Flash Fiction 1

Author's note. Though this is one story in eight chapters, each of the chapters is itself a self-contained story of exactly a hundred words. This is in homage to "Flash Fiction" by Chicklet. I thought it was a superb idea as soon as I saw it. I have even used the same eight titles that Chicklet did, hoping they won't mind.

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Reluctance

The night is cold; her parents might be worried; he has worked his hand into her jeans. Never before has anyone touched her moist core. Good and strange the feel, living fingers making her itch with ecstasy, but her stomach knots. She experiences his lips not as a kiss but as a taste of flesh. Visions invade her: manhood, cum, only words from furtive tales. Tonight she wants to part her girlhood and grow up, here against the wall, chill wind fanning their candle of lust. In answer she slides her slim hand down and beneath his cloth feels life.

Strip Poker

Parents at a party, boyfriend too busy with study, she accepts the offer of wine, and soon she's telling her sister about their sex, from that first grope in the cold night air to their frantic muffled fumblings, when he comes and she worries about the condom. As they play cards her elder sister says with some amusement and embarrassment that she and hers sometimes play strip poker. They giggle. They share more wine. No orgasm, her sister realizes: you've never had one properly. My poor dear, my sweet. They embrace shakily and continue playing with each other.

Tension

My first boyfriend wanted to try this. I screamed at him, told him he was filthy, it made me cry. Neither of us knew you had to share and give, and if you really loved someone every new experience was... careful, oh please, it does hurt. No, I want it. I want you. But slowly so we can share it, I need to take you in so carefully. I trust you. But slowly, I'm not used to it. Love, it hurts, it feels so good, takes us to places we've never been before. Slide deeper, beloved, pierce me.

Next Time

They knew each other's curves, and tastes. They knew they wanted to do it, and there would be no regret. Awash with heady cunt, gulping and thrusting -- or breathily aflutter on creamy smooth skin, poignantly awakened with tongue, nose resting to inhale, giddy at the softness and sweetness. This time they could kiss their breasts and arm-slopes and delve under knees together, feeling each other's pace, a whole life together making this last fusion so easy. Radiating the warmth of one blood into one another, joining with limbs fingermarked, cheeks burning in thighs, mouths drinking sister caverns.

Misbehaviour

Just before he goes on, he asks for a good luck kiss, expecting it to be the demure ceremony in the few seconds before the stage manager's footsteps approach. But her eyes light up strangely, and her mouth curls wide; she licks her lips in contemplation. Aghast he almost pushes her away when she falls to her knees and undoes him. All his love and desire want this flaming velvet enclosure, but safety screams. Instead of trying to hold back for her pleasure and his, he begs to flood her instantly. He buckles with pressure, pulses with the footsteps.

Silence

The CD has ended and in its place the micro hum of concentration. A catch of breath when the cold paint touches hot body. Shuffle of naked feet on boards moving behind her, examining, bringing the brush in close. A green swirl grows between her spine and buttocks. Light sweat diffuses into it, will blur the small crimson fruit upon her glistening hips. The deep violet of her right breast has dripped in hairline streaks, pooling in the crevice of her thighs, which is painted so far only with soft, noiseless nibbling at times when the vulval fruit was irresistible.

Confession

The pain increases, washes over. Each blow is sharp, but together they merge. Her face is flushed, taut, she is ashamed to be seen. She weeps. The belt strikes again, jerks the dildo deeper into her rectum. It continues to vibrate, cruelly teasing her; denying her relief in the soaking place she most wants it, but neither of them touches her there. Her sister is at the far wall, watching, photographing, he is wielding the belt, they both eat her breasts but refuse to give her relief. She will not admit she likes it. Never. She tastes urinous masking tape.

Early Morning Adventure

No-one would be watching this early; the milkman, alone in the street, was already some doors away. She took the chance and slipped out. There had been snow. It was shockingly cold on her naked feet, and as she brushed a rose bush with her nipple the frost chilled her and made her gasp. Behind her, her lover peered from the doorway snickering, not yet willing to join in the risk. As she bent down to the milk bottles she heard slithering feet: suddenly warm lips in her cleft, searching tightness, heating her thighs, begging her to turn around.