I’m so sorry.
This is only the second piece of erotica I’ve ever seriously (er…) written. The first has been seen by just one other pair of eyes, The Chap’s, when I was feeling stupidly brave one wine-fuelled night. He said he liked it, bless him.
I doubt he’d say the same about this. Inspired by, but in no way living up to, the works penned by #EuphOff founder Jane Gilbert, Oleander Plume, Tamsin Flowers, and Malin James, I actually think I might have been a bit too serious.
The rules are simple: write up to 500 words of euphemistic smut full of the worst sexual metaphors you can think of, press publish, and be damned.
Again. Really sorry.
A quick scene setter for you: Daniel and Cordelia’s walk on the beach has been rudely interrupted by a turn in the weather, and they’ve been forced to take shelter under the pier…
Daniel pushed Cordelia’s skirt up roughly, exposing buttocks toned by miles of walking along this very beach. His fingers were rough, like the wood on the boats further up the beach, like velvet rubbed against the nap.
He bowed his head, his lips surfing her belly, while his fingers plucked at her jumper, moving it up her beached body, revealing the rise and fall of her generous dunes and grasping them hungrily.
His mouth circled like a shark, drawing ever closer to Cordelia’s sheltered cove. She parted like a clam for him, briefly exposing her pearl, before his lips fixed around her nacreous folds, his tongue lapping at the shimmering juices in her shallows.
Suddenly, without warning, Daniel harpooned her with his tongue. Her sighs, like a warm breeze off the sea, caught in her throat, transformed into wanton cries that would put the seagulls circling above to shame.
She arched beneath him, the shape of her tortured body echoing the shape of the structure under which they were taking shelter. The pebbles dug into her shoulders and neck, but they were nothing compared to the storm building in her harbour. Waves of ecstasy crashed over her, leaving her drenched and breathless.
He held on to her tightly, fingers kneading her nipples, hard as crusted barnacles, mouth limpet-like, until the squall had passed. Then he rose from her depths, trailing briny kisses up her body before allowing her to taste her own salty tang on his tongue.
“You are like the finest oysters,” he told her. “An exquisite aphrodisiac of a woman. You must be savoured.”
He reared back, freeing his proud mast from its rigging. As he anchored himself deep in her ocean, he groaned like the timbers of a shipwreck…
One thousand more apologies. To see how it should be done, click on the coffee bean: