Welcome to week twelve 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 #Default. 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.Default
“Shit!” exclaimed Nigel. “It seems to be irretrievably fucked up.”
He was playing a game of Actual Earth. It wasn’t going well. He’d been playing now for 4.54 billion years. The avatars - who called themselves “human beings” - were not playing well together. Many of them were excelling at accumulating powers, but then they would squander them by fighting with each other or misdirecting resources from where they could be used most effectively by the system to places where they did no good at all, mostly within their own vicinity.
He’d tried lots of different approaches. He’d tried the non-interventionist approach and he’d tried laying down the law with appropriate carrot vs. the stick promises and threats. But, though he had the advantage of being able to watch how the whole game was playing out, he didn’t know how to win it. The “human beings” were better at asking him for things and saying they were sorry when things went wrong than they were at actually taking advice. This was true. But he couldn’t blame the state of the game on them. After all he’d created them.
He was glad that some of them had given up believing that he existed. It’s a lot of pressure when people start calling you “God” (he’d never tried to tell them that his name was actually Nigel) and think you can magically sort out all of their problems for them. Within the game, the ones who had stopped believing in him were behaving just as unhelpfully as the rest, but, they were leaving him alone to concentrate on where to set off the next population-controlling natural disaster, and that he appreciated.
He was beginning to wonder if he could blame his lack of success on a system malfunction. He thought he’d message his friend Cedric and compare notes.
“How’s your planet going?” he asked.
“Quite well,” Cedric told him. “I’ve reached the level of Utopia Second Class.”
“Fuck!” cried Nigel. “How do you do it. My planet’s a mess and it just seems to be getting worse. I’m wondering if it is a fault in the program.”
“What platform are you using,” asked Cedric.
“Portholes,” said Nigel wearily.
“That could be your problem,” theorised Cedric. “I’ve always been a Banana man myself.”
The Portholes platform had been invented by a geeky looking octopod from Alpha Centauri. He was a genius. Everyone agreed on that point. But when you called tech support, it wasn’t him you spoke to. It was someone from out the other side of the Horseshoe Nebula who couldn’t do much more than suggest you turn your system off at the power point and then turn it back on again.
As Nigel looked down sadly at the tiny creatures scurrying across the face of the Earth he realised that there was another course of action open to him, but the very thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach. There had to be some other way. There had to be a solution to his problem that didn’t involve reading the instruction manual.
Brad Stone was one of those tiny creatures, though, at six foot two inches tall, he was not as tiny as most. He was a man who felt about his own life, much the same way Nigel felt about the world. That it was profoundly fucked.
"How can you do this to us?" asked the old man tearfully, as Brad handed him the paperwork and held the door of what had, up until two minutes ago, been the man's legal domicile open so that his assistant Meredith Grouse could enter and begin orchestrating the removal of all of the furniture.
"If you don't keep up your payments, you default on your mortgage," Brad explained, giving the man and his traumatised wife his warmest and most sympathetic smile.
Brad hated his job with a passion. He thought it was perhaps the worst job in the world. Very far from that of bank manager which had been his highest ambition. The only way he was able to sleep at night, after spending every day turning families out onto the street, was to remind himself that, if he didn't do this job, someone else would, and, maybe they wouldn't bring to the job his own sympathetic touch. He was sure that his warm and friendly personality made it easier for people to take the bad news. What never occurred to him was that the slightly goofy smile that was so endearing at parties carried a very different message when he was at work. A smile on the face of someone who is throwing you and your family out of your home is generally interpreted not as warm friendliness, but as heartless sadism.
Brad's home life was similarly bleak. His wife was a nag and his kids were brats. He was sure it was his fault. Lacking the will to stand up for himself, his only way of getting back at his wife for her nagging was to do as little as possible for her and that badly, and so she nagged him more. The kids, being good judges of character, had no respect for either of them, and had reverted to nature's perennial fallback strategy - unrestrained barbarism.
The one bright spot in his life was getting to spend his working day with Meredith. She was a very pretty brunette with a warm personality and a cheeky sense of humour. It was true that he suspected her bright and sunny disposition was evidence of some form of low level retardation. How else to explain that she seemed untroubled by the decline of western civilization, but practically had an orgasm over a new handbag, photos of a celebrity wedding or the chance to play with a new born puppy. But her enthusiasm for life rubbed off on him, and, when he was with her, nothing else seemed to matter.
Meredith felt similarly about working with Brad. He never realised that a good deal of her bright disposition at such times was because of his company. Her home life wasn't bad, but she was bored. Gareth, her husband of three years, was very good looking, and he was never unkind to her. But, when they were courting he had found many imaginative and exciting ways to show his love for her. Now she felt as if she was a task achieved, and he had turned his attention to climbing the corporate ladder. She tried to talk to him about all the things which excited her, and he smiled indulgently, but she could see that he thought of such things as the stuff of a childhood left far behind.
"We have nowhere to go," said the old woman. "What will we do when the sun goes down and it gets cold?"
"Have you ever read Eckart Tolle?" asked Brad with a smile. "Unleash the power of the now! Don't spoil it by worrying about the future. You never know if there will be a future. Live for now."
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do now," the old man informed him. "I'm going to kick you in the nuts!" And he did so.
But sometimes prophetic words can come even out of the mouths of fools. The old couple didn't need to worry about accommodation, because, in fact, there would be no future. Not this time around anyway.
"I don't like to admit defeat," said Nigel, "but I'm afraid I'm just going to have to restore the default settings and start again."
But before he did that he had a bright idea. He backed up a couple of the avatars to his flash drive.
"Maybe if I introduce a couple of individuals at an earlier part of the game who know just how badly it can turn out, they'll make better choices," he told himself. It was a long shot, but what did he have to lose.
Brad felt funny, and he didn't think it was just from the kick in the balls. Everything around him had become insubstantial and was wobbling like bad reception on an old television set.
"I don't feel real," Meredith pointed out, as she stood in front of him. But from his perspective she seemed to be the only thing which was real. Buildings were coming down like packs of cards and people were falling to the ground and disintegrating into dust.
Then an incredible languor came over Brad and he slipped gently to the ground as darkness swept over him.
When he came to he was lying naked under a Baobab Tree somewhere in Africa. A parcel of warthogs trotted past on their way to the local water hole.
"Oh, my!" cried Meredith. "I haven't got any clothes on!"
Brad turned around to see Meredith standing next to him with one hand over her breasts and the other over her pubic region.
"No you don't," agreed Brad, a broad leering smile spreading across his features as his cock stiffened.
"I'm not sure I like it," whimpered Meredith.
"I do," Brad told her. "I think it suits you."
"Yes, I can tell you like it, you dirty pig," she complained, although her lips were trying to twitch into a smile in spite of her protest of disapproval. "The least you could do is to cover up your sign of appreciation."
"I've got nothing to be ashamed of," he pointed out (and, indeed, he was pointing quite far out), as he stood up and walked towards her. "I don't know how we got here, but, in the absence of any clothing shops, I think we are going to have to get used to being nudists. Just try to think of it in terms of nude being the new black."
"Does my bum look big in nothing at all?" she asked, entering into the spirit of the game by turning around and wagging her beautifully round and fleshy bottom cheeks in his general direction.
"I think I'm inside of some kind of wet dream, and I hope I never wake up," he sighed, as he turned her around and hugged her to him, letting his hands slip down to fondle her warm soft buttocks.
"You know we are being very very naughty," she whispered in his ear. "We're both married."
"Not any more," he pointed out. "You remember what happened. I have a feeling our spouses are either dead or they haven't been born yet. I'm not sure which, and to tell you the truth, I don't care."
"Neither do I," she admitted.
"I've always wanted you," Brad confessed. "You were the only thing in my life that wasn't shit."
"Well," she said. "Now you've got me and nothing else."
"Perfect," he smiled.
 |
| Vesper from Girls Out West |
"It does feel awfully rude just standing out here in the open with no clothes on," she told him. "Not to mention seeing my co-worker's willy standing up all stiff and dribbly like that. Stop poking me in the belly with it."
"Maybe I should poke you somewhere else with it," he chuckled evilly.
"You're a dirty, nasty man!" she scolded him as she gave his stiff cock a playful slap. "And I'm fast becoming a dirty, filthy girl as I think about what comes next."
"There's no one around but us dirtbags," he pointed out. "So we can do what we like. Let's see if we can shock the warthogs!"
"No society. No rules. Nobody to judge us," she sighed.
"That's right," he agreed. "We're free."
"Does that mean I can be a total slut if I want to be?" she giggled.
"Is slutdom possible with only one slutee?" he queried.
"Well, I'm sure as fuck going to give it a go," she squealed, pushing him down into the soft grass under the Baobab Tree and starting to lick his balls.
"Now I know I'm in Heaven," he moaned.
"Ever watch David Attenborough?" she asked. "Well here is the rare East African Cock Gobbler going about its daily business in the shade of a Bust-A-Nut Tree." And then she slipped her soft warm lips over the head of his cock and drooled saliva all down its length, using it as lubricant to slide her right hand up and down his prick as she flickered her tongue over the head.
"I would have never expected you to be such an expert cock sucker," he murmured ecstatically.
"I haven't actually had much practice," she explained, pulling her mouth up from off of his cock. "Gareth wasn't much of one to practice on. Always too busy for anything other than a quick in and out. But my cousin ran a sex shop, so I used to study all the pornos when I went to visit her."
"Study?" he queried. "Purely academic?"
"O.K. I whacked off to them too, if you must know!" she exclaimed, sticking out her tongue.
"Enough talking, more gobbling," he insisted, pushing her head back down.
Soon he felt the waves of pleasure shoot through his belly as his balls tightened and spurted a fountain of hot cum into Meredith's hungry mouth.
"Am I a slut now?" she asked, deliberately allowing the jism to dribble out of her mouth and down her chin.
"You're laying back there with your cunt exposed, a mouth full of cock juice, your boobs jiggling provocatively and your big fat arse getting all covered in dirt. Of course you're a slut," he told her.
"My big fat arse!" she cried, eye's blazing. "You take that back!"
"I'll take your big fat arse anyway you care to offer it," he chuckled. "And I want the job of washing the dirt off of it. Not to mention spanking the circulation back into it when it goes to sleep from sitting on the ground."
"It'll look plenty fat when I'm sitting on your face, I'll tell you that much!" she exclaimed heatedly.
"Promises! Promises!" he chuckled. "Now it's time for Sheena the Jungle Slut to lay back and let the Bushman lick her bush until she cums."
"I don't know," she said, looking suddenly serious. "I've never cum before, except from wanking. Gareth tried going down on me a couple of times, but he gave up. He said it took too long."
"We have nothing but time," pointed out Brad. "The Iron Age won't be along for at least another thousand years. There's really nothing to do to pass the time but fucking and sucking and cunt licking. Unless you'd rather throw stones at the wart hogs."
"You wouldn't hurt the poor widdle wart hogs?" she cooed. "It's a sacrifice, but if I must I will selflessly sacrifice up my cunt to be licked to save God's noble creatures from mean-spirited molestation."
And so she lay back in the grass with her legs spread wide while Brad buried his nose in her curly pubes and licked and sucked on her stiff clit. Meanwhile he reached up and rolled her stiff pink nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
"What would your slut self do back in the old world if you could get away with anything?" he asked. And so, as he licked and sucked and finger-tweaked, Meredith elaborated all sorts of outrageous fantasies about sneaking into movie star's houses to molest them or getting gang banged by her favourite rock bands. By the time she was explaining her plans for the world's biggest outdoor masturbation festival called Wankstock, she was quivering and quaking and squirting her juices into Brad's mouth.
"You did it!" she cried.
"No," he insisted. "You did it. Now lets have a nap here in the shade. There'll be plenty of time when we wake up to gather some nuts and berries for dinner. And when night falls, if it is cold, we'll light a fire."
"We're going to be all right, aren't we?" Meredith smiled, cuddling up to him.
Nigel looked down at them and hoped she was right. So far they were doing fine. But this was the beginning, and the beginning was always good.
