Improper Improvisations 1

By Aussiescribbler

A collection of nine humorous erotic short stories each improvised over a short period of time in response to prompt words.

Contains :

Night of the Living Emos
Raunchy Research
The Maiden and the Muckraker
The Indecent Descent
The Porn Project
The Doll Squeaks
Outnumbered
Falling Into the Cougar Cage
Native Love

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aussiescribbler
• Release date: Sep 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301553242

Aussiescribbler

Sex is a wonderful thing, but I find it hard to take it seriously. It has the power to make buffoons of us all. But I like to laugh as much as I like to get off so its a win-win situation over all. There is nothing so erotic as a spirit of playfulness, and that is what I express through my erotic stories. If you like puns, parodies, slapstick and one-liners with your saucy stories then you may find something here to tickle more than just your funny bone. I also write about psychology under the name Joe Blow.

Book preview

Improper Improvisations 1

by Aussiescribbler

Smashwords Edition published by Aussiescribbler

Copyright 2012 Aussiescribbler

Cover image from http://www.123rf.com/

Smashwords Edition, License Note: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard word of this author.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Night of the Living Emos (Dusk)

Raunchy Research (Tide)

The Maiden and the Muckraker (Rush)

The Indecent Descent (Descent)

The Porn Project (Blue)

The Doll Squeaks (Squeak)

Outnumbered (Slice)

Falling Into the Cougar Cage (Cliff)

Native Love (Grace)

Introduction

The stories in this book were improvised as a response to writing challenges. A prompt word was provided by someone else and I wrote the story within about 24 hours or less of receiving it. While some of the ideas were worked out in advance of the actual writing, the stories themselves were written over a period of one to three hours and largely made up as I went along, each being its own voyage of discovery. The key word is included in brackets after the title of each story.

Night of the Living Emos (Dusk)

Dusk was falling. I'd been too slow. I'd taken too long. Would I get to my home before they did? Everything depended on it.

I was the last of my kind. The Omega Man. The last man on Earth.

But why am I tell you this? You must know. After all, I am legend.

Or perhaps you are living in the distant future. Perhaps to you the history of the end of the world as we knew it seems but an unreliable fairy story like those of Arthur and his knights.

It all began with the invention of Soylent Puce, the ultimate anti-depressant. It appeared to have no side-effects and to work instantly. People who had been miserable for years suddenly began dancing in the streets. And they were not the only ones to take the drug. Everyone had had their bad days, but not with a  bottle of S.P. at hand. It was the guaranteed pick-me-up.

Six months after it first appeared on the market, the nearly six billion people who had used it, were dead.

I missed the whole thing. I was away on an eight month fishing trip. By the time I came back, people were dropping like flies.

But I wasn't the only one who didn't take the drug. There was one sub-group in society that liked being depressed. Today the world belonged to me, and to the hordes of goth and emo girls who had no use for S.P.

They only came out at night. They hated the sunlight. The day was mine, the night theirs.

I put my foot down on the accelerator as the sun hit the horizon. The carcass thumped against the roof as I flew over the potholes. It had taken longer than usual for me to find a cow. Once again I wondered about abandoning the city in favour of a rural farm. At first the supermarkets had supplied all my food needs, but now everything was past its used by date.

My home had electricity though. If I moved I'd have to either find another place with solar panels or install them.

I was almost home now. I was going to make it.

Each night I barricaded myself in. I'd turn up my country music as loud as it would go to try to drown out the sound of the girls banging on my door and yelling out, Neville Roberts! Neville Roberts! Come out! We want your cock!

They smashed all of the windows and I'd had to board them up.

I pulled up into the driveway, and I was none too soon. In my rearview mirror I could see figures beginning to emerge from the deepening shadows. They were naked, as they always were in the warm weather. Black hair, black lipstick, brooding faces and tattoos of hearts wreathed in barbed wire, pentagrams and broken dolls.

The cow could wait until the morning. I hurried inside.

Why won't you fuck us, you greedy bastard? yelled one of the girls.

I was distracted. I'm sure you've done it before. But it was a mistake I couldn't afford. I left my keys in the door.

They had me where they wanted me, and so they bided their time. They waited for more of their kind to arrive.

Half an hour later I was settled in for the evening, swigging from a bottle of Jim Beam, puffing on a cheroot, singing along to Tammy Wynette singing Stand By Your Man while watching Jackass 3 with the sound down on BluRay. They don't make movies like that anymore, I said wistfully as I watched Steve-O drinking the sweat rung out of the fat guy's jack strap.

At that moment the door burst open and in rushed a dozen naked goth chicks. Two of them grabbed my arms and hauled me out of my seat.

Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty emos! I cried.

Don't think we take any pleasure in this, Roberts, sneered a girl with enough rings through her eyebrows to hang curtains from them. I recognised her as the nineteen-year-old daughter of one of my late bowling buddies. Like