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Copyright © 2008 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 and Flash Fiction III.
Enjoy!
I put the camera down and rummaged through my props box, coming up with a long, fat, candy-pink dildo that would contrast nicely with what little remained of my model’s sheer black lingerie.
“Let’s try a few shots with this,” I said, handing it to her where she sat, legs spread wide over the arms of her chair, lips gaping open and glistening.
“I can’t,” she said, nervous, hesitant, and blushing, as she stared at the plastic shaft in her hands. “I’m... I’m still a virgin.”
That completely changed my plans for the rest of the day.
(For H.E.S. with love)
Inspections could, and did, come without notice, at any time of the day or night.
She lay on her back, legs in the air, holding her thighs spread open as much as she could.
He trailed the soft silk scarf over her labia, over her mons, slowly, ever so slowly. Feeling carefully for the tiniest snag or catch or roughness that would indicate a lack of attention to proper grooming. She must always be perfectly smooth for him.
The tail end of the scarf trailed past her clit.
“Satisfactory,” he said, and she trembled with relief.
Underneath the modest, businesslike pin-striped skirt, she wore a far-too-practical pair of plain cotton panties. They soon joined her skirt on the floor. I bent her over my lap.
The lecture that followed covered a number of topics appropriate to an employee’s first day. How the firm disciplines girls who make mistakes in their work. The proper way to address one’s superiors. My personal tastes in lingerie, or the omission thereof. And so on.
When my arm got tired, I put her on her knees. Then I gave her Lesson One in Sucking Off Partners.
Of all the things my job entails, I think the most satisfying is mentoring young people.
I have a little app on my laptop that alerts me every twenty minutes to have a stretch and rest my eyes briefly. It beeped.
I looked down at the girl kneeling beside me. “Open up,” I said.
She opened her mouth nice and wide, lifting the puddle of cum with her tongue to show me it was still there. I nodded and turned back to my writing.
It was that or the bit-gag: I let her choose. After all, a fellow needs a little bit of quiet to get some work done.
I always think of flowers.
Not carnations — that’s too delicate of a pink, too light, too pastel. Although we did pass through that stage, some time ago.
But roses. Rose pink, that’s right. The deep, dark pink that saturates the petals, just at the border of not-red. The full, rich, ripe color that makes one think that the flower was pink to begin with, but is now blushing hotly as well.
We are almost at that color. Soon, I think.
To the sound of her sobs, I continue spanking.
“No. All the way down; right down your throat. Your lips need to hit bottom, and then you get that tongue stretched out and busy on my balls.”
“I can’t! Oh, please, I’ve tried and tried, I just can’t do it!”
“I very much regret it, if anything in my earlier instructions sounded like an option.”
Author's notes on Flash Fiction IV
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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