THE CHALLENGE Using just dialogue, write a scene between your character and someone they’re attracted to. Deadline Midnight (EST) Friday, 26 Apr 2024 Limits 1 entry per person no strict word limit, but please try to keep it around 2,000 words- remember, everyone has to read these to vote Prizes 1st Place: 4,000 EcchiCredits 2nd Place: 2,000 EcchiCredits 3rd Place: 1,000 EcchiCredits

first draft, not well edited, around 1500 words, and it ended darker than I intended. Resurrection Incantation It is a dark night with only a hint of moonlight filtering through the clouds, and as I stand upon the ancient stones paving a ring around the alter the cold lances up through my bare feet like knives of ice. I am naked and the air is chill upon my bare skin. Blood seeps from the unholy symbols carved into my flesh. It wells in the self-made wounds but does not drip, leaving a pattern of black and red sigils and whorls over my pale white skin. I studied the pact, a life for a life, and I now prepare to offer up the young woman who until this night has been my lover. I have known her intimately, and she had given herself to me, physically, mentally, and finally, after months of carefully cultivating the seeds planted so many months ago, spiritually. But her entrance to the fold of the initiated was not what she thought. I told her she would join me as an equal, which in a sense is true. Her life force will bring back my love, her flesh will be reshaped into the form of my master, the only man to whom I have ever willingly given myself. But she will cease to be. The rituals we performed were not to make her one of us, but to prepare her for sacrifice. I feel a pang of regret, but brush it aside. It is why I took the poor thing as my lover in the first place. Why I sheltered her and made her trust me, why I provided for her and made her feel she belonged. I not only needed her to love me, but I needed to love her as well. She gave herself so willingly, like a hungry animal begging for a gentle touch, kneeling beside me, desperate for the approval only I could give. How could I not have fallen for her, at least a little bit? But I fell harder than I intended. Still, it is what is required, love for love, life for life. Had I not loved her, the sacrifice would not have been adequate. I am sorry. I told her as much as she slid into unconsciousness. I knew from the start she would die by my hand, but I had thought to keep myself distant, maintain some sort of emotional barrier, but in the end, she found her way into my heart. It is like putting down a childhood pet, an unpleasant and sad task, but one that must be carried out, and something only you can do. She stirs as I stand over her on the altar, and I begin the incantation. In moon's soft glow on this dark night, I forsake my love, call beyond life's light. With blood and words I weave this spell, To return true love from death's dark well. Lightning flashes in the distance, and I see her laid out before me. She is also nude, her body lean and luscious, the curves I have caressed and felt pressed against my own call out for my embrace. Her breasts rise and fall with her breathing. I know she is aroused. The brew I concoted makes her groggy and hungry for the touch of a lover. The knife, when I plunge it into her heart, will feel like a lover entering her willing and ready body. It will be bliss at the end for her. I continue the words of the spell, my voice rising as a breeze stirs the air and the clouds seem to move faster. With heart and soul, I call your name, Tear through the veil, our love aflame. From bones grown cold, let warmth arise, And bring my love to mortal skies. There is another flash of lightning, closer this time, and a fat raindrop lands on my outstretched hand. It is followed by another, and then a third. The clouds dance across the sky in unnaturally rapid formations, swirling around as if an anomalous storm brews beyond the ability of man to predict. My voice rises with the wind. By ancient bonds and magic's art, I summon thee, with beating heart. Come back to life, oh love so true, Our destinies entwined anew. She moves on the altar, her body writhing as if in the throes of ecstasy, one hand sliding between her own legs, but whether to try to reduce her arousal or make it stronger I cannot say. I have an urge to put my hand there as well, to urge her on, to give her one last release, la petite mort, before her final act. But instead I grasp the knife, raise it above my head, prepare to drive it through her chest and into her beating heart. To heart's embrace, I drive my knife, To bring one back, I give a life. I hesitate, looking down at her, so young, so beautiful, so full of life and energy, so full of love and willing to give everything to me. I do love her. I do. But I loved another before her. We made a pact. I cannot falter, and so I drive the knife into her chest. Awaken now, return to me, My love reborn, so mote it be. There is no scream, no mad scramble for survival. She lets out a sigh as if I have given her pleasure, and then she dies. I stare at the hilt of the knife poking up from between her perfect breasts, breasts that no longer rise and fall with the breath of the living. As the rain begins in earnest, I continue the incantation. Through time and space, our spirits blend, Together now, until the end. By magic's might and love's pure flame, I call my love back whence they came. The wind whips my long hair about my head and torso, raindrops pelt my naked flesh like stinging mites, lightning flashes and I can feel the energy of the dead surround me like a warm blanket, ready to lull me into its deadly embrace. But I resist, I continue the spell, my voice rising above the howling wind. Hear my plea, powers beyond, Unite our souls, let love abscond. With this enchantment, let it be, My love returns to life, to me. I collapse onto my knees on the cold, wet stone. I feel as if my soul has been ripped from my body, every fiber of my being stretched to the edge of the cosmos, my mind shredded, my heart... my heart... She is gone. She was innocent and pure and she loved me more than he ever did. Her love was pure, the kind of thing he would mock and use for his benefit. Just as I did. I realize now that she was my one true love, not him. I weep uncontrollably. What have I done? And then I hear the wail of my old love's voice, a cry of hatred and frustration that fades into the clouds, and the storm ceases even faster than it came. Silence blankets the altar with the fragments of all the lies I told her and myself on the path to this place of utter loss. When I needed focus and single-minded purpose, my feelings grew confused, and I broke the spell. I sacrified the one who ended up being my one true love to bring back the one I thought was my true love, and in the end, I lost both. I cannot believe the sense of loss. I stand on shaky legs, reach across her lifeless form, pull the knife from her chest with a sound like wet grief. I cannot go on, and I lift the knife to drive it into my own chest. It is then that I her her voice. "My love." I see her body move, hands and arms jerking inhumanly as she pushes her lifeless corpse upward. Her neck twists at an impossible angle and glazed, unseeing eyes turn toward me. Her exanimate body rises, realigns itself, the wound in her chest open and oozing. She is still beautiful. She is still the one that I truly love. She crawls toward me, more crablike than anything, arms and legs moving in ways no human body has ever moved as bones crack and shatter and realign to whatever new purpose animates them. "Kiss me," she says. and she is before me, hands upon my nudity, fingers teasing at the open wounds of the symbols carved into my flesh, cold insensate lips searching for my own. Her tongue extends into my mouth and I return her deep and passionate kiss, wanting my love, wanting her back, knowing that I have made the biggest mistake of my life. I don't even realizes she's taken the knife from me until she slides it into my belly and spills my entrails at our feet. The warmth of my own insides and viscera coating my legs and feet is a contrast to the thick, cold tongue that blocks my airway. "Love me," she says into my mind. And I do. With everything I have. Until the very end.

Death. It consumes everything. Friendship, family, love, life. You never know how long it will last. The lonely sometimes even more susceptible to it. Ryo had watched it happen over the years. First his grandparents, one after another, a few uncles, then his father. He had few friends. He feared the day he lost any of them. While he was not elderly, he was certainly not a kid anymore either. His own death terrified him more than anything. He desperately hoped for an afterlife, but suspected and feared oblivion after the final breath. He felt no confidence any religion was true. He feared how close it was getting. Death and the fear of it gnawed at him from the earliest childhood. As a kid he could tell himself it was very likely a long way away, barring some freak accident or disaster. But now things were different. There was a desire to reclaim the past escape the end. Many had tried it in the past, some much more wealthy and powerful than him. But he still needed to try. He dug through many shady books and websites. Dug into any material he could find. Eventually on obscure forums, he found people telling strange stories. Probably fake, but sounded just genuine enough to give him hope. It led him to take a drive to a small business, in a town hours away. He was welcomed inside by the owner. A strange, older man, with an odd look in his eye. This was not old fashioned superstition or magic though. Not entirely at least. It was technology, but technology he claimed would do the seemingly supernatural. It back there was a cluster of machines. Helmet’s and gloves, that made Ryo think VR. But the man claimed they let you reach out. Think about what you lost. Whether someone dead, or just a lost connection. It would link you to them. Perhaps draw them back into your life. He offered Ryo a chance to try it out. Warned him to trying something small first. He walked back. Got into the chair. Put the equipment on. The old man told him to focus on an old fond memory. He thought back to a childhood friend he had not seen in many years, he focused on the thought. Then he felt a jerking pull. His sense were pulled away from the building, his body. He found himself in a strange house. Standing before a man, familiar, yet not. The man introduced himself, asked what was going on very confused. It was the name of his old friend. They talked a little. Remembering the past. Ryo wanted proof this was real. He suggested maybe they should meet again, asked his friend to contact the next day, then he felt himself get pulled back. Shaken up, he left, waited to see what happened. He was contacted the day, got confirmation it all had happened. Plans were made. But more importantly, he returned to the old man’s business. This time he tested to claim what had been lost. He remembered his childhood dog. He found himself reunited with her, in a strange empty field. He played with her for a few hours. Then brought back again. The old man told him to be careful with the dead. The nature of the connections were still unclear. Whether there would be consequences. He kept going. Seeing old relatives. Talking to them. They had all the memories they should have, it was just like he remembered them. But they avoided the questions on death or the afterlife. They could not or would not sooth his fears. Leaving him a little uneasy, uncertain. But he kept going. He wanted to reach out to someone else he long missed. An online connection. One of the few people he felt comfortable talking to about personal things and had played somethings with online. She had just disappeared one day. While he mostly recovered, it hurt at the time, and the pain still lingered a little. He had no idea where she was now. If anything happened. He thought back on all of that. He got pulled in, found himself in an old house, that appeared long abandoned. A faint voice called him back. He found a young woman, maybe early 20s, lying weakly in a bed. She apologized to him, for not anything. She had suddenly got sick. Did not last long after that. There were many she did not have a chance to say goodbye to. She thanked him for the visit. But she said she had an offer to him. As man and woman, dead and alive. He could bring her back. If they ‘became one’ in the place. Instead of giving her child, he could give her life. One of legs spread a little. She knew it was a little weird, but asked if he would do it. He paused for bit, nodded. He then undressed, crawled into the bed and they made love for some time. After it was over, he returned again. A strange feeling in his body this time. The man had an odd look as well. Concerned? He did not say anything though. He went to bed, had a restless sleep. When he woke up, he felt different. Strange, in a way he did not fully understand. But he continued his days. Until one day, he could not move. More precisely, the body did not move on its own. It was not his body either. It was his old friend’s. The woman’s body. Her thoughts echoed in the head so he could hear. They had truly become one. Every few weeks they would take turns controlling the body, the body would change. She reassured him. They would never be alone again. Even when it switched back to his body, he would hear her thoughts from now on. She told him to look forward to seeing life as a woman, she would do the same as a man. He had no control over the body as a woman. But he see, hear, smell…feel, everything she did. He was a little uneasy. But he hoped not to be too weirded out by it. Looked forward to where life might go, two lives as one.

As spring begins to dig it's way out of winter's cold, dark grave religious feasts celebrating rebirth have long been celebrated. Here, in the American Midwest, magnolia trees and daffodils are blooming as pale buds start to show on many other trees and, with Easter looming, resurrection seems a natural theme. The requirements are simple: something dead has returned. Tell me you zombie stories, resurrections, reincarnations and reanimations. Horrific, hot, humorous or hopeful, bring your dead back to life. Bonus points (maybe, I don't actually decide the winners, popular vote does) for putting the "romance" in necromancer. 4,000 ecchi credits to first place 2,000 to second 1,000 to third. Have fun and good luck. Voting will begin at midnight, April 7th.

Everyone has been paid for Challenges 27 and 28. And now there have been over 80,000 credits claimed as prizes from these contests since the club started!

A Year of Yes Isabella Moreno lingered by the threshold of the bustling New Year's Eve party, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of a book she'd brought along as if it were a talisman against the revelry. The laughter and clinking glasses filled the room, yet she stood apart, a silent observer of the celebration. Her friend, Maria, with her untamed laughter and zest for life, would have plunged into the crowd without hesitation, pulling Isabella along. But Maria was gone, and with her, the daring part of Isabella's spirit seemed to have vanished, too. Isabella wiped a tear. A shiver of resolution ran through her as she remembered the promise made over Maria's last days: to savor life, to indulge in the pleasures she had only vicariously lived through the pages of her clandestine collection. She inhaled deeply, the scent of aged paper from her book mingling with the tang of spilled champagne, and made her choice. She would be the architect of her own awakening, starting with the very next opportunity that came her way, no matter how intimidating. ... The crimson invitation lay on Isabella's kitchen counter, a silent call to adventure. Her thumb ran over the embossed lettering, each curve and line of the text promising a night that could shatter her carefully curated world. "Eros Unbound," it read, an art exhibition by Adrian Romano, a name whispered with reverence in circles she had never dared to enter. It was absurd to consider going. Yet, the absurdity of it, the promise of stepping into a life so vibrant it could have been penned in one of her cherished novels, was intoxicating. "For Maria," she said softly, her resolve solidifying like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. She arrived at the gallery on a wave of nervous energy. The gallery was a cathedral dedicated to the sensual. Patrons drift like acolytes between the provocative displays. Isabella's gaze flickered over the artworks, each piece celebrating the human form laid bare for all to see. Inside, she was swept into an otherworldly space where the art wasn't just seen—it was felt. The patrons seemed to be extensions of the exhibits, their laughter and conversations blending into a living tapestry of sound and color. Isabella moved among them, a ghost adrift in a sea of vitality until she encountered the artist Adrian Romano. He was an unexpected jolt to her senses, his presence a disruption to her equilibrium. His eyes held secrets, and when they locked onto hers, she felt a pull, gravitational, drawn towards him. He bridged the distance between them with a few strides. "I've envisioned someone like you for a long time," Adrian's voice was a soft growl that seemed to vibrate through her. "Will you dare to be my muse tonight? Will you trust me to capture the essence of your beauty?" The question was a key turning in the lock of her inhibitions. Every fiber of her being screamed to flee. But there was a more potent force at work within her, a flame that Maria had ignited, now fanned by Adrian's offer. "Yes," she found herself saying, her voice a whisper. Adrian led her to a private studio, a sanctum of creativity that was his and his alone. The door closed with a click that sounded like a seal on her old life. The air was thick with the scent of linseed oil and turpentine, elements of transformation. Adrian stood before her, an unwavering pillar of confidence, as he spoke softly, guiding her. "Undress, Isabella. Shed your layers and reveal the canvas that is you." The word 'undress' echoed in her mind, a symphony of fear and excitement. This was the moment of irrevocable change. Her hands moved to the back of her dress, fingers fumbling with the zipper. As the dress fell away, pooling at her feet, she felt the weight of her past hesitations fall away, too. She stood before him in her bra and panties. "Everything," Adrian urged softly, his gaze filled with the respect of an artist for his muse. A momentary tremble of hesitation gripped her. Remembering her commitment, she reached back and unclasped her bra. It was a slow, almost sensual motion. The bra slipped from her shoulders, and she let it fall, her bare chest rising and falling with her deep, even breaths. Isabella's hands moved to her panties; she slid them down her legs with a grace that belied the racing of her heart. She stepped out of them, leaving her vulnerable. Adrian watched with the awed respect of a true artist beholding his inspiration. He began sketching her form onto the canvas, his charcoal strokes capturing her essence. "Come closer," he said, and she approached, her stride not that of the reserved librarian but of a goddess claiming her domain. The studio became timeless as Adrian painted, his brush speaking in silent verses, telling the story of Isabella's awakening. He occasionally stepped back, his intense gaze surveying the unfolding masterpiece. In those silent appraisals, Isabella felt truly seen, her essence captured in this dance of oil and canvas. When the final stroke was placed, the studio hummed with the energy of their creation. Adrian turned the canvas to face Isabella, and her breath caught. The painting was not merely a likeness; it was a celebration of her bravery in stepping out of the shadows. Isabella's whispered "Thank you" seemed too small for the enormity of what this moment represented—a gratitude that extended beyond words. Adrian's acknowledgment was a silent nod—an acceptance of the profound connection they had forged, an artist and his muse bound by the intimate act of creation. ... Isabella's heart pounded in her chest as Adrian set aside his paintbrushes, the weight of the moment pressing into her, a physical force. The painting before her symbolized the shared experience, an intimate portrait of her awakening. As the studio fell silent, she could feel the air heavy with anticipation. "Isabella," Adrian said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "May I explore your canvas?" She could hear the uncertainty beneath his words, the vulnerability of asking for permission. At that moment, she realized this was the true meaning of surrender—not giving up control but trusting someone else to guide her through the uncharted territories of her desires. "Yes," she breathed, her voice giving life to her resolution. His eyes darkened with desire. He closed the distance between them, his hands reaching to cup her face. His touch was gentle as if he were handling the most delicate sculptures. As their lips met, electricity coursed through her body, igniting a fire deep within her core. She had never been kissed like this—such hunger, passion, reverence. It was as if Adrian were trying to consume her essence, to meld them in a dance of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His hands trailed down her body, leaving a trail of goosebumps. She could feel herself growing wet with desire. She wanted him—needed him—with an intensity that bordered on desperation. And as he lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the plush velvet couch in the corner of the studio, she knew that she would give herself to him completely, without reservation or fear. They tumbled onto the couch, bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs and passion. His fingers teased her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger; she arched, a low moan escaping her lips. Pressure was building within her, a coil of tension that begged for release. Adrian's hand traveled lower, slipping between her thighs to find the wet heat of her desire; she knew that she was on the precipice of something extraordinary. He circled her clit with his thumb, the pressure just right; she could feel herself spiraling closer to the edge. Her hips bucked against his hand, and he responded by sliding a finger inside her, curling it upward to find the spot that would send her soaring. Isabella's world narrowed to the exquisite torture of Adrian's touch. Her orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure threatened to sweep her away; she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she fought to anchor herself in the present. With one final stroke, Adrian sent her crashing over the edge, her body convulsing with the force of her release. She cried out as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. Slowly floating back to earth, she could feel the tenderness of Adrian's kisses against her skin. ... As the intensity of her orgasm subsided, Isabella became aware of Adrian's body pressed against hers. She felt his arousal nestled at the apex of her thighs. The realization sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through her; she shifted her hips, eliciting a low groan from Adrian. "Isabella," he murmured, his voice husky with need. "Are you ready for me?" "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm ready." A gentle thrust, Adrian entered her, filling her. She gasped at the sensation pushing her to the brink of ecstasy once more. He began to move, his strokes slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment. Isabella felt herself slipping into pure bliss. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two and the exquisite dance they shared. Her body responded to Adrian's touch, her muscles clenching around him as she climbed higher and higher toward release. Adrian sensed her need, his movements urgent as he drove them both toward the edge. She was moments away from shattering the tension coiling within her, the pressure building. With a final, powerful thrust, Adrian sent her over the edge, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm. Crying out, her voice mingled with his as they succumbed to the pleasure that consumed them. Adrian's release followed shortly after, tensing as he filled her with his essence. Isabella welcomed the feeling of him inside her, his essence mingling with her own. It was a testament to their connection, a physical manifestation of their shared intimacy. As they lay entwined in each other's arms, Isabella felt a sense of peace settle over her. She had embraced her desires and allowed herself to be vulnerable, and in doing so, she had discovered a part of herself that she never knew existed. They drifted to sleep, their bodies entwined. Isabella knew she would never forget this night—the night she had dared to step into the light. Surrendered to the darkness, she felt a profound gratitude for the woman who had inspired her to take this journey, for Maria. ... As the light of dawn crept through the window, Isabella awoke to find herself cradled in Adrian's arms. The previous night's events played out like a sensual dream, and she couldn't help but marvel at her transformation. Gone was the reserved librarian who had hidden behind her books, replaced by a woman who embraced her desires. It was a feeling of empowerment she had never experienced. Looking into Adrian's sleeping face, she felt grateful for his role in her awakening. He had not only been a guide, but he had also shown her the true meaning of passion. With a soft smile, she gently extricated herself from his embrace and dressed. She couldn't help but notice the painting that stood proudly on its easel, symbolizing their shared connection and her awakening. A reminder of the beauty that could be found in vulnerability; she knew that she would cherish it always. With one final glance at the sleeping Adrian, Isabella quietly slipped out of the studio. Walking through the deserted streets, she felt a newfound confidence and self-awareness. It was intoxicating and empowering. She returned to her apartment and couldn't help but wonder what other adventures awaited her. For now, she was content to savor the memories of the night she had shared with Adrian. She was stronger, braver, and more alive than ever before, and most of all, she knew how to say yes to life.

THE CHALLENGE For this challenge, write something inspired by the phrase "New Year, New Me"... Is someone making a change? Getting rid of someone/something that's holding them back? Trying something new for the first time? Is there some kind of body swap going on? Possession? New clones? Give us something interesting and sexy! Deadline Midnight (EST) Friday, 19 Jan, 2024 Limits 1 entry per person no strict word limit, but please try to keep it around 2,000 words- remember, everyone has to read these to vote Prizes 1st Place: 4,000 EcchiCredits 2nd Place: 2,000 EcchiCredits 3rd Place: 1,000 EcchiCredits

The poll for Challenge 27 is up, and open for a week! Come vote for your favorite entry in a contest that actually matters for once, because there are enough entries to win each of the prizes!!

Whenever my lazy butt gets around to making one up and posting it

When's the next challenge?

It was a holy night. This was not done out of perversion. This was a something done in the holiday spirit. To bring the family closer together. It was something you were expected to do, if you could and were old enough. It did not matter if you had a partner, spouse, children. This was not cheating. Everyone knew it was going to happen. The presents had already been out. The conventional ones anyway. Dinner had already been eaten. Now Ciara was back in her room…preparing. A few months ago she had her 18th birthday. She had been mentally preparing for this a few years now. Now she was old enough. She was cleaning up. Had changed into underwear usually reserved for her boyfriend. Dark red, small panties, fancy, they screamed ‘stare at me, I’m yours.’ It was not her boyfriend that was going to be visiting her, it was her older brother. Back visiting the family after moving away for school. On the one night a year, from now on, they would have sex with each other. They both knew this day was coming, they had been told a few years ago. Had it repeatedly drilled into their heads that there was nothing wrong with this, as long as they only did it at this time. She was brushing her hair, going over all the grooming as if this was a date. She had to look as good as she could for this. The only lights in the room were a few Christmasy decorations, faint lights of many colors. After a few minutes of this, her brother, Ryan, knocked. “…Are you ready, Ciara?…”. There was some unease in his voice. “Come in.” She called, trying to be more confident, standing and turning. Watching him come in, wearing t-shirt and boxers. He looked at her. Tried to look where he normally would not. The womanly parts of her, that he never looked at the same way as other women…they were just there. “You look…hot…”. He said, only a little forced. Neither were completely comfortable with this. Neither had lusted for the other before. They were ordinary siblings. Though both had spent the last few years trying to mentally prepare for this. “Thanks.” She said, softly, shyly. “I’m as ready for this as I can be…”. She took her bra off, letting her brother see her modest chest. “…How you want to do this?…Foreplay might actually make it harder. Wanna just get in bed and do me?” She said with a little awkwardness. “You can touch them, if you want though…”. She was not sure what to expect here. Ryan took a breath and stepped forward. He did not really know how he wanted to do this either. Not get too carried away. It felt too weird to kiss her. But he tried her offer, cupping his sister’s breast, groping at it, then tried playing with the nipple. “Does it feel good?” He cautiously asked. It was hard to answer. “It’s a little weird…but it still feels good…Keep touching me, however you want.” After that both got each other undressed. There was some mutual groping, his hands wandering throughout her body. She did a little of the same. Gave him a brief handjob. But like with kissing, she was not prepared to suck him. After a few minutes, she went to bed, laid on her back, spread her legs. “Let’s do this, Ryan…”. He nodded, laid on top of her, slid in. Both closed their eyes. Remembered what they had been taught. This was about family love. They were brother and sister, but also man and woman. There was no shame in enjoying it, as long as they remembered it forbidden the rest of the year. Both of them had some experience with sex already. There was no awkwardness in that area. They focused on what they were doing, not who they were doing. It was not long until Ciara was softly moaning to her brother’s thrusts. It did feel good, and he had stopped hesitating, she could tell he enjoyed it too. After a little her legs, wrapped around him. Fond memories of their childhood together came back to her. Their bond was strengthened. Their love was not changing, but she was starting to look forward to future years. The two of them reinforcing their love on this holy night. They kept going throughout the night. As the years followed they got more into it. Trying various positions, getting more comfortable with foreplay and kissing. They balanced the line perfectly. No romantic love or lust, but that one night a year a stranger would believe they were lovers, both eager to please the other. And shortly after the fifth year they did it…Ciara found out she was pregnant. Ciara had married her boyfriend by now, already had a kid with him. There was some uncertainty over who the father was. But it would not be tested. It did not matter if she had Ryan’s child, if it was conceived that day. Everyone would look the other way, assume it was the child of her and her husband. Either man could have been the father. But no one would ever know for certain.

As per usual, I wrote this with no expectation of winning. I rushed the shit out of this one, slacked off and procrastinated hard, and like always, lewd scenes are my weakness. I could barely even come up with an idea, so I just wrote something so that there's more than one entry. "Do you like Christmas?" The words from the strange letter Max had received earlier in the day ran through his mind as he walked down the cold, nighttime street, carrying the letter in question in his hand. It was Christmas Eve, mere hours away from Christmas. A strange letter had come in the mail for Max, instructing him to go to a certain location as a "special gift" was waiting for him there. Even though the whole thing sounded incredibly shady, Max still found himself following the letter's directions anyway. From the street he lived on, Max found himself walking for a while until he stopped at a wooden cabin he was sure wasn't there before. In his head, he considered whether or not he should go inside, but his inner curiosity got the better of him and he made his way inside. The inside was decorated with a number of Christmas decorations, with a large, ornament covered tree in the corner of the large open room. As Max looked around, he saw no signs of any people around. He decided to step further inside, walking towards the numerous presents sitting underneath the tree. Each of them were wrapped in the same white wrapping paper and tied with red ribbons, but there was no way to tell who they were for. Looking at the presents led Max to look back at the letter he still held in his hand. "Do I like Christmas?" he asked himself out loud. At the very least, he knew he liked it as a kid, but as he got older, he had become more indifferent to the holiday. Once he had become an adult and started working, the only benefit he saw from Christmas was that he had time off from work. He didn't hate Christmas, but he didn't see much reason to like it very much, either. As the thoughts of his experiences with Christmas ran through his mind, Max turned around to find a woman standing in front of the door he came in from. She was a tall, blonde haired woman dressed up in a red and white outfit that reminded Max of Santa Claus. As she stared at him with a smile on her face, Max instantly found it a bit strange that he never heard the door open while he was lost in thought. "Who are you?" Max asked the smiling woman. The woman looked away from Max, as if she were thinking of something. "I'm Anna, a spirit of Christmas!" she replied, causing Max to raise an eyebrow in response. "Spirit of Christmas? What's that supposed to be?" he questioned, watching as the woman walked closer to him with her hands behind her back. "My job is to go around and help people rekindle their love for Christmas. It's a very special job that only comes along at this time of year, and this year, you were the one I was chosen to help," Anna answered, stopping directly in front of Max. He subconsciously took a step back, unsure of what Anna was talking about. "And how are you supposed to rekindle someone's love for Christmas?" Max asked. Anna didn't answer him right away, instead moving away from him and towards the presents under the tree. Her deep blue eyes scanned the presents until she found the one she was after and reached out for it. With the present in hand, she presented it to Max with a smile. "With just a little bit of Christmas magic, that's how," she said. While Max wanted to ask what she meant, he found he couldn't say what he was thinking. When the man tried to open his mouth, no words came out. It was only then he looked into Anna's eyes and saw a strange light in them. His vision began to blur, and he soon passed out. 'When did I stop liking Christmas?' The question ran through his mind like it was second nature. He thought back to his days in school, when he slowly began to become disillusioned with the concept of Christmas. A friend of his had gone away on a ski trip a couple of days prior, even though they had made plans together. That friend ended up arguing with them about the whole thing, and their friendship quickly broke down, in Max's head, he had put the two events together and blamed Christmas for his friend's departure. From that point, he had spent the remainder of his high school days alone, without any friends. Max's vision slowly began to clear, but something was wrong. He found himself on the floor of the wooden cabin, but his clothes were mysteriously missing. The woman from before, Anna, sat in front of him, her hand slowly stroking his cock. The dress she had been wearing earlier sat discarded nearby on the floor, leaving her naked body fully exposed. "What are you doing?" Max questioned. He tried to get up, but his body refused to respond. Anna watched him with an amused smile as she absently stroked his length. "I said it before. I'm going to help you. Close your eyes, think of those bad memories that made you dislike Christmas. If you do good, I'll give you a special present," Anna answered. As much as Max wanted to question her methods or what she meant by "special present," he couldn't move, leaving him little option but to close his eyes and go down memory lane again. Even though he could still feel Anna's hand stroking him, the act somehow managed to help him reach into his memories more. Flashes of days from his past ran through his mind like a river, but nothing particularly stood out right away. It wasn't until a couple of years after he had graduated high school, where he attended a small party a few people he knew from his community college were holding. From his point of view, he thought they were only inviting him out of pity, as he didn't spend much time with others or have anyone he considered a friend. Deep down, he felt a sense of jealousy for the people who could easily mingle with others and have a good time. Partway through, the memory suddenly stopped. Max opened his eyes and noticed that Anna's hand had stopped moving, and she looked at him with a disappointed look on her face. "You can't go blaming your friend for everything. You need to learn to forgive people," Anna said. Max was ready to argue until Anna tightened her grip on his cock, causing the man to bite his lip. Anna soon let go of Max's cock and crawled over him so the two were face to face. "But right now, I want you to have a nice memory of Christmas, at least while we have time left. It's almost Christmas, after all," Anna quietly said, barely a whisper. She flashed Max a smile before she slowly lowered her hips, leading his cock into her wet pussy. The woman let out a soft moan as she took him deeper inside her. From there, all other things lost meaning in that moment. Max couldn't think about things like whether or not he liked Christmas or not. All he could focus on was Anna and the pleasure she was giving him. Max didn't know how much time passed until he finally found himself shooting out his cum deep inside her, but it was after that he began to feel the same dizziness he felt earlier. When Max came to, instead of finding himself back in the wooden cabin, he was in his own bed, in his apartment. He let out a low groan as he sat up and looked around, clearly confused to find himself back in his apartment. As he stood up, he found himself unusually tired, as if he had been spending the night doing something that would require lots of energy. The most he could remember was having a strange dream where a woman called herself a Spirit of Christmas. When the thought ran through Max's head, the memory of an old friend from high school ran through his mind. He had not spoken to him since an argument during their second year, which had happened right before Christmas. Ever since the incident, he had closed himself off from making new friends. 'Why am I thinking about that now, though?' he thought to himself as he walked to the kitchen, where he found something sitting on the counter. A singular present, wrapped in white wrapping paper and tied up with a red ribbon.

I plan to write too, platinum isn’t stopping me. But have to wait for the weekend. Tomorrow being my last day of work before a long break, which means work keeping me busy until then.

Oh boy, my ultimate weakness. This is fantastic news. No promises that I'll actually get an entry written since lewd stories are my weakest point next to not procrastinating and romance, but I'll attempt to get something written, just so there's more than one entry.

Why not? I don't usually write Yaoi but... Mason never celebrated the holidays. He never saw a reason to. It was a vile season, a monument to consumerism and a testament to mankind's willingness to just about sell anything. Even a jolly old man who stalks you all year, knows all of your preferences, and sneaks into your house while you're asleep. On a holiday! I mean, what a creep! Someone like that ought to be tried for criminal offenses and here they all were, singing merrily his praises as if he were the greatest thing since sliced gingerbread. Oh sure, anytime the season came around his family and friends would drag him along to festive events in an effort to finally break down the stiff and unbudging walls that he put up around himself. "Oh for the love of- not this again! I don't understand what all of you see in this holiday anyways.", he'd grumble and harrumph, sucking all the cheer out of the warmly lit atmosphere. "You're such a bum sometimes, you know that?", came a retort from the lips of a man nuzzling under Mason's chin standing a good foot shorter than the object of his affection. Christoph smirked deviously, unwilling to let this one go. They met last Autumn at a work event, as the leaves were just beginning to change color. On paper, the two had nothing in common. Christoph was thin, Mason was muscular. Christoph was gregarious, while Mason pushed people away. Christoph's hair shone a brilliant white, while Mason's was as dark as his moods. Christoph adored Christmas. Mason despised it. Yet all the same, they found themselves hopelessly falling in love as the seasons passed. The bickering turned into playful jabs and soon enough the two were making up in the bedroom, apologizing with moans instead of words. Mason knew that even this fight they were having right at this moment, would soon be forgotten in a passionate night of loving. He never expected to get so much more than he bargained for. "Chrhshhtphh?! Mmmrghh! Ymguu!", the complaint rang in the air on Christmas morning as Mason woke to a tight feeling around his arms and chest. He opens his eyes with a start, looking down to see ribbons covering the entirety of his body, like a messily wrapped present. The instigator of this ordeal, smiled devilishly over his body with even more ribbons sliding between his fingers. He wore the full getup, Mason's worst possible nightmare. The red suit, the black boots, and the fuzzy and admittedly adorable little hat that made up the costume of his dreaded enemy, Santa Claus. "Good morning~ Happy Christmas Eve!", Christoph announced with far more authority in his voice than he'd earned at this point. Mason's face turned red with indignance, jumping in bed as he tried to loosen the bonds. "CHRSHTPH! GRGGH MUGH FRHH!", Mason roared through his gags. The roles had reversed. The usually gentle Christoph, lording over him with such wild mirth in his expression. The blush running through his face, betraying his intent. "Mmm actually, yah know what? It's kinda boring when you're all gagged up like that. I want to hear you scream...", he snickered leaning in, his gentle and soft hands working around the gag and pulling the fabric free. Mason was quick to snap his jaws at the hands that freed him, causing Christoph to flee back with a laugh. "Hey! That's not nice, do you know how hard I worked to set up this surprise for you?" "Christoph, extricate me from these ribbons immediately! This isn't funny!", Mason growled like a cornered tiger. "I love it when you shout words I don't understand at me~", Christoph licked his lips, completely undeterred. Leaning forward, he traced his fingertips up Mason's chest, poking patterns along his skin. Mason gulped, as his beloved leaned close, his breath brushing softly against the hairs on his neck. His lips curling around the gold earring Mason wore, licking the metal edge of the intricate pattern the white haired deviant also wore a copy of. "Come on, let me help you get into the spirit of things. It doesn't have to be all bad you know... You're always so moody around this time of year. I don't like seeing you like that you know?", he whispered. "These last few months, you've been so so naughty. Being mean to your poor boyfriend and getting into fights with your friends. Well, Santa's not around but... I can play the part, don't you think?", Christoph grinned, peeling away the layers separating Mason's muscular chest from his hands, unbuttoning his pajamas as he wormed his way back down to his beloved's hurriedly stiffening erection. "I know what you like... will you be nice from now on if I give you a little present? Hmm...?", he teased. Mason stiffened, all strength leaving his body as he bit down against his tongue and avoided eye contact. As strong as the fortress of his mind was, Christoph always knew how to find the little cracks in his armor. "Christoph, I swear to god..." "Well it's a good thing he's not around then!" "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!", Mason groaned tilting his head back. "Stop...touching me like..... oh fuck!" Christoph kept a consistent rhythm, one hand firmly grasping Mason's shoulder and shoving him into place against the mattress while the other squeezed tightly around Mason's length, bringing his partner closer and closer to the edge. "Y'know, you look all angry but you're actually really turned on aren't you? You like it when I play the top?" Mason panted, leaning his head back up to meet Christoph's gaze, his face red now for an entirely different reason. "No comment." "Hehe, from you that might as well be admitting to it. You wanna cum don't you~? Well if you do, then you have to do one thing for me...", Christoph whispered between shortening and harder breaths. "Promise me you'll open presents with me today." "That is completely juvenil-- uuuhnnn! God!", Mason grit his teeth to stifle a moan, failing miserably as it slipped out in several consecutive gasps. "Promise me, Mason. Today is my day. I'm in charge. Got it?", Christoph giggled as his tone blended into a mixture of teasing affection and commanding authority. He always loved letting Mason take the lead, but he had to admit that it wasn't so bad to put him in his place once in a while. Like a skilled dance, he weaved through the routine while leading Mason along to the beat of his drum. "Promise me or I'll leave right now. I'll walk out and enjoy my day while you spend yours tied up in bed, until I get back home. Do you really think you can wait that long~?" "I.....I....", Mason crumbled like a Christmas cookie, his expression sheer bliss. Abandoning any pretense as he submitted wholeheartedly to Christoph's sirensong. "....Okay....Okay! Alright already! I can't wait anymore, so let me cum...let me cum!" "Good boy~", Christoph hissed as he renewed his efforts with spirited vigor until at last he was rewarded by the sweet sound of his lover's unhindered moans. The hot spunk exploding between his fingertips as he dragged them along his length, sighing in satisfaction as he felt the heavy white love juices coat his entire hand. Releasing his hold on the object of Mason's downfall, Christoph brought his wrist to his lips and licked the cum clean. "Now say it with me~ Merry Christmas." "..You're an ass.", Mason replied with just the slightest hint of a smile breaking past his scowl as he basked in the afterglow. He looked away again, not daring to meet Christoph's gaze, but words weren't needed to convey his approval. "Merry Christmas, Chistoph."

Hole-iday.

New challenge posted! Come on down and write some Christmas Fuckery!

THE CHALLENGE For this challenge, write something lewd and naughty inspired by the holiday season. We're looking for stories of lovers gift wrapped under the tree waiting for their partners to unwrap them, the white elephant wifeswap gift exchange, if Krampus eats naughty children we want to know what he does to naughty 18-year-olds, tell us about Santa and his elves gangbanging Mrs. Claus, or whatever deviant, lewd, and kink-filled holiday tale you can come up with! Deadline Midnight (EST) Sunday, 24 Dec, 2023 Limits 1 entry per person keep it around 2,000 words, no penalty for going a little over but remember, everyone has to read these to vote Prizes 1st Place: 4,000 EcchiCredits 2nd Place: 2,000 EcchiCredits 3rd Place: 1,000 EcchiCredits

No need for a poll. @SataiRolePlayingGuy was the only valid entry (mine don't count!) so he's first place and takes the prize.

That was why I wanted to write it down. I was just making judgement calls based on what made sense in my brain at that time, but I didn't want anyone to think I was treating them unfairly. That being said, I think you were the only entry, so you win. I'll post you in the winner thread and send credits soon.

Reference to a few challenges back, when Aura was the only one who wrote, getting all the prizes as a result. Though Isabella changed the prize system with the last one, so I was only going to get the first place prize and would not get the complete experience either way.

What's "the Aura experience" supposed to be?

The "Aura" experience? That sounds like a fun experience. I wonder what it is about. Also everyone is turning platinum...

You guys were supposed to give me the Aura experience before I got Platinum.

Most of the ships had been lost in the crossing, only a handful had made it to the shores of the New World to spill out their starving, bedraggled occupants onto our verdant shores. We only found out later that there could have been so many more of them, a full-scale invasion. Even the few who made it were too many. They devoured the fruit of the land, felled the jhada trees and chopped them into bits to build shelter and burn for heat. They killed the graceful, four-legged kalavita and ate them. Ate them! They decorated the entryways to their shelters with the skulls and horns of the kalavita, used the bones to make weapons, the sinew as bowstrings, We did not know what to expect when they landed, but the consumption of flesh was one step too far, and we were forced to act. We were one with the land, our form matching our affinity for aspects of nature. They were separate from the land, different. Perhaps they were like us and their homeland was a pink and fleshy place. But here, in the lush greens of foliage, the deep browns of the soil, here they stood out like an infection. We were selected as the closest to looking like them and we sang the songs of growing and shaping, making ourselves become more like them, our faces and bodies shaped by their thoughts to meet their ideal of perfection of form. The shaping takes time, and once we were ready, we approached. We were bipeds now, like them, two arms, two legs, no tails or horns. We came forward and as we did we sang the songs of peace and brotherhood. If only we had known. They were frightened when we approached, tall, slender, looking similar yet still so different from them. They reacted with fear despite the songs, threatening with knives and spears. We begged through our song for them to leave the land in peace. We explained in the melodies of nature how we live with the land, cause no harm, wound no thing. They seemed to understand, and we shared with them the secret of the annasa'gane, the song of sustenance, where your need is expressed to nature and nature gives what is available and needed. They watched the lauki grow from the earth, open its petals, and offer its milk. We drank, they drank. It seemed as if they were learning. We shared the song of shaping and growing. We started by singing the land to form small things like a pool to bathe, and calling up the utility of the land, like bring aga-stones to the surface for heat. Soon, we sang a shelter into being, watched as the mighty jhada branches came together above the earth, wove their limbs into walls and floors, and opened the newly built shelter to the fleshy ones. They seemed to understand. It took time, but they learned the songs, learned the way of the eka-nirmiti, the together-growing, and soon their village was thriving. We spent time with them, learned to know them as individuals, which they were, disconnected ones, alone and separated from their others. It was a baffling truth we found difficult to accept, but it helped to explain why they did not understand. They were discontinuous, separate, not a part of the natural world. This should have told us all we needed to know, but we foolishly taught them. How were we to know? We had never experienced anything disconnected. But then they showed their true colors. With the song of shaping they imposed their will upon the land. The jhada trees did not grow to form what was needed, they were twisted to the intent of the fleshlings. Their songs became chants, shouts, incantations forcing their will upon the land, making weapons, defenses against things that would not have attacked them had they simply remained in harmony with nature. When we objected, they turned our songs on us, reshaping us. At first it was to prevent us from harming them, but when they realized that they could shape us as they saw fit, they molded us into tools, servants, slaves. Our forms were fashioned to carry, to lift, to accomplish tasks for the fleshings. But it got even worse. In their twisted need to dominate our world, they sculpted some of us into the forms of their ideal mates, sang our identities away until we wanted no more than to please them. We waited on them hand and foot, knelt to their mastery, were assaulted by their sexual organs, our defiance whittled way by their song, our will fashioned to mimic their own. We wanted them to use us, forgot the songs of the world, and learned only the songs and movements of pleasing flesh, of hedonistic delight. We lost ourselves in this sexual spectacle, and we enjoyed it. We were hewn into individual sexual beings, awakened to the indulgent delectations of flesh. Their seed pumped into us over and over was merged with our form by the songs of creation, and soon we, too, took on their otherworldly appearance. We were no longer a part of the world, we were separate, distinct beings disconnected from the song of creation. Even their powerful command of our songs could no longer touch us as we were no longer of our own world. But our new forms had been shaped into their sexual ideals. Now we were vesya, sexual slaves to the tribes of fleshlings, half fleshling, half of our own world, belonging to neither. I am called Sundara. I remember when I was of the earth, but it is faint, and seems unimportant, for now I am a servant of the Reksa, the new rulers of this land. My body is pleasing to the men of this world. My legs are long and thin, my curves are luscious, my hips inviting, my breasts high and firm. My face was molded into their ideal of beauty, a mockery of what I once was, but now the only thing I want to be. I want to be attractive, I want to be wanted. I desire the touch of men, I crave the taste of their flesh, their seed. For their pleasure I have warm, wet, constricting holes, the insides of which undulate and convulse in response to their thrusts. I am purpose made to please them, and it is the only thing I desire. They built ships to sail to other lands. They established trade with kingdoms outside their homeland. My sisters and I are being sent to the island city of Janjibara, a port city, a trade city. The sultan and imperialists who fight for control of the lands nearby consider the island city neutral territory. It is said I will earn much for the Reksa when I go to work in the vesyahana, the house of the vesya, a place for sexual liaisons. The men of the sultan as well as the men of the imperialists will pay well for a night with one such as me. I am content, for I will fulfill my purpose and bring much honor and riches to the Reksa.