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Flash Fiction VIII

by Frenulum

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, and Flash Fiction VII.


Extra Credit

The girls are heedless of their exposure in their short uniform kilts. Innocently careless of how they sit, lounge, bend, twirl, climb. It’s not immodesty, it’s oblivion. Every one else is either a girl, or a teacher like me: an impossibly ancient fossil — over thirty, irrelevant, invisible.

One senior, Rachel, likes to sit with both feet flat on her chair, tucked against her bottom. Knees high, skirt useless, in the front row. I teach, day after day, with her snug cotton schoolgirl panties in view.

Until today.

Same pose. No panties. A flaming blush on her face, which grew even brighter when she saw that I had noticed.

Somehow, I kept talking. But my thoughts went to the unsigned note I had found in my mailbox: “I’ll do anything to pass your class.” College-bound Rachel, with an “F” on the midterm.

I’m not heartless. I’ll trade a “D” for her virginities. But if she wants an “A,” she’ll have to earn it.


“There are three things you may always, absolutely, rely on,” I said, tying the scarf that bound her left wrist to her left ankle. “One, I love you.”

“I know you do,” she said, voice quaking.

I adjusted the spreader bar: a little wider.

“Two, if you behave badly, I will discipline you.”

She sniffled tears.

“And three,” I said, taking up my position behind her tautly stretched, bare, defenseless ass, “If it goes on until I catch you at it, your punishment will be...”

“Ten times worse,” she finished, sobbing.


I’m a psychologist, specializing in hypnosis. I treat a lot of compulsive behaviors: smoking, eating disorders, even internet addiction. I take my skills seriously, and use them professionally — with one exception.

I was in the grocery store with my girlfriend Sherry this morning, stocking up for the weekend. Another shopper made an ill-judged fruit selection, and produce starting tumbling and rolling all over the floor. “It’s a kumquat avalanche!” someone else remarked.

I spun around and saw what I expected: Sherry, kneeling, holding her skirt up, panties pulled aside, masturbating.

I’m going to have to be much more careful with her trigger phrases.

Remote Control

Naked, kneeling, legs wide apart, I slid the fat, bumpy toy we call “Mr. Squirmy” into my cunt. It went in easily — I was so slick and hot.

The vibrator for my asshole was harder, as always. I love it when he fucks me there, but putting something inside myself has always been difficult for me.

I plugged both toys into USB jacks on the side of my computer, and waited. So wet, so needy. The cameras were already on, aimed where he likes.

Right on time: his face on the screen before me, his voice in my ears. “Hello, my darling. Have you been a very good girl today?”

In Good Hands

“Coffee’s almost ready. So, tell me... how often does Tim spank you?”

“As often as I need it — and no more.”

“Oh, sis, you don’t have to tell me that Tim’s a good man. No, I mean, like, how many times?”

“Nine so far. And we’ve been married eleven months now.”

“Wow, that’s actually really good for newlyweds. When Michael and I started out... god, it seemed like I was over his lap every few days. Here’s your coffee, hon — want to sit in the living room?”

“Actually, sister dear, I think I’ll stand.”


I have the same dream almost every night. I’m a housemaid, the humblest of servants, for a powerful older man. While I clean, I wear six-inch spike heels, thigh-high stockings, a garter belt to hold them, and satin panties — all in black — and a white bow in my hair. Nothing else. Sometimes the Master watches me. Often he summons me, and uses my body — any way he wants to. Sometimes I do the dusting while his cum seeps from my ass.

It’s just like my real life. Except in the dream I’m allowed to wear panties.

Flash Fiction is effective if a vignette serves as the impetus for your own fantasies, for your own story creation. I would be delighted to hear how one of these developed in your mind.

A very dear friend of mine has the good fortune (or brilliant planning) to be a teacher at a Catholic girls’ high school... where the students wear those delightful fetish outfits with the kilts as short as they dare. The first two paragraphs of Extra Credit are reporting, not fantasy. I need a career change.

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