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Flash Fiction III

by Frenulum

Copyright © 2006–2007 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.



“What are you?”

“A woman.”

“What, therefore, is your purpose?”

“To serve.”

“To serve whom?”

“The man who is my lord and master.”

“In what does your service consist?”

“In exerting my mind and body, without reservation, restraint, or pause, to seek and achieve his pleasure.”

“And for so doing, what is your reward?”

“My service, and his pleasure, are my rewards.”

The black-caped man nodded slightly. He paced slowly around her nude body, examining, appraising. Pausing in front of her, without warning he thrust two gloved fingers into her unresisting mouth, spreading it wide, probing deep. Her only movement was to close her eyes.

“Very well,” said the dark figure, “His Excellency graciously consents to own her. It will be your very great honor to have her prepared and sent at once.” He tossed a black bag, heavy with coins, to the broker, and strode into the night.


There was no light but the flickering of the Eternal Flame on the altar. The shape in the front pew moved, separated, and resolved itself into two figures. One stood, paused briefly, and then bent to retrieve a discarded article of clothing.

The other figure spoke, in a careful whisper:



“Why is it that, at the end, you always call out ‘Jesus Christ!’?”

The priest arranged his face in a well-practiced look of piety.

“Blessèd is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” he replied.

Home Improvement

She won’t be sitting comfortably any time soon, but I don’t feel sorry for her. She made the choice to act like a spoiled bitch, so it’s only right that she should suffer the consequences.

Fortunately, she doesn’t really need to sit down. She can take care of the housework on her feet. And she can take care of me on her knees.

Sign Here

“Eventually your feet will start to tremble, and your calves will start to burn, and your thighs will start to cramp, and you’ll do anything for relief. But, you see, if you lower yourself, then the sharp edge of the horse will be pressed with all your weight into the soft, delicate, vulnerable flesh of your vulva.

“Perhaps you’ll be able to bear that for a moment or two, but when your poor, aching pussy can’t stand any more pain you’ll have no choice but to go up on tiptoe again.”

Spittle bubbled around her ball-gag as she tried to scream a reply. There was already a rivulet of it trickling between her breasts.

“And then the cycle repeats, although each time you’ll be able to keep yourself off the horse for a shorter and shorter interval.

“Of course, should you change your mind and decide, after all, that you’d like to sign the contract, just shake your pretty little head — there are sleigh bells on the harness.

“I might be close enough to hear them.”


I show him all through the house, and he seems pretty interested. “What can I do to help you decide?” I ask him.

He thinks for a minute. “Give me your panties, and bend over this chair,” he says. Ok, I figure, seven percent commission on a five-and-a-half million dollar sale — that’s a damn good price for a fuck, I can live with that. It’s not like I haven’t done it for a lot less.

Well, turns out he has something else in mind. Something I haven’t felt since I was sixteen years old.

The upshot is, I close at the asking price. Plus, of course, I know where he lives now. So next time I need a good hard spanking — like, just for example, this Saturday night — all I have to do is ring the doorbell.

Oh, if he is half as good with his cock as he is with his hand...

Grade Inflation

“Professor, Professor, wait up! I got my grade report last night — you gave me an Incomplete!”

“So I did, so I did.”

“I was supposed to get an A!”

“For failure-level work? Oh, no, that would be very wrong.”

“Listen, you bastard, we had a deal. I spent last semester being your goddamn sex slave. I fucked you, I sucked you, I posed for your goddamn movies, I let you tie me up, I let you — goddamn it, you fucker, you did everything to me.”

“Not everything; oh, not yet. But I’ve decided that I need another semester to evaluate your performance... and your obedience. So the Incomplete will have to stand for a few more months, while you... persuade me.”

“You bastard. You complete and utter bastard.”

“Accurately observed, cumbucket — after all, I have tenure, for which bastardy is a prerequisite. Well, I must get to class. You will report to me this evening and learn the consequences of this unseemly outburst.”

“Oh, god, no. Please, no.”

Author's notes on Flash Fiction III

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.

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