Holiday Thanks

Hold hands with the person next to you. For me, it's disappointing, because it's not you. Won't be, can't be. Right now, it's him.

"We now bow our heads Lord, and silently give you thanks for all the blessings in our lives."

I'm hot. These days it doesn't take much - just a thought of your lips on mine, or the phantom touches that remain in my skin's memory from the last time we were together.

And it's been too long.

My body aches for your touch. Even something as innocent as holding your hand sends a burning through to my core.

I need you.

As we sit at the family dinner table, heads bowed, I smile because they would all be shocked if they could hear what I was giving thanks for.

I'm giving thanks for the eight inches of solid cock that I love sliding in and out of my mouth as your long fingers probe my aching pussy. I lick my lips as if I can still taste your jets of come spurting down my throat.

I'm giving thanks for that talented tongue that takes long laps at my wet cunt, from hole to clit and back again. I try not to visibly squirm as the thought causes my juices to flow, and my thighs tighten to hold back whatever might leak onto the good chairs mom has put out for the holidays. My stomach clenches and quivers as I think about long you fuck me with that tongue, bringing me to the edge, but never letting me go over. You're too cruel for that.

I try to sigh inaudibly, as my mind wanders, remembering laying flat on my back while you climbed on top of me, teasing me by rubbing your hard on against my slippery clit. I bite back a moan as my clit grows in anticipation, even though I don't know when I'll see you again. I shift a little, the movement causing friction against my sensitive bud. I hold my breath, waiting for the sensation to pass.

I'm giving thanks for your able hands, and how they grasp my sensitive nipples and twist them at just the right time, causing pain to add to my pleasure; how they tangle in my hair, forcing my head to the side so that you can bite into my neck, causing an internal bruise, but no marks are visible; how they caress my ass cheeks, bringing them apart before you insert a finger into my puckered hole.

I'm giving thanks for the time we have together, where you fuck me senseless; where I forget my name, and all that my life entails. I'm giving thanks for the way you fill me, in every sense; for the way you fulfill my desires and fantasies, even those I've never articulated.

And I'm giving thanks for the numerous times you've made me come - waves upon waves of hot, sticky pleasure, whether it be with your cock, your tongue, your hands, or with your memory and my hands, my toys.

I look up to see little sister staring at me with a bemused expression. Only she knows my secret. Only she knows why I'm smiling. He glances over, and smiles back at me. He'll never know.

"For all this and more, this holiday season, we give you thanks Oh Lord."

A-men.



©2008

Broken

Another challenge from the lovely Ms. Tyler. This one was 250 words around the theme 'broken'. Enjoy.

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The radio plays our song.

I refuse to cry.

Instead my hands move along my bare breasts, tracing your path to my erect nipples. My fingers skip lightly across their tips, in tribute to your touch.

I shakily exhale, the sob stopping in my throat. My hands continue their journey, down my midriff, playing briefly with my navel piercing. I smile, remembering the day I got it done, how your face paled when they put the needle through my skin.

Tears prick at my eyes.

I refuse to cry.

My fingers tangle in the soft brush of curls, making their way down, sliding through the wetness. One finger slowly penetrates, my thumb gently pressing my clit in lazy circles. A second digit joins the first, my free hand grasping my throat. I can still feel your bite – the same spot, every time.

My fingers pound in time with the beating of my heart, and I close my eyes to imagine they’re yours.

The singer croons for lovers.

I refuse to cry.

I’m coming close. I piston my fingers in faster, harder. My other hand takes over on my clit. My middle finger rubs against the sensitive bud fast and furious, as a third opens me up further.

My knees buckle as I cry out, waves of pleasure causing me to crash to the floor, sobbing. My hands, sticky with sweat and come, reach up to cradle my cheeks.

The music stops.

The song is over.


I’m finally broken with goodbye.


©2008





"'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away"
-'Broken' by: Seether

Somewhere only we know...

It made you feel cheap, you said. You felt bad that I would have to spend money to be with you. That's why you turned down the motel idea. That's why you gave me no encouragement when I asked for the tiniest little sign for me to turn around and drive to the nearest run-down, sleazy motel that I could find.

I understand what you meant. I can even respect that.

I know that we could go to your place. I know that chances are the roommate will be home, as she always is. And I know that we'll lie on your bed, slip a DVD into your computer, and then not bother watching it. I know we'll be together tonight.

The walls are paper thin. The roommate isn't getting any right now, and besides, she's known you all your life. It's like fucking in the same room as your sister. EEEWWW. Yeah, I get that. So we want to be discreet. We could wait for another time, when she's not home. But then there are the neighbours. It's never really private.

But I want you to understand why I need you in a hotel, why I need you someplace private.

Somewhere only we know.

When you kiss me, nipping at my lips, tongue seeking mine, I want to be able to moan. I want to be able to sigh when you envelope me in your arms. When you tackle me onto the bed, I shouldn't have to stifle my laughter.

I want to hear the echo of your thighs slapping off mine, and the crack of your palm as it deals out punishment to my trembling cheeks. I want to shriek and scream as your tongue delves between my legs and laps at my wetness. When your fingers slowly penetrate me, I don't want to have to bite down on a pillow, or a sheet. I want to let loose the primal cries that over take me.

I want to tear down the walls when I feel the tension of you between my thighs.

And when you finally fuck me, I want to pant, wail, pound and grunt like animals. When you take me from behind, I want to hear you call me your slutty bitch. When you fuck my ass again, I want to let you know exactly how good it feels. I want to hear you call me yours when you come inside me. When I come, I want to sigh your name, and melt into you.

I don't want us to have to hold back.

Let's go...somewhere only we know.


©2008

Finally Fucked

(Courtesy of another hot contest by Trollop with a Laptop, Alison Tyler)

Alison loves the word FUCK. So she challenged us, her readers, to a flash contest. The word FUCK must be used in the title, and it seemed like as many times as possible in the story.

Here was my contribution.

Thanks again Ali, for bringing out the FUCK in all of us.

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“Hi.”

It was instant – the desperate desire to tear his clothes off, to be fucked until I didn’t know my name.

Our kiss was hard, electric. His teeth grasped my bottom lip, his hand going to my braless chest and my erect nipples.

“Fuck me.” I moaned into his ear, hands wandering to his zipper. He shook his head. We weren’t alone. His mother was in town, and staying with him, as damned inconvenient as that was. He led me inside by the hand. I smiled at his mom, hugged her hello. Over her shoulder I mouthed “Fuck me.” He shrugged his shoulders, helpless.

We sat on the sofa, chatting about inane everyday topics, but my mind wasn’t focused on conversation. He stroked my bare leg, his touch sending spirals of heat through my body. My pussy clenched, tingling with need. I stood up. “Anyone for a refill?” I gestured to our empty wine glasses.

I called for help with the corkscrew. As he entered the kitchen, I threw myself at him, falling to my knees and unzipping him in one smooth movement. I took his cock out and placed it in my mouth. Sucked once, sucked twice. I looked up at him.

“Fuck me.” I stroked his hard on, licking at the tip with my tongue, begging with my eyes. My hand was under my skirt, and my scent filled the kitchen.

He hauled me to my feet, bending me over the sink.

“Fuck you.”

"Finally."


©2008

haunted moon

Last night,
I gazed at the moon,
the centre of a
luminescent rainbow in the clouds,
and thought of you,
wherever you were.

Did you see it?

Did you think of me?

I stood alone,
yet felt your arms around me;
felt your moist breath
on my bare neck.

Did you feel me?

My ear tingled with
the memory of
whispered passions.

Did you hear me?

Phantom lips
tracked kisses
down to my shoulder.

A cool breeze skipped
across my heated breasts,
causing my nipples
to stand erect,
as your touch has done
so many times before.
I imagined it was a gift
from you.

I stood and gazed
at the haunted moon,


And I ached to be with you.





©Miz Angell 2008

Work place flash: Untitled (250 words)

Ok - this one is definately FICTION. Yes, I am the only woman in a male dominated workplace, but the guys here are not even close to hard bodies, or sexy.

And I always wear underwear to work....*wink*

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It’s hard working where I do. Being the only woman in a company of hot, sweaty, grease covered men really taxes ones … patience. *grin* It’s not easy to behave, sitting at my desk while they parade by, their coveralls pulled halfway down by lunch, showing off their ripped bodies covered in sweat from hauling transmissions around.

It’s not easy to sit across from my boss, his deep blue eyes twinkling as words like dipstick, lube, shaft, moisture, and ram - the truck of course - fall from his beautiful lips. He knows what he’s doing. He knows the type of girl I am – the type who appreciates the male form, the type who is in full acceptance of her sexuality.

The type of girl that today isn’t wearing underwear under her skirt.

He’s making me squirm, and he knows it. His hot gaze burns a hole through my shirt. I know he can see my nipples poking through the thin material. My pussy is so wet that I can’t get up without leaving a trail on my leather chair. So until he leaves, I’m stuck where I am.

My hand travels down to pull up the material that is the only barrier between myself and release. I pull my chair in closer to the desk, so that he can’t see what’s going on. But by the smile on his face, he doesn’t have to. Slowly, my thighs part. My fingers skip across my clit, and I almost moan out loud.

Five o’clock can’t come soon enough.

And neither can I.


©2008

Walk Away (Kiss challenge - 250 words)

I entered this over at Trollop with A Laptop for her Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me challenge, and thanks to the wonderful voters (some of whom were my very good friends), I WON. Even if I hadn't - I think it's a unique twist at the end.

What do you guys think?

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“Not yet.” He grabbed her as she stalked past, pulling her roughly into his bare chest. “You don’t just get to walk away.”

His hand came up to softly carress her cheek, his eyes burning a hole through her, weakening her resolve.

“Josh…” His name was a whisper on her lips, and she struggled briefly, but without real effort, to remove herself from his arms. His thumb moved across her lips, barely touching them before he angled his head, claiming her mouth ravenously.

Her nails dug into his pecs as she leaned into him, thrusting her tongue against his in the familiar dance. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, demanding total surrender, and against her better judgement, she waved the white flag, thrusting her aching groin into his hard on beneath the towel he had slung around his hips.

He took a fistful of her hair and yanked to the side, exposing her jugular and wasting no time, sunk his teeth in, biting in his practiced way so as to not leave a mark. But he did leave an internal bruise that she would feel for months at a time; the haunting, orgasmic sensation of his claim.

His tongue left a moist trail from her collarbone to her earlobe. “Come on babe. Don’t go.” Her resolve weakened, and for that one moment, she couldn’t remember why she was leaving.

“Hey Josh. Where do you keep the shampoo?” A woman’s voice called from the bathroom.


Oh yeah. THAT was why.


©Miz Angell 2008