The End of the Smut Marathon (for me)

The votes are over and the results are in. And if it hasn’t become clear by the title of this post already, I’ve been eliminated. I know I’ve expressed a bit of bitterness in past rounds due to the feedback and low scores I received, but now I feel… I don’t know the word. Somewhere between euphoric and relieved. Reconciled? I think that’s it.

Anyway, as I stated in my previous post, I wrote a story for this final round that I felt very proud of, despite whatever the score or feedback may reveal. And now, I can share my final entry in the Smut Marathon with you:

Sir Made Dessert

“I think it’s time for dessert,” he says deliberately.
It catches me off guard, and I’m inarticulate as he takes the empty plate from in front of me. We had barely spoken during our meal, and I had hoped to converse a bit this evening. But at this gesture I can only manage to reply with, “You made dessert?”
He’s already disappeared into the kitchen and I feel a tinge of excitement at what Sir could have made. We made a habit of dressing up once a month and having a date night at home. I even wore the lavender dress he loves to see me wear. Astonishingly, this is the first time he’s ever prepared dessert. I smile excitedly as he returns with a small, square plate he places in front of me. On it is a single, folded treat.
“A fortune cookie?” I ask curiously, “Not what I expected. We didn’t even have Chinese for dinner.”
I notice it’s a bit different from others I’ve had in the past. It’s not in a plastic package, and the texture looks homemade. Grabbing both ends, I break it through the middle, and find the small slip of paper inside. I blink twice at the passage: ‘Keep your hands on the table. Don’t move.’
An order. My heart is already beginning to race when I look up to see what my Sir has planned, but he’s already disappeared. A nervous knot builds in my stomach, then tightens as I feel a warm hand touch my knee. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest, but realize it’s my Sir. His hand glides slowly up my thigh and I understand what he intends. Looking back at the slip of paper I follow it’s instructions and place my hands flat on the firm, wooden surface.
He wraps his fingers around the back of my knees and pulls me to the edge of my seat. I’m already tingling in anticipation as his fingers slide my panties off my thighs, and past my knees. His touch tickles my skin, but I manage to contain myself and keep my palms flat on the table. He parts my legs and I’m conflicted: do I watch, or do I let my senses go wild? It’s difficult to decide.
My mind races until I feel the peck of his lips on my mons, just above my clitoris. The tip of his nose brushes against my skin and a shiver runs straight up my body like electricity. He makes me want to wriggle on his face, but the tiny paper slip keeps looking back up at me. It’s words stare back at me: Don’t move. A flick of his tongue against my clitoris wakes me from the trance and I let out a small gasp. Another lick and my cunt grows hot.
I want to reach under the table and hold his head between my thighs, but the fortune cookie’s instruction is clear: Keep your hands on the table. Only eight words are on the piece of paper, but they hold me down as strong as any restraint. He holds my thighs apart and devours me. His tongue runs circles around my clitoris before sliding down and lapping up my arousal like a sweet honey. My back arches as my climax builds.
I’m gripping the edges of the table as ecstasy passes my lips in a cry of pleasure. My body is electric as he ignites my lust. Sir grips the insides of my thighs as his tongue moves back and forth against my sensitive clit, pushing me into a most amazing orgasm. As it passes, I fall back into my seat, dizzy, heavy breathing, and satiated. Sir comes out from under the table and delights in the smile on my face. He takes a piece of my fortune cookie and eats it cheekily, “Delicious.”

In hindsight, I think I could have picked a better title. Shortly after submitting it, I actually came up with one. “Eight Little Words” works a lot better, don’t you think? But then again, no one ever lost points because of a bad title, either. You’ll remember I mentioned how I was nearly about to pull out of the competition because I didn’t think I’d advance past this round anyway. It turns out I was correct, as only twenty writers could move on, and lo and behold, I end up in 21st place overall, despite the fact that my story placed 5th this round. Still, 5th place for this round makes me pretty happy.

As far as feedback goes, I was pretty satisfied with what readers and judges said about my entry. What I learned from that feedback was also kind of sobering. Take this feedback for example:

Nicely done. I really love this line “Only eight words are on the piece of paper, but they hold me down as strong as any restraint.” Sexy and tender at the same time. Not the most inventive piece here but well executed.

As well as this one:

Extremely hot! I especially loved the part where you wrote that the words were as strong as any restraint.

And I’ll throw this one in here too:

 Sweet story, but it felt a little clichéd to me, I’m afraid. It might also be worth taking a look at some of your word choices and simplifying them – ‘deliberately’ and ‘inarticulate’ didn’t quite work, I thought. Sorry!

Not all good, but not all bad either. I came to a realization that any kind of writing is going to work for some, but not for others. You can’t please everyone, even when it comes to smut. There will always be people who see your work as some of the best stuff that’s ever been written, while others will think it’s pedantic, derivative, or hogwash. This goes for every writer and every reader. None of the entrants are bad writers, and shouldn’t think so for being eliminated.

In this sense, I feel like a writer’s ability to create a great story isn’t something that can be measured in the facet of a score-based competition like the Smut Marathon. Every judge, no matter whom you choose, is still a reader with their own tastes. I had a discussion about this with my wife recently where we thought of it like a pie contest. There’s one judge who may say, “This might work better as a crumble, or a tarte, or puff pastry, but it’s not exactly a pie.” while another judge may say, “You put raisins in this? The contest doesn’t ask for raisins.” even though the contest didn’t specify that we couldn’t use raisins, either. And of course, there’s always someone who makes a blueberry pie. And as it turns out, blueberry pie is two of the judges’ favorite. It doesn’t even matter that they don’t know who made the blueberry pie, because no matter how indifferent you try to be, your own personal tastes are going to play a small part in how you decide a winner.

In the end, I realize what I write is meant for those who share my tastes, and what I read is going to be based on my tastes as well. If you take me to a buffet where they serve twenty different kinds of pie, you can bet your ass I’m still going to take two slices of pecan, and maybe a slice of sweet potato later. So, I’m not upset that the judges didn’t like my writing well enough to get me to advance, but I did learn a lot about different writing styles along the way, and I was challenged to go further. Again, I may have gone a different route with the scoring system, but overall, I’m happy to have taken part in this year’s Smut Marathon. I’ll still be here to read more entries and give my votes to those that remain until the end!

If you’re curious, here’s what the rest of the feedback had to say:

 A very hot story. The recurrence of the line of the fortune cookie, makes it stronger. Good job.

Thank you! That’s what I was going for when I thought the fortune cookie was supposed to be the topic of the entry. And not just something that only needed to be mentioned at least once…

If I’d had more than three votes, I’d have voted for this. But I only had three votes, so I had to find trivial, pedantic fault: there’s a possessive “its” with an apostrophe, I didn’t like “tinge of excitement” or “at this gesture”… none of the faults really detracted from the quality of the story, but they were enough to make this fourth or fifth in my estimation.

Yup, I missed it by that much.

“Keep your hands on the table.” YES PLEASE! I made my sir play this with me after we read your story. So heavenly! Loved it!

giphy

But now that I’m done with this competition, I think it’s time I refocus my efforts on getting my creative muse off their lazy ass and get back to the stacks of projects I’ve got laying around. Much to do, and we’re already late!

Congratulations again to the twenty writers who are moving on to the next round, and good luck!

  4 comments for “The End of the Smut Marathon (for me)

  1. thebarefootsub
    July 15, 2018 at 10:10 pm

    I’m pleased you didn’t pull out, this was one of my favourites x

    Like

  2. July 15, 2018 at 10:22 pm

    I totally agree. So much of the voting is based on personal preference, and there is nothing a writer can do to prepare for that. All we can do is write our best and hope.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. July 16, 2018 at 3:27 pm

    I love love love your work! You have the naughtiest of minds and a wonderful way with words. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. nbrplaza
    July 17, 2018 at 12:08 pm

    You had my vote (9 points). Sorry to see you go, but I guess it’s all in the game. And that’s just what this is: a competition. Please keep writing. I love your work.

    Liked by 1 person

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