Flashers & Freeverse
Gem-sized tales that sparkle

Playing Chicken
by Seneca Mayfair © 2008

The road by the beach was deserted, lit only by moonlight. Jack shifted the Ford Ranger into first gear, kept his foot on the clutch, and revved the motor, drowning the sound of the night surf. In the distance, Sarah's little Mazda pickup looked sweet, almost girlish, in his headlights. He imagined her tension, skirt hiked up around her hips, thighs spread, and pussy pushing against the seat every time she shifted. Her horn signaled. He let his foot off the clutch. The trucks rolled toward one another, their headlights locked as they picked up speed over the dirt road. Sarah was moving fast. He knew she was wet, dripping cunt juice. Jack unzipped the fly of the tight jeans straining against his hard cock. Sarah was hurtling toward him now, probably riding her red vibrator, close to coming. Jack's hand tightened around his cock. She'd have to turn soon to avoid hitting him. Last night she'd swerved at the last minute, but maybe tonight was the night. He wanted it to happen even as he dreaded that final contact of metal and wheels and cunt and cock melding together forever into a kind of American nirvana. Maybe, tonight.

Young Willum
by R.E. Buckley © 2008

"Spsst!"

Young Willum swiped the air, thinking an annoying bug buzzed his ear.

"Spsst! Please, sir, won't you lend me your coat?" The voice, so sweet and feminine, came from behind a tree.

"Huh?"

"I'm a beautiful princess. A wicked witch has banished me naked to these woods. Please, won't you hand me your coat?"

Surely, her body must be as beautiful as her voice, he thought. "Naked?"

"Yes, please, kind sir."

"Well, sure you can have my coat. Just step out from behind that tree."

"Oh, please, sir, won't you be a gentleman and not shame me?"

He shrugged. "I guess I'll just resume my stroll to the village. Goodbye."

POOF!

Willum found himself in a muddy trench; when he tried to call for help, only a croak emerged from his throat.

A beautiful sorceress stood above him grinning at his frogish exertions. "You've been tested and found wanting, but you are not without hope. If you can persuade a beautiful maiden to kiss you, you will be restored to your true form.

"Aw, what're the chances of that?"

"About the same as any random guy offering his coat to a naked princess and not peeking."

"Aw, shit. CROAK!"

Urban Legend Kink
by Oxartes © 2008

As usual, Dr. Oakley steered the conversation to her favorite topic, sex.  She would get around to needling me sooner or later.

"And I even hear that some of Ben's brethren do it through holes in the sheet."

Everyone looked at me.

She was dragging up that old canard?

I rolled my eyes.  "That's urban legend bullshit," I said, standing up.  "Look it up on Snopes.  Some idiot went through an ultra-orthodox neighborhood in New York or Israel, saw some of these," I reached under my scrubs, pulled off my little tallis and held it up, "hanging on a laundry line and got the warped idea that we do it through these holes.  People will believe anything!"

I finished my coffee and went back upstairs to the emergency room.

- Later That Afternoon -

"Hello Mr. Chen."

"Ah, Dr. Silverstein!  Here you go, all ready: Two white shirts, pressed; Mrs. Sarah's dress, dry-cleaned; and oh, it really is a pleasure to work on fabric of such fine quality!"

I gave Mr. Chen my MasterCard and took my shirts, Sarah's dress and our luxurious, hand-woven, imported Chinese charmeuse silk sheet, with strategically placed, embroidered holes of varying sizes.

Urban legend indeed.

Right Foot Green
by Helen E. H. Madden © 2008

On Mount Meru, Brahma spoke to the gods.

"The world changes. All around us is upheaval and strife."

"People make war, not love," Vishnu intoned. "Have you seen Vietnam? It is like Kali run amok."

Parvati winced. "We must persuade them to love again."

Shiva folded his many arms. "They will not listen. They worship new gods now."

"Whom?" Brahma demanded.

"The Beatles."

"Johnny Carson."

"Elizabeth Taylor."

"Bridget Bardot."

"In an age of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, we have become irrelevant," Krishna admitted.

Ethereal Kama floated overhead. "Let us teach them a new way to pray."

Brahma's four brows furrowed in thought. "What did you have in mind?"

The disembodied god produced a prayer wheel and a mat decorated with the colors of the chakras. "Spin the wheel and announce the positions of worship. Let everyone participate in the divine dance of love."

Brahma did as he asked. Within minutes, the gods writhed on the mat, arms and legs entwined, slick bodies rubbing together as they strove to hold intricate positions.  Brahma looked on and smiled.

"This method of prayer fosters love and intimacy. I like it. What shall we name your creation?"

Kama laughed.  "How about 'Twister...'"

Graham Thomas
by Jane Bartel © 2008

She stood quietly in the garden, dappled sunlight falling like a tattered golden veil, crushing a Graham Thomas in her hand. The silky texture slipped through long, bony fingers. A seductive perfume carried upwards, the feel of the petals reminiscent of something she vaguely remembered in the past.

Yes, she remembered now. It was her pussy, soft and puffy, with powdered lips awaiting the frisson of arousal. The man who once kissed those lips was long dead, a pale ghost to her memory.

A tower of rose heads nodded their encouragement. They watched her season after season, the cycle of bush-life matching her own. Grown thin during the years, all gnarled canes beneath and gall, too. Within years both had become feeble. Soon the bush would cover her grave, dropping its petals in remembrance until it, too, faded from earth.

Now Graham Thomas was pleading to cover her mound with his perfumed beauty. He would nestle within the deserted folds of her abandoned sex. He would make her juicy again.

He promised to leave the thorns on the bush.

Whirling Dervish
by Phlye © 2008

She'd danced into his life, veils of multi-colored silk waving and a gaze that held much promise.  Though atypical of any lady he'd previously encountered, that's what made her all the more alluring.

Why she had come to him remained a mystery.  She claimed she was seeking knowledge, a resting place, 'the one' who could show her the correct path. She'd gone on about all her previous encounters, and how they just hadn't measured up.

That should've been his first clue.

And though he'd become very much aroused by her, sex was never a part of it. Oh, he imagined what it might be like, having her dance while slowly removing her veils.  Just seeing her disrobe would've been enough for him—seeing her breasts slowly revealed, having her shimmy out of her skirt.  He liked to imagine her not wearing any undergarments so that, once disrobed, she would be ready.

In the end, seems it had been an information gathering 'pas de deux', and nothing more.  She whirled out of his life the same way she'd arrived—an enigma in a paradox.  He supposed he should be grateful and yet, the promise of the dance remained, however thinly veiled.

Repo Man
by R.E. Buckley © 2008

Bald, his head's bigger than a bowling ball, black droopy moustache; his seriously distressed leather vest reveals a gallery of tattoos. His voice is calm, but emphatic. He'll brook no interference.

"Let's not make this any worse than it is, pal. Where is she?"

"God, no, not the BMW. My wife loves that car."

"I'm not here for the BMW; I'm here for her."

"Her? Huh? Who?"

"Who'd you buy that BMW for? You can't afford her, pal. She's going back."

"Honey? What's going on here?" His wife stands at the doorway, her arms laden with shopping bags.

The husband sputters, "But ... you just can't ... can't repossess a man's wife!"

"Ma'am, it'll be better if you come along quietly—you don't want me to have to put you up on the skid truck. Anyway, you're going to a nice home with some dirty old guy who'll give you all the BMWs you want. Hell, he could buy BMW."

"No," the husband pleads. "Why would he want another man's wife?"

"I told ya, he's a nasty old guy. Doesn't like 'em cherry. Yup, certified pre-fucked, that's all he buys."

His wife shrugs, takes the repo man's arm. "Bye, dear."

Possessed
by Coyote © 2008

Breathless
mounted face down on a white leather ottoman
hands locked together
beautiful nickel plated brass handcuffs
a gift from the heart
stripped and exposed
need bound and contained
within a beat of his heart

The whisper of a switch
explodes across Irish linen cheeks
the Mimosa cane he promised
supple smooth and very hard

The switch flies again and again
hot cherry stripes multiply
breaching the dark beneath
to a point of absolute truth
where hunger lay naked within his sight

Your cunt burns hotter than your ass
desperate to be taken
deep inside
something that cannot be given
must be taken
by fire, by force
by lust
permission to be the whore he wants

The stripes are hot and cold at once
A gentle hand sweeps across your ass
the rough edge of his fingers
his life
catch and worry the welts left behind

Tears flow as you beg
please
release me, possess me
never let me go

"Spread your legs, whore"

Spreading wide
fingers dig into fresh stripes
an exquisite scream
as his cock drives home
no pause for gentle motion
no hope for tender words
the answer to your dreams
fucked to the blinding depth of perversion
your cunt is sounded
measured
claimed as property
marked and possessed

He fucks you like an animal
pounding you
needing you to beg for more
to surrender more
a whore of inestimable worth
a crown of thorns
to prick his loins

more is never enough

Symbiosis
by Nick Nicholson © 2008

she smiles
- morning, dear
and eats his balls for breakfast

he smiles back
- morning
and hides her pussy under his pillow

two parasites, deliriously happy

Dancing Dust
by Nick Nicholson

sunlight screams
in my face and I blink
at the ceiling
at the pictures
on the wall
and the old worn blanket of solitude
settles
on my skin
then the shock
of my body raw
and aching
reminds me of the night
before
of being
swept up in something
other than
myself

look
she's lying
there
awash in dreams while
the dust of sleep
dances
in the light
waiting to say good morning to her
smile

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