Tag Archives: Fifty Shades of Lusty Lust

Lust – Post 2

Yes, folks, it’s time for another heaping helpin’ of lusty goodness.  Grab that coffee, put your feet up (the boss won’t mind) and lose yourself in these fine fictional fabrications.

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First up, from Audrey from Dangerously Daydreaming:

Supply and Demand

 It’s all about supply and demand.  So here’s to another day in hell.  Imagine waking up in a drugged stupor every day.  Never knowing exactly where you are.  And forget crying out for help.  The weak don’t survive here, but neither do the strong.  This is my life now.  And it started so innocently.

I needed a job, desperately.  Since the downturn of the economy I hadn’t been able to find steady work.  Then I saw it, an ad for a tour guide program.  It was everything I dreamed of and hoped for.  They were looking for young women who wanted to travel the world, work with people, make great money doing it, and would be willing to learn foreign languages.  I was in.

When I went in for the interview I knew something was wrong.  Intuition, premonition, whatever you want to call it.  The interviewer was smarmy with his oiled hair, reaking of cologne, and sitting too arrogantly in his Italian-made suit.  He told me to sit down, asked about my family, my past, nothing about my job history.  A few minutes later some thugs ran up and threw a bag over my head until I passed out.

That how I got here, but that’s not the worst part.  The awful truth is why I’m here, drugged into oblivion, locked up like an animal.

The “customers” come at night.  The pay up, use us, abuse us, and walk away.  I’m part of a multi-billion dollar industry that profits off of using my body to satisfy someone else’s carnal urges.  Supply and demand.  The people who keep me here are no worse than the people who pay to use me.

I’m a slave and I’m waiting for death to bring me freedom.

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From Isadora at insidethemindofisadora: (Click here to view and comment on Izzy’s blog)

“Ruby”

Her name was Ruby. She loathed it. The color a deep red; deep as the wounds she carried with her. She was tired of being told it was a strong color. The only thing she felt strongly about was her anger and resentment for her mother. A prostitute who wore red because the men she accompanied prized the color. Was this a joke she was playing on her? Ruby means nothing to me. It’s blood color; a sign of death. A death, I would take pleasure in.

The doorbell rings.

Flowers from my Tom arrive.

Oh no, red roses.

He’s sent dozens of them. Angrily, I grab for the attached card.

It reads –

“Ruby, my delicate red rose. Scatter these petals towards and upon your golden bed.  I want nothing more than to smell the fragrance of you lying upon them. Your white satin gown against the red roses will captivate my eyes with a glow that will leave me blind with shameless immoral want. I will devour every tiny part of your skin. There, you will tremble, as I approach to bring you to heights that only I can bring you to. Ravenous for your body, I will gently show you my heated desires. Quivering, you will beg for more. I will never let you long for more. It will be a night you will want to remember forever but, perhaps, will have no more”.

A glow covered Ruby’s body. She felt something for Tom. It was so hard for her to give into her feelings. Men were users. They had evil and salacious needs. Her Mother showed her that. All of those men had been eyeing her since she was young. They all made her feel like a piece of meat. Her Mother was their prize catch, not her. She hated them; she hated them all.

But, now, here was Tom. Yes, he was 15 years her senior. She liked the idea of his greying temples. She didn’t mind when he showed her his fatherly caring ways. They had not been intimate yet. She had wondered why. Then, she put it out of her head. After all, wasn’t that what she had wanted; a man who would respect her. But – tonight seems different. His instruction for the red roses was very specific. The notecard with the flowers was very erotic. It felt lurid and scandalous all at once. Tom – my quiet and gentle Tom – was making lustful commentaries. It felt odd; yet, flattering. Ruby felt sensual but distressed.

I have to relax.

A bath – yes – a bath.  She thought.

It will help me relax.

Ruby grabbed her glass of white wine and drew a foam-covered bubble bath for herself. As she soaked, she melted into the hot water. Her thoughts went to the evening ahead. Her body quivered as she thought of his intense longing. Ruby was starting to feel an unbridled sexual desire.

Toweling dry, she could feel her skin glow with coveting abandon. Her satin white gown against her skin felt luxurious. As she lied upon the red roses she let herself feel free.

In her dreamy smolder, she felt Tom lie upon her.

How did he get in? She thought.

His lips offered amnesia. She let herself feel him ravage her. She was free.

In the radiance of their burning longing; they lay. Ruby was floating with feelings she never thought she would have had.

Then, she felt a sharp knife in her heart. She opened her eyes and there he stood with the bloodied knife above her.

Oh, Tom.

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And from Peg at Peg-o-Leg.

There’s No Accounting For Lust

Kat wiped her sweating palms on her skirt and gripped the steering wheel, hard. She drove the car mindlessly, thoughts turned to the coming meeting.  It had been a week since she’d seen him.

Her body flooded with sensation, arousal fighting with guilt.  She should not be doing this. Her husband, Eric, was perfect by anyone’s standards.  Successful, affectionate and as handsome as she was beautiful.

She wasn’t bragging; her beauty was a physical fact, like being left-handed.  The handsome prince and the beautiful princess married and lived happily ever after.  Or at least 13 years worth of ever after.  Then, six months ago she had met him.  Her lover.

Eric thought she had yoga class on Friday afternoons.  But after she dropped her son Jason’s duffel bag at school, she would rush to meet the man who now filled most of her dreams.

Her main regret was that Jason would be hurt when they killed his father.

They were lying in one another’s arms, passion spent when he first suggested it.  “Katarina.” He began, idly stroking her back. Everyone called her Kat but him. He always used her full name, growled in a way that made her melt.

“I cannot share you with him.” Her lover continued, “We must do something.”

She had been shocked at first, but such was his hold over her that the idea had taken root and now seemed inevitable. Nobody made her feel like he did.  Eric must die so they could be together.

Kat pulled into the school parking lot.  Classes were over for the day and just a few cars remained as the staff wrapped up.

She walked briskly to Jason’s locker, duffel bag in hand.  It had been her idea to drop it off so he wouldn’t have to lug both bag and backpack on the bus on Fridays.

As she approached the front door the principal, Mr. Janowicz, came out of his office. He smiled at her approach and said “Good afternoon, Mrs. Henderson.”  His deep voice had a faint Polish accent and his slight bow was a courtly gesture from another era. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I brought Jason’s bag to him.” she explained, gesturing to the backpack in her hand. “It’s his usual Friday night sleepover at Aaron’s after basketball practice.”

“Ah.” Mr. Janowicz smiled.

A teacher walked by them on her way to the front door. “Goodnight Miss Cuthbert.” the principal said and Kat took the opportunity to study him surreptitiously.

He was a slight man, slender and only about an inch taller than she.  His sandy colored hair was already starting to recede.  He was altogether ordinary looking, unless one took the time to look past the thick glasses.  His bright blue eyes were keenly intelligent.

“May I trouble you for a moment, Mrs. Henderson?  There is a matter I wish to discuss.”  The principal gestured toward the open door to his office.  Kat smiled her acceptance and preceded him into the room.  Her glance took in the decor with its guest chairs, long couch and wide windows, now shaded against the afternoon sun.

She stood before his desk and heard the door close behind her, then the soft snick of the lock being turned.  She tensed at the sound, sensing Mr. Janowicz approaching behind her. She did not turn around.

It seemed ages but it was mere seconds. She felt more than heard his low growl on the back of her neck. “Katarina.”

A faint quiver ran along her spine and her head fell back, heavy on his shoulder.

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Whew, is it hot in here, or am I Fifty Shades of Menopausal?

If you haven’t submitted your entry – please do.  We all love reading them – and you might just win this round…

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Lust – Post 1

All right, put the kids to bed (I don’t care if they just got up – it’s my blog and I get to make the rules).  Here is the first installment of submissions for the Lust Round of the Seven Deadly Sins Contest.  Enjoy.

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First, from Dave at 1pointperspective: (Visit here to see Dave’s illustration) and leave comments:

Crystal Light and the Look of Lust

Crystal was around 14 when she first noticed men giving her what she called “the look”.  Before she reached 16, she fully understood that the look was one of sexual desire.  By 32, it was a simple fact of life.

While giving her order at the deli counter in the Shoprite, the guy in the apron and paper hat would glaze over, no longer hearing her.  He was stripping her naked and doing freaky things to her in his deli-guy mind.  Crystal would smile at him, lean over the counter a little, and end up with a pound of imported soprasetta for the price of baloney.

One man hadn’t given her the look in years.  They say marriage does that.  She didn’t know whether it was the years or the fact that Mr. Light had doubled in size since their wedding.  Everyone, including Crystal, called him Mr. Light, out of respect and fear.

She’d gone to see a private eye to help her discover if Mister was off his diet, but wasn’t in his office two minutes when the guy started giving her the look.  She re-crossed her legs and tried to ice him back to reality.  She hoped he’d returned from his porno mind-vacation as she handed him the cash.  Now the detective wouldn’t even return her calls.

Crystal changed her strategy and tried to get a young guy named Nicky from the pool to hang out with Mr. Light.  Maybe a guy who could see his own feet without mirrors would snap her husband out of the habit of stuffing his face.  She was talking with him to see if he’d pal around with Mr. Light when Nicky got the look.  She knew his brain was busy pulling off her bathing suit, touching her in  places which the sun hadn’t browned.  He wasn’t listening anymore. How many guys today?  She broke it down as simply as she could for him.

“Could you just take him out?” she finally asked.

Nicky looked stunned.  She thought she’d gotten through.  Satisfied she’d made her point, Crystal got up from the chaise lounge and walked to the snack bar to find Mister.  She could feel Nicky’s eyes on her.  She swayed her caboose a little to thank him for finally paying attention.

Mr. Light had just finished talking to that creepy pool manager with the missing thumb.  The amputee looked a little pale as he shuffled past Crystal like a zombie.  She gave silent thanks to the patron saint of pervs, as the troll didn’t try to sneak a glimpse down the front of her bathing suit like he usually did.  Mister was giving her a look, but not the look the other men did.  Not a good one.

That all was two weeks ago and nothing had changed, except her bruises fading slowly toward yellow.

She went down the driveway to pick up the newspaper, and saw a gun under the bushes.  She wondered if it was time to find a safer home as she picked it up and quickly wrapped it in the Inquirer.  She glanced around the still street before heading inside.

Mr. Light was asleep, making those choking sounds like he did.  A smile crept across Crystal’s full lips at the thought of him choking.  As she glanced down at the bruises on her arm, her eyes traveled further to the newspaper with the pistol inside.  She touched the cool metal, wondering if the police could miss her bruises.  She thought about a horny cop giving her the look and what he might do to help her get away with something.

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From K.L Richardson over at Closing Time: (Visit here to see her post) or to leave comments

Lust For Life…

“I’ve looked on many women with lust. I’ve committed adultery in my heart many times. God knows I will do this and forgives me.”~~ Jimmy Carter

It was supposed to be a once in a lifetime trip – Paris, the city of love!  Elaine would never have a chance like this again; a discounted trip courtesy of the senior class.  She and her husband Henry, were going as extra chaperones; Elaine was beyond giddy.  She always had an expressive, romantic soul- perfect foil (she thought) to Henrys more staid demeanor.  While he was not given to displays of affection Elaine thought Paris might change his mind and put a little spunk in him.  One could always hope!

Just a week before they were to leave he started acting funny.  Not thinking much of it Elaine blithely went about packing and arranging what needed to be done.  Then she got “that call” informing her that there was someone else in her husbands life and it wasn’t his golden retriever.  However, the trip was paid for-no refunds, so on they went.  Obviously a volatile situation, Elaine tried to make the best of it.

The flight over was uneventful if a bit tense.  On the surface Elaine looked calm but her mind was boiling with the years of deceit that had come to the surface at this inopportune time. Her romantic  side warred with her scorned, hurt side making her quiet and morose.  Being a school tour nearly everything was arranged in groups, check in at the hotel, trip to the Louvre, “typical” French restaurant.  All orderly and scheduled with no room for error.

“This isn’t the way to see Paris,” she thought, “I should be on the back of a motorcycle, zipping through traffic, arms around the waist of a hot hunk.”  She intended that to be her husband until plans changed.

One day they got a “free day” to explore as they wanted.  Being motorcycle enthusiasts they and another couple went to the Paris Harley Davidson. The strain must have showed on her face because as the others were browsing the clerk approached Elaine, making pleasant small talk.  She wasn’t used to the accent but she tried to keep up with the conversation.  Suddenly she thought she heard him say “Would you like me to arrange that for you?”.  ”I’m sorry, what did you say?”  ”Mademoiselle, does she like zee French boys?”  ”B-b-but you do see that I’m here with my husband?”, she finally managed to stammer out. “Zoot alors! What does that have to do with Paris and fun?!”, was his pragmatic reply.  Joining the others she returned to the hotel.  Elaine sadly reflected on the irony of the proposition presented earlier in the day.

In the middle of the night she realized that Henry was no longer in bed. Dressing quickly she hurried downstairs to find him whispering sweet nothings into a lobby phone, apologizing for not bringing “her”.  Quietly slipping back to their room Elaine started packing her bags; they were to board the plane tomorrow.

Early next morning as everyone stood groggily in line for the airport bus Henry’s eyes searched for Elaine.  ”She has to be here.”, he mused since she had already packed, leaving the room before he was awake.  Unable to find her they checked the American embassy to no avail.  Henry returned home.

That afternoon, zipping through the cobbled streets, a smiling blonde perched behind a lusty Frenchman.  Her arms encircled his waist as she surveyed her future.

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And from Lorna – from over at Lorna’s Voice (Visit here to see Lorna’s Lush Lust post) :

I Want You, I Need You, I Love You

The occasional static and crackles caused by obsessive listening was no match for Elvis’ satin voice. She played the record again, swaying her shapely hips to the music and mouthing the words as she watched herself in her full-length mirror. She knew the words as well as she knew her reflection. Both felt as hollow as a grave before the casket was lowered into it.

Hold me close, hold me tight.
Make me thrill with delight.
Let me know where I stand from the start.
I want you, I need you, I love you
With all my heart.

How many times had men fantasized about her while listening to this song?

She made a career out of making men want the seductive woman they saw when she put on her mask. And she was the best in the business. Desire is what she sold and men bought it up with reckless abandon—men who never knew her, only her act. Nameless men offered her just about anything she wanted from them in exchange for a chance at devouring her body. All she wanted was their undying love and an unbreakable promise never to leave her alone. But they weren’t able to offer her those things, even in for a chance to fondle her breasts and feel her shapely legs wrapped around their torsos.

Ev’ry time that you’re near
All my cares disappear.
Darling, you’re all that I’m living for.
I want you, I need you, I love you
More and more.

“I want you, I need you, I love you.” Elvis crooned. She felt that way about a man once. He was really just a boy and it was so long ago that it hardly counted as this lifetime. But she ached for him with something inside so strong that she knew she would love that man to death…or she would die trying.

I thought I could live without romance
Before you came to me.
But now I know that
I will go on loving you eternally.

But he didn’t give her the chance to give her life to him. He up and left while she was still young and innocent. So she made herself into a woman no other man would ever up and leave. Not and live to tell about it.

Won’t you please be my own?
Never leave me alone
‘Cause I die ev’ry time we’re apart.
I want you, I need you, I love you
With all my heart.

“Yes, Elvis. I know how that feels,” she said to her reflection, which was the most real thing about her anymore. “But no matter how much you beg and plead, they always leave you alone, don’t they? It’s best to leave before you get there, don’t you think?”

She zipped up her dress and adjusted her ample breasts to make sure the cleavage looked just risqué enough for the crowd she wanted, needed, loved to please.

The doorbell rang. She appraised her reflection from glamorous head to spike-heeled toe. Blowing herself a kiss over her shoulder, she grabbed her purse and headed toward the door.

On the dressing table were two empty champagne bottles and one glass smothered in lipstick kisses.

Elvis was silent now. The needle on the stereo was stuck, so she exited to the faint sound of kerrrr…chrrr…kerrrr…chrrr…kerrrr.

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