Two Flash Stories

"How did I end up like this?"

by Miles Naismith

She was on the beach, in darkness except for the pale light of a waning Moon. It was a Caribbean beach, and it was the second day of their vacation. She was on her knees on a towel, her head resting on her forearms.

Conscious of her nakedness, she thought, "There's only one reason ever to be in this position... and I don't think I can stop."

Elizabeth and Carter had shed the stress of the city, where jobs, children and quotidian demands lay, when they unpacked their bags in the resort the prior afternoon. She had shed some of her inhibitions too, choosing, without his urging, to wear to dinner the backless (thus necessarily braless) sun dress she seldom wore in public.

The resort encouraged the guests to mingle, and had put them at a table with another couple about their age. They had hit it off famously.

Tom and Mandy both worked in high pressure high tech jobs, and were eager to be wild and naughty. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and the fruit drinks with little umbrellas had added fuel to the fire.

The next day, the four had laughed at double entendres, and played drinking games. Carter had unhooked Elizabeth's top as she sunned, and she did not demure. Dinner was eaten with an enhanced awareness of subtle erotic attraction.

They had ended up on the beach again afterwards, and with half hungry taunts and dares, and had shed their clothes to swim in the warm water. Emerging from the warm surf, they hadn't dressed as they made risque comments and laughed at their own wit. The women kidded the men about the evidence of their interest in the proceedings, each secretly eyeing the other's husband with the same intensity that the men eyed them.

Suddenly Mandy was sucking Tom. In an act that surprised herself, Elizabeth took Carter in her mouth. Even alone, in their own bed, she seldom did that. When she looked across Carter's body at Mandy, Mandy's head hid Tom, but the steady to and fro was quite adequate to signal what was happening. Then, in almost dreamlike slow motion, Mandy turned toward her, and stretched out her hand to Carter's groin.

She drew his erection away from Elizabeth and engulfed it with her own mouth. Then she pushed it back to Elizabeth. As the women shared Carter, Elizabeth felt Carter's hand slide up between her legs to finger her. A gasp from Mandy suggested he had done the same to her.

In the dim light, Elizabeth had seen Tom get up, but it was still a shock to feel his fingers join Carter's in discovering the wet evidence of her excitement. It was even more of a shock when Carter withdrew without objection.

Hands on her hips pulled at her, up on her haunches, head down and back arched. Fingers moved to increase her desire. Then it wasn't fingers any more.

"How did I end up like this?"

..............................................................

Things That Go Hump In The Night

by Miles Naismith

"From ghosties and ghoulies and long leggedy beasties, And things that go bump in the night, Oh Lord, deliver us." - Ancient Scots prayer

"All right, I'll do it," she had finally said, "but don't blame me if I break out in giggles."

He had been so tentative, yet so hopeful, like a puppy begging for food. She had been amused at his request, and had decided to give in, long before she told him she would do it, just to watch the expressions on his face.

Still, he was her love, and even though it was stupid, a silly man thing, she had decided that she could force herself to play her part. Besides, the pitch darkness he had specified would hide her blushes.

That was how she had come to be here, naked under the covers, the echoes of timid little extortionists' cries of "Trick or Treat" having long since died, waiting for her husband, dressed up like a burglar, to come and "ravish" her. His adolescent Halloween rape fantasy.

Idly, she yawned, wondering where he could be. It was already late, and she was tired. When she could wait no longer, she slept.

Her dreams belied her disparagement of his fantasy. She dreamed of being "ravished" by a gentle, handsome stranger.

She half-heartedly tried to protest, to push him away, but he gently pinned her hands, and caressed her. Her body slowly began to give in to passion.

Her breathing quickened; she panted. Inexorably, but gently, he pried her legs apart. The pressure of his weight on her pushed her into the mattress.

It felt so real.

Suddenly she was convinced that it *was* real. She willed herself to awaken, to throw off the veil of sleep, to struggle in truth against him. But she couldn't shake the thickness of her senses, the lazy blur of enervation.

And she was not sure that she wanted to, in any event.

She felt her hips buck as he pushed his erection against the entrance to her body. It felt hot, literally hot.

And so did he. All over.

Though it was completely dark, she saw him in her mind's eye: inhumanly handsome, built like a Greek god, the epitome of sex, his naked body tightly encased in a smooth, dark crimson hide.

And somehow she felt she was right.

Spurred by some sense of duty to her husband, she moved her hands over his body, grabbing and pushing, trying randomly to move away.

"But this *is* my husband, I should let him have his way," she thought, confused and unconvinced.

He felt like hot, smooth leather everywhere she touched. The head of his penis felt so warm that she imagined that it might be glowing against her vagina.

As it probed for her opening, she turned her head to him, to his face, and felt more hot leather.

Then her hands were swept together and held above her head again. His other hand continued its caresses.

"John? Is that you, John?"

"You sure were unlucky to run into me tonight, poor lady," came the breathy whisper.

The incongruity of the answer, like the puerile dialogue of an Ed Wood movie, reassured her. It had to be John and his fantasy.

Suppressing a giggle, she also tried to suppress an image of Dan Ackroyd in the fetish store, in the full leather BDSM suit, complete with face covering hood, from that stupid movie, Exit to Eden, that John liked.

But hands continued to caress her breasts, and the hot poker below found its target.

Still not quite awake, as if in a waking dream, she felt herself penetrated.

"God, he feels big tonight!" she thought. The passion that had arisen before suddenly arose again, and even his idiotic, whispered chant -- "You sure were unlucky to meet up with me tonight. I'm going to fuck your cunt and come deep in your pussy, poor lady!" -- hadn't destroyed her mood.

He had driven all the way in by then, seeming bigger and longer than she remembered.

Then out, and in again.

And again.

And again.

With each stroke, her excitement increased. Then she found herself hovering above, looking down at herself, like those stories of people who had died and had seen themselves on the operating table before returning to their bodies.

She saw her spread legs, her knees forced outward with each thrust. She saw her breasts bounce as each clenching of his butt drove him home again. She saw her face, distorted with lust, as she desperately sought release.

Then she found herself back inside her body, panting with her need, until she finally convulsed under him, trying to squeeze the invading member inside her with her vaginal muscles, rigid with temporary paralysis, shuddering in the down slide from the most intense orgasm she had ever felt.

But he was not through. Pausing until she relaxed, he then resumed his stroking, having lost none of his stiffness. Again he pumped her up, like successive breaths into a child's balloon, until the balloon burst, and she dissolved again in orgasm.

And as she came down, she felt him come -- literally felt him come. Each spurt was noticeably warm, almost hot, inside her. She had never felt anything like it. The sensation made her come again.

Then he was gone. Completely.

"John? John, come back, John," she called. But no answer came, and the blurry, dreamy state deepened into involuntary sleep.

The next morning, she awakened to a pounding at her door. She looked to her right, becoming concerned when she saw John's side of the bed vacant... the more so when she looked through the peephole and saw him outside.

"Don't even ask," he said. "Did you take the phone off the hook? I've been trying to call all night."

"No, I didn't touch it. But where have you been?"

He looked down, face red. "I went to the car to change into this costume and locked my keys inside. My wallet too. I was trying to get in the car door when the cops showed up and arrested me. I got that straight, but I need your keys to get in my car now."

Suddenly she realized that he was dressed all in black. Black jeans, black hoodie, black stocking cap. But not a bit of leather anywhere.

"Thank Heaven," she whispered to herself, "it must have been just a dream after all."

Meanwhile, elsewhere.........

Damn, I screwed up again. I can accept that she wasn't a virgin -- they never are anymore. But comprising the virtue of a faithful wife scores almost as many points.

And Heavens, she practically invited me into her dream. And she knew deep down it wasn't her husband she was fucking.

And I was so careful: the crucifix on the wall, the first communion banner in the child's room, the CCD notice under the refrigerator magnet... she had to be Catholic!

What the Heaven was she doing on birth control pills? Doesn't she read her own dogma? I know I should have checked, but she was *Catholic*!

A load of stolen sperm wasted. Too bad I can't produce my own sperm and go find a substitute to knock up before reporting in.

Beelzebub is gonna be pissed, but what's a poor incubus to do in these decadent days?

And besides, it's not like the succubi will have any problem collecting more sperm in this culture.

I sure hope that Dan Ackroyd thought doesn't get out though, or I'll never live it down.

Oh, well, she was tight, and she squealed like a pig when she came. Sometimes there are compensations that can even make up for the demonic fury of Ol' Bubby.

Consoled, he floated down into the Pit.