Writing Erotica

From time to time I search the internet for stories (erotica), attempting to obtain a grasp of what interests readers, the various genres and themes, etc.

Well, it's amazing to learn how much time and effort aspiring writers put into stuff that wouldn't pass a freshman (high school) English course.

This quote is at the beginning of a story, developing a character...

Allthough only twenty three she was more inteligent, sufisticated and just plane togther than anyone he had ever met before. 

Wow, Mrs. Malaprop could not have expressed this any better. In one sentence 4 spelling errors, misuse of the word 'plane', questionable syntax, and ending the sentence with a preposition (no longer considered a literary sin, but still could be more smoothly phrased).

And the goal of the writer is to arouse, sexually stimulate?

For me it just gives rise to irritation. Couldn't get past the first paragraph.

So, some guidelines with which I aspire to comply...

- proof read, proof read, proof read, eliminate misspellings

- whenever possible, write in present tense

- try to nail down and smooth out the grammar. It's admittedly an old school notion, but awkward stuff distracts

- in sensual scenes remember the five senses... i.e. what does the character see, hear, smell, taste, feel

- take the time to build character, forgo 'she was five foot six, 120 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes, large breasts'. You're not describing a perpetrator to an investigating detective, you're trying to build an image not only physically but emotionally. The reader needs to empathize with the protagonists, develop disdain for the antagonists, not only 'see' the character (five foot six, 120 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes large breasts) but feel what she is feeling, have an inkling for what she is hearing, smelling and tasting (in certain scenes) and most importantly understand what she is thinking. 

So my advice is, if you're going to take the time to tell a story, try your best to interest the reader and entertain... not annoy. 

'The Cuckold and the Cuckoldress' published

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A Castration Tale IV

Nurse Donhoffer steps away and as best I can I look about. There are tubes, rubber bags, and finally I spy an enema nozzle. And there comes more concern as Nurse Donhoffer retrieves it from the wall hook.

“Ah... this... ah... was not...”

“Standard procedure, Mr. Carson. You’d not want me examining you there and soiling anything. And it’s good for you... a thorough purging for you.”

Is it the $300 investment that inhibits me from stronger protest? Enemas were not discussed. Still I remain kneeling... I suppose acquiescing. I must. I cannot free myself.  Though apprehensive, I try to calm, telling myself the woman is experienced... highly trained.

Gloves are donned, the right index finger well lubricated. I close my eyes in shame as a left hand grasps my scrotum, I suppose to mandate stillness, and the greased finger first smooths up and down my cleft then finds my rectum and slips inward. The digit then swirls about, the action more then what is required to lubricate. 

“You have nice testicles, Mr. Carson. A nice ripe scrotal sac. And you’re nicely tight here. That will change.”

The compliment comes as I look to my left, trying to distract myself from the ignominy of having a woman freely penetrate and explore there. Then comes irony. As the left hand maintains its grip on my balls and I feel the enema nozzle introducing itself to my sphincter, I see on the wall a curious device. There is familiarity, my hyperactive prurient mind exploring so many kinky websites.

It is an elastrator... a device resembling a set of pliers used for neutering farm animals... goats..... sheep... cattle. But it is a replica, fully bronzed, not operable. And the handle is encrusted with jewels. It hangs prominently, like a trophy or some commemorative artifact. As I feel the enema nozzle slowly slip inward... such unexpected care and tenderness... Nurse Donhoffer notes my stare of curiosity.

“It’s a gift, Mr. Carson, from his Excellency, expressing his gratitude for my service,” the explanation a proud proclamation. “My real elastrator is packed away.”    
 
Yes, as stated, irony... for the recipient of this prized neutering device now has in the grasp of her left hand that which the bronzed artifice is designed to plunder.

The enema nozzle is inflated and I feel deep within the graceful flow of warm liquid. It soothes. In contrast, though not operable, the bejeweled implement disturbs... yet it also intrigues. With my predisposition... attraction for authoritative women... I cannot help imaging her utilizing the device to encircle my scrotum and with a snap of a tight rubber band ending my masculinity. 

Dare I ask for more? The scintillating stones of the handle suggest something of true value, diamonds, emeralds and rubies. Should I start by inquiring of his Excellency and his generosity? 

“You’ve used it? An elastrator?”

My query prompts the woman in charge to reminisce, continuing to gently yet firmly hold my balls as my colon fills.

Her story... unfolding in her ascendant Teutonic accent...

A Castration Tale III

There will be a final posting next Saturday 2/10.

For those who have purchased and read the complete story, let me know how Mr. Carson should respond to Nurse Donhoffer's email.

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The nurse walks with military precision, not masculine but certainly not the gait of a runway model. To a door, down a flight of stairs, I am led to a windowless underground chamber, well lit, walls of white tile, flooring of concrete which I find surprisingly warm, cabinets, a gurney, much medical paraphernalia and most notably a large marble slab. At knee height, it is angled to drain at one end, at the other there is a stanchion of matching marble with three semi circles, the surfaces padded.

“For the neck and wrists,” Nurse Donhoffer explains in noting my visual examination. “In your next visit I will be here preparing for you. First I’ll want you to shower for me. Patients are to present themselves scrubbed,” leading to a corner area.

There is indeed a shower but no enclosure, just a slightly raised patch of flooring beveled to a drain and a showerhead above. I am chagrined when the nurse moves to the side and points to where I am to step up and bathe... for I am nearly completely stiff. It’s this thing...           

“Mr. Carson, I can see why you’re here,” Nurse Donhoffer commenting on my arousal, her tone that of rebuking a toddler. “Do be careful washing yourself... there,” nodding to my rising appendage then leaning to turn on the taps. "No spillage."

And so I shower, finding odd comfort but also excitement, bathing under such exacting auspices with the nurse closely watching.

I soap myself, the piercing blue eyes observing all. The woman supervises with precision, the offered chamois to lave here... scrub there. The directives are sharp... not to be ignored.

“I’ll need to shave you, Mr. Carson. Body hair is not only unsightly but can be unsanitary as well.”

I nod, for some reason not mustering the fortitude to object.

Finally Nurse Donhoffer leans again, arms extend. The taps are twisted off, the shower deemed complete. She reaches for an oversized towel.

“Step down.”

To the concrete floor, once again the hands go to the back of her head, gesturing for me to obediently replicate.

So I stand before her wet and naked, the sensation of cleanliness... presenting myself for exhibition... abetting tumescence.

“Such a good boy,” the words of encouragement coming with what I must assume to be a rare smile.

She dries, the towel abrading and brushing everywhere. But she also assesses... palpates... examines. She comes to know me... not only physically but in some manner aware of my joy... the thrill of submission to a demanding governess.

“To the table. There’s more to be cleansed,” pointing to the knee high slab of marble. “I want you kneeling, neck and wrists on the stanchion, knees parted, buttocks up. Be good for me,” the words firm yet matronly.

I comply, concerned with the need for more cleansing. Then my concern grows as from beneath the raised slab the strong arms of Nurse Donhoffer lift a heavy plank. It’s smooth and in seeing the three padded semi circles I quickly know its function. Sure enough, it is placed over my neck and wrists then clamped in place. I become a prisoner, held immobile in a defacto set of stocks.

“No complaints, no resistance. Boys who reply to my Craig’s listing have needs. So I know that deep within, there is enjoyment. You’re supplicating to me... the woman in charge. And that thrills.”

Her words come as she steps behind and playfully diddles my erection, proving that she is correct, the bondage is oddly welcomed. I am hers, locked in place. Though there is much unknown, what is it she will do, there is indeed deep within a thrill.

A Castration Tale - Published

As noted in the June 16 posting, this short story has been unpublished, the narrative included in the book 'A Castration Tale - The Complete Story'.

CB on 6/16

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I have published on Lulu the referenced short story. 7,900 words. $3.50.

There will be another snippet posted on Saturday 2/3. 

Enjoy.

A Castration Tale II

A train to Ridgewood, New Jersey, Google maps indicates a two block walk to a large house just off the business district, a home converted to a professional office. Easily found, I ring the doorbell. When I hear a buzz I know to press open the door. 

And there to greet me stands the stunning Greta Donhoffer, indeed tall, indeed blonde, and the 175 pounds most impressively apportioned. Yes, her crisp white uniform does little to veil that the woman is shapely, and in an athletic manner. And those blue eyes...

“Mr. Carson, you’re late,” standing arms akimbo, the German accent thick but her English discernible.

Having emailed a photo, amongst other particulars, she knows who enters... her 11:00 a.m appointment has arrived.

“Ah, the train... some sort of signal failure,” for some reason my voice faltering.

“Take an earlier train for your next appointment,” her tone more commanding than suggesting.

I nod, hoping my gulp of concern is not evident.

“I will not be here to greet you in future visits. So listen carefully to the protocol. I am strict and demanding. A clear and precise regimen instills discipline.”

I nod, my voice lost.

“You will place my fee here on the desk, under the paperweight. You will then disrobe... entirely. Place your clothing on this table... neatly folded... shoes beneath. If there is someone in the reception area, just ignore them. This is a professional office and all are expected to comport themselves civilly and professionally.”

I again silently nod, seeing that the paperweight is a well sculpted depiction of a woman in uniform assuming an imposing stance of authority. Nurse Donhoffer notes my distraction.  

“A gift... when I retired from the armed services.”

There comes a pause... awkward silence.

“Well!..”

I fumble for the fee, $300 in cash, more than I am accustomed to paying for a session of kink. But the exchange of emails and the forthright, explicit descriptions of services to be offered is too... too... enticing?

I lift the statue...heavy... not a cheap hunk of tin... and dispense the small pile of greenbacks. I then pause... I always do... momentarily questioning my sexual penchant.

“Mr. Carson, we’re already running late!” the accented words sharp and commanding.

So I disrobe, stepping to the small table, shoes beneath, jacket peeled away, slacks drawn down and folded followed by shirt, socks and underwear.

“And we like our patients to place their hands on their head when moving about in the sanitarium,” Nurse Donhoffer’s hands demonstrably going to the back of her white cap.

With arms raised, the firm breasts thrust forth. I try not to stare while complying, sensing the somatic reaction of presenting myself nude in the presence of a fully clothed woman... a fully clothed woman of authority. My penis begins to firm.

“To the basement. Follow me,” grateful to move about before I completely stiffen.

A Castration Tale I

A short story. Not sure if I will post in its entirety or publish on Lulu.

Since this is a short post, look for more tomorrow

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A Castration Tale

Copyright 2018

by Chris Bellows

    Licensed, highly experienced nurse available for males needing to acquiesce to special procedures   and  examinations. 

The Craig’s listing was brief but intriguing. After many hours of thought, I replied with an email. There is something about the anonymity of the process which emboldens, words which I would rarely speak pouring forth from my word processor.

Age, ethnicity, height, weight, location, marital status... single... the usual disclosure... but when contemplating how to phrase my ‘special request’, the word acquiesce came to haunt. Why not ‘needing to undergo’, ‘engage in’?

Perhaps the writer of the short missive intended to titillate the kinky mind... perhaps not. Any way, I wrote, expressing concerns over my prostate, suggesting an examination, a ‘go for it’ reply. If the author of the Craig’s listing did not intend to attract the paraphillic mind, so be it.

Within a day... bingo! A very explicit response... even bolder than my introductory reply.

Nurse Greta Donhoffer wrote back, describing herself as age 38, blonde, an impressive 6 ft. and some 175 lbs. The prostate gland of the single male, she emphasized, requires much attention. Thus a special examination was highly recommended... and more than one.      

My penis swelled in reading the words.

Phone number, office hours, approximate location, somewhat inconvenient in the suburbs, but near a train station, the completeness of the contact information assuaged any concerns over the authenticity of the prospective services. I concluded Nurse Greta Donhoffer was for real.