Flash Fiction Friday 10-14-11: "Worth a Thousand Fantasies"

(Source image: "Framed" by Marcus J Ranum)

The instructor adjusted the frame, then stepped back, satisfied. “There,” he said. “Thirty minutes.”

Lyla settled back on her heels. Now that the time was actually here, she searched for a hint of her earlier panic, but it was nowhere to be found. Serene as a Hindu cow, she sat there, an object before their gazes.

The pose she'd chosen allowed her to glance around without disturbing her arrangement. She saw marked admiration in every glance, and caught some of that excitement herself. Her breasts drew tight and her nipples stood tall. Between her thighs, the insistent pulse mounted high.

“I love art class,” she thought.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 80-112 words. Additionally, I asked that you include the emotion of "calm" somewhere in the piece.

Nobody's checking word counts, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

Not much to say this week, other than to say that I think the young lady in this photo is just lovely. I want to run my hands over that lovely smooth skin, caress those sweet curves. I love her purple hair, too, and wish I'd found some way to work that into the story. 

If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 7-15-11: "Still Life"

(Image provided by Lexi, photographer and title unknown)

Never seen a statue quite this realistic before. Absolutely exquisite.

...Wait, what? Moving eyes? Hang on a second.
The words arrowed into his brain as those eyes locked with his: Help! Get me out of here!
He stood stock still as the implications registered. He opened his mouth and she cut him off. I've jumped to the wrong place. So far I've been playing “sculpture”, but the second someone actually touches me, that's it. Please, help me!

He glanced around swiftly. The gallery was empty. All right, he thought, pulling off his coat and draping it around her shoulders. Get ready to move.

Her body was warm and soft. She felt very real indeed.

Oh, I'm definitely real, she sent. And once we have some privacy, I'll show you. I don't forget favors.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 85-135 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...stock still..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track: 

I had a lot of fun with this one. I've seen plenty of nude photos suggesting the subject was part of an exhibition at a very avant-garde museum, which leads to interesting speculations about how the average gallery-goer would react to a living, breathing nude.

But that wasn't enough for me. I just finished reading a time-travel novel (Up the Line by Robert Silverberg) and when I saw this my mind just naturally headed in that direction. I imagined her as a time-traveler who'd jumped into the wrong place and time entirely. How would you react at finding yourself nude in an art gallery god only knows where or when?  If you're her, well, you freeze in terror and hope you can find somebody who might be sympathetic before you get arrested or otherwise apprehended. The idea to make her telepathic was partly to give her story more credence and partly to save time with introductions.


I kind of wish now I'd made the word length less stringent. I'd have liked to explore how, exactly, she rewarded him for his favor, later on.....

If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. Thanks to Lexi for providing this week's photo!

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 5-27-11: "Eye of the Beholder"

(Source image: "Body Painting" by Saturno Butto)

Elizabeth looked at me calmly, expression unreadable. Victoria continued with her work. Sarah sent me a glance full of mute appeal, helpless naked emotion in her eyes. She was being held down firmly by Victoria, who was swirling intricate designs into her back.

“A very pretty tableau,” I said. I reached between Sarah's legs and my hand came away wet. “We've selected a good one here.”

Sarah closed her eyes and bowed her head, surrendering at last.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 60-80 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...[[noun]] in her eyes..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

I was nearly undone by this one. When I first selected it it positively sang to me but when it came time to write I was blocked in virtually every direction I tried. Finally, in desperation, I resorted to the same "betrayed by her body" theme I've used in many previous tales; that worked well enough for me to construct a believable scene, but it feels like recycling to me. I'm not very happy with this one, I'm afraid.

Please note that I am no longer collecting the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 12-17-10: "The Mirror of His Dreams"

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Flash Fiction Friday 10-22-10: "....That Launched a Thousand Ships"

(Photo provided by Soren Ambrose, title and source unknown. Photographer: Petrova Julian).

“Fuck me sideways,” he growled, tossing down his brush, spraying crimson. “This isn't working.”

She stretched, rolling her head from side to side with little crackles. “You're the boss,” she said. “What do you want, then?”

“No, goddammit,” he said angrily. “Have you been listening at all? I'm not the boss. You are. I want hauteur and disdain here. You're Helen of Troy, and someone's surprised you while you're getting dressed – invaded your private bedroom and dared to lay eyes on you. A ten-year war was started for less. Now, think: how would you react?”

She tilted her head, really considering for the first time. “I suppose I'd be pretty pissed, at first.”

At first? Odd. He nodded. “That's a start.” He reached for the brush and began mixing furiously as he saw her getting it, really getting it.

Her arms, clutching the satin sheets so convulsively till now, slid down. The satin slipped away, revealing more of her exquisite form. Her back arched. Her breasts came up. She tossed her head angrily and a sneer curled her lip.

“Who...dares?” she hissed slowly. Venom dripped from the words and ate smoking holes in the floor.

“Yes, that's it, baby,” he muttered, paintbrush working frantically, trying now to capture the icy arrogance that shone forth in waves.

“Baby?” The scorn in her voice was palpable. “I am not your...baby, or anyone else's.” Her chin tilted imperiously. “But....then again, you are not uncomely.”

She paused, seemingly calculating, and then the sheets slid to the floor. His paintbrush fell from nerveless fingers as she stalked towards him, gaze hungry, breasts swaying, lips parted.

I may have created a monster here, he thought, and then she was on him.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 100-300 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...a sneer curled her lip..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

I looked at this picture for a long time before I found any inspiration at all, but once it did come, I was positively deluged with ideas.

First was the icy expression on her face. My guess is the photographer wanted her to have a sultry look on her face, but to me those lips are curling in scorn. Thus, the key phrase. I wanted to see how other people would deal with that themselves.

Next was her classical beauty. High cheekbones, large dark eyes, long hair artfully tousled. Something about the lighting, the clothing or fabric that she was holding in front of her, the coloring of the background -- all of it suggested something from a bygone age.

Then I got thinking about classically beautiful women, and suddenly decided to go with Helen of Troy. I remember Helen as kind of a cipher in Homer's original, getting only a few lines to speak of her remarkable beauty, but no development or real interest there. Likewise in the recent film; Diane Kruger was pretty enough, but she was only that -- a pretty face (okay, and body, too). But the woman shown here is more beautiful by far, and she knows it.

I decided to emphasize that arrogant look, and thought I'd see what Helen would do if she was really full of herself. Who wouldn't be, after having a war started over her body? Now, if her bedroom were invaded...yes. She'd be pissed off. But what else? If the intruder was attractive....well. Her kidnapper Paris had come to gradually disgust her. She'd left her husband behind. All the Trojans hated her. Wouldn't she be more than a little hungry for male companionship? I thought she would.

The following people are participating this week. Go check out their take on this FFF, won't you, and thank 'em for playing along.

Soren:  http://amorousdays.blogspot.com
Drenchxoxo:  http://thedrenchedone.blogspot.com
Rozewolf:  http://wordwytch.wordpress.com
Lexi:  http://lex-ploits.blogspot.com
Just a Taste:  http://sexandchocolatecake.blogspot.com
Big Geek:  http://getting-a-grip.blogspot.com
Cara:  http://bigakboy.wordpress.com
Spring Flower:  http://agirlsgottahaveoptions.blogspot.com
Advizor:  http://advizortoall.blogspot.com
Max:  http://mystic-satyr.blogspot.com 

Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. Thanks to Soren for providing this week's photo.

-- PB

What She Wants

She knelt before me, ebony skin gleaming in the candlelight. Her lips worked with slow passion on my straining cock, fingers squeezing at the base of my testicles. She felt me quiver, and pulled my rod free with a wet popping sound. "Paint me," she said simply.

I raised an eyebrow. "You said what?"

"Paint me," she said again. "You've done my portrait enough times, and I loved what I saw. Now I want something different."

She turned her face up, cupped her breasts with her hands, squeezing and lifting them. "Here's your canvas, artist. Paint me."

Moaning softly, I began working my cock feverishly. I'd been so close to the brink when she stopped that it wasn't long before I was near explosion again. Her gaze moved ceaselessly from my face to my hand on my shaft and back to my face again. She began murmuring softly, encouraging. "Come on, baby. Splash me with your love. Give me that creamy white load all over my tits. I want your Titanium White dripping down my body, coating my face. Mix your palette on me, swirl that pearlescence around. Paint me with your brush. Paint me with your cum. Do it now! Now!"

Throat locked and straining, I did as directed. A thick, splattering jet burst out of my cock and onto her upturned face. She opened her mouth to catch the next spray, which shot down her throat with such force she nearly choked. Recovering, she thrust her shoulders back and raised her tits once more, catching the next few spurts, pearly white splashes landing on that dark, dark skin in an almost-shocking contrast. Growling deep in my throat, I kept pumping my shaft, shaping and squeezing each spurt, making her my canvas, turning her into the painting she'd requested.

Eventually I ran dry and surveyed the damage. My glistening cum ran in rivulets from the corners of her mouth, dripped from her chin, collected in the hollow between her breasts, trickled in thin streams around her nipples, pooled in thin splashes and splatters and droplets from chin to navel. She looked at me calmly, not saying anything.

Trying to catch my breath, I strode to the nearby workbench and grabbed my camera. A turn, a click, and this artwork was frozen forever in celluloid. The flash of her white teeth in the darkness of that face outshone even the glittering silver-white strands I'd painted her with. Very contented, that smile.

I offered her a towel and she shook her head. Her hands moved in slow, sensuous circles over her body, without haste, smearing my cum to a thin glaze, spreading it. She dipped a finger into the deep pool on one breast and drew slow spirals down to her nipple. Dipped another finger and tasted, then sighed in deep satisfaction.

"I may not know about art, but I know what I like," she murmured, hands still moving lazily, lazily, nipples now standing proud and tall. I couldn't bear it and leaned over for a taste, my own scent sharp in my nostrils, coloring my sensations with the salt tang of my own cum. She moaned softly as my mouth closed over her nipple, and her hands went to my cock, a paintbrush still dripping with its last glaze. "So glad I joined your life drawing class."

I couldn't help but agree.

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 6-25-10: "Galatea"

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.