Go and hide.
Let me search for you. I'll hunt you with touch, by listening for the sound of your breath and movements.
I will stalk you like a predator. When I find you, try to escape. Pull, tug away, grunt, break free and run again. It'll be easier to find you the second time, with your breaths more labored and my adrenaline burning like fire in the veins. Keep fighting and eluding.
You won't be able to escape when you're backed into a corner. I'll grab you, and you'll still struggle as I spin you around and run myself between the perky cheeks of your ass. My fingers will twine through your hair, pulling your head back, letting you know that I've got you, you're captured, you're mine.
Your body will betray you. I'll reach down and feel your rich moister running down your thighs. You'll moan even as you struggle against me.
Your hands will be pinned, hard, above your head. There's no running now. You were my prey. Now, you're my feast, to be devoured and ravished.
I'll be posed at your entrance. I'll take a moment to listen to your quickening breath and feel the tension in your body.
Then, my hips will drive purposefully forward...
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
[This is my entry for Flash Fiction Friday. To see a list of participants, or if you're interested in participating (and you should be!), go visit PB's blog. Happy FFF!]
Challenge Details: Must be less than 100 words, with the required phrase, "...a hint of mischief..."
I don't think I can do this.
Too self-conscious. Too embarrassed and inhibited and modest...
Heart racing, she throws open her top, naked flesh of her breasts bursting forth.
She keeps walking, eyes screwed shut. She doesn't want to see their reactions, doesn't want their disgusted looks to beat her down lower.
Then, a whistle.
Men gaping, or trying and failing not to.
A rush of empowerment, of confidence and beauty.
Well boys, she thinks with a hint of mischief, wait till you get a load of this. Her fingers remove the top button of her denim shorts...