Just one Line.

Mae Lynn Dickerson was the apple of my eye, my pomegranate of perfection, the princess of pleasure, the whipped cream on my hot chocolate, and not only did I not deserve her, but we both knew it.
 
Pretty simple. Post one sentence of line from a story you've published or a current project.

Disclaimer: This thread is in the spirit of fun, no grammar shaming or unwanted critiquing of people's posts.
She had been bid for and won by Mike, our local football teams trainer.
 
I sent that to former slut and current hard caffeine junky friend of mine. Her only reply was "accurate".
 
Last edited:
"Clearly if you've 'got it' I would not be in your office. Do you even know what you want, what you need, what you crave? Or is this just an idea you are toying with?" I say as I begin dangling my shoe off of my toe.
 
"Could… could I pay it back…?" The words are stupid, I know, but my face is begging… pleading for this man to consider them.


He laughs, and there is so much authority in it. He is a judge, chuckling at the murderer who has requested a sentence of community service. "Pay it… back? Ruth, how do you intend to manage that? Are you going to pay to work here? I realize that the theft which got you caught was pretty small… but some of your bigger scores?" He whistles, as if impressed.

(From my workplace extortion story, The Price of Embezzlement)
 
Last edited:
The way you continuously tease a god you supposedly don't believe in reminds me of those who consistently appear after each of my posts, claiming to ignore me. 😜

You are not lukewarm; you are hot...
I don't believe in god or a sentient higher power. I believe in The Black Flame, an inner energy we all have and can tap into it.

But...many people believe in God, some positive, some negative, and I write about other people, not myself. If our characters were all us, shit would get pretty dull pretty quick.
 
My eyes widened when within seconds of sucking him hard, his cock twitched and flooded my mouth. I let the thick salty load flow down my throat with the same practiced ease I'd exhibited while dropping to my knees to blow him. I continued to suck, trying to give him a little more enjoyment because I could tell by the way he moaned, it was more in frustration than pleasure.

I stood, and picking up the package of wipes from the edge of the bed, handed them to him.

"There you go, baby," I purred and walked over to the table to grab a bottle of water, thinking "Talk about the definition of a quick visit."
 
Last edited:
“She always had a crush on him. My wife, Tory, always had a lusty, body tingling crush on Mark.“

From- Tory’s Emergence
https://literotica.com/s/torys-emergence
A Lit friend said there are so many better lines in the story than that opening one.
She suggested this one instead (sorry if it offends):

“But as evidenced by the deeply veined hard-on that extended out from the top of my shorts, its inflamed head dripping a pool of pre-cum into my navel, the feeling of lust had won out.”
 
from WIP "Rough Trip"

But then he thought of all those nights where she claimed to have fallen asleep before sending him what he wanted, or sending him random pictures of tits that clearly were not hers, and figured he could make her wait for a little while longer.
 
Or maybe it was just the fact that my brother had a mouth-watering cock and the rest of him was pretty fine too. If I was going to blow for money, there were worst choices I could make.
 
Or maybe it was just the fact that my brother had a mouth-watering cock and the rest of him was pretty fine too. If I was going to blow for money, there were worst choices I could make.
Not trying to be snarky, but should that be “worse” instead of “worst?”
 
My natural place would be at the theatre or a coffee shop. Or a nice restaurant, where I would now be free to indulge in my love of pasta without Judy's little barbed comments about carbs.
 
Why am I so eager to fuck him? I assure myself that no part of me is enjoying this experience. That idea however, comes with its own prickly concepts. If I tell myself that I am only doing this for the money, that makes me a prostitute. If I am doing it for pleasure, then that makes me a slut. Lose-lose.

(From a commissioned work in progress about a struggling actress who is hired by a successful actor to act as his maid... among other things)
 
Back
Top