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‘Flash Fiction’ Category

  1. Flash Fiction: Revelation

    April 11, 2013 by Nikki Blue

    She stood naked in front of the floor length mirror, her heart fluttering nervously. The unrest in the pit of her stomach was unexpected as she ran her fingers through her hair, but it was there nonetheless. She blew out a quick breath and focused on his reflection over her bare shoulder. He was blindfolded and perfectly still, the cream colored sheets barely rumpled beneath his back. Her eyes wandered the length of his body and she couldn’t help but smile a little as she admired her handiwork of his bound wrists tied to the wrought iron bar above his head. She didn’t need to hear him say he craved her to know that he did. She could see his need glistening in the soft light. But she wasn’t ready to give him what he wanted. She wasn’t sure she could.

    Other than shoving her strap-on down his throat until he gagged or biting his chest, she had never caused him pain. And when he’d expressed his desire for her to hurt him, she found herself in the middle of unfamiliar territory and she was lost without a map. She wasn’t sure how to meet his needs. She had no idea where to start.

    Walking quietly to the edge of the bed, she raked her nails along his thigh, his gasp sending a rush of heat down her spine. His smile assured her that she was on the right path, and she instinctively dug her fingers into his cheeks until it disappeared.

    “Please, Mistress,” he begged.

    Biting back her smile, she climbed onto the bed and lowered herself just above his face. She grabbed both of his nipples and twisted them as hard as she could until he cried out, his mouth hungrily devouring her ass. And listening to the sounds of his pleasure as she slapped his cock, she realized it was never a question of if she could hurt him. It was a question of when.

     


  2. After-hours Examination

    July 28, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    The office was finally quiet as I sat cross-legged on the patient chair in the surgical suite, the stack of charts from the day’s surgeries piled on my lap. I was busy transferring notes to the third chart when I noticed him leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest. He’d changed out of his scrubs and was impeccably dressed in black pants and a white button down shirt.

    “You know, this would go a lot faster if you’d help me.”

    “You mean the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can play doctor?”

    I laughed. “Maybe.”

    Grabbing the charts from my lap, he tossed them onto the counter without taking his eyes off of me. He lowered the chair until I lay flat on my back and kissed me deeply, holding my lip between his teeth as he pulled away.

    “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

    “Anything else?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

    He stripped me of my clothes and held my wrists together in one hand as he undid his belt with the other. Knowing what was coming next, I couldn’t help but smile as he pulled the strap from his waist and wrapped it tightly around my wrists. He moved my arms above my head and I winced as the leather pinched my skin when he secured me to the headrest above.

    His gaze intensified as he trailed his fingertips down my naked body as if he was memorizing a road map. He paused when he reached my knees and I wondered where his skilled fingers would graze me next. His touch was gentle but deliberate as he spread my legs, never breaking contact with my skin. And when he placed his hand on my swollen folds and pushed his middle finger deep inside, I thought I would come undone.

    “You will not move. Understood?”

    “Yes,” I replied, barely more than an unsteady whisper.

    A flush blossomed across my body and a thin veil of sweat formed on my skin. Despite the heat, my teeth began to chatter as my will began to crumble. I held my breath, resisting the need to open my legs wider and rock my hips against the palm of his hand. I trembled uncontrollably as I battled for control of my body. It became clear I was going to lose.

    “Please.”

    Brushing my cheek with his fingers, he seemed to take pleasure in my struggle. He’d pushed me until he had me exactly where he wanted me; on the edge begging for release.

    He smiled. “Now.”


  3. Late Nights

    July 26, 2012 by Heather Cole

    I stared through the glass wall of the office at the harbor below, the lights from the tourist cruises dotting the dark water like fireflies. The usual clatter from the company was silenced and the floor deserted. I clutched a pile of file folders to my chest as a reminder of why I was in his office. The lamp on the desk beside me offered a small pool of light against the bulky shapes of office furniture and bookshelves. I heard the door shut behind me with a soft click and then caught a whiff of cologne. My skin twitched when Jai touched me, seconds before I heard his voice in my ear.

    “Turn around,” he said with only a trace of an accent.

    Butterflies erupted in my stomach, and I grinned at the dark horizon. “Make me.”

    He growled something incoherent and with one hand released the clip that held my chignon in place. His fingers scraped against my scalp as he grabbed a handful of my hair while his other hand slowly wandered down my ribcage to my waist. His fingers dug into my side as he pulled me against him, and I could feel his erection pressed against me through the fabric of my pencil skirt.

    “Are you saying that you don’t want to look at me? I’m amenable to that.”

    Jai pushed me towards the desk, and I stumbled in my heels, dropping the files to the floor so I could catch my balance. I heard the metallic clink of a belt being loosened and then a zipper sliding on its metal teeth. My heartbeat ratcheted up with anticipation.

    I attempted to turn around then but he caught me with a fistful of hair. Slowly, inextricably, he pulled me to the desk, allowing me enough of an angle so that I could see his grin and the charcoal pinstripe of his designer suit with my peripheral vision. My palms were slick with sweat against the smooth wood, the buttons of my blouse poking into my sternum. My eyes fluttered shut when I felt his palm brush my thigh.

    “Tell me,” he demanded.

    I bit my lip and squirmed until my ass grazed his pants. He laughed and shifted his grip to the back of my neck. I had exactly three seconds to wonder what he was planning.

    The sting of his hand against my ass stole my breath, but I welcomed the pain.

    “Tell me.”

    He yanked my skirt up and swung again. The force of his palm against my flesh inched my body along the desk.

    “Say it.”

    Another hit.

    My panties were drenched, the warmth and pain of his hands driving my need. Drawing a deep breath through my nose, I shook my head and clamped my lips tight. I wanted to relish the power of withholding as long as possible. I waited for another blow but none was forthcoming. Instead he pulled down my underwear, his long fingers reaching for my swollen clit.

    “You know what I can do to you,” he murmured, “what we can do together. Two words and you can have it all.”

    His clever fingers stroked closer to the lips of my vagina.

    “Say it or I leave you here.”

    He held me like a butterfly pinned to a mat. In that critical moment of overwhelming desire and need, I craved both the reward and the pain. In the end, though, I always gave him what he wanted.

    “I’m yours,” I whispered.

    He laughed again, because he had never doubted it.


  4. Flash Fiction: The Test

    June 8, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    “Do you trust me?”

    He held her face in his hands, letting his thumbs fall lightly over her closed eyes before tracing the outline of her jaw. Her head fell back and her lips parted slightly as he wrapped his fingers around her slender neck.

    “Yes,” she breathed as he covered her mouth with his.

    He knew without a doubt that she did. They had no limits, and their trust was implicit, but he had a plan. He was going to push the one boundary she rarely admitted. He stroked her hair and reminded her that she was his focus, his priority.

    He allowed her a moment to look around the room, to absorb as much of the familiar surroundings as she could before he covered her eyes with the blindfold. It was their bed, so she wouldn’t question the chair he’d placed at the foot of it, or the pile of rope on the floor next to it. It wouldn’t have changed anything if she had.

    He caressed her soft curves as he slowly removed her clothes. He knew every inch of her body intimately. He knew it better than she did. He knew when she was about to come as she rode him. He could see it on her face, in her eyes, and he could feel it in the tension in her body. And he knew the exact moment when pinching her nipples would throw her into a powerful orgasm.

    His hand paused briefly in the warmth between her legs. She sucked in her breath when he dipped his fingers inside of her. It would have been so easy to dive into her and lose sight of everything around them. But he removed his fingers, marvelling at how wet she was. She was always wet for him. He loved that it only took one word to open her floodgates. He smiled and took a step back to admire her. She stood there naked and blindfolded with her mouth open, waiting to taste herself on his fingers. As well as he knew her desires, she knew his too.

    Leading her to the chair, he instructed her to sit and lifted each leg over an arm, securing them snugly with the rope. He wanted her thighs spread wide so that he could see her most honest reaction to the night’s events. He hoped that as conflicted as she would be about sharing him, her desire to please him would take over. He was gentle, handling her as if she were a delicate piece of china as he pulled her arms behind her, cuffing her wrists. He brushed his lips across the soft skin of her shoulder and took a deep breath.

    It was time.

    He didn’t dare underestimate her. The instant the bedroom door opened, she would know they were no longer alone. She would sense the girl’s presence, and she would smell the girl’s sweet perfume no matter how faint the scent.

    When the girl stepped into the room, he watched his partner’s cheeks flush with heat. Her chest began to rise and fall with ever quickening breaths, and he would have given anything to be able to read her thoughts.

    “Do you trust me?” he whispered into her ear.

    Her voice broke. “Yes.”

    “Good girl.”

    He’d often expressed his desire to find a toy to join them, not because she wasn’t enough for him, but because he wanted a witness to the intensity of the power that flowed between them. He wanted to share it, share her.

    Removing her blindfold, he watched the insecurity seep into her green eyes as she took in the young woman on the middle of the bed. He had forced her to confront her limits, and it came adorned with perky breasts and erect nipples. His weakness. He could almost feel the lump forming in her throat as he watched her swallow convulsively. Before she turned away, he caught a glimpse of the tears filling his lover’s eyes as he pulled the girl to the side of the bed, instructing her to suck his cock.

    “Look at me,” he said sternly.

    She did as she was told, as always, but with an emotion written on her face that he had not seen before. Anger. He felt her struggle as she blinked back tears, fighting not to let them fall. The look in her eyes said she hated him, and at that moment, he knew she probably did. But then her eyes fell to the girl on her knees in front of him, to her hand wrapped around his shaft as her blonde head bobbed up and down furiously. As he neared orgasm, he gripped the girl’s head and began to thrust, shoving himself deeper down her throat. Holding his woman’s eyes with his own, he exploded with a growl into the girl’s mouth. He watched his partner’s brow knit in thought as she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out and she quickly clamped it shut. He bit back a smile.

    He could tell that she was beginning to understand that regardless of the fucktoy they played with, no matter how another woman pleased him, it was a moment they would enjoy together. And he saw the proof of the realization glistening between her thighs.

    Tossing the petite girl onto the bed, he spread her legs wide and flicked his tongue over her clit as she writhed and screamed beneath him. He brought the girl to orgasm, but his eyes never strayed from his prize who was secured firmly to the chair. His plaything’s controlled breathing and the renewed spark in her eyes told him that she finally understood the point of the night, and was no longer hurt or angry. She was hungry.

    “Untie me,” she said, her tone even and sure.

    Without hesitation, he rose from the bed, leaving the girl breathless and wanting to fuck.
    He bent over his babygirl and grabbed a handful of her hair, snatching her head back to expose the curve of her throat.

    “Untie me, what?

    The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile as his hand plunged between her thighs, making her cry out when he impaled her with his fingers.

    “Untie me…please,” she panted.

    After unhooking her cuffs, he ran his fingers along the length of her body and loosened the knots at her ankles, allowing the rope to fall to the floor. He was proud of her, and answered her unspoken question with a nod. He melted into the palm of her hand when she placed it affectionately on his cheek, walking past him to the dresser. As she slid the top drawer open and removed the leather strap-on, he wondered again at how lucky they were to have found each other. Handing him the harness, she flashed him the smile that had the ability to reduce him to a puddle. He fastened the buckles at her hips and gave her nipple a tweak before turning her to face the mirror. She tilted her head as he stood behind her, his fingers splayed on her stomach. He stroked the strap-on she wore and smiled at their reflection as she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. She was his fantasy come to life, and she pleased him like no other.

    She turned her attention to the girl. “My turn.”


  5. Flash Fiction – The Birthday Present

    June 5, 2012 by Heather Cole

    The moment I opened the door, I knew she was a present for me. Standing on my welcome mat in a sundress of white lawn, her curly auburn hair captured at the nape of her neck, was a vision of alabaster skin and green eyes. The vision came complete with a light dusting of freckles decorating her pert nose. She looked innocent. Fresh.

    She flashed me a smile and then her gaze dropped to the ground. I recognized the signs at once, the subtle physical cues of a submissive in training.

    “Mistress sent me,” she said in a firm tone.

    “Of course she did.”  I smiled and fell silent, waiting to see what she would do.

    My friend was breaking in a new sub, and she had called several weeks ago to tell me about the birthday present she was sending. I didn’t know a lot about the woman in front of me except that she was fairly new to kink and that my friend described her service as “enthusiastic.”

    She shifted her weight back and forth, and then green eyes flashed up at me. “Are you going to let me inside or just stare?”

    I pushed the door open and motioned her inside, barely managing to cover my expression of shock. I expected her to wait in the foyer for further instructions, but she breezed past me without another look in my direction.

    I breathed deeply, inhaling her scent of honeysuckle. Thin sandals were secured around slender ankles, and the idea sprung to mind of her tied and helpless across my bed. As I watched her lithe form disappear down the hallway and into my living room, my fingers itched to lay a crop across the white expanse of her back.

    “Cheeky,” I muttered to no one.

    Ignoring my unexpected guest for a moment, I padded into the kitchen to get a glass of iced tea. I nibbled absentmindedly at my lip and pondered what to do with her. She was beautiful and unruly, and I recognized the unspoken challenge in her eyes. I knew it intimately, because not so long ago I had been in her shoes challenging the control of my Master. But I had little practice topping submissives. The planning, the plotting, the anticipation of a submissive’s needs was exhausting, in my opinion. What the hell was I going to do with her?

    Previous to my present’s arrival, I had been spending the morning hard at work. My hair was back in a high ponytail, and I was wearing my glasses. Dressed in yoga pants and a ‘kinky nerd’ t-shirt, I was nowhere near sexy or mentally prepared for a scene. For a moment I entertained the idea of calling my friend to tell her just what I thought about her catching me off-guard, but I knew that was exactly the reaction she hoped for. Damn Dommes and their mind fucks.

    By the time I made my way to the living room, my present was curled on the sofa as she leafed through a magazine.

    “Did your Mistress give you specific instructions?”

    “Yes,” she said, without glancing up.

    I waited for her to continue, but as the silence stretched between us, I felt the first bite of an emotion I hadn’t expected. Irritation.

    “Care to elaborate, or are you a gift I’m only supposed to admire. Not unwrap?”

    “Mistress said that you’re a slave.”

    “I am.”

    She shifted on the couch, one foot tapping against the floor. “Why have I been gifted to a slave? You can’t Top me.”

    She was correct in her own way. Domination didn’t come easily to me. I enjoyed brief periods of it, but in my heart I was a slave to my Master. But if there was one thing I couldn’t abide, it was a sassy newbie throwing labels in my face like confetti. I had earned my collar, and if I had anything to say about it, she was going to do some serious work towards hers tonight.

    “The simple truth of submission is that no one can Top you without permission. Answer me this:  did you deliberately and willingly accept your Mistress as your Domme?”

    “Yes. Of course.” She frowned.

    “And you willingly entered her service to train as her slave?”

    My present nodded.

    “Then your Mistress gifted you to me for the afternoon.” I tilted my head to the side and watched the emotions flicker across her face.

    “It doesn’t matter who you are then.” She stared over my shoulder, her voice soft. “If I trust my Mistress, if I wish to be her slave and complete my training…”

    “Exactly,” I said. With a loud sigh I stood up and stretched. “You always have a choice and a safeword, but I need to know what you’re going to do. I have a deadline, so if you’re only here to chat and be bratty, I’d prefer to do it after writing hours.”

    Her green eyes widened and then dropped. Her fingers began their twisting dance inside her pockets. “I choose to submit.”

    The words passed her lips, and I was suddenly in motion, a fistful of her silky hair tight in my grasp. I pulled her head back with a vicious tug and watched as her full lips parted with a gasp. I kissed her hard on the lips, my teeth snagging her lower lip as I pulled away. I slowly pressed into the rosy flesh until she winced and growled into the pink shell of her ear.

    “Thank you for your submission, my present, and in return for it I intend to beat your precious ass. Now go to your knees, little girl, and address me properly before I get my toys.”

    “Yes, Mistress,” she answered.

    I traced a fingernail along her spine as she knelt to kiss the arch of my foot. Goosebumps traced across her skin and she shivered.

    Oh how I loved a good birthday present.


  6. Flash Fiction: The Switch

    April 13, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    He loved that her body was his playground, his wonderland to explore without limits and it amazed him that she never told him no. It didn’t matter how exhausted her body was when he woke her at 4:30 a.m., or how he pinched her nipples hard enough to make her cry out, she still didn’t tell him no. The only safeword they really needed was stop that shit.

    Her long hair felt like strands of silk as he twisted it around his hand and tugged hard, making her moan as she rose to her hands and knees on the bed. It was hard for him to hurt her because it wasn’t his nature, but the way she responded when he did made his head swim.

    The sweat from her naked body felt cool on his skin as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “I want to feel what you feel,” he whispered, the brush of his lips on her ear making her body quiver.

    Noticing her smile transform into a wicked grin as she slid from the bed, he laid on his back and slowly sucked their mingled juices from his fingers, taking pleasure in every drop. He loved the way she tasted, the way she smelled.

    He waited patiently, watching her search her bag for the silver plug that he’d grown so fond of seeing nestled snugly in her ass. He thought it was beautiful, and knowing that she wore it just for him made it even more so.

    When they first met, she’d identified herself as a submissive, but it didn’t take him long to realize she was more than that. He remembered their power exchange the first time he’d fucked her, and how he’d watched her move back and forth between her submissive and dominant identities, seemingly unaware of the transition. The wild look in her eyes reminded him of a caged animal who would have devoured him if set free. And he would have let her.

    When she returned to his side on the bed, her submissive essence had waned and her dominant disposition had stepped into the forefront. He was hers to do with as she pleased, and a flash of surprise ignited a new hunger for her when she dipped the small stainless steel plug into his mouth without saying a word. There was no desire to resist her and when she climbed on top of him to spread his legs, he did so willingly. His cock grew hard again as she slid the plug into him and he grabbed her hips, eagerly snatching her to his mouth, but only because she let him. He knew she was in control and she was going to use him. He wanted it desperately, and as he felt the softness of her lips around him, he knew it was only the beginning.


  7. Flash Fiction: Change of Plans

    April 10, 2012 by Heather Cole

    “I’m feeling slutty tonight,” he said. He knotted his wingtips with a decisive motion and stood, staring at me in the reflection of the vanity mirror.

    “Alright.”

    I concentrated on threading a gold hoop through my earlobe and felt his words in my gut as if I had eaten too much ice cream too quickly.

    “Looks like it’s the corner bar then.”

    I didn’t change out of my red dress and heels. My only concession to this evening’s new plans was the string of condoms I added to my purse. I wasn’t the architect of tonight’s fantasy come to life, and like some masochistic Girl Scout, I decided to be prepared for anything.

    Two hours later we were ensconced in the dingy hangout, our best dinner clothes standing out like beacons along the coast of the bar’s midnight patina. I tapped a heel on the rung of my bar stool and shook my head slightly. It was the third potential I had rejected that evening. Women flocked to him. They always had. Something about the deadly combination of his slightly nerdish glasses and devil’s smile were a siren’s call to almost every vagina in the vicinity, but I always had the final say in who was to become his plaything for the night.

    I finally settled on a petite, young-ish woman, painfully thin with long blond hair. Almost the exact physical opposite of me. We drove her to a nearby hotel as he explained that I would enjoy watching him fuck her. I remained silent, observing her take note of the details of our clothes and the make of our car. When her hand settled on my thigh, light as butterfly wings, I knew she had committed herself.

    At the hotel he stripped off her thin top and micro-mini as I settled into a corner chair with a splash of whiskey in a hotel glass. Something inside me eased at the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to please him fully. She was too much inexperience and not enough flesh to cushion his sharp desires. Even after he turned her over his knee for a brief spanking and had freed his cock for her to suck, I felt reassured.

    I stood silently, letting the thick glass drop to the desk, the sound almost completely obscured by the sounds of her enthusiasm. My dress fell to the floor with a soft swoosh, and I stalked towards them. His gaze turned from unfocused to sharp as he watched my approach, his eyes hungrily sliding from my heels, to the stockings and finally my corset and gold collar.

    I tapped her on the shoulder, almost laughing at her startled expression. “Let me show you how to do this properly.”

    I barely had time to brace myself before he had a fistful of hair and was pushing me to my knees. I wasn’t graceful, and he wasn’t gentle. Forcing his way past my lips and deep into my throat, I almost gagged on his thick cock. He didn’t slow his rhythm, the grip on my hair forcing me to meet every thrust. I stared up at him, watching the nuances of desire flit across his face, knowing that he was mine again.

    When he came, there was nothing but the sound of his guttural cry and the taste of cum. He collapsed back on the couch with a boneless motion.

    “She’s gone,” he said.

    It was only the two of us again.


  8. Flash Fiction: And So It Begins

    April 6, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    The minutes passed like hours, her imagination running wild as she lay blindfolded on the bed, wondering what he would do to her first. She followed the handwritten instructions he’d left for her on the hotel room desk down to the smallest detail, hoping he would be pleased when he came through the door. She wanted him to see her exactly as he’d pictured her in his mind. She was wearing the white tank top and black panties he’d requested. Her legs were spread and her need was exposed. The soles of her feet were touching, and she didn’t dare move.

    This would be the first time he would touch her unrestricted. She already knew what he was capable of, and the vivid images that flashed through her mind soaked her panties. She could almost feel the sweet sensation of his tongue on her skin, his fingers exploring her wetness and his hands claiming her body. She moaned softly and fought the urge to squeeze her thighs together.

    The click of the door refocused her scattered thoughts. Her heart raced and her eyes darted back and forth trying to get a sense of his whereabouts, but she could see nothing. And just as she was sure the anticipation would be her undoing, she felt the warmth of his mouth on her toes. Her body relaxed and she bit back a smile. She had only one thought.

    Yes, please.


  9. Flash Fiction: The Fourth Glass

    April 4, 2012 by Heather Cole

    It began with a glass of white wine, followed by two more. The bar had been her refuge for most of the party, and she had chosen one tucked into a corner, far from the path of her relatives. Partially obscured by a tall potted palm, she perched on a barstool, clutching the stem of the wineglass for support. The silk of her Halston dress had begun to itch, making the gold bangles at her wrist click together with an irritating sound.

    After the third glass, there was a man to buy her a fourth. She didn’t recognize his sandy blond hair or the gray-blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, but she instinctively understood the expression on his face. He wore a nice suit but fidgeted with the collar, and after paying for their drinks, he held out his hand.

    “Let’s take a walk.”

    They didn’t go far. They found a ladies’ retiring room and lurched through the door in a tangle of hurried caresses and searching lips. One of his large hands cupped the back of her neck, nudging her chignon into disarray, as his other hand found its way underneath her skirt. She eagerly spread her legs and opened her mouth to his searching tongue.

    With a quick shift he had turned her around to face the large mirror hanging above the vanity. She heard the sound of a belt being loosened and a zipper, and then he was inside her. A moan escaped, and she braced both hands against the glass as his body rocked against her ass. The glass fogged with her breath, fingerprints streaking the surface. As her orgasm edged closer, she rested her head on her arms and savored every brush of his hands against her skin, desperate to remember everything.