Today over on Hitting the Hot Spot, I'm talking about flashers -- flash short stories, that is! What kind of flashing did you think I meant?
Head over there to read a few of my flash stories and be sure to add your comments. Enjoy!
Showing posts with label flasher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flasher. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Sex, Religion and...
PoliticsBy Gwen Masters
(Flasher -- 299 words)
The cuffs were tight around her wrists and ankles. The strap was firm against her belly. She hung suspended, held by carefully placed ropes that didn’t chafe. She could have drifted in a cocoon of pleasure, so comfortable they were.
The whip stung the back of her thighs with no pauses, no mercy.
She began to count. By the time she reached forty, she had forgotten which number she was on and had to start counting again.
“This bitch won’t give,” said the trainer. He was one of the men who had sneered at her from the guardhouse when she was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the Impurity Compound. Four years after the American President had turned into Little Napoleon, he had ordered all sexually adventurous women to be imprisoned until they were cleansed of their impure thoughts.
The trainer had a sadistic streak -- he was the former Attorney General, after all -- and he had meted out every punishment that was sanctioned and a few that were not. Two months, and she hadn’t broken.
She began counting again.
Finally the trainer threw down the whip. He walked away. He would leave her there, like he had so many times before.
The other trainer stepped up behind her. He sank his cock into her with one long thrust. She started counting the strokes. Sex like this was not allowed any longer -- anyone who dared do the deed for anything other than procreation in an approved marital setting was breaking the law.
When he pressed his fingers to her clit, she came. She moaned quietly. He came inside her and then he was gone, nothing but a ghost who left wetness dripping out of her and onto the dirt floor below.
Those who want to fuck will always find a way.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
"Independence Day"
I love to write flash stories. Sometimes my flashers start out as longer versions, like this one, and then I slowly cut and edit until I get it down to the desired word count, and keep all the best lines...and so I usually like the flasher much better than the original. But this time, I just can't seem to decide.
The first version is the 300-word flasher published by Ruthie's Club.
The second version is the original story, about twice as long.
Do you like the short one, or the long one? Either way, I hope you enjoy!
***
Independence Day (Flasher: 300 words)
By Gwen Masters
(Originally published on Ruthie's Club)
From the moment I saw him sitting there on that Harley, I wanted to feel his cock inside me. The hotel was the kind that offered rates by the hour. He paid for thirty minutes. I looked up at him from the old bed and spread my legs wide, inviting him to take what his money had purchased.
He thrust in with no hesitation. I was dripping and within three strokes, so was he. His cock glistened in the flickering neon light just outside the window. Did he use a condom? Hell, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was my voice saying those things, fuck me, fuck me hard, use me...
He didn’t care if I came, and so I did. Twice. Once, when he slid his rod into me with a kind of delicious indifference. And again, when I asked him what his name was as he pushed the mushroom head of his cock across my clit. “Why the fuck do you care?” he said, and I went off like the rockets that were booming above the hotel.
When he slid out a gush of wetness soaked the sheets. The money appeared from his wallet and dropped on my belly. Without a word he walked out, closing the door behind him as another fireworks explosion thundered its way across the darkening sky.
My husband was waiting for me when I got home. He asked no questions. He pushed me down to the floor and rammed his hard cock between my legs, slipping through the wetness there. He yanked my hair and bit down on my shoulder. We moaned and came together while the fireworks pounded over a distant lake and the engine of our new Harley cooled in the driveway.
***
Independence Day (Original Version)
By Gwen Masters
From the moment I saw him sitting there on that Harley, I wanted to feel his cock inside me. The hotel was the kind that offered rates by the hour. I made my offer and he accepted with a frown that told me I wasn’t exactly what he was looking for, but I would do. He paid for only thirty minutes. I looked up at him from the old bed and spread my legs wide, inviting him to take the delights his money had purchased.
He thrust in with no hesitation. I was dripping, and within three strokes so was he. That was my own juice that made him glisten that way in the light from the neon sign outside. I wasn’t supposed to want it this much. Did he use a condom? Hell, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was my voice saying those things, fuck me, fuck me hard, use me...
He didn’t care if I came, and so I did. Twice. Once, when he slid his rod into me with a kind of delicious indifference. And again, when I asked him what his name was as he pushed the mushroom head of his cock across my clit. “Why the fuck do you care?” he said, and I went off like the rockets that were booming above the hotel. I could hear the oohs and ahhs of the crowd outside and for a moment I felt as though they were applauding me.
I thrust up to him, wanting him to come, needing this strange man to empty his seed because my body had driven him to no other choice. He settled back and watched as I undulated against him. “You are a slut,” he growled in disgust. His eyes shone with the jaded light of a man who had known far too many sluts in his time. “Make me come, you filthy bitch. You begged for this. You wanted a fuck. You got it. You want my spunk, too?”
I did want it and so I fucked him with abandon, using every trick I knew, until he thrust hard and bit my shoulder to stifle his groan. A thrill of victory, a low and sultry pride spun through me. That was his seed that was filling my cunt, spilling out onto the dingy sheets. His hips pressed so hard into mine that I could feel the pressure of him against my womb.
When he slid out a gush of wetness soaked the sheets. His expression was carefully blank as he pulled up his zipper and adjusted his softening cock. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. After some thought, he pulled out another one. They fluttered down to rest on my belly. Without a word he walked out, closing the door behind him as another fireworks explosion went off high above the seedy hotel.
My hands shook as I dressed. I waited until I heard the roar of the Harley heading down the highway, then I tucked the money into the pocket of my shorts. I didn’t bother to shower. I wanted to feel his semen slipping out of me and running down my thighs. My hand was almost steady as I slipped the key into the ignition, started the van and headed toward home.
My husband was waiting for me when I got there. He asked no questions. He just pushed me down to the floor and rammed his hard cock between my legs, slipping through the wetness there. He bit down on that little bruise on my shoulder. We moaned and came together while the fireworks pounded over a distant lake and the engine of our new Harley cooled in the driveway.
The first version is the 300-word flasher published by Ruthie's Club.
The second version is the original story, about twice as long.
Do you like the short one, or the long one? Either way, I hope you enjoy!
***
Independence Day (Flasher: 300 words)
By Gwen Masters
(Originally published on Ruthie's Club)
From the moment I saw him sitting there on that Harley, I wanted to feel his cock inside me. The hotel was the kind that offered rates by the hour. He paid for thirty minutes. I looked up at him from the old bed and spread my legs wide, inviting him to take what his money had purchased.
He thrust in with no hesitation. I was dripping and within three strokes, so was he. His cock glistened in the flickering neon light just outside the window. Did he use a condom? Hell, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was my voice saying those things, fuck me, fuck me hard, use me...
He didn’t care if I came, and so I did. Twice. Once, when he slid his rod into me with a kind of delicious indifference. And again, when I asked him what his name was as he pushed the mushroom head of his cock across my clit. “Why the fuck do you care?” he said, and I went off like the rockets that were booming above the hotel.
When he slid out a gush of wetness soaked the sheets. The money appeared from his wallet and dropped on my belly. Without a word he walked out, closing the door behind him as another fireworks explosion thundered its way across the darkening sky.
My husband was waiting for me when I got home. He asked no questions. He pushed me down to the floor and rammed his hard cock between my legs, slipping through the wetness there. He yanked my hair and bit down on my shoulder. We moaned and came together while the fireworks pounded over a distant lake and the engine of our new Harley cooled in the driveway.
***
Independence Day (Original Version)
By Gwen Masters
From the moment I saw him sitting there on that Harley, I wanted to feel his cock inside me. The hotel was the kind that offered rates by the hour. I made my offer and he accepted with a frown that told me I wasn’t exactly what he was looking for, but I would do. He paid for only thirty minutes. I looked up at him from the old bed and spread my legs wide, inviting him to take the delights his money had purchased.
He thrust in with no hesitation. I was dripping, and within three strokes so was he. That was my own juice that made him glisten that way in the light from the neon sign outside. I wasn’t supposed to want it this much. Did he use a condom? Hell, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was my voice saying those things, fuck me, fuck me hard, use me...
He didn’t care if I came, and so I did. Twice. Once, when he slid his rod into me with a kind of delicious indifference. And again, when I asked him what his name was as he pushed the mushroom head of his cock across my clit. “Why the fuck do you care?” he said, and I went off like the rockets that were booming above the hotel. I could hear the oohs and ahhs of the crowd outside and for a moment I felt as though they were applauding me.
I thrust up to him, wanting him to come, needing this strange man to empty his seed because my body had driven him to no other choice. He settled back and watched as I undulated against him. “You are a slut,” he growled in disgust. His eyes shone with the jaded light of a man who had known far too many sluts in his time. “Make me come, you filthy bitch. You begged for this. You wanted a fuck. You got it. You want my spunk, too?”
I did want it and so I fucked him with abandon, using every trick I knew, until he thrust hard and bit my shoulder to stifle his groan. A thrill of victory, a low and sultry pride spun through me. That was his seed that was filling my cunt, spilling out onto the dingy sheets. His hips pressed so hard into mine that I could feel the pressure of him against my womb.
When he slid out a gush of wetness soaked the sheets. His expression was carefully blank as he pulled up his zipper and adjusted his softening cock. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. After some thought, he pulled out another one. They fluttered down to rest on my belly. Without a word he walked out, closing the door behind him as another fireworks explosion went off high above the seedy hotel.
My hands shook as I dressed. I waited until I heard the roar of the Harley heading down the highway, then I tucked the money into the pocket of my shorts. I didn’t bother to shower. I wanted to feel his semen slipping out of me and running down my thighs. My hand was almost steady as I slipped the key into the ignition, started the van and headed toward home.
My husband was waiting for me when I got there. He asked no questions. He just pushed me down to the floor and rammed his hard cock between my legs, slipping through the wetness there. He bit down on that little bruise on my shoulder. We moaned and came together while the fireworks pounded over a distant lake and the engine of our new Harley cooled in the driveway.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
The Benefits of a Quickie
Ignition
By Gwen Masters
(100 words)
“Hold still,” he whispered.
“But that’s cold!”
Gentleman Jack hit my belly button. Droplets peppered my torso. One of them slipped down my side to pool on the rug. The light of the candles danced, spinning embers in the glass of the whiskey bottle. The liquor splashed between my breasts, seeped into my hair.
He poured fire into my mouth and thrust deep. Hard.
The whiskey flavored us both. He turned up the bottle and drank deeply. We began to move, deep strokes that kindled embers in the pit of my belly.
“It’s not so cold now,” he murmured.
***
I used to hate flash stories. I would chafe at the limited word count. I used to be a very wordy writer, one who went off on tangents to describe every last thing in the story. Some writers can pull it off consistently, but I'm not one of those. The result? Too many words for a story that needed less talk and more action.
Now I love flash stories. I think they are excellent tools to create better writing. In a flash story, the writer must focus on the story itself. Words have to be carefully orchestrated to get the most out of them. I tend to write dozens of 100-word flashers when I'm in the midst of a novel. When writing a word count of 80,000-120,000 words, it's easy to get lost in pastoral description, even when it comes to sex. And who wants their sex to be...well, described to death? That's boring.
I love my quickies. Think of them as you would think of an actual sexual encounter. Making love is great, fucking is good...but the quickies are the dashes of spice. They make everything else more interesting.
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