Smut Marathon: The red underwear…

“Red”, I write “is the color of life. It’s blood, passion, rage.”
Mary Hogan, Pretty Face

As you may know, I have been participating in an erotic writing competition called Smut Marathon since January. It’s been an exciting and challenging process, and I am so proud of myself for reaching round 8. Voting is currently underway so do head over to the Smut Marathon page and vote for your favourite smutty story!

To encourage you to vote, I thought I’d share my entry for round 7 – a 800 word story inspired by this stunning photo by Molly.

The red underwear had been hanging on her washing line for three days now. Polly had no idea where it came from or who it belonged to, but it had been there for three days and she knew the neighbours had noticed.

Flapping in the wind like a flag, there was no way anyone could miss it. The red baby doll called to her, fluttering ominously in the corner of her vision or forcing its way into her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Polly was scared; it looked like a bright warning, and a temptation.

On the fourth morning, she’d had enough. It was just underwear and it didn’t belong outside her house, marking her out as some sort of harlot! Taking a fortifying deep breath that felt both ridiculous and entirely necessary, she tugged it off the line.

And immediately dropped it as the touch of the fabric overwhelmed her. Polly felt winded and dizzy at the intensity of what had flowed into her from that single touch. She thought she might faint, expect that it felt good. It felt really good! Deep inside her, something caught fire and the pleasure this ignited flickered hot against her skin. Except the sensation faded so quickly once the lingerie lay on the floor that Polly briefly wondered if she had imagined it. Embarrassed at how flushed she must now look, she bent over to pick it up again.

But as soon as the scrap of delicate red fabric was clutched in her hand, Polly again felt that same white hot pleasure burning inside. Holding on longer this time so she could at least get inside, away from the gaze of her neighbours, she was assailed with flashes of sights and sounds that felt like memories – but memories she’d never experienced before.

A deep voice asking ‘is this what you want?’ And her answer, ‘I want everything!’

Hands. So many hands all over her body. These false memories were so strong that Polly could feel the brush of their fingertips on her nipples, feel their pull through her hair. Hands gripping her arms and holding them up over her head. Different hands spreading her legs and teasing between, probing and caressing her depths and making her body arch with need.

The same voice whispering in her ear was so close and so intense that Polly turned instinctively towards it but she was still alone.

‘Tell me what you are.’

‘I’m a fuck toy for you to play with. To fuck and tease and use as you want.’

At these words, an unstoppable moan burst from Polly’s lips as she barrelled in through the door. Panting, she pressed back against the glass, her whole body shuddering as she slid to the floor. She had no idea how or why, but she was coming. Without thinking, she pushed her hand into her knickers and swiped through the thick wetness pooled there to find her clit. It was swollen and throbbing, and the slightest pressure from her fingers started another climax that flowed outwards down her limbs, crackling through her skin and flashing in front of her eyes.

The red baby doll was still crumpled in her hand but as she rocked with the most intense orgasm of her life, it slipped from her fingers and, instantly, the power behind her pleasure began to fade. She could feel it ebbing away to nothing, and soon it was only the sticky residue still coating her fingers that convinced her it had happened at all.

What on Earth had happened? Where had those fantasies come from, and why did they feel so real? She hadn’t just imagined those touches; she remembered them.

Standing up and moving to the mirror, Polly turned to look at the back of her arm. The chain of small bruises she’d found four days ago was still there. Where they fingerprints? Had those hands she’d imagined holding her so tightly really happened? Really marked her?

Why didn’t she remember? Why hadn’t she known?

Slowly, nervously, but completely unable to resist, Polly stripped off her clothes and pulled the red baby doll over her head, letting the silky fabric caress her skin as it slipped into place. It fitted beautifully, like it was made for her.

Standing in her hallway, wearing this beautiful lingerie, Polly felt intoxicated. That same intense pleasure washed through and around her, surrounding her in a rich perfume and tinting her vision to add golden glows to her whole world. Reality seemed to slowly drift away as she lost herself in the heady hedonistic possession.

‘Baby.’ The voice that had so bewitched her had returned. It came from her bedroom. ‘Baby, we’re waiting for you…’

Logo for Smut Marathon, showing a fountain pen nib writing on parchment

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