I guess I can say I've Written Erotica Now? · 9:18am Feb 22nd, 2018
Having grown very distressingly short on cash, I was just browsing through Upwork, looking for something that doesn't require a bunch of previously logged experience as a requirement and isn't buried in 50+ applications already. Eventually I came across this posting.
"Looking for ghost writers to create erotic short stories for a planned femdom series. Stories will have a strict 5k-7k wordcount requirement. Writers should be able to work off of assignment prompts and be capable of delivering a completed assignment in less than two weeks."
I figure, sure, I could probably do that. They ask for a 1 page sample of any current or past erotica I've written. I don't have anything on hand (later I realized that technically Of Avians and Amorousness might count, but I'd rather my sample not be about an owl and a chicken) so I decide to just draft something off on the spot. About 30 - 45 minutes later, I've got a page of contextless teasing buildup suitable for the inside flap of a trashy (but classy!) novella. I'm hoping they like it and I can brag about/vehemently deny being officially paid to write smut.
For those interested, I've included this completely non-pony related writing sample below.
He rocked on the balls of his feet, bare toes digging into the plush carpet as he stared at the plain wooden door in front of him. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t be here. He would turn around, put on his shoes, walk back out to his car, and forget he had ever come here. That was the eminently sensible plan his brain concocted, but it seemed his body was in no mood for sense today. He surveyed the dull brown door once more. The same color of her eyes. No! This was no time for those kinds of thoughts! Steeling his nerves, he reached out for the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside.
An absurdly dressed figure casually reclined on the couch against the far wall, legs bare, upper body covered in some leather getup with entirely too many straps, and face hidden behind a golden lion mask. She silently beckoned him forward with a finger. With equal silence, he shut the door behind him and crossed the distance to her, heart hammering in his ears.
He stood, waiting as she looked him up and down, as if appraising a piece of meat. The silence was broken by the surprised yelp that escaped when she kicked his legs out from under him, bringing his chin crashing down on the fortunately well-padded couch cushion. From his new viewpoint, he could see a series of thin white lines of what appeared to be whipped cream running down the inner thighs on both sides of his head. He took the hint.
As he slowly dragged his tongue along the lines, the sweetness of the cream mixed with the salty underlayer of trace sweat to form a delicious ambrosia on his taste buds. He could tell he was doing something right as he saw the pure white panties that sat in the center of his view growing darker in the center, accompanied by a rich and tangy scent that made his head spin as it washed over him. He could feel the heat growing from behind that increasingly translucent barrier. The fiery heart of a star with an appropriately almost gravitational pull drawing him in to glorious incandescence.
Just as his tongue reached the edge of that increasingly soaked barrier, a hand shot down to block him so quickly that it nearly took the skin off his nose. A finger wagged in his face before he was pulled back to his feet. A moment later and he had disrobed, his pants and underwear flung to a far corner without thought. With equal lack of ceremony, he was thrown onto the nearby bed, face pressed down firmly into the mattress.
From behind him came the sounds of drawers opening and belts and straps being adjusted. They were nearly drowned out by the racing of his own pulse until something cut through and seized his attention. A mischievous and familiar chuckle rang through his ears.
He whipped around, but the name died on his lips as he caught sight of what lay between her legs. Some monstrosity that looked as if it had burst equal parts from the imaginations of Seuss and Lovecraft. Vulgarity incarnate. The neon colors gave his retinas a taste of the treatment its shape promised other parts of him.
“Hello again, sweet thing.”