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A Heavy Truth
“No one can hold you accountable now. So, you can tell me the truth. Did you kill him?” The old woman’s skin blushed slightly in response to the question. “I won’t tell anyone if you did,” the young woman encouraged. The old woman considered, blinking slowly, but opted for a singular, “No.” Her breath heavy with the weight of her approaching end, she squeezed her granddaughter’s hand, and watched the young woman’s pooling tears spill onto her cheeks. She smiled, “I knew it.” The old woman sighed. Sometimes lies are the greatest gift we can give to those we love. It’s been a minute…or two. I’ve decided to inch my…
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Sleep Can Wait (7/100)
(image: unsplash.com/Dainis Graveris) She crawled in next to him, glancing at the bedside clock. 12:32 a.m. Reaching out, tentatively, she placed her cool hand on his warm back, sliding it up and around his waist. His breathing deepened and slowed momentarily in response to her touch, his bodily awareness of her apparent. Hoping not to wake him, she moved close, pressing her body against his, her nipples grazing his shoulder blades. Curling into her, they curved, like two parentheses, open to the possibility of the dark. He stirred, breath becoming shallow…quick. His hand slipped over hers, fingers searching…bodies hungry. Sleep would have to wait. Join in… The 💯 Story…
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Hot Chocolate
Jennifer’s skin was the color of hot chocolate: a lush brown that Stephanie felt would look so much better covered in whipped cream…meaning, really, Steph’s ultra pale white skin. Together, they’d make the perfect antidote to the cold. But Jen was married…and straight…and terrified of coloring outside the lines. So…Steph stoked her own fire (it was rather cruel to do to herself, she had to admit) through innocent physical contact. Quick hugs, cheek kisses, shoulder pats. Playing with Jen’s hair, rubbing her shoulders, squeezing her knee, and massaging her feet. A multitude of little opportunities to touch the woman she’d grown to love, secretly, under the guise of simply being…
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O Tannenbaum
Guests milled, weaving invisible paths on the wood floor. Grace followed their feet with her eyes, careful not to move. The metal rod was uncomfortably deep in her ass, and even the slightest movement backward inspired sharp intakes of breath. She’d been standing there, as still as possible, for over an hour, her calves beginning to cramp and her ankles and arches aching. Every muscle was taut, including the ones in her face that held her placid expression in place. It took everything she had to maintain a calm exterior of peace, which had been His only demand. The front door opened, unleashing a gust of cold air into the…
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The Fall
Summer spun Autumn across the soggy lawn, dipping her dramatically, then carefully dropping her in a pile of recently raked leaves. She giggled as they crunched beneath her weight. Her shirt had come untucked in the playful scuffle, her midriff now bare, allowing the brittle kiss of nature to touch the strip of creamy skin. Her auburn hair, liquid silk against the swirling jumble of colors, ochre, rust, and avocado, created a stunning backdrop…a mental postcard baring the message, all good things come to an end. Summer smiled down at her, his white teeth made more brilliant by the tan of his skin and the blush of his lips. But…
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Mutual Masturbation
It’s Masturbation Month…and the Masturbation Monday prompt this week is all about mutual masturbation. This particular art form has always sort of eluded me. Having a bit of the ADD, I have a hard time focusing on either what I’m trying to do or what I’m trying to feel. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off with this method of sexual stimulation…not to say that it’s a bad addition to the foreplay toolbox. But, I’d prefer to either take care of my partner completely, focusing on his (or her) pleasure…or…be the center of someone else’s sexual attentions. Actual intercourse is different. For some reason, I guess because I don’t…
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Unsatisfied
She stood next to his chair and imagined him untying her robe to expose her body. He’d touch her belly, caress her breasts, and likely pinch her left nipple, the one that drove her crazy. He would be rewarded with that delightful squeal that encouraged him to continue torturing her…gently of course. But tonight, the chair was empty. Swinging her left leg up and over the arm of the chair, she lowered herself to feel the pressure of it against her pubic bone. Moving slowly, she gently rocked herself back and forth and slipped her hands inside her robe to fondle her breasts. She was sure to squeeze each nipple…
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“I’m sorry, Daddy.” (FFF)
It’s been awhile since I FFF‘d. And I really wasn’t sure I’d be able to find inspiration for this photo…but, I just started writing, and this is where it took me. Head over to the Flash Fiction Friday site to join in the writing fun! “I’m sorry, Daddy.” “Will you spank me, Daddy…” Her slightly averted, pleading eyes, her bouncing pigtails, her pink-cheeked, smiling face..all of it framed by his naked, spread knees, made him smile. “Why, princess?” His right eye squinted as his lips curved up in a wicked curl. “Because it’s my birthday.” “It’s not your birthday, princess. Why are you lying?” “I’m not lying, Daddy.” “Oh, but…
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A Much-Needed Vacation
“What if I stripped down to nothing but my underwear and just stood in the middle of the aisle for everyone to see?” “It’s against FAA regulations, Katherine.” Jim said it absently, while fingering through a magazine he’d taken from the seat pocket in front of him. Her voice became high and strained, like a petulant child who wasn’t getting enough attention, “No it’s not…it’s against your regulations. You don’t even know what FAA means. You’re boring, Jim. Just plain boring!” “Whatever, Katherine.” Jim’s voice never rose. And his eyes never left the page. “Oh, good God, Jim…what do I have to do to get your fucking attention?!!” “Hmph…” Jim…
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Let Freedom Ring (FFF)
Ahhh…the 50s. The epitome of “America” at a time when things were just so damned…well…American. The fashion, the technology, the language, the “proper niceness”. A perfect facade for reality. Yesterday, I rewatched Revolutionary Road, and so today, for Flash Fiction Friday, the era of the 50s was fresh in my mind. Picture a perfectly groomed lawn, a perfectly straight fence, a perfectly laid quilt, and a perfectly dressed couple with perfect hair. The Jensens. Imagine them lying under the stars having a perfectly proper conversation…about the children, about the future, about the day and their wonderful BBQ party. Imagine they’ve thrown back a few too many perfect martinis. And imagine their conversation…
