Those of you who also read Liberty’s blog will have recently seen her post about the amusing writing exercise we and several members of Liberty’s family set ourselves. It was all inspired by one of Liberty’s siblings confessing that she was writing a bit of a saucy novel – somehow this turned into each of us rolling 7 of my eclectic selection of Rory’s Story Cubes and having to include all of our cube prompts in a smutty short story. (When I say eclectic, I mean I have the Prehistoria, Animalia and Intergalactic sets amongst others…)

The second meeting where we each read someone else’s story out loud was equal parts mortifying and hysterical. I haven’t laughed until I cried so much in a long time. I’m sniggering to myself now just thinking about it.

As I like to overshare stuff here in my little corner of the internet, I thought I’d put my Smut Party story here for you to read. Warning: It contains hilariously terrible puns, nakedness and intimate relations of the bad-romance-novel-you-get-for-free variety.

My Story Cube prompts were: an owl, a well, a shadow in a doorway, a pill, the ocean, a bee and a space ship.

Before you read my story I’d like you to take a moment looking at the cubes and try to come up with a vaguely coherent story that involves smut as well as all those things.

Yeah. That.

Please keep that in mind as you read my story!!

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Research Shuttle 569

“I reckon it’s just an esca-bee that somehow got dropped here by the last research party. Seriously, those guys were so unprofessional I’m not surprised their funding got cut.”

“Did you really just say esca-bee?” Lyra cocked an eyebrow at him as she walked over to look down the microscope, her utterly inappropriate heels clinking on the metal floor.

“What can I say? I have a weakness for puns.” Steve leaned back to give her room and took the opportunity to check out her ass. Whoever had designed their uniforms definitely had a thing for figure-hugging fashion and, countless light-years from home and late-night TV channels, Steve appreciated the choice immensely.

“You have a point though, it does look like a common-or-garden earth bee.” She adjusted the focus of the scope and looked again. “Which is weird given that this god-forsaken planet doesn’t even appear to have plants.”

Steve sat forward again and adjusted the table lamp under the pretence of helping light the bee better but actually giving himself a better view of Lyra’s ample cleavage. The uniform didn’t leave much space for comfortable bosom storage, so Lyra tended to pull the front zip as low as she could get away with – she claimed it was so she could breathe but Steve liked to think it was for his benefit.

The light caught on something silver nestled in her cleavage and Steve realised she was wearing a fine silver chain round her neck with a tiny pendant of their company’s owl logo hanging from the middle.

“Is that new?” he asked, before his brain could catch up with his mouth.

Lyra stood up and adjusted her top. “Is what new?”

“Er, your necklace. With the owl. I never noticed it before and the, um, light caught it when you were, ah, leaning over.” Steve busied himself with removing the bee from under the microscope and preparing the camera to take photos of it before dissecting it, in the hope of hiding his burning cheeks. He was stuck out here for at least another six months, he could do without Lyra realising she was his favourite thing to study on the planet.

“Oh that. No, I wear it every day – it was my selection award thing.”

Steve snorted, “They gave me a tie pin. Which is super useful in a job that doesn’t involve wearing a tie at any point whatsoever.”

Lyra laughed and headed toward the lab door, “Dinner time, back in a minute.”

Steve watched her leave, admiring her long legs for the millionth time and loving the fact that she had snuck several pairs of ridiculous heels out here with her against regulations. They made her walk with a hip-sway that went straight to his groin and was the subject of many of his evening fantasies.

He was still staring wistfully at the door when she returned and the sudden bright white lights of the corridor outside dazzled him, leaving Lyra a curvaceous silhouette in the door frame – an image that remained burned in his vision when he finally blinked.

It took a few seconds after the door had closed for Steve’s eyes to adjust and as he reached out to take his shot glass of food-replacement capsules from Lyra’s hand he couldn’t be sure if her zipper really was pulled lower on her top or if his eyes and over-imagination were working together to make him see things.

Though if they were making things up, they had excellent taste in lacy underwear.

“What’s up?” asked Lyra, stepping slowly forward into the pool of lamplight.

Steve swallowed heavily, it wasn’t his imagination – the zip was open almost to her bellybutton and her skin looked like cream. He had the sudden desire lick her to see if she tasted as sweet as she looked and it took all the willpower he had to drag his eyes up her body to look at her face. She was smirking.

“Not hungry?” she asked, putting her own shot glass down beside the now forgotten bumble bee, leaning forward as she did so.

Steve felt his willpower vanish like a bucket down a well as her chest filled his vision, there were goosebumps rippling across her skin and on closer inspection there wasn’t that much lace involved in her bra at all. The little silver owl swung in time with her breath which hitched slightly as she put a hand on either side of his chair and rolled him closer. He wished she’d stop asking him questions because the only things his brain could focus on did not involve correctly constructed sentences about food or anything else.

“I’m famished…” Lyra murmured, licking her lips and straightening up, trailing a hand across Steve’s crotch and up his chest as she did so.

Steve didn’t trust himself to move as she slowly pulled the zip on his uniform downward – he was slightly convinced that he had fallen asleep at his desk and that this was some kind of elaborately detailed dream. Any sudden moves could wake him up and that was the last thing he wanted when he hadn’t even discovered if she was wearing matching underwear yet.

“Up we get,” said Lyra, tugging the zipper towards herself in a clear instruction for Steve to get out of his chair. “Much better.” She tapped him on the nose with a wink before pulling his zip right down and pushing his all-in-one off his shoulders and rolling it down his body until she was kneeling in front of him, so close to the tent in his boxers that he could feel her breath hot against him.

“Uh, Lyra?” Steve gulped as Lyra’s cool fingers slipped beneath his waistband and pulled his underwear down to his ankles. “What’s goi…”

He petered out into a gasp as Lyra ran a finger teasingly up the inside of his thigh and then along the length of his cock which twitched at her touch.

“I am going on,” she replied, leaning forward and licking the tip of his penis teasingly. “More specifically, I am going… on… here…” She punctuated the end of her sentence with soft, wet kisses which sent waves of hot lust shooting from his crotch to his stomach and obliterated any concerns about his research partner’s sudden behaviour.

Lyra stood and walked Steve backwards, with her palm flat against his chest, until he hit the table behind him. She pushed him back until he was lying down on top of their meticulously written notes about rock types and mineral samples. Steve watched, trembling with excitement as Lyra slowly peeled off her own uniform to reveal that she was indeed wearing matching underwear – the bottom half consisting of even less lace than the top half.

Seductively slowly, Lyra undid her bra and slid her briefs down her legs, stepping delicately out of them to stand before him wearing nothing but her silver owl pendant and a pair of killer heels.

“Now,” she said, her voice slightly rough with desire, “time for dinner.”

She climbed on to the table and straddled his waist, Steve’s hands automatically running up her thighs to her bottom, guiding her down onto his shaft, eliciting a soft moan from both of them.

Steve hungrily stroked her skin as she rocked against him, fingers tracing their way across the base of her spine, skimming up her sides before cupping her breasts. He pulled her down and kissed her, exploring her mouth with his tongue and savouring her shaky breath against his lips as she worked her way to orgasm. It was oddly exhilarating being utterly used – Lyra shuddered against him as she came, kissing his shoulders as she slumped against him on the table top.

“My turn,” he growled into her hair, wrapping his arms around her bottom and standing them both up. Hands on her hips, he turned her to face the table and bent her over it, pausing for a moment to admire her bottom. Then, unable to wait any longer, he slid himself inside her and began to thrust – gently at first, but Lyra’s soft moans soon whipped his waves of desire into an ocean of lust and he gripped her waist and slammed into her again and again. Several months of celibacy drawing out the animal in both of them, they panted and moaned, unashamed and desperate until they climaxed together before sliding, exhausted, onto the floor.

“That was… unexpected,” mumbled Steve, stroking Lyra’s hair as she leaned against his chest.

“What can I say?” She replied softly, “I have a weakness for puns.”