Home > links, sex, sundry, writing > An homage to storyspinning

An homage to storyspinning

February 13, 2009 Leave a comment Go to comments

Way back in 2006, when I first started chronicling my budding sexual experiences online, I searched for like-minded souls and started a modest blogroll to keep track of sex bloggers I enjoyed reading.  That list has undergone many changes these past two-and-a-bit years: as writers wax and wane, close their doors, or just stop writing online.

One fellow submissive whose writing I continue to look forward to seeing in my Google Reader is Sarah McBroden’s Submissive Reflections.  She has been writing a sporadically-updated-in-parts story about a woman who calls herself Angel.  Sarah just recently wrote a part 7, and because it had been awhile since part 6, I reread the story from the beginning.

It is so good I need to share it.  I love the way she writes, very simply but somehow also very intensely.  I remember how it affected me so strongly I enthusiastically sent the link to M (only to be secretly crushed that he found nothing scintillating about it, and sympathized with Angel’s husband).

Here is a snippet from an earlier segment:

She looked at him, ready to ask why then she realised that she didn’t care. She turned and bent over, using her hands to hold herself steady against the cold tiles. The water from the shower drummed against her back and she felt something slick and cold being poured between her ass cheeks. The unmistakable smell of baby oil filled the air.

She wanted to tell him no, that this isn’t the way it is done. Her husband always propped her up on some pillows and made sure she was comfortable before stretching her ass open with one finger, then two and three before even going near her with his cock. But this wasn’t her husband and his cock was already forcing her ass open. She moaned and pressed harder against her hands.

Then there is the indomitable Chelsea Summers, now-sporadic writer at Pretty Dumb Things.  Her sometimes aggressive wordiness and elliptical style may not be for everyone, but I myself love the way she writes.  One of my favorite of her fictional narratives is orlando, bloom.  So read, and listen:

“Fucking me isn’t like fucking anyone else,” Orlando said.

No, of course not, I said, fingers nimbly unbuttoning the buttons of the shirt, opening the shirt to expose a sternum as commensurately pale as the throat above it. Only Orlando’s passionfruit mouth and flushed cheeks were not an ethereal shade of pale. The dark hair, dry now, mostly, curling in intimate tendrils made the skin glow paler.

Smooth, pale skin, and easy, easy as ice, as vanilla, as cream. Easy as posies.

Easily Aroused is another longtime favorite of mine.  His writing is salacious and lusty and usually accompanied by equally delicious photography.  It’s really quite hard to pick one favorite, but this is one story from his archives that comes to mind:

The front door opens straight into the lounge. She shows me around, then guides me through the dining room and into the kitchen. I scrutinise all three rooms as though they’re the only things on my mind, nodding politely, giving the appropriate responses as she talks. Keeping my mind on the task is far from simple. At every opportunity that presents itself, I switch my focus back to Maya. My cock is already semi-hard. If I open my thoughts to her, picture myself slipping the jacket from her shoulders, slowly unbuttoning her blouse, I’ll be erect in no time.

I turn my attention from the Aga range to look at her, and catch her watching me intently. Her cheeks colour immediately.

Speaking of easily aroused, The Provocateur manages to do just that to me with each of his posts.  I’m never quite certain how much of his writing is fact, or embellished truth, or complete fantasy, but in a sense it is all storytelling, the way he sculpts his words.  Here is a bit of Demimonde to draw you in:

The restaurant is not open but the door before us is. As we pass through the empty restaurant we can hear the musical movement of dishes and pots and pans and the scents of preparation. The bases and the heat of cuisine wafts in and around us, concealing us from the noonday outside.

She drops my hand from the lace of hers and walks up to the window. Sighing, she looks down and out and over the afternoon city. She says conquer me.

She says, seduce me. With a word. Or four.

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Categories: links, sex, sundry, writing
  1. February 13, 2009 at 2:25 am

    Thank you. I’m flattered that you’ve been reading me at all. And the truth is: all the stories are true.

  2. February 19, 2009 at 8:11 am

    My thanks too, for showcasing my work in so gratifying a fashion…

    ~EA

  3. February 24, 2009 at 7:23 pm

    Provocateur – and such an exhilerating truth! Thank you for sharing.

    EA – small repayment for all the times I have been gratified when it has just been me, your words, and my imagination.

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