Fifty Shades of Kat

What could be a better way to start a month than with a Soft Core Friday post? And what a SCF post it is, too! My laptop started overheating from only the notes of everything I wanted to cover! (Or uncover since this is SCF).

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!

fanfic sex fail, fan fictionToday’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.

writes like a slut shirt

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.

The Shining at Victoria’s Secret

victoria's secret, VS credit card, VS VIP

You don’t get a black VS credit card without having a problem.

I’ve mentioned before that I’ve a *ahem* problem with Victoria’s Secret, to the point where I can’t even part with their bags.  Luckily, I don’t like shopping and despise having to deal with large, roaming packs of humans, so I’m very unlikely to go into a mall where they are located.  Unfortunately there are times that I cannot avoid the wretched mall.  Like when I have to get false eyelash glue.

As soon as I walked into the mall, I felt a strange, almost other-wordly force pulling me into the Victoria’s Secret, and though it was in the opposite direction of my original destination, I found myself walking through their doors, dragging my confused mother behind me.  A saleswoman immediately appeared and handed me a shopping bag

“Hello, Kat,” she smiled.

The fact that she knew my name should have been the tipoff right there that I was in very big fucking trouble, but I was too mesmerized by all of the lacy, pretty things surrounding me.

“Yes.  Yes, I’ve been away, but now I’m back,” I mumbled.

“It’s good to see you, Kat.  What will it be today?”

“Hair of the bra that bit me.”

“Dream Angels,” her eyes glowed as she gestured to a display in the center of the store.

“That’ll do ‘er,” I said shoving a woman with a baby carriage aside and vaulting over the makeup counter.

One way that I’ve been able to control my Victoria Secret spending is because I only really fancy the one style of bra, and they were running out of colours that I didn’t own.  As I perused the drawer with my size, I saw one bra that was black under white lace that I loved, but given that I already had a white one under black lace at home, I was able to put it down.  I was about to make it out of Vicky’s without getting another bra!

And then the saleswoman appeared in front of me.

“The bra in the corner is a Dream Angel, too,” she told me.

I glanced over to the corner and amidst some PJs was an ice blue bra under silvery white lace.

This was a problem.  I did not have an ice blue bra.  I have antique blue, but that’s a completely different similar blue, and besides mine is antique blue under antique blue lace, not under silvery white lace!

I could only pray that they wouldn’t have it in my weird size.

The saleswoman reached into the rack and pulled out the correct size, and then handed me the piece of Kat-Kryptonite.

“How did you know what size I wear?” I asked her.

“I should know, Kat, I’ve always been here.  Just as you have always been the caretaker…of these bras,” she replied.

I looked to my mother for help, but the saleswoman was obviously working her evil mind meddling on her because she just nodded her head with a glazed look in her hazel eyes.

“I think we have the bottoms, too.  Do you want to see them?” the saleswoman continued.


‘Yes!’ I screamed in my head.

“Oh,” the saleswoman said sadly, “We only have one pair, and it’s too big for you.”

The bottoms were not too big for me, in fact they were my size, but using her telepathic power, the saleswoman knew that I feel that my ass is too big and that this last bit of flattery would be the thing to send me over to the edge.


Once again VS turned me into Gollum.

“Give them to me!” I demanded, “Give me the Precious!”

“We also have the matching gar-” she started.

I stuck my fingers in my ears and began humming “The Star Spangled Banner”, but then I heard the woman’s voice finish in my head, ‘-ter, you know.

“Red rum!” my mother suddenly yelled.

“You are so right, Mumma!  We need to get out of here right now!  I mean, like, right after I pay for the Precious!” I turned to the saleswoman, “So how’s my credit in this joint, anyway?”

“Your credit is fine, Kat,” the woman smiled.

“That’s swell.  I always liked you,” I told the woman as she took me to a register and checked me out.

“Come and see us again soon, Kat,” she told me as my mother and I began our escape, “Come and see us and stay forever…and ever…and ever.”

“I am never going in that store again,” I declared once Mumma and I were safely in the car.  But I know that I will.

The semi-annual sale is only a few months away.

**Today’s zombie survival tip is to not go to the mall ala Romero’s Dawn of The Dead.  As you can see the place is already corrupt.