Image: MAKY. OREL via Wikimedia Commons

There’s nothing quite like penning the first few lines of a new story. Realising a new character, allowing them to step out of your head and onto the page; setting a scene and creating a world for them to walk about in. In fact, I think I may have a slight addiction to beginnings because I’m particularly good at writing these as opposed to middles and ends! Looking in my Drafts folder, I’m greeted by a veritable wash of documents containing snippets of text – monuments to ideas that I absolutely had to get down before they disappeared into the black hole of lost thoughts and then, after typing those critical words, promptly did nothing with.

It’s not that I consciously abandon creative flashes, rather that I an idea strikes and nine times out of ten I’m working on something else that means I can’t give it my undivided attention. Inevitably, by the time I have the breathing room to explore it, the urgent creative outpouring I initially experienced has ebbed or I’ve forgotten that I had the idea in the first place. There have been quite a few occasions when I’ve gone to open a document up, seen a file I have no recollection of creating, opened it, and gone “Oh, yeah! Why didn’t I keep going with that?”

So, I need your help, my lovelies. Below, are snippets from three stories I started writing and failed to continue with. There is one that stands out more than the others to me but I thought it would be fun to see which introduction is most appealing to you.

Given the choice, which story should I continue to write? Which would you most like to read?

 

EXCERPT ONE: “CLEAN”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I shriek, spinning around as I do so. Almost slip on the wet, soapy tiles.

He’s standing right next to the glass door of the shower cubicle, completely naked, a grim look on his face.

Busted.

My face flames and I drop my guilty hands to my sides, the hot shower spray washing the last of the frothy suds from my belly and between my legs, sending them swirling down the drain.

There’s nothing I can say.

We both know that I’ve broken my promise.

I’d hardly say that I’m a neat freak. I’m not the sort of girl who folds up her clothes after wearing them, who makes her bed neatly every morning before skipping merrily off to work. No, more the kind who leaves the washing in the dryer for as long as possible rather than putting it away. Leaves flowers in vases until the blooms have long dried up, withered and crumbled into dust.

In fact, I’m not really tidy at all.

But when it comes to cleanliness? Well, you know that old mantra. It really is next to Godliness in my book. Especially when it comes to my body. I shower at least twice a day, every day – and always, always after sex.

The drip and trickle of rapidly cooling semen coating my pussy and legs?

The sticky smear of my own arousal?

The urge to wash both from me pounces within seconds of him pulling out.

I know it’s irrational. I do. And he hates that I’m so eager to wash the evidence of his possession off of me, his disappointment seeping into me like a cold, dismal damp. I think we both knew that my promise to try and accept the mess of our joinings was a hollow one but to have my lack of commitment to our agreement confirmed is worse than I imagined.

His gaze bores into mine.

 “Get out of the shower. Go and lie on the bed.”

 

EXCERPT TWO: “DOCTOR’S ORDERS” 

Your eyes are as wide as saucers; white moons eclipsed by little planets of deep green. “I … I’m sorry?”

Mortification perfumes your voice, makes it vibrate and shiver like smoke.

Oh, this is perfect.

You heard me. No question. But on this occasion I’m happy to repeat myself – not least because I want to see the look on your face when the words finally sink in.

“You’re going to be examined,” I say blandly, careful to mask my pleasure at your reaction.

“But …” Your eyes skitter across to the shiny metal table winking beneath the bright, hanging lights and then dart quickly away, as if the sight of it burns your retinas. Even as I watch, the skin over your collarbone turns a delicious shade of strawberry. “You know I don’t like being …” You trail off again, wavering from the path of speech.

I remain silent, delighting in your struggle to find the right words. To admit the truth.  And your fear. Bless. There really is nothing more beautiful, more intoxicating, than a sub who’s just realised she’s about to be eaten by the wolf. That he’s going to sink his teeth in.

“People will see me,” you finally blurt out, your gaze locked to the floor, seemingly absorbed in watching your left foot paint awkward patterns on the wooden floor.

“They’ll see your cunt, you mean.”

The blush climbs your neck and threatens to scorch your lovely, pale cheeks.

“I can’t do it,” you say, almost defiantly, although when you finally look up, your eyes silently plead with me for mercy. Mercy we both know I’m not going to show.

For a time I simply watch you, enjoy observing the war you’re waging with yourself play out across your face: your ingrained sense of modesty versus your need to submit. To me. I know what the outcome of the battle will be, of course – knew before the skirmish was even declared – but I have no doubt your humiliation will be far, far deeper if you agree to this without any form of coercion on my part. None of this “he gave me no choice” crap.

I want to fuck both your body and your head. Invade every recess of both and turn you inside out until you’re nothing but a ball of shame and need.

You’re going to hate me for it, without a doubt. But you’re going to adore me in equal measure.

It’s just the way it is.

 

EXCERPT THREE: “LOT”

The auctioneer’s gavel strikes like an axe against a neck.

“Sold, for five hundred pounds, to the gentleman in blue.” Polite applause. “Congratulations on your purchase, sir.”

Don’t look, I tell myself. Don’t look. But, inevitably, I find my eyes scanning the audience of smartly dressed men, trying to spot the buyer. It isn’t difficult; he’s tipping his head slightly in acknowledgement of his purchase, a smirk on his too perfect face.  Arrogant shit. I stare at him for a few moments but the sounds of a struggle pull my attention abruptly away.

It’s the red-headed woman he’s apparently just bought. She’s being led from the auction block, resisting like crazy, by a huge blonde man.

“Please. Not him. Please, not him!”

Her feet scrabble at the floor as she tries to pull backwards but her jailor pays her absolutely no attention, remains completely unperturbed. He just marches her relentlessly forwards until she stands, trembling, before the blue-shirted man who has paid for her.

The buyer doesn’t bother to get up, doesn’t touch her. Simply regards the naked woman in front of him with a detached expression. A faint smile plays about his lips, though, and it appears that he is pleased with his purchase.

A tug at my neck startles me and I jerk in fright before remembering the collar at my throat and the leash dangling from it like a thin, black snake. I turn and glare at the man holding the latter.

“Watch it,” I growl.

He chuckles slightly. “You’re next, darlin’.” Nods his head towards the stage and the auction block at its centre. 

 

Related posts: