Story writing contest

Story writing contest (Full Version)

All Forums >> [Casual Banter] >> Polls and Other Random Stupidity

Message

Termyn8or -> Story writing contest (7/27/2008 9:33:05 PM)
Here's an idea. We collectively write a story. I will start, please try to adhere to the story line, but once there you take it where you want. I am thinking up the guidelines right now. First, when commenting and not actually contributing to the story, please do it in italics. That is one surefire way we can know what is story and what is discussion, and with this crowd there will most likely be some discussion. Now for this to work, we have to be minful of the timeline. I learned that the hard way in a book I wrote. I got people 200 years old in it ! But story writing is sometimes an ambition of the literate. So I am going to kick it off and let's see where it goes. And I know I am one of the most longwinded people here,but I urge everyone not to hog the story. Please don't take us to the year 2234 in one post. I can't set a limit, nobody can. But if you like the idea, do it. I will kick it off now. There she was as I walked into the bar. Fine as fine can be.It wasn't crowded so I found a seat one seat away from her. I ordered my drink, and one for her, and I almost got a chill in my spine when she accepted it. Here it starts again, but I can't stop. After she got her drink she looked at me, and I picked up my drink and asked "May I ?". Her nod told me it was OK and I moved right next to her. We did talk about some meaningless bull for a time, but just like anywhere it turned to real life. We talked about our jobs, our friends, our cars. I was starting to like this chick. Maybe I am starting to see why she likes me. She is a foxy one, and bet most Men dote on her. Serve her hand and foot, something she never asked for (yet). I talk to her like a person, in a Man's voice. I seen guys, their voice turns into that of Mickey Mouse and they say shit like "Hi honeybumpkins". Makes me want to gag. She seems to like me. The trick here is you have to read it. Go through the comments later. Try to have a plot. This can be rough, but choosing to participate does not obligate you to contribute. If you don't have any ideas just read it and stay out of it until you do. You are free to do whatever you want, you can take the set and setting to fucking Mars if you like. Or any other planet actually, but I warn you if you take it to scifi, I am a killer motherfucker when it comes to scifi. I love it, I cherish it and I embrace it. And I use real scientific facts when I write it. So forewarned is forearmed. So have at it, read the non italicized text and add to it. Whatever you want. And don't think for a minute that I won't be back. And have fun. That's what this is all about. T

suhlut -> RE: Story writing contest (7/27/2008 10:30:17 PM)
There I was, just sitting at the bar alone, when he seated himself a couple stools away. I smile to myself, as I listen to him take in a deep breath, smelling my scent. My inner thoughts are confirmed when I hear him order a drink for he and I. I pause for a few minutes, after accepting the drink, and then slowly turn to look at him. My gaze pierces deeply into his, as He asks to join me and I accept. I can feel his gaze, as he stares for a moment, at my creamy white peek of cleavage. He lifts his gaze once more, to my eyes, and I can tell he thinks he needs to flatter me by being different then every other schmuck in this place. I grin as he turns his gaze away, to settle himself into the bar stool next to mine. His gaze now locks on, for a moment, watching as my finger slips to my thigh, and slowly caresses the length of leather, clad tightly across my upper thigh. He breathes in deeply, again, once again taking in my scent, but now also the scent of the rich quality of leather in my thigh high boots. He slowly drags his eyes up again to reach mine, taking in what I have clad my body in tonight. The thigh high boots, yes, and then the matching tight black leather mini shorts, and then on up to my leather clad breasts. I smile when his eyes reach mine, and watch as he gulps visibly, before reminding himself to be a gentleman. I grin, because I KNOW I look good tonight, and smell even better. He struggles for a few minutes, to plan what to say, and I almost laugh when he decides that "being a gentleman" means asking me about meaningless things that I can tell he thinks is "bull". I humor him by sweetly answering all of his questions, and occassionally asking a few of my own same type questions, and trying to seem interested as I'd listen to his answers. Eventually our conversation takes a turn to deeper subjects, and I can tell that I have him captivated, partly because I can still hear him taking in deep breaths of my scent, but also because I try playing "coy" to his "gentleman", Running my fingers up through my fall of golden red curls, trailing a red fingerpainted nail across a breast, teasing him with acts that seem both innocent, and not so innocent. He practically drools, as he watches these actions, before using all his effort to still seem different from every other man here. I smile when I hear him strain in effort to keep his voice at a even normal tone. I think to myself, how much ~fun~ this one is going to be. He never seems to notice that I never take even a single sip of the drink, that he bought for me. I make it seems as if I am enjoying the drink, occassionally swirling a fingertip in, stirring, before licking my finger clean. I nearly laugh again as He gulps, watching that, and I can tell he thinks I like him. And I DO... like him that is. I can feel my fangs emerging, dying for a drink.

Termyn8or -> RE: Story writing contest (7/27/2008 11:31:24 PM)
You are bad suh ! This Woman is different. Very intriguing. I can almost feel her strength, like others have told me they can feel mine. She is so solid, but seems to have no roots. It seems as if I could take her to Antarctica tonight, and she would not be afraid. Why ? I have never felt this way, so dominant in nature, but right now, not so much. She took an hour to even take a sip of the drink I bought her, and by then it was warm. I got her another, and one for myself of course, but I noticed I had not even finished my last one. She was so engaging that I simply forgot to drink it. My buddies were all over by the pool table, and they could see that I was busy. Nice to have some help if her olman walks in all the sudden. T

HeavansKeeper -> RE: Story writing contest (7/27/2008 11:48:10 PM)
I have to admit, I love this idea, but 1) It should be in off-topic. It will be dwarfed here because PaORS "spends" 10 of the front page posts on 500+ page threads. Hence this will be pushed back to page three, then lost forever. 2) If I write, I'm slaying the vampires, but I don't want to write Blade IV

suhlut -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 12:10:46 AM)
" This Woman is different. Very intriguing. I can almost feel her strength, like others have told me they can feel mine. She is so solid, but seems to have no roots. It seems as if I could take her to Antarctica tonight, and she would not be afraid. Why ? I have never felt this way, so dominant in nature, but right now, not so much. She took an hour to even take a sip of the drink I bought her, and by then it was warm. I got her another, and one for myself of course, but I noticed I had not even finished my last one. She was so engaging that I simply forgot to drink it. My buddies were all over by the pool table, and they could see that I was busy. Nice to have some help if her olman walks in all the sudden" I tilt my head back and laugh, after reading his mind of these thoughts. My eyes turn and look for those friends, and with one single look from my eyes, they all turn and walk out ~ leaving~ I turn my concentration back towards him, and smile at the thought that this man thinks he is strong. Perhaps so, for any other female.. but I am different. He sure got THAT part right anyways. I part my lips, allowing him to watch as my tongue flickers and licks my razor sharp fangs. He breathes in deeply, even more deeply then before, and I know the reason why. Anytime I need to feed, my body sends out a certain scent, that attracts certain prey, closer. Delicious scent, if I am to believe all my previous prey. And now that my fangs have emerged, my scent only grows stronger. "MMMM.. I smell cinnamon.." I raise my eyebrows at him, when he says that, and shrug my shoulders, pretending I don't know why. I set aside the drink that I have never been interested in, smiling when I recall that he thinks I really drank any of it, and laugh softly knowing that he thinks that my glass is still full because he might have bought me a second one. I shake my head and think how silly men can be, as I carefully take aim of my elbow, sending the drink flying off the bar. I allow my eyes to form themselves into mock roundness and innocence, acting like it was an accident, and pout prettily at him. To my dissapointment, he barely notices my pout, as I once again catch him staring at my cleavage. I roll my eyes, and sigh. This is wayyyyyyy to easy. Yes, that thought crossed my mind. And it IS easy.. very easy. For once, I wish it might be a bit more of a challenge. I stare myself, at the throbbing I see as his blood pumps through his neck. Most people think that is where I will feed, but they are wrong. I find other areas much better places to sink my fangs.

HeavansKeeper -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 12:25:33 AM)
I'm forced to set down my book, overpowered by the high pitch whine and sharp nibble on my toes. Looking down, she's looking up at me with eyes that say "You read that smut? Vampire and bar scenes? I've written more compelling literature with coiled piles in the lawn." She was right, this book was horrible. Her prancing feet told me I had 35 seconds to get her outside, or all day to rub pee out of the carpet. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. and my 12 pound warden had me on bathroom call. Picking her up, I giggled at something her breeder told me... "She's a lovely black bitch." An industry term that is particularly entertaining from a 60-somethings woman. As soon as I set Bear down, there she was. This was the third time I saw her, walking home at the witching hour. Everything about her "poor". She swaggered, walking with direction but not purpose. We always made passing conversation, as she never stopped to speak. Our words got louder as she got farther, and I never had the heart to wake my neighbors. She was going home, but where was she coming from? Why always at this time? Why did she hold her sandals in her hand? Why walk in the middle of the street? Why didn't the radiant cuteness of a 10 week old puppy have her eating out of my hand?

suhlut -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 12:26:31 AM)
aaaww Keeper.. come on and write, no need to wish to slay me while doing it..lol

HeavansKeeper -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 12:29:30 AM)
I'm sorry I shifted the story so much. I've read too many "romance" novels to survive another.

Juliannadelion -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 12:43:31 AM)
My dark Lord. He has come to me so many times in my dreams. Beautiful, deadly, my Lust personified. I am tied to the bed. He watches me, sees my heart trying to beat out of my chest. His eyes, touching every inch of me, his smile a promise of pain most delightful. He reaches out fingertips, to glide along my side, the swell of my breast. He caresess the side of my face, lovingly so. I shudder with my desire. I know what is about to come...... He holds out the crop for me to see. Letting it cut through the air, wickedly close, so close, i make a small yelp. He laughs, deep in his chest, the laugh a man has when he knows he's got you right where YOU want to be. He begins to beat my breasts, first one, then the other, tapping out a rhythm of love upon my flesh. First, slowly, gently, then faster, each blow, harder, leaving welt after welt. She begs him, 'more, more, please my Master, more'.... He smiles. How he adores his most prized posession, his most cherished pet. She will endure for him, gladly, blissfully, bruise and bleed for him, to show him her love, her devotion, her complete adoration. She moans, and wiggles on the bed, straining at the ropes on her ankles and wrists. The crop, the sting of it, so divine, so lovely, so blissful. She can but barely breathe, only enough, to beg him, beg him always for more, her Lord, her dark God. Beg him to sacrifice her on his altar of love, again, and again. He reaches out, caressing her hot, welted breasts. The bruises blooming like blue and purple roses under her skin. She moans and leans into his hand, causing her even more pain. Silly, little slut....... He grabs her by the hair, making her gasp out loud. He makes her beg for his cock. For the taste of it, for the feel of it, for the privledge of his cum. 'please, oh yes, please my Master, anything, please, i'll be good, i'll be a good girl, anything, please, please, please my Lord, please put your cock in my mouth.' and with that, he shoves his hardness into her. Her waiting mouth, so hot, so wet so inviting. She covers her teeth with her lips, to protect him. He thrusts hard, knowing she will not bite or scratch him, with wild abandon he fucks her mouth. As she moans and wiggles, the feel of him in her mouth, more pleasure than she could imagine. 'beg me for it bitch, beg me for it like I know you want it'. 'show me what a cum drinking little whore you can be'..... 'yes, my Lord, please, anything, please, please, please, anything, anything at all, for you, my life, my love, please, please let me taste your cum!' And with that, he shoves his dick down her thoat, and cums and cums and cums, until she feel like she may drown. Blissfully, happily, bloodily, in service to her Lord, her Master, her dark and sadistic God.

HeavansKeeper -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 1:44:29 AM)
A thought occurs, in my drastic shift of the story it appears I compared the other writers' work to .. well, ya know. I certainly didn't mean it like that, it was supposed to be the dog's understanding of books. I meant no offense to either Suhlut or Term.

suhlut -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 1:59:59 AM)
She awakens from her dream with a start, and sits up in her bed, rubbing her eyes and thinking how strange dreams could sometimes be. Sometimes made up of random bits and peices, and sometimes way to vividly realistic. This dream was a bit of both, she supposes. She tosses aside the blanket, thin and thread bare, and notices the dirt covering her feet, recalling her late night walk, and again seeing the Man with his puppy. She pauses a moment to wonder why He bothers to try engaging her in conversation.

suhlut -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 2:03:21 AM)
Keeper, i am glad You dont think my writing to be "doggy poo"

HeavansKeeper -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 2:09:52 AM)
What a strange man; wearing shirts that bare food companies and sweatpants in the honour of super heroes. What was he doing awake every time she passed, was he planning this? More than likely he's pathetic in his attempts to seduce by way of canine, but perhaps there was something more. A darker thing in him that draws him to the night. Perhaps it matched the darker thing in her that draws her to the night. She washed her feet, the dilapidated copper tubes made fine conversation in lieu of someone to talk to.

HeavansKeeper -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 2:13:02 AM)
Thank you for not taking me at my words, least the first set. It's certainly not standard conversational procedure to open with a direct and hurtful insult. HeavansKeeper... A perfect gentleman.

suhlut -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 2:18:48 AM)
She suddenly decides to change things up a bit later tonight, that is, if he is once again there with his dog. Meanwhile she finishes washing the dirt from her feet, and prepares for the rest of her day.

HeavansKeeper -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 2:42:17 AM)
He goes to bed too late and wakes up too late, that is what the world would have you believe. He would love to be asleep by midnight, up by eight, and walking past a white picket fence by 8:45 to be at work by 9:00, but those are not his cards. His eyes open at the crack of early evening, 4:00 p.m. The scoundrel has eaten one slipper, leaving its solemate lonely. He grins at the duality of man's best friend. Without falter he pulls a book from Little Bear's honed maw on his way out of the room, dropping the well read paperback on a teetering tower of bound yellowed pages. He stops midstep to consider, and opts to replace the destructive monster's "toy" with something more fitting, Who Moved My Cheese. His desk is piled with bowls, each with an accompanying spoon. Scraps of papers bear illegible notes that will one day magically re-organize themselves into a New York Times Best Seller. Until then, he scribbles shapes onto anything flat and fibrous until a noteworthy product is designed. Being an inventor is fun work when the coffers permit, but when the incoming funds dwindle from last decades "better dog toothbrush" he is on hard times. Nothing hinders the ability to create like the need to create. Minute become hours, and all he has to show for it is a rough idea of a hamster ball with rods on the inside for traction.

HeavansKeeper -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 2:54:06 AM)
Yeah, I changed the tense. I'm ok with that.

suhlut -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 9:43:53 AM)
While the Author / Inventor sits and stews about his bad luck, and lack of funds, The book he had been reading the night before suddenly falls open. At first he thinks his lil puppy is at it again, looking for something new to chew on, but as he watches, the puppy never emerges. He looks around, and spots the puppy napping with her muzzle deep inside the one remaining slipper. He turns to glance once more at where the book had fallen open onto his desk. He rubs his eyes, certain that he can't be seeing what now appears. He steps closer, but not tooooo close, watching in amazement as a very feminine hand emerges from the last page he had been reading. Shivers run up and down his spine, as he recalls the description of her hand, that he had read in the book, and it dawns on him, that this must be the same hand! A hand of the female vampire! He looks a bit closer, and can see that it simply seems to emerge right out of the page. Her hand, long perfect fingers, on a slender hand, nails sharpened to a point, and each painted a deep blood red. Suddenly the hand shoots out further, towards him, and before he can jump back, wraps itself firmly into the fold of his tee shirt, and then yanks him back, closer to the open pages of the book. The hand releases him, and settles itself down to the surface of the paper, her fingers tapping in the universal sign of impatience. Drumming rhythmically, before moving once more, crawling over to point and underline sharply the last words he had read on that page. "Most people think that is where I will feed, but they are wrong. I find other areas much better places to sink my fangs." The pointing finger digs deeply into the last sentence, and he can tell that it is insisting that he begin reading again. As he reaches for the book the hand slowly draws back, and dissapears into the pages. He looks around for a comfortable place to sit, and lifts the book, turning to the next page to read with interest. As he bends to pick up the glass that fell and shattered onto the floor, I reach my hand out, and gently wrap my fingers around the back of his neck, and slowly draw him closer. He breathes deeply again, as I bring his face closer, barely skimming across the top of my cleavage. I moan when I feel that he has boldly dared to dart his tongue out to take a lick. The scent of cinnamon deepens, and I know his tongue must be burning a bit. I lean close to his ear and ask in a whisper if he has enjoyed my taste, and smile when I feel his head nodding, not daring to speak. I softly invite him to take another taste, and can hear as he gasps, tongue burning more, after he accepts my invitation. He becomes dizzy, an apparant after effect of tasting me, so I carefully draw his body away from the barstools, and lead Him out the door. We reach my place within moments, a completely windowless chamber, which has been covered in gold leaf, leaving every inch a sparkling burnished gold. Gold is the closest and safest I can come to the way I remember the sun. I love the color, as it reminds me of the color of sunset. Decorating the room, are heavy victorian furniture pieces covered in brushed velvet fabrics, all ranging in other colors of a sunset. Deep burgandy reds, yellows, pinks. I lead him over to my bed (YES I sleep in a bed, the whole coffin thing creeps me out.) I draw back the heavy velvet curtains, and climb the set of three steps that helps me get into such a high bed, pulling back antique white lace comforters. He gasps as he watches, suddenly noticing a bare peek of skin, as my clothes simply disapear, before covering my nakedness with the blankets. I turn to him, one finger beconing him to come join me. His clothing too, disapears the moment he obeys. I bend, to take my first taste... a small taste for now.

Sub4You4UKOnly -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 9:59:39 AM)
is it me or is there two stories going on here? cos no post seems to lead on from the last...

suhlut -> RE: Story writing contest (7/28/2008 10:13:15 AM)
quote: ORIGINAL: Sub4You4UKOnly is it me or is there two stories going on here? cos no post seems to lead on from the last... i am sorry that it seems that way. T wrote the first part, where i added on, and changed it up a bit to a vampire story.. i hope that you at least think it made sence then? lol T wrote again after i to add a bit to the vampire/bar scene. i wrote again..still vampire/bar. Then Keeper made it all supposed to seem to be a book his character was reading in a book. I tried following along with that, but couldnt really think of anything to write, so, i reopened up my "book about vampires" again..switching it back. does that help explain better?

Page: [1] 2 next > >>

Collarchat.com © 2025

Terms of Service

0.03125