Because life is shit enough at the moment, I decided to write some trash, cliche ridden flash “erotica” fiction. What I came up with was so dire that I’m pretty sure it could be the next 50 shades.
Selected highlights include:
She scanned her eyes over him with the blinding light of a Kodak Photocopier.
She came so hard her phone fell off the bedside table.
As he came into the room she let herself imagine him naked, apart from a pair of slinky mesh underpants. With a trunk for his cock and sticky-out ears. Like a big, horny elephant.
His underground dungeon was impressive, featuring whips, chains and implements of torture she’d could only marvel at. Only the cheap brown carpet spoilt the mood. It reminded her he rented his house. If she bled on it he’d lose his deposit.
“Come in me,” he whispered softly in her ear, his weight pressing down on her back. After a moment of confusion she replied, “I don’t think it works that way.”
The whip landed sharply on her bottom and for a moment she wanted to scream. Only the thought of waking the neighbours and having to listen to them drone on about their recent holiday to Bali stopped her.
I feel this is an instant classic. HOWEVER, as someone who shies away from fame and fortune, I have decided NOT to publish this epic masterpiece. That, and I don’t think you could handle Henry Cavil and Nefassa Williams in the film adaptation.
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