Friday, February 24, 2012

Flash Fiction Friday 2-24-2012

[With PB unable to host this week, both Max over at Thoughts from a Mystic Satyr and Ram the Sunlover decided to take up the reins.  To see a list of participants, go visit their sites, and if you're interested in participating in Flash Fiction Friday (and you should be!), here's all the details. Happy Flash Fiction Friday!]

Max's Challenge: Between 50-55 words or 200-210 words, no required phrase.

"Ranch Hand"

Strum, strum, strum.

"Don't get me wrong... it's mighty tempting... just..."

"Afraid my parents will be home soon? Well isn't that part of the fun?" She cocked her hat upward. "Maybe a different instrument will get your motor running."

He watched with held breath as one hand slipped from the guitar and flowed to her thighs...

Ram's Challenge: Between 144-188 words, with the required phrase, "... subtle perfidy..."

"The Sin of Freedom"

"You are the devil, woman."

She turned over her shoulder and gave a laugh.  "Then I am your devil, Father."

He had laid down to take a brief afternoon's nap, only to awaken with wrists and ankles bound, Desire standing over his nude flesh.  Why was she here?  To test his conviction?  To tarnish his good name?

"Who are you?" he inquired, a hint of sinful anger in his voice.

She said nothing, her only answer to continue her dance.  This was not just subtle perfidy, the way she moved her hands across the canvas of her body.  His flesh awakened involuntarily and he could not will himself to look away.

She turned and straddled his thighs.  The warmth of her skin sent a chill.  Up the underside of his fresh erection whispered the tip of a finger, and his body clenched while hips rose.

She leaned in.  Her form seemed to conform perfectly to his, and she whispered into his ear:

"Relax, Father.  I'm here to set you free."

Wednesday, February 22, 2012


The alarm goes off, and I swat the "off" like a fly.

Pushing myself up on my strong arms, looking out the window at the world.

It's slightly cloudy today.  No rain, but cloudy.

Sheets roll off as I stand.  A long, good stretch.

Breakfast first, small bowl of cereal and some fruit.  Then, the shower.  Wash my hair with a foamy lather, then my body, every nook.  Dry off, brush, floss, mouth wash.  Prune the stubble with the electric razor, trim the pubs, shave my balls (carefully), and rise with ice-cold water.

The sun's peaking through now, and it looks comfortably warm out.  Nothing too fancy; a pair of jeans, belt, white T-shirt, and hiking boots will do just fine.

I fill my water bottle for the road and take a swig.

It's only a half hour drive into the city where you work.  At the parking garage, I flash the attendant the pass you granted me and am let in without a second thought.  I'm lucky- there's an open spot right near the elevator.

Park.  Unhook.  Keys.  Open.  Out.  Close.  Lock.

I ride the lift up top to your floor.  It's a modest building, so far as the city's concerned.  The elevator's empty at first.  A man in a black suit and ebony tie gets on at floor ten.  He gives a quick, puzzled look at my attire.  Suppose I do look out of place amongst the business attire.  He flashes another confused look when he gets off before me at floor twenty-five, and then it's just me again.

As the elevator continues to rise, I can't help but notice my heartbeat picks up.  I feel a little anxious.  In my pants, my cock's starting to perk up.  My body's become accustomed to this calender; it knows the timeframe, what time of the month it is, and is already anticipating.

Ding.  The doors gloss open.

My hiking boots look out of place against the carpet.  There are people running in and out of doors, but none of them seem to notice me.  They hadn't seemed to notice the first time I came here either.  It's as if they acknowledge, "If he's here, there's a reason he's here, and that's that." It's kinda admirable, I suppose.

The waiting room before your office is a stark contrast to the bustling work and noise near the elevator.  But the quiet is deceptive.  I know you work just as hard, if not harder. Originally, that's why I thought you'd hired me; an enjoyable and occasional interruption to your busy working day.

Your receptionist waits outside, scribbling notes into your planner and juggling phones like a circus performer.  As I approach, she adjusts her glasses and smiles, a gleam in her eye.  Her clothes are a striking shade of sapphire and the most color I've seen since entering the building.  She's surprisingly cool about the whole thing.  I've often wondered what kind of understanding you have with her, that she so willingly stands guard for her boss.

"That time of the month so soon?" she greets as I reach her desk.


Her gaze moves down, then back up. "Apparently so."

I glance down to find my budding erection starting to show through the denim of my jeans.  God dammit, body...

Your receptionist checks a screen, then says, "Go ahead, sir." And she gives me a wink. There are five dark, cushioned chairs in the waiting room outside your office.  I've never had to wait long enough to sit in any of them.

I grab the handle, open the door, step inside, and close it behind me.  I don't try to be sneaky or quiet, though you're on the speaker with someone.  Whether they're a client or a colleague I haven't the slightest, but you seem exasperatingly irritated with them and their supposed incompetency.  You're speaking firmly to them, one hand on your hip.  Your suit jacket's black, and matches your skirt and heels.  No jewelry.  You've taken it off and set it down neatly on your desk in anticipation of my arrival.

You're a cruel woman.  When we first met, I honestly didn't know why you called on me.  It seems as though you could just command any man you wanted.  Power.  I now suspect it has something to do with power, something about balance.

I'm standing in front of you now.  Centimeters away.  You adjust your glasses.  Your cheeks (I can't help but notice) already taking on pink.  You already look more disarmed.

Glad to see your body's on the same calender.

"I've gotta go, John." Your voice lacks breath.  "I've got a very important meeting."

A click as you hang up.

There's no possible way your receptionist could NOT have heard your gasping moan as my mouth attacks your neck.

Your arms wrap involuntarily tight around my head, driving me harder against you.  One arm moves underneath your jacket to your back, the other flows down to the seducing curves of your ass.  Your breath comes rapid.  My cock now stands tall against my jeans.  I know you can feel it against you, straining, longing to be freed and then buried.

My hand forcefully assaults your breasts through your shirt, unbuttoning and moving aside the fabric with impatience. There's not even a hint of pain on your face, only pleasure and relief.

You don't want to be romanced.

This is the only time of the day you're under the control of someone else.

Strong hands move to your ass, squeezing and kneading as I lift you onto your desk.  Your phone falls from the surface, hitting the ground with a dull thud.  My fingers dance briefly across your thigh and come away soaked.  Drenched.

I turn you onto your stomach.  "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"


"Thinking about me taking you."


"You're such a little slut wanting me to fuck you silly in your office."

I can't stand it anymore.  "Bend over."

You do.

"More," and I push you down onto your desk.  You moan as you look back at me, breasts spilling from your top.

My shirt comes off first, then the boots and socks, my belt and jeans, and finally my boxers are disregarded to the floor.  You've always liked me bare when taking you.

You're reaching back, pulling your drenched panties to the side, garters strained and taut.

I'm behind you now, forcing your lips apart, watching your juices run down the folds.

"C-condom..." you manage to get out.  Despite your impatience, you've always had the foresight to remind me to wear a rubber, and as my swollen head glides between your ass cheeks towards your scalding, dripping pussy, you realize I've already put it on.

I'm at your entrance.  Next moment, I'm deep, deep, desperately deep within you.  A quick outcry of pain and relief at the sudden invasion of girth and pulsing length.  Today's the day you want it hard, without restraint.  You want to be taken, commanded, dominated and controlled.

The next thrust is just as forceful.  Just as purposeful.  And so follows the next.  And the next.  And the next, then the next, then the next until a steady beat and rhythm reverberate.  The wet, smacking sounds. The banging of your desk rising and falling with my intentions.  The intensity of our breathing.  It's the booming orchestra of our union.

I firmly grasp your hips, throwing you back against me.

Pulling your head back with a fistful of hair, my other hand tames your bouncing breasts.

Grip strong and firm, holding your arms in a vice behind your back.

I claim you, as if we're animals, in all these ways and more, and it is then, rasping and gasping, that you cum for me.

You never came the first two times we met.  It took me by surprise when you did during our third meeting.  You give yourself so fully to the moment and to your own surrender now, you can't help it.  Muscles clench your slick walls around my throbbing cock as your eyes screw shut against the white light flooding your brain.

It's almost too much.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to explode.  But not yet.

"Again..." I grunt.  "Cum for me again."

Your hands grip the side of your bucking desk, hanging on for dear life.

"Come all over my cock."

I can see the pressure building in your face.

"Show me what a little slut you are."

Your mouth opens in a silent scream as your body begins to shudder.  I lean down and bite your neck as your second wrecks your body.

I can feel my own release so near, so close.  I begin moaning and grunting, fingers digging into your hips.  You've been with me enough times to recognize the signs.

"Yes!  Cum in me!  Cum in your little slut!  Yes! Yes!"

You're throwing yourself back at me, begging, and I lose it.  My mind flashes white as wave after wave of my seed gushes forth.  I'm being drained, emptied as your pussy milks every ounce it can.

With a long sigh, I slow, and so do you.  Our bodies softly relax.  You're still laying upon your desk, hands near your head, as I pull my cock from your depths.  Your juices drip from the condom as I pull it off and discard it.

You never want a conversation afterward.  You want to immediately get back to your busy day with your itch scratched, my payment in my account.  Wiping the sweat from my brow, I pull my discarded clothing back on.  You continue to lay upon your desk, breathing finally coming down, as I step out the door.

I say to the receptionist, "See you later," walk out, and step into the elevator.

(Author's Note: Not sure yet, but I'm thinking about turning this into a series. Thoughts? Thanks for reading.)

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Quick Thoughts on Kissing

On some Thursdays, friends and I like to have "TMI Thursdays."  It's just as it sounds- some hang out time, coupled with a no-holding-back, tell the truth and nothing but the truth sorta atmosphere.  It's also a great time to vent or voice your frustrations with anything going on (or not going on) in your life.

During our last TMI, one of friends admitted to me that he hates it when his girlfriend starts to make out with him.  It's not that he doesn't enjoy the way she kisses him (quite the opposite apparently!) but because it doesn't always "lead somewhere," and it can leave him feeling let down and blue-balled.

I can't help but feel this is a problem many men have today.  Why does kissing have to lead somewhere?  Why should it be branded as a transition?  Most likely it stems from the goal-oriented nature of our man-minds.  This isn't to say women AREN'T goal oriented, but that we men tend to carry that over into the bedroom, and that gets us in a world of hurt.

So while women are in the moment, enjoying each sensation and subtle variation, most men are thinking about how they're going to progress things, how they'll get from step-one to step-two.  Women are kicking the ball around and having a blast, while men are focused trying to drive it into the goal (soccer reference!).

But you can't help feeling this means we're missing out.  Everything becomes much more enjoyable when we can get our heads out of our dicks and just delight in the feeling of her lips against ours. This doesn't just apply to kissing or making out, but any aspect of the experience, whether it's foreplay, a nice massage, oral, anything.  We can savor every moment so much better if we drive any notion of a goal from our minds and park our asses in the moment.

For all you women out there, lucky you! Seems like this comes much easier to you!

For us men, we should work on it. It's not an easy mindset for us to get, but it sure is worth the effort!  Enjoy the lip action for what it is.

Who knows?  That mindset might make things 'progress' more often than you think.