Twitterotica Results

Feb 22, 11

It’s amazing the quality of erotic literature that can be produced in just ten tweets! That’s only 1400 characters to ignite our dirty minds, get us all heated and then leave us with a bang just before it’s all over. Yet that’s exactly what many of our entries managed to do. Oh, I’m left all tingly from the intensity of reading them!
It’s a pleasure to announce that the winner of the Make Smut Not Love twitterotica competition is @AislingWeaver. You’ll find other erotic gems at her blog. Today, I’ll have to leave you lusting for her story, which is coming soon in audio form to the free SonicErotica podcast.

Special Mentions go to @eroticnotebook, @screevergaff and @alokiangel for their creativity with filth.

Runners Up were @_Monocle_ and @DangerousSweets and here are their stories…

“Savory” by Monocle

She’d always left me hungry for more, always left me wanting. It took me a long time, too long, to realize she felt exactly the same thing. Just as I felt incomplete, so had she. I’d missed something, though neither of us knew what. Neither realized to ask or investigate.

We took our frustrations out on each other. Savage fucking that left us bruised and exhausted, but still missing.

In frustration, near anguish, and no small amount of anger, buried deep in her clutching, desperate cunt… I bit her. Hard, on the shoulder.

She screamed.

She came. Hard, like nothing I’d heard or felt before.

Wide eyed and panting, a manic smile on her face, she pulled me back to her and bit my neck.

She drew blood.

I detonated inside her.

Now, we know. How to sate each other. How to sup on each other. No more missing, no more wanting.

I don’t buy her flowers. Now, every fuck, every suck and lick bares the nick of teeth, a hissed breath that says ‘mine’ and ‘yours’, and ‘yes’.

Is this love?

Last night, she nipped her initials below my bellybutton before swallowing my cock to the root and sucking me dry.

This morning, I made a heart shape of teeth marks on her inner thigh, then licked her until she cried.

You tell me.

“Tangled” by Wyeth Bailey

I’m your “just friend” but I’m the one who gets the phone call when the driveway needs to be shoveled or the car battery dies. Apparently the mysterious mistress can fuck over the phone from 3,000 miles away, but she’s not much help around the house.

I let myself in with the spare key. I was warned, but my jaw drops when I see you naked, tangled in wet sheets, arms cuffed to the headboard. Our eyes meet, jerk away.

My phone rings. I spy the key on the carpet as I answer. “I’m doing it now,” I say to this bitch on the phone. She’s polite, but I still feel like her servant.

My fingers touch your wrist, the love I feel for you is murderous. I am dead. I am buried. Your smell is overwhelming. Your free hands go immediately to the red leather choker that circles your throat. I watch how it calms you. You still haven’t spoken to me. You aren’t even ashamed.

My hands move to my mouth, holding back the I love yous that mean nothing. I want to kiss you.

“What?!?” I shout into the phone, realizing boss lady has been giving me directives, but I wasn’t listening. Her voice is low and warm, like a death threat.

“Tell her to come now,” she purrs. Or growls. I drop the phone. You lunge for it, listen, arch and scream for her like a dying animal.”