blinkern, Author at NSFW story — Page 2 of 3

Birdie – [Ff][slow][seduction]

The first time we met, I thought you hated me. Perhaps you do.

Ryan had warned me about you as we drove from Oxford. It was shortly after exam season had finished and we had decided to take a week together in the countryside, at your “ancestral home” as he put it, to unwind. Although we’d been dating for six months, I didn’t know anything about his family, except that you were “loaded” – his term, not mine – and that his father had died when he was a toddler. This was my chance to meet you, and Ryan had made plans to leave me alone at your house for the weekend while he visited a friend. The idea of being alone with his parent was intimidating, to say the least.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Honestly, the place is massive, and you can go out in the gardens, or just read or whatever. Far too much space for things to be awkward.”

“What is she like?” I asked, “Your mum.”

He sucked his teeth and thought. “She can be a little cold,” he said finally. “It’s nothing personal, she just doesn’t have much time for other humans.” He thought for a moment longer, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “She likes to mind-fuck people.” Read more »

George’s Marvellous Medicine – [MF][Bimbofication]

Every morning at 08:32 am, George Battersby folds his copy of the Daily Mail and sets it to one side. Draining the coldly disappointing dregs of his breakfast tea, he stands up from the Formica breakfast table and brushes his trousers with his fingertips. Having removed any wayward crumbs of toast, he says “Right then” in a peremptory tone, and kisses his wife, Missy, on the forehead. Missy, every single morning, looks up from her soft-boiled egg and her breakfast smoothie and says with mild surprise “Oh, are you off to work?”.

At 08:35 Mr Battersby dons his jacket in the hallway, neatens his tie in the full-length mirror, and steps outside into the suburban street where his neighbours, Messrs Foreman, Patel, Tartley, and Krupp are also emerging blinkingly into the morning sunlight. He gets into his pastel blue Ford Focus and drives to his place of work on a disspiritingly landscaped business park where he is a salesman for a moderately successful manufacturer.

At 08:55 am, he walks through the revolving door of Frigitech Ltd (the South East’s leading supplier of commercial refrigeration and air conditioning units) and spends the next eight hours at his desk in a fugue state of spreadsheets and despair. Read more »

The Finishing Touches – [preg][nc][lac]

I’m Robin Goodfellow. I write stories for people based on their fantasies. Sometimes those fantasies are strange or funny, sometimes they are dark and disturbing. This one is in the latter category. If you’re not interested in reading a graphic description of the rape of a pregnant woman, then you should go read something else.

———————————

The photograph is fading now, but the image is burned forever in my mind’s eye. I run my thumb over your face. You are frozen by the flash, caught in a moment of despair. Your skin is paper white under the harsh light. You’re looking up to the camera with desperation in your puffy red eyes. Your mascara has run, overlaying the contours of your face with a map of your tears. You have wept so much that drool runs from one corner of your mouth which is painted lopsidedly up one cheek by the smear of your lipstick. Half of your hair is neatly atop your head, and the other half is matted with tears and paint, stuck to the side of your face. Your tits are on display, your T-shirt is rolled up to expose your gorgeous soft flesh. Your nipples are a burning bright red and stand out obscenely from the soft mounds and puckered areolae. Your chest and the giant swell of your belly are glazed with my cum and your milk, shining wetly. Your cunt is open to me, drooling with my semen and a trace of your blood. The carpet all around you is wet. You are sat on the floor with your legs apart and your knees drawn up, your arms are raised high above your head so that your tits are pushed out for me. Your wrists are fastened by cable ties to the rail of the cot. You’re begging me to let you go. You are drooling, leaking, utterly ruined. Read more »

Embarassed Nude Fairy – [humil][fantasy][fsub]

Lucy shifts uncomfortably. She is kneeling on her bare heels on the tatami floor. Through the open door a garden of white sand and small stones reflects the July sunshine. A soft breeze blows into the hall, causing fine strands of Lucy’s hair to waft around her face, and puckering her perfect skin with goosepimples. Her gaze is lowered to the floor, as he prefers. Lord Iwashita is manifested on a raised dais in front of her. He appears in the form of a black swirling cloud through which two red gems glitter malignantly. When he speaks his voice is a thunder that booms directly inside Lucy’s skull.

I AM PLEASED WITH YOUR SERVICE, GIRL.

Lucy fights back the urge to smile. She does *not* enjoy being a servant to him. She does not.

TONIGHT, I AM EXPECTING GUESTS. YOU WILL PROVIDE SERVICE AND ENTERTAINMENT.

“Huh?” Lucy’s head snaps up. She’s not sure she likes the sound of this. Lord Iwashita has been kind to Lucy in the weeks since her capture, but he has a sadistic streak, and a taste for carnal pleasures. Images flash inside her mind: Lucy Heartfilia craven with fear and desire; Lord Iwashita shifting his shape, flowing smoothly into the form of a dragon, a woman, a warrior, crackling and fizzing inside her, filling her completely, and coursing through her veins. The memory fills her with longing. Read more »

A mediaeval device for corporal punishment and public humiliation [mmmF][huml][nc][anal]

Okay, I guess I should tell you about me? Before my story, I mean? So.

My name is Cat. I’m 27, and I’m a history teacher at a high school in a small town. The best thing about being a young teacher is that you can form a real bond with your students: I’m only a decade older than my eldest pupils. The hardest thing is maintaining appropriate boundaries. The boys in my classes like to flirt with me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the attention. Though I hate to admit it, there is something incredibly sexy about standing in front of a class of horny teenagers, knowing that every male in the room is undressing you with their eyes, but that they daren’t make a move on you. I love that feeling: the feeling of being desired but untouchable, the tantalisation. I love knowing that they’re trying to see down my top, or up my slightly too-short skirt. I love the idea that I am the object of their fantasies, that it’s me they picture late at night when they jerk off. Read more »

She never did like Thursdays [tentacle][sci-fi][bad-end]

I wrote this for somebody who subsequently deleted their account, perhaps driven to despair by their own peculiar predilections. In any case, if tentacles are your thing, then it’s yours: I dedicate it to you.

———

2227-08-23T07:24:15.074Z

Somewhere in the outer reaches of NGC-4414, orbiting an average main sequence star, there is a small purple planet. Seen from space, the unnamed body is girdled with transparent dust rings like faint wisps of smoke. It hangs there in space, a tiny spot of colour in the darkness. As it slowly rotates, bands of darker purple writhe across the surface. They dance and whirl across the alien sky, boiling and bursting and billowing away like starlings in flight. As we watch, there is a blinding flash just three light-seconds from the surface of the planet. A gash opens up in the fabric of space and a sickly blue light pours out as though from an opened door. The edges of the gash quiver and palpitate queasily. Through the hole-in-space comes the nose of a small ship, a deep-space scout, just large enough for one passenger. As she emerges from the fargate, she decelerates, burning her engines backward to bring her under the gravitational influence of this nameless planet. Over the following hours she will burn her thrusters a total of 3 times, each burn lowering her orbit a little more until she is just skimming the surface of the seething purple atmosphere. Read more »

The Lonely Freak Delusion – [Ff][inc]

I can almost guarantee that every adult you know is operating under the same basic misunderstanding. Let’s call it the Lonely-Freak Delusion. All of them, your boss, your parents, your friends, share this delusion: they all think that *they* are uniquely, or at least unusually, messed up, while everyone else has got their shit together.

This conclusion is so obvious, so natural, that it takes concerted effort and training to overcome it. Everyone you know is fucked up, just as much as you, and yet they *all* think that everyone else has their ducks in a row.

Let me show you: here is the subway and here comes the train, kicking up little puffs of dust in its wake. The doors slide open and we glide silently into the carriage. It’s late on a Saturday afternoon and most of the seats are vacant. This is George. He is 37 and works in the building trade. He wants, more than anything, to share his wife of ten years with another man. Sometimes he thinks of particular men: his boss, his best friend, his father, but mostly the men are faceless. Just cocks with which to ravage and degrade Jenny, his wife and his best friend in the whole world. Read more »

Taming the minx [Mf]

Amanda was her name. I met her in some dive bar at the North end of town. Some friends of mine were playing in a band that night and I showed up to provide moral support. “The Scuzz”, they were called. It was their sort of place – sticky floors, dim lighting, barman with one eye right in the middle of his forehead, communicated only in grunts. I was out of place. I’d moved on from my punk phase aged 22 when I’d finally been able to afford some new jeans without holes in them. Still, I was stuck there for the night, so I drank, and I drank, and I hung gloomily around in the dirty corners and watched the kids bouncing around, doing the pogo like they’d invented it.

And then I saw her. I immediately thought she was trouble: tiny little skirt, fishnets, cherry DMs, plum lipstick to match her hair. She was pretty in a boyish way, I suppose, but that’s not what attracted me to her: it was the way she threw herself around the dancefloor. She crackled with a kind of nervous energy, like an over excited kitten. She wasn’t still for more than a second, darting and shimmering through the crowd. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, so when I saw her head for the bar, I followed. Read more »