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Copyright © 2010 Frenulum. All rights reserved.
So-called “flash fiction” consists of ultra-short stories, just little vignettes to plant a scene in your head. Where you take them after that is up to you.
All of these are independent, and appear in no particular order. In my opinion, reading them one after the other is a less than optimal experience.
If you like this sort of thing, see also Flash Fiction II, Flash Fiction III, Flash Fiction IV, Flash Fiction V, Flash Fiction VI, Flash Fiction VII, Flash Fiction VIII, and Flash Fiction IX.
(For a Devoted Reader who decidedly liked this image.)
We took a walk around the neighborhood, enjoying the evening, warm but with a pleasant breeze. It ruffled her hair, and played with her light skirt. We held hands; we always do. I see young people looking at us, and I can decode their smiles: how nice to see two oldsters, still in love, still holding hands.
She squeezed mine, once, hard. A sort of signal we have. Letting me know that the cum in her ass had started to leak into her panties. I squeezed back. That’s a signal, too.
“...I heard the first time really hurts.”
“I heard that too.”
“So did I.”
“Well, I asked my mom about it.”
“What’d she tell you?”
“My mom said, it’s true, the first time hurts a lot. But the second time is worse, and the next is worse, and on and on. Because men just learn to give better and better spankings.”
“And you’re sure nobody —” Tara asked nervously.
“No one is home but my stupid brother Tom. And he’ll have his face stuck in his stupid video game until dinner. And anyway, the door’s locked.” Kelsey reached out and drew Tara close.
“Oh, Kelsey. I’ve been waiting for this for so long...”
“Shh. Relax. Me, too. Kiss me, Tara. At last.”
Their kiss grew deeper. Their hands began to explore, tentatively at first. Kelsey’s tongue slipped for the first time into her best friend’s mouth. Her pussy was dripping in anticipation, longing for Tara’s first touch.
“Stupid” Tom sat in his bedroom, stroking his engorged cock. The video from Kelsey’s webcam streamed onto his hard drive, into the directory named Blackmail.
She shook the little plastic dodecahedron in two cupped hands. “Odd,” she called. I always let her call it, and she always picks odd. She let the die tumble from her hands onto the table. We watched it roll to a stop.
“Even,” she said with a little pout. “So... I guess you get to tie me up so I’m completely helpless, and fuck me as hard as you want, as often as you want... any hole you want.” She stood up and, with a little shrug and a soft little sigh, started undressing. I went to the bedroom toybox, my cock already swelling, and started making selections.
We bought the die a few years ago at a gaming store. The faces are numbered in multiples of ten.
Aimée and Cécile came in holding hands, dressed identically in spike-heeled sandals and slim leather collars. Aimée’s hair was precisely parted and plaited into two long pigtails; Cécile sported a jaunty pony-tail. When they reached me they kissed each other, knelt, folded their arms behind their backs as well-trained fellatrices do, and turned expectant eyes up to me.
“All right,” I said, “Let’s settle this debate once and for all. Which is superior: handlebars, or joystick?”
I took turns, hair in my hands. Always one girl gagging, while her twin gasped for breath. Beautiful music.
I believe further study is indicated.
He lit a fire in the fireplace and I spread a blanket out in front of the hearth. We snuggled there for a while, loving just to be close, and then I slipped down and started rimming him. He likes it when I start off that way, before I switch to sucking his cock. I love it, too.
The fireplace fire was hot, bright, peaceful. Second only to the one in my bottom.
Please write, and tell me about the story that arose in your own mind, triggered by one of these little prompts.
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Otherwise, see the instructions in the story index.