Just one Line.

“Anyway! It’s our last night together, and we’ve got promotions to celebrate. Mehari’s the only one left behind, so she gets to pick the bars.”

“I wonder which one has the best synthfruit juices,” I said pensively.

“Okay! New plan! Mehari’s an idiot, so I get to pick the bars!”

“That’s probably better, Berles. We want to have fun tonight.” Caler clapped his hands with authority. “Go take naps. Berla and I will do the mission planning. Pre-mission briefing is at 2100 hours. Dress code is club attire, we’ll jump off at 2200 and be back in quarters for our shuttles by 0700 at the latest.”

“0700?” I groaned. “Caler, I can’t stay up all night drinking fruit juice with you.”

“So don’t drink fruit juice,” laughed Berla.
 
From a very silly WIP wherein I hire a narrator who apparently disapproves of incest to help me tell a story in 3rd person omniscient perspective. He breaks the fourth wall constantly, and there are tons of formatting jokes. I'll probably never finish, but it's really fun to write.
Hmm. Thanks for not making me narrate something about NASCAR. Apparently incest is better, in my book, which is new information to me. Though, I imagine there is plenty of overlap between the two subjects.
 
From a piece I'm still trying to complete.

"You? Uncomfortable with naked bodies? Really? This coming from the girl doing “stuff” on the highway on the way to a nude beach? Please.”
 
The following passage in one of my stories concludes with one of my best one liners:

Apparently during our conversation at the Läänemets' residence, Eino found me somewhat engaging, such that he invited me out to dinner that evening. I guess I seemed to have charmed him some more during that meal as he then invited me to complete the day by accompanying him to his hotel room. Again, my sensuous allure must have been most pronounced throughout that evening since Ms Noor did not see Eino during those next two nights either. And I suppose Eino must have found me absolutely irresistible as he proposed marriage to me on our third day of our acquaintanceship. Since I accepted his proposal, the luckless Kaisa Noor didn't even get a rain check for her canceled date(s)."

Raimond Kruuse burst out laughing at this witty account. He laughed so hard that he shed some mirthful tears. Finally, as he regained full control of himself, he queried "Is that really true? You actually accepted a marriage proposal after knowing your husband to be for only three days?"

Vivian replied, "As I recall, Eino had calculated that we had only known each other about fifty-five hours, before he proposed. So, it was actually just a little more than two full twenty-four hour days. Mind you, I did take a couple of more hours to deliberate on his proposal, but after I fisted his ass while sucking on his cock, I then accepted his proposal."

Still smiling, but looking at her more in askance, Raimond said, "Now surely that can't be true."

"I take it you've never been fisted by a woman before?"

Raimond replied, "Oh I wouldn't necessarily deny that. I've been known to have a few sexual tricks up my sleeve. But let me put it this way. Perhaps giving head might be considered a harmless unobjectionable exercise in confirming an acceptance of a marriage proposal. However, I daresay not too many would perceive fisting as a form of proper celebration to indulge when one agrees to marry."
 
I'm dying to see the context. My gut is telling me this is part of a first-class incest story.
I'm an... OK writer, so I'd never categorize anything I did as 'first-class.'

Having written that disclaimer, like all writers, I like my stuff and think it's spiffy.

Here's a longer bit from early morning, the same day (say, fifteen-ish hours earlier) of that previous quote:
Fuck! Rie was behind me. That meant…

“Did you just try to poke your sister?” Rie asked.

“Did you ask?” she went on. “Is she awake? Do I have to dig a grave in the back yard today? The neighbors might talk.”

Before I could say anything, Jo chimed in. “Yes, the evidence strongly suggests that he did try to poke her. No, he didn’t ask. Yes, she was awake. The jury’s still out on Question Number Four.”

She didn’t sound mad, most likely because I missed, but she didn’t sound happy, either.

“This will make for some great stories in our dotage!” Rie said cheerily. “‘Do you remember the time you tried to slip your sister the rod while she was asleep?’” she said with a laugh.

“Fun for the whole family!” she crowed.

’I was there, Gandalf. I was there three thousand years ago. I was there the day the strength of Men failed,’” Rie recited with a smile in her voice.

Ouch! How apropos.
Perhaps the first time I've see Tolkien quoted in porn erotica.
 
"One of the most exciting experiences of my life was watching a beautiful blonde pay my chesty redheaded mother for sex."

First line of my story "If All Else Fails" which cannot be published on Lit.
 
Mean Mac's inner monologue.

I am NOT a sexual deviant like Hollyweird; this "situation" is a result of my exercise and sleep routines being interrupted, the crazy aphrodisiac shit they're making us eat and drink, keeping us naked, tied up - including our cock and balls and the goddamned, non-stop cockteasing, spanking and motherfucking tickling! The tickling was the worst.

Once I'm out of this motherfucking place, everything will go back to normal, including my dick.
 
These two chucklefucks... if I ever write a story for the Mature category, it'll probably be about these two, living their life like a Cialis commercial.
Bill and Susan had spent the early seventies roaming all around the south and west in Bill’s creaky old truck (“we sold quite a bit of marijuana in those days,” Susan said fondly, and Bill had added with a chuckle, “grew quite a bit too,”), and settled down in Piney Notch, having fallen in love with the tea shack, just like Rayen would decades later.
 
What does Iraci mean, in this case?
It's her name. She's an anthro tamandua, so keeping the name regional from Brazilian Tupi meaning "honey lips." I have a thing for aptonyms/punny names because of my satire background. No one will ever get the references, and that's fine, it's mostly for my own amusement.
 
From my 750-Word tale for the 750-Word Project 2026. Hum, when do we just put '26 and not 2026?
As to Ivorie, she is more than ready. A virginal, pale, almost albino white beauty with Meg Foster whiteish-blue eyes and platinum blonde hair.
 
Just one the caught my eye proof reading my sci fi novel. MC just shot a creature with a plasma rifle.

The one she hit seemed to be licking its wounds, metaphorically at least. She did not think it had a tongue.
 
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