FAWC 1: The Sisters Cranky

(Moderator's Note: This story is a submission to the first Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge (FAWC). The true author of this story is kept anonymous but will be revealed on June 22nd, 2013, in the comments section following this story. Each of the stories in this challenge is centered around the common theme of the main character being an author who then experiences the erotic and/or unusual events he or she writes about. There are no prizes given in this challenge; this is simply a friendly competition.)

(Author's Note: This story includes multiple kinky themes. To reveal them at this point would be a story spoiler. They are listed in the tags, if you must have such warnings before you will read a story.)

* * * *

. . . deeper, deeper inside her, opening her up, stretching her, moving deeper inside her. Making her moan and writhe. Held tightly to a heaving, virile chest by strong, possessing arms. Turning her head toward his face as he lifted it from the hollow of her neck. Dancing hazel eyes, handsome, chiseled blondness. Full lips. Possessing lips. He took possession of her lips as, moving an arm under her rib cage, he began to move her up and down on his deeply embedded manhood.

Edith stopped reading when she heard the snort. She knew it would be Ethyl, and when she looked up, she could see that it, indeed, was Ethyl.

"Whew, is it hot in here or is it just me?" Ethyl asked in mock consternation. She was fanning herself with a lace handkerchief.

Edith had placed herself as far away from that woman as she could at the table in the library's meeting room. Ethyl always acted this way at the meetings of the Blackthorn Writer's Guild. Edith didn't know why Ethyl came except to mock her. She didn't know why Ethyl treated her this way. She was published, just as Ethyl was. Well, maybe Ethyl had an agent and a publisher and Edith published herself, but it was all the same to her. They had works available in the marketplace and they had their own special readers.

And it was all the same to the other women gathered around the table, Edith was sure. Published is published. They had been quite attentive while she'd read from the manuscript that was almost perfect now, the manuscript Edith intended to turn into a Kindle book as soon as she reached home. Mary and Anna certainly had enjoyed the reading. They were both leaning into the table, licking their lips. Meredith was making little puffing noises and her eyes were bugging out. In fact, Edith could clearly see that the woman's hands weren't on the table but were in her lap doing who knows what. Jan was sitting quietly and looking up at the ceiling. But that was just Jan. who ever knew what Jan thought about anything?

Edith had been writing and publishing her erotic Romance novels herself for years. Why she'd made nearly $3,000 last year from her e-books. That was nothing to spit it. It had gotten her—and Ethyl as well—to Baltimore last year for a trip to the national aquarium. Let Ethyl snort at that.

"And just what are you finding insufficient with 'The Prince and the Country Maiden,' Miss Ethyl Crankypants?"

Meredith seemed to have snapped back into the present and was looking a bit distressed. Jan appeared to be counting the ceiling tiles. Mary and Anna just looked at each other and struggled to see who could roll her eyes better. The cranky Crandell sisters were at it again. The others might as well pack it in for the day. Mary stuffed the pages she was going to offer for critique back into her purse, making quite a show of it.

"Besides a country maiden having an ermine cloak as you described in the passage you first read? Just what are you offering as sufficient in that manuscript, dear sister?" Ethyl asked, her voice saccharine sweet, but her facial expression decidedly sneery.

"I have my loyal readers," Edith said with a sniff. Ethyl was being a pain in the butt, she thought. Then she regretted bringing that thought up. It reminded her that she had an actual pain in buttocks and also up on her back. She had to remember to put salve on both when she got home—although that probably would be useless that early; it probably would be better to wait until she retired for the night.

"I know your two readers well. Miss Dumb and Mrs. Dumber." Ethyl followed this up with a cackle. "You are such a romantic with your well-built—and hung—princes and your willing young maidens, ever ready to open their legs. Always the hopeful young maiden, aren't you? Shall we all sing a verse of 'Someday my prince will come'?"

"I suppose you have something brilliant to read for us," Edith retorted. She immediately was sorry she'd spoken, though, because she well knew that Ethyl did had something to read—something from a manuscript for which Ethyl had received a glowing letter of acceptance from her literary agent. Edith knew that Ethyl was just biting at the bit to read from that manuscript at the Blackthorn Writers Guild meeting and then to note that it already was being sent around to the publishers by her agent.

"As a matter of fact I do," Ethyl announced, her voice full of triumph. "I'll read a passage, and the members of the club can determine which of ours is the best."

A chorus of groans went around the table. Even Jan groaned, although she had moved on to counting the number of air holes in each of the ceiling tiles and checking to see if the pattern was the same in each.

Ethyl ignored the groans, which stemmed from the well-demonstrated fact that the subject matter of Ethyl's novels, regardless of their popularity—or perhaps because of it—went well beyond the erotic and certainly weren't romantic in any sense of the term that the members of the Blackthorn Writers Guild could fathom. That they sold so well was a sad commentary on what the world had come to. This the members of the club had agreed on before the Crandell sisters had arrived at the meeting.

Ethyl cleared her throat, set her voice to the officious pitch and timbre that she customarily used for book as well as dramatic readings and began to read.

The men of the castle were already well drunk and screeching of conquest and debauchery when The Grotesques were brought into the shabby and drafty banquet hall to perform. And Rosa and the two men, accompanied by Klaus on the mandolin, barely started into the preliminary acrobatic, teasing introduction to what the noblemen who hired them ultimately wanted before the castle's master and his henchmen were clawing at them and screaming for cock play.

Rosa, the dwarf, had been here before and she knew they would be treated rough. But the Marquis paid well—and had to lest no traveling sex troupes would stop here at all—and Rosa just gritted her teeth and took it.

Johann has working her cunt with his cock, showing how arousing for the onlookers the use of regular-sized genitalia on dwarfs could be, when the Marquis pointed at them and roared instructions. Rosa found herself lifted to where she was standing on a worn red-velvet upholstered footstool and Johann tilted up behind her. Johann thrust his cock up her bum channel upon command, as the Marquis ordered all of his henchmen present to drop their trousers and selected the one with the largest cock and sent him to stand in front of the stool and fuck Rosa from the front, while her husband took her from the rear.

The distinct sound of a squeak made Ethyl look up, thinking she'd see a mouse scurry across the table. It was only Meredith, who looked like she was going to be sick.

"So," Ethyl declared, "can there be anyone who prefers my sister's insipid prose over what I have just read."

Meredith's hand shot up; then Mary's. Although she was now counting floor tiles, Jan also slowly raised her hand. Anna was studying her nails for cracks. As far as Anna was concerned the two sisters were equally loony and sex starved.

"Well, I never. Some people have no concept at all what good erotica is," Ethyl groused. Up she stood and gathered all of her papers together. With a humph of disgusted and a toss of the scarf around her neck, she turned and marched out of the room.

A small smile formed on Edith's and her eyes scanned table. "Who wants to read next? Or should I read another passage from 'The Prince and the Country Maiden'?"

She pretended not to hear the answering groans.

* * * *

It was getting dark when Edith returned home. As soon as she entered the house, she moved around the living and dining rooms and kitchen, turning on lights. She had always been afraid of the dark. Strange and evil things happened in the dark. But there also were certain things she could only do in the dark.

She felt the sting on her back and buttocks more fiercely now than she had at the library. She went into the kitchen and reached into a cabinet for the salve she kept there. But she arrested her movement before grasping the tube. It was too early for that, she knew. She'd only have to apply it again before retiring for the night. She opened the freezer instead and took out a Lean Cuisine meal and popped it into the microwave.

When she'd finished eating, she washed up the dishes and went into the dining room and sat at the computer. She stared into the glowing computer screen and then, with a sigh, called up the text of her manuscript and scrolled down to the passage she wanted to work with.

In that moment, she opened her ermine cloak wide and stood there, naked. Offering herself to the handsome young prince. At the same time, her brain was screaming, "Disaster, disaster, disaster."

His clothes, a diaphanous and billowy white linen shirt over tight maroon velvet leggings, seemed to flow gracefully off his strong, hard body in one, rapid movement, and he moved to her in three long strides.

Her heart palpitated at sight of his manly chest, the curving muscles of his biceps, how slim his waist and flat his belly were descending into the low cut of his velvet leggings, the bulge of his codpiece, straining to release his throbbing manhood. She felt herself melt and begin to flow from her innermost secret places, knowing that she was defenseless against him, knowing that she didn't care, knowing that he would have her.

She was near to fainting and sinking to the floor of the bedchamber where she had been held captive, when he reached her. He wrapped one strong, manly arm around her waist and lifted and tipped her back onto the high-mattressed bed. Lily spread her legs wide for him and he, already rock hard, glided inside her and took her in long, deep, stinging thrusts that would be taken, had it not been for her sobbing and burying her face in his chest, as the long-practiced coupling of two experienced lovers.

Her skirt was bunched up and her hand was under the gathered hem and in her lap. She had snaked her index finger under the leg hole of her pantings and up into her fold. When she found the clit, she started to rub and leaned back in the chair and imagined the prince. She imagined him—as always—as looking just like young Pastor Whitsom, the youth minister at her church. She imagined the sting of each thrust. As she felt her arousal build, she went beyond imagining to living each stinging thrust, seeing the dancing hazel eyes; the handsome, chiseled blondness; the full lips of Todd Whitsom as he hovered over her, embraced her, and slash her with each thrust.

After several minutes, she sighed and withdrew her hand. She sat back up in the chair, groaning because once again her back and buttocks were stinging. She read over the passage again, changed "ermine cloak" to "fur cloak" with a grim little sigh, and saved the manuscript to her Kindle file. She'd send it off for publication in the morning.

She climbed the stairs to the bedroom level. Outside a closed door, she slowly stripped off her clothes, folded them, and laid them on a straight chair by the door. She opened the door and stood in the doorway for a moment. Then she raised her hand to the light switch.

"Leave the light on," Ethyl said. Edith's sister was lying on her back, naked on the bed. She'd been reading a book—reviewing one of her own BDSM erotica books—but laid it aside when her sister opened the door.

"You know I can't . . . not in the light. Only in the dark," Edith said in a small voice.

"Very well, if you must. But leave the curtains open. There will be enough light from the street lamp to satisfy me, I suppose."

Edith turned off the light and climbed onto the foot of the bed on her knees and lowered herself on her sister's body, her mouth going to Ethyl's ample breasts and her quarter-sized aureoles. Ethyl stretched like a cat and purred. She moved her hands to Edith's back and traced the cuts she found there. She moved her hands down to Edith's buttocks to fondle the welts there. Edith moaned.

"You can be my maiden and I will be your prince," Ethyl murmured.

Edith began working her lips down Ethyl's body, over her belly and down into the folds, seeking and finding the nub and starting to suck on it.

Ethyl groaned, began to grind her pelvis into Edith's face, and reached over for the hand whip from on top of her nightstand.

"Each stroke of the whip is a thrust of the prince's mammoth manhood up into your quivering, virginal cunt," she whispered as she raised the whip.

Edith groaned in anticipation of Prince Todd's first stinging thrust.