.. Play Do's and Play Don'ts L.E. Bland Charlene took the thick cylinder between her fingers. It was soft, clammy, and detachedly lifeless, yet it possessed a will of its own. Even though she wished it would retain its robust phallic form for eternity, the substance nevertheless expanded and contracted under her firm grip. The head bulged into an angry atomic cloud while the shaft cracked beneath her agile fingers. Once she had destroyed its proud shape, the rest submitted to her touch. She was free to mold the strange sticky substance into creations beyond her wildest dreams, and she did. It all began with a simple misunderstanding over mushroom pizza. One afternoon in a small Texas town, three outcasts learned an appalling secret about one another. “I don’t know what to do,” Frank confessed to his friends, Charlene and Marla. “I’m a vegetarian, and I just can’t come to terms with the fact that animals die for my leather fetish. It’s all so cruel and self-indulgent of me. I hate myself for it. I just hate myself!” “Hush your fuss.” Marla gave him a sharp smack on the thigh. Her black cat-eye glasses matched her stiff black bob. “You know good and well that you can get restraints and whips in nylon, and clothes in latex or vinyl. Calm down and use your brain for once.” She shoved a piece of pizza back into his mouth, and he spat it out in defiance. There wasn’t much to do in Temple, Texas, so Frank and Marla entertained themselves by being different from the cowpokes about town. Frank pretended to be a flamboyant stud, and Marla fancied herself a dominant bitch. They wore their vices like a badge of courage, and the topic of leather sex kept them entertained for hours on end. In fact, they talked so much about kink, it was a wonder that they ever had any time to practice it at all. Their quiet sidekick, Charlene, listened in keenly. “But I love the look of leather.” Frank buried his head dramatically in the elbow-nook of his black leather jacket and sniffed. “And I like the feel of the toys. Nothing performs quite like leather. Nothing else will satisfy someone hopeless like me.” He turned his eyes to the innocent longhorns that grazed outside the kitchen window. All the while, Charlene nibbled on her own piece of pizza. Their discussion of leather and beef only made her wish she had a hamburger instead of vegetarian grub. Charlene always knew she was different, too, but she wasn’t sure how. She wasn’t so much into cowhides or kink. She really liked girls, and she liked boys, too. And sometimes she liked both at the same time. Just like Marla and Frank, she was destined to be an outcast. And in the small town of Temple, sexual minorities stuck together in each and every orifice. “Oh, quit your whining, Frank,” Marla repeated as she chewed. “There are alternatives to leather.” She garbled through the dry pizza crust, “Like Pleather.” Her muffled drawl was nearly unintelligible, even to a native Texan. It sounded more like “play-thah,” but Frank understood. She meant Pleather, the faux leather substitute. “What?” Charlene poked her head up. Usually she stayed out of their strange conversations about clothespins, candle wax, and kitchen utensils, but Marla’s last comment was too twisted for Texas ears. “Play-Doh? Did you say Play-Doh?” The other two looked at her and chuckled under their breaths. Of course they didn’t play with Play-Doh –- they hadn’t even thought about it since they were children – but they dared not spoil the fun. Charlene was so naïve. “Yeah, Play-Doh,” Frank sat up in his chair. “That’s right. Sometimes we play with Play-Doh. It gets me really hot, with the right person, that is.” Charlene didn’t know what to say. Surely her friends couldn’t have a fetish for the toy clay “modeling compound” of childhood times. “It’s great fun,” Marla added as she stretched her arms above her head and joined her wrists in mock restraint. Frank massaged her soft stomach as if he were sculpting a masterpiece. “And you know the best thing about it?” Frank asked. “It gets nice and stiff when you put it in the freezer.” He winked at her and squeezed his thighs together to compress his own mass of clay. Charlene was confused. She knew they were teasing her, but she wasn’t sure how. Nevertheless, they wouldn’t get the best of her. No, her wannabe avant-garde friends were in for a surprise. She would show them just how much she knew about kinky sex. “Y’all can just quit your bragging. I know all about Play-Doh. You think you’ve tried everything since your high-school drop-out days, but I’ll bet you still haven’t done the, uh.” She stalled for a second so to invent an impressive, kinky game. “The Play-Doh Fuck Factory?” Marla and Frank stared at her with glass eyes. “It’s the latest game in the Dallas BDSM clubs,” Charlene continued. “Where have y’all been lately? Did you miss the last play party or what?” The pair shifted in their black garb, yet said nothing intelligible. After a final bit of pizza, Charlene chimed back in. “Obviously, y’all are in the dark here, and I sure don’t have enough time this afternoon to teach anybody how to have fun in bed, so you’ll just have to look it up on the internet like the rest of the backwoods geeks out there.” With that, she turned and twisted her tight, stone-washed jeans right out the door. Suddenly, Charlene was on a mission. On her way home, she made a pit stop at the local Super Mart for supplies. She had research to do, and the fresh four-pack of Play-Doh would open doors to a kinky new world. Once inside her apartment, she rushed to the computer. She typed “Play-Doh” into the search engines in hopes of coming up with some clues about her friends’ strange fetish, but nothing. Only innocuous toy site after toy site appeared – baking with Play-Doh, strawberry shortcakes, spaghetti, ice cream, spaceships, jewelry, and even money. People actually get off on this stuff? she wondered, wishing she had had enough courage to ask Frank and Marla what they meant. Kinky sex was so intimidating. Dangerous territory. She eyed the maniacal blond cartoon boy who peered at her from behind the oversized red logo. He probably had his pants down around his ankles and was doing who-knows-what with his dough. But what do people like Frank and Marla do with it? She opened the container and took a whiff of the smell that had enticed her so as a child. It awakened decade-old memories of home-like processed spray cheese and refrigerated cookie dough. It was both salty and sweet, sterile, yet organic. Best of all, it was pliable. She could shape it into a rocket and fly to the moon. In spite of Play-Doh’s potential, Charlene didn’t see it as erotic. Perhaps she just wasn’t as kinky as her friends, but at least she was determined. First of all, she tried to form some sexy red panties out of it. She pressed it onto her pubic hair, but the heavy dough quickly abandoned her wet lips. Already frustrated, she sat down at the computer, her bathrobe draped slightly. She squashed the red paste against her lips and made an impression of her pussy – an engorged hood with long, heart-shaped labia, a glistening pearl of moisture at the tip. The sculpture stared at her and drooled. With its wetness, warmth, and tiny bits of extracted hair, it almost seemed real. After a couple of intoxicating whiffs, she knew she had to lick her new Play-Doh mate. It had been so long since she had been with a woman. She and Marla hadn’t had a fuck-buddy fling in months. She touched the tip of her tongue against the clammy folds and slurped upwards, but much to her dismay, the Play-Doh did not taste at all like Marla’s juices. Her new friend was nothing more than a rancid salt lick, only good for cattle. She dashed off to the kitchen for a drink of water to wash away her fantasy. But the visions wouldn’t budge. She carried her figurine over to the couch, stared at its immobilized lips, and slipped into pleasant memories of living flesh. Marla’s strange feline glasses lowered like a setting sun beyond the horizon of her pubic mound. She licked a salty finger and ran it along her crevice. Unlike the Play-Doh impostor that she held in her hand, her real pussy was hot and alive, and it needed attention. Up, up, and away, she jerked her cunt. With one nervous hand, she tore into her flesh; with the other, she choked the effigy until it oozed all over the velveteen couch. Charlene awoke not to Marla’s ample, naked body, but to a desiccated red glob of perverted clay. Finally, she understood. “Hey y’all,” Charlene announced to her friends that night. “We’ve really all been together in a long time, if you know what I mean. Ever since the other day, I’ve been thinking about this Play-Doh thing. Don’t you want to come over and check it out, just for old times’ sake? Maybe I could teach you some new tricks. Both of you: Marla and Frankie, this time.” Frank looked at her in disbelief. “Wow, these vanilla types aren’t so bad after all,” he muttered to his partner in crime. The next morning, Frank found himself knocking on her back door, one sweaty hand fumbling around in his pocket. At his side, Marla calmed herself with an overpriced import cigarette. Charlene didn’t answer the door, but instead hollered out the open bedroom window, “It’s unlocked!” She couldn’t move an inch without ruining her creation. Her legs were bound to the bedposts. Although she might have broken free if she wanted to, she was too determined to prove herself to the others. Driven by a fierce need for kinky validation, Charlene lay prostrate on the bed, one ankle shamelessly set in “school bus yellow,” the other in “fire engine red.” She was finally one of the gang. Nevertheless, her bondage display probably wouldn’t impress them quite enough. She needed fuck toys, too. It was, after all, the debut of her Play-Doh Fuck Factory. Between her palms, she rolled a glob of the molding clay. Just as the night before, the substance was squishy, salty and luscious. Its blue head bulged above her fist, and the shaft throbbed under her fingers. As the footsteps pounded in the stairwell, Charlene teased the soft restraints that tethered her ankles and stroked her clay cock. In a frenzy, she rammed the cold flesh against her cunt, but it mashed flat. Her playmates were quickly approaching. She had to do something perverted fast, or else she would never live it down - and might never get laid. She re-molded the Play-Doh once again only to end up with another wad of mess. There was no answer. She was stranded: a vanilla girl in a kinky Play-Doh world. Suddenly, her friends burst through the door. “Oh my God.” The cigarette dropped from Marla’s mouth and nearly started a fire on the shag rug. Frank, who had been jiggling his “roll of quarters” around for the past thirty minutes, was amused at the sight. There was Charlene, legs spread, flecks of blue Play-Doh in her pubic hair, and a sinister, phallic clump clenched in her fist. She was writhing and moaning with a frustrated pussy, and gracefully straining against the soft Play-Doh that bound her ankles. “You sick little perve!” Marla exclaimed and slapped her clenched thigh. Charlene turned her face into the pillow so they wouldn’t see her smirk. However, instead of ravishing their victim as Charlene had hoped, her friends jumped onto the bed and tore into the remaining tubs of Play-Doh. A familiar salty-sweet scent filled the air. They, too, became quickly intoxicated by the playtime perfume. Marla squealed and punched her fist into a mass of dough, and then started rolling out a red snake on Charlene’s stomach. Frank laughed insanely, holding pasty white horns onto his head and kicking around like a bull at the rodeo. Even more chaos ensued as the Play-Doh worked its magic. Frank dropped his pants and showed off his hard-on; Marla ripped open her shirt to reveal her heavy, white breasts. She pressed blue flower pasties onto her nipples, but the Play-Doh wouldn’t stick. Frank howled with amusement as the clammy, mangled daisies dropped from Marla’s tits onto Charlene’s own quivering chest. In spite of their silliness, Charlene was still horny. The sight of her naked playmates was more than she could take. She tried to touch their asses, and maybe even grab some goods, but they were lost in Play-Doh folly. “How do you expect to fuck anybody with that dinkydick, Frank?” Marla joked. “Let me fix it.” She took pressed some red and yellow around his cock so that it resembled a swirled silicone dildo of superhuman proportions. “Look everybody!” he yelled. “I’m a dyke with a strap-on!” He circled his fat phallus around in the air and Marla pretended to lick it. Charlene had finally had enough of their child’s play. Play-Doh was supposed to be sexy, wasn’t it? Was this really their idea of kinky fun? It surely wasn’t hers. With a couple of kicks, she broke out of her feeble bondage and grabbed her giddy friends by the hair. “Y’all pay attention, now,” she commanded. “I didn’t invite you over here for this nonsense. You’re playing my game all wrong.” She wadded up a mound of white clay and slapped Frank on the ass. “Wait,” Marla stalled. “Your game? I thought you said that the Play-Doh Fuck Factory was a Dallas thing.” “Yeah,” Frank interjected. “What’s up with that?” “I meant…” Charlene stuttered. “Oh, I see. You were bluffing all along!” Frank accused her. With a pout, Charlene stormed out of the room, but she still had other plans for them: one final Play-Doh experiment. She hadn’t forgotten what Frank said about stiff, chilled dough. She returned to the bed where Frank and Marla lay giggling and plucking Play-Doh from each other’s skin. Behind her back, Charlene held a firm, frozen roll, fresh from the freezer. It was blue, red, yellow, and white all mashed together, with nice fat balls. She marched into the bedroom with a demonic gleam in her eyes. Naughty Frank, of course, was the chosen one. She shoved him onto all fours. Before he knew it, he had a slick, supple Doh-sicle between his cheeks. His ass opened to take the entire length. With a firm fist, she steadied the base against her pubic bone so that it hit her clit just right and began to thrust. Miraculously, her new dildo was not too soft or too dry. It was just right. She worked it like a real boy cock. “No more pulling the Play-Doh over my eyes, y’all!” Charlene shouted as she pumped away. Frank writhed under her force. The more he grunted, the wetter her pussy got. She was finally in control... and kinky. In the background, Marla lay in wait like a snake in the grass. She crept up behind Charlene and ran her fingers down her ass cheeks and straight into her swollen pussy. The pressure instantly made Charlene’s cunt throb. The multi-colored member that was rubbing against her clit wanted to come, and fast. She tried to keep it going, but she was too close to the edge. Marla’s fingers swirling inside her walls were impossible to bear. She had to come. She slammed into Frank’s cheeks with all her might, her Play-Doh cock roaring wildly inside him. Marla kept rhythm with her final thrusts the best she could, but once Charlene lost control, the trio toppled onto each other like dominos. The thawing dildo rolled across the bed and nudged an empty yellow Play-Doh tub. The odd little cartoon character on the label smiled knowingly. Outside, a happy cow mooed in support of man-made Pleather. Charlene had passed all the tests with flying Play-Doh colors: red, blue, yellow, and white.

12.07.06: Scarlet Letters -- in case it isn't glaringly obvious -- is currently on an extended hiatus. The web has changed, we've changed, and we're trying to figure out how we both fit together now, which isn't a process we want to rush. In the meantime, by all means, enjoy our years of past content, all of which still remain in the public and subscription areas. If you're looking for more current SL-related content, you can have check out upcoming books from editor Heather Corinna and previous co-editor Hanne Blank, check out Heather's current sexuality sites, or explore sites through the femmerotic network. We hope to be back with you soon, as fresh, challenging and unexpected as ever.

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