Flash fiction sexuality! xxoo!

In between writing an end to a story, and starting a new one, and moved by something Remittance Girl had up, plus a survey on Romance readers, I whipped off two little flash fiction pieces for ERWA.  Here they are!  Maybe I should tweet them line by line.

Slaveboy in Paradise

by Valentine Bonnaire c. 2013 valentine@valentinebonnaire.com

When My Mistress whispered that it was going to be my job to pleasure
her for hours and hours I was so happy. I ordered the picnic basket
full of delicacies. If only I had known how shitty most men were in
bed. The ones in her past, anyway.

From now on it was going to be my job!

She gave me a list. Champagne, flowers, sexy lingerie, a pool, one of
those round king size Hollywood beds. She gave me a manual, too. On
Tantric Sex. I was going to be Shiva to her Shakti. “Have no
fear,” is what she told me.

“Worship my toes first.”

“No problems,” I said. I kissed her toes over and over until she
began to loll and sigh. I moved my way up her calves, one by one until
I reached her pleasure dome. My job was to make that quiver until I hit
the right chords.

“You can’t come for hours,” she whispered. “Just keep going,
until you reach my lips.”

I climbed her body like the gods of old. Pretty soon she was shivering
with wonder and trying to pull me inside her with one hand.

“Not yet,” I smiled.



by Valentine Bonnaire c. 2013 valentine@valentinebonnaire.com

“You can just throw a paper bag over her head, Johnson.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Seven guys sat appraising the table of women. Seven on seven, and it
wasn’t going to be an orgy. “I’ll take the one with the tits,”
said Bill. “I want the pretty faced one,” said Nick. “I’ll
take the big ass,” chimed in Chris, as he quaffed his beer.

“They’re staring, Tina.”

“God, don’t you hate that?”

Beth looked over at the sorry lot. Her face was pitted with acne scars.
She’d heard that comment Dan made as it wafted through the air.

“If there’s a bag she can’t suck me.”

“No wonder we want vibrators, Anna.”

“My Magic Wand will do.”

Nobody saw Beth’s eyes tear up. The girls clinked their glasses in
unison. Each one pulled a vibrator from their purses, except Beth.

“Assholes,” they hissed.

Evan, who weighed in at 300 lbs. got up and asked Beth to dance.
Suddenly everyone stared. He took her hand, and led her to the tiny
linoleum floor.

“I’m fat,” he whispered.

“I’m not pretty.”

“Who cares what they think?”

Hours later they left, smiling.

A couple was born. In the morning Tina called Beth.

“I came!”

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