First up on this SCF is the bidding adieu to Zombie Awareness Month with the ultimate bang, namely by my writing some zombie-inspired smut. When I had originally wrote this piece several months ago, it was more humour than erotica, so I did a massive rewrite over the past few days (despite a summer flu) and I came up with something that I actually kinda love.** Seriously the piece is not as whacko as you are probably thinking it is--because how could zombie smut possibly sound whacko?--and I think that it's one of my better written pieces, so please check out "Love Bites". Don't be shy about leaving comments either because you can leave them anon, and I'd love your feedback.
And zombie smut was just the intro, peeps! Now onto the post!
Today's SCF post comes courtesy of those "Fifty Shades of Grey" books. Bloody fucking hell I am so fucking sick of hearing about these books! While I am admittedly more likely to disdain anything promoted by The Hype Monster, the reason these books make me so angry that I see fifty shades of red is because they are so fucking poorly written. They originated as fan fiction. As "Twilight" fan fiction. Twilight. Fan. Fiction. And the writer is making millions. Kill me now. The only thing that I can conclude is that people are really starving for BDSM stories, and since I'm all about being helpful, I'm going to provide the world with a little ditty about the topic from my own experiences. Off we go then.
I'd met my former shagbuddy while sparring so it wasn't surprising that our sex always had a wrestle-y, competition for dominance to it.
"You are a bad girl and you should be tied up during sex," he had told me one time while pinning my hands down.
I rolled my eyes, "You couldn't tie a knot that would hold me, so I'll pass."
"Scared?" he was obviously trying to goad me, but in this case it wouldn't work.
"No, I know how my brain works and the entire time I would be more annoyed that I was supposed to be restrained by a pathetic knot. Get some handcuffs and I'm your huckleberry."
We continued our pillow play, and I thought that we were done with the subject until we were in the throws of the main course and he suddenly told me to hit him.
I ignored the first request, but when he barked at me again to hit him, I gave him a hard pat to the side of his face just to shut him up.
"You call that a slap? You hit like a fucking girl! I said to hit me!"
Now, there are a few phases that you never want to say to me, at least when you are within my reach. Number one, "I drank the last cup of coffee." Number two, "I erased all of the music from your iPod and replaced it with Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus and the best of Glee." And three, "You hit like a girl." Furthermore, none of these should be followed by an invitation for me to hit you. Because chances are that I will. (I really love my coffee.)
In this particular case I drew my hand back and I nailed that fucker with a slap that would have made the most jaded pimp weep with pride.
He didn't ask me to hit him again.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I broke my hand.
(No, not really, but I find the idea is so hilarious that I almost wish that was true.)
No the real moral of this story is that you don't provoke a trained fighter to hit you as hard as they fancy. To Shaggy's credit, he at least laughed about it after we were finished.
That story probably didn't titillate the way that you were expecting, so to make up for it, I'll conclude today's Soft Core Friday post with the next member of the sexy Writes Like a Slut crew. I purposely wanted to make sure that I posted her pic on a SCF since she is the originator of the idea. I give you the hotness that is my darling Random Girl from Random Girl Blogs.
Have a kickass weekend, my dear naughty ones! Don't do anything that I wouldn't do--which means that you have free reign to do pretty much anything. And if you do, please blog about it since I'm sloooowly catching up on my roll.