The Kiss

I stare at his mouth while he speaks. His upper lip is fuller than the lower one. His mouth turns down slightly at the corners, giving him a rather stern expression that does not match the gentleness in his eyes.

I watch his lips move and wonder how they would feel on mine.

How would he kiss me? Would he be tentative, unsure? Or confident and insistent, dominant?

Would he lean down slowly, teasing me, breathing softly against my cheek before softly pressing his lips to mine?

Would he lick my lips before kissing them? Nibble?

Would he kiss me lingeringly, leaving me gasping for air? Would he pull back, open his eyes and look into mine? Maybe smile.

Would he open his mouth, his tongue prying my lips apart? Would he explore me? Would he be tender or forceful? Cup my chin gently, or would he grab my hair and pull my head back to stretch my throat? Would he be hungry for me, devouring my mouth with his?

How would his tongue feel against mine? Soft? Rough?

How would he smell? Does he use aftershave or just soap? Maybe I would inhale and grow dizzy on his own distinctive scent…

What would he taste of? Coffee? Alcohol? Smoke?

How would his stubble rub against my soft skin? Would he take care not to cause me discomfort, or would his passion make him forget himself?

Where are his hands? Still holding my face or head, or have they travelled to my waist, my ass, between my legs? Would he slide his fingers up under my top? Or down under my jeans?

Would I moan, hear my own heart beat drumming in my ears? Would I feel his heart against my chest? Would I feel him harden against my stomach?

Would his lips leave mine to explore, his tongue languidly tracing along my jaw towards my earlobe and down to my collar bones? Would I arch my back to give him easier access? Of course I would.

By now, have my hands found his hips, his ass? Would I be grinding against him, wet and wanting more? Of course I would.

Would he make me wait? Make me ask, beg even? Or would he step back, lift off his shirt and undress in front of me, revealing himself and leaving me in no doubt about his intentions? Would I follow suit or have him strip me?

Would he kiss my breasts, lick my nipples, suck them and bite them? Would his fingers delve inside me, spreading me, stroking me, making me squirm?

Would he take me right there, on the floor, laying me down and fucking me hard, or would he bring me to bed?

My eyes slightly glazed over, I become aware that he has stopped speaking. He is looking at me, waiting for my reply…


Copyright, 2017,

All rights reserved.


A Fresh Start

“Lizzy! Could you for pity’s sake stay still?” he roared, face flushed with frustration and anger. He flung the brush to the floor and paced, running paint splattered fingers through his thick auburn curls, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry, I’m really trying but it’s freezing in here. I know artists don’t make much money, but can’t you put on some heating?” she pouted, huddling into a tight curl, wrapped her arms around herself, covering her breasts.

He felt his blood pressure soar and fought the urge to march over and show her the back of his hand, “Stay calm, never strike in anger,” he thought.

“Take five,” he tossed a blanket towards her and left the studio to go for a cigarette.

Sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, his mind reeled. She was breathtakingly beautiful: her skin, like alabaster; perfect soft, generous curves; round, full breasts with small pale nipples and… that face! God, her face; it had haunted him in his dreams since the first day he saw her. Heart-shaped, with a tiny pointed chin, an upturned, elfin nose covered in a smattering of brown freckles, framed by a short, close-cropped boyish hairstyle, that only served to accentuate her femininity. He knew at once he needed to paint her.

She was quiet in class, rarely offering her opinion, preferring to sit and listen, take notes. Although, when he challenged her directly one day, she spoke articulately, and surprisingly passionately, about the piece under review, skillfully and convincingly defending her interpretation. He enjoyed watching the rose tint that bloomed in her cheeks as she argued her case.

She was proving to be a challenging subject, not only because of her shivering and twitching, but he was struggling to capture her essence, her energy; the indefinable quality she carried… her aura.

Stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of his boot, he turned to re-enter the studio.

She was gone.



“Lizzy!!!” he roared, growing more impatient by the second.

“I’m here! I just needed the loo,” blanket still wrapped around her, she walked over to her position and faced him, “I’m ready,” her chin lifted defiantly, as she discarded the wooly throw and stood before him, self assured and with a complete absence of inhibition.

He was aware of an ache at his groin; felt himself harden and strain against his jeans.

She lowered herself to the floor and began to arrange herself. Casting his eyes over the canvas beside him, he instantly knew what was wrong. He needed to portray her core self, reveal that incredible power she wielded quite unconsciously.

“No, not like that. Lie back. Open your legs for me,” he instructed, watching her hesitate for just a second before she acquiesced and parted her thighs, revealing a small dark V of hair and rosy pink lips.

His cock swelled.

He grabbed the canvas, threw it across the room and mounted a fresh one on the tripod, “Fresh start! Now, for god’s sake Lizzy, stay still!”


I was quite liberal with Leonora’s prompt… forgive me?


Copyright, 2017,

All rights reserved.

The Boy

rainbowcircle1-150Prompt #227

Have you seen the new guy yet? Or do you remember back when he as still the new guy? Write a sexy story about him. Yes, him!


He was beautiful; the new boy.

I watched him as he stacked the glasses, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he worked, crouched down beneath the bar. He was singing something very low under his breath. He sounded good. I liked that he kept his own accent rather than adopting an American twang the way most people do when they sing pop songs.

He glanced up at me, his eyes light brown, and grinned. He knew I had been looking at him.

I felt my cunt throb as I stood over him. I’m old enough to be his mother, but in that moment that didn’t bother me. I just wanted to fuck him. I wanted to strip him naked and admire his young, firm body. I wanted those full lips of his on mine and on my clit. I wanted to ride him hard and fast and leave him drained.

He stood up and I realised he was a full foot taller than me. Standing very close to me, looking down at me, I felt a shift in the energy between us. Young as he was, it felt that he was in charge. The heat from his body, the scent of his skin, the sound of his breath, made me dizzy with desire.

“Anything you need me to do?” he asked. I hesitated, torn between telling him exactly what I wanted and staying professional.

He made it easier for me, “Coz I’m happy to do whatever you need,” and bent his head fractionally down towards me. I grabbed his hair, pulling his face down to mine and our lips clashed. He was as hungry for me as I was for him. His tongue in my mouth, his hands on my breasts, massaging them through my blouse, my cunt aching for his cock. He pushed my skirt up over my hips and slipped his fingers underneath my pants, smiling at how wet I was.

Leaning me up against the bar, he played with me, his eyes looking straight into mine the entire time until mine closed as I came, shaking and clinging to him for support.

A loud bang on the glass doors shattered the moment. The regulars were outside, waiting for their morning coffees or hair of the dog. He stepped back from me. Smiling, he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them before walking over to open up as I fixed my clothes.

I was already thinking about closing time.


Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

Brief Encounter

People say I’m the life of the party, coz I tell a joke or two…”

Her voice was low and soft as she sang along to the background music, her hips gently swaying to Smokey’s high tenor as she browsed the shelves. Her shoulders moved in time to the beat and I noticed her feet had started to shuffle and she slapped her hand against her thigh rhythmically. She seemed lost in her own private world. Her complete absence of self-consciousness was beguiling.

I lingered to watch her, hoping she couldn’t feel my eyes on her. Dressed in faded jeans, a pretty feminine blouse and Converse sneakers, her chestnut hair piled up into a messy topknot with a few little wisps curled at the nape of her neck.

The music changed to another Robinson song and she instantly adjusted her movement. I heard her sing along, Baby let’s cruise, away from here”.

She knew her Motown; the girl had good taste! Totally lost in the music her hands rose into the air, finders clicking. With no warning for me to move and hide, she spun around; her eyes closed for a fraction of a second before she opened them and spotted me. A flash of surprise in her moss green eyes and I watched as her cheeks flushed pink. She tugged on her fringe as if to hide behind it, but I saw a small smile on her lips.

I wanted to go over to her, ask her name, but my feet seemed to have sprouted roots into the shop floor. The feeling of loss, of missed opportunity, as I watched her put down the jar of pasta sauce she was holding and turn to hurry in the opposite direction was extraordinary and out of proportion.

Her image remains burned onto my memory; her small stature, generous, shapely curves, the speckling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, that shy smile…

I will never know her name.


Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

Friday Flash – Room Service


“This way please, Sir. Your bags have been delivered to your room.”

I watched her as she led me up the stairs; my eyes following the black seam on her stockings which disappeared under a tight black skirt that hugged her hips and ass, her high heels silent on the plush red carpet. She glanced back over her shoulder and offered me little smile. Her lips were painted a deep, dark red and were perfectly shaped against her smooth ivory skin.

Turning the key, she opened the door to my suite and slipped inside, turning on the lights. She gestured to the left, “The bathroom,” she walked on, pointing out things, “your luggage, Sir, and here is your bed.” She turned to face me, her eyebrows high, silently checking if I had a question.

I took a twenty from my wallet and held it out to her, “Thank you.”

Dipping her head, she looked up at my from under her dark lashes, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, “I’m sorry, Sir, we are not allowed to accept tips here. But thank you,” her voice was soft.

“I would be tempted to ask to you to make an exception for me but I don’t want to get you into trouble,” I replied.

She walked towards me, her brilliant blue eyes locked on mine, stopping a foot from me. I could smell her perfume, a woody, musky scent.

She reached out and pointed to a small button on the wall. I was surprised to notice her chipped nail polish, everything else about her was immaculate.

“If you want anything… anything at all, Sir, please just press this and I will come. I am here to serve you. Anything…”

She squeezed past me, barely brushing my chest with her shoulder and clicked the door closed.

I napped for a while, tired from my journey, and woke naked under the soft cotton sheets. My crotch throbbed with want. I closed my eyes and pictured her in her fitted classic black maid’s uniform, her curves hugged by the restrictive fabric. I imagined ripping her blouse open with my blade and exposing her milky white breasts. I wondered what her nipples were like… I decided they would be small and pink.

I thought of her kneeling before me, head bowed, the nape of her neck exposed beneath the impeccably shaped blue-black 1920’s style bob as she awaited instruction.

I thought of the things I wanted to do to her body. How I wanted to feel her skin redden under my palm as I spanked her generous, round bottom. How I wanted to trace my knife along her skin, leaving pink lines, as she lay completely still for me. How I wanted to push her head against my groin, making her take the full length of my cock into her throat.

A groan escaped my lips.

My eyes wandered to the small service button across the room, and I thought, “She had said if I needed ‘anything’”…



Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

Friday Flash #4 – Inspiration


“Fuck it!” Georgia ripped the page from the Underwood with such force it tore in two.

She pushed back her chair and stomped towards the kitchen, eliciting a squeal from Percy, the fat tabby at her feet. Glaring at her reproachfully, he retreated to the safety of the bed.

The deadline was looming and she had nothing. Her editor needed a piece of hot flash fiction.

“Hot enough to melt our readers panties and make them slide down their thighs while they fingerfuck themselves to heaven,” were the exact words she used.

But the words just weren’t coming today… and at this rate her readers wouldn’t be either.

Gulping down cold tap water she heard a ding from the MacBook, which meant He was online. A slow grin replaced her frown as she sat at her countertop.

↪ “How’s the story coming along?”

↩ “It’s not…”

↪“ Are you using that antique to write?”

↩ “I can’t type to a screen, not for sex. I need to hit those keys and hear the click-clack.”

↪ “Little weirdo! So, need a helping hand?”

↩ “What do you suggest?”

↪ “Take your top and bra off. Send me evidence.”

She complied, took a shot and sent it to him.

↪ “Good girl. I love to see those pretty pink nipples. Pinch them. Hard.”

↪ “Imagine my teeth on them, biting down, while I shove my fingers inside your wet cunt. Are you wet? Show me.”

Pulling off her shorts and knickers, she opened her legs and angled the cam to take a snap of her glistening lips, her fingers spreading them wide for his viewing.

↪ “Beautiful. Just beautiful. Think of my mouth moving down your body, reaching your smooth mound and biting into your skin, just enough to leave marks, while I pin your hands by your sides. You can’t stop me from sucking on that swollen clit of yours. Not that you’d want to stop me, right?”

Face flushed, breath rasping in her dry throat, she managed to reply.

↩ “ No Sir, please don’t stop.”

↪ “Tell me what you are?”

↩ “ I’m a horny, filthy little slut, Sir.”

↪ “A???”

↩ “Sorry, Sir. I’m YOUR horny, filthy little slut.”

↪ “That’s better. Maybe, for that indiscretion, I should tell you to stop…”

↩ “Please, Sir! Please don’t make me stop!”

↪ “No. Stop. Now.”

Tears of anger and frustration pricked her eyes.

↪ “Go back, write something so indecent and obscene that you blush with shame as you type it. THEN you may finish.”

↪ “Answer me… or I will deny you for longer.”

↩ “Yes, Sir. I’ve stopped. I am sorry, Sir.”

↪ “Go. Tap on that piece of old junk you love. Make me proud.”

↩ “I will, Sir. Shall I send you a scan of it?”

↪ “Good girl. Yes, I want to see what my little whore thinks up. Now go.”

Still naked, Georgia sat back at the old typewriter. The click-clacking began.


ps – love it when I hit bang on 500!

Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

Sin To Win – Friday Flash #3



IMG_1306“Seriously, are we crazy?”

Her eyes, sparkling with mischief, Jules giggled, “We need this Sash, we need a bit of fun!” and pulled open the heavy door to the bar.

A heady cocktail of leather, smoke and alcohol assaulted their nostrils and they squinted to adjust to the low lighting after the warm evening sun outside.

Behind the bar stood a shaven-headed, giant of a man in a tight black tee-shirt and leather vest, tattoos of topless women and crucifixes competing for space on his massive arms and throat.

“Aw fuck, Jules, what exactly happens here?” Sasha whispered, a nervous sweat piercing her smooth cappuccino skin.

“You saw the poster outside, we get a free drink if we… just think of it as a dare, ok?” before turning her gaze to the barman, “Hey, we are here for the Sin To Win,” flashing a brilliant smile at him that earned her a wry cocked eyebrow in reply, as he continued polishing glasses.

“Sure thing, lady,” he slid a glass jar stuffed with pieces of folded paper across the bar, “Pick a Sin from the Bin. You girls should know, this ain’t no ordinary Happy Hour; no Sin, no drink,” his voice was raspy, difficult to make out over the background rock music.

“I’ll have a…” Jules scanned the cocktail menu, “… Long Island Iced Tea.”

He pushed the jar closer to her and she dipped her hand inside.

“Well? What is it?” breathed Sasha.

Jules didn’t reply; instead she revolved her bar stool to take in the other customers in the room, peering into the half-light, until a smile spread across her lips and she rose to walk across the floor. Sasha picked up the tiny folded paper and read the Sin and couldn’t suppress her smile. This was perfect for Jules, just perfect.

The beat of the music changed from up-tempo rock to a deep, rhythmic bass beat. Jules swayed in time to it as she made her way over to a bearded man nursing a whiskey at a small wooden table in the centre of the bar.

A slow smile crept across the stranger’s face as she raised her arms over her head and swung her hips centimeters from his lap, her flimsy summer dress floating as she moved. Turning in a lazy half circle to present her ass to him, she rocked and grinded, never quite touching his body with hers, glancing over her shoulder at him through her long bronze curls occasionally. Just as the song drew near it’s end, he reached out as if to touch her, but Jules was fast, effortlessly sidestepping and giggling, “Not part of the deal, Mister!” before giving him the briefest flash of the pink thong under her dress and returning the bar.

“Your turn!” she laughed as she sipped her reward.

Sasha selected a note from the jar. Her eyes widened as they met with the barman’s, “Ok then, let’s do this,” and she leaned across the bar…

Copyright, 2016,
All rights reserved.