Smut with a Shiver

By Delores Swallows (Guest Blogger)

Hi, I’m Delores Swallows, and I now accept I’ll never drive a Ferrari. I wrote a guest blog for Beyond Romance in July of last year, and Lisabet has been kind enough to invite me back.

My previous post was called ‘Smut with a Smile’ because I write smut, and I smile when I read it back to myself in private. Just joking. I do write smut, but I try to include some humour within the stories to make the readers smile.

But for this post, I thought I’d explain how I tried to make my latest story a little darker. There is less humour, but still quite a bit of smut. Like my other stories, this one also features voyeurism, high-heels and a petite brunette.

In previous stories I’ve found some plots allowed for a variety of sexual scenarios without asking the reader to suspend their disbelief. In Stranger than Fiction it was easy, because my female MC was a figment of the imagination of a smut author. 

In the story Web of Deceit, my female MC ventured into the murky world of cyber-sex in chatrooms. There she was able to flirt and describe her fantasies, and things were fine until she decided the fantasies weren’t enough. I think I over-indulged in the freedom that story gave me, because it’s probably the dirtiest story I’ve written to date. But I’m hoping to top that with my WIP J

My latest release is called Midnight Mirror, and features (as you can probably guess from the title) a mirror that does strange things at midnight. It’s in the genre I’d call Paranormal-Erotic Romance-Voyeurism, or in other words, it’s a PERV story  

 

Okay, I just made that acronym up, although I suspect many others will have also used it in the past. It’s hard to find any pun that’s original, nowadays…

As it’s a paranormal story, this offered another opportunity for me to vary the mood and feel of the sex scenes.

Since I wanted it to have a dark, creepy atmosphere, I needed to find something spooky to focus on. As a kid with an over-active imagination, I was always wary of mirrors—half-expecting strange things to appear in the glass (and I wasn’t referring to my spotty, pre-pubescent face). Mirrors can be spooky for a whole host of reasons.

It’s a common occurrence in films for the person looking in the mirror to see either something behind them, or their own reflection distorted in some freakish way. I remember being really grossed-out by the bathroom scene in ‘Poltergeist’, where the guy peels the face of his reflection, the lumps of flesh landing in the sink.

So when I decided to try my hand at writing a spooky story, involving a mirror was one of my first thoughts. A mirror is also a good way of getting the voyeuristic aspect into the plot, so how could I not use one?

The first house I ever bought was an old derelict terraced cottage. A lady had lived there alone for many years, and after she’d died the house had remained empty for about four years. Many of my friends used to try and wind me up about it being haunted. I should admit up front that although I accept ghost might exist, I’ve never seen one. Nor have I ever experienced anything which can’t be explained logically (and ‘alcohol’ is usually the logical explanation).

But shortly after I’d moved into the house, I had a dream where I was sitting in the lounge when the ghost of an old lady walked through the room. She was wearing a raincoat and headscarf as if she’d just come in from outside, but the thing that scared me enough to wake me was that her eyes were repeatedly blinking at an impossible speed. I don’t know why that freaked me out so much, but it did.

As a result of that dream, rapid-blinking eyes also feature in the story.

Here’s the blurb, followed by an excerpt:

To brighten her dreary flat, Natalie buys an old mirror, soon finding that it isn’t what it seems. At the witching hour, her reflection takes on a life of its own. Natalie finds herself physically sharing the sex scenes taking place inside the glass.

Her mirror is her hot little secret until the scenes on the other side become disturbing, making her frightened to stay in her own home.

She knows she needs to overcome the force behind the glass, but the only thing she can think of is to use herself as bait…​​

x x x

Returning to the lounge to turn off the lamp, she glanced in the mirror on the way. As she looked, the eyes of her reflection started to blink repeatedly. Natalie stopped and stared, her own eyes not blinking at all. The room became cold, and she saw her breath condensing in front of her. Then the eyes in the mirror stopped blinking, and Natalie saw her own eyes staring back at her.

But it wasn’t Natalie in the mirror—or rather it wasn’t how she should have looked.

Reflected-Natalie had her face, but her hair was a deep auburn and cut shorter, the ends curled out from her face. She had bright red lips and looked like someone from an old movie. Her floral dress reached her knees and was fitted at the waist. The room behind reflected-Natalie wasn’t the living room of the flat. It was larger, with retro décor. It had patterned wall-paper and a rug that didn’t reach the walls. The floorboards showing around the rug were waxed to a shine. Framed oil paintings hung from a picture rail which ran round the walls at head height. Reflected-Natalie lifted her arm and straightened her hair, whereas real-Natalie stood stock-still. Rather than looking in a mirror, she seemed to be looking into a window from the past. The large mirror was like a TV screen allowing her to see into another world, but with no sound to accompany the show. All Natalie could hear was her own breathing.

Reflected-Natalie turned as the door on the opposite wall opened and a man in army uniform entered the room. As she watched from her own flat, Natalie knew this man was the husband of her reflected-self. He pulled off his peaked cap, showing a disfigured face—his scars a result of a fire. Somehow she knew the Wellington he’d been piloting was shot down over Germany during a bombing campaign, and he’d been a Prisoner-of-War for the last three years. Her reflected-self rushed to his arms, and Natalie heard sobs of relief break from her own throat.

Her heart boomed in her chest as she watched the couple in the mirror cling to each other, the woman kissing his scarred face, running her hands gently over the part of his head where the hair would never grow back.

Suddenly they were tearing at each other’s clothes, and warmth flooded between Natalie’s legs. The woman undid her husband’s uniform jacket as his hands struggled with the buttons at the front of her dress. They fumbled with clothes, still kissing. Natalie noticed the woman crying and felt tears on her own cheeks. As the man’s shirt was removed, the extent of the scarring on his upper body became evident. His wife slowed her eagerness, gently running her fingers over his red and wrinkled flesh.

Natalie watched, and she shared the woman’s anger. How could anyone have done this to such a beautiful body? The wife gently removed his shirt and vest, then started to kiss each inch of his blemished torso.

The husband undid enough of the buttons to allow her to slip the dress back off her shoulders and slide it down her body. She wore a cream longline bra and matching pantie girdle with built-in clips to hold up her seamed stockings. She quickly unfastened her bra, and as Natalie watched the husband bend to take a nipple into his mouth, she felt her own nipple being sucked and nibbled. She felt a need deep within her. The Natalie in the mirror hurriedly unclipped her suspenders and the husband dropped to his knees, carefully rolling the silk stockings down her legs. The girdle and panties were quickly removed, leaving forties-version Natalie completely naked. Her husband fumbled with his boot laces.

Natalie watched the scene, her heart racing with expectation, a strange impatience twisting her stomach. Finally his boots were removed and his wife was undoing the buttons of his uniform trousers. As soon as she pushed the trousers down his cock sprung free, sticking out hard and proud. The only scars below his waist were on the backs of his legs.

Natalie held her breath as she watched her other self encourage the soldier to lay flat on his back on the rug. The wife positioned herself above him and held his erection at the opening of her sex. As she lowered herself slowly down, Natalie experienced being entered, filled, and a groan escaped her lips. Her muscles gripped involuntarily around the phantom shape inside, and the lady in the mirror began to ride her husband. Moving slowly up and down, the wife watched his face.

x x x

At first, the mirror—although a bit freaky—isn’t really a bad thing. My MC has a couple of pleasant experiences, but then things start to get not so pleasant. She has to overcome whatever it is, and so obviously that means it’s time for her to put on her high-heels!

I’m happy with the way the story turned out. It’s different from the stuff I’ve written before (which sounds like I’m not happy with the other stories, which isn’t true. Honest), but I did enjoy writing it.

However, there was the constant temptation to add bits of humour. Although there are some lighter bits, I didn’t want to add something that would break whatever mood I’d managed to create.

When Natalie watches her reflected-selves having sex, she shares their sensations and their orgasms. She also experiences the men coming as an iciness inside her. One of the scenes she witnesses involves a version of herself being double-penetrated during an m/f/m threesome, and the urge to include the term ‘rectoplasm’ was almost over-whelming. But I resisted, and the story is (hopefully) better without it.

I like to think it’s my first example of ‘Smut with a Shiver’.

If it sounds interesting, you can get a copy here (among other places):

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/611333

My current WIP is not paranormal in any way. I’m back to the real-life shenanigans of a wife cuckolding her husband. There’s no rectoplasm or ghost-riders, but there is voyeurism. And high-heels. And a petite brunette. 

Oh, and I'm giving away a copy of Stranger Than Fiction or Web of Deceit (your choice) to one person who leaves a comment. Don't forget to include your email address! 

About Delores Swallows

Delores Swallows has many dirty thoughts, and during his free time he writes them down in the form of stories. Born and bred in the northwest of England, he has a commoner’s accent and a bit of a crush on his future queen (Kate, not Camilla!).

His stories often feature petite brunettes, high-heeled shoes and voyeurism. He claims he didn’t realise these were obsessions until someone pointed out how often they appear in his work.

If you would like to give feedback on his stories or contact him, you can do so via e-mail deloresswallows@gmail.com or twitter @deloresswallows

If you would like to get a free story and updates on all new releases, simply join the mailing list by writing to his e-mail address above.

The admin at Facebook don’t like his pen name, but he does have a profile under the name of Delores Jones, and that profile has a page in the pen name: www.facebook.com.deloresswallows

Check out his website for free short stories, blog and info on all his current and upcoming stories: www.deloresswallows.com