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By Mathilde Madden
Tomorrow is Valentines Day and you know who we love? You, our wonderful readers. Oh yes we do, we love every single one of you. Without you, this blog would be rather like us just sitting in a room talking to people who don't exist. And, you know, we kind of have this whole day job where that happens...
(Although, I would like to point out, that Alfie the werewolf definitely does exist.)
So we love you, right. And we're expressing our love the best way we know how, 'cause we are living in a material world and so why don't you let us shower you with gifts...
And how about this for a shower to remember?
Damn, sorry, clicked the wrong button. Unforgivable, I know... I'll have him out of your way just as soon as I find the right... uh, here we go. So if you could just scroll down a little...
I said SCROLL DOWN
Come on, you can scroll quicker than that.
No, your computer is not 'frozen'. Don't you start with Windows Vista this, Windows Vista that. Scroll down!
Thank you. Now. I meant this shower here
Pretty impressive huh? Here's how it breaks down:
FIRST PRIZE
Divine Torment by Janine Ashbless
Suite Seventeen by Portia da Costa
Barbarian Prize by Deanna Ashford
Wild Card by Madeline Moore
The Silver Collar by Mathilde Madden
The Silver Crown by Mathilde Madden
The Silver Cage by Mathilde Madden
Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? by Kate Pearce
Possession by Mathilde Madden, Madelynne Ellis and Anne Tourney
Standish by Erastes (not pictured)
Lying in Mid Air by Anne Tourney (not pictured)
Plus Quickies (Black Lace mini short story collections), bookmarks and anything else I find lying around
SECOND PRIZE
Possession, The Silver Werewolves Trilogy and Gothic Blue plus extras
THIRD PRIZE
Possession, The Silver Collar and Gothic Blue plus extras
Now, size queens, if you like the idea of something that big being pushed through your letter box, here’s the deal. We love you and all, but we want to be sure you love us back. We want some sugar from you in returnWe will be awarding these three fabulous prizes to the three best pieces of flash fiction left in the comments.
So tell us a story in sexy story in 100 words or less. If you’re not a writer – or just not in the mood to write (although we really encourage everyone to have a go – we’ll be kind) feel free to also comment and tell us what you think of the posted stories.
First time commenters welcome - delurking encouraged.And to get you in the mood, here some flashes of inspiration the last time we indulged our love of short-shorts
Lusties in disguise tolerated - flash, but, no, you can't win
Ex-lusties, yes, you are eligible: flash us.
And good luck!
Mat x
The gorgeous multi-coloured heart image is shamelessly stolen from last year's Valentine's comp (lines now closed) - because I love it. It's Toxic Schizophrenia by Tim Noble and Sue Webster. And the heart right up top is Hanging Heart by Jeff Koons
74 comments:
LOL, that was priceless with the shower scene (and phase)! Loved it!
I'm very bad at writing, thats why I leave it all up to you all and read it :) I'm looking forward to reading what some come up with.
Love you all too! Thanks for all YOU do!!
Right, I'm going in the shower. I generally come up with my story ideas in the bathroom. Back soon I hope - 100 words - how hard can that be? Ahem.
This doesn't count, obviously but hopefully will poke others into doing some, I love drabbles!
Wake
On mornings like this, outside, the air is as crisp as the crunch of snow underfoot, and chilled robins fluff on frozen sills.
On mornings like this, inside, the white-weight of snow on the windows illuminates the room with a dim-lit silence and cushioned beneath the warmth of the night it is easier to curl in his embrace and his slow measure breath of lemon. His heart calls your name as fingers, cramped with sleep, uncurl and run whorls around your nipples, then lower… Then you wake, for until those eyes smile for you, there is no morning worth having.
Damn, this is hard!
Here's one at 132 words, which is too long but I don't qualify for the prize anyway so Bah...
I approach my manager’s door, heart thumping.
I’d had the office camera because at Housing we have to keep a record of the state tenants leave a home in. At home overnight, I'd let my boyfriend snap a few private shots, downloaded everything and handed the camera back to John at work. Forgetting to wipe the chip.
The pictures are of me face-down on the bed. Hands tied behind my back. Thighs spread to reveal my juicy pussy. Bum-cheeks flaring red, puffy from the slaps of the paddle. SPANKING SLUT drawn in lipstick across my shoulders.
I knock and enter. John is sat behind his desk. He gestures at the camera. ‘You know what this is about?’
I nod.
‘Misuse of council property. It’s a disciplinary offence.’
‘Yes.’
‘So. Over my knee.’
Oh Janine, I love it!
*G*
ooh, snow and discipline...
Now I'd like to flash someone:
**
Body Shots
Ritual candles cast a strobing glow on the black granite bench.
You smell like sex and danger.
We wrestle in the half-light, a mass of angry limbs. Taste of tequila and lime on your tongue. I rub salt into your wounds. You stiffen inside me: pain sharpens your desire.
Your hands tangle in my hair. Go on, I urge, pull tight.
You bite my throat, exposed to you, proffered.
There'll be a mark tomorrow, and I wish, all of a sudden, for a fine-tipped pen to scrawl on you, indelibly, the words for what you do to me.
**
Gosh, such great stuff already. I need to think of something of my own...
Damp Dishabille
My fingers leave a trail of not-quite-dry down your back as you emerge from the shower. You turn, surprise etching creases into baby-soft ebony skin and your tongue flicks to wet trepidation lips. Your breath catches and I press my index finger against them, stifling the question in your eyes. The smile invites me closer and my breath stirs the tiny hairs on your wrist as I rub my cheek against your palm. Your other hand closes around the back of my neck and we kiss in open-mouthed wells of longing. You look into my eyes and I have won.
First time visitor here, please excuse....
Homecoming (100 words)
Last night I fingered myself deep, conjuring your scent and the ghost of your weight on my skin. Last night I rolled my nipples rough between thumb and forefinger, remembering your callused hands. Last night's orgasm was neatly orchestrated, swept into a towel and gone.
Tonight your mouth tastes like peaches, and I can smell the sun in your hair. You open me and fill me, bite already aching nipples, take me over the sofa and against the wall. We break the bed again and paint our bodies with come and spit, and you fall asleep still inside me, home.
St Valentine’s Bones
Nobody knows who he was. Bishop, priest, hermit, martyr. Relics exist in Vienna, in Dublin, in Roquelaire. Glass boxes with bone splinters.
And there’s one here in Glasgow. Not in Blessed John Dun’s dusty old kirk, no, but right here, in this very room. As you move over me, kissing my forehead, my cunt, my right breast and then my left, I can feel it pierce me.
The wine flows from the well between my legs, and as you drink a prayer escapes my mouth, addressed to no one, just some faceless saint lost somewhere on the way to heaven.
Ooh, I love flash. Such gorgeous work here already - stunning little stories. Can we do more than one? Can we?
I know I've made this joke before, but, you know, on Lust Bites, we never turn down a double entry.
On choosing the perfect Valentine’s gift
He gave her a bunch of carnations from the petrol station. Her eyes glowed traffic-light red.
She bent him over the carefully set dining table, yanked down his jeans and whipped him until the petals scattered like confetti. With her thumb plugged into his asshole and his hard-on curling up in the shape of a question mark, she leaned close and whispered to him:
‘Next time, lover-boy, get roses.’
His words were muffled by the heavy linen napkin she’d stuffed in his mouth.
‘Yes,’ she said, reaching for his swinging balls, ‘Long-stemmed. With thorns.’
Awesome stuff! You guys are so good!
Erastes, thank-you.
white-weight Ooh yeah.
Just the Three of Us
Tomorrow we’ll share that bond that only you and I have. Some think my art barbaric but as the sun sinks below the mountains I’ll put on some soft music, light some candles and unpack my scalpels. My love is in scarification. Love etched in flesh and blood and then we’ll fuck until the sweat stings and we can’t remember who was the model and who the artist but for the fresh laughing dragon on your back. Then you’ll stand in front of the mirror with my scent still clinging to your skin and flex your muscles. And we’ll dance.
My husband is so lazy. He’s up for sex but I’ve got to do all the work, starting with a blow-job, sucking his cock until it’s good and hard. He just lies there, stroking my hair and crooning “Oh, honey,” as I take his meat deep into my throat. Then I get to make proper use of that thick cock, but I’ve got to go on top, because he won’t make the effort.
I bought him a Valentine present, mail-order. A strap-on: eight inches of shiny black PVC, with a vibrating plug that fits inside me.
Just lie back, darling.
Big and Little
There’s frost on the grass but that doesn’t stop you from pushing me over and jumping on top of me, knocking the wind from my lungs. You’ve got a huge weight advantage – sixty pounds or more – and you grasp my wrists, spreading my arms wide. You forgot my legs, asshole. One foot curls around yours as the other snakes up and over your head. It’s a simple matter to flip you from there. I dump you on your fat ass and put you into an arm lock while my other hand fumbles with your zipper. Who’s the daddy now, fuckface?
Gasp. Mat, what have you done? You've unleashed a monster! Gimme some time, here, folks...I want to play too! G R E A T stuff so far!
Menu
There will be no silver service meal-for-two with waiters in dicky bows, buttery lobster, gold candles and your eyes melting with sweet and tender love.
Not for us. Fish and chips in bed, wiping our fingers in the sheets, licking grease off each other’s chins.
No champagne in crystal flutes.
Beer straight out the bottle, frothing and spilling, dripping over my breasts, puddling in my belly button, where you sip at it, laughing.
No death by chocolate dessert half eaten because I just couldn’t have any more thank you.
Instead - your face buried between my legs, greedy as sin.
Anonymous Valentine
I’m in love with you. Your wings could carry me to heights of ecstasy, I’m sure of it. If you’d take me I would trust you we would fly.
But you won’t. Your hard dark heart pines for another.
You are the colour of, the colour of gold, but you’re not precious metal or any kind of metal at all, you’re made of wood but to me you are entirely beautiful.
I want you, you prick.
I want to rip your wings off
And bury you inside me up to your gilt hilt.
Yeah, that’s it, fly away home, big baby, big dick.
Fly away home to your welcome Mat.
your welcome Mat
Owwww....
I need a lie down after that one!
Just for fun!
Johnnie’s hair is darkness, raven, craven of obedience, tumbling round his head like wanton shepherds, and I have had far far too much to drink.
Johnnie’s fingers are nimble and they play with lucky buttons, and the fingers and the buttons cannot seem to get in sync.
Johnnie’s breath is breathy, mouth pink tinged with supple laughter, and gentle raining kisses blister skin with the scent of summer wine.
Johnnie’s tongue is pleasing, pleasing cock, and arse and teasing as he rolls his skin along me, laughing, satin hard on satin, his lips in tender smiling and our bodies intertwine.
Preference
The stones twinkle in the candlelight. I smile. I am silent.
When he nods, I bow my head and let him secure it around my neck. At first it is cool but it warms quickly.
The buckle bites. I stroke the heavy silver links that trail from the rhinestone collar to his hand. He tugs hard. I settle in his lap at his silent command.
His fingers slide under my dress. Find me wet. Sink into my willing cunt.
I sigh. Bite my lip.
When I come, the shiny metal links jingle.
Some girls like gold.
I prefer silver.
~durrgrrl~
His hands moved to her shoulders, sliding the silk of her nightgown down her arms and baring her breasts to him. He lowered his head, flicking his tongue over her earlobe, nipping at her neck, pressing a kiss into her shoulder. She threw her head back, moaning at the feeling of his chest hair teasing her nipples erect. His mouth settled on hers and she welcomed the taste of his tongue, wanting everything that he offered and more. “You will soon belong to me,” he said, speaking as though he were a part of her. “I will never let you go until I have what I need.” "Take me, I'm yours," came her reply.
Love the shower scene (and yes my computer 'froze') but I love the flash bits even more. You are all such talented writers. As an addicted reader I appreciated it - Thank You.
Crescendo
There’s a fake fur blanket on the bed and your face is pressed into it, panting as your cheek scrapes along the acrylic. You can’t do anything about it because your arms are bound almost painfully behind your back in a leather bag I bought for the purpose. I can see you drooling through the bit gag I fastened between your teeth. I enter you again, stretching your arse to take as much of me as you can manage and your moan is drawn out and pitched like an animal as you approach orgasm. I pause. Wait for me, asshole.
Just off to think of something! Help! these are all so good!
here goes nothing!
As your tongue drove into my mouth you slammed me against the wall, shutting the door behind you, shutting out the light, shutting me in. The scent of cleaning fluids filled my nostrils followed by the scent of you, ready to fuck and dangerous. Your hands tear at my pants, your fingers shoved deep inside me. So wet, so ready, so eager to be fucked, to be taken, that I walk my feet up your thighs and wrap my legs around you. One unsubtle thrust of your hips and you’re in me, all the way to the hilt and, God, I’m coming.
okay 102 but close and I can't win anything anyway...
His hand grasps my hair; yanks my head back.
“Please.” I whisper.
His teeth sink into my neck. My thighs get soaked. “Please.”
His other hand reaches under my skirt, finding me wet. I bite my lip. He sinks his fingers into me violently.
“Please” I moan.
His tongue licks my lobe, trailing down to my collar bone, his fingers continuing their invasion.
“Please.”
His thumb finds my clit, repeatedly pushing that button. I’m so close to coming.
“Please.” I whimper.
His tongue replaces his thumb. My pulse throbs. My body falls. I shatter.
“Thank you.” He whispers.
Bound in the bed with my cunt so indelicately shoved high in the air, knees parted with anticipation. I can feel my juices dripping hotly. The bindings on my ankles turn me on as much as the blindfold over my eyes.
I feel you standing on the mattress, springs squeaking with every movements. I clutched the icy cold railing as your hands hold me, knowing your cock is just inches away. Pussy clenching, I hold my breath and wait for that first thrust.
Nothing.
Damn you.
Nothing.
Damn you! Damn-
Oh!
One stroke, hard and long.
I came.
Fuck me!
Well, I don't write but have tried to give it a go, hope this is ok.
I missed you and came back early from girls night out. Light spilled from our bedroom door left ajar. Restless sounds of skin against sheets and deep strangled groan greeted me. A worried peek took in no clothing in a trail on the floor, no disarray. Just my bedside drawer standing open and you on the bed engrossed while your hand lifted and fell…repeatedly. Our carpet made my footsteps silent as my eyes strained to see the cover…The Si…the book jerked away. Your eyes lifted, face flushed with arousal and having been caught red handed. “Want some help?”, I ask.
We were forbidden roses,
so I made petals of your lips, licking their softness, teasing your tongue into my mouth—
a bud, a trembling flower your body became,
and I tasted you, memorising you, tasting you as bees might, suckling from you a sweeter honey, my fingers brushing against precious petals, bruising you in a blush of roses, leaving my mark for others to know,
how forbidden you are—
and one last time I trick the flower your body has become, easing inside you, feeling you curl around me, furling petals like a vine.
We are forbidden roses,
forbidden lovers.
It's like a clumsy form of synesthesia: your presence floods me with an emotion; or a consciousness; or an appetite. I can't tell them apart anymore, and maybe it doesn't matter. What difference does it make whether I'm hungering for your scent, or yearning for your reassurance, or conceiving of a way that I could make sense to you? What is significant is that the workday has just begun, and already I'm jerking off in the bathroom because you overwhelm me as flesh. Or as laughter. Or as an idea, to cream for.
Oh, I love flashing... er... writing flash! Mine's 100 without the title.
*Valentine Passions*
As many times as he’d made love to Meghan, she still made Peter’s mouth dry with want. Now here she was—trusting him to fulfill both their fantasies. Strapped naked to their bed, her flawless skin looked luminescent against the deep blue of the comforter.
He ran his fingers under the ropes coiled around her thighs following the leads up to her tiny waist, making sure the tension was tight enough to restrict movement, but not uncomfortable.
Already her sex was swollen and moist. He licked her belly, eliciting a low moan of want. Happy Valentine’s Day to him!
A chocolate heart. Why would you buy your girlfriend a solid chocolate heart of you were cheating on her. So she could sit home on Valentines day and eat it all, while crying. And then feel sickened, by all the salt and chocolate.
No. There had to be a better way. Claire put it in a pan, nad lit the ring. She poked at it occasionally as it bled its chocoalte blood in a pool in the pan. She added some cinnamon. Even a little vanilla. Tentatively, she dipped in a spoon, raised it to her lips, watching as a drip fell on her chest, dribbled silkily towards her breast.
A better idea. T
he phone rang three times.
'Lloyd? Your best friend gave me this solid chocolate heart before he went out to fuck Lucy. I've spiced it, and melted it, and it's dripping over my nipples now. Lloyd, do you think you can get here before it hardens?'
Meat
I don’t eat meat. I’m vegetarian. So I don’t know much about the butcher. Esme says his hands are full of scars. Val says he’s bad to the bone. Elaine claims that Marie swears blind that his dick is as thick as her wrist. And according to Fiona, who heard it from Diana, he’ll grab your hair, shove his cock in your mouth, and say ‘Suck it, bitch!’ or something crude like that.
I don’t listen to gossip. And yet I stare at the mirror, rehearsing the words: ‘One ten inch chop, please.’
I hope he doesn’t see my nerves.
PS - Fab comp! Am muchly enjoying it.
Oops. I didn't count. Oh well. Rules are overrated. :)
He leaned against the cool tile, hot water sluicing down his front, curling through his hair, pooling in the hand cupping his balls. Sharp teeth tugging on his nipples pulled whimpers from him; he writhed under the strong, steady pull on his aching cock. When he reached forward, the slick body pressed to his stepped away; finally he just surrendered into the overwhelming sensations, feeling them build and grow until he arched backward, his head hitting the wall, his hips jerking helplessly, the scream of his orgasm sounding in the small room, filling it with echoes of love and arousal.
Okay, since you said we can do two... here's another. 100 w/o title.
* Double Duty *
Never had she felt this way. Never had her body been so responsive. She stood on the edge of the precipice, her body begging to fall into the abyss of ecstasy. She arched back and Ren&