a dainty gloved hand extended to the conductor. She placed one perfectly heeled white pump onto the first large step and felt her dress catch a draft and fly out behind her. She let out a little yelp and the conductor quickly saved her reputation by swatting the hem back towards her calves.

“Thank you,” she said, demurely. He simply nodded and touched the brim of his hat.

The train was mostly empty and it would be a long ride to Memphis from Sacramento, so once in the back she opened her small suitcase and fished for the bodice ripper her older sister had insisted she take along. She looked around, saw only a couple of passengers at least six rows up, grasped the book like a child thieving from the cookie jar and tucked it behind her back. She snapped the metal clasps closed with two satisfying pops and slunk down into her seat.

Proper young unmarried ladies just didn’t read this sort of thing. But she would be married in a few days’ time and she wanted to be prepared for the wedding night. Her mother never prepared her for the “big night” and her sister did her best to explain things. But Cora said the book would give her more detailed descriptions of what to expect. She crossed her legs, cheated her body towards the window and hunkered over the pulp as she began to read the first pages. It was long before the pirate in the story was popping a maiden’s bodice with his cutlass.

These scenes were full of words that Lindy had never seen before, but she somehow knew exactly what they meant. She devoured each page like a rich, sinful bon-bon. After a solid hour of reading, Lindy began to grow restless. She felt herself swell a number of times throughout the pages. At one point she gasped out loud. She kept shifting in her seat, trying to simultaneously ignore and relieve the ache.

After several hours of reading and the light failing, she left her car to use the lady’s room. She tidied up her dampness, feeling somewhat silly and sexy somehow. She splashed some cold water on the back of her neck and took a few deep breaths. She chided herself for allowing her hormones to get carried away, but she also couldn’t wait to get back to her seat to finish the book. She even took it to the lady’s room, only – of course – because she didn’t want anybody to find it. In all honesty, she couldn’t bear to put it down.

On her return one of the doors popped open and a man, tall and handsome and probably ten years older than she was, emerged. He was wearing a white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. A royal blue tie with green diamonds, loosened and his top button was undone. They almost collided.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said. His voice as rich as molasses. Eyes as green as emeralds. She looked down at his left hand. No ring.

Lindy felt herself start to perspire, even though the car was pleasantly cool for June. She smiled at him and pressed herself against a bit of wall as he started to squeeze by. As he did she put her hand on his torso and said, “It’s a long trip to Memphis.”

His forehead creased and he tilted his head to the side, as if trying to figure her out. He looked down at her and smiled a crooked grin and nodded, “Yes, it is.”

She held up the novel she’d been reading, a pirate on the front with a woman in a chemise draped artistically over his arm, both of them with windswept hair, the title in a lusty shade of red shouted out from the cover, Pirate Plunders Pink Pearls.

“I…I brought this book to read.” She took a deep breath and held is gaze. Her chest rising and falling and the sound of the train beginning to sound muffled the world became a single focal point – his mouth.

His face flushed. His breathing stopped for a moment. She saw his body give an almost imperceptible shiver. He let out a long breath. “Is there something I can help you with?”

She opened his compartment door, which was strewn with books and papers, turned to him and backed into it. “I can’t…you know…I can’t do everything. But I’m…well, you know. I’m getting married in a few days and I just…I want to, well…have, well, I’m kind of restless, on account of reading this book. Do you think you can help me?”

He stepped into the compartment and shut the door behind him. For a moment Lindy felt a trapped, and like she could be murdered and it would serve her right for doing something so sinful. But she was drunk with hormones and want and in a few short days she could never have sex with anybody else again. It was making all her proper pearly buttons pop.

It wasn’t long, though, before her mouth was on his and her hands were inside of his shirt, feeling all of his firm, smooth flesh. They kept their mouths pressed together as he pulled off his shirt. She pulled away to watch him remove his pants and as he took down his shorts his cock sprung forward. She gasped out loud a felt a little faint. It was longer than she thought it would be and bouncing and swaying as it stuck straight out from his body.

“Sit down,” she said. He swiped away papers and books and did as she commanded. He settled onto the cushioned portion of the first class seat.

As he watched, Lindy kicked off her shoes. She put a leg up next to him and unhooked her garter, then the other side. She pulled off the stockings and tossed them behind her, floating down like feathers, resting onto the bench seat behind her. She grinned and locked eyes with him as she reached under her dress and pulled down her panties and stepped out of them. She stepped towards him, pushing him to lean back a little and she straddled him, resting her slit along his erect cock, sandwiching it between them. The length of him was nestled in her cleft. She unbuttoned the top portion of her dress as he pushed it down around her shoulders. He nestled his face into her ample cleavage as he reached around back to remove the significant undergarment. The elastic relaxed after the popping of the fasteners and she tossed the brazier aside, holding her arms up, she let them swing free.

He looked at her, as if in awe at her rosy nipples and the beautiful milky orbs that they decorated. He hefted the glorious weight of them in his hands, cupping and lifting and repeating, as if he could never do it enough times. This made her swell so greatly between her legs she thought she might burst like an overripe berry. Skin splitting. Juices running all over. She was slick with want and began to rub back and forth against the length of his hardness. He cupped and suckled and rubbed and moaned as she pressed her hands hard against the wall behind him. The motion of the train added to the rocking motion of their rhythm.

She could feel the lust rise in her like never before and couldn’t have stopped rubbing if the train derailed. She felt as if a force of nature, as if an animal acting on instinct, her hips compelled to slide her wetness, her soft downy cleft along him. She was attached to him. Tingles ran up her spine, to her nipples, to her mound, train sounds, his hands, his mouth, all a jumble, dizzying as she rocked and rocked until she heard herself yelling and felt her thighs clasp and her spine make an arch over him as she spasmed and she felt silent, even though her mouth was wide to continue her cries.

At this moment she felt his legs tense and his body lean into hers as he thrust his hips upwards. He pushed up her skirt again, and they both watched as his seed erupted over his belly, some making it almost as far as his neck.

They were both panting as she dismounted and sat next to him. He wiped away his semen with a handkerchief and put his arm around her as she nestled into his chest where she fell asleep. He soon was sleeping, too.

Writing Process Stuffs

If you have suggestions and software you’re excited about, be sure to leave a message in the comments!  I want to know all about it!

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I was talking with a friend about some of the writing process stuff I do.  This was pertaining primarily to publishing novellas and novels.  There are a lot of great tools out there for writers and some of the software is technically advanced and helpful.

You can go old school and send out query letters to agents and publishers – you will need a copy of Writer’s Market.  Or, you can do what even some established authors are doing and switch to self-publishing. In recent years independent publishing has had quite the boom.  That’s pretty good for people who are anxious to just get their stuff out there or who don’t want to wait for replies or who are just sick of rejections.  But remember, publishing on your own has its own set of problems, too, as you will find in my friend’s blog HERE.

I am always curious about the processes of other people.  In the e-book version of  Water for Elephants there was an author Q&A that was wonderful.  So, in case anybody is interested in what my process is for novels it is very simple.

1 – I make a notebook.  In the case of Red August, I used a cheap composition notebook and decorated and made a pocket in the front.  I divided it into three sections for notes on all three books in the series.  This is helpful not only before writing the books, but during the editing process as well.

2 – I draw “props” that are in the story that might get complicated.  Like August’s wooden box that is full of treasures. So when I revisit the item later, I can be sure to remember all that is in the box and what it looked like.  I make family trees, so I can keep track of births, deaths and the years and ages people should be and the way they are related to each other.

3 – I write in Word.  Here are some links to the proper formatting of manuscripts:

http://www.shunn.net/format/story.html

http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/what-are-the-guidelines-for-formating-a-manuscript

4 – I give myself deadlines.

There is usually plenty of research that goes into writing a novel.  For me, there was a lot of time spent looking into original Red Riding Hood stories as well as werewolf lore and Celtic traditions.  If the piece is set in a specific era that has an atmosphere I want to convey, there is usually research related to that as well.

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Sensual Sunday – Candy Apple Kisses

Sensual Sunday is a weekly sensual observation or short story.


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He bought me a candy apple.  The kind with the hard glossy coating and I smiled coyly as he presented it to me.  It was fancy, for a carnival apple, wrapped elegantly with a bow closing it at the top.  I stuck my finger inside one of the red and white gingham loops and traced it with my finger.  I twirled one of the loose ends and tugged, popping the ribbon free.  He held his hand out and I dropped it into his palm, as though it were a pair of my panties.  As he watched, I peeled the sticking wrapper away from the treat, enjoying the crinkle of the genuine cellophane.  My smile was toothy and joyful now, as I felt my teasing kitten routine falter for a moment.  As soon as I put tongue to the apple’s sweet coating, I turned my eyes up at him.  He smiled, proud he’d pleased me.  I thought about kneeling right there on the pavement and unzipping his jeans.  Pulling him out and putting candy apple kisses all over it.  My tender knees on the bumpy biting asphalt.  People stopping to stare.  Couples getting turned on and rushing home to fuck each others’ brains out.  I ran my lips across the damp sticky lollipop surface and stepped in to kiss him.  We stood there, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, the lights and whirling sounds and chatter of people all around us.  He pressed against me so hard I thought I would fall over.  I could feel him hard, right through his jeans, and I was aching to touch him there.  We held each other tightly as he licked the sticky cherry flavoring from my lips.  He’s usually a shy boy, so he pulled away when he noticed people stopping, furrowing their brows and giving us disapproving looks.  Not much later that evening we would sneak into my basement rec-room while my parents slept innocently two floors above us.

Sensual Sunday

I love doing themes!  Particularly those with alliteration – like Wonderful Word Wednesday.  It’s motivating and inspires me to push myself a bit.  I want to try Sensual Sunday posts.  Essentially, I’ll post about something sensual– that is to say, anything pleasurable.  Most will likely have an erotic bent to them.

Inaugural SS – enjoy.

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The smell of coffee on a lazy morning.  I watch as he stands naked in the kitchen, making the brew.  Sunlight pours in the large window, highlighting hipbones, collarbones, knees and shoulders.  The soft down on the back of his neck, where it is warm and a good place to kiss, tickles my nose as I nuzzle, eyes closed.  He smells of spicy conditioner and cotton pillowcases.

He sets the heavy mug down, making a soft thud when it connects with the counter.  He turns and I can see he is ready to return to bed, not to sleep.  His hands hold my face as he bends to meet my mouth with his. We breathe each other in for a moment.  Without a word, his hand slides down my arm, clasps my hand and leads me to his bed.