Hi
Can one be erotic in fewer than a thousand words? Not being one to use a single word where a thousand will do, I wasn't entirely sure. So I sat down and tried it, tried to be erotic and in a way that complied with Lush Stories' definition of 'Flash Fiction': a story of between one hundred and one thousand words.
I love The Beatles. I love cars. I love to daydream. And I love sex. So what better combination? Did I succeed? It is surely not for me to judge, though - and this is surely the major criteria in all one's exploits - I had fun trying. I sincerely hope you have fun (and anything else you feel appropriate to have) while reading it.
Take care till next time,
Love,
Alexandra xxx
As his front wheel grazed the kerb and came to a halt, I was kissing him. Upon opening the door and sliding from his seat, I was stripping him. By the time he had pulled himself fully upright, I was fucking him, riding him, bouncing up and down on his writhing body, his phallus embedded deep in my clenching innards, the thick, stiff shaft splitting my dripping lips.
'Hi,' the voice so deep my slender chest resonated with it, my tiny tits vibrated with it. Tingling nipples grated gently against my crisp white cotton blouse. Could he tell I was braless? Could he see the shadowy areolae and their ripe rising teats? I sincerely hoped so.
'Hi. You've come about the car?'
I batted heavy lashes towards the little red Fiat, a hint of an incredulous smile on my similarly tinted lips: his impressive frame could surely destroy my tiny machine. A sudden smile dazzled me, momentarily eclipsed the personalised porn movie spooling behind my eyes, in which I was sitting on his face, his tongue lapping at my clitoris, while I shaved his well-gelled groin with a gleaming cut-throat razor.
'It's not for me. It's for my...'
Frames flickered and froze the blade's glinting edge to his dangling scrotum. His next word was fatal to my fantasy, poison to the probable possibilities. I simply could not allow it. Whetted words cut him off in his prime.
'Hope you're not another time-waster! Look, she's perfect for you. For anyone...'
He was already beside her, testing her cute waxed curves with a huge hand. I was jealous as fuck. Again the voice; again my quivering tits.
'A few scratches... Nothing major though.'
On buttocks and between shoulder-blades, the scabbed-over evidence of my most recent sexual seeing-to were a single body scrub away from total erasure. I objected.
'Nah. Bodywork's virtually perfect.'
He kicked a tyre.
'Plenty of tread.'
A hand on my hip eased a pound of flesh back under my denim skirt's waistband.
'Exactly as advertised.'
'Serviced regularly?'
The film rolled on. I towelled off his gleaming privates then took his full length down my throat. Writhing beneath my sleek, throbbing, well-tuned bodywork, a skilled mechanic groaned his intense approval. In total contrast, my response was calm and detached.
Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus - extremely generously, I feel - nine further stories in 'Measuring up', my latest collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.
No comments:
Post a Comment