Flashers
FLASHES OF SIN: Envy
Between my thighs, a man’s hands part my legs, his tongue buried in my cunt. I didn’t offer him the shining band of gold around his finger. The woman on the other side of the room, who is lying in my bed, did. The same woman my husband is indulging himself in.
I’m torn between the man devouring my pussy and the vision of my husband playing her body with Stradivarian skill. I’ve been watching him undress her one piece at a time so he can worship each part of her.
Her shirt comes off first, my husband’s deft fingers teasing each button open. He spends time looking at her before easing the shirt off her shoulders and casting it aside.
My gaze follows his mouth and hands, watching them glide down her body. Off come her shoes, stockings, skirt. His lips spend a decadent amount of time kissing her thighs and nothing else. I see her legs trembling.
With the ease of intimate knowledge, my husband liberates her breasts from the confines of her bra. Kissing her once, he takes her nipple into his mouth.
My envy burns hot.
She’s already come once and her panties are still on.
WONDERS
Do they know?
She wonders. She doesn’t think they do. But, what if they do? She enjoys pondering that.
Because she’s always at her rawest. At least, in physical form. A side she only shows to a very select few.
Does the smoke give her away? Alert them to her presence?
Tangled hair drawn back in a messy ponytail. Stinky breath. Armpits, too. Semen stains on her lingerie. The stale odor of raunchy, outrageous sex drifting up from between her thighs.
Do they know?
She exhales a final stream of cigarette smoke and stubs out the butt.
Do they know?
She’ll ponder the question again when there’s a chance to feed the next urge.
THE WEIGHT
Three damp bar napkins stare at me from the tabletop, taunting me to get on with it.
The crowd at the bar has turned over three times since I ordered my first cocktail. Only one of the original patrons remains. The collection of soggy napkins in front of him trumps mine.
He’s up a drink.
I’m up on him.
The weight of a stare. He feels mine, returns it with ever increasing frequency until it takes the form of an anchor.
At last, he meets my eyes. There is no shy, half-smile only desperate, silent resignation.
He pins some cash under his half-finished beer and makes his way over.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Self-loathing tinges his voice.
I trail after him into the dark, stinking alley.
He pushes me against the wall and shoves his tongue into my mouth. The wretched taste of misery overwhelms me.
I fumble at his fly. He slaps my hands away and yanks up my skirt.
Coarse fingers dig between my thighs for panties that aren’t there.
“Fucking whore.”
He releases himself from his jeans, growling as he thrusts into me.
The weight is over.
TELL ME…
Were you watching last night, peeking through your window blinds at my wife sleeping on our bed dressed in nothing but moonlight? Did you see me come in and wake her with my hands and mouth? Did it excite you when she invited me into bed? Could you see us kissing, watch our mouths meet?
Wasn’t she beautiful when she slid onto my cock? Could you even see me lying in her shadow or only her glorious quicksilver form moving above me? Did you hear her make me come? Did you see what I did after I came? You didn’t really think I’d go to sleep knowing she wasn’t satisfied, did you? Could you see her face while I pleased her with my fingers, my tongue, my cock?
Were you surprised by how demanding she was? How long did you last before you couldn’t stand it anymore and started stroking yourself? Did the sound of her orgasm push you over the edge? Isn’t she wild when she finally lets go? How much time will you spend peeking out that window, waiting for the next show?
Do you really believe we don’t know you’re watching?
HOME AT LAST
A delayed flight, luggage lost then found. Everything working against him, slowing him down. All he wants is to see her, smell her, touch her, taste her, fuck her.
Home at last, much later than anticipated. His key twisting in the lock, his other hand loosening his tie. Inside, darkness and quiet stillness tells him she grew tired of waiting.
The image of her lying warm under the covers wearing the little top and panties he requested stirs him. He spent his trip thinking of nothing but her backside presented to him, of peeling that little red thong down her thighs just enough to get it out of the way.
Undressed, sliding between the sheets, he thinks he’ll have to be satisfied with just holding her close until morning. He curls himself against her back, pressing his cock against her ass and kissing her awake enough to let her know he’s home.
To his delight, she eases the panties down her thighs and arches her body in welcome. Tender and slow, he fucks her in the quiet darkness while she floats in her half-dream state. An orgasm each before drifting off.
Ah, home at last.
FLASHES OF SIN: Wrath
The flare of the match leaves a perfect green imprint of the flame on her vision. Rich sulphur masks his familiar scent. His cigarette thrusts into the flame, drawing it up, dimming it. A snap of his wrist extinguishes the match plunging them back into darkness.
Strong fingers circle her upper arm pinning her to the rough masonry of the recessed doorway. His thigh insinuates itself between hers. A mixture of cigarette smoke and warm breath streams away into the cold night air.
He takes his time, enough for two more draws on the cigarette, his thigh rubbing a harsh rhythm against her panties.
“What are you doing here?” Backlit by the streetlight he’s reduced to a featureless hulking silhouette.
She doesn’t answer.
“And dressed like that.”
Whore’s dress. Silk stockings. Stiletto heels. Crimson lipstick bled black under the streetlight’s sodium vapor rays.
“It’s a surprise,” she whispers.
Her defiant answer looses his wrath. The cigarette’s orange eye arcs out, exploding on the blacktop in a shower of sparks. Vicious fingers claw under her dress tearing her panties free.
“You know how much…”
Freeing his cock, he thrusts into her.
“…I hate surprises…”
