Flash Fiction Friday 1-13-12: "Reflected Desire"

(Image provided by David; artist, Helmut Newton, title unknown)

There were no restraints, no checks on her motion. Just the sure and certain knowledge that if she moved so much as an inch, he'd be gone like smoke. “Be still” he'd said, and he meant it.

With nowhere to turn, she gazed at her reflected form. Her arms ached. Her legs burned from the strain of holding herself so erect. The heels were killing her...but damn if they didn't sculpt the hell out of her calves. Her skin gleamed, pale and pearlescent. Her frame was spare and taut, muscles drawn in sharp relief. Her breasts stood tall and proud, nipples pointy, hard with excitement. She felt her breath quicken as she realized that she was maddeningly desirable. Her mouth watered, and she felt herself getting wetter by the second.

And she realized: This. This is what he was waiting for.

In a cracked and failing voice, she breathed, “Take me now...please?”

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 85-188 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...cracked and failing..."

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 hope everyone enjoyed their holiday break. My own was a mix of business and pleasure, with more of the latter than the former, fortunately.

This little vignette was almost effortless for me, with my fingers racing on the keyboard to catch the words before they escaped. It makes me happy when it's that simple. Then again, a picture like this truly is worth a thousand words. To me, she looks a bit strained from holding that position, but I think there's also a fair amount of excitement and anticipation. Let's see if any of you think the same! 

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 David for providing this week's photo.

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 6-3-11: "Tensile Strength"

(Source image submitted by Sephani Paige, source unknown)

“Oh, come now,” he goaded her. “Can't you do better than that?”

She ground her teeth in perfect fury. “You contemptible bastard,” she gritted. “I begged. I did the little-girl voice like you wanted. I called you 'daddy' for Chrissake. Now let me fucking loose!”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, that is fucking IT.”

She took a deep breath, then put her head down and strained. Consciousness dwindled down to red streaks and black dots, but – nothing...until...

The chain hit the breaking point, and it snapped with a musical “ping”.

He turned, but she was all over him. “Now you're mine,” she gasped, already yanking at his jeans.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 110-118 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...the breaking point..."

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: 

BDSM isn't really my thing, as I've mentioned, but I found this one interesting, mostly because to me, she doesn't really look all that upset, just tantalized. I played around with several approaches, but then decided on something a bit darker. I thought of the Stephen King novel "Gerald's Game" and how annoyed Jessie got when the teasing went a little too far in that one. Then I suddenly saw it another way: how would it be if, rather than getting enraged by the torment, she was just really, REALLY turned on, and desperate to get fucked? So I turned the tables a bit by having her break free and, instead of tearing his face off, fucking him until he bleeds to repay the torment. I think I like that outcome better than rage.

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. Many thanks to Sephani Paige for this week's photo.

-- PB

Something in the Air

There must be something in the air. Library Vixen's post from yesterday asked the question: "ever had one of those days where you can't come enough?"

Yes. Oh, yes. In fact, I'm having one of them today.

I wonder, is it different for women? Are you better able to hide your desire, that flush of heat, the hardening nipples and trickling wetness that heralds your arousal? Can you keep your quickening breathing, your pulse throbbing at your temples, your heart thumping against your ribcage, quiet? Are the people around you clueless about your raging desire, that want, the desperate need to get off, now, please, do me hard and fast and any way you like?

Guys, I think, have a bit more difficulty, especially if we work with lots of other people. A woman I knew (a pervert just like me) told me that the first thing she did with just about any guy was check out his crotch to see if he was packing. Twenty, thirty, a hundred times a day she'd be scanning the bulge at the latest guy's groin, assessing, wondering if he was nice and hard, if he was shifting uncomfortably, if he was trying to adjust to make his excitement less noticeable, if he was tormented by desire and frustration as well. Her relentless scrutiny used to get her some embarrassed looks, but sometimes it got her a good hard fucking too when she ran into a guy who was just as bold and overt as she was. (She checked one guy out who was very obviously hard as a rock and he caught her....but grinned and said "Do you like what you see?" That led to him fucking her in the bathroom of the bar and grill, a tale she recounted with relish).

And for someone like me who's almost always thinking about sex, trying to keep that hidden from the world at large becomes second nature. I like to think that I've gotten fairly good at it over the years, but I have to wonder whether any of the women I see daily are checking me out and grinning to themselves as they see that I'm sporting a railspike under my jeans.

So days like today, when no distractions are worth anything at all, when fantasies flare through my head at lightspeed, when even the slightest touch, every slight movement makes me throb and pulse and leak precum into my boxer briefs, when I dream of fucking and fucking and fucking until I'm sore and exhausted....those days can be pure hell. I can excuse myself and sneak off to the bathroom, where I whip my pants down, grab my cock and flog it relentlessly until my frustration erupts, spraying into the toilet almost angrily. I clean up, tuck myself away, and get back to work....and ten or fifteen minutes later, I'm swelling and pulsing and throbbing again, my crotch bulging, a ridge in my jeans delineating my desire. And I sigh softly, and grit my teeth, and try to concentrate on anything else, and fail miserably.

And the images whirl through my brain. You're bent over the couch, waggling your ass at me, purring "Come and get me, babe." Your hair is sweeping over my body as you slide against me, crawling up and over and around me, your tongue trailing small swirls over my skin, making me shiver and moan. You're riding me standing, your legs wrapped around me, biting my shoulder to stifle screams. You're openly rubbing my crotch as we sit at the bar, your eyes capturing mine, promising naughtiness beyond belief later on. Your head is bobbing on my cock as I push us past a hundred miles per hour on a straight open road, the windblast ripping my shrieks of ecstasy away and flinging them into the desolate wilderness where only scorpions and vultures are there to hear. I'm balls deep in you with your legs up over my shoulders, pumping you long and slow and deep, your wetness splashing out with every stroke. I'm stroking my cock with a lewd grin as you watch, your hand moving between your legs, our locked gazes smoking and searing. I'm tasting you, my tongue dipping into your honey, my face coated with it, nose rubbing your clit, lips wrapping around it to drive you over the edge for your fifth orgasm in twenty minutes.

Faster and faster they come, the fantasies, the scenarios. My cock throbs. My breath is coming faster. I can't concentrate on a damn thing. I can't form sentences properly, can't work, can't get anything done. My imagination is running wild again and I can't rein it in. Faster and faster, a thundering stallion beyond all control. And I feel like a stallion too, a stallion or a bull, pawing the ground, snorting, my cock getting harder and harder as these images assault me relentlessly.

Faster and faster, more and more details. We're making love in a cool blue room full of silk and soft pillows and velvet. I'm grinding against you in the midst of a crowd at a concert, trying to find some way to get free of my pants and under your miniskirt to slip up and into you. I'm watching you pump me slowly, your fingers slipping excruciatingly up and down my shaft, your face self-satisfied as I pulse and drool cum all over your hands. I'm taking you from behind, ruthlessly, roughly, spanking you till you shriek, yanking on your hair, filthy words falling in a rain from your lips. You're poised atop my cock, riding me slowly, hair hiding your face, soft sighs and murmurs and endearments in a steady stream. You're on the other end of the phone, telling me in detail what you're doing to yourself, telling me you're my little plaything, dirty glee in your voice as you shake and cum hard. You're lying on the table, breasts bobbling as I slide in and out of you, eyes rolling back in your head as I bottom out deep in your cunt.

God, it's hard to get through days like this. No sooner do I explode (into the toilet, into my hand, into the sink, into a tissue, into a wastebasket) than the beast rears its head again. And the stain on the inside of my briefs gets larger, and my head fills with images again, and I slide back into the abyssal whirl of fantasy, fucking and coming and fucking and coming and slipping and sliding, sighs and gasps and screams and murmurs, taking you relentlessly, over and over, over and over and over....and there's no rest. No rest for the wicked. No rest for the devious, the imaginative, the dreamer.

Having a vivid imagination is sometimes more curse than blessing.

-- 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

Group Post: "Off Limits for 30 Days"

(Edit 8-4-10: I've been selected as one of the top three posts for eLust #18! To all who're stopping by because of that, welcome! Hope you like what you find here.  -- PB)


Day 1
Well, this is it. She's agreed to accept me as her slave for the month, and says she will "reward me appropriately" when time's up. Wonder what that means. Whatever else happens, though, I'm glad I got to at least meet her, because she's one of the most stunning creatures I've ever met. Glossy black hair, pale white skin, pale grey eyes...very striking indeed.

Says she'll have more instructions for me tomorrow, when I've had time to sleep.

Day 2
I found out very quickly what those "instructions" were. It seems she's decided that there will be absolutely no sex for the duration of this introductory period. My cock is completely off limits. That means no kissing, no fondling, no penetration...and oh yes -- no masturbation either. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Day 3
I "allowed" her to walk in on me fondling my cock in the bathroom this morning, just as a test. That, it turns out, was a mistake. I heard footsteps behind me and expected mock anger or perhaps a "oh, you bad boy!" scolding. Not so. "You don't listen very well," I heard her hiss. "That's off limits, damn you." And there was a crack and fiery agony clawed into my back. It felt like a cat-o'-nine-tails, and I had plenty of opportunity to get familiar with the shredding pain it brought. She tore me to ribbons, literally and figuratively.

Got my mind off sex, pretty quickly...

Day 4
Healing nicely. She has a nice salve which she says repairs torn flesh more quickly than anything else, and I can't dispute the point. It's wonderfully soothing. She is testing my resolve, though, by eating breakfast, lunch and dinner without a stitch of clothing on. Since I have to stand to wait on her, she could see my cock standing too, but there wasn't a word, just a hint of a smile.

Day 6
She was out of the house today but instructed me to keep my cell phone handy. Every ten minutes, like clockwork, another text message would pop up, telling me precisely what she was up to at that moment...and she was apparently having quite a bit of fun with whoever it was she was visiting, because the messages got more and more explicit: "he's pulling off my shirt now", "nibbling on my tits...nipples so hard", "dripping all over the linoleum", "fucked on the kitchen counter, banged my head each time he banged me". I don't know when I've ever hated another guy quite so much. When she walked in at 10 PM she was visibly wobbling, but grinned at me and said "Pity you can't have me just yet...I'm still so horny I could fuck you right through a wall right now." And brushed her hand against my cock before going upstairs to bed.

Day 8
Exhausted. While I was getting ready for bed last night, she walked past my doorway wearing a see-through nightie that inflamed me even more than pure nudity would have done. She motioned towards the wall that our bedrooms share between them, and then retired for the night. I wondered what the hell she'd been pointing at, then found out very quickly: lying on the bed, inches away from me but separated by that wall, she was fucking herself into a frenzy. I heard moans, cries, and eventually shrieks of "oh GOD yes" as she brought herself to what were obviously toe-curling orgasms. And she kept fucking DOING it, for more than two hours!! I rubbed against the sheets a bit, but stopped dead when I realized how she'd react if I came without her permission. Small wonder I didn't sleep a wink.

Day 10
After a shower today I emerged to find her standing in front of me with a businesslike attitude. "Let's see how your self-control is," she said. "Don't move, or it'll go badly for you." She proceeded to lick the water off my body -- every inch of me from legs to the nape of my neck -- with the one exception that my cock was, as you might have guessed, off limits. When she was finished I was quivering so hard I was about to explode, but somehow I kept from blowing a load all over her face as she kissed me a final time between the thighs.

And I'm not even halfway done with the month. God help me.

Day 14
Today I was on exhibition all day. I was told to strip first thing in the morning, then had to do my chores for the rest of the day wearing only my boxer briefs. She kept bringing her friends through to "have a look at this slab of meat I've got for the rest of the month". Have to say some of the lewd comments these women made made even ME blush a few times. Where the hell were these insatiable sluts when I was a teenager? What made it worse was that she herself kept walking around me, displaying me like an auctioneer, extolling my virtues, my stamina, my self-control, describing the things she'd done to me so far and the things she was still planning. Her friends kept jeering and hooting, my face getting redder and my cock getting harder and harder with each new comment, till finally she took pity on me and told me to go clean the bedroom. When I came back she and two of her friends were naked and eating each other out in a circular threeway. I thought she didn't notice as I started discreetly massaging my cock, but she lifted her head from the redhead's pussy and rapped out: "Ah-ah! Off limits!" I swear she has eyes in the back of her head.

Day 17
She says that she always celebrates the 17th of each month by having seventeen orgasms during the day. That meant that over and over today I had to put up with her getting off in front of my very eyes, sometimes grinding herself on whatever piece of furniture was nearest, sometimes putting her hand down her panties or pulling up her skirt as the mood suited her, sometimes lasciviously licking her purple dildo as she prepared to slide it into her gaping pussy as she lay, legs splayed, on the couch. The first two or three were bad enough, but by the time she'd done it the fifth time my balls were aching so much I could barely walk. I gobbled Excedrin like candy the rest of the day. It didn't help.

Day 19
Today she decided on another self-control test. She gave me a bottle of massage oil and directed me to masturbate ALMOST to orgasm, but stop well before the brink. Made me do it several times, watching my face closely, gauging my reactions. It was pure torture -- feeling my slippery hand sliding up and down my aching shaft, feeling my balls bulging with suppressed torrents. On the other hand, there's no denying I've never been this aroused before. My cock feels like a piece of granite, except granite doesn't throb and pulse that way.

She laughed at me openly when she told me to stop for the last time. Cruelty, thy name is woman.

Day 22
Today's torture was even more fiendish. She gave me an iPod with attendant earbuds, and told me to start the playlist it contained and keep it on continuous loop for the rest of the day. I spent the next eight hours in ecstatic misery as she told me in dirty and delicious detail, over and over again, exactly what she was fantasizing about when she fucked herself, how I fit into those fantasies (!!), how she longed to feel my thick throbbing cock filling her up, how she wanted to be splayed, split open, possessed, fucked ten ways to Sunday. She has an incredibly filthy mouth and an equally astoundingly inventive mind. I'm beginning to feel like Bill Hicks, who joked once that he hadn't had sex in so long that when he finally did shoot it'd be like a big wax dart shooting out of his dick. Or Old Faithful at Yellowstone.

Day 25
She relented a bit today and agreed to my request that I be allowed to walk around naked for the rest of the trial period. I can't stand the pressure of clothes on my body anymore -- I'd be certain of losing control just from the friction they provide. The problem was that she was completely unsympathetic, and every time I walked by her (cock bobbing angrily before me) she would breathe in a smoky little-girl voice "Oo, baby, is your big fat dick all nice and hard for me? Don't you want your Mistress to kiss it and make it all...better?" (With a nice breathy pause, of course). "Don't you wish I'd wrap my fingers around you, get you all nice and hard" -- GET ME hard? ha, that was a good one -- "so I could slide you down my throat till I was sucking those big balls into my mouth too?"

I can't even give her dirty looks. The last time I did that, she hiked up her skirt and masturbated in front of me again, this time screaming MY name when she came. I think I'm running this house out of cold water with the number of frigid showers I'm taking.

Day 27
Today was All-Porn Day (or so she said). All I know is that I wandered through the place in a daze all afternoon, stunned by the naked bodies entwining all around me. Porn on every TV in the place (and she has lots of them), and all shapes and sizes of couples, threesomes, foursomes, twisting, moaning, writhing, fucking, wanking, spanking, flesh slapping flesh in every corner of every room. Even my cold showers were denied me because all the showers were occupied by fucking people.

How the hell am I going to make it through three more days? What new torments will be visited upon me? Just how in the fuck am I going to keep from grabbing my cock and flogging myself until I start bleeding, just so I can get some goddamned RELEASE?

Day 29
asdf;lgkjg;laakshsahsdhfhlskdsjhdfa;sldfkjfffffffffffffffffffffffffFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUCK

Day 30
One more day. One more day. One more day. One more day. It's a mantra, whirling through my dazed and exhausted brain. I can't sleep at all tonight -- I'm too scared I'll have a wet dream and wake up coated in my own failure. Or drowned in it, more likely. Can't even imagine how much pressure I've built up.

Oh, God. She just came in and spent ten minutes nibbling on various parts of my body, but never got closer than a foot to my groin. I can't believe how sensitized I've gotten -- even a gentle breath on the back of my neck sends pleasure zinging through every molecule of my body. She touched me once, gently, on my always-rigid cock and, rubbing once, brought forth a dollop of precum. I'm leaking it everywhere I go nowadays. A second or two more and I probably would have spilled all over her hand. She said she's pleased with me so far and I've more than earned my reward, and gave me a sultry grin of such promise my brain went nova and I have no memory at all of the next ten minutes.

Just a couple more hours.....perhaps I should be writing a last will and testament, in case I don't survive what she promises she's going to do to me tomorrow. If so, I'll die with the biggest fucking grin and the hardest fucking cock anyone ever did see. This has been a harrowing month, but it'll all be worth it tomorrow when she has her wicked way with me. 'Course, I don't expect to last more than a few seconds the first time, but I'm sure I'll be up for as many times as she could take. Signing off....


*************************

We had a smaller turnout than usual for this month's Group Post. Here are the other participants. Go see how they handled the "Off Limits" theme:


Advizor:  http://advizortoall.blogspot.com
Ronjazz:  http://ronjazz.blogspot.com
Topaz:  http://topaz-gemology.blogspot.com
Gray:  http://mygrayline.blogspot.com
Spring Flower:  http://agirlsgottahaveoptions.blogspot.com

The Group Post was started by Kimberly, the Errant Wife, and was hosted this month (and last month) by the sexy and talented Duchess. Thanks, Duchess, for hosting!

-- PB

Microfantasy Monday: "Etiquette"

(Edited 12-5-09: I've just discovered that this entry was selected for Fleshbot's "best of " sex blog roundup for the week. Thanks, folks! To anyone who's dropping by via that link, welcome! Look around and stay a while. I think you'll find I'm a very pleasant host.) 

The sound of the zipper was a loud purr in the silence. The only other sound was her panting breath as she worked herself into a state of excitement. Soon she'd have him in her mouth....

"No." Curt, impersonal, he cut her off and slapped her hand away. "Not like that."

"B-but......I don't understand," she heard herself whining.

"There are rules about this, you know," he declaimed, in a pedantic tone, knowing it always drove her wild when he lectured. "I'm your teacher, and this sort of thing is explicitly forbidden by the school's charter and rules of conduct, and parTICularly the teacher's code of behavior."

More stillness, broken by her small voice, drops of water in a pond. "........so what do I do, then?"

He grinned wolfishly. "You say, 'Teacher, may I please suck your cock?' "

"TeachermayIpleasesuckyourcock?" It spilled out of her so fast the words ran together, not drops this time but a deluge, a torrent.

"Again, please. And let's have that enunciation improved this time."

"Teacher, may I please suck your cock?"

He shook his head. "Again. I'm not hearing the proper attitude of deference and respect."

"Oh, teacher, may I please suck your big fat cock?" She was whimpering now, her head spinning. How long was he going to make her do this?

"That will be adequate, I suppose," he acknowledged. "You may begin.......now."

And her hands darted eagerly to his zipper again, yanking it down, setting him free with unseemly haste. He shook his head mentally. Such loss of control. He'd have to teach her more decorum and restraint. But.....some other time.



(This is my contribution for this week's Microfantasy Monday, hosted as always by Ang, the Sweltering Celt. Care to join in? Go check out Ang's place for the details.)

-- PB