Poolside Desire - Word Challenge: #Wet

She stood on the edge of the pool, bathed in sunlight, a blinding beauty; diamonds dusted her skin, clung stubbornly to her bikini, and dripped from her midnight hair. I had never had a desire to kiss another woman until that moment; previous experimentation seemed so distant, so empty. I wanted nothing more than to run my hands over her tanned skin, sweep up those glittering gems, and fashion a crown for my princess, my friend. I wanted to lick the droplets shining on her breasts, follow them into the shadows between. My body ached to rub against hers, to split the shimmering water between the two of us. All too soon her towel eclipsed the sun, dispersing the spell and dragging my attention back to reality: she was my friend, never would there be more. She called my name, asked if I were coming along; never have I been more grateful for a sunburn to hide my blush - I was soaking wet, and not just from the swim.

Slave To The Boss

The floor shakes as his voice rumbles in echo; he has arrived. Vibrations travel up my legs, my resolve to fight shatters. With a client two steps behind, he opens his office door smiling. I sit, spread legged, atop his desk, my stilettos piercing the cushions of the guest chairs, pantiless and bare to view, hair down, glasses bridging my nose, breasts overhanging a bra balcony, nipples announced against silk, biting my lower lip. For all my protests against the rope bindings, I remain where he left me, wet and waiting.

Comfort Food

I would rather be sliding down your cock right now, feeling you penetrate slowly, stretching me open; my body sighing liquid relief at your presence. Such a joyous pressure building with each inch in, feeding my hunger with this perverse comfort food, the best remedy for my stressful day.

Yes, I would rather be sliding down your cock right now, but it is three o'clock and the meeting is beginning. I grab chocolate instead.

#FlashFuckingContest - Nail Marks

In frustration, I scratch my nails across the hard wood of my desk. The reverberating vibration along my fingers, the scritching, digging sound echoing through my ears, takes me back. I no longer sit at my desk, sick with a bad case of Monday on a Tuesday, but instead, arch in ecstasy atop a silky sheet, gripping and ripping your headboard to shreds as you work your magic, lifting me higher, cleansing my mind. My thoughts clear and I smile: this single mark on my tabletop is nothing but a promise of the tattered wood waiting for me after work....

#FlashFuckingContest - Overtime

Forty hours a week, a slave to this desk, what more could I ask? Five o’clock, the office empties. I remain, faithful to the deadline, pen scratching paper. His voice catches my attention, calling my name from around his solid door. My heels clack on tile, the short trip into his office echoing in the silence. He presents a marked draft, bleeding bright red; I gasp and my cheeks flush. Bowing my head, I hike my skirt, pantiless, and bend over his desk. For each stroke of red, he delivers a stroke of cock, hard and rough, like the draft.