AislingWeaver, Fuck Me Friday

Feel :: FuckMeFriday

Welcome to another week of smut! Writing challenges can be found far and wide, and this one has just one goal – to inspire you to write!
We’ve been rolling around rather well here for a while, so I thought I’d mix it up a little. Starting today, the prompts, while still being mostly random, are going to have some sort of tie between them for each month. For instance, most of May was colors, June will be sensations…essentially, the months will have a sort of theme to them. This will allow those who enjoy working on a larger scale the option to do an overreaching arc of stories, if they like, while still offering up the differences that I’ve grown to enjoy in the offerings each week.
The result of all of this, I hope, is two-fold; for writers, a weekly challenge to keep the, err, juices flowing. For readers, you’ll find all the stories linked off at the bottom of each week’s prompt. Are you game? Will you try your hand at some on the fly writing? Will you expose your work to new readers, will you read along and find new authors? I do hope so.
So, without further ado, let’s get this thing rolling! To join in is as simply as this:
Write a story with the prompt as your title. Today’s will be :


Tweet it with both the prompt hashtag and the hashtag #FuckMeFridayAnd lastly add it to the links at the bottom of this post.(note, if you don’t want to tweet it or don’t have a blog, I invite you to post your story in the comments section.


It takes so little. A sliver of memory and I’m peeled down to some transparent ghost.

Does that happen to you?

You once called me your dream, the girl that stepped through the dreamcatcher to slip between your sheets.


What am I now?

Now I am nothing. A faded photograph, a wraith of a recollection you once held dear.

Do you remember my lips?

Do you?

Try. Try, you fickle lust-driven beast. Try to remember the red that stained your chin when you bared my throat. Find that dusty memory of me.

I remember you. A devil wearing angel’s wings whispering soft, sweet promises. A thief hidden behind the peaceful smile of the confessor, the saint, the virgin.

Your smell haunts my dreams.

Your taste invades my passion.

Do you remember me? Do you remember me as anything more than a night-time visitor, pulled from the aether to warm your bed?

I remember you. I remember you all too well. How deep did you sink yourself under my skin. Once I could forget those that drove between my thighs, spilling my desire to stain their sheets.

Until you. Beast. Vampire. Why did you let me live? Live to ache for you. Survive to ever feel you pounding beneath my thin, delicate skin.

It takes so little. This sliver of memory holds me fast, holds me tight. The twist of your fingers through my hair, the tension on my scalp. You asked. You asked so sweetly, lips warm against my throat. My answer a whimper of assent. You pierced me thrice, the punctures so sweet with pain I marked you with eight perfect crescent moons.

Your growl sang through my bones. I breathed, I shook, I rocked between your teeth and your fingers.

Tell me. Do you remember me now? Do you remember how you bared my soul, tasted every bit of me, broke me down? Over, and over, and over. Until I trembled, wet, at the barest brush of your exhale on my palm.


I remember you, tonight. I wait here in the bed you shared with me, for that perfect, damned, brief interlude. Once I dreamed you’d return. That you’d slip into me, take me over the edge, feed on me again.

You won’t. You’re gone. I can feel it, now. My dream, my nightmare, my vampire, my beast. I will remember you tonight, and say farewell. I will feel you spread my own red life in vicious swipes over my flesh. I will surrender to the only pain I could ever accept. Yours.


I remember you, my beast. Goodbye.


2 thoughts on “Feel :: FuckMeFriday

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *