‘If you’re not gonna go all the way, why go at all?’
– Joe Namath

This last Smutathon 2018 post is a bit (a lot) of a cheat as, although these are new words never before published on this site, I didn’t write them today during our 12 hour writing challenge, but they are words I want to share and this post was ready to go before the 10pm cut off so I’m going to share it as my final story…

It is the story I’m most proud of from another smut-themed writing challenge that I’m taking part in – the Smut Marathon.

This competition involves assignments written around different prompts, which are then voted on by readers and a jury. It is organised by the wonderful Marie Rebel and has been a lot of fun!

The story that I’m sharing here is EA’s story for assignment four (write a story involving a sex toy) and my response in round five (write a story from the perspective of the toy in someone else’s story).

The next voting round opens tomorrow so keep an eye out for the next set of stories – they are no doubt going to be very impressive!

***

All That Remains, by Exhibit A

You’ll think me cruel, but even now I find it hot to recall just how uncomfortable you found the whole process at the time. “Goop – there’s goop on my cock,” you said, and I smiled in mock sympathy while I lathered on the rest of the moulding gel and tugged gently at your balls, silently praying you’d stay hard for just a few more minutes. Long enough for it to set.

No-one told me grief would feel this horny. Strong emotions breed strong emotions, I guess. Either way, I’m here now with your cold, hard, only-slightly-misshapen erection in my cunt, and it feels a hundred times better than any of the fancy silicone dildos gathering dust in my bedside drawer.

How much better? You remember the way I used to clench your dick each time you paused mid-stroke and just pressed it inside me? How your noises – stop, whoa, go easy, that’s too much – only made me do it even harder? Well I’m squeezing this fat fucking toy now for the same reason I squeezed you then: because I can’t stop.

I’m squatting on the spare room floor, in front of that big mirror your mum gave us, looking straight through myself. I’ve been here so long that my clit and knees are rubbed raw, and still my cunt aches for something solid. Meekly, mechanically, I comply.

Will I wear you out like this? Your weight feels glorious, but I worry, my love! Can that obnoxious girth survive the desperate way I’m grinding onto it? Each time I allow myself to come, the torrent of jizz you force out of me feels like white water on rock, smoothing it down till there’s nothing left.

And I hate that. I don’t want you to be gone.

But I really can’t stop.

Turn around, by me

Turn around. Just, please, turn around.

I’m here. Can’t you see me? Can’t you feel me? I’m here, behind you. If you look at me, this might be real. If you see me, I might become real.

Because I can see you, I can feel you. That dildo we made is not just my shape; it has held me here with you. Your desperate desire keeps drawing me back and I can’t ever leave while you fuck that effigy of me. I hope you never stop. I’m not ready to go.

It’s strange; most days I can only linger, shapeless. I want to hold you but my fingers slip through you without effect. Until your touch on that silicone cock gives me substance. As you stroke the toy and cover it with lube, I feel my own ephemeral cock hardening and regaining it’s strength. Your fingers on the surface, feeling every bump and vein, are translated into real tactile sensations on my own body. I feel heat where before there was nothing. Heat spreading under your hands until I am filled with it; I am filled with you.

Having no other source of contact, your touch feels even stronger now. When you push the dildo inside you, I can feel your cunt like I never could before. So often, the rest of you distracted me from this pure, deep touch but now that’s all I can feel of you. Soft and wet and all enveloping, each clench and squeeze shocks me. The pleasure flowing through my veins as your body slides over this version of me makes me feel so real and alive that I wish you would turn around. You might now see me watching you.

Fucking you was always when I felt most alive so I’m not surprised that it is sex that has kept me here with you. Watching you grind on that cock we made takes me back to the countless times you rode me with the same intensity, the same insatiable need, and it breaks my heart to see this desire now fuelled with grief.

As I watch your orgasm flood through you, I hope you find release. I hope you find peace, even for a moment. Because I am here, my heart. I am always here. And while you still need me and while you still fuck me, I will never leave. I can’t…

This is post #6 of a planned 6, woohoo, all (kind of) written during the 12 hour Smutathon writing challenge.

Follow the fun and read all the posts from the various fabulous writers by checking out #Smutathon2018 or #SmutForChoice!

My own posts from this and last year are collected in the Smutathon category, and you can find out what is happening in Smutathon this year by clicking on the image below…