Erotica : Shine a Light – Masturbation Monday #148

Masturbation Monday is the weekly erotica writing meme hosted by Kayla Lords. From time to time, I like to play along. 

The prompt this week is Candlelight – based on an image by Marie Rebelle. Not only is it a gorgeous image, it’s also a prompt that’s perfect for erotica.

At midnight,

by candlelight and sound alone,

she walks up the creaking steps to her waiting bed.

It is where her lover

waits for her, the promise of his lust

pulsing in the suffocating summer night air

like a lifeline coming through.

At midnight, she walks up those stairs,

nothing guiding her but for one flame

and her endless nerve.

The house is silent,

the only noise coming from

a lonely bird outside, somewhere distantly hidden in the nighttime tenebrosity of the moors.

The house is silent, apart from the sound of her breaths,



quickening as she approaches her door.

He waits there, sat on her bed,

illuminated by one flame, one flame shining a light on the aching need

brewing between both of them, brewing all throughout the day until she spoke the words to him

meet me in my bedchamber at midnight

spoken softly into his ear, softly so mother and father and sisters and maids wouldn’t hear, this scandalously unladylike display of desires put on for his ears and his alone.

He stands to approach her, takes her hand and presses a kiss onto

the back of her hand. The candlelight shines a light, and she is once more taken aback

at the sheer perfection of him.

The candlelight shines a light

but after the string of hidden passions snaps, and clothes are stripped and flesh is bared

it’s only when the flame blows out that both of them

can truly see each other

for the first time

at last.


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Sound of Frustration – for Masturbation Monday

Masturbation Monday is the weekly erotic writing meme hosted by Kayla Lords. From time to time, I like to play along… (click the picture to see who else did). 


If her frustration were a sound, she imagined it to be far deeper than the usual grunt. A level just beyond the cliché, for when it really ran as skin deep as hers did that morning.

She lay on her bed, naked, with the morning sun painting reflections on her bare back. An already too-hot spring morning. A too quiet flat. A too empty space next to her. Next to her. On top of her, between her thighs, underneath her, in her… She groaned, thrusting her hips into the mattress to alleviate the pressure of lust growing in her core.

One hand snaked down, and she wriggled to accommodate it between her legs. She was wet because of course she was. As of late, wet seemed to be the basis state she operated in, no thanks to the mounting vividness of her dreams. Like little dirty movies, running through her head, all interweaving as one great network of sexually frustrated threads.

Damn it. She really did miss her.

They’d joked before she left, in that casual way that had become their signature style. Casual everything. Sex, chat, giggles, jokes. “You’re not going to miss me when I’m gone.” she said,  her eyes sparkling brightly. She could see her in front of her when she closed her own. That easy grin on her face. The curves of her body, the softness of her belly.

She ground her hips into her hand, letting out a moan as her fingers brushed her wanting clit. She did miss her. Goddamnit, every day that went by without her seemed to last longer and longer. Halfway around the world was the woman whose arms she’d grown so fond of, the ache of not being in them was overwhelming.

She rolled onto her back, letting her legs fall open and giving in to the pressure of missing her touch. Missing her taste. Her laugh. Her voice, the smoothness of her it like a burning whiskey.

Goddamn, girl. I do miss you. Come back soon and I’ll show you just how much.

If her frustration were a sound, she’d imagine it to be far deeper than the usual grunt. No grunt, after all, could communicate how frustrating it was to be falling in love with someone so far away.


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Not Complaining – Masturbation Monday


Welcome to Masturbation Monday – a meme created by erotica writer Kayla Lords as a way of getting your week off to a less crappy and more sexy start. The idea? Write about masturbation or anything else that gets you and your readers turned on. And because I made myself a promise to write more masturbation erotica, I’m now going to make it my mission to participate on the regular (or at least as much as I can).

The image above is the prompt for this week, and I turned it into this erotica short, called Not Complaining.

There is a languidness to her movements. But she’s fine with that. It’s the middle of the summer. The sun’s rays are hot to the point of overwhelm. Languidness tends to be the default mode for most things when the weather’s as merciless.

She isn’t complaining. On the contrary, she likes it when she takes her time.

They’re sitting against the wall of one of the stables, the only one providing enough shadow to cool down their flustered bodies. It was Michaela’s idea to strip off completely – again, Stevie isn’t complaining. She’s content wearing nothing but her hat, with her lover’s head resting on her shoulder and her hands wandering around her body.

It’s the early afternoon. Warmth at its highest, her brain at its foggiest. She yawns, trying and failing to keep track of the to do list reeling off in her mind. Michaela kisses Stevie’s shoulder, caressing her bare breasts.

“Turn your brain off.”

She takes one of her nipples between her fingers, gently rubbing it. Enough for Stevie to come out of her fog and into the feeling of Michaela’s touch. It takes her a while to realise she’s actually said something.

“What’s that?” she says, trying to repress another yawn.

Michaela chuckles. “Turn your brain off, Stevie.”

“What makes you think it’s on?”

“I know you. You’re sitting here, with me, but you’re cleaning out the stables and calling the repair man to check on the fence in the lower field in your mind.”

“It needs to be done.”

“Baby, it does not need to be done right now. And you’re certainly not gonna get it done through telekinesis. You might as well just give in for now. Relax. Enjoy.”

“Who says I’m not enjoying?”

“You’ll enjoy more when you stop thinking about next year’s sheep sheering season.”

She shifts, sliding her hand from Stevie’s breasts down to the thatch of dark, curly hair covering her mound. Stevie can’t keep her legs from falling open. But she’s not complaining. Instead, she’s moaning, relishing in the delicateness of Michaela’s touch. She hasn’t even gotten to her clit yet – instead, she’s taking her time, teasing her lips, getting her wet. She closes her eyes, letting her mind drift away from life on this vast, seemingly unending land. Away from daily tasks and waking up at 4 in the morning.

“You, Stevie Farrell, are a bad-ass. You are intelligent. You are gorgeous. You are one of the most capable, level-headed people I have ever met.”

She whispers love into her ears, continuing her teasing as she goes along. She grows needy for release, her mind diverted on the single track of Michaela Cannon’s fingers and words and warmth. But Michaela keeps teasing because she knows Stevie well enough by now to know that’s how she likes it. That’s how she shakes off the stresses of managing this farm, even for just a few hours – by easing herself into pleasure like it’s a warm bath at the end of the day. By being teased and tantalised to the point where she can’t bear anymore.

And she’s not complaining. The day is long, the weather is hot and her girlfriend’s touch is just the ticket to make her switch off from thinking about the later.

It’s the now that counts. And for now, she’s doing nothing but riding the waves of pleasure.


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F***ing Ridiculous – for Masturbation Monday

Based sort of on a scene in one of the few episodes of HBO’s Girls I’ve seen, in which the character of Marnie goes to an art party and gets to know an artist who states, point-blank, that they will have sex at some future point. Not then, but at some point…

By the time the bathroom door falls shut behind her, she’s a trembling wreck. A raw nerve of arousal, skin prickling with sweat and need. He’s a prick – a self-absorbed, artistically up himself prick who she wouldn’t have even given a first glance, let alone a second one had they not been introduced to each other by a friend of a friend about an hour earlier.

Or was it two hours? Five hours, five minutes, five seconds… prick as he might be, he’d made her into a babbling, spaced-out mess, switching out her perception of the passing time – and just about everything else that made sense on Earth – for nothing but the feeling of her aching clit and the wetness dampening the knickers that had done nothing but aided the friction in her jeans along.

“Well, this is fucking ridiculous,”  she thinks, her chest heaving with the inability to just catch her breath, catch her breath so she could go splash some water in her face or whatever, and rejoin this gallery launch looking at least partly normal.

But he’s in her head now. One dangerous step away from being in her veins, his voice echoes as she gives into instinct, undoing the buttons and flies of her jeans.

Fucking. Ridiculous.

Her fingers slip under the waistband of her messed-up knickers, down to her needing clit. She leans back against the locked door, silently moaning as the excrutiating ache of him and his way with words is washed away by immediate, hard waves of ecstasy. She frigs herself like she’s a teenager again, a walking and talking mass of libido with no patience for playing a masturbatory long-game. In her mind, she’s back in the dark of her old bedroom, under the cool and comforting softness of her sheets. She can almost taste how wanton the thrill of having discovered her pussy had felt, past just exploring and right into indulging as much as she could, whenever she could.

She’s 31 now, and not under the comfort of her old sheets. She’s in the women’s bathroom of a gallery, jerking off to the mere idea of this delicious fuckstick dickhead of a man and his way with words. Words that had made her think he, deep down underneath the swaggering bravado of an up-and-coming artist who’s doing the rounds at the launch of his first exhibit, he wasn’t such a fuckstick after all.


So. Bloody. Ridiculous.

As her hips bucked against her fingers and her body gave in to the mounting pleasure, the thoughts in her head fell still for a moment. In that wonderful way everything seemed to fall aside, leaving her deep in her body for the first time in however long.


But how could it have been when it felt so, so…

Not so?



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Erotica for Masturbation Monday – Relax

So, it’s been a while since I’ve done an erotica writing meme. I chanced upon Masturbation Monday through fellow erotica writer, Rebecca Black – who is awesome and you should totally check out. Masturbation Monday is run by Kayla Lords from A Sexual Being, and does pretty much what it says on the tin. Write a story about masturbation, or a story so hot that it makes people want to masturbate. There’s a visual prompt, if you should need one.

Sounds like my kind of challenge.

This will be cross-posted on my author blog later today, by the by.




It’s Saturday. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s Saturday and that I’m perfectly okay to ignore the alarm until I can be arsed to get out of bed. Saturday. Day off. Not on call. Nothing to do. No-one to rush out of bed for. No patients to see, no broken limbs to tend to. Just me. Peace, quiet, and me.

I roll over, wrapping myself tightly in the tangled sheets. I haven’t had a day to myself since what feels like the dawn of time. You’d think I’d have forgotten the concept of relaxation entirely in the process. This is awesome. This is bliss itself. I couldn’t wish for anything better.

And yet, as I am telling myself that I’m pretty darn lucky for managing to wrangle a day off, and that I should take this chance to do absolutely nothing for the next 24 hours, my hand somehow managed to find its way to my phone on my bedside table. No messages, no missed calls, no evidence that anybody would have ignored that I was off. I wasn’t needed today. I was okay to take time to myself. Today, a lie-in something of a distant fantasy. I can roll myself into a duvet-fajita and sleep until the afternoon.

Which is why the fact that I’m wide awake and antsy to go at 8.13 AM is particularly annoying me.

Ricky’s not off today. Ricky’s at work, doing things, saving lives or at least learning something about how to save a life. He’s at work, doctoring about. Not naked in bed, wrapped around me like a koala, hard-on firm and reassuring against the small of my back. His warmth is still new, still taking time to get used to, but already I know that when it’s not there, I’m a grumpy sod.

A grumpy, sexually frustrated sod. His warmth is still new, his body is still new, and we’re still new. Still in that phase where your mutual sticky, hot lust for each other is like oxygen. Where his cock is a revelation – the thing that’s been missing from your cunt all this time. Where his whispers in your ear in the throes of ecstasy are your soundtrack in quiet, bored moments.

Goddamnit, Anna, you’re so fucking hot…

I want to go back to sleep. Just for a bit. Just until I get the energy to do something productive.

I’ve been thinking about being inside you all day… oh Christ, you’re so wet…

Relax, Triplett. Just take deep breaths, close your eyes…

Spank me again. Please, spank me again. Feels so good…

My hand’s let go of my phone. Eyes closed, I loosen my grip on the sheets and wriggle my legs free. I let my Ricky-soundtrack play as a guidance, as I spread myself open.

Open your legs for me…

My fingers lazily dip between my labia, trailing slickness over my clit. Images play in my head like a film – images of kissing his neck, letting my fingers run through the curls dusting his chest, lowering my head down to the curls surrounding his cock.

Breathe. Relax… remember how to relax, Anna? Do you want me to remind you?

I need no reminding when he’s around. His hands, his fingers, his tongue, his mouth, his cock… that’s how I relax. That’s how he makes me relax.

With two fingers frigging away at my clit, building up the pace, I reach for the bedside drawer. I need something inside me, something to draw out the pleasure while my fingers play away with  my swollen nub.

Eh… so, I’ve got a little gift for you… hope you don’t mind?

The ELLA he got me as a present a couple of weeks ago is the first thing I can find in the drawer. I grab it, spreading my legs open further. The head feels cold at my entrance, but as I work it in – slowly, steadily, that’s it, good girl – I ease around it. One hand on the dildo, another on my clit. Watch my tension fade away. Watch me relax, my thoughts floating, my body turning liquid along with my cunt.

That’s it… good girl. Fuck, I adore you, Anna…

I’ve got nothing to do all day. No-one to worry about, no work to take care of. Just me.

The thought of it makes me grin, as my body hums with its rising climax. Just me, here in bed. Taking care of myself.

Over and over and over… just relaxing… Relax. Relax, Anna. You’ll be fine.




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