Skate : Wank Wednesday

It's Wank Wednesday again as hosted by Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. Here is how she explains it :

Welcome to week eleven of Wank Wednesday, your weekly festival of smut. 

With so many great writers of smut and erotica on Twitter and the web I thought it would be a nice idea to get a smutty blog carnival going. For writers or would be writers a weekly prompt will get you writing and as a reader well you’ll be able to get your fix of sexy stories all in one go.

To join in all you need to do is write a story with the weekly prompt as a title. This week’s prompt is #Skate. Then:

• Blog it – post it on your blog then come back here and add it to the link list.

• Tweet it – write it on twitter using the prompt hashtag and the #wankwednesday hashtag

• Add it – if you don’t want to blog or tweet it then please do add it as comment to my post

• WE it – if you are a member at Word Ejaculation you can submit with them too, just remember to link back to me here and to add your entry to the link list.

Please link back to this page in your post and please also do take the time to read and comment on the other contributors, we’ll all keep on writing but it is so much nicer to do so with feedback.

Thank you for writing and reading.

Skate

As he shot out into the centre of the Roll-Arena, the roar of the wheels of Alex's in-line skates were drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

It was Wednesday night and all around the world television audiences would be tuned in to RollerBonk. Around now the cameras would be zooming in on the banners that screamed Sex Is Violence.

Ever since Big Sister took power slogans were all the rage. Uniformity is Diversity. Obedience is Rebellion. Frustration is Fulfillment.

"Yeah," thought Alex bitterly, as he sped after the pink leotard-clad form of Samantha, "and A Pain in the Arse is a Throb of the Knob, I suppose!"

Alex was conflicted. As a sex offender (i.e. someone who had been caught masturbating) he knew that being allowed to compete in RollerBonk was better than languishing in jail. Competitors were the only members of society allowed to have sex. Procreation was achieved via artificial means. Citizens were rarely allowed to be alone and when they were they were monitored by video cameras. Big Sister was always watching. But he knew that he was being used as a tool of oppression and, as such, he was disgusted with himself.

"We'll do a spin twist trip at point 37 on the grid," Samantha had told him as they left the changing rooms. "I'll use a blood capsule and make it look like I've cracked my head on the boundary bar and been knocked unconscious. Then you flip me over, tear my leotard off as usual and take me from behind. It'll look more brutal that way," she added, with an almost imperceptible wink.

Samantha liked it doggy-style. She had to suppress signs of orgasm lest the audience realise that the rape was a sham, but Alex could feel her quiver, the wetness of her pussy and hear her quiet moans.

The message of RollerBonk was two-fold. Sex is a dangerously destructive force which needs to be repressed. And that men, when left to their own devices, are depraved brutes. As long as men and women were convinced of these things, Big Sister's dictatorship would be viewed as a source of comfort and protection in the face of threatening barbarism.

All around Alex the orchestrated mayhem was unfolding. A girl skated past him, her leotard hanging in rags to frame her bare bottom. A moustachioed man wearing only silver lame briefs was in hot pursuit. A blonde girl slammed into the barrier surrounding the arena, eliciting a united gasp from the crowd as a man rolled up behind her, bent down to tear out the crotch of her leotard with his teeth, pulled down his briefs to reveal a mighty erection and slid it roughly into her exposed pussy.

Alex had developed very warm feelings for Samantha. They couldn't converse, except to plan their act, but he spent much of his spare time dreaming that they were somewhere far away, frolicking in fields beneath the summer sun in a world in which they were free do make love as they pleased.

Suddenly a body slammed into his side. It was the man named Hugo, his eyes fixed on Samantha.

"She's mine, you cocksucker!" Alex yelled, swinging his fist at the man's chin. He missed by millimetres, slapping his thigh with his other hand to simulate flesh meeting flesh. Hugo bit down on his blood capsule and skated off wobbling erratically. The crowd let out a mighty cheer.

Alex's eyes alighted on Samantha, the movement of her body as she swayed from side to side with each sweep of her skates across the linoleum of the arena seemed to him the essence of everything true and glorious about the human animal. He knew that in her heart she loathed what they were doing as much as he. There was no doubt she enjoyed the sex. And he certainly did. But as he listened to the whooping and the catcalls from the crowd he knew they were creating something vile and ugly. The repression imposed by the regime had turned a natural desire for love and sexual pleasure into a kind of bloodlust not dissimilar to that which had once led to women being burned alive or stoned to death by those who lusted after them. The audience were forbidden from acting on their desires. They could only watch. But what they wanted to see was pain and degradation, and week by week their hunger for it increased.

Alex's feelings for Samantha were a defiance of this slide into monstrosity, but they were an invisible defiance. For the audience the show was real.

"No more!" he said to himself. If this went on he too would lose his humanity. "Better a human being in a cage, than a heartless thing in the arena."

He skated up behind Samantha, but instead of tripping her as they had agreed, he threw his arm around her waist and pulled her off into a graceful circling dancing across the arena. He looked into her eyes. What he saw there was abject terror.

"No!" she cried. This is what she was supposed to cry, but now she was not acting.

The crowd drew in a collective breath and waited to see what would happen. Normally the violence of the arena was quick and rough. If Alex was taking his time, perhaps he had some delicious new form of slow sadism to perform.

"You can't do this!" cried Samantha.

"I am doing this," he said with quiet forcefulness.

Tenderly he lay her back upon the linoleum. He ran his hand slowly down the side of her body. And then he leant forward and kissed her on the lips.

She was quaking in fear, and tears were streaming down her face.

"Pervert!!!!!" screamed someone from the crowd.

"It's O.K. They won't blame you," he assured her and he began gently fondling her breast through her leotard.

"It's you I'm worried about," she sobbed. "I love you so much."

"They may kill me," he replied, "but it would be worth it. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life."

"I-I-I couldn't live without you," she whimpered.

"We have to show them how it can be," he explained, pulling the straps of her leotard down over her shoulders and freeing her pale and perfect breasts with their pert pink nipples. He kissed them softly and then began to caress them lovingly with his wet tongue.

"I never knew it could be like this," she sighed.

"In our world, nobody remembers that it can be like this," he told her. "We are on a voyage into a whole new world." He pulled her leotard down over her belly and the auburn curls that decorated the pink slit which was now oozing creamy juice onto her spread thighs. He buried his face in the warmth of those thighs and began to slurp hungrily at the place from which a fiery orgasm soon radiated in waves throughout her defenceless body.

The ear-splitting scream of a siren tore through the night air.

"Attention ladies and gentleman!" came a crackling voice through a loud speaker. "We apologise for what you have just seen. Rest assured that punishment will be swift and painful for this shameful atrocity. At this time we feel that it is essential for us to turn to our compassionate leader Big Sister so that she can comfort us and put what we have seen into its proper context."

All of a sudden, on television sets all around the world, the image of the arena was replaced with that of a large women with her panties around her ankles and a huge vibrator burrowing away noisily in her vagina. Her unfocussed eyes were trying to look up inside her forehead, her tongue was hanging out and she was moaning softly. Then suddenly she looked straight at the viewers and said, "Oh, shit!"

"Errr, this is not the real Big Sister," she stammered, pulling down her skirt. "What you see on your screens is an impostor trying to bring me into disrepute." She paused. "So why is my voice coming out of her mouth, I hear you ask. A good question. A very good question. It's very astute of you to ask that question. And the answer to your astute question... that is the one about why my voice is coming out of this woman's mouth is..." Then she just stared blankly at them for what seemed an eternity, before saying, "Oh, fuck it! Do what you like!"

The End