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.
(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.
(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.
(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.
(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.
(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.