Home | Short stories | Dialogs | Novels | Diversions and oddities | Non-fiction | Pin-up art
Copyright © 2009 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, and Flash Fiction V.
(For Deborah. See what happens when you beg so nicely?)
Raoul knocked and entered my office, six-foot-six of masculine strength, handsome to the point of beauty, hungry for work.
“Morning, Chief,” he said in his deceptively gentle bass. “Got a new assignment for me?”
“Indeed. A most charming and elegant lady has just signed up for the Platinum-Plus Fantasy Week. She lists her interests as: dominant men; oral, vaginal, and anal ‘in any combination’ — interesting emphasis there, I thought — blackmail and similarly coercive situations; humiliation; and, as she rather delicately put it... ‘size.’”
Raoul, whose smile had grown with each recited preference, simply nodded. The other men on my staff call him “Horse” — not because he has a long face.
“She also wrote that she likes spanking,” I added.
Raoul’s grin was dazzling white against his exotic features. “So do I — and at the end of the week, I still will.”
“And that she is ‘happily monogamous.’”
Raoul turned to leave, taking the contract papers I held out to him. “Don’t worry, Chief,” he said, “I can fix that, too.”
They caught their breaths as the sweat began to cool on their bodies. “You ok?” he asked.
“I think I’m sitting on a boot. At least, I hope it’s a boot — something cold and squishy, anyway. Can you reach the door knob, get some light in here?”
He managed to crack the door, as his softening cock slipped wetly out of her. “Well, that was fun. Cramped and awkward, but fun. What’s left?”
She thought for a moment. “Two more closets, the pantry, and the garage.”
“The garage should be interesting,” he said.
“Hmm. In the car?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of... swinging from the rafters somehow.”
She laughed indulgently. “You goof. We couldn’t possibly —” Her words stopped abruptly.
“What?” he prompted.
“Well... now that you mention it... we do have that climbing gear...”
His right to discipline me? That’s absolute. Please don’t think I would ever question it.
And just now, a long, hard, ass-on-fire spanking? Heck, for the way I behaved, I probably deserved twice what he gave me, or worse.
It’s just the timing. I wish I could have convinced him to wait a few hours, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
So we’re meeting Jen and Alan as planned, in half an hour, for dinner at Le Bistro. Where they have those hard wooden café chairs with no seat cushions. Oh, god, it’s going to be pure agony — and if I squirm and fidget I’ll get in trouble again.
All I can hope for is that Jen was also a naughty girl today, naughty enough for Alan to put her over his knee. At least then I’ll have some sympathetic company.
Knowing Jen, the odds are actually pretty good.
My friends always give me crap for working mall security. They call it “lame” and “dead-end.” They sneeringly call me a “rent-a-cop” — that’s about the nicest term I hear.
I’m in my office with the door locked. I have given my standard speech: no, I’m not calling your parents, I’m calling the police. I talked about holding pens, cavity searches, meth-freak cellmates, arraignment hearings, permanent criminal records. I listened to the pleas, the desperate, helpless begging, that I always, always hear.
I made them strip each other — slowly, with plenty of kissing and fondling. The sixteen year old, the petite redhead, the virgin, just couldn’t stop crying, so I stuffed her hot little mouth full of cock. She’s not half bad for a first-timer. Her tall blonde partner in crime, an experienced seventeen, is spread on my desk, fucking herself with my nightstick. Looks like she’s starting to get into it, just a little.
Six snug suburban schoolgirl shoplifter fuck-holes to fill. Another routine day at my lame, dead-end job.
To the left of the door: four girls, seated on a long wooden bench, hands clasped nervously, heads bowed, staring sightlessly at the floor, wretched, silent.
To the right of the door: five girls, nude, standing, facing the wall, hands on their heads, bottoms flaming scarlet, sniffling, whimpering, softly sobbing.
Behind the door: that awful, rhythmic, unmistakable sound.
I take my seat at the end of the bench.
I could barely concentrate. The cock-shaped vibrator filling my cunt was bad enough, but the egg-on-a-stick vibe deep in my ass was driving me mad. I tried to focus on my task: tongue-polishing the shiny black leather boots that filled my vision. They were already clean, but I kept licking. The mismatched throbs of the vibrators made my body pulse, forcing me to a plateau, agonizingly short of cumming.
“That’s enough,” the familiar, commanding, loving voice rang out above my bowed head. I watched the boots move to each side of my prostrate form; I waited, trembling, certain I knew what was coming next.
A hand tangled in my hair and pulled upward. I rose, eyes lowered, seeing long legs converge toward a meeting point. Another tug on my hair tipped my head far back: our eyes met.
“I think it’s time my big sister learned to eat pussy,” she said.
In the fertile field of your own imagination, did one of these
seeds take root, grow, and blossom?
Please write and tell me about it!
link to send comments using your e-mail program.
Otherwise, see the instructions in the story index.