Craft a story/chapter/scene that incorporates the following elements
A flower pot
A damp towel
A brown paper bag of cranberries
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Craft a story/chapter/scene that incorporates the following elements
A flower pot
A damp towel
A brown paper bag of cranberries
It had been another long day at work. I loathed my job. I hated my boss. The pay wasn't even that good. The only reason I was still working there was because I needed the money and hadn't found anything better to do with my time. I watched the last minute tick away, got up from my desk, and went to my truck, waving at the receptionist, a brown haired thirty something lady whose name I didn't even know, on my way out.
My cell phone greeted my arrival to my truck, an old rusting blue 1976 Chevy pickup. The cell phone was beeping. On the screen, I could clearly read, "3 missed calls, 1 voice mail message, 1 text message". I turned the key in the ignition and began the process of heating the engine up. I turned my attention back to the phone. Pressing a few buttons, I checked my missed calls first. All three were from my wife. There were no surprises there. I checked my voice mail, and the voice of my wife, in a particularly sexy accent that was obviously her acting out the part, told me that maybe my day at the office wasn't completely wasted.
"Hey there, big guy. I have a surprise for you tonight, but I don't have everything I'm going to need. Check your text messages for a list of items I'm going to use to give you a wild and crazy night tonight." The message ended with the longest voice mail kiss I'd ever been left. I had a raging hard-on just thinking about the possibilities, but then I checked my text messages and was more than a little puzzled. "Bring me a clay flower pot and a brown paper bag of cranberries, and you're dreams will come true."
What in heaven's name is she up to? A flower pot and some cranberries?
I put the phone down and began the hour long trip to my house. I had spent my entire day at work numbing my brain. I usually spent the better part of my ride home cursing myself for keeping the stupid job. My mind was certainly swimming now.
Ten minutes away from my house, I pull into the parking lot of the local supermarket. I head for the entrance and take my cell phone with me just in case. Perusing the fruit section, I finally see the cranberries. Walking over to them, I noticed something peculiar: the cranberries were not in paper bags. They were in plastic bags, the kind with netting. I grabbed them anyway, and went a few aisles over and grabbed some paper bags. I knew I'd use them for my brown bag lunches eventually. I went to the front of the store where the flower arrangements were kept and looked around for the flower pots. They seemed to come in three sizes, small, large, and gigantic. I didn't know what she had in mind. I decided it would be safer to call her and ask.
"Hello?" It was that sexy voice that made me hard all over again.
"I'm at the supermarket, and looking at the flower pots. Do you want a small one, a large one, or a gigantic one?"
She sighed into the phone and continued in her sexy voice. "What do you mean by small, large, and gigantic? Gigantic like the size of your cock, large like the size of your ass, and small like the size of your pinky finger? Get the large one, honey. I'll be waiting for you." She hung up the phone before I could respond.
I grabbed the large flower pot, and put the cranberries and the paper bags in the pot to make it easier to carry. I brought them to the checkout lane, and smiled at the cashier.
"What are these for?" the cashier asked, trying to make smalltalk with me.
"Damned if I know. I just get what the wife tells me to." I exchange a knowing wink with the cashier.
"That will be thirteen dollars and fifty five cents, sir." I hand over a twenty dollar bill, get my six dollars and forty five cents change, take the items to the car, and drive the remaining distance to my house. When I get there, I park the car in the driveway, take the prescribed items, unlock the door, and enter the house.
"Come here, big guy," she calls out to me from the top of the stairs where the kitchen is located. I want to hop up the stairs two at a time, but I know she won't approve of that. Instead, I go one step at a time as quickly as possible. I reach the top of the stairs. In my hurry to give her the items, I'm not paying attention to what I am carrying. The cranberries fall out of the flower pot, and the bag they were in rips apart spreading cranberries all over the floor.
"Oh shit," I exclaim. "Sorry Mistress," I say quickly, not wanting to incur her wrath for my foul use of language. I begin to pick up the cranberries.
"Well," she says, "go ahead and put them in one of the brown bags."
Thats what I was going to do anyway, but I intended to do so a bit more gracefully than that. I open up the brown lunch bags, separate one, lean over, and begin depositing the cranberries into the bag. It takes some time as the cranberries had scattered themselves pretty far apart. Apparently, I am not quick enough for her liking.
I feel a sharp smack on my ass, followed by an order. "Hurry up!"
I am going as quickly as I can, but I respond, "Yes, Mistress."
As I was recovering the cranberries from their attempted escape out of our grasp, she was examining the flower pot. "This pot will do nicely indeed. Yes it will." She sneaks behind me without my being aware. She smacks my ass again, causing me to drop the last of the cranberries I had picked up.
"When you're done with the cranberries, you are to strip naked. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress." I had learned a long time ago how unwise it was to not follow her instructions. She could be such a bitch when I didn't, but sometimes I did it anyway just for fun.
Picking up the last of the cranberries and depositing them into the brown paper bag, I hand them over to her. She looks pleased.
I begin to strip by taking off my sport jacket, then my tie, then my shirt. I fold these neatly and set these on the back of a chair in the kitchen area. Next comes my belt. I hold the belt up for her inspection.
She looks at it with a wicked grin. "No, thats not what I have planned for you tonight. Set that on top of your pants." I take off my shoes and my pants, setting my belt down as instructed. I take off my socks, and finally my underwear. She looks at my manhood, rather, her manhood, for I am hers tonight to do with as she pleases.
She takes the flower pot and puts it on the seat of a chair, beckoning me over to her. I follow, not at all sure what is going to happen. She looks at the pot and thinks for a moment. "Don't move," she warns me. She walks off to go get something. A minute later, she comes back with a towel, which she sets on top of my clothes on the chair, and a short garden hose and begins to get to work attaching the hose to the hole at the bottom of the pot. Somehow, she manages to fit it into the hole snugly. The other end of the hose she curls up so it is hanging over the top of the flower pot. She smiles at her cleverness.
She grabs my cock with her left hand and begins to rub it while holding it over the pot, causing me to get hard. She cups my scrotum in her left hand, takes the bag of cranberries in her right, and begins pouring it over my cock into the pot. The pelting sensation is not entirely pleasant, but I don't think she is wishing to please me tonight, at least not yet. Having emptied the bag of cranberries, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two gallon-size containers of water. Setting the one in her left hand down on the table, she holds the one in her right hand up to my scrotum. At first, the coldness feels good, but slowly, it causes me to have an urgent need. I look up at her pleading with my eyes. She grabs my cock with her other hand and points at the pot. I piss on the cranberries, almost involuntarily. If she hadn't given me permission, I would have been in some serious trouble. That thought did not appeal to me, but she knows it is true too. She smiles. I watch as nothing leaks out from the bottom of the flower pot.
She opens up one of the gallons of water, and she slowly pours it over my cock into the flower pot. The cold sensation of the water causes my cock to get hard. I watch as the cranberries float and the water somehow circulates from the bottom of the pot through the hose to the top of the hose and back out into the pot like a small waterfall landing on my cock again and again as it comes down. My brain knows that there is something about this which doesn't make sense given the laws of physics as I know them to exist, so I make a mental note to ask her later how she managed to make that work. In the mean time, I have other worries to think about, like the fact that my cock is becoming ever more aroused by the constant flow of water on top of it.
I look up at her, pleading in my eyes.
She answers my unasked question. "No, you may not cum yet," she says with a wicked smile.
She opens up the other gallon of water, and begins to pour that over my cock. The water continues to flow through the hose and back out onto my cock. Now, the water level has risen to the point where it is almost touching my cock. As the cranberries float at the top of the water, some of them come into contact with my cock, causing me additional discomfort. The second gallon of water having been emptied into the pot, she takes my cock in her left hand and begins to rub it, sloshing my cock with water and cranberries as she goes.
Taking the towel from the chair where she had earlier set it, she dips it in the flower pot getting it all wet. She removes the wet towel, wrings it out over the pot, and carefully inspects its dampness. She wrings it out one more time, watching as the water is returned to the pot. Stepping back with the towel in hand, she swings the damp towel hitting me in the ass on the left side. I jump at the unexpected intrusion.
"You didn't like that?" she asks.
"M-m-m-m-mistress, I did, but --"
"Then don't jump, or I won't give you any more."
She swings the damp towel at my right side, and then my left again, repeating the pattern in rapid fire motion. My cock, still underneath the water, gets very hard.
"Play with yourself, but don't cum without asking," she said as she continued to strike my ass with the damp towel.
I begin to play with myself, rubbing and pulling and twisting my cock, feeling it in my hands through the water. It feels so good to touch it. I begin rubbing furiously, up and down, knowing I can't hold out much longer. "Mistress, may I cum please?"
"No, you may not," she says with a wicked grin on her face.
"Mistress, " I beg, "Mistress, please may I cum?" The sensations are driving me wild. My face contorts.
"No, you may not," she says again, with a twinkle in her eye.
"MISTRESS PLEASE!" I am at both my physical and mental breaking points.
She takes the damp towel, covers my cock with it, and says, "Move your hands." I do. She rubs my cock with the soaked towel, takes my cock out of the pot of water and cranberries, and says, "You may cum now."
"Thank you Mistress!" I squeak.
My cock explodes into the towel as she continues to rub me with it. Seeing stars, my legs get weak. I hold onto the table for balance, and she spanks me with her free hand. The relief I experience is mine, but my cock and my ass are hers for whatever, whenever, and wherever she pleases.
Okay, this is a little messed up. I tried to write this story in the first person present tense because the story itself seemed to beg for it to be written that way, but there was a lot of reference to things that happened in a certain time frame, some of which was in the past, and I don't think I managed to keep my tenses straight. I reckon I'll need an assignment of some sort to work out that writing flaw of mine. Either that, or a good editor. :)
I really wanted to go back and edit it again, but then I just got overwhelmed with trying to figure out where I thought I had gone wrong and to correct everything from that point forward.
It definitely reads a bit strange to me now. Am I being oversensitive, or do I have a real problem here?
I will let the grammar Nazi hit this one in her usual way. The most glaring mistake made here was the sudden changes of perspective. One moment it was written in past tense, then present, then past and the present.
There are some stylistic changes I would make. Some awkward sentences - some quite lengthy and some too short. I will get to hammering on that stuff in the higher levels. Overall, this was pretty good. Again, the main problem being the perspective changes.
Looks like we were typing at the same time. It reads strangely. You aren't oversensitive, but it is good you picked up on it as quickly as you did.Quote:
Originally Posted by underwhere
Okay, thanks H Dean. At least I know I'm on to something here that I hope will be constructive for me. Now comes the real challenge of how to fix it.
Remind me to avoid in the future trying to write a first person present tense story when wishing to include information from the recent past. That is so much easier to do with a third person perspective. Either that or give me some real good pointers for how to avoid this mess in the future. ;)
Hey, at least I really enjoy the whole writing process. I am definitely here to learn, though, so come what may, I want to become a better writer. Like I wrote in my original query about the writer's block, I have rather little experience writing fiction, so maybe this is just something I will need to learn how to overcome by trial and error.
You just have to not have senior moments. I recommend that, before you lay an idea on the page in full form, you write a lot of it in your head. Do it over and over - phrasings and moments that convey certain emotions, etc. In this way you can form a notion of the personalities you are writing about and keep proper perspectives.
I've a major character in a series of stories who has a couple of very specific affectations. Because of those affectations he became more real to me and I was able to keep consistency with my story from moment to moment and story to story.
Okay, this is my second try with this one, some minor edits and, I hope, a more proper hold of verb tense. I'm still not 100% consistent with it, but I do think my exceptions are reasonable given the grammar context I was writing within at the moment of those exceptions. I'm still looking for additional tips and pointers if there are more to be made, and I'm pretty certain there probably are. Anyway, on to my first edit:
It's another long day at work. I loathe my job. I hate my boss. The pay isn't even that good. The only reason I still work here is because I need the money and haven't found anything better to do with my time. I watch the last minute tick away, get up from my desk, and go to my truck, waving at the receptionist, a brown haired thirty something lady whose name I don't even know, on my way out.
My cell phone beeps, greeting my arrival to my truck, an old rusting blue 1976 Chevy pickup. On the screen, I could clearly read, "3 missed calls, 1 voice mail message, 1 text message". I turn the key in the ignition and begin the process of heating the engine up. I turn my attention back to the phone. Pressing a few buttons, I check my missed calls first. All three are from my wife. There are no surprises there. I check my voice mail, and the voice of my wife, in a particularly sexy accent that is obviously her acting out the part, tells me that maybe my day at the office wasn't completely wasted.
"Hey there, big guy. I have a surprise for you tonight, but I don't have everything I'm going to need. Check your text messages for a list of items I'm going to use to give you a wild and crazy night tonight." The message ends with the longest voice mail kiss I've ever been left. I have a raging hard-on just thinking about the possibilities, but then I check my text messages and am more than a little puzzled. "Bring me a clay flower pot and a brown paper bag of cranberries, and you're dreams will come true."
What in heaven's name is she up to? A flower pot and some cranberries?
I put the phone down and begin the hour long trip to my house. I had spent my entire day at work numbing my brain. I usually spent the better part of my ride home cursing myself for keeping the stupid job. Instead, my mind is swimming.
Ten minutes away from my house, I pull into the parking lot of the local supermarket. I head for the entrance and take my cell phone with me just in case. Perusing the fruit section, I finally see the cranberries. Walking over to them, I notice something peculiar: the cranberries are not in paper bags. They are in plastic bags, the kind with netting. I grab them anyway, and went a few aisles over and grab some paper bags. I know I'll use them for my brown bag lunches eventually. I go to the front of the store where the flower arrangements are kept and looked around for the flower pots. They seem to come in three sizes, small, large, and gigantic. I don't know what she has in mind. I decide it would be safer to call her and ask.
"Hello?" It was that sexy voice that made me hard all over again.
"I'm at the supermarket, and looking at the flower pots. Do you want a small one, a large one, or a gigantic one?"
She sighs into the phone and continues in her sexy voice. "What do you mean by small, large, and gigantic? Gigantic like the size of your cock, large like the size of your ass, and small like the size of your pinkie finger? Get the large one, honey. I'll be waiting for you." She hangs up the phone before I can respond.
I grab the large flower pot, and put the cranberries and the paper bags in the pot to make it easier to carry. I bring them to the checkout lane, and smile at the cashier.
"What are these for?" the cashier asks, trying to make smalltalk with me.
"Damned if I know. I just get what the wife tells me to." I exchange a knowing wink with the cashier.
"That will be thirteen dollars and fifty five cents, sir." I hand over a twenty dollar bill, get my six dollars and forty five cents change, take the items to the car, and drive the remaining distance to my house. When I get there, I park the car in the driveway, take the prescribed items, unlock the door, and enter the house.
"Come here, big guy," she calls out to me from the top of the stairs where the kitchen is located. I want to hop up the stairs two at a time, but I know she won't approve of that. Instead, I go one step at a time as quickly as possible. I reach the top of the stairs. In my hurry to give her the items, I'm not paying attention to what I am carrying. The cranberries fall out of the flower pot, and the bag they were in rips apart spreading cranberries all over the floor.
"Oh shit," I exclaim. "Sorry Mistress," I say quickly, not wanting to incur her wrath for my foul use of language. I begin to pick up the cranberries.
"Well," she says, "go ahead and put them in one of the brown bags."
Thats what I was going to do anyway, but I intended to do so a bit more gracefully than that. I open up the brown lunch bags, separate one, lean over, and begin depositing the cranberries into the bag. It takes some time as the cranberries have scattered themselves pretty far apart. Apparently, I am not quick enough for her liking.
I feel a sharp smack on my ass, followed by an order. "Hurry up!"
I am going as quickly as I can, but I respond, "Yes, Mistress."
As I am recovering the cranberries from their attempted escape out of our grasp, she examines the flower pot. "This pot will do nicely indeed. Yes it will." She sneaks behind me without my being aware. She smacks my ass again, causing me to drop the last of the cranberries I had picked up.
"When you're done with the cranberries, you are to strip naked. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress." I had learned a long time ago how unwise it was to not follow her instructions. She could be such a bitch when I didn't, but sometimes I did it anyway just for fun.
Picking up the last of the cranberries and depositing them into the brown paper bag, I hand them over to her. She looks pleased.
I begin to strip by taking off my sport jacket, then my tie, then my shirt. I fold these neatly and set these on the back of a chair in the kitchen area. Next comes my belt. I hold the belt up for her inspection.
She looks at it with a wicked grin. "No, thats not what I have planned for you tonight. Set that on top of your pants." I take off my shoes and my pants, setting my belt down as instructed. I take off my socks, and finally my underwear. She looks at my manhood, rather, her manhood, for I am hers tonight to do with as she pleases.
She takes the flower pot and puts it on the seat of a chair, beckoning me over to her. I follow, not at all sure what is going to happen. She looks at the pot and thinks for a moment. "Don't move," she warns me. She walks off to go get something. A minute later, she comes back with a towel, which she sets on top of my clothes on the chair, and a short garden hose and begins to get to work attaching the hose to the hole at the bottom of the pot. Somehow, she manages to fit it into the hole snugly. The other end of the hose she curls up so it is hanging over the top of the flower pot. She smiles at her cleverness.
She grabs my cock with her left hand and begins to rub it while holding it over the pot, causing me to get hard. She cups my scrotum in her left hand, takes the bag of cranberries in her right, and begins pouring it over my cock into the pot. The pelting sensation is not entirely pleasant, but I don't think she is wishing to please me tonight, at least not yet. Having emptied the bag of cranberries, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two gallon-size containers of water. Setting the one in her left hand down on the table, she holds the one in her right hand up to my scrotum. At first, the coldness feels good, but slowly, it causes me to have an urgent need. I look up at her pleading with my eyes. She grabs my cock with her other hand and points at the pot. I piss on the cranberries, almost involuntarily. If she hadn't given me permission, I would have been in some serious trouble. That thought did not appeal to me, but she knows it is true too. She smiles. I watch as nothing leaks out from the bottom of the flower pot.
She opens up one of the gallons of water, and she slowly pours it over my cock into the flower pot. The cold sensation of the water causes my cock to get hard. I watch as the cranberries float and the water somehow circulates from the bottom of the pot through the hose to the top of the hose and back out into the pot like a small waterfall landing on my cock again and again as it comes down. My brain knows that there is something about this which doesn't make sense given the laws of physics as I know them to exist, so I make a mental note to ask her later how she managed to make that work. In the mean time, I have other worries to think about, like the fact that my cock is becoming ever more aroused by the constant flow of water on top of it.
I look up at her, pleading in my eyes.
She answers my unasked question. "No, you may not cum yet," she says with a wicked smile.
She opens up the other gallon of water, and begins to pour that over my cock. The water continues to flow through the hose and back out onto my cock. Now, the water level has risen to the point where it is almost touching my cock. As the cranberries float at the top of the water, some of them come into contact with my cock, causing me additional discomfort. The second gallon of water having been emptied into the pot, she takes my cock in her left hand and begins to rub it, sloshing my cock with water and cranberries as she goes.
Taking the towel from the chair where she had earlier set it, she dips it in the flower pot getting it all wet. She removes the wet towel, wrings it out over the pot, and carefully inspects its dampness. She wrings it out one more time, watching as the water is returned to the pot. Stepping back with the towel in hand, she swings the damp towel hitting me in the ass on the left side. I jump at the unexpected intrusion.
"You didn't like that?" she asks.
"M-m-m-m-mistress, I did, but --"
"Then don't jump, or I won't give you any more."
She swings the damp towel at my right side, and then my left again, repeating the pattern in rapid fire motion. My cock, still underneath the water, gets very hard.
"Play with yourself, but don't cum without asking," she said as she continued to strike my ass with the damp towel.
I begin to play with myself, rubbing and pulling and twisting my cock, feeling it in my hands through the water. It feels so good to touch it. I begin rubbing furiously, up and down, knowing I can't hold out much longer. "Mistress, may I cum please?"
"No, you may not," she says with a wicked grin on her face.
"Mistress, " I beg, "Mistress, please may I cum?" The sensations are driving me wild. My face contorts.
"No, you may not," she says again, with a twinkle in her eye.
"MISTRESS PLEASE!" I am at both my physical and mental breaking points.
She takes the damp towel, covers my cock with it, and says, "Move your hands." I do. She rubs my cock with the soaked towel, takes my cock out of the pot of water and cranberries, and says, "You may cum now."
"Thank you Mistress!" I squeak.
My cock explodes into the towel as she continues to rub me with it. Seeing stars, my legs get weak. I hold onto the table for balance, and she spanks me with her free hand. The relief I experience is mine, but my cock and my ass are hers for whatever, whenever, and wherever she pleases.
Sorry, things have been hairy here. When things get cold in Texas the homeless shelter activities ramp up. Monday morning, you are first on the list.
rose
Well, I haven't had to much time to really look at this but there is a huge glaring annoyance. So many sentences start with "I" that it's ridiculous. In fact, it makes every instance of the word "I" stand out like a bowling ball in a room full of marbles.
I have to admit - I hate present tense active - or whatever it's called - especially from the first person perspective. It's a nightmare to try to write and a pain to read.
First of all, Rose, life comes first. I'm sure I'm not the only person who appreciates you volunteering to help out with this, and I, unlike the domme in this story, am a patient waiter, and I hope I am a good student.
Secondly, H Dean, yeah, I discovered just how difficult it was to write from this perspective. I don't know if I'll try this again or not with a different assignment later. Of course, you're also correct that the perspective itself lends itself to an excessive quantity of "I"s, and that, too, will be something I need to figure out how to address to make for more variety in my writing. The scenario seemed to lend itself to this particular perspective, but I'm not sure I'm all that happy with it from a techniques/mechanics standpoint. When Rose gets around to it, I'll be eager to see what tips I might be able to pick up. I'm always open to constructive suggestions for improvement.
Hi underwhere,
I am going to address the "I" thing Dean mention by using one of your paragraphs as an example.
Ten minutes away from my house, I pull into the parking lot of the local supermarket. I head for the entrance and take my cell phone with me just in case. Perusing the fruit section, I finally see the cranberries. Walking over to them, I notice something peculiar: the cranberries are not in paper bags. They are in plastic bags, the kind with netting. I grab them anyway, and went a few aisles over and grab some paper bags. I know I'll use them for my brown bag lunches eventually.
Ten minutes away from my house, I pull into the parking lot of the local supermarket and head for the entrance with my cellphone in hand, just in case.
While perusing the fruit section for the cranberries, I spotted them in plastic netting bags, not paper. I grab them anyway and went a few aisles over to get some paper bags. They will be used for bag lunches eventually.
That's all I could go through now. Hope it helps.
Thanks Nikita. That at least gives me some ideas as to how to go about making some improvements. I'll probably try again tomorrow and see what I can come up with.
Rose, please just make sure you are working from my most recent draft for the nits and any other suggestions you might come up with. By the time you get to it, I'll have had three posted here at least, two so far, and the one I'll do sometime tomorrow. With all of the work I will have put into this by the time its done, I hope it will be something I am genuinely proud of. I'm not there yet with this piece, but I'll get there.
The third time is the charm.
It's another long day at work. I loathe my job and hate my boss. The pay isn't even that good. The only reason I still work here is because I need the money and haven't found anything better to do with my time. Watching the last minute tick away, I get up from my desk and go to my truck, waving at the receptionist, a brown haired thirty something lady whose name I don't even know, on my way out.
My cell phone beeps, greeting my arrival to my truck, an old rusting blue 1976 Chevy pickup. On the screen, I could clearly read, "3 missed calls, 1 voice mail message, 1 text message". I turn the key in the ignition and begin the process of heating the engine up. Turning my attention back to the phone, I press a few buttons, checking my missed calls first. All three are from my wife. There are no surprises there. I check my voice mail, and the voice of my wife, in a particularly sexy accent that is obviously her acting out the part, tells me that maybe my day at the office wasn't completely wasted.
"Hey there, big guy. I have a surprise for you tonight, but I don't have everything I'm going to need. Check your text messages for a list of items I'm going to use to give you a wild and crazy night tonight." The message ends with the longest voice mail kiss I've ever been left. Having a raging hard-on just thinking about the possibilities, I check my text messages and am more than a little puzzled. "Bring me a clay flower pot and a brown paper bag of cranberries, and you're dreams will come true."
What in heaven's name is she up to? A flower pot and some cranberries?
I put the phone down and begin the hour long trip to my house. My brain was numb from my entire day at work. I usually spent the better part of my ride home cursing myself for keeping the stupid job. Instead, my mind is swimming.
Ten minutes away from my house, I pull into the parking lot of the local supermarket and head for the entrance, taking my cell phone with me just in case. While perusing the fruit section for the cranberries, I spot them in plastic netting bags, not paper. I grab them anyway and go a few aisles over and grab some paper bags since they'll be used for my lunches eventually. Going to the front of the store where the flower arrangements are kept and looking around for the flower pots, I notice that they seem to come in three sizes, small, large, and gigantic. I don't know what she has in mind, so a call to her is in order.
"Hello?" It was that sexy voice that made me hard all over again.
"I'm at the supermarket, and looking at the flower pots. Do you want a small one, a large one, or a gigantic one?"
She sighs into the phone and continues in her sexy voice. "What do you mean by small, large, and gigantic? Gigantic like the size of your cock, large like the size of your ass, and small like the size of your pinkie finger? Get the large one, honey. I'll be waiting for you." She hangs up the phone before I can respond.
Grabbing the large flower pot and putting the cranberries and the paper bags in the pot to make it easier to carry, I bring them to the checkout lane, and smile at the cashier.
"What are these for?" the cashier asks, trying to make smalltalk with me.
"Damned if I know. I just get what the wife tells me to." I exchange a knowing wink with the cashier.
"That will be thirteen dollars and fifty five cents, sir." Handing over a twenty dollar bill, I collect my six dollars and forty five cents change, take the items to the car, and drive the remaining distance to my house. Upon arriving, I park the car in the driveway, take the prescribed items, unlock the door, and enter the house.
"Come here, big guy," she calls out to me from the top of the stairs where the kitchen is located. I want to hop up the stairs two at a time, but I know she won't approve of that. Instead, I go one step at a time as quickly as possible. Reaching the top of the stairs, in my rush to give her the items, I'm not paying attention to what I am carrying. The cranberries fall out of the flower pot, and the bag they were in rips apart spreading cranberries all over the floor.
"Oh shit," I exclaim. "Sorry Mistress," I say quickly, not wanting to incur her wrath for my foul use of language as I begin to pick up the cranberries.
"Well," she says, "go ahead and put them in one of the brown bags."
Thats what I was going to do anyway, but I intended to do so a bit more gracefully than that. Opening up the brown lunch bags, I separate one, lean over, and begin depositing the cranberries into the bag. It takes some time as the cranberries have scattered themselves pretty far apart. Apparently, I am not quick enough for her liking.
A sharp smack on my ass is followed by an order. "Hurry up!"
Going as quickly as I can, I respond, "Yes, Mistress."
As I am recovering the cranberries from their attempted escape out of our grasp, she examines the flower pot. "This pot will do nicely indeed. Yes it will." She sneaks behind me without my being aware. She smacks my ass again, causing me to drop the last of the cranberries I had picked up.
"When you're done with the cranberries, you are to strip naked. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress." I had learned a long time ago how unwise it was to not follow her instructions. She could be such a bitch when I didn't, but sometimes it was fun to do anyway just for the effect it garnered.
Picking up the last of the cranberries and depositing them into the brown paper bag, I hand them over to her. She looks pleased.
I begin to strip by taking off my sport jacket, then my tie, then my shirt. Folding these neatly and setting these on the back of a chair in the kitchen area, my belt is next to come off. I hold it up for her inspection.
She looks at it with a wicked grin. "No, thats not what I have planned for you tonight. Set that on top of your pants." I take off my shoes and my pants, setting my belt down as instructed. Taking off my socks, and finally my underwear, her eyes transfix on me. She looks at my manhood, rather, her manhood, for I am hers tonight to do with as she pleases.
She takes the flower pot and puts it on the seat of a chair, beckoning me over to her. I follow, not at all sure what is going to happen. She looks at the pot and thinks for a moment. "Don't move," she warns me. She walks off to go get something. A minute later, she comes back with a towel, which she sets on top of my clothes on the chair, and a short garden hose and begins to get to work attaching the hose to the hole at the bottom of the pot. Somehow, she manages to fit it into the hole snugly. The other end of the hose she curls up so it is hanging over the top of the flower pot. She smiles at her cleverness.
She grabs my cock with her left hand and begins to rub it while holding it over the pot, causing me to get hard. She cups my scrotum in her left hand, takes the bag of cranberries in her right, and begins pouring it over my cock into the pot. The pelting sensation is not entirely pleasant, but I don't think she is wishing to please me tonight, at least not yet. Having emptied the bag of cranberries, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two gallon-size containers of water. Setting the one in her left hand down on the table, she holds the one in her right hand up to my scrotum. At first, the coldness feels good, but slowly, it causes me to have an urgent need. I look up at her pleading with my eyes. She grabs my cock with her other hand and points at the pot. Pissing on the cranberries, almost involuntarily, we both know that if she hadn't given me permission, I would have been in some serious trouble. That thought did not appeal to me, but she knows it is true too. She smiles. I watch as nothing leaks out from the bottom of the flower pot.
She opens up one of the gallons of water, and slowly pours it over my cock into the flower pot. The cold sensation of the water causes my cock to get hard. I watch as the cranberries float and the water somehow circulates from the bottom of the pot through the hose to the top of the hose and back out into the pot like a small waterfall landing on my cock again and again as it comes down. My brain knows that there is something about this which doesn't make sense given the laws of physics as I know them to exist, so I make a mental note to ask her later how she managed to make that work. In the mean time, I have other worries to think about, like the fact that my cock is becoming ever more aroused by the constant flow of water on top of it.
Looking up at her, pleading with my eyes, she answers my unasked question. "No, you may not cum yet," she says with a wicked smile.
She opens up the other gallon of water, and begins to pour that over my cock. The water continues to flow through the hose and back out onto my cock. Now, the water level has risen to the point where it is almost touching my cock. As the cranberries float at the top of the water, some of them come into contact with my cock, causing me additional discomfort. The second gallon of water having been emptied into the pot, she takes my cock in her left hand and begins to rub it, sloshing my cock with water and cranberries as she goes.
Taking the towel from the chair where she had earlier set it, she dips it in the flower pot getting it all wet. She removes the wet towel, wrings it out over the pot, and carefully inspects its dampness. She wrings it out one more time, watching as the water is returned to the pot. Stepping back with the towel in hand, she swings the damp towel hitting me in the ass on the left side causing me to jump at the unexpected intrusion.
"You didn't like that?" she asks.
"M-m-m-m-mistress, I did, but --"
"Then don't jump, or I won't give you any more."
She swings the damp towel at my right side, and then my left again, repeating the pattern in rapid fire motion. My cock, still underneath the water, gets very hard.
"Play with yourself, but don't cum without asking," she said as she continued to strike my ass with the damp towel.
I begin to play with myself, rubbing and pulling and twisting my cock, feeling it in my hands through the water. It feels so good to touch it. Rubbing furiously, up and down, knowing I can't hold out much longer, I ask, "Mistress, may I cum please?"
"No, you may not," she says with a wicked grin on her face.
"Mistress, " I beg, "Mistress, please may I cum?" The sensations are driving me wild. My face contorts.
"No, you may not," she says again, with a twinkle in her eye.
"MISTRESS PLEASE!" I am at both my physical and mental breaking points.
She takes the damp towel, covers my cock with it, and says, "Move your hands." I do. She rubs my cock with the soaked towel, takes my cock out of the pot of water and cranberries, and says, "You may cum now."
"Thank you Mistress!" I squeak.
My cock explodes into the towel as she continues to rub me with it. Seeing stars, my legs get weak. I hold onto the table for balance, and she spanks me with her free hand. The relief I experience is mine, but my cock and my ass are hers for whatever, whenever, and wherever she pleases.
i'm going to try to keep stylistic comments to a minimum here, because i have a strong dislike for first person and and even stronger dislike for first person present tense. Therefore, if i comment on that it most likely, will turn into a rant.
The storyline is okay. The only WTF thought i had was to wonder at a man who gets hard at cold water. i do still think it would have worked better in third person past tense.
You run toward excess verbage. Keep it simple. Delete any word that the sentence doesn't need. Work at seeing the difference in details that contribute to the storyline and details that just clutter up the landscape. Does it make that great a difference whether it was her left hand or right hand? Fiction has three elements -- plot, characterization, and setting. Everything should contribute to at least one of the three. For every detail you put in, ask yourself to which of the 'holy trinity' it contributes. If the answer is none, delete it. (Example: the color and year of the truck.)
Some phrases read a bit awkward. To catch this, try reading it aloud.
Another good bit of advice is to put a piece aside for a day or two after you have written it. Then you can pick it up and read it with a 'reader' mindset, instead of a writer mindset. It isn't a race; take the time you need on an assignment.
Not a bad effort, even though the person and tense are an irritation to me.
i'll get your next assignment posted today or tomorrow.
rose
Quote:
Originally Posted by underwhere
Another long day comes to a close, and the work, as always, is more dull than a butter knife. I loathe my job and hate my boss. The pay isn't even that good. The only reason I still work here is because I need the money and haven't found anything better to do with my time. Watching the last minute tick away, I get up from my desk and go to my truck, waving at the receptionist, a brown haired thirty something lady whose name I don't even know, on my way out.
My cell phone, which I had left in my truck at the beginning of the day, beeps at me as I unlock the doors. On the screen, I read, "3 missed calls, 1 voice mail message, 1 text message". I turn the key in the ignition. Turning my attention back to the phone, I press a few buttons, checking my missed calls first. All three are from my wife. There are no surprises there. I check my voice mail, and the voice of my wife, in a particularly sexy accent that is obviously her acting out the part, tells me that maybe my day at the office wasn't completely wasted.
"Hey there, big guy. I have a surprise for you tonight, but I don't have everything I'm going to need. Better check your text messages to see what I'm missing, that is, if you want a wild and crazy night tonight." The message ends with the longest voice mail kiss I've ever been left. Her sexy voice, her words, and her kiss give a raging hard-on. Checking my text messages, I am more than a little puzzled. "Bring me a clay flower pot and a brown paper bag of cranberries, and your dreams will come true."
What in heaven's name is she up to? A flower pot and some cranberries?
I put the phone down and begin the hour long trip to my house. My brain was numb from my day at work. I usually spent the better part of my ride home cursing myself for keeping the stupid job. Instead, my mind is swimming.
Ten minutes away from my house, I pull into the parking lot of the local supermarket. While perusing the fruit section for the cranberries, I spot them in plastic netting bags, not paper. I grab them anyway and go a few aisles over and grab some paper bags since they'll be used for my lunches eventually. Going to the front of the store where the flower arrangements are kept and looking around for the flower pots, they seem to come in three sizes, small, large, and gigantic. I don't know what she has in mind, so a call to her is in order.
"Hello?" It was that sexy voice that made me hard all over again.
"I'm at the supermarket, and looking at the flower pots. Do you want a small one, a large one, or a gigantic one?"
She sighs into the phone and continues in her sexy voice. "What do you mean by small, large, and gigantic? Gigantic like the size of your cock, large like the size of your ass, and small like the size of your pinkie finger? Get the large one, honey. I'll be waiting for you." She hangs up the phone before I can respond.
Grabbing the large flower pot and putting the cranberries and the paper bags in the pot to make it easier to carry, I bring them to the checkout lane, and smile at the cashier.
"What are these for?" the cashier asks, trying to make smalltalk with me.
"Damned if I know. I just get what the wife tells me to." I exchange a knowing wink with the cashier.
"That will be thirteen dollars and fifty five cents, sir."
Handing the money over, I get on my way, my mind not entirely focussed on the remaining drive home.
"A flower pot and some cranberries? Why?"
My questions were soon answered.
"Come here, big guy," she calls out to me from the top of the stairs where the kitchen is located. I want to hop up the stairs two at a time, but I know she won't approve of that. Instead, I go one step at a time as quickly as possible. Reaching the top of the stairs, in my rush to give her the items, I'm not paying attention to what I am carrying. The cranberries fall out of the flower pot, and the bag they were in rips apart spreading cranberries all over the floor.
"Oh shit," I exclaim. "Sorry Mistress," I say quickly, not wanting to incur her wrath for my foul use of language as I begin to pick up the cranberries.
"Well," she says, "go ahead and put them in one of the brown bags."
Thats what I was going to do anyway, but I intended to do so a bit more gracefully than that. Opening up the brown lunch bags, I separate one, lean over, and begin depositing the cranberries into the bag. It takes some time as the cranberries are scattered pretty far apart. Apparently, I am not quick enough for her liking.
A sharp smack on my ass is followed by an order. "Hurry up!"
Going as quickly as I can, I respond, "Yes, Mistress."
As I am recovering the cranberries from their attempted escape out of our grasp, she examines the flower pot. "This pot will do nicely indeed. Yes it will." She sneaks behind me without my being aware, smacking my ass again, causing me to drop the last of the cranberries I had picked up.
"When you're done with the cranberries, you are to strip naked. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress." I had learned a long time ago how unwise it was to not follow her instructions. She could be such a bitch when I didn't, but sometimes it was fun to do anyway.
Picking up the last of the cranberries and depositing them into the brown paper bag, I hand them over to her. She looks pleased.
I begin to strip by taking off my sport jacket, then my tie, then my shirt. Folding these neatly and setting these on the back of a chair in the kitchen area, my belt is next to come off. I hold it up for her inspection.
She looks at it with a wicked grin. "No, thats not what I have planned for you tonight. Set that on top of your pants." Setting down the belt, I take off my shoes followed by my pants. Picking the belt back up and looking at it longingly, I place the belt on top of the pants as instructed. Taking off my socks, and finally my underwear, her eyes transfix on me. She looks at my manhood, rather, her manhood, for I am hers tonight to do with as she pleases.
She takes the flower pot and puts it on the seat of a chair, beckoning me over to her. I follow, not at all sure what is going to happen. She looks at the pot and thinks for a moment. "Don't move," she warns me. She walks off to go get something. A minute later, she comes back with a towel, which she sets on top of my clothes on the chair, and a short garden hose and begins to get to work attaching the hose to the hole at the bottom of the pot. Somehow, she manages to fit it into the hole snugly. The other end of the hose she curls up so it is hanging over the top of the flower pot. She smiles at her cleverness.
She grabs my cock with her hands and begins to rub it while holding it over the pot, causing me to get hard. Cupping my scrotum in her left hand, she takes the bag of cranberries in her right, and begins pouring it over my cock into the pot. The pelting sensation is not entirely pleasant, but I don't think she is wishing to please me tonight, at least not yet. Having emptied the bag of cranberries, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two gallon-size jugs of water. Setting the one in her left hand down on the table, she holds the one in her right hand up to my scrotum. At first, the coldness feels good, but slowly, it causes me to have an urgent need. I look up at her pleading with my eyes. She grabs my cock with her left hand and points at the pot. Pissing on the cranberries, almost involuntarily, we both know that if she hadn't given me permission, I would have been in some serious trouble. That thought did not appeal to me, but she knows it is true too. She smiles. I watch as nothing leaks out from the bottom of the flower pot.
She opens up one of the gallons of water, and slowly pours it over my cock into the flower pot. The cold water makes my cock hard. I watch as the cranberries float and the water somehow circulates from the bottom of the pot through the hose to the top of the hose and back out into the pot like a small waterfall landing on my cock again and again as it comes down. My brain knows that there is something about this which doesn't make sense given the laws of physics as I know them to exist, so I make a mental note to ask her later how she managed to make that work. In the mean time, I have other worries to think about, like the fact that my cock is becoming ever more aroused by the constant flow of water on top of it.
Looking up at her, pleading with my eyes, she answers my unasked question. "No, you may not cum yet," she says with a wicked smile.
She opens the other gallon of water, and begins to pour that over my cock. The water continues to flow through the hose and back out onto my cock. Now, the water level has risen to the point where it is almost touching my cock. As the cranberries float at the top of the water, some of them come into contact with my cock, causing me additional discomfort. The second gallon of water having been emptied into the pot, she takes my cock in her left hand and begins to rub it, sloshing my cock with water and cranberries as she goes.
Taking the towel, she dips it in the flower pot getting it all wet. She removes the wet towel, wrings it out over the pot, and carefully examines its dampness. She wrings it out one more time, watching as the water is returned to the pot. Stepping back with the towel in hand, she swings the damp towel hitting me in the ass on the left side causing me to jump at the unexpected intrusion.
"You didn't like that?" she asks.
"M-m-m-m-mistress, I did, but --"
"Then don't jump, or I won't give you any more."
She swings the damp towel at my right side, and then my left again, repeating the pattern in rapid fire motion. My cock, still underneath the water, gets very hard.
"Play with yourself, but don't cum without asking," she said as she continued to strike my ass with the damp towel.
I begin to play with myself, rubbing and pulling and twisting my cock, feeling it in my hands through the water. It feels so good to touch it. Rubbing furiously, up and down, knowing I can't hold out much longer, I ask, "Mistress, may I cum please?"
"No, you may not," she says with a wicked grin on her face.
"Mistress, " I beg, "Mistress, please may I cum?" The sensations are driving me wild. My face contorts.
"No, you may not," she says again, with a twinkle in her eye.
"MISTRESS PLEASE!" I am at both my physical and mental breaking points.
She takes the damp towel, covers my cock with it, and says, "Move your hands." I do. She rubs my cock with the soaked towel, takes my cock out of the pot of water and cranberries, and says, "You may cum now."
"Thank you Mistress!" I squeak.
My cock explodes into the towel as she continues to rub me with it. Seeing stars, my legs get weak. I hold onto the table for balance, and she spanks me with her free hand. The relief I experience is mine, but my cock and my ass are hers for whatever, whenever, and wherever she pleases.