Thursday, February 26, 2009

I'm Gonna Touch Myself

Another flash for Ms. Alison Tyler. This time, she wanted us to touch ourselves. Self love is the purest form of love (not to mention the safest LOL). This is my entry, and then pop over to her blog and check out the other entries - they're fucking HAWT.


The Big Picture

The words flash across the screen.


My pulse races. It’s time.

My office door is locked. I’m “on a call” if anyone should be looking. Slowly, I spin my leather chair to face the window, skirt hiked to my waist. Across from me, four blocks away, a blue light flashes once, twice, in a tenth story window. He’s ready.

I put my feet up on the ledge, parting my legs wide, revealing my trimmed bush to anyone who might be watching. No matter. I knew he was, with his telephoto lens, at its maximum setting. I know he can see everything I choose to show him clearly. Like my almond shaped nails trailing along the insides of my thighs, my middle finger seeking out my clit, which is already straining upwards, plump, begging to be touched.

I moan as I make contact, sending a spark up my body. My fingers move down my moist slit, descending along the wetness in slow motion, making sure he gets an eyeful. Using both hands, two fingers find my hole, sliding in and out to their own rhythm. My other hand pulls my lips apart so he won’t miss a thing. I imagine that every window has a set of eyes on me, that they are all doing the same thing. My fingers move faster as I picture faceless hands stroking hard cocks, pummeling wet pussies, heads thrown back, coming loudly, with me.

Right now.

Fuck I hope I’m photogenic.


Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Turnabout... fair play.

At least it is in this latest flash competition from Ms. Tyler. She wanted the word moustache in the story. And from what I gathered, it stems from this story that she told us. always, I went a different way from the norm. I think I might expand on this idea at a later date. It's .... intriguing.

Tell me if you like it. Ladies, would you do it, and more importantly men, how would YOU react?


I applied adhesive to my upper lip, smoothing the theatrical moustache I’d purchased over top of the sticky substance. The vain aspect of me cried as I viewed my hairy upper lip. The rest of me was excited thinking of his reaction.

After all the times I’d giggled as he went down on me, his soft facial hair tickling the inside of my thighs, brushing against my freshly shaven lips, sending shivers through me, he was about to get a taste of it.

The idea came to me the other night, when he bent to kiss my neck, a soft mew escaping my lips.

“Why do you always do that?” he whispered nuzzling.

“Because it tickles, in a good way.”

“Guess I’ll never know.” He turned me to him, leaning in, kissing me tenderly. Later, my pussy still glowing with juices and tingling, I thought about what a shame it was that he had to miss out on the lovely sensations that I experienced because of that wonderful moustache. Or did he?

I held a scarf across my face, like a belly dancer, as I approached him. I knelt, taking his fully erect cock in my hand, stroking him hard, watching his eyes drift close in ecstasy. Then I moved the scarf and took him in my mouth. He gasped as the hairs brushed over the top of his shaft. He looked down, eyes widening at the sight of me. Then he relaxed.

“That feels…good.” He said.

“I know.”


Friday, February 13, 2009

It All Starts with A Wrong Number

I know I haven't been posting lately. Truth be told, I haven't had much time for writing anything halfway decent. But thanks to Ms. Tyler, I am at least keeping in touch with my creative side by popping out these flashes to her challenges.

This creative little challenge was to use at least three of "the" banned words in a 250-word piece. The banned words are: shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits.

I took a different approach on this from the other entrants in the contest. It might not be a winner, but it (in my humble opinion) is certainly amusing.

What do you think?

It All Starts With A Wrong Number

“That fucking cunt.” I swore as I signed out of his email address.

I KNEW she was sending him naughty emails. And he denied the whole thing. That’s why I went in. Normally, invading his privacy was a line I wouldn’t cross. But when a text for him made its way to my phone by accident…

My cocksucker sister was going to pay through the tits for this. And she was online.

My mind working overtime, I logged onto his IM. I wonder if she’d be stupid enough to fall for this.

“Sexy Sharon.” I growled as I typed. “Just read that email. My cock is rock hard. Thinking of sliding into your sweet little pussy makes me want to shoot a load all over the screen.” I shuddered as I typed the words.

She responded. “Oh Jeff. I’m so hot just thinking about that thick cock of yours. I knew you were wasted on my frigid sister. I’d love for you to see me fucking myself with my vibrator. I’d cum so hard for you. My clit is throbbing so badly right now, I’d love to have your tongue on it. Wouldn’t you like to eat me?”

I felt disgusted. It was time to end this.

“Baby, I can’t wait to see you. Turn on your cam. And be prepared for what you see.”

“With pleasure.” She replied. I flicked on the cam.

She came into view, her scarlet red mouth wrapped around her vibrator.

She froze.

“Busted bitch.”