"Doctor, Doctor"

Waiting to see the doctor always sucks. It's universal. No doctor is ever, ever on time, and so you're always reduced to reading one of the ancient magazines left in their waiting room, staring at the wall, trying to avoid being sneezed or coughed on by the other less considerate patients, and in general trying to pass the time without going out of your head. Then when you finally get called for your appointment, thirty minutes late, you get taken back to the tiny waiting room and then spend another half hour cooling your heels while you wait for the doctor to make his appearance.

Yes, it truly sucks. So it was no surprise at all to me that when I accompanied you for your yearly checkup that you were casting about for something to do while we waited, and of course your mind went where it always does. And of course mine was right there with you. We make a good pair, we do.

Your fingers dance over your smartphone's keyboard, and *bzzt* goes my own phone. I pull it out, and my eyes widen just a little bit: 

F:  I'm not wearing any panties. Just so you know.

I breathe deep and cast you a furtive glance. You're already grinning, not even bothering to hide it. I Swype out a reply and a few seconds later your own phone vibrates. I notice you are holding it a little closer to your crotch than most people do, and that your eyelashes fluttered just a bit when it went off. 

M:  Ah, good! Then it seems we had the same idea this morning. Neither am I.

Now it's your eyes that widen, trailing down my body to the ridge rising in my jeans. The outline is very pronounced, but of course you can't resist feeling for yourself, placing a hand on my thigh in mock sympathy, asking me in your public voice if I'm sure I'm feeling okay, "accidentally" brushing lingeringly against the ridge in my jeans. Your solicitous chatter covers my indrawn breath; how thoughtful of you.

My phone buzzes again. When did you have time to type another message? 

F:  Ooooo. Nice and hard for me already. Tell me, baby, what are you going to do with that big hard cock?

My hands shake and three times I miskey my response. Finally your phone buzzes with my response:

M:  Oh, I don't know. Thought I might, for example, slide it deep into your hot, wet pussy. Since, you know, it's bound to be wet by now. I know how naughty you are.

You shift in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs. Now it's my turn to ask if you're feeling okay. A few seconds, and my phone vibrates: 

F:  Of course. Your naughty girl. But you like me that way, don't you? You like it when I get so turned on telling you what I'm going to do to you. You like your girl all hot and wet and ready for you.

Now we're both breathing fast. The others in the room are giving us concerned looks, wondering if we might have the flu. Both of us are flushed, beads of sweat forming on our foreheads. Your phone buzzes: 

M:  I do like it. In fact I love it. I love the way you are instantly ready to go. I love the way all I have to do is whisper in your ear and you're dripping for me. It makes it so much easier for me to slide a couple fingers in. Or, for example, something bigger.

You lick your lips and give me a sultry look from under those lashes. Your fingers dance over the keyboard again. My phone: 

F:  Bigger? Why, whatever do you mean, lover?

Your phone buzzes with my response, but before you can pull it up, the receptionist calls your name.  On shaky legs you stand, and I'm right there, arm around your waist, to support you, my hand "accidentally" squeezing your ass on the way by.

We're ushered back into the waiting room. The PA takes your blood pressure and temperature and then tells you to strip down to your underwear and put on the gown. "The doctor will be with you in a few minutes," she says, and then leaves.

The click of the door closing is as loud as a gunshot. We look at each other, the hunger in our gazes almost palpable.

It's you that makes the first move, stepping away from me. You pull your dress up and over your head, slowly, sensuously, with a little wriggle that accentuates your curves. I drink in the sight of that gorgeous body, reaching out a hand to stroke your thigh. A small slap brings me back. "Nuh-uh", you say sharply. "No touching. The doctor will be here in a few minutes, remember?" You pull the gown on and begin tying it, but your hands fumble with the knots and it's obvious to me that your mind is still elsewhere.

I step close and put my hands on your waist. "Wait," you say, weakly, "the doctor."  "Yes," I murmur, drawing the S out and out. "The doctor. But he'll be running late. They always do." I slide my hands inside the gown -- not hard to do -- and run them along your stomach, down to your thighs.

Suddenly I realize I'm feeling cotton there. What? Was I so stunned by watching you undress that I missed something that obvious? I hook a finger inside the waistband: yup, panties. "I thought you said you weren't wearing any!" You look back over your shoulder with that gamin grin. "I lied," you say simply. "I might need to be spanked."

Maybe another time. The very fact that you want the spanking immediately makes me decide not to give you one. Instead I just hook my fingers into that waistband and pull, yanking those panties down to your ankles. "No!" you gasp. "We can't....no time, we'll......get.......caught." The pauses between words are punctuated with sighs; my hands are still active, now cupping the globes of your ass, now roaming around in front. I slip a finger down to those plump lips and find you wet, so wet, ready and raring to go. "Naughty, naughty girl," I murmur reprovingly. "Mustn't disobey me like that. When I want my girl, I take her. You know this by now."

"Yes," you murmur, sighing, leaning back into me, wiggling your ass against me, rubbing yourself against the front of my jeans. "Don't want to get caught, but I.....oh god." You moan as I slip three fingers into your wet pussy. "I......oh. I don't.....ohh! Unhh!!! I don't care any more. Please......"

"Please what?" I tease, rubbing a thumb over your clit. "Does my girl need to be fucked now? Does she need my cock after all?"

"Oh yes," you moan, and punctuate it with a shiver so violent it almost flings the gown, already precariously tied, off your body completely. "Do me now. Do me any way you like. But hurry!"

With three quick movements my zipper is down and my jeans are down to my knees. My cock springs free immediately -- unlike you, I wasn't lying about not wearing any underwear -- and it throbs angrily in the cool air. I sit down hard on the doctor's stool and spin you around to face me. Your feet tangle in the sodden mass of your panties; I help you get one foot free but the other shoe binds up and they stay hooked around that foot. Neither of us cares. I draw you closer, spreading your legs with one hand. You straddle me, reaching for my cock, pointing me the right way. I look up at you, hair hanging in your face, lips puffy with lust, and I think again that you are so. very. fucking. hot when you are really needing to get fucked.

Then everything disappears in a rising tide of pleasure as you impale yourself on me, hard. You aren't just wet; you are utterly soaked, and it's a good thing, because you rock me deep inside you with one thrust and immediately you're shaking, gasping, bouncing up and down on me. My hands lift and drop you, fondling your ass, squeezing. I'm so hard. So hot. Aching for you. Your cunt clutches at me eagerly, welcoming the invasion. I am gripped by velvet.

Moaning. Both of us are moaning now, quietly, but getting louder. I've never felt so hot, so out of control. I want this godlike pleasure to last and last but the minutes are ticking by and we need to get off and get you off me before the doctor comes in. I thrust harder; you pull me deeper into you. I lift you higher and drop you faster; you lean forward and bite my shoulder to stifle your cries. I lunge to my feet, supporting you on that bar of flesh still sunk so deeply inside you; you wrap your legs around my ass, hook your arms around my neck, and capture my mouth for a violent tongue duel. I slam you none too gently against the wall, trapping you there, helpless to resist my pounding. Thrusting, up and in, in, into that hot wetness, into the glorious ecstasy that is your cunt, in, into you. "Harder," you moan, "deeper," and "yes, baby, yes," I answer you, suiting word to deed. Bottoming out in your hot pussy, my legs straining as I shove myself deep inside you, shaking with need.

"Oh god," I moan, voice cracking, "I'm gonna," and "yes, oh yes, do it, fill me," you cry. Your eyes are wild, lost, swept away. They lock with mine, the electricity arcing between us. The lust sears, it burns. I tremble, I quake, I feel the rush, feel you clamp me even harder. Your mouth opens wide, captures mine again, and we scream at the top of our lungs into each others' mouths when I empty my balls deep inside you. Your heels dig into my ass, your thighs tighten around me. You bite my tongue and then you're shaking, convulsing yourself, hips banging rhythmically against me, unable to stop yourself even if you'd wanted, coming so hard it's almost painful.

I thrust a last time, deeper still, straining to my utmost, every muscle locked.......and then slowly, slowly, return to this plane of reality. My ass unclenches, I come down off my tiptoes. You slide slowly down the wall and I put my hands on your ass to steady you. I pull back and out of you, breathing hard. Glance at the clock on the wall, and now I panic in earnest. Quickly I pull my jeans up, my wet cock rasping deliciously against the rough denim. I help you adjust the gown more decorously, and we quickly grab a handful of tissues to mop me off your thighs.

We look at each other, grinning like a pair of idiots...and then jump apart a few feet as there's a knock at the door. "Come in," you call in a rusty voice, and the doctor enters, looking down at your chart. "Well, miss........." he starts, and then falters to a stop. We both follow his gaze, and realize that we've forgotten your panties, still tangled around one of your shoes.

Both of us go bright red. The doctor merely raises an eyebrow, and closes the door behind him. "Well," he muses, matter-of-factly. "What seems to be the trouble today?"

He looks up, eyes twinkling. "Quite obviously, it isn't a problem with our sex life, hmmm?"

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 2-1-13: "Unspoken"

Word Limit = 300 words
Key Phrase = hazy
Extra Credit = Figure out who's taking the picture, or, tell us where the husband is.

The air was heavy, thick, redolent with citrus and jasmine, cigarette smoke, and a darker, more primal scent overlaying all. The ceiling fans spun lazily, doing little to stir the haze. I cared not; my attention lay elsewhere.

All night I'd watched them, mutely appraising. Watched them queer the pitch for every sad bastard who came along and thought the exposure of skin was a license for grabbing, or assumed they must be available merely because they were unoccupied. Watched the interlopers slink away, torn in small pieces by razor tongue and the thousand-yard stare from dead, dead eyes.

Once or twice I caught the hooded gaze of the one in red. The glitter of those eyes was absolute, would admit of no authority, no passions. It belied the animal hungers so plain in every deliberate movement she made. The blonde – caressing her friend's shoulders slowly, once in a while leaning over to whisper inarticulate nothings – studiously refused to look at me at all. Her nipples stood tall, her breasts were drawn tight; occasionally she would trail a hand down between her legs and touch herself, and her eyes would close in heavy-lidded pleasure.

And then the one in red seemed to come to a decision. She raised her head and looked at me, deliberately, insolently. Her hands went to her dress and slid it up, up, till I could see all too easily the dusky rose of her cunt. It glistened like a promise.

I looked at her. “Why?” I wanted to know. “What makes me different from the rest of them?” I indicated the room with a slow sweep of my hand.

Her red red mouth shaped the words precisely. “I admire restraint,” she breathed. “Makes it more fun breaking that restraint.”

Director's Commentary:

This was a fantastic photo. It has a very noir-ish feel to it and I tried to inject a bit of that into this piece. I get the impression that this is one of those parties where just about anything goes, but the host (or hostess) won't tolerate any excessive familiarity unless the recipient is clearly interested. I think these two would have to put up with a lot of offers all night, and so I was curious how they might react to a man who deliberately did *not* pursue them. It seems he's won the cigar.

Who took the picture? Perhaps it was a photographer who the hostess has paid to capture interesting tableaus. There is a sense of coiled promise in this particular layout; even if it were live video, I doubt you would see much more movement than what's captured here. It's all being spoken with body language; all the communication is wordless.

Thanks to Advizor for putting together this week's Flash Fiction Friday. Go check him out, won't you, to see who else is playing.

-- PB

The Nutcracker Sweet

"C'mon, hon, we're going to be late," he called.

"Just a minute longer, love.....there! Okay, I'm ready." She emerged from the bathroom, posing artfully before his admiring gaze.

She'd been worth the wait. Stunning and statuesque in that emerald green dress, diamond necklace glittering on her low cleavage like a spray of snowfall, raven hair piled high, pinned up with tendrils trailing artfully down her shoulders. She looked like a Greek goddess. His mouth watered so hard it hurt.

He growled and reached for her, almost involuntarily, and she stopped him with one finger. "Ah-ah! Late, remember. Come on, I don't want to miss the performance."

He swallowed hard and followed her out the door, carefully adjusting himself to avoid embarrassment in public.

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

Near darkness and silence, but for the small coughs and shifting in seats that accompanies any live performance. He sat calmly, pulse pounding, not only in anticipation of the curtain's rising but also in appreciation of her electric presence, bare inches away. Twenty years together and she still affected him like a schoolboy.

Her fingers trailed lightly across the cuff of his tuxedo, brushing against the hairs on his wrist. He felt them rise in response. He couldn't see her face for the darkness, but knew she was smiling.

And then: the orchestra began. Lightly, quickly, flitting through the opening notes of the "Overture". The curtain rose, revealing the stage: the Silberhaus home, brilliantly lit by candles in preparation for the family's Christmas party. The maid entered, with a tray of drinks, twirling gently to the music. He breathed in, breathed deep, felt his heart expand. How he loved this performance. He glanced at her, face now visible in reflected stagelight, and saw her lips parting in wonder and pleasure at the unfolding scene.

How he loved her!

Onstage, the festivities continued, urged onward by the orchestra. As ever, he beat time silently against his thigh with the "Children's Gallop and Dance of the Parents", grinned at the dramatic arrival of Drosselmeyer, and felt a lump in his throat as the Christmas tree burst into brilliance, candles twinkling, heralding the arrival of the holiday.

And then he felt her hand on his thigh. That was new.

He glanced at her in surprise and she speared him with a look, nodding towards the stage. "Keep your eyes where they belong," that look said. He obeyed, but now his attention was less on the intricate choreography and Tchaikovsky's musical strains than on the warmth of her touch as she caressed him, her fingers raising his temperature by twenty degrees instantly.

And raising other things, too. Of course her hand was working its way upward, and of course it eventually encountered the inevitable: a ridge in his slacks. He heard her murmur softly, "Naughty, naughty!" and then he twitched violently as she squeezed it quite firmly. He looked around furtively but their box seats meant privacy; no one else's attention was on anything but the stage.

He couldn't say the same himself. He gulped as her fingers squeezed him again, gently this time, molding themselves along the length of his hardness, pressing slowly, releasing, massaging him insistently, stoking the flames higher. He couldn't help stealing a glance at her again, and this time she met his gaze with a gleeful grin of her own. Mischief sparkled in those eyes, and he was reminded yet again that she was always capable of absolutely anything.

Her hand now stole higher and found his zipper. The orchestra's strains rose higher as the Rat King's armies did battle with those of the Nutcracker Prince; they covered the slight purring sound the zipper made (or was it she that made that purr?) as she drew it down. Slowly, so slowly, her fingers slipped inside. Slowly, so slowly, she slid her hand further and further into the widening gap. Slowly, so slowly, she wrapped her fingers around his length, squeezing firmly, keeping him good and hard.

She seemed to reach another decision then, and pulled her hand free, but not completely -- as she drew it out, she pulled his cock along with it, leaving him sitting there with his shaft sticking out of his slacks for anyone to see. He gave thanks yet again for the privacy of their box seats and for the darkened theater, and then was startled anew when she took his hand and guided it to her own thigh.

Well, now. Time for a little payback. He slid his hand experimentally higher, delighting -- as always -- in the velvety feel of her skin, the little shivers she made as he touched her, the soft "ahh" she emitted. Slid it higher still, wrestling a bit with the dress as it bunched up, but refusing to be deterred by a bit of cloth.

Meanwhile, she had gone back to work on him, her hand impatiently pulling his cock out even further. Now she encircled him with thumb and forefinger and began a maddeningly slow rhythm, squeezing him tightly as she reached the base, then milking him upward, forcing more and more blood into his already painfully hard cock. Soon he was throbbing so hard that his cock twitched with every thump of his heart.

She kept up her slow rhythm. By now she'd abandoned all pretense of interest in the ballet, and was concentrating solely on driving him mad, or so it seemed. She leaned over a bit, as if reaching for something she'd dropped on the floor, but shifted in her seat to give him freer access below her dress. In that instant his exploring fingers encountered heat and wetness far beyond what he'd been expecting. She was bare under that dress. Incredulously, he pushed a bit further, and his index finger sank into her with no effort at all; in a trice his entire palm was soaked. She moaned softly and shifted again, her pussy clamping down tightly on his digit, and leaned downward a bit more. Apparently retaliating, she opened her mouth and without fuss or fanfare slid his cock all the way down her throat until her lips were actually inside the slit of his zipper.

He grunted as she hummed quietly to herself along with the music. Onstage, the Nutcracker Prince danced for Clara, leaping and spinning. Here, it was his brain that was spinning, as she began to bob her head slowly up and down, drooling saliva all over his slacks, ramping the friction on his tortured cock up and up and up. Her throat clutched at him, milked him; her lips and tongue shaped his trembling. He stroked his fingers deeper into her, found her clit, tweaked it viciously, slid his palm all over her slick cleft. She gurgled a moan of delight and slid her hips forward to meet his invasion; he bucked his own hips upward involuntarily as she sucked particularly hard on his shaft. He tingled, his blood boiled, his balls churned. She trembled, spasmed, shivered in pleasure.

The music built and built. The Waltz of the Snowflakes spun out its tableau onstage. He gasped as he pulled her upward and off his shaft. "No," he breathed raggedly. "Damned if I'm going to blast off down your throat." She nodded, hair coming loose from its pinnings, stray wisps straggling across her face, and panted, "Yeah, yeah, c'mon baby, do me" as she wriggled into his lap, rucking her dress up even further. He heard it rip as she spread her legs and had time to mourn yet another dress's demise before she was fumbling between the two of them, yanking him around and pointing him the right direction for her. He threw back his head, forgetting about propriety now, no longer caring who saw, his hands sliding up her chest, grabbing double handfuls of her tits and squeezing through the dress. She swore under her breath and wriggled some more, raising up, then sank down hard, gushing out onto his slacks as he speared up and into her.

They paused for a heartstopping instant, then began moving together, his hands on her hips, lifting her, dropping her. He bent his head forward and licked at her throat, tasting the sweat trickling down her neck, smelling her jasmine perfume mixed with the now very evident scent they were both creating. They clutched at each other, gasping harder now, bucking deeper into the throes of ecstasy. The orchestra built towards crescendo as Act I neared its conclusion, and as one they increased their efforts, spiraling higher, straining and moaning, hoping to finish before the house lights came up for intermission, but in reality not caring a whit for what might happen if they didn't. 


A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. I intend to return in the new year with more regular entries, and thanks to everyone who's written me urging me to come back.

 -- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 5-25-12: "Auto-Eroticism"

(Source image: "Hillary" by Bradley Thurber)

The rain was slashing sheets across the windows of my Chevy. The engine ticked, cooling. Jazz played softly on the radio, the players noodling around, no particular destination in mind. The scent of the leather seats was strong.

"So," she said, looking at me calmly. "How long's it going to be?"

"Before what?"

"Before you make your move, you adorable idiot. You knew we wouldn't see anything up here, not with it raining like this."

"Um. Well, I....."

"Oh, shut up." She leaned towards me...and kept leaning, down into my lap. Her fingers worked quickly at my zipper and in a twinkling, she had me in her mouth. I groaned, and my hands wound into her glossy black hair.

She looked up and grinned at me, letting me slip free. "That's better," she breathed.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 100-135 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...the scent of [noun]..."

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've always wanted to have sex in a car, but none of my partners has ever been interested. Maybe some day. I looked at the gamin grin on this girl's face, and the rest of the scenario fell into place effortlessly: a rainy night, parked on a secluded embankment high above the city, soft jazz on the radio, and some steamed-up windows. Mmmmm. Delicious...particularly if your partner happens to be as bold as this one appears to be. Please, no references to "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights".

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 10-7-11: "The Treatment Was Successful...."

(Source image by Vlad Gansovsky, title unknown)

“........at least, that's my opinion. You should give it a try!” Lisa said cheerfully.

Paul and Jane looked at each other tentatively. Jane licked her lips.

“What would it hurt?” she mused.

“Might even be fun,” he said.

“Okay, let's try!” And with that, she began tearing enthusiastically at his clothes. He growled and yanked her sweater open. Buttons flew everywhere and her breasts spilled into his hands. He dove in, sucking and licking as if his life depended on it. She pulled his slacks and boxers down, his cock flopping free and then rapidly swelling as she gave it a tongue bath. His hands were all over her, twining in her hair, grabbing her ass, slipping between her legs to find her, surprisingly, just as ready as he.

She jumped into his lap, lifting and sinking down with a groan. He gasped too as she started bucking, riding him wildly.

The lobby door opened, the receptionist glancing down at her clipboard. “Mr. and Mrs.....Johanssen, was it? Dr. Ruth will see you now.”

Lisa sipped at her coffee, glancing at Paul and Jane. They hadn't even heard. “I don't think they need to see the doctor anymore,” she said.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 78-208 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...enthusiastically..."

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:


This one was fun. I looked at this picture and immediately thought "doctor's office!" And my imagination was off and running. At first I thought Paul and Jane were just bored and killing some time while they waited (you know how it is when you're waiting at the doctor's, the wait is interminable). Then, I'm not sure why, I took a closer look at the woman sitting next to them. She didn't look bored to me, but a bit smug. With that, my take on the picture solidified. This wasn't just any doctor's office, but a sex therapist's, where Paul and Jane were supposed to be meeting with the doctor to discuss their problems. But the woman sitting next to them had struck up a conversation with them, and given them a bit of good advice (more likely just a bit of common sense), and pretty soon they discovered they don't have any problems after all.

It's purely coincidental that they chose to try it out right then and there, of course. Has nothing to do with the fact that I think it would be really hot to have sex in a doctor's reception room with nobody caring. (God, I really am becoming an exhibitionist at heart).


Trivia: "The Treatment Was Successful......" is from that line of the old joke. The next line, of course, is ".......but the patient died."  For those who actually know the joke, I thought it would add a bit of urgency to the story even before you read it. The use of "Dr. Ruth" was just so it was clear they were visiting a sex therapist. Both of these things are what's commonly known as "overthinking it", incidentally.

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 8-26-11: "It's All About Me"

(Photo this week provided by Red; originally from http://carmenicadiaz.net)

“Oh god. Nearly there,” she moaned.

“That's what you said half an hour ago,” he muttered, voice muffled by her muff.

“No, really, I mean it this time, I.... I...... IIIIiiiieeeeee!!!”  her voice rose to a shriek.

Suddenly she sat up and pushed him away. “Wait, stop, stop!”

“What now?” he groaned.

“I need a picture for my blog. Just let me grab the camera, it won't take long.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Lens......focal length......exposure time......okay, good. Now I just need to find the perfect angle.”

She looked down at his aggrieved expression. “Well? What're you waiting for? Get back to work.”

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 80-110 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...the perfect angle..."

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:


When I first saw this pic, it had a mischievous, silly feel to it, as if she'd grabbed a camera while he was doing her in the bathroom and snapped a quick, blurry pic to titillate herself with when she was alone, bored, or what have you. I even tossed around a few phrasings in my head for when I got ready to write it.

Then, when I looked at the pic again, ready to start writing, it wasn't that way at all. Instead, it was a prima donna "blogger girl" who had an overinflated opinion of herself and thought she was the center of the world. Everything had to be about her "blog" and not even an impromptu bit of sex in the bathroom was exempt. The look on her face, I realized, wasn't a look of ecstasy, it was a look of preoccupation and mild annoyance that he kept jostling her just when she was about to snap the shot. I even got a bit angry at her for being such a bitch and obsessing over her stupid camera.

Don't ask me why it struck me this way and why I had such a visceral response. I swear I didn't see it that way the first time.

Disclaimer: I am, of course, not referring to any of you. None of you folks is that prima donna-ish. 

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 Red for providing this week's photo.

-- PB

First Class Train Travel

My head is buzzing. Mists swirl about briefly but clear when  I shake my head. I look around. You and I are sitting on a couch in a spacious, tasteful compartment in a train car. I brilliantly deduce this from the rocking and swaying we feel and the rackety-clack as the train makes its way along. You're sitting next to me, wearing a opaque pearl gray dress that hints at, promises, much more than it actually shows. Your smile is quick and mischievous, your eyes dancing with suppressed glee. What are you thinking?

The woman sitting across from us says something and I miss it, my head buzzing again. You're quicker on the uptake, though, and soon you're both in an animated discussion. The guy who's with her looks at me and we share a brief glance of amusement. The other fellow, sitting in the corner, has barely looked up from his iPad since entering the compartment a while back. Not much of a traveling companion, but then again, sometimes silence is nice.

The mists swirl about a bit more and the light outside unaccountably changes -- one moment high noon, the next giving way to the gloaming of approaching twilight. I reach for your hand, looking for substance, wanting to hold onto something, but discover that you're not sitting next to me anymore. Confused, I look at the woman across from us. She seems to read my mind and says that you'd gone to the restroom while I was out. "Out?" I ask, wanting clarification, but she simply nods.

I lean back and stretch out my legs. There's another hitch and suddenly you're next to me again, leaning up against me in a very pleasant way. Your face is full of high color, your eyes are intense, your lips parted. What were you doing in that bathroom, hmm?

You lean close and very shortly I find out, as you begin nibbling on my ear. "I think I may have made a mistake," you murmur to me, your lips exploring, caressing. Tiny electrical shocks run up and down my body; you know my ears are a weak point and always exploit it mercilessly. "You know one time is never enough for me. All it does is whet my appetite for more."

You're whetting my appetite, too, your hot breath on my neck, now licking lightly at my earlobe, nipping at the side of my neck, planting hot kisses along the curve of my collarbone. I feel your fingers trailing down my side, nails lightly grazing my ribs, my belly, making light scritching sounds as they reach the rougher fabric of my jeans. You rub lightly against the outline in my crotch. Heat at your fingertips. Heat against your wrist as you run it down between my legs. Heat in the palm of your hand as you take a firm grasp and squeeze, gently. I sigh softly.

Over your head and shoulders I can see the couple across from us. They are watching intently, not saying a word. Their faces are blank masks, revealing nothing, but their eyes are avid. She leans over and whispers something quietly and he nods, without taking his eyes off you as your explorations become more insistent. Her mouth parts and her tongue steals out to slide around her ruby red lips, just once, the only outward sign of anything at all. I glance sideways and see the guy in the corner shift a bit, aiming the camera eye of his gadget our way. His fingers tap, tap, delicately at its surface. Posting to Facebook? Stealing a shot of us and captioning it with "Compartmentalized Lust"? Filming a bit of video for a private reenactment later? Who knows.

Your hand is now rubbing eagerly against the spike in my jeans. I moan a low moan of need and you murmur something against my throat, an endearment, an exhortation, I can't tell. Your tongue darts out and outlines my Adam's apple; I shiver. I slide my free hand down your back, caressing. Starting my own exploration. You press closer against me and I feel the soft weight of your breasts on my arm. Maddening, fanning the flames. I wind my hand into your hair idly, liking its texture, then tighten a bit and use it to lift your head. You gasp slightly but then understanding replaces annoyance, when I lean forward and kiss you, hard.

I love the taste of your mouth. Your tongue is always ready for a duel, and it slides against mine, heat and wetness, making me want more, as always. I slip my free hand lower down your back, squeezing your ass on the way, then slide it around front and gently nudge your legs further apart. You murmur "mmm" into my mouth and help spread them. Meanwhile, your own hands are still rubbing and stroking me, now sliding along my thighs, now brushing against the throb in my jeans, now toying with the buttons on my shirt. I feel you pull a few of them loose, then slip a finger or two inside and trace random designs on my skin. Goose bumps seethe in your nail's wake.

Soft murmurs from the couple across from us, now. I steal a glance, but their expressions are still enigmatic, unruffled, their eyes pools of night. I get the strange feeling that they're grading our performance in their heads and will assign us a score whenever....this.....reaches its by now inescapable conclusion. She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs; he rolls his head slightly, as if to loosen tension, and then relapses into immobility.

I turn my head, now, and look more openly at the man in the corner. He gazes back tranquilly, not bothered in the least. A slight grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and he adjusts the gadget on his knees a bit, the fabric of his slacks rustling. That sound seems to snap you out of your trance and for the first time you seem to realize our audience; you follow my glance over to him and he nods, as if to say "Don't let me stop you, please." Swiftly, you look over at the couple, but they are no less inscrutable to you than they were to me. Wait -- there, a motion of his hand, a definite "don't mind us; continue" flick of the wrist.

Well, now. I squirm around a bit, freeing my other arm, and slide both hands down your back, hiking your dress up and over your hips, revealing that marvelous ass. I cup its roundness, take double handfuls of firm, warm flesh, glad (not for the first time) that you go bare beneath your skirts, dresses, slacks, whatever. Your scent rises, and my head spins again. The room darkens and everything slips sideways for a second or two; when I raise my head you're in my lap, you've pulled my shirt back and down over my shoulders to pinion my arms at my sides. You wriggle against me, rubbing your chest against mine. I can feel your nipples through the silken fabric, and I want to reach up, to caress; your hands curl around my wrists and hold them gently in place.

You pull back and then reach down between us. Now both hands are working busily at the snap on my jeans. In a trice the zipper is down. I raise up and you pull jeans and boxer briefs down; then your fingers are dancing around my hard cock, freed from its entanglement and now pointing angrily at the ceiling. Your touch is firm and cool, slippery and silken smooth along heated rigidity. I moan your name and you chuckle, low and soft, glancing over your shoulder at the still pair opposite you. Staring over your other shoulder at them, I see the color rising in their faces; they may be good at hiding emotion, but the more normal responses are hard at work, it seems.

You're hard at work too, pointing, adjusting, caressing. You hike the dress up further in the front and slide two fingers into yourself. I manage to worm shoulders and arms free of the shirt, and then I can wrap them around you, run fingernails down your back, dig furrows into you, marking you. I shudder all over as you pull your fingers out and then use them to rub your wetness all over my cock. Slick and shining, coated with your excitement, it throbs like a piston, like something barely in check.

My eyes close of their own volition as you lift and then settle firmly on me, something so familiar, the pulse of heat old as time, that feels new and incredible every single time we enact this little scene. The aroma is more piquant, the bouquet made more spicy this time by our watchers, who still have made little sign of their presence other than faint murmurings or rustlings as they shift in their seats. I open my eyes and stare straight at the woman behind you, who nods in approval as you begin the age-old rhythm, hips pumping slowly, so slowly.

Heat. Delicious, delicious heat, radiating outward from my groin. My heart pounds. My lips close on a nipple and you gasp my name. Deliberately, I close my teeth and this time you hiss sharply...but your hips' slow pumping actually speeds up. I slide one hand down to your ass and clench it there, grab a handful, an anchor to help hold you down, keep you from sliding off the earth, balanced precariously on the precipice of pleasure.

Mists swirl through my brain again. Grunting angrily, I shake my head to clear them; when things resolidify, you're no longer in my lap. Instead, I've rolled on top of you, pressing you down with all my weight. Your legs have come up and are over my shoulders, ankles hooked round my neck. Steady pressure there urges me onward. Now it's my hips that move with slow deliberation; I pull back, slide forward, pull back, slide forward, an aching grinding rhythm that's making us both moan and whimper.

I shift a bit in response to pressure from your arm on one side, realizing that you're moving my shoulder out of the field of view of the camera in the corner, knowing that it must be fixed on your pleasure-dazed face, the hair straggling over your eyes, sweat beading on your forehead, mouth slack and open, wet with lust. I'm transfixed by it myself. You've given yourself over to it, let the sensations take control.

Control. We've never been out of control like this, coupling shamelessly, rutting like a pair of animals in full view of three total strangers. I can feel their gazes traveling over our bodies, fixing on my cock as it emerges briefly from your tight cunt before sliding home again, watching with slow approval the swaying of your breasts with each thrust, trailing down my back as you score red welts on it with your fingernails. I feel you clutching at me, your excitement shifting into a higher gear, your pussy opening still further, inviting me to use it, take it ruthlessly and roughly.

It's not just your pussy that's urging me, either. Your voice reaches me through the fog that's closing in again. I hear the words that never fail to wring me out and drive me wild with lust, those filthy phrases you love to tease and taunt me with: "Oh yeah. Give me that big cock, baby. Pound my hot pussy. Mmmmmyeahhh, ohh yeahh. Fuck me so good." You don't stop as I wrap both arms around you and pull you upward, lift you off the couch till we're in a bridge position. I mold your body to mine, thrusting harder, feeling your wetness splash and drool down your thighs and mine. I gasp with each new thrust. The pleasure builds and builds and builds.

One more thought flashes, dimly, in my head: let's give them all a real show for the finish. With that, I pull back and out of you. Your eyelids fly up like windowshades and you moan a slow "Noooooo" but it's cut off; I wrestle us around until you're on my lap once more, this time sitting on me as if I were a chair, both of us staring, defiantly, in turn, at our watchers. They smile and nod encouragingly, drinking in the sight, licking their lips now: at last, clearly and obviously enjoying what they see. And they should -- your pussy clenching around me as I thrust upward and into you, my hands squeezing your breasts, your fingers alternately stroking your clit and the length of my shaft as it emerges briefly at the end of each stroke. Your head rolls back on your shoulders and a low "aaaaaaaaaaaaa" of pure sensation emerges; through the haze, I register that you're coming, one of those full-body orgasms that leave you as limp as a wet dishrag. Your body gets heavier in my arms before your head snaps up again and you start bouncing up and down on me, forcing yourself down to meet each upward thrust, growling deep in your throat, a repeated refrain: "Come on. Come on. Come on. Oh, come on."

I feel stretched to the breaking point. Ribbons of light spin and twirl through my head. My cock twitches, my balls tingle, and almost before I can even gasp out your name, I'm coming myself, spurt after spurt, mauling your breasts hard enough to leave bruises, grunting a low "uh, uh, uh, uh" sound in time with your own exhortations. Your hips slam down on me in hard approval, your body pressing against me in unutterable zeal. I thrust and thrust up into you, the mists rising again, wanting only to prolong this agony, this ecstasy, this far too temporary union. The fog drifts higher and soon it covers us completely.

I open my eyes and sit up. Alone, in my hotel bedroom. Tangled sheets, damp with perspiration, wet and messy with sticky precum. My cock throbs angrily, annoyed at having been denied its release. I sigh, sinking back on the pillows, heart still beating hard. I close my eyes and say your name, emptily.

I swear I can still see their admiring gazes, can still smell you, hear that low moan of delight as you came and came hard.

A dream? Or a memory?

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 2-11-11: "Know Thyself"

(Source image: "Searching Narciso" by Martin Toyé)

Stretch, flex, lift, relax. Curve of hip, sheen of sweat, arch of deltoid. Working out in front of the mirror was the best motivator he'd ever had. Its glass eye showed every flaw, every ounce of fat, every wasted movement. It drove him ever onward along the road to physical perfection.

Always he fell short, though. What he saw in the silvered glass was always a pale reflection of his mind's eye image. Something...something was missing.

Frustrated, he stretched out a hand toward his mirror image, resting it on the glass. And jumped in shock as his palm met warm, yielding flesh.

His heart raced...and his cock twitched. He saw his double's do the same, and smiled a slow smile.

Time to really work out.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 107-127 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...a pale reflection..."

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 seem to have a relentless urge to turn these into fantasy-themed works. Mythology, fairy tales, elementals, magic and mystery...yeah, I do telegraph my love of fantastic fiction JUST a little bit. I can't help it.

The title of the photo may have been "Searching Narciso" but I didn't get the sense that the subject was idolizing himself. Rather, it seemed to me that he was working out in front of a mirror because (like a camera) a mirror is very good at forcing all of your flaws into the open, do what you will to try and hide them. What better way to keep yourself on the straight and narrow, to keep the workout intensity up? When every little jiggle of fat is magnified by that reflection, you want even more to get rid of it.

Then I looked at the way he was caressing the thigh of the reflection. It looked like fascination to me. I imagine most of us would be pretty fascinated if our reflection suddenly stood before us in the flesh, too. Maybe you'd be horrified. Maybe you'd be freaked out. Or maybe, like the fellow in this tale, you'd be turned on. Maybe he's a little bi-curious and he wants to experiment a bit with somebody who knows his pleasures better than anyone else.

Regardless, wouldn't that be a great workout? Burning calories was never so much fun.

Please note that this week (as with last week) I am trying something different with the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below. 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. We'll see how this works out.

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

[[NOTE: Due to a screwup in the automatic posting, this didn't post until past 8 AM this morning. That isn't what I intended so I'm going ahead and adding links below for those I know are playing. If you're not on the list, go ahead and add yourself.]]



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 11-5-10: "Test Drive"

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

Flash Fiction Friday 8-13-10: "Red Light District"

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

Flash Fiction Friday 6-4-10: "Craving the Spotlight"

(Source image: "Spotlight" by Marty Provost.)

The spotlight lit her in stark bas-relief. Her face, eyes closed, was set in stone, but the rest of her body was alive. Her breasts, marble-tipped, trembled. Her thighs quivered. Her pussy glistened.

Steadily, steadily, her intensity built. Her hands stiffened on her knees; her brow furrowed; her lips were compressed. Abruptly, she shrieked as her excitement fountained over the first two rows of the audience.

“And there you have it, folks,” the announcer shouted. “A true hands-free orgasm!”

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of exactly 81 words. 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).

The following people are participating this week. Why not go check out their take on this FFF?

Gray:  http://mygrayline.blogspot.com
Spring Flower:  http://agirlsgottahaveoptions.blogspot.com
Jonsbabydoll:  http://thebloggingslave.com
Soren:  http://amorousdays.blogspot.com
Lexi:  http://lex-ploits.blogspot.com
Katia:  http://katiaswritings.blogspot.com
Netsfan44:  http://netsfan44eroticstories.blogspot.com
Cate:  http://categoesdown.com
Max:  http://mystic-satyr.blogspot.com
Luna Mauvaise:  http://lunamauvaise.blogspot.com
Diable Incarne:  http://conningdevil.blogspot.com

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

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 4-30-10: "Rush Hour"

(Source image: "Chameleons" by Spiral Studios.)

Streaks of crimson, of white, of amber. From her vantage point on the balcony she watched the traffic stream by below, faint susurrus of whooshings, engine roars dopplering past.

Under the confining coat, her breasts drew tight in anticipation. Her nipples crinkled, hard and pointed. She licked her lips, wondering: “Do I dare? Is my body good enough?”

She sipped air, tasted the evening. Decided yes.

The coat slid to the balcony floor. Night air ran cool fingers over her superheated skin. Below, a chorus of horns brayed approval.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 84-94 words. 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).

The following people are participating this week. Check out their take on this FFF.

Gray:  http://mygrayline.blogspot.com
Nilla:  http://vanillamom.wordpress.com
Snow:  http://snow9.wordpress.com
Soren:  http://amorousdays.blogspot.com
Curvaceous Dee:  http://curvaceousdee.com
Katia:  http://katiaswritings.blogspot.com
Lila:  http://que-sinverguenza.blogspot.com
Sephani Paige:  http://sephanipaige.wordpress.com
Diable Incarne:  http://conningdevil.blogspot.com
Luna Mauvaise:  http://lunamauvaise.blogspot.com 
We also had a late arrival who joined in after Friday:
Netsfan44:  http://netsfan44eroticstories.blogspot.com/

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

-- PB

Hot and Wet

"Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?" she inquired, shivering.

"Oh come on, Mar," he said. "You know the water'll feel great when we get there. 105 degrees, the park ranger said."

"Yeah, but he never said it'd be this freakin' cold at 3 AM!" she complained.

"Hey, that's your own fault for wearing just a bikini for the hike," he said. "C'mere. It's only half a mile to the hot springs, I'll keep you warm."

".......bastard," she muttered, refusing to be soothed, teeth still chattering.

"All right, all right," he sighed mock-theatrically. "Here, take my jacket. We're almost there anyway."

"I still can't believe you didn't bring a bathing suit," she said, snuggling into the folds of fleece as they walked.

"Remember what else the ranger said," he reminded her. "At this hour, people tend to regard clothing as optional in the springs."

"Yeah, but what if...."

"What if, what? What if we see some unattractive or overweight people without their clothes? What if there are some prudes there who don't approve? What if I get pounced on by a bevy of beauties when I strip down and hop in?"

She punched him in the ribs, hard. "Ow," he complained.

"Have to keep that ego in check," she said. "It's getting out of control again."

"Yeah, guess I can't argue with that," he said. "Anyway, there's nothing to worry about. Neither of us two cares about showing skin, so why should we give a damn about being nude in front of strangers we'll never see again? And if there are prudes, they'll just leave when they see skin. And as far as 'unattractive' goes, who cares about that either? Everybody's beautiful in their own way."

She shrugged. "Oh, have it your way, Brand. I still think it's going to be deserted at this hour."

"We'll see," he said. "I don't think so, though. Hear that?"

She had. Splashing and laughter drifted to them on the slight breeze from a spot somewhere up ahead.

"Told you we were almost there," he said. "C'mon, let's hurry. I'm getting cold without my jacket."

She punched him again, but not hard this time.

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

"Now that IS something," she said.

He couldn't think of any better words, and settled for simply squeezing her hand.

Before them in a small vista lay a series of natural hot springs, lit by soft white electric lamps. Steam rose from the bubbling water, coalescing in the chill air. The pools ranged from three or four feet in diameter to forty feet across at the largest. That last was currently occupied by three laughing and splashing couples, all of them naked as the day they were born. Their clothing lay in unheeded heaps nearby. The breeze soughed through the pines, its rustling seeming somehow secretive, approving of this hidden bower.

"Well?" he mused. "Shall we, then?"

She grinned, suddenly looking much more enthusiastic. "Yes, let's."

The other couples had obviously become aware of them -- shouts of greeting drifted across the pools, then changed to raucous yells of ribaldry as he began pulling off his clothes. "Woo! Take it off, baby!" shouted one of the women, standing up and waggling her glistening breasts at him. Brand grinned at her, and added a small bump and grind to his movements as he pulled off his shirt. More catcalls, this time from the two men who had their arms round each other -- another couple, obviously. "Nice pecs, baby!" they shouted. "What else you got in there?"

Mara's face was flaming as the comments continued, both the men and women making more and more pointed observations as her boyfriend slowly pulled off his jeans, revealing a nice ridge in his boxers -- the fucker was obviously getting turned on by this! She heard a soft moan and realized it was hers. Obviously Brand wasn't the only one who was turned on. She grinned. Time to turn the tables on him. She stepped forward and, hooking her fingers into his boxers, yanked them down around his ankles before he could react. His cock sprang out, pointing straight at her, and he gasped as the cold air hit his heated flesh. It wasn't cold long, though, as she opened her mouth and took his shaft down her throat in one swift, practiced move.

Brand shuddered and moaned and his legs wobbled. She felt him pressing on her shoulders for support; dimly she registered the filthy shouts from the onlookers, urging her onward. She started bobbing up and down on his cock, slathering sloppy spit everywhere, her hands going to his ass and pulling him closer or running up and down his legs and thighs. She couldn't believe what she was doing; five minutes ago she'd been wondering how she'd handle it if the springs weren't deserted, and here she was now deep-throating Brand in front of six total strangers, and loving it.

Brand's moans grew louder and louder as she worked his cock furiously with mouth, lips, tongue, throat. He staggered and almost fell and his cock popped out with a wet splatting sound. In a second he had his control back; stooping, he pulled Mara to her feet and spun her around, planting kisses on her throat, her neck, her face, her mouth. Now his hands were all over her, roaming, delighting, arousing her still further. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his heated touch. Her nipples, already hard as stones from the cold, were trying to tear through the fabric of her bikini.

Brand solved that problem by untying her top with fumbling haste and pulling it aside. Wolf whistles and cheers from the occupied spring, now. She felt her face go red again, but instead of giving in to the urge to cover herself, she leaned back into Brand's caresses, spreading her legs and arching her back to make her tits stand out more. She felt his hands lifting and cupping her tits, and he called out to the onlookers: "Impressive, aren't they?" More whistles and cheers in approbation. Now his hands were working industriously between her spread legs. She felt him shift as he kicked free of the jeans and boxers still down around his ankles, then he was untying her bikini bottom as well.

God, is he....? she wondered hazily, and then wondered no longer as his fingers plunged into her pussy. She cried out in wonder and ecstasy -- it was still a shock to her how damn good he felt inside her, whether fingers, cock or tongue -- and felt herself going limp as he worked her sopping slit. She found some strength, and raised her head to direct a challenging stare at the other couples, all of them now cheering wildly and offering suggestions as to how exactly Brand should proceed next. "You like what you see, do you?" she shouted raggedly, and felt her blood burn at the answering shouts.

Brand obviously had his own ideas on how to proceed, though. In a trice she felt herself scooped up. He took the few remaining steps towards the biggest spring, and dropped her into it without so much as a by-your-leave. She gasped again as the enveloping heat rushed over her and she burst to the surface, scattering spray in all directions like an eager dolphin. The cold night air quickly assaulted her wet skin, and she ducked rapidly down again.

Seconds later Brand cannonballed into the water as well. A giant wave arrowed across the pool and smacked the other couples in the face; laughing and choking, they settled back, their own arms and hands now working busily. Obviously the general excitement was catching in more ways than one. She saw the male couple tongue-spelunking furiously, could almost hear the beard stubble rasping from here. The dirty blonde who'd yelled at Brand to "take it off" had her head thrown back and her arms looped around her man's neck; it looked like he'd impaled her quite nicely and she was now hanging on for a ride. The other two had their arms around each other, idly caressing, but were still watching Brand and Mara intently. Their stares were at once challenging and inviting.

Mara looked at Brand and motioned to the watching couple with a twist of her head. "Shall we give them a real show?" she murmured throatily. She lay back, floating, and spread her legs towards Brand. "Let's go, boy. Always wanted to fuck you in the water."

"Then there's no time like the present," he agreed, wading close, guiding his cock into her slit. Water mingled with her juices as he slid home. Mara moaned again, and clenched her legs around his ass. "Wouldn't do to disappoint our audience," he grunted, already starting that nice grinding rhythm that she knew would have her shrieking her pleasure to the stars within minutes. "Now are you glad we came?"

"I haven't yet," she sighed, riding his cock, riding the swells of the waves. Soft murmurs of approval came from the watching couple; the other two were far too wrapped up in each other to care. "But if you keep that up, it isn't going to be long."

-- PB

Microfantasy Monday: "Public Places"

"You know," she said sweetly, "I've always wanted to suck a guy's dick in public."

He choked and spluttered, spraying toast crumbs over the diner's table. A minute or two of coughing and hacking and he had recovered enough to say, "Christ, couldn't you kind of work up to something like that? My heart isn't what it once was. Can't take surprises like that one anymore."

"Bollocks," she opined, and put a hand on his on the table. "You're not even forty yet. I just surprised you. I like surprising you."

"You do at that," he allowed, drinking deeply from his orange juice. "Ahh. That's better. Now what the hell prompted you to say that anyway?"

She looked around the crowded room. "Dunno. I'm just feeling frisky right now, and this seemed like as good a time as any. This diner's tables" -- she patted theirs -- "have nice long tablecloths, I've noticed."

His eyes widened as he realized where she was going with this. "No. Absolutely not."

"Oh, come onnnnnnn....." she wheedled, her hand already running up his thigh to his crotch. "Don't tell me you've never fantasized about it too."

"Fantasizing and doing are two different things," he hissed. "Dammit, stop that!" 'That' was her opening his fly and snaking a hand inside, wrapping her fingers around his rapidly swelling cock. He drew breath sharply and darted a shaken glance around. No one appeared to have noticed...yet.

He turned to her to give her a tongue-lashing and blinked; she wasn't there anymore, but he could still feel her hand on his cock. What the hell? Oh, no, she wasn't. Was she?

Yes, she was. Under the cover of the tablecloth, she'd slipped under the table and was now on her knees in front of him, her talented tongue now dancing over the crown of his cock. He grunted, the shock of pleasure stunning him, as she took him deep, humming quietly to herself, no doubt laughing like a demon inside as he moaned helplessly and began thrusting forward into her eagerly sucking mouth. She was really going for it, too, using every trick of her considerable skill. Pleasure was exploding outward from his groin, adrenaline whipping through his bloodstream. One of his hands crept under the table and twined into her hair; he heard her giggle, low and soft, around his cock.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright in shock, eyes going in terror to the front door, where a familiar pair of faces had come in. Oh fuck, that's the Richardsons. Please don't let them come over here, please don't let them come over here, please don't let them come over here.....

"Jimmy!" A hailing shout. "What've you been up to?"

If you only knew, he thought, forcing a grin onto his face and struggling to bite back the groans of ecstasy that wanted to escape as underneath the table she continued to suck his dick loudly, sloppily, enthusiastically. He just prayed he wouldn't give the game away when he blasted off down her throat, which by all indications wasn't going to be very long....



(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. If you want to see who else is playing, go see Ang!)

-- PB

I want you.....

I want you.....

....gasping and moaning beneath me, head tossing from side to side, body writhing, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, breasts drawn tight with excitement, hands tangled in the sheets to keep yourself from sliding off the edge of the world....

I want you....

....rising and falling slowly above me, waves of hair obscuring your face, palms braced on my chest almost in benediction, soft effortful grunts the only sounds you're making; the wet clutching sounds your cunt makes as it pulls and releases my cock are sound enough....

I want you....

....hands spread and braced against the wall, shoving yourself HARD back at me, filthy imprecations spilling from your lips in a flood: "God yes. Fuck me, you fucking bastard. Ram me with that fucking thing. I'm gonna cum all over your cock, gonna flood you with it, gonna bathe your dick with my pussy juice." Tearing howls bursting from your throat as I slap your ass, high-pitched screams: "Aww yeah! Yes, yes, yes! Harder! Fuck me harder! Fuck me right through this wall...."

I want you....

....screaming and wailing, voice combining with my own bass-baritone roars, mixing and mingling, another kind of lovemaking; clawing at my back, stripping shreds of my skin away, flaying me with your desire to grab hold and take, take, take....

I want you....

....on public transportation, sitting sideways on my lap, skirt spread and hiding everything but the intensity of our gazes, which leaves no doubt to anyone watching just what we're doing; feeling me throb inside you, locking eyes with me, clenching yourself around me, milking me with the walls of your cunt, watching me lose the battle with self-control, and leaning close to whisper dulcetly "You lose, boy....now cum for me, right now...."

I want you....

....in the world's slowest elevator, clawing desperately at zippers and panties, trying urgently to get cock into cunt with limited time, a rush of endorphins, a violence of heat and wetness, hoping we can get it off in a few quick seconds and get recomposed before those doors open again, instead of being in the throes of screaming orgasms like we were last time this happened....

I want you....

....on the other end of the telephone line, your sultry voice telling me in delectable detail exactly how it feels as you plunge your fingers into your sopping pussy, the grin actually audible in your voice as you beg me for permission to cum, cum all over your fingers, wishing it was my cock, wishing I were painting you with my lust, a study in pearlescent white....

I want you....

....in all these ways and a thousand others.

I want you. And you know it well.

-- PB

Next Stop, Orgasm

She sighed and shifted uncomfortably on high heels that looked fantastic, but provided very little actual ankle support when you get right down to it. Not for the first time, she cursed the overcrowding in her city that forced her to take this annoying subway to work every day. The people were rude, the crowds were thick and the smell of hundreds of hurried, overstressed people was something better left undescribed.

She turned up the volume on her iPod a bit more and adjusted the headphones. Beethoven's Sixth washed over her, painting its usual idyllic picture of a pastoral countryside gathering. Her mouth twisted bitterly with recriminations. I should never have left. I hate it here.

Hating wasn't getting her home, though. She brushed her hair absently out of her face and stared hopefully at the electronic progress bar on overhead display. Still six stops to go, dear god was this day ever going to end? All she wanted to do was get home, drop her clothes on the floor and head straight to a bath. And a drink. Not necessarily in that order.

In that instant the subway lurched hard and she lost her grip on the pole. She staggered backward and thumped solidly against another person. A restraining hand came down on her shoulder and she heard a deep rumbling voice: "Whoa, there."

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "Just lost my balance for a second."

"Yeah, those heels don't look too stable," he agreed. She could hear the grin in his voice. His other hand grasped hers, and guided it back to the support pole. "There you go."

She nodded. "Thanks." She peered at his reflection in the glass ahead. Tall, at least six and a half feet, skinny as a rail, dressed in suit and tie. And a fedora -- how many men still wore hats these days? It looked good on him, from what she could see.

Brakes screeched and the subway lurched hard again; this time it was he who was thrown against her, with a very surprised "Oof!". She snickered inwardly but gasped with surprise as his hands went to her waist and clenched hard, even dragging her skirt down a bit. A tingling bolt shot through her and she swayed with a new unsteadiness that had nothing to do with the subway. Oh no, not here. Not now. 

"We seem to be having trouble keeping our footing. Maybe you'd better keep holding on there," she heard herself saying, from a long way away. A tiny flame kindled inside her, her slit beginning to trickle wetness. She slipped the earphones down off her head, wanting to hear that voice again.

A rumbling chuckle. "Indeed? Perhaps you're right." His hands tightened a bit, one on her waist, one sliding down a bit to the fullness of her hips. He shifted a bit behind her as the bell bonged and the car stopped at the new station, the doors opening and letting a positive flood of people in. In seconds, they were packed in like sardines. She pressed hard against him, feeling wiry strength in his frame, in the confidence of his hands on her.

And something else, too. There was a very definite rigidity pressing against her ass now. She shifted experimentally and rubbed "innocently" against him, catching a muffled groan before he chopped it off. Another lurch as the car started off again only made things worse. She grinned wickedly, her mind clicking along rapid rails now just like the speeding car, no longer worried about propriety, only wondering how best to accomplish her new goal: getting him into her as soon as possible.

First, access. "Belt," she murmured, and after a shocked second she felt his hands undoing his belt. She wriggled against him, her hands going to her skirt, rucking it up a bit. Her eyes caught those of a businesswoman standing across the car; the woman looked stunned for a moment, then a knowing grin spread over her face. No interference there, obviously.

She wriggled some more, fingers tearing at her panties, sliding them down her legs, just far enough. There, that should do it. Now him. "Open up," she whispered; startled, the hoodie-wearing kid to her right swung around. "Say what?" he inquired, and she dismissed him with a wave of a hand. Behind her, the real object of the comment was doing as asked; she felt the heat of his cock pressing hard against her. She bent forward a bit but the angle was wrong. "In! In!" she hissed, no longer caring who heard, and felt him probing at her lips till suddenly everything aligned and he slid home.

God, it felt so good, so fucking good. She bit her lip to stifle the moans that wanted to escape; several people nearby were now turning to watch, most looking horribly embarrassed and turning away again. One or two were openly admiring, though, including the businesswoman across the way, whose mouth was parted in a sulky pout. Her breath was coming fast.

Their breath was coming much faster, though. He pressed home his length into her, moving within her in quick, short thrusts -- there just wasn't space for anything else. It was more than enough, though. She tightened her cunt against the invading flesh, milking it, massaging it; his hands on her waist, so powerful, pulling her hard against him, helping him drive himself deeper. He growled deep in his throat and that noise had half of the car looking this way.

"You ready?" he murmured into her ear, still moving relentlessly inside. "Yes, yes, now, do it," she whispergasped, and was rewarded seconds later with his burning cum splashing into her depths. Frantically, she worked a finger around to her front and strummed her clit hard, once, twice, three times; that was enough to send her over the edge as well and she shuddered all over, chills racing over her body.

The bell bonged and half the car exited at the next stop, all of them glancing at the guilty pair as they left. Again, lots of embarrassed looks, mixed in with a few admiring ones. The businesswoman, grinning, stopped at their side long enough to say, "That looked like fun," and then exited with the rest of the horde.

"Fun?" she mused, feeling him slip out of her, no doubt leaving smears of cum and her pussy juices all over her legs, her ass, her skirt. "Yes, I think you could say that." She pulled her skirt down again, but stepped out of her panties -- they'd slid down to her ankles anyway. She picked them up and met her paramour's eyes. Gray as stormclouds, they were, but sparkling with glee.

"Want these?" she inquired.

He nodded silently. She tucked them into his jacket pocket, and turned to face the window again. Just another subway ride, she thought. God, I hate this city....but I guess it does have its good points.

-- PB