Feel the Music (flash)

I swear if it wasn't for Ms. Alison, I would never get any writing done. Who's got time these days? Here's my entry for the contest that just passed. The limit? 250 words as always. The topic? Anything you HEART. (See I can't figure out how to use the keys to type a heart so I just put in the word). And I heart dancing. Do you?



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On the floor, I am a goddess. I can feel all eyes on me, some in envy, some in admiration, but most in lust. Hot gazes slide over my smooth legs, parting as I grind my pussy towards the polished tile. My long hair sparkles under the flashing lights, and I laugh, pushing my ass into the nearest crotch. Immediately his rigid cock caresses my cheeks, and my nipples strain against the thin material covering them.

The wild rhythm of the music inspires a second partner to stand up, and I’m sandwiched between two hard bodies. The one in front of me lifts my leg to rest on his hip, his hand travelling up my thigh, reaching under my flared skirt, brushing fingertips across my bare sex. Only two layers of material prevent this from becoming a double fucking in the middle of this club.

As I grind against the hardness that surrounds me, a third member joins the party. Soft breasts are caressing my arm, and I can feel the heat radiating from her pussy through her black capris. She’s winding on my right thigh, and I lean back into the strong arms that surround me.

Teeth are nipping at my neck, and I gasp as a finger invades my hot spot. A second joins it, and another hand reaches into my shirt. I am the only one being violated in the middle of the hottest joint in town.

On the floor, I am a goddess.

I (heart) dancing.


©Miz Angell 2009

A Woman's Place (flash)

Another flash for the lovely Ms. T. This time, it's about sex toys - but not necessarily the conventional ones that we all think of. Anything can be a sex toy, and some entries in this contest prove it.


Personally, I think I might have needed more than 250 words on this one. But I'll do some more work on it later.


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It was absolutely pristine. Nothing less than expected from world-class chef, and goddess, Jasmine James. All utensils and implements were in their place; stainless steel gleaming under hot white lights. The kitchen, like the woman, was cold perfection. Despite the beauty of my subject, I wasn’t looking forward to this interview.

A flash of colour at the sink caught my eye. Sitting on the edge was a mustard yellow scrub brush with an eight inch curved handle. It seemed out of place.

“It’s an Iannello.” Her husky voice came from behind. I turned around, finding myself wet as I took in her luscious mouth. Her green eyes swept me from head to toe in one glance. She took the brush from me, long fingers caressing the handle. “His items are designed to make women want to come … back to the kitchen.” She ran the bristles along the bare skin revealed by my v-neck. She circled the obvious tips of my nipples through the thin material, running it down my abs. Her breath was hot on my neck as she whispered “Lift your skirt.”

Helplessly I obeyed. Switching ends, she grazed my clit with the tip of the handle, sliding it down my moistness. Lifting my soaked thong to the side, she slowly fucked me with the brush, burying it in me to the hilt. I moaned softly. She thrust her hips against me, asking “Well, shall we get started?”

I gasped, “I’d rather finish first.”


So she let me.

©2009

no apologies....(co-written with Maxie)

Don't say you're sorry. I don't want to hear it.

Don't give me the puppy eyes, they won't work.

And don't, whatever you do, ASK how you can make it up to me. Because you should know.

Get undressed, slowly, so that I can enjoy the way the clothing falls onto the floor, like a discarded skin. Look me in the eyes, bold but shy, as I gaze at your hardness, your cock standing proud.

Get on your knees. And when I stand in front of you, help remove my skirt. You don't need words. When I sit on the edge of the bed, my legs part automatically. I lie back, my hands playing with my nipples, already erect from the whisper of your breath on the insides of my thighs.

I feel the tip of your tongue lightly run up my slit, tasting my arousal. I permit myself a low moan, barely heard. Your fingers open me up, pulling apart my lips and giving yourself access to the deepest parts of me. Your tongue plunges in, a swizzle stick swirling the mixture of saliva and cream, creating yourself a cocktail.

My hands grab your hair, pulling you further into me. I gasp as I feel one finger probe at my rear entrance, sliding in slowly. My thighs relax and fall, and my hands massage your head. You suck on my lips like they're a delicacy. My body is on fire as you flicker the tip of your tongue over my clit, just barely making contact. My hips rise to meet your mouth, but you pull back, keeping the distance between us. Your hands grab mine, pinning them to the matress.

And it continues.

Your tongue is torturing my clit, bringing me continuously to the edge of oblivion, and then stopping, opting to nibble the sensitive skin around it, which still sends vibrations to the desperate bud. I'm practically crying and begging to be released.

You stop. You climb on top of me, rubbing that beautiful hard on up and down my slit, but not completely. You get an evil chuckle out of stopping just short of contact with the one spot that could make me shatter. You move my hands to above my head and anchor my wrists with one hand. Your tongue isn't clocking out yet. Straddling me, you lean in, taking my nipple in your mouth, dancing to the same tune as you did with my pussy, which is clenching, desperate to have you inside me.

You're deliberately taking your time, punishing me when, in truth, it's YOU that deserves the punishment. But I'll take this. I'll enjoy it. You switch hands, and breasts. Your free hand traces circles along my belly, patterns over my thigh, and occassionally strokes your cock against my skin. I swallow a cry as your teeth snap my nipple between them, and you suckle on it like a baby.

I barely feel you move off me as I concentrate on the sweet sensations coarsing through my body. But I do feel the head of your prick as you slowly enter my wetness. My back arches as I try to thrust on you, but you stubbornly take your time, entering me inch by inch. My legs move around your waist, straining to pull you in.

Your eyes sparkle, and I can almost hear the words - you want it? Then TAKE IT.

You withdraw and then slam into me, your head hitting the back of my pussy, and filling me fast and hard. I can't hold back the scream that rips from my throat as you pound into me, my wetness letting you move faster with no resistance. You stand tall, sneering down at me, no mercy in your blue eyes.

With my heels, I kick the back of your knees, causing you to collapse on top of me. I grab onto you, raking my nails down your back, causing you to hiss. Your lips slam down onto mine, bruising my mouth, punishing me further still. Your hands pull my hair, wrenching my neck to the side, exposing the sweet spot; the one place that you can kiss, or bite, on me that will instantly turn me to jello. But rather than bite there, like I expect, you gently kiss it. Yep. Jello.

I clench my cunt around you, tightening up the space. You gasp, going faster, and growling. With every thrust, I'm closer to finally coming. And you are too.

You stand up again, looking in my eyes. With one finger, you reach down, and as I climb higher and higher, you're waiting, for that one signal that will tell you I'm there.

I bite my bottom lip. There it is.

With two fast, hard thrusts, you rub your finger over my clit.

I'm starbound as I feel my juices pour out and all over your cock. With a groan, you withdraw, fisting yourself and coming all over my thighs and pussy.

As I lay there panting, you crawl into bed next to me, moving to put your arms around me.

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"To hell you won't."



©2009

From the other side

Yes, another flash contest from our lovely Ms. A. Tyler. Thank goodness for her because I keep up my writing chops with these little challenges of hers. We touched ourselves, now it was time to tap into our opposite side.

You read the one below. Now, this is from the MALE pov. Not having a cock, it was definately a challenge to write about jerking off.

I hope I did it justice.


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There she was, bent over his desk. Her short skirt tightened over her fine ass, raising a little as she leaned further into the conversation, allowing me a peek at her crotch, and her bare pussy.

My cock had been hard for her all day. And she knew it. My hard on twitched, getting harder with every thought. Her clean slit, my tongue slurping up her juices…

I needed to come, and I wasn’t going to make it to the bathroom. Surrounded by cubicle walls, there was only one solution.

I lowered my chair, my chest pushed into the desk. Fumbling with my fly, I almost gasped out loud when my erection sprang free. My barely audible reaction reached her ears, and I saw her straighten up. Excusing herself, she silently perched on the edge of my desk, watching me.

Beneath my desk, I stroked my cock, the meat feeling good in my palm. Her tongue flicked out, licking her bottom lip, her nipples hard beneath her sheer blouse. My hand flew faster as I imagined that tongue bathing my shaft, nibbling the head, licking the pre-cum from the tip. I fisted it faster, harder than I had in a long time as I thought about her hot mouth, her hot pussy, her tight ass. My hips thrust upwards, my cock desperate to be shoved in her.

She leaned forward, whispering one word. “Cum.”

Hot white jets of obedience, and relief, hit the bottom of my desk.


“Thank you mistress.”




©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.

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The Big Picture



The words flash across the screen.

SHOW ME.

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.



©2009

Turnabout...

...is 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.

So....as 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?


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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.”


©2009

It All Starts with A Wrong Number

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