Four by Flash #3

Merry Christmas to anyone who celebrates! I present to you an explicit masturbation scene, het implied.

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She was at it again. He hated nights like this. He loved nights like this. Thanks to an inconvenient floor plan their bedrooms shared a wall. It was hard enough to be her neighbor, to bump into the beautiful Anna on a daily basis, his cock twitching at even the sight of her like he was some goddamn teenage boy again, but this… this was torture.

In the hall, in the elevator, they’d share pleasantries, and she’d laugh when he flirted with her.

“Can you imagine the scandal?” she’d giggle and wink, leaning hard on his arm.

He couldn’t help it, the surge of lust he felt when she did that, hot inside him, and it took everything he had not to grab her tight and make her his.

There was no nice way to put it. Anna was a slut. At least, that’s what she called herself. She brought a different boy or girl or both home at least three times a week and fucked them for hours before sending them on their way. Since his bedroom was right against hers, he could hear her every movement.

He slithered a hand under the blanket, brushed fingertips along his aching cock. He was already hard, leaking precome onto his belly, dampening the sheet. Trailing his fingers up his length, he rubbed his thumb across the slit, sliding across his head. His eyes fluttered closed at the sensation and his hips rocked up into his hand. He swallowed a groan as someone cried out next door.

Fuck it. He gave himself over to abandon. With his free hand, he rifled through his drawer until he pulled out lube. He was in the mood for the slick of it tonight, and he coated himself in two strokes. Bottle tossed away, he began stroking, listening perversely, wishing it was him in the next room. He ran his fist, gripped tight, up and down his cock, thrusting hips upward. A flick of the wrist at the top of each stroke, thumb pressing inward, pushing him closer. Behind his eyelids, he imagined Anna, red hair flying, beautiful lips, the melody he would make her to sing as he had his way with her.

Without conscious effort, his climax neared as the fucking next door seemed to come to a crescendo. He could feel the tension draw up in his balls, the clenching deep in his belly, his cock head swell at the impending orgasm. Through the walls, Anna – he could tell it was Anna this time – cried out, and that sent him over the edge.

He came in thick spurts, letting go of his restraint and allowing his gasps and groans to come as loud as they needed to. His hand continued to stroke, to milk out the last bits of his orgasm, until he was too sensitive to continue. He lay there for a long moment, listening to the noises next door reach inevitable conclusion, before crawling out of bed to clean himself up.

Four by Flash #2

I’ve decided to keep sharing my flash fiction stories. Below is a het story, explicit oral sex scene. Proceed at your own discretion.

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Vince leaned against the wall of the club, watching. She was pressing her body against some idiot, a guy who was a fool if he thought he’d end up taking her home. Vince knew this was her way of playing cute, of making him think he’d have to work for her. She wanted to feel like he’d come crawling for her. But he knew her better than she knew herself, knew that all he had to do was insist and she’d be his.

Tired of the game, he downed the last of his drink, whiskey that burned but not hot enough. His eyes flashed and he leveled a look at her, hooked a finger in the air, insisting now. Without hesitation, Becca came to him.

Without warning, Vince walked away, towards the single stall bathroom with a locking door. He slipped inside and waited, Becca following within seconds. In a rush, she moved to him, slid her hands up his neck and into his hair, tugged him down for a kiss. He gave in, but only just, and then pushed her away.

“On your knees,” he muttered, voice like gravel.

Becca moaned and dropped instantly, hands fumbling eagerly at Vince’s belt, tugging his tight jeans down until just enough of his flesh was exposed. She knew better than to try to undress him completely. He saw her spread her legs farther open on the filthy bathroom floor, and he felt himself surge in response to the gritty defilement of something so beautiful.

He was leaking already, his head glistening, cock rock hard as she tugged him free of his clothes. Even with the whiskey in his veins, he wouldn’t last long tonight. It had been too long, she was too much. Becca opened her mouth and swallowed him down. He hissed, dropping his head against the wall, and his hips stuttered forward. He dropped a hand to fist in her hair.

Becca was very good at this, and they’d played this game maybe a hundred times before, and before long, the precome was leaking out of him so heavily that it slithered out of the corners of her mouth, mixed with her saliva. She took him as deeply as she could, his head pressing against the firm, soft, unforgiving back of her throat, and then he felt her swallowing, muscles contracting around him.

It wouldn’t be long now, he knew, and he struggled to straighten himself a little, to look down and watch. Her lips, pink and wet and a little swollen, were stretched around his length, and he could see little flashes of tongue as she worked to draw it out of him, vibrations along his shaft while she moaned in submissive pleasure. Within seconds, he was coming, in hot, thick ropes surging down her throat, and she gulped greedily, unwilling to waste a drop.

When she’d swallowed it all, she stood and rubbed her crotch against his thigh, wanton. He only laughed and rewarded her with a kiss.