Trying To Publish My Smut: Part IV

A few days ago, under the name Kurt Sharpley, I submitted a STORY to Ellora’s Cave (a website dedicated to the publication of erotic fiction). To my surprise, they responded almost immediately:

letter

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Naturally, I wrote them back. Persistence is key.

————————————

Dear Ellora—

Thank you for your swift reply! I appreciate you taking the time to read my piece of erotica, titled ‘Hamster Bath’. You may be relieved to know that it comes as no surprise at all that you rejected it. After I sent it out, I realized that I had completely neglected to read your submission guidelines, specifically:

  • Scenes should contribute to furthering the plot or affecting the development of the relationship or the growth of the characters.
  •  There must be an emotionally satisfying committed ending for the main characters.

There it was, plain as day, and I totally dropped the ball. ‘Hamster Bath’ obviously does not meet either of these prerequisites, and for that, I apologize. I want you to know that I’ve taken your words heart, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to redeem myself.

I have decided to answer your special submission call for works in the subgenre Women with Whips. Your description of this category (FemDommes that “won’t hesitate to put you in your place—beneath the heels of their boots”) was especially helpful.

My new piece, for your assessment, is a lusty story of FemDomme passion in the high desert. Hold onto your horses, because this is some sexy stuff.

The Whip Cracks Now

The Whip Cracks Now

‘UNDER THE WHIPPER’S BOOT’ by Kurt Sharpley

Sally Galoot was the rootinest, tootinest cowgirl in Texas. She had risen to fame as the headlining act in ‘Uncle Buffalo’s Madcap West-a-thon’. No one from east of the Colorado Forest to north of the Utah Canals could handle a bullwhip like she could. Her precision was unmatched, and her flair for spectacle spurred folks from near and far to come watch her strut her stuff.

That night’s performance began like any other. The opening act was Rooster Spittoon, who could eat a whole lasso in under a minute. Then, Curly “Pig-Winger” Blount thrilled the audience by tossing a hundred-pound sow over a stagecoach and into a bucket of snakes. Even Uncle Buffalo took the stage to make music by blowing into a jug. But these displays were just appetizers. What the crowd truly hungered for was Sally Galoot, Bullwhipper Supreme.

When Sally finally moseyed onto the stage wearing golden chaps and a ten-gallon coyote-skin hat, the crowd started a-hootin’ and a-hollerin’. Sally was used to this by now, but it always tickled her fancy. She cracked her whip once, and the ruckus died down, until the whole theater was as hushed as a polecat with no mouth.

“Fer mah first trick”, hooted Sally in her famous lilting drawl, “I’m-a need uh vawlunteer from th’ crowd.”

Immediately, a trillion hands shot up. Sally surveyed the rows of eager faces until she finally pointed to a handsome cowboy with a handlebar mustache and a huge belt buckle.

“Yore the lucky feller!” said Sally. “Git on up here!”

The cowboy obeyed her command, and ambled up nervously. Sally could see she’d made the right choice; this dude was packed from head to toe with solid muscle, and even though he was sweaty, he smelled like jasmine.

“Whut’s yore name, buddy?” demanded Sally.

“Obediah Pamby” the cowboy said sweetly, avoiding Sally’s gaze.

“Well, Obediah,” said Sally, “git ready to take a whippin’!”

Sally tied Obediah to a pole and blindfolded him. Next, she took off her left boot and balanced it on his head. Once Obediah was securely in his place beneath the heel of her boot, Sally turned to the crowd.

“Y’all ready?” she yelled. “Cause I’m gonna whip it!”

The crowd cheered enthusiastically.

Oh, yes. It seemed they were indeed ready.

“Yee-haw!” Sally screamed, and with a crack of her whip, knocked the boot right off Obediah’s head.

“Ta-da!” yelled Sally, and the crowd cheered again.

Sally removed her other boot and placed it on Obediah’s head.

“Yahoo!” Sally yelled, and with a snap, whipped the other boot off.

“Ta-da!” she screamed again, which was met with more cheers and applause. Next, she placed a banana on Obediah’s head.

“Yippee-kay-ay!” she yelled, and whipped the banana. It exploded.

“Ta-da!” Sally screamed, and the audience also exploded– with cheers.

Then she placed a wooden match on Obediah’s head.

“Fer mah final trick, I’m-a do this with my eyes closed”, Sally shouted. She then took her scarf and tied it around her head until she was just as blindfolded as Obediah.

The crowd went as quiet as a mouse encased in a potato.

“Hi-ho!” she screamed, and with a whack, whipped the match. It burst into flame!

The audience went berserk and threw roses. Never had they seen something so amazing. Sally took a bow.

Just then, an evil witch appeared in a puff of brown smoke. “All this clapping and whipping has awoken me from my slumber,” cackled the witch. “For that, I curse you, Sally Galoot!”

Sparkles emanated from the witch’s gnarled finger. Suddenly, Sally started to grow. Before long, she was eighty feet tall—far too big to operate a regular-sized bullwhip with any finesse.

The witch cackled again, then disappeared in a puff of yellow smoke.

“Oh no!” bellowed giant Sally Galoot. “Whut am I gon’ do?”

“Marry me,” someone said. Sally had a hard time figuring out who it was because she was so huge. Eventually, she found the source of the tiny voice: it was Obediah Pamby. He had untied himself, but too late—the match had scorched his hair clean off.

“I may be bald and burned,” said Obediah, “but I knows a good woman when I sees one. Marry me and be my humongous bride.”

“Yep, yep, a thousand times yep!” boomed Sally. The crowd cheered again, and threw more roses.

Soon after that, Sally and Obediah got married, had six big children, and were emotionally satisfied.

THE END.

***********

So there you have it: fairly significant character growth and an emotionally satisfying, committed ending. Everything you require for your brand of sensual romance. And if you like this story, you’ll be happy to know I’m working on a sequel as we speak. Part II: ‘Stiff Upper Whip’ will be a steamy revisionist re-telling of ‘Under The Whipper’s Boot’ from the perspective of the witch. I’ll let you know when I’m done!

Thanks again for your consideration, Ellora! Publish my story, and we’ll titillate the world’s groins together.

Yours in sexiness,

Kurt Sharpley

The Wicked Whip Of The West

The Wicked Whip Of The Sexy West

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About Josh Flaum

Occasionally, I will buy a shirt with horizontal stripes and have immediate regrets.

3 responses to “Trying To Publish My Smut: Part IV”

  1. Joe James says :

    I’m no expert in erotic fiction, but I am pretty certain this could be the next fifty shades of grey…

    Why there was never a witch in those books, I will never know!

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  1. Trying To Publish My Smut: Part III | I Don't Belong Here - September 9, 2014

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