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Copyright © 2003, 2004 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.
“My dear, you look absolutely smashing. Quite lovely indeed. The color is perfect for you — sets off your eyes, don’t you know. And if you’ll permit me to say so, a woman with your delightful figure couldn’t have chosen a more splendid outfit. Yes, all the fellows at the party tonight will be longing to be in my shoes once they get a goggle at you, eh?”
Her courteous thanks for his sincere compliments were, of course, inaudible through her gag.
She raced to the bedroom, trying to move as quickly as possible without making a noise to reveal her actions. Shedding her clothes took only seconds, kicking them under the bed only an instant. With the seconds ticking off in her head, she found the bag with the brand new toy — two pairs of handcuffs — and locked one end of each pair to the headboard. How much time? Only seconds left! She reached to lock in one wrist, then froze in panic. Face up or face down? Quick! Decide! No time to lose! Face up then; click! on the left wrist. Then in the last seconds, no time to get it wrong, maneuver the right wrist into the other cuff and work it...work it... click! closed. As she exhaled in relief, she heard his voice from the living room.
“Ninety-nine, one hundred! Ready or not, here I come!”
She knew what was next. Our employment ads all carry the “Corporate Corporal” policy seal — like almost all companies these days. Her face flamed with humiliation as she slid the last scrap of modesty down her lovely legs. As I positioned her, I made sure to part her legs so I could keep an eye on her slit. The résumé and the interviews and the aptitude tests count for nothing: I hire girls who get wet when they’re spanked.
God but I love it when the economy’s in the tank.
“If I win, you do all the grocery shopping, cooking, and dishes for... two weeks.”
“And if I win?”
“You won’t. No way!”
“But if? Hey, you’re so sure of yourself, make it something big.”
“I’ll... give you a blow job every day for two weeks.”
“Not good enough. You’ll suck me off every time I tell you to, no matter how often, for four weeks. And you’ll take my load in your face with your eyes wide open, and say ‘thank you’ with a nice bright smile.”
“Umm, I — ...”
“Not so sure of yourself now?”
“No, I — ok, deal! Loser.”
I watched her sweet ass swing as she marched away. So full of confidence. So naïve, falling right into the trap.
She locked the spreader bar to her other ankle, then stood and shuffled awkwardly to the post. She took careful bearings, then strapped on her blindfold. She reached high, locked her left hand to the ring.
Then, stretching as far as she could with her right hand, dropped the key onto the little table.
One last move: the snap hook at her right wrist, aligned with the ring on her left one. Click.
Her husband would be home — soon, perhaps, or not so soon. He would find her helpless, and three items on the table. The key. A riding crop. A note: “Choose.”
The sound technician was worried. He was picking up a faint but persistent low-frequency hum from the shotgun mike on the wedding party. Almost like line noise — but that was out of the question, everything was running off batteries.
He shrugged it off. There was no time to troubleshoot: tape was rolling and the officiant was speaking. They’d just have to filter it out in post.
At the altar, the best man slipped a hand into his trouser pocket and thumbed the remote. The vibrator, strapped firmly against the bride’s sensitive clit, buzzed harder and faster.
Later, her friends would say things about “glow” and “radiance” and “blushing bride.” The best man smiled, and softly hummed four notes of Wagner:
“Here cums the bride...”
Author’s notes on Flash Fiction II
Did any of these little thought-particles start a story in your imagination? Why not tell me about it — I’d love to hear from you.
link to send comments.
Otherwise, see the instructions in the story index.