2021-09-13 Writing in 3D Exercise
#4 of Writer's Crossing
Our exercise this week was to write an "intimate scene" based on one of some provided images. I chose one of a wolf and a cat in bed. I don't really like erotic scenes. People just skim through your story to read them. If you look at Game of Thrones or Orange is the New Black, it's clear people use sex to cover up shitty, cliched writing. I don't really want to talk about this one. I think the writing speaks for itself.
He was trouble from one end to the other. It took weeks to wheedle him into coming to the motel with him. Valyr needed this. He was far too pent up. He'd been saving himself to bust a major nut, but the only one succumbing to his texts was Clay. Poor, pitiable Clay. Angry with him. Angry with himself. At least he'd shed some of that weight. He was a mess of obfuscating anxiety standing in that hotel room, being ordered to undress, but he was going too slow. Valyr yanked down Clay's stupid khakis, causing him to flinch.
But Clay had his amusing aspects. Every time Valyr dropped his pants to his knees, he could taste the apprehension in the air. He could see Clay give a small jump, as though one time was any more special than the last. Clay had desperation, and desperation made for a quick bite to eat if one was hungry and lived by impulse as Valyr did. Plus which, Valyr didn't need to blow money on wrapping his crap. All Clay really needed was for Valyr to rinse with mouthwash after a cigarette, and he could punch into that rear end and go for broke. He bitched and moaned for Valyr to make use of some lube, but that cost money, and he didn't mind fiddling around in there with a couple of digits and plenty of spit.
Valyr thrust Clay upon the motel bedspread and shoved his legs apart. Clay whimpered, but Valyr shushed him, not really wanting to have to listen to his incomprehensible words just now. He felt like his sheath might erupt, and he wanted to get inside before his knot inflated. That was the other thing about Clay; he took the knot without knowing any better, and nothing tugged so good as at the root.
"Shut up." Valyr shoved Clay against the mattress. Clay trembled. Before too long, Valyr had lipsticked his way inside and was burgeoning inch after inch into that gritty, elastic socket. Fuck yeah. So much better than pussy. That was a job for Clay's personality. Valyr sank in roughly. He'd primed Clay good this time. He didn't like lookin' someone in the face whenever he was plowing, but he'd make an exception this time. Clay deserved a reward for coming out here with him. He even heard Clay's trivial whimpers. He kept trying to stifle them ever since Valyr had told him to shut it with the theatrics one time. Clay hadn't been to responsive after that, but the prick didn't say no, now did he?
He pressed his forehead to Clay's, breathing hot, meaty breath over him. Clay sputtered, hating the sensation of someone else's hot exhalation entering his lungs. But he got his legs up, good and easy, and Valyr knew that he could get in pretty deep. Clay always caved. He had a habit of relaxing too slow, but once he did, the bitch could take a pounding. Clay quietened down, so Valyr made do with forcing the mattress to squeak under their jerky copulation. Clay's fat dick very nearly touched his upper chest, the way he was bent. Valyr bet he could bend Clay all the way some day. What a waste of a dick on a mewling little beta like this.
Best of all, Clay didn't need to get off. Valyr could go at him again and again, and Clay didn't seem to have half a mind to know what the whole point of it all was. Ejaculate, you little creep. It often took over an hour to fellate him to popping off. Valyr got tired of it; his jaw ached, then Clay acted like he did something wrong. On a spur of the moment, Valyr wanted to hear him cry. He already knew all Clay's weaknesses, and bit down hard where Clay's neck met his shoulder.