Five (More) Smutty Flash Fictions

I wasn’t kidding when I said y’all delivered with the prompts! To that end, for my third post of Smutathon 2020, here are five more smutty flash fictions inspired by the one- and two-word prompts I requested on Twitter.

Follow the Twitter account to keep up with the event – and don’t forget to donate!

Afterward

(Prompt: “biscuits,” offered by @V_greyauthor)

My wife fucks other men.

She does it with my blessing. In fact, I really, really enjoy it. Knowing that she’s out getting laid, while I’m at home wondering what she’s up to and who with, makes me so fucking hard I can hardly stand it. Which, of course, is the idea.

I’m not allowed to get myself off while she’s out. She expects me to be hard and waiting when she gets home. Her sex drive is such that half the time, getting laid just makes her hornier for more. If she’s in the mood when she gets home, she’ll push me down on the bed and ride me until I explode inside of her recently-fucked cunt, then have me eat her out until she comes two or three more times.

Of course, sometimes she’s too tired when she gets home. Then I have to wait until the next day. On those nights, I go to sleep with my cock throbbing, aching for release.

Whatever happens, we always end the night cuddling, eating biscuits, and talking about her adventures.

My wife fucks other men, and I get off on it. But I also love knowing I’m the only one she’ll come home and eat biscuits in bed with.

Unrequited

(Prompt: “you wish,” offered by @makeupandsin)

Unrequited love is the fucking worst.

He doesn’t want me. He’s never wanted me. I know the kind of women he dates, and they’re nothing like me. Truth is, feeding this hopeless crush – this hopeless love – turns me the fuck on. It’s like a bruise I can’t stop poking. The little jolt of emotionally masochistic pleasure is addictive.

Night after night I lie in bed, rubbing my clit and thinking of him. I imagine him pinning me to the bed with those strong, muscular arms. Sometimes, in my fantasy, he tells me I’m beautiful and he loves me. Other times, he tells me I’m a filthy little slut and it’s pathetic how long and how obviously I’ve mooned over him.

I’ve tried to train myself out of this habit. I’ve tried to read erotica, watch porn, fantasise about other men, fantasise about women. But it always comes back to him. Even if I manage to get into another fantasy, at the point that I reach the point of orgasm it’s always his face I see, his voice I hear.

Unrequited love is the worst, but thinking of him gives me the best orgasms I’ve ever had.

Multiples

(Prompt: “once more,” offered by @QueerCourtesan)

(TW: CNC, forced orgasm)

He buries his fingers deeper into me, pounding my G-spot. “Again,” he orders. I don’t want to obey the order, but my body is conditioned to do as he says.

“Again.” 

“No, please…” 

“Fucking do it, slut.” 

He’s made me come so many times already that I am long past the point of pleasure. This is what he does after he’s denied me for a long time – forces the orgasms out of me until I beg for it to stop. The first one is blissful relief. The second and third, satiating pleasure. After that, I start to get oversensitive. By six or seven, it hurts. We passed ten a while ago and I’ve lost count. 

The torment comes from knowing this is a game I can’t win. As soon as I safeword, he’ll stop. However, until then, he’ll make me come as many times as he likes. Every forced orgasm takes one day off my next chastity sentence, which starts at six months.  

“Again.” The orgasm racks my body, making me buck my hips off the bed as another rush of wetness leaks out of me. 

“Again. Again. Again.” This time, they’re in such quick succession that I don’t have time to catch my breath between.

“Red!” The word slips out of my mouth before I can pause to decide if I can take any more of this torment in exchange for a shorter period of denial. 

“Seventeen. You did well this time. Your sentence is reduced to five months and fourteen days.”

Sharing

(Prompt: “your turn,” offered by @WitchoftheWands)

Master likes to share me with his friends at these parties. I love it, too, of course. It satisfies my slutty tendences without me feeling like I’m putting our D/s dynamic aside.

They’re all trusted friends, experienced in the lifestyle and trusted by Master with his favourite toy – me. I have a safeword, of course, but until I use it, they can do whatever they want with me.

Sometimes they want to spank me, bending me over their laps and reddening my ass in front of the whole room. Sometimes they just want service, sending me to fetch their drinks or shine their shoes.

I like it best when they want to fuck me. It seems that that’s what tonight is going to be. Being at the centre of a gangbang, with five or six men who all want me desperately. I might be the submissive, but god it makes me feel powerful.

The second man of the night is fucking me and I can tell he’s getting close to coming. I watch his muscles tense, listen to his incredibly fucking sexy groans. I won’t come unless one of them decides to be kind enough to give me the clitoral stimulation I need. But that’s okay. I get more satisfaction out of service than I do from orgasm.

When they’ve all finished with me, I know that Master will use me last. He’s happy to share, but at the end of the night, we both need the reminder that I’m his.

Anonymous

(Prompt: “swords,” offered by @just_a_gremlin)

I never knew her name.

We met in the queer bar downtown the first week I moved here. I didn’t ask her name, and she didn’t offer it or ask for mine. Her hair was shoulder length and dyed the colour of blood. She had a sword tattoo on her left arm.

She kissed me on the dance floor with lips that tasted of vodka and coke. Later, she pushed me up against the wall in a locked bathroom cubicle, pressing her fingers to my lips to keep me quiet and sliding my other hand down the front of my skirt.

Her fingers manipulated my cunt until I squirmed helplessly against her hand. When she made me come, she kissed me to swallow the sound I made. I wanted to reciprocate, but she didn’t want me to. She kissed me once more and slipped away into the night, leaving me still trembling.

I haven’t seen her since, but every time I come to the club, I still look out for a flash of scarlet hair and a sword tattoo.

I hope you enjoyed these smutty flash fictions! Thank you to everyone who offered a prompt. Please donate to Endometriosis UK using the link above!

Five Smutty Flash Fictions

Hey everyone! Smutathon 2020 is well underway, with writers from all over the world typing furiously for 12 hours to raise money for Endometriosis UK, a wonderful charity who deserve all your support.

I asked for one- or two-word prompts for smutty flash fictions on Twitter, and y’all DELIVERED. To that end, here are the first five inspired by your words.

More Tea?

(Prompt: “tea, please,” offered by @luminiferous)

It takes about 15 minutes before my knees and wrists start to ache. 25 minutes before “ache” turns to “pain”. Maybe half an hour before I can feel my muscles trembling with the sheer effort of holding me up.

Have you ever noticed how long half an hour is when your task is to stay very, very still in one position and not do anything?

I’ve been on all fours with the tea tray resting on my back for thirty one minutes, and my body and mind are engaged in a battle of wills. I know I could safeword if I had to, but I keep bargaining with myself to hold out for just another minute. Then just one more minute. And another. And another.

Sir and his friend are mostly ignoring me, except for occasionally reaching out a booted foot to caress me. I have long stopped listening to their conversation. I like doing this because I don’t have to talk, I don’t have to listen or think. Instead, I can let my mind go blissfully blank.

The feeling of Sir’s hand sliding across my naked ass sets my nerves tingling. Coupled with the challenge of staying still and in position, it takes all my concentration not to drop the tray.

I feel him pick up the teapot from the tray on my back.

“More tea?” he asks his friend.

Dessert

(Prompt: “hive mind,” offered by @jennkryst)

I don’t know how, but it seems that all this time, they were both thinking exactly the same thing as me. When I got the text message – “dinner at ours on Friday night?” – I allowed my mind to wander into a delicious fantasy realm for just a moment.

Dinner was delicious, of course – Kate is a chef and everything she makes is incredible. What I didn’t realise until part way through the meal, when their flirtation switched from “plausibly deniable” to “too obvious to ignore,” is that they had something very special in mind for dessert – me.

The way they laid out their proposition, seeming almost nervous for the first time all evening, might have been sleazy coming from anyone else. But from my two dearest friends, married for over twenty five years, it was both sweet and incredibly enticing.

From there, it happened with all the fluidity of long-term lovers coupled with the excitement of a brand new partner. First she ate me out while I sucked his cock, then he fucked me from behind while I went down on her until she squirted in my mouth. Later, they spit-roasted me, her strap-on filling my cunt while his cock filled my mouth until I came so hard I saw stars.

Hours later, and I’m the filling in a sweaty, exhausted, but very happy human sandwich in their big bed. “How did you know I wanted to fuck you both?” I ask them.

Their eyes meet over me and they both grin.

“Just a feeling,” Joe says.

“Call it the hive mind of thirty years of friendship,” Kate adds.

Bake Sale

(Prompt: “cookie,” offered by @ayalamoogsigan)

My wife is up shortly after dawn, making cookies for the church bake sale. Chocolate chip, lemon, peanut butter, oatmeal and raisin. She can’t decide which variety of her famous treats to bake, so she makes them all.

To my surprise, when I wander into the kitchen to get my morning coffee, she’s rolling out dough completely naked except for an apron. She flashes me a wicked grin as I pour coffee, my eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“Well, I only get flour all over my clothes otherwise,” she says. I lean against the counter and sip my coffee, watching her. She slides a tray of perfect, golden-brown chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and replaces it with a new tray of neat balls of dough.

She unties her apron, takes it off and hangs it on the peg on the door. “These take 8 minutes to bake so if you want to fuck me, you’d better do it quickly,” she says. I almost spit out a mouthful of coffee in shock. In eleven years of marriage I don’t think I’ve ever heard my shy, demure wife use the word “fuck” to describe sex. My cock, already half erect from the sight of her gorgeous mostly-naked body, springs fully to life. We haven’t connected much sexually in the last few months, and I have no idea where this new version of her has come from. Still, I have no complaints.

When I bend her over the kitchen sink and slide my hand between her legs, she’s already dripping wet. I push two fingers inside her but her hips thrust back against me, seeking more. My cock quickly replaces my fingers inside her, harder than I can remember it being in a long time.

She moans deeply and I feel her cunt clench around my cock. The gutteral noise I make involuntarily encourages her and she does it again and then again.

“Fuck… I’m not going to be… able to hold off… much longer if you keep doing that!”

“Don’t hold back, then,” she says, squeezing her vaginal muscles around me again. “Come in me, my love.”

The invitation and a couple more of those delicious squeezes is all I need to tip me over the edge. As I come down from my orgasm, I hold her close with one arm, while my other hand finds her clit. I’m wondering if I can get her off before…

Fuck. The oven alarm goes off to indicate the cookies are ready.

My wife extricates herself from my embrace and plans a kiss on my lips before retrieving the apron. “Later,” she says.

Commuter Train

(Prompt: “tickets please,” offered by @witteringwench1)

The jostling of the commuter crowd and the rattling of the train makes me very, very aware of the plug filling my ass. I feel it with every movement, just a little too big to be comfortable. Stretching me. Reminding me, with every step I take all day, that I’m hers.

“Are you going to be a good little slut and wear this for me all day?” she asked this morning when she slid the well-lubed plug into my ass. I know her well enough to understand that the question was rhetorical. She wanted it, so of course I would do it.

I didn’t complain, just like I don’t complain when she spanks my ass until I cry, just because seeing me in pain amuses her. Just like I don’t complain when she brings me to the edge of orgasm, laughs at my frantic whimpers, and then stops and tells me to go and make dinner. She expects obedience, and I willingly give it.

The train pulls into my stop. Only nine more hours of this to go.

First Light

(Prompt: “what time,” offered by @polyladyincali)

“What time is it?” she asks sleepily. I glance at the green digits on the bedside clock.

“Early enough.” We have exactly thirty seven minutes before I need to get up and start getting ready to go to the airport. I wrap my arms around my girlfriend from behind, burying my face into her hair and breathing in the faint scent of her strawberry shampoo.

After a minute or so of blissful, naked cuddling, she reaches behind her and slides her hands between our two bodies. Her fingers quickly find my clit and I shudder as she strokes it in that perfect way that only she can. I bite my lip, a gasp escaping.

She shifts, positioning herself between my legs. She looks up and her eyes meet mine for a moment, before she wraps her lips around my clit.

“Fuck!” I gasp. We’ve been dating for three years but every time we have sex, the skill with which she pulls the responses from my body astounds me. She alternates between sucking my clit into her mouth and pulling back to draw circles around it with the tip of her tongue.

I never squirted until I met her, but she can coax it from me with surprising ease. When I come, I gush, flooding her mouth and soaking the sheets beneath us.

She grins and kisses the inside of my thigh. The first light of morning is seeping around the edges of the curtains, and I know we’ll soon have to go.

“Something to remember me by,” she says. “Until next time.”

So there you have it, folks! Did you enjoy these five little smutty flash fictions? If so, please donate to Endometriosis UK using the link above! And stay tuned for more #Smutathon2020 content.

Masturbation Monday: The Wedding

[For today’s Masturbation Monday, I was given the prompt “ex’s wedding.” Okay then! The set up is kind of long, but I hope the sexy pay-off is worth it.]

A room and table setting for wedding reception. For a Masturbation Monday post about an ex's weddingI didn’t want to go to this fucking wedding. This is kind of out of character for me, as normally I love weddings. I’m usually the first one to cry at the speeches and the last one still on the dance-floor at the end of the night. But who the fuck wants to see their ex get married? And most especially who wants to see the ex who cheated on them get married to a 5’11” blonde marathon runner?

As well as my ex, though, Sam is also the son of my parents’ oldest friends. And it’s not like I still have feelings for him. (She says, trying to convince herself). We were over years ago. So here I am, uncomfortable in my too-tight green dress, bored out of my mind, and taking full advantage of the open bar.

I’ve been glancing over at her all day. Pixie-cut dark hair, curves to die for, the swish of that floaty emerald dress every time she moves… I don’t know who she is but she’s definitely my type. She’s sitting on her own right now, nursing a glass of champagne and with a forced smile on her face as she watches the dancing. Yep. Time to make a move.

“Hi, I’m Rob. What’s your name?” She jumps as though startled from a reverie. Close up, I can appreciate the soft hazel of her eyes. She smiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Well, hello! Even in my funk, I can see that this man is attractive. The grey suit looks good on him and contrasts nicely with the artfully unshaven face and dark ponytail.

“Hi Rob. I’m Sophie”.

Without being invited, he plonks himself down in the seat next to me. “I fucking hate these things, don’t you?” he asks.

“Normally I love weddings, but…” I trail off. Reign it in, Soph! I sip from my champagne. I must have drunk a hundred quid’s worth of the stuff today already, fucking hell.

“How do you know the happy couple?” he asks. God, this is such cliched wedding talk it’s not even funny. And there was me thinking he might be coming over to hit on me.

“Sam and I used to go out,” I find myself saying.

“No kidding. Ex’s wedding? That’s rough.”

I shrug. “Eh, it’s no big deal, really. Our parents are friends. We grew up together. Went out from when we were fifteen until we were twenty-two. He cheated on me. I don’t blame him. We weren’t right for each other in the long run”.

She looks surprised at herself, as if she didn’t mean to blurt out the whole story. I feel for her, of course. I know something of how she feels. Caitlyn invited me to her wedding two years ago, and I tore the invitation into a dozen pieces before I’d allowed myself to even consider going. No point torturing yourself, after all.

I watch Sophie sip her champagne. Her hands – I always have a thing for hands – are beautiful. Long fingers and perfect skin contrasts with the unmanicured nails. I allow myself, just for a moment, to think about how those fingers would feel wrapped around my cock.

Her eyes meet mine as she catches me looking. Apart from a thin rim of eyeliner, I notice she’s not wearing any makeup. There’s no doubt about it, this girl – this woman – is gorgeous.

She drains her glass and sets it down on the table. Fixes me with a penetrating stare. “Want to get out of here?” she asks.

“I… what?” He looks as though he’s not sure he has heard me correctly.

“You just said you hate weddings, and I’m sick of watching the man I always assumed I would marry arm-in-arm with Perfect Fucking Tiffany, telling everyone about their Perfect Fucking Honeymoon to the beautiful tropical islands of wherever. Why are we torturing ourselves? Want to go bang in my hotel room?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol giving me bravery, or maybe it’s the shitty day I’ve had. I don’t know and right now, I don’t care. All I know is that me and this beautiful man could have a much nicer time in the privacy of my Super Deluxe Plus room – a treat to myself in exchange for sitting through this stupid wedding.

Rob opens his mouth and then closes it again. He’s surprised. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised at myself. I watch his face and, in the five seconds it takes him to reply, convince myself that he’s going to laugh and brush me off.

“You’re sweet, but I’ve got a girlfriend”. “It’s a nice offer, but I prefer to move slowly”. “You’re attractive, but you’re not my type”.

Instead, he grins broadly at me and says, “okay!”

We sneak out of the ballroom like teenagers sneaking around behind their parents’ backs. Not that anyone is paying any attention to us at all. She takes my hand and leads me down the long corridor to the stairs, then up one floor, then along another corridor until we stop outside her room. Number 70.

“I wish it had been one number lower,” she says, with a mischievous raise of an eyebrow. She slips her key card in the lock, stands back to let me in, then clicks the door shut behind us. I flip the light on, and see she’s already fumbling with the zip on the back of that gorgeous dress. A second later, she drops it, steps out of it and kicks it to one side. And this woman I met not fifteen minutes ago is standing in front of me in just her cream lacy knickers – no bra. Fucking hell! However I thought tonight was going to go, this was not on the cards at all. 

“What do you want?” I ask her. She steps forward, reaches up her hands to loosen my tie – which she does clumsily, probably as a result of all the champagne – and presses her lips to mine. Inside the tight suit trousers my cock, already at half-mast, springs fully to life. I kiss her back, sliding one hand around to the small of her back to pull her closer, and using the other to unbutton my shirt.

“I want you to fuck me,” I tell him. “None of that go down on me for half an hour first because you feel like you have to stuff, I hate that. Just fuck me”. I successfully get the tie loose enough to pull it off over his head, and he slips out of his shirt too and tosses it aside. His chest is perfect: not too muscular, covered in dark hairs. I run my hand through it and then kiss him again.

I slide my hand down and unbutton his trousers. Slipping my fingers into them and under the waistband of his boxers, I can feel that his cock is fully hard already. I stroke it a few times as we make out, listening appreciatively to the way that he moans, adjusting the speed and pressure according to his reactions. Somehow, we move together until we’re by the big King bed, and he pushes me gently towards it. It’s not really a shove – I could easily keep my balance if I wanted to. But I let myself fall backwards onto the bed, wanting him on top of me, wanting him inside me.

In a second, he sheds the trousers and underwear and pounces on me again. He kisses me harder, and one hand moves between my legs and presses firmly against my cunt. The flimsy lace of my knickers is already soaking. He rubs my clit experimentally a few times. The sensation is nice, but I’ve never been much of a clitoral girl – I really just want things inside me. Fingers, toys, cocks. That’s how I get off.

“Put your fingers in me,” she moans. Well, okay then! I do love having sex with a woman who knows what she likes and can give clear instructions. I hook my fingers under the elastic of her knickers and she obligingly lifts her ass so I can peel them off. A shame, really, as she looked so pretty in them – but underneath, her cunt is even more beautiful. The curly wisps of black pubic hair are so inviting.

She parts her legs more, inviting me in. I thrust two fingers inside her, marveling at how wet and ready she already is. I slide them slowly in and out while she writhes beneath me, face and chest flushed, beads of sweat already appearing on her brow.

Finding her G-spot, I press my fingers against it. Gently at first – I’ve been with women who found hard thrusting painful. I rub it with my two fingers and watch her reaction.

“Harder…” she moans. I increase the speed and pressure, until I’m properly fucking her with my fingers. Her perfect fingers clutch a handful of the sheet and she throws her head back.

“Going to come…!”

I double down on my efforts. She lets out of half moan, half yelp of pleasure and I feel her cunt tense around my fingers, squeezing them. Her whole body relaxes as I slowly withdraw them. I notice there’s a wet spot on the sheet beneath her. So she’s a gusher.

“Oh, fuck yeah, that was good,” I murmur, catching my breath. I pull him in to kiss me. “Want to fuck me? I’m ready for your cock now”. The beautiful thing about being multi-orgasmic is that the first one just makes me hungry for more.

“Oh hell yes. Do you have a condom?” he asks. So responsible! I love it when they bring it up first and I don’t have to ask (/beg/plead/cajole) them to wrap it up.

“Nightstand. Top drawer.”

I hear the telltale rustling of a packet. A moment later, he’s positioned back between my legs, cock still fully hard and now coated in latex.

“You want this?” he asks, teasing my entrance. Oh yes, I fucking want this. In answer, I bring my hips up to meet him. In one thrust, he’s inside of me. I gasp at the exquisite pleasure, my cunt already sensitive from the orgasm just moments ago.

He fucks me perfectly. Long, slow thrusts at first, building up to hard and fast pounding. It takes less than a minute for me to come again, and then again, around his cock. He moans each time I come, and I wonder if the muscles of my cunt are squeezing him hard enough to add to his pleasure too. I hope so.

God, her cunt feels incredible. I’m not going to last long at this rate! I marvel at the ability of the vulva to produce orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Is there a limit to how much she can come? I feel the trickle of fluid each time she does, and am sure the mattress beneath us is soaked by now.

As I feel her cunt spasm with the fifth (sixth? I’ve lost count) orgasm, I start to feel the telltale build up of pressure, my pleasure reaching towards its climax.

“You feel so fucking good,” I tell her. “I’m not going to be able to hold off much longer.”

“Come in me,” she tells me, a blissful smile on her face. Her short hair is now sticking to her face with sweat. 

That does it. The invitation, her eagerness for it, pushes me over the edge. I press my lips to hers again, kissing her hard as my own orgasm pulses through my whole body. Damn. I haven’t come this hard in a long time.

I love the moment where they come in me. Watching a man’s pleasure as he surrenders to it and loses control, knowing it’s me who has had that effect on him… it’s intoxicating.

I don’t love so much what usually comes next. The extricating of bodies, the quick dressing, the awkward goodbye at the door, the do I give him my number or will that seem too needy? calculation. I love casual sex, but sometimes I’d like to feel like the men I fuck care about me after they’ve come as well.

“Will you stay for a bit?” I ask Rob, aware that I now sound very different from the confident girl who invited him to – what was it? – bang in my hotel room an hour ago. “I wouldn’t mind the company”.

He rolls over and grins at me, as if he’d just been waiting for the invitation. “Want to cuddle and watch crap TV and order room service? I think we missed dessert and I could murder a massive slice of cheesecake right now.”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Canvas”

A woman with a flower tattoo on her back facing away from the camera. For a Masturbation Monday story called CanvasShe was his canvas.

Anna lay, nude, face down on the massage-bed. The whir and buzz of the machinery had long ago lulled her into a meditative state. This, combined with the delicious pain down one side of her back and the occasional reassuring touches from her Master, made Anna feel as though she were floating. She was only dimly aware, on the edges of her consciousness, that she was so wet she was surely soaking the towels beneath her.

She had never wanted a tattoo before she met Cameron. Sure, she could admire the beauty and artistry when she saw them on other people, but the idea of getting one herself scared her. Not the pain, so much, but the permanence. Could etching something on her skin for life ever be a good idea? Cam had changed all that. Not just a tattooist but a true artist, he prided himself on creating beautiful, unique work for every client and giving them something they could look at and admire for years to come.

“I want you to tattoo me,” she told him on the eve of her fortieth birthday. “For my birthday.”

Cam had pursed his lips, fork hovering in mid air on the way to his mouth in surprise. “Are you sure?” he’d asked. She nodded emphatically. “Okay. What sort of tattoo do you want?”

“Something beautiful. Something us. I want it to mark me as yours.”

Cam had simply nodded, and they had gone on with their meal. This morning, she had come downstairs to find the massage bed laid out in the living room, and Cam setting up his equipment. He’d asked her if she was sure. She told him she had never been more sure of anything.

She wondered what he – her Dom, her Master, her Love – was putting on her body.

No names, she’d said emphatically. And nothing that I can’t show off in public if we go to the beach or the pool. Beyond those stipulations, she’d given him freedom – her body to use as his canvas.

The whirring slowed and stopped. Pausing from his work, Cam stroked a hand down the middle of Anna’s back, carefully avoiding his fresh handiwork. She drew in her breath.

“How are you doing, my love?” he asked her.

“I’m perfect,” she whispered back.

“There’s still an hour or two of work to finish it off. But you’re being such a good girl, you deserve a treat first.” His hand was rubbing her arse as he said these words. He delivered a sharp smack to each cheek, making her squeal in pleasurable pain. Then his fingers were sliding down past her arse, between her legs, pushing them slightly apart. She blushed furiously, thankful he could not see her face, knowing what he was going to find.

“You’re dripping,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice, as his fingers found the core of her arousal. “Why is that, slut?”

“I like the pain. And you putting your permanent mark on me. And…” she trailed off as one finger slid inside her cunt. He quickly found her G-spot and pressed against it firmly, while his thumb found her erect clitoris and started to circle it. Anna gasped and lifted her hips eagerly from the table to meet his fingers.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he murmured, rubbing her clit a little more firmly. “Plenty of the women I tattoo get aroused during. And the men, too.” She moaned, this thought producing another flood of wetness in her cunt. “Only I don’t do this to them, of course. But I can always spot which ones are the masochists. The ones who get all gooey eyed and floaty like you were doing just now. And I know they’ll go home and wank off furiously when I’m done with them.”

She was humping his hand with abandon now. A second finger joined the first in her vagina, while his thumb continued its assault of her now very swollen clit.

“Sir, I’m close…” she moaned. Cam grinned, wondering for just a second whether he should stop and do the rest of the tattoo while she tried not to squirm with unfulfilled arousal. But she was such a good girl, and this was a special occasion.

“Come on then, girl,” he commanded, redoubling his efforts. Then he leaned forward and murmured into her ear, “come for me, my love.”

Anna’s whole body jerked as she came, gushing over Cam’s hand and soaking through the towels beneath her. The sound she made was half mewl, half growl. Then her Master was withdrawing his fingers from her, stroking her hair, telling her she was a good girl. Her cunt spasmed, sending aftershocks through her body. She could not remember the last time she had come so explosively and so quickly.

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured.

She heard the buzz as Cam started up his tattoo machine again. “Lie still now, sweetheart, and let me finish decorating you.”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image is by the gorgeous Marie Rebelle and was originally published as “Negative”.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Ask Nicely”

I’m not usually allowed to wear clothing in the house. He says it covers up my pretty body, which should be readily accessible to him at all times. The only exceptions to this rule are when I’m cold and I ask permission to wear a robe to keep me warm, or when he wants me to wear something in particular that’s appealing to him. After several years of this protocol, nudity has come to feel like my natural state. It’s when he tells me to put something on that I know fun things are about to happen.

He kisses me awake, first my eyelids then my lips. My eyes flutter open. I smell hot coffee.

“Hello, pet.”

“Good morning, Sir,” I say sleepily.

“You’re going to drink your coffee, then you’re going to go and put those pretty knickers on for me. You know the ones I like – the black lace.” My cunt twinges and I feel a knot of excitement growing in my belly. This sounds like a very promising prelude to something.

I sip my coffee leisurely while I allow my mind to wander to what might be on Sir’s mind. My cunt is getting ridiculously wet already. Sir always tells me it’s embarrassing how drippy I get. I tell him it’s because he won’t let me touch it without permission, and at least half the times I ask for permission he tells me no. Then he laughs at me and calls me a silly desperate slut and reminds me that he’ll lock it away in a chastity belt if he ever catches me touching it without permission. I don’t. The ache is hard, but disappointing him would be a thousand times worse.

I swing my legs out of bed and pad over to the chest of drawers, pluck out the requested knickers and slip them over my hips, smoothing the lace over my ass. I also pull my hair out from its ponytail and shake it out over my shoulders. Sir likes it loose and flowing – more to grab on to, he says.

He comes back in just as I’m admiring my reflection in the full-length mirror.

“Yes, you’re gorgeous,” he agrees, looking at me approvingly from across the room. “Now get over here and get on your knees.”

I scurry across the room and fall to my knees at his feet. He strokes my hair, tells me I’m a good girl, his pretty kitty. I melt.

He moves behind me and I hear him grabbing something from the drawer where we keep our toys. I know better than to turn around and see what he’s doing. I feel him crouch behind me, brush my hair aside and kiss my neck. A shiver runs down my spine and through my body. My nerves are taut, waiting. Fuck. This man knows how to play my reactions like an instrument.

The rope encircles my left wrist. He ties it off in a quick single-column and then secures it fast to my ankle. The right side gets the same treatment. I test the bonds, just to make quite sure I can’t wriggle out of them.

“Keep still, slut.”

He moves back to stand before me. Grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me by it into the kneeling-up position. Kisses me hard. I moan against his mouth, entirely taken. Entirely his. God, I’m dripping. I must be staining the pretty panties and probably the carpet beneath me, too.

He releases me. I watch, sure that my hunger is evident in my face, as he unbuttons his jeans and lets his hard cock spring free.

“You want this?” he asks, gently stroking it with one hand, inches from my face. I nod furiously. “Of course you do, cock-loving slut that you are. You’re going to have to ask really nicely though.”

“Please can I have your cock, Sir?”

“Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth, Sir.”

“Mmmm, are you sure you don’t just want to watch me get myself off over your lovely body?”

I shake my head. “No, Sir. Please let me suck your cock and serve you, Sir.”

With his free hand, he grabs one of my protruding nipples and twists it painfully. I squirm in my restraints. The other nipple gets the same treatment. I let out a squeak of pain. I am sure I see his hand grip his cock more tightly, stroking faster.

He laughs lightly. “Poor slut. It must be torture watching me wank in front of you, knowing your hands are tied and you can’t get what you want so much?”

“Please, Sir…”

“Mmm, I like it when you beg. But no.”

I whimper. It is, as he correctly identified, torture having his beautiful cock so close to me and not being allowed to touch it or suck it the way I want to.

“Today I’m just going to use you as a decorative toy to get off over.”

He strokes his cock harder. He moans and I watch the way his body tenses as he brings himself closer to orgasm. Then his hand is in my hair again, dragging my mouth to his, the kiss swallowing the sound he makes when he comes. His tongue finds its way into my mouth as I feel his come splash over my breasts.

He pulls back and looks down at me, a wicked smile on his lips. “Filthy girl. Let’s get you untied and in the shower.” A final kiss. “Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get my cock in your mouth next time.”

Masturbation Monday is a meme started by Kayla Lords. Click the badge below to see what other smutty treats folks have got for you this week. If you enjoyed this piece, consider supporting me on Patreon – there’s bonus smut there every Tuesday for patrons at all levels, which will sometimes be related to my MM post and sometimes be a stand-alone.

This week’s image is by Molly Moore and shared with permission as part of Masturbation Monday.