Fighting Doubts

Another round down for the Smut Marathon.

I went into the voting round feeling okay about my story. My thoughts were it was a well written piece that followed the stated requirements, and that was important to me. Here’s my story.

Pleasure is my purpose

They told me I was destined to do great things. The first hands to touch my raw form said I’d be the covering for replacement limbs. Realistic skin over prosthetic arms and legs. So real no one could tell the difference.

My understanding of greatness changed when I became something different. It changed again the day I met Greg.

Being with Greg has taught me I’m great when I’m in his hands. That being ready for him brings us both joy.

The way my flesh molded to fit that part of him that seemed so hard and soft at once, to give him pleasure, made me lie awake every night. I waited, useless until he reached for me.

I listened for the rustle of his sheets as he tossed in the bed. For the change in his breathing and that tiny moan that told me he stirred. Then came the dry scrape of skin on skin and his sleepy hum playing in tandem.

He’d want me soon.

God, when he reached for me, pulling me from the darkness where I rested, my excitement bloomed. When his hand closed around me and he uttered that first groan of pleasure as I enveloped him, I melted inside.

I barely noticed the cool splash of lube beforehand, my whole being focused on the hot flesh I encompassed. All that mattered was being slick for him, my world shrinking down to the point where I held all of him in the depths of me.

My lips kissed the base of his cock, his moans vibrating from his body along mine. The banging of his knuckles against my soft underside as he fondled his balls transmitted his urgency. I tightened around him as he stiffened to the point where I always wondered which of us would give first.

Sometimes he gifted me with the slippery reward of his come, the abundance of it spilling inside me, warming my being. Tonight he pulled me away with a pop, and I listened to his protracted groan as he spilled on his body. The splashes came fast and then faded into silence.

He dropped me beside him. I lay against him as his breathing settled into that rhythm that meant he’d sleep soundly the rest of the night.

That same contentment filled me. I lay there happy in my place, and my purpose, with Greg.

I was pleased. Well, as pleased as I’m going to be with my writing. I have this terrible habit of having zero ability to tell if my story is good or not. It felt good, which is my gauge.

That “feeling decent” lasted right until I started reading the other pieces. Then it morphed into, “meh.” Compared to other stories, I felt like mine was middle of the road, at best. Not the worst, but definitely not a stand out piece.

One worry I had was that it wasn’t sexy enough. It was a tough line to walk because speaking from the toys pov I struggled to make it feel sexy to me. It ended up more a tale of worship than a sexy piece.

A piece of feedback that was spot on, and that I was unsure of while writing, was the bit with the knuckles I tried to incorporate from the original. It was a fair criticism. One judge made a critique about having preferred a sad story. I mean, okay, I guess, but not something I was comfortable writing so I attributed that to personal story preference. 🤷🏾‍♀️

I wanted to speak a bit to feedback. I’ve never really been keen on feedback, which is something I’m working toward. I’ve never gotten much of it so I’ve learned to treat zero feedback and negative feedback the same. It didn’t work so I need to write better the next time. It’s that how it should go? Write better. I don’t particular know how to write to the audience because I don’t have the best gauge on that. I only know how to write what works for me and I just stick to that thought process.

This was definitely a round where I wasn’t going to necessarily write a piece that appealed to a lot of people. I did write the best piece I know how to write, but as is most things in writing, it didn’t tick everyone’s box. My placement was what I predicted, the public vote giving me the points that kept me in the place I’m in. The judges certainly weren’t in love with it.

As for leaving comments on other pieces, i struggled because many people wrote on similar stories. I had a hard time reading the same thing over and over so couldn’t come up with any meaningful critique for that reason. It was like overload by the end even after I’d read through the stories more than once.

I hit a low by the end of the night yesterday where I just couldn’t shake the feeling I was writing meh stuff. I felt off about things I’d written over the past week, and nothing felt stellar. I write through it, but I wonder if it has an effect on my stories. I literally wrote a piece and published it yesterday, but considered trashing it because I was so ambivalent about it. Oh well.

This next round is underway. I wrote up one story and half started another. Neither makes me feel great, but I can probably attribute that to my lingering feelings of meh. So, things could either be brilliant or a disaster.

I’m hoping to write well enough to stay in the game. Good luck to those who remain.