Mediocre Author's Note:
Okay, folks. Please don't judge this one too harshly! This was a collaborative story (often referred to as RP) written by myself and
Seraph_Nocturne
. It was written strictly for fun, but we realized that readers might enjoy it too, so here it is.
Within the D/s genre of noncon writing, Seraph and I both write "switch" and we both enjoy maledom and femdom stories. So in order to decide who wrote for what character, which character took control, and even which sex position occurred... Everything was done at random. We randomly selected everything, and the story was so unique and fun as a result.
If you're looking for a story which flows exactly like a traditional narrative, then this might not be right for you. But If you think you'd like to read a work that is ostensibly a naturally occurring narrative, with no directly planned direction, written by two female authors, both cackling like lunatics as we torture our poor fictional characters... Well then this story may be ideal for you.
Comment, because one of us will answer almost everyone.
As always, Enjoy:
Seraph_Nocturne's Note:
In the absolutely lascivious spirit of writing camaraderie, M.A. and I have been exploring various types of collaborative styles, and lit-role-play has without a doubt been one of the most fun fashions of writing yet. I truly hope the following piece is as entertaining to read as it was to write!
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He missed the sun.
He missed knowing what time it was, and the sounds of the city. He missed being able to sleep with a pillow and blanket, and food that actually looked like food, and fuck if he didn't miss his dumb-fuck annoying Pomeranian. Well, it wasn't his; it had been his grandmother's before she passed. Being barely a puppy, and the only one in his family who didn't have a human litter of his own, it only made sense that he got stuck with the yippy little shit. Oh, what he would give to hear those non-stop yips now and wake up to Fifi trying to mouth rape him with doggy breath kisses.
With a deep sigh, he lay on his back and stared at the blinding white of the ceiling. If he stared for too long, the wave of vertigo forced him to stand up, but being in a literal cube of white nothingness, even that did little to give him a sense of direction. He groaned and let his golden-green eyes shut out the room, trying to dig deep for a fresh memory to keep him sane.
How long had he been here now?
The last he felt along the walls, the long string of numbers had appeared as always. They ticked away as if they were seconds, but they didn't quite match up. It took about a second and a half for the number to climb, one digit at a time. A bit of mental math placed the length of his imprisonment at about sixty days. It felt like sixty weeks.
It felt like sixty months.
It wasn't cold or hot inside, though he might have liked it a bit warmer. He lived in San Diego, which was probably a balmy temperature comparable to Hell around this time of year, but the beach being literally walking distance from his condo had always made it better. The mess of springy, light colored curls that were usually well tamed had grown out over the duration of his stay as prisoner of the damned white box. He had long gotten accustomed to the fact that hair would grow nowhere else. He wasn't sure of the magic or manipulation behind it, but he mused early on before... well...
before shit began to happen,
that being bare definitely added another inch or two on to what was already a highly impressive piece of equipment between his legs.
To be honest, he missed the facial scruff more than the little train of neatly groomed hair from his navel to his cock. He had only turned twenty-two over spring and it had felt like it took an eternity for him to begin to grow facial hair. His friends teased him relentlessly over it... or well, he was sure they would, if he had any friends.
Oh, he was so fired. Oh, he had absolutely flunked out of college by now. Honestly, Ayden would've been surprised if anyone at all was looking for him. He didn't have an outstanding reputation as the world's most conversational, friendly twenty-something out on the West Coast. He didn't have much of a reputation at all, interning as assistant to an investigative journalist. He spent most of his time in solitude, snapping photos and tailing leads when his mentor was too busy fucking whores in cheap Best Western rooms. His mother called every other month, but aside from that, he had long since been the black sheep that no one expected to show at family gatherings. It wasn't that they didn't want them there... Ayden didn't want to be there.
He felt like he had all but suffocated under the strain of doting and overly affectionate aunts and uncles and cousins for the better half of his life, and when the opportunity came to get the hell out of dodge and do something for himself arose, he bought the plane ticket with a backpack and enough to cover the deposit and first month's rent on a dinky apartment and never looked back.
And here he was... some sort of human guinea pig for the Feds. Or... or well, he wasn't sure. Some really fucked up individuals, though, was what he had gathered. At first, it seemed like a joke. And then they started the torture. And then they expected him to be the torturer. He reached up, plucking a few dusty blond curls that hung from his head for the satisfaction of the 'spoing' as they bounced back. He repeated the action perhaps three dozen times before a frustrated sigh expelled past his lips, and he shifted over onto his stomach, burying his youthful face against his arms.
Ayden was not at all an unconventional youth. He had always been taller than most of his classmates. At six feet and four inches, there weren't many people he had to look up to. His build had been wiry and thin as a child, but not long after puberty, he'd taken up soccer; he had gone from awkward, nerdy #2 pencil to a relatively well toned and handsome #2 pencil.
He had no vanity over it, but he'd lie if he said he hadn't stopped a hottie or two in her tracks since he'd started at University... If not for his height and sinewy, muscular stature, then most definitely those gorgeous golden-green fuck-me eyes. Their words, not his. His eyes seemed always on the verge of lulling shut because he was just that fucking lazy, with long thick lashes, perfectly complimented by the chiseled structure of his face and cupid's bow lips, which seemed just a bit too big.
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Heeey guys!
