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Have you ever killed a man? #worddiscipline

Posted by on Oct 28, 2013 in Erotic writing | 0 comments

This piece was written during Aisling Weaver’s Word Discipline session on micro fiction at Eroticon USA, after challenging us to write a story in a tweet, 140 characters, including identifying hashtags, we then had five minutes to write a short story.  It was one of the sessions where I got to be participant not organiser and it felt so good to exercise my writing muscles.


First is my tweet story:

You left me because you were lonely but scared by the world you came back & locked us into a stale grey future. I hate you.


My five minute fiction:

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Killed a man?”

“No, yes, no!”

“What’s worse than killing a man?”

I looked at Janine and didn’t know if I could trust her.  I could feel her gaze on me as I drove and I knew she expected the truth from me.

“Yes, I’ve killed a man; I’m a soldier it’s what happens and its awful.  It never gets better and there’s no point talking about it.”

I hoped this would shut her down, but she just nodded and waited.  She waited all through the rush hour traffic, waited through red lights and roundabouts.  Through school pick-ups and supper time.

We filled the silence with small talk, family life and at night with tender kisses, clasped hands and fucking delight, but still the question;

“What’s worse than killing a  man?”


Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on and, don't be shy leave a review!

Wrapped : #sinfulsunday

Posted by on Oct 27, 2013 in Erotic pictures, Erotic writing | 20 comments


Jake was waiting for me when I finished work, he grinned as I climbed into the car;

“I was just sending off an order and thought I’d pick you up, there’s something at the workshop I’d like to show you.”

As much as I hate Jake’s car, a mess of dog hair, food wrappers and drink cartons, I love his workshop and the sawmill that it is next to.

The masculinity of the machinery that eats through trees and transforms them into smooth planes of wood makes my cunt twitch in the same way that cathedrals and empty schools do.  It is something to do with reverence and immense machismo that makes me feel small and out of place.  The sawmill turns me on and Jake knows it.

We parked up in front of the workshop Jake kissed me as I got out of the car;

“I thought we could have some fun, if you wanted to”

I mumbled my yesses through my kisses and in a moment he had me pressed me up against the body of the car, a hand hooked inside my dress and under my knickers.   I cried as he pinched my nipples and his fingers fucked into me until the wetness of my orgasm spilled down my legs and soaked the knickers that trapped them.


Jake spat the word at me as he pulled my knickers off me, pressed them into my mouth and led me towards the sawmill.

Inside the mill smelt of green wood and aged wood, of resin and machine oil and of the sweat of the men who had so recently clocked off.  The air crackled with the heat from the giant saws, teeth menacing even in their stillness, I shuddered with fear as Jake’s hand tightened around my wrist and he pulled me through the half-light of the barn into the common room.

The salty tang of microwave lunches and bitterness of cold coffee mixed with the familiar wood and oil of the rest of the building to give a threatening masculine staleness to the room that added a strange sense of being watched to the scene.

“Take your dress off.”

I did and the remains of my underwear and shoes too.


Jake pointed at the sofa and motioned for me to bend over the arm, there were no more words from him, but he made sure I could see him as he pulled a roll of pallet wrap from his bag and flipped it in his hand, like a bartender flipping a cocktail shaker, he winked at me and started to wrap, ankles to thigh.

Finished with my legs Jake pulled my arms behind me and wrapped my wrists too, the sweat trickled between my legs, my trapped skin as slick as my exposed cunt.

And then he fucked me.  Straight into the wetness of me, hardness forcing into me from behind.

I wined through the sodden fabric in my mouth and hiccoughed as I tried to hold back my orgasms, tried to wait for him to finish, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t let me.  Each time he felt my orgasm rise he’d lie over me and whisper how tight my cunt was or how I deserved the roughness, he knew all the ways to make me come, how to release me even as the plastic wrapping tightened around me as I wriggled beneath him;

“Come for me baby”

I lost count of the times I heard that phrase but every time he used it I obeyed and every time I obeyed he’d shift his hold and fuck me in a different way and every different fuck hurt in a new and beautiful way.  The rough weave and wooden frame of the threadbare sofa pressed into my hip bones as he covered my body in his; my shoulders stretched and ached as he used my bound wrists to pull me against him when he stood up and grunted his long thrust into me; the smell of spilt drinks and tobacco burned my nose as he laid over me and with a fistful of hair pushed my face into the sofa cushions.

Finally I was limp, exhausted with the fuck of him and he hauled me up one hand across my chest, fingers pulling on my red tortured nipples, the other arm supporting me across my waist as he whispered his sex into me.   Jake told me of the beautiful fucked rawness of my skin, of how he loved me as he finally let himself go and the scent of sweat and spunk and tears mixed with the smells of the sawmill.


I wrote this story and made the image for Molly’s Sinful Sunday, click the link below to see  more filth.

Sinful Sunday

Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on and, don't be shy leave a review!

Eroticon USA : afterword

Posted by on Oct 26, 2013 in Blog | 2 comments

Ruby Kiddell opens Eroticon USA

Thank you to Molly for taking this photo of me opening Eroticon USA, she seems to have captured a somewhat dreamy quality in my eyes or maybe that’s shell shock?  It wasn’t stage fright because I couldn’t have been tottering around on stage trying to be engaging and motivational in a very British way to a nicer bunch of people.

After two years of Eroticon in the UK taking the conference to America was a huge risk for me and not one I was always sure would pay off in terms of professional credibility – would the American bloggers and writers “get it”?  So while I worried about many things in the run up to the day I stayed true to what I believe makes Eroticon unique and powerful – lining up fantastic speakers who are generous in sharing their expertise and insight.

Thank you to everyone that trusted me enough to hand over their hard earned cash for a ticket,  your trust and belief in the conference, in me, made the conference happen and the enthusiasm and open hearts you brought on the day made it memorable.

As ever my own experience of the conference was somewhat different from everyone elses, the moments that I can switch from organiser to participant are rare and many of my notes filled the page headed “For the future”

One thing that Eroticon USA did for me was bring into focus where the conferences are in terms of their business development and my professional development.  America is unashamedly go-getting and capitalist, which is something of an interesting contrast for a socialist accidental capitalist from England,  but it was refreshing to listen to Jincey Lumpkin break down marketing plans and business development in her #sellingsexy plenary.  Although many people might not feel that their blog or writing is a business, or be interested in making money from them, if you’re wanting to find an audience to read your work then the concerns are the same – creating your work, identifying your audience, finding where they hang out and making sure they know about your work; product, marketing and distribution.

Talking to Lori Perkins during brunch on Sunday inspired me to be bolder in my networking, it seems I need to get in touch with my inner brash New Yorker to exploit the little black books and Rollodexes of my existing network or contacts.  Sex blogging and erotica writing is a supportive community, if you share your ideas then you’ll find many ears willing to listen and many arms willing to hold you up.  I’m proud that Eroticon is a space that facilitates such co-operation and humbled that I continue to be on the receiving end of such love and  support.

Thank you all for continuing to help me and the conference grow.

Read more blog posts about Eroticon USA via the conference website

Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on and, don't be shy leave a review!


Posted by on Sep 29, 2013 in Erotic pictures, Erotic writing | 21 comments


“Did I do that?”


“Christ, I’m sorry”

“Don’t be, I like it.  I like being marked, it reminds me I’m yours.  You should like it too.  Don’t you?”

“Yes, no, I don’t know.  You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“Not even if I asked nicely?”

“C’mon Chelle, don’t tease me, you know what I mean.”

And I do.  I know he wouldn’t do anything to harm me, but I also know that next time we’re in bed and I twist my fingers through his and pull at him, or nip him on the neck with my sharp  sharp teeth that he’ll understand my signal and grip my arms tightly, pressing me down into the mattress.  I allow him to hurt me, I want him to hurt me.  I like it, it turns me on and gets me wet and slip slidery so it is easier for him to slick suck fuck me.

But what really turns me on is the moment he changes, the moment he lets himself go.  I wait until then, until I know he’s dropped from  his everyday self into the man only I see.  The man that squeezes my arms so hard that there’s no need to dust me for fingerprints; the evidence of passion’s crime is browning on my arm.


This erotic short story and picture is my contribution to Sinful Sunday, to find out who else is playing this week click below.

And just so you know, the bruise is from my first pole dancing class, it seemed a shame to waste it.

Sinful Sunday

Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on and, don't be shy leave a review!

Eroticon USA meet and greet

Posted by on Sep 18, 2013 in Blog | 1 comment


In a month’s I’ll be in Atlanta hosting the first Eroticon USA.

I am so very excited at the prospect of meeting new and old friends alike, sharing ideas and learning from the inspirational line up of speakers that are presenting at the conference.

Please feel free to join in with the meet and greet link up, simply copy the questions into a post on your blog and answer them, add the post link to the linky widget at the bottom of the page.  Please don’t forget to link back to this page so we can all get to know each other a little before we meet next month.

You can use this code to link back, copy and paste into your post’s html editor (you may need to tweak the quotation marks)>Eroticon USA meet and greet round up


Name: Ruby Kiddell

Twitter id: @eroticnotebook, @writesexright

Where in the world are you? Devon, UK

What brings you to Eroticon USA? Well I’m kinda the boss so I have to be there.

What are you looking forward to most about Eroticon USA?

All of it!

But if I had to tie it down to three things I’d say; Lauralyn’s photography session, meeting Jack Stratton and hanging out with Aisling Weaver and Wyeth Bailey.

If you had to make up a pen name again what would it be? Venus de Biro



Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on and, don't be shy leave a review!


Posted by on Sep 8, 2013 in Blog, Erotic writing | 15 comments

tracing wheel[hr]

The little tool lay in my sewing basket, you noticed it when you brought me a drink while I worked.    You picked it up as we talked, turning it in your hands and testing the sharpness of the teeth on your thumb.  I tried not to look, I tried to concentrate on the fabric in my hand, but suddenly everything was sensation.

I could feel the glaze of sugar on my teeth from the biscuit I’d eaten, the bitter tang of coffee in my throat and in my hands the texture of the scraps of fabric I was trying to shape into a quilt; warp and weft, under and over, interlocking threads.

You took my hand, turning my arm tender side up and ran the wheel up from wrist to the shallow of my elbow.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a tracing wheel.”

“What’s it for?”

“Tracing patterns onto fabric.”

“I’ve never seen you use it.”

“I don’t, I’ve never found it very useful.”


“It damages the pattern and I could never see the marks well enough.”

You nodded taking in my breathless explanation and as I shifted on my chair your eyes moved down to my knees, bare below my skirt.



You knelt before me and rolled back the hem of my skirt leaving my winter pale skin exposed to your breath, the tickle of your finger tracing a pattern slowly up and around the sensitive spread of me.  The wheel followed your finger delivering tiny specks of pain as it moved.



You nodded to the floor and down I slid.  You undressed me and traced the wheel over and over, mapping out my flesh in prickling ley lines of desire, when I moaned you shushed me and when you eventually returned to the tender white flesh of my inner thigh you gently spread your hand over my throat and as you wheeled up and over the slick lips of my cunt you pressed down.  I closed my eyes and let you in as you stifled the sigh of my orgasm.


I created this post for Molly’s Sinful Sunday project, to find out who else has been being sinful, click the image below:

Sinful Sunday

Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on and, don't be shy leave a review!