Hello r/eroticliterature,
**LONG POST ALERT**
I’m working on my first erotica novel (really my first long-form writing project since term papers) and I’m looking for feedback—constructive or otherwise!
I’m nearing the 100 page mark and for some reason I thought that would be a good milestone to go back and edit the totality of the rough work I have so far. As you might imagine, there’s A LOT of cringe in there, A LOT of purple prose, A LOT of thesaurus writing, but there’s also A LOT I’m extremely proud of and I think my concept is still strong even if some of my execution can’t stand on its own.
That’s where you guys come in! I need a competent editor(ial staff) to give me their unvarnished thoughts and most merciless criticisms to break me of my terrible habits. I am 100% in favor of compensating you (I can’t do it monetarily at the moment, but even though I’m not a Lannister I always pay my debts).
The major questions I have with the work are as follows:
Does it turn you on? Is it too much? Do the descriptions bore? Are you not (otherwise) entertained?
Does the narrator’s voice work/ do you feel like it swings too dramatically (without giving too much away, my idea is she warms up and gets more comfortable with the reader as the story progresses)?
Does the person/ tense work (1st person present)?
Is the grammar too overwrought?
Is the writing too overwrought (This work has a lot of voices informing it and very few of them are minimalist)?
I’m going to try to post a chapter every few days to give ya’ll some time to digest, but today I’m posting the intro/ first chapter as I’ll be without internet until the weekend’s over.
I greatly appreciate all who take the time to undertake this massive ask, I will make it worth your while somehow (hopefully getting you wet and or hard is a start). ALL FEEDBACK IS MUCH APPRECIATED and will be responded to either via DM or in the comments. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you so much!
**TL:DR – PLEASE CRIT MY SHIT PLEASE**
Without (many) further theatrics, **Panties and Other Stories About Panties** (W/T), Chapter 1:
**1**
You’re at the beginning of your world. Or, rather, you’re on the doorstep of my world and I see you for the first time through the large front glass of the shop. Your struggle with the door doesn’t shatter your prim demeanor. I get up from my desk, shuddering internally at the thought of how sapless and sexless and drab your panties must be.
“Hello, I’m Sabina, Heloise Caterwauler’s niece?” You chime-quaked.
“Is that a question, darling?” I purr, dunked liberally in affectation sauce.
“No it’s—I came about the position. My aunt told me to come down.”
“I’ve been expecting you, Sabina.”
“Oh…of course, I…I don’t know what to do now.”
“Come in, please, don’t be nervous.”
You approach me haltingly, why? Is it the awkwardness girlhood? Is it the immodest underthings you find yourself surrounded by? How I despise innocence. How clownish the human body wears it. Heloise is fucking with me, I can’t work with a lump of clay this formless; I mean I can, but I would rather an apprentice with some knowledge of their kinks, of their body—a glowing spark in the eye. I see what Heloise sees in you though…as you walk. Once we turn that horsey jerk you do into a sway. You’re close now, close enough to see.
“There’s a good girl.”
Like my mother, and her mother before I immediately set to gently fussing. “Don’t slouch so,” I coo, straightening your shoulders. “Tuck it in,” patting the baby-fat mound of your belly. “Arms up, legs long,” you’re pliant and craving of approval. While your arms are still raised I can see through your loose, ill-fitting blouse that you have a bust. You begin to lower your arms.
“Ah, ah keep them up.” I give you wry, walking to my desk.”
“Why?”
“I’ll show you,”
Slipping the appointment book off my desk I come back to you. “What’s that? I hold the book at the base of your breasts, “This is one of the most valuable keys to your desirability” I wink, “now, lower your arms.”
As expected you comply and your young tits, heavier than I had surmised rest on the book, beaming forward generous and proud.
“You see, dear, they should sit like this, our first order of business should be to get you a new bra.”
“What?” You redden
“A bra, darling, it’s not a dirty word, there’s no need to be embarrassed by it.”
“No, I know—it’s just that…”
“Yes?”
“It’s just that everything here is so sexy. I couldn’t…”
“Well, how do you expect to sell it if you don’t know how it fits, how it feels, how it looks on your body.”
“Maybe this was a mistake.” You turn for the door and I take away the wire.
“Maybe it was,” I say tiredly to your back. You’re not moving gangly now, you have purpose—this is what Heloise sees in you.
“But before you go…” stopping you at the door, “…ask yourself if you like the person you come off as. What we sell here isn’t just negligees and garter-belts and panties…” I see that twinge of shocked thrill dance across your eyes.
“What we sell here is confidence. Sex is part of it, naturally, but I guarantee that simply looking in the mirror wearing any piece in this shop will make you feel ten feet taller. Able to take the things you want. The confidence of a queen, of an empress, of a goddess. Ask yourself, Sabina, who’s your favorite singer? Actress? Model? What do you think they wear underneath their clothes? Hell, even doughty heads of state wear finery like this under those de-sexed pantsuits on days of great importance.”
“But I’ve never felt sexy before.”
“My dear, if you give yourself half a chance, I’ll show you exactly how you can.”
“I’m scared.” You murmur and I cross the room to you and take your head in the cradle of my neck.
“Oh poor, little Sabina,” I stroke your hair; it’s the color of fruit tree bark gleaming in the sun, “you should be enchanted by the journey working in my humble lingerie shop will start you on. Realizing your feminine potential isn’t scary, it’s exhilarating. You’re feeling adrenaline flood parts of you that have been asleep, not fear.”
You look up at me. Are those actually tears fighting each other to overflow the millponds of your eyelids? I tenderly walk you over to the large mirror outside the dressing area.
“My sweet girl, look up,” you bring your eyes up to our reflection.
‘You’re about to discover the person you are—the force of nature, the wild blood that surges up from your wellspring.”
Still holding you against my shoulder I move my free hand down, over my strict, belted skirt and stroke the tweedy fabric at its bulls-eye, above my pussy; above my panties. I hear your breath snare in your throat. I see your eyes inflate and your glassy skin flush. I can feel the kindling spark inside you. I can taste your cunt juice in the air. You must be able to hear the legs of fruit flies vacillate in the crawlspace; the silent hum of every electron pulsating around every nucleus of every oxygen atom in the room. I smile a prism at our reflection, hold a zephyr-soft hand at the small of your back. Now my cunt subtly perfumes the air. My juice is more absinthian, more musky than yours. You quiver so, and I press my hand more forcefully against your back.
“I think you’re ready to try something on, don’t you?”
You seem three steps from a swoon. Adrenaline keels down the interstates of your nerves; your knees quiver almost imperceptibly. My hand pitches down as a peregrine falcon might gracefully bank when sighting prey; it lands on the prize of your ass. Your ass built of smallish cheeks and sharp hips. Not a lot, but enough to fill the palm of my hand. I let my teeth become cobra fangs and sink them into what fat is there.
“Would you like to see what I’m wearing? It might help you decide on something to pick out for yourself” I drift the hand stroking my pussy through my skirt-front just above my knees and twist impishly at the hem.
“Would you like to see my stockings?” And I start to gather up the hem over my thighs.
“Look, you can see the tops, now. Do you like them?” I do a little pin-up posture with my legs.
Your tension builds. Now you can hear your own tongue beading out little drops of saliva. You can hear your clit straining against your own panties. Inside your mind it sounds like a venerable, old three-masted schooner creaking thunderously at port. I unclasp my hand from your asscheek and drape it around your waist. I let it nap on your upper thigh, so near to your pussy; I can just about detect a dampness flowing across the plain plaid of your calf-length skirt.
“And now you can see the clips of my garter belt. See how they lovingly snatch up the tops of my stockings in their mouth? They make little wakes in my stocking tops, just like a stone skipped into a dark lagoon. Why don’t you touch those tiny wrinkles?”
Your eyes search for mine. Through the fog of arousal they find each other; yours so splayed and glinting, mine a thin and devilish slit. My eyes hiss their approval at you and hypnotically, magnetically lift your trembling hand to the vineyard of my stocking tops. You shakily caress my hosiery and the unconcealed, walnut oil colored skin of my thighs. You shudder, bodily and pull your hand back as if shaking hands with a flame.
“No, no, no. Your touch is divine, like a warm, electric wave. Please put your hand back on my thigh.”
Again you mouse for my eyes and again I give you a permissive grin. You return to stroking the outskirts of my thigh, but voluntarily dart your hand inland.
“Oh, good girl. You’re doing very nicely, but if you really want to give your partner a fever you’ll take your time with your fingers.” At my command you regulate the speed of your caress.
“Like this?” You this whisper shakily.
“Exactly, treat your hand like a slow rake with soft teeth. Gather leaves like you would on a summer evening, you’ve got nowhere to be. Increase your partner’s desire with every languid pass. Good” I coo as you add your own flourishes and increasingly smooth filigrees.
“Now slip a finger or two underneath the nylon of my stockings.” You comply and twitch your fingers passably inside my stockings.
“Yes, very nice. Do you feel how the air feels different, through the weave of the material? They’re so incredibly sheer that you almost feel colder, don’t you?”
You nod, about to quake inside. Your lava is about to froth and explode out of the caldera of your own desire. With the proper equipment one could see steam rising off your skin. Unprompted you lunge at the strap of my garter belt and take it in your mouth.
“Well, what a hungry girl you are.”
I giggle vernally. Maybe I’m trying to relate. Maybe I’m regressing, myself. You let a baritone, animal howl escape the cage of your throat as you continue sucking the silk strap of my garter belt. You worship it like a prodigal drunk throwing himself on the altar of Mother Church. You run your tongue along the adjuster as if it were sweet fruit. Your hands shudder about my thighs, my knees, the pillows of my asscheeks. Your fingers press into my flesh, feeling its fullness. I undo the button of my flinty, structured blazer and fold it once, neatly draping it over the back of the Rococo chaise that stands guard over the dressing area.
“You’re as starving as a little stray puppy. Why don’t you come meet me up here?”
You rise, in characteristic unsteadiness. You’re dazed, but still aching to please and be pleasured. You’re facing me now, I can see your undomesticated side. What you were like before some schoolyard embarrassment, or some mis-heeded authoritarian broke you.
“How beautiful you are under all that confusion.Soon you’ll know you’re free too.”
You crumple into that default bashfulness you’re so fond of. I run a hand through your arboreal hair. I stroke the side of your face and pick it up to superimpose over mine. My hand prowls behind your curtain of hair. As you moon up at me I smirk and curtly yank your hair into a tail, forcing your head back. You inhale with a splintering quickness, but you’re too startled to struggle.
“Sabina, you’ve got a choice to make. Do you want to be as delicate as a dandelion or as hard as an oil tanker’s hull?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, you seem to be an awful lot like a shrinking violet sort to me,” I tug a bit harder on your hair; you yelp and twist.
“Of course,” I continue, “It’s possible for one to be both equally—or to show your soft side to some and your tough side to others. That’s certainly allowed.”
“Which one is harder?”
Is that a punky sneer? I hastily free you. I thrust you onto the chaise and you squirm indignantly.
“Bitch!”
“Maybe I’m wrong about you, you might have more fight than I imagined.”
I begin to unbutton my severely high-collared blouse. The diaphanous silk clings to my bowed tits. At the right angles the tops of my nipples poke above my bra’s lacy ramparts; my husband adores this effect, more than seeing my tits fully disrobed. You’re bucking now, your hand rubbing at the face of your skirt.
“You’re really gasping for it. You call me a bitch, but you’re the one in heat.”
“I want it! I’ve wanted it for so long!”
“Then make up your mind. Do you want to rebel or do you want to surrender?”
I slink over to you, “don’t overthink it, darling girl.” Through the plate glass I see your aunt Heloise turning the corner. I stiffen and smooth my shirt front.
“What’s the matter?”
I clear my throat and the bell above the door jangles. “Heloise! What an uncommon thing for you to land on my shore this morning!”
I can’t see you, but I can tell you’re shaken. Anyone would be, wrested so barbarously from a certain fuck as you were. And probably a good one too. I’m sure as I greet your dear auntie you set about pouring your composure back into its bowl.
“Hello Esme, dear. You know I had to come check how my niece was finding her position so far.”
“Well she’s only just arrived. I’ve barely given her a task yet.”
You present yourself, smoothing down your skirt, jettisoning the weight of your breathing. Auntie Heloise is pleased to see you. Her smile swims at you like a shark’s.
“Ah, there she is.Hello, kitten”
“Hello, Auntie Heloise”
You mewl a bit here. I can tell that the scourge of her poorly timed cosseting dig into the meat of you.
“Is the lady of the house putting you through your paces?”
“Well we—“
“As I say, we haven’t even truly begun yet.” I halt the horde of your stammers in their tracks.
“Then allow me to be the girl’s first customer.”
Wickedness flares your aunt’s eyes. Her aqueous humor has been switched for butane. She vacuums us up leeringly, shoes and all.
“I don’t know if she’s quite ready to take customers, Heloise.”
“Folderol! The girl must learn sooner or later, and who better to teach her than family?”
“She hasn’t even tried anything on for herself.”
“And I haven’t bought any new pieces in weeks. Come, let’s take a look at your new stock.”
“Heloise, I thin—“
“I think I’m ready.”
You suddenly pipe. I do a military turn on my heels to see what new creature has strutted its way into my shop. Now it’s you whose eyes are soaked in fire. Shock booms inside me. The cornerstones of my perception are fissured. The Mezzanines of my self are caving in on themselves. You waft over to your aunt, who by now as begun removing her camel, double-face, cashmere cape. Standing behind her you dutifully take the garment from her. “Speechless?” You snicker and hang the cape on the gilded coat stand by the door.
“I’ve been had? Why you two, no account whores, I should throw you out.”
“I’ve known you for how long, Esme?”
“Since at least the mid 1830s.” You sing-song
“Now that I know you’ve got sand; I oughta—“
“Oooh, yeah lover, tell me what you’re gonna do to me.”
You cross the room to me; embrace me like a serpent assassin. Laughing all the way.
“You think I’d send you an artless, gawky little virgin as an apprentice?”
I circle my arm around you, “now I see!” You burrow into my chest. I kick out your feet from under you and noose my hand around your jugular before you hit the ground. “But a precocious twat…I can barely abide that in my shop either.”
“Season her, honey, she can still be taught to respect her elders.”
You’re writhing breathless against the latch of my hand. I relent and come in to devour your lips with my own. My tongue runs the canyon between your upper lip and your teeth. You kiss back with determination. Your tongue wants to plant its flag in my esophagus, but I have other plans. My teeth come down hard on you tongue and you pull back, yelping.
“She understands the joys of being a slut, but she needs to learn that pain can be its own release.”
“Whatever you see fit, my dear. You’ve got such a beautiful assortment.” Your aunt replies absent-mindedly; fingering the gauzy cuff of a spectrally thin peignoir. She whirrs about the shop like a thick-thighed hummingbird. I allow you back to your feet and you stand. You’re disoriented and suitably nettled. And I beam at you mischievously.
“Heloise? Would you like to see the new panties? They came in just yesterday.”
“What a lovely idea. I could always do with a new pair.”
“So could little Sabina, here.”
I briskly draw the heavy curtains, flip the sign to closed on the door and slink into the back. I assume Heloise went to stand behind you while I did, because that’s where she was when I got back carrying the oblong, lacquered coffer that Velvet, our designer ships her panties in. “Here they are, fresh from Velvet’s studio,” I sing announcing my reentry. You’re both jolted as you watch the box settles on my desk like a bee on a hibiscus. “Bring her closer,” I command and your aunt’s hands cinch you at your elbows. She walks you over to the desk, reverently.
“Do you like panties, Sabina?” I ask you, “Do you think about panties a lot?”
“Like how?”
“Do you think about what kind of panties women you pass on the street are wearing? How they look on their bodies? What color they are? Do you ever catch a glimpse at a pair of sexy, little panties around a woman’s ankles in a bathroom stall? DO you want to steal her panties and press them to your face? Against your cunt? Against your asshole? Does that turn you on?”
You nod as I begin to lift pairs of panties out of the box like a surgeon’s assistant arranging tools in the operating theatre. There are twenty six pairs of panties in the box and I set them all out on a marble blotter. Your aunt keeps you restrained with one hand and begins to run her other over your neck. Behind your ears. Your sternum and down between your tits. Your belly. The rising eskers of your hips. You’re ours now. And as your aunt deftly delves her hand into your waistband you melt totally. You have no choice but to give yourself over to us.
“Her pussy is steamier than a South Florida hothouse.”
“Show me.”
Your Aunt frees your arms and shimmies your elderly woman’s skirt down. Underneath are panties so homely they wouldn’t even sell them in a maternity shop. Even though they’re translucent from your cunt’s lubricious syrup they offend me to my marrow.
“Strip those hideous things off. Those don’t even deserve to be called panties.”
Your aunt complies and yanks you’re offending underwear away. Much better. The sable thatch of your cunt hair wildly stares at me. It glistens with your wet. “Take her shirt off,” I bark and again Heloise heeds me. In a swoop you’re clothed only in your knee-socks and your shoes that are so dull they might as well be Buster Browns. You’re wriggling against your aunt’s broad voluptuousness. Your tits bumble against each other. Heloise digs into your neck with her mouth. She’s a lioness tearing out the throat of her own young. An invasion force landing on its own shores. The harmony of both your moans mesh together. The sound makes the inside of my pussy seethe. I unzip my skirt adroitly, let it slide down my legs and kick it away. I throw off my blouse and model for you both.
“You see Sabina, this is what a woman wears under her clothes.”
Heloise holds your head so you can see me. When she’s sure I’ve got the balance of your attention, she plucks at your nipples with tantalizing aplomb. She dives down to give your chafed clit the same treatment.
“Panties like these transfix, they demand, they have the power to alter the course of world events. Bring her face close to my panties.”
Heloise walks you over to me and pushes you down onto your knees. I straddle your body and hoist my panties up between my cunt lips. I drag the flimsiness of my panties against my swollen clit head. I moan. “Stick out your tongue, you dumb bitch.” You resist coyly and Heloise pinches your nose closed. “You do as you’re told, brat.” You yield and spring your tongue from mouth jail. “Good girl,” and I lower myself onto your face. “Lick my cunt like the whore you know deep down you are.” You dab at my pussy tentatively at first, but you resign yourself to your slutty fate and begin taking longer, more sensuous licks. “Yeah, eat it like that, baby. I wanna fill your mouth up with my cum!” You wail deliriously. Your legs kick and flail about. You’re hypnotized by the act. “Get your tongue up my filthy asshole too, bitch!” You haven’t realized that Heloise is no longer restraining you. Your hands make for my thighs, the mounds of my ass. You steady me above you as I watch your aunt begin to disrobe. She’s a buxom old cunt with hefty upper arms and a hillock of gut that she’s corseted to make her frame more hourglass. Heloise wears her fat well. She’s a woman of appetite. Hungry for life. Her lingerie is cream colored and frilly; it dramatizes the umbers of her skin tone. Her panties sweat to hold back the girth of her mons. Your tongue continues to work my asshole while I pass Heloise several pairs of the new panties. She holds them like an altar boy swinging a censor. “These panties are so sexy.” She wads the precious goods and mashes them into her face. She savors them. Inhales their scent and runs them over her tongue. “Tie your niece up with those sexy panties, baby.” Heloise Manacles your wrists. She trammels your elbows and binds you mid-bicep. “If you rip any of these panties keeping you tied up, you’ll regret it.” Your aunt pinions your ankles, cuffs your knees, and fetters you mid-thigh. She jerks your hair back and stuffs two pairs of panties in your mouth ganging you. “No more use for that mouth, fuck-pig.”
“I want to try some of these new panties on, Esme.”
“Oh but of course, Heloise. I think your slutty niece’s face will make a good enough shelf for our ambrosial panties. Now strip your little panties off so I can show you the new stock.”
“Right away, dream girl.”
Heloise turns her giant, callipygian ass to you. She rolls her cream panties down. While they’re still around her knees she crushes your face between the colossal lobes of her ass. “Yes use her as a chair!” I crouch down near to your face, “can you hear me, Sabina, you twat? Shove that little, button nose up your aunt’s ass and fuck it!” Heloise began gyrating signaling to me that Sabina was obeying. I peel my own panties off slowly, giving the chubby whore riding her niece’s face in front of me a little show.
“Let’s trade!”
“Good idea, you greedy cunt!”
Peeling with laughter we exchange our panties and each quaff our respective liquors.
“God, I love how delicious your cunt makes these panties smell.”
“Yes, darling, your pussy stench is divine mixed with hot lace.”
“I could spend hours huffing your quim’s steaming perfume, dream girl, but let’s hood this cheeky slut below me with our spicy panties.”
“Mmm panties!” I cry ecstatically in agreement. We speak the word as an incantation at each other, “Panties…panties…panties.” We whisper panties in your ears as we mask you with both pairs of panties. Are you crooning with us, Sabina? Through the panties gagging you, the panties wrapped around your head you seem to be issuing a muffled refrain with us. Panties, you’re catching on, Sabina. Panties, feel it in your cunts when you say it. Panties, feel it in your cocks. Panties, feel the word stuffed up your ass, tickling your g-spot; making your brain squirt.
“Let’s fill her up, eh?”
“I’m way ahead of you, Esme…” Your aunt is stretching pairs of panties over her pointer and middle finger, “…what first? Cunt or asshole?”
“She’s your niece, auntie, you decide.”
“I’ll be charitable, let’s stuff these panties up her pussy first.”
“Has she taken a cock up either? They’re probably an equally tight squeeze.”
“Should we lube them up first?”
“Good idea, lets plumb her a bit first, we’re not tyrants after all. I have the perfect tools”
I flit to my desk and draw out two moderately sized, powder blue, ceramic dildos with dreadnaught heads on both ends. They look as though they could have been lifted out of an old *Shunga* print. Heloise hungers Pavlovian at the sight of the synthetic cocks.
“These should do nicely. As for lube, why don’t you put that well-lathered yap of yours to use.”
“With gusto!”
Your aunt pushes you onto your stomach. Her face parts the little molehills of your ass. Ravenously she coats your holes with her spit. Tropic cunt nectar meets her tongue. Your asshole pulses and slicks itself with each of auntie’s French kisses. Let your ears suck in the sound of her rapture. I can’t help but rub my own pussy as I watch a woman so engrossed in her work. Still holding the twin dildos, I dip one inside my fervent cunt. “Here, Heloise!” I pass the other to your hungry aunt. She sticks hers up her ass; immediately pounding herself like an oil rig. Like a picquerist I dig my spike heel into the back of your neck and you whimper. Heloise frantically scrubs the panties you’ll soon be stuffed with against her pussy. “She’s ready!” I cry and we lift her onto the chaise.
You collapse, ass up; presenting yourself to the world should it be fortunate enough to cross my threshold. Your clit violently twitches. Heloise’s mouth has edged you good and hard. Ritualistically we stretch your fancy, gossamer stuffing over each other’s faces. We kiss wildly through the lacy blockades. We revive our mantra again. Panties! Our fingers maraud our wet cunts.
We twist your panties into thick ropes and without the least bit of effort the two pairs slide into your pussy. You exhale a muted gasp as your aunt stops you up with the first dildo. We repeat the process with your ass and encounter resistance. Heloise plays Moses with your asscheeks as I rub the stubborn aperture with two saliva-wetted fingers. A widening! I muscle in the head of the dildo. Puckering around the cold china your asshole attempts to push out the intruder. I insist and quickly the entirety of the cock-head is enveloped. Tears stain the panties screening your face. Your aunt twists her hand between your thighs and palms your clit. She places the free head of your cunt’s dildo in her mouth and pumps you with it. Your face contorts elastically. Gluttony sits fatly on your brow. I withdraw the dildo from your asshole and cloister the knotted panties inside you. For good measure I rivet you several times with the fake cock.
“Shall we leave her there all day for customers to see?” Asks your pragmatic auntie. Both your pussy and your asshole are visibly sucking on the dildos with the intensity of pistons the verge of explosion.
“What an insatiable whore! It’s her first day and she’s already found a way to fuck herself with no hands!” I interject.
“I always knew she was an industrious girl.”
“Maybe I should call my Husband down to have his way with her?”
“Or those dear twin girls with cocks bigger than my Randolph’s?”
“Oh, yes, the Muffington Sisters, that would be a buzz indeed!”
“Perhaps we should cane the whelp’s ass? A good discipling is always a splendid way to break in a neophyte.”
“Would you like that? You skinny, thought-free pussy fart?”
Low, guttural sounds are breeding and multiplying madcap out of your nostrils. You’re reverberating at breakneck speed toward climax.
“She likes it! Tell her more things we can do to her!”
“If she could pull herself together enough to find a boyfriend—well, surely we could shame-fuck the sniveling, closet-sissy she choses into a puddle right in front of her!”
“We could tie her to the veteran’s memorial downtown and charge passersby a dollar each to fist fuck her gaping asshole!”
“Let’s just leave her on a storage shelf for the delivery boys to find and defile as they see fit!”
And as you cum, seismically—a deep stomach churning, cortex-wiping orgasm—we hoist you up, carry you into the dark of the back room, toss you on a stack of boxes. Here you can luxuriate in your release. Swim in the Caribbean waters of beatific sluttiness. Revisit the first step of your inaugural. And, when the mood takes you again repeat the masturbatory ritual to fantasies of what’s to come.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/co2krb/feedback_wanted_panties_and_other_stories_about