Microfantasy Monday - Breathing

Thanks as always to my homegurl Ang the Sweltering Celt for the theme! (Hahahahaha I can't believe I just used the term "homegurl.")


Strong fingers surrounded her throat, fingertips pressing into the wall behind her as the muscles in the palm clenched, severing her breath as cleanly as a hot knife through soft butter. Her toes scrambled for purchase against the slats of the wood floor, suddenly so much slicker than it had ever felt under her whole, balanced foot.

A soft voice murmured into her ear, dirty and nasty and delicious, the tiny caresses of air from between hot lips gliding over the delicate curves of her outer ear and arrowing straight to her wet, waiting, wanting cunt.

The twin of the strong hand around her throat found its way to that which wanted and pressed, stroked, evoked until every fiber of her being longed to gasp, moan, scream but still her breath was obstructed and just when she thought she was about to pass out oh god fall limp against the body in front of her that pressed her up against the wall no air can’t breathe oh god OH GOD—

The hand released. The breath whooshed. The vocal chords rang. And she came.

Microfantasy Monday - Sound

Thanks as always to Ang the Sweltering Celt for the weekly micro-inspiration!


It’s a rumble in the ear, or perhaps a soft hiss punctuating the silence. A guttural growl piercing through the darkness or a low moan reverberating through the bones.

It’s the rustling of cotton sheets being twisted and tangled underneath the slap and whisper of skin, and the creak of bemused bedsprings, the thunk of bone against wall and the accompanying chuckle being swallowed by groaning lips.

It’s floating, floundering, drowning and the discovery of being able to breathe underneath the waves, of finding a second home in that which once was unknown and uncharted.

It’s you. And it’s me. A symphony.

Microfantasy Monday - Hands

Thanks to Ang the Sweltering Celt as always for the weekly themes! (And sorry, yes, I'm late. Ten lashes for the bad blogger.)

I know exactly where I like hands to be on me. Taking a firm grip on the back of my neck, a few fingers through my hair, a palm gliding up my leg, seeking fingertips thrumming in deliciously sensitive areas… yeah, I know where I like to be touched.

Other people’s spots, though, are usually more of a mystery—a delightfully tricky riddle to be solved. A meandering finger around the rim of an ear perhaps, or even a casual drape of the palm over a knee. Or, I was pleasantly surprised to discover, a gentle, unconsciously placed hand on the small of the back, sending the mind to a screeching halt and decadent shivers down the spine. Yeah, he knows where he likes to be touched.

And now, so do I.

Microfantasy Monday - Exhibitionism

Thanks as always to Ang over at Sweltering Celt for the MFM inspiration!

The sun shone merrily down on the group of people mingling among the clusters of brilliant flowers and verdant foliage, causing many to squint or use hands to shade eyes as they meandered their way through the garden party.

She had come prepared, settling her favorite pair of cat-eyed, tortoiseshell sunglasses on her nose before recrossing her ankles below the flowing hem of her silky skirt. Dispassionately she scanned the crowd before her eyes settled on just one, the only other one apart, slouching casually in faded jeans and a blazer under the shade of a mulberry tree. The corner of her mouth quirked minutely as she realized he was watching her. A single eyebrow arched above the rim of her sunglasses, widening his smirk to a full smile, one that hinted at mischief. As she watched him, his head cocked slightly to the left, his eyes flicking quickly in the same direction—behind the garden shed. An indication. Come with me.

Teasingly she pursed her lips, as though to give a moment of thought to the unspoken invitation. Then, slowly, she rose, brushing out her skirt and slinging her purse over one shoulder casually—just a woman heading to the ladies’ room, or to get another of the mimosas offered at the buffet table. Unhurried, she made her way to the shed just to the far side of the mulberry tree, her face not turning toward the loiterer under its leaves but the upturn of her lips as she passed giving all the answer that was needed. Nonchalant, he pushed himself off the trunk of the tree and followed her.

A muffled thump as her purse hit the ground. A much more audible thump as her back hit the side of the shed. Heads turned. Eyebrows raised. Voices murmured. But behind the shed, that shady, cool, damp patch of grass had transformed into its own universe.

All else be damned.

Microfantasy Monday - Espionage

Thanks as always to Ang, the Sweltering Celt for the inspiration!

Down the corridor she slipped, breath bated, eyes constantly scanning the darkness ahead for any sign of threat. Her only goal now was successful escape, because the new and vital knowledge stored in the depths of her memory would only serve the client if she made it out alive.

Suddenly a noise echoed out into the hallway and she froze, listening for any recurrence. It didn’t occur, but in scouring that area for any sign of movement, she noticed the faint glimmer of flickering light coming from under one of the closed doors. Silently she crept closer, a sinuous umbrage cloaked in shadows, undetected.

In front of her stood the door in question, the golden light glinting from underneath the portal hinting at candlelight within. Cocking an ear to the door, she heard fainter versions of the noise heard before. Was it… moans? Now more curious than cautious, she knelt to press her eye to the keyhole. Her breath hitched as she caught a glimpse of the pair inside.

Suddenly the door rocked inward, its loose latch giving way under the pressure put on it from outside. Her breath flowed out on a curse as her body pitched forward into the room. She rolled to her feet as two heads snapped up, appraising her.

Suddenly one, the male, raised his hand and she tensed, on edge, ready for fight or flight – whichever suited the moment. But he only smiled, and beckoned.

Microfantasy Monday - Cleaning

Damn that stubborn cobweb, she mutters to herself as she strains upward, every muscle from fingertips to the toes on which she's poised singing sweetly with barely contained tension. A single drop of sweat snakes its way down the dip in the center of her back, ultimately soaking into her practical cotton panties.

She rocks back on her heels, blowing out a frustrated breath before renewing her efforts, her lips peeled back in a grimace, long strands of rich black hair escaping the confines of her ponytail to plaster themselves on her glistening neck as she tries in vain to clear the new arachnid neighbors who have taken up residence in the vaulted ceilings of the living room.

In the blink of an eye her focus redirects from the stubborn web as a long, hard body presses up against her back, large hands cupping her breasts and holding her upright as she loses the precarious grip she had on her balance. Teeth nip her damp neck as a thick, erect cock nestles itself between her ass cheeks.

Forget the spider, honey, a low voice murmurs in her ear. I've got my own web to spin.

Microfantasy Monday - Thunder

Rumblerumble… CRASH.

Gasp.

Flash. Thrust. Moan.

The angry voices of the skies are your metronome and you keep perfect time, pressing perfectly into my most secret folds with every roar of the thunder. My moans are masked by the insistent staccato of rain hurling itself from the heavens as if late for that most crucial of meetings with the earth.

Another flash. Another tick of the metronome… and the sweet, sweet thunder drowns my cries as I drown in my own orgasmic storm.

Thanks as always to Ang of Sweltering Celt for the micro-inspiration.

Microfantasy Monday - Tits

This week's theme and Microfantasy Monday in general brought to you by Ang via Twitter, as lately she has been a Traveling Sweltering Celt. Safe trip home, Ang!


“On your knees.”

Slowly she sinks down, her warm yellow-brown eyes wide open and locked unwaveringly on mine, beautifully framed by the black leather strap holding the ball gag in its rightful place. I circle her, my legs strong and steady in black leather stiletto boots.

In front of her again, I plant myself in a wide-legged, surefooted stance and let my eyes rove over her smooth, pale flesh. My fingers flex around the shaft of the crop in my grip. Without warning, my wrist flicks out. Crack. Before she even has time to gasp, the skin of her breast brightens as if blushing, forming the shape of the crop’s head just above the nipple. She shudders, goosebumps rippling over her skin.

Teasingly I brush the edge of the crop across her nipple, eliciting a moan and an arched back from my willing, eager victim. Wickedly I grin, a wolf who has successfully led her prey into a trap. “Did I say that was for you, my pet? And that it was permitted for you to react?”

Crack.

Microfantasy Monday - Skin

This week's MFM brought to you by Pervy Uncle Kyle until our usual host, Ang, returns from taking care of business.


Carelessly he removes his shirt, the thin afternoon light filtering through the drapes stroking the contours of his arms, shoulders and chest, shimmering over skin that has soaked up the sun like a sponge in water. As he turns to fish a clean shirt out of his dresser, those rays opalesce along the faded lines of two scars that run under each pectoral muscle—lines I love to trace as we share a smile in triumph from what those scars signify, memorialize.

This skin is a golden canvas and it has been painted well, by sun and by artist alike. His life and passions are delineated in the designs etched carefully into the skin of his arms, chest and back—lines I love to trace with my fingertips, followed by my tongue all the while smiling wickedly as I watch goosebumps ripple in the wake of my touch.

This afternoon is no different; I can’t resist the call of the lines of and on his body. Entranced, I touch and soon the dresser and all the world outside is forgotten as I drown in the sheer delight of skin.

Microfantasy Monday - Suction

Many thanks to Ang for providing us the inspiration for our weekly dose of smut!

“Mmmm… I love your lips,” he murmurs as the tip of his thumb traces over them. I close my eyes and revel in the sensation of his rough, callused skin tracing the ridges and curves of my lips. They part slightly as I let out a long, slow breath – one I didn’t realize I had been holding.

Cautiously, tentatively my tongue extends and flicks at his skin and I taste the salty warmth there. He smiles, enjoying my experimentation. His smile emboldens me, so I further part my lips and raise my head just enough to take his thumb into my mouth, cupping my tongue around the pad of the digit as my teeth softly scrape over the nail, sucking softly as I might a cock I intended to tease into rigidity.

His smile grows even as his eyes grow heavy-lidded, and I know I have pleased him. One day, he will know how this feels on his cock; this I promise myself.

Microfantasy Monday - Silence

This wonderful enlivener to the most dreaded of workdays is brought to you by Ang, the Sweltering Celt - thanks Ang!


“How many items?”

I glance over the clothes draped over my arm. “Six.”

“This way please.” She glances back at me over her shoulder as she leads me to a dressing room, smiles slyly and… was that a wink?

She holds the door open for me as I walk through. “Here, let me help you hang those up.” A quick glance around and she’s behind me through the door, swinging it shut behind her. She yanks the clothes out of my hands and tosses them onto a corner of the bench, then swings me around by the shoulders and slams me up against the door hard enough to make it rattle. Her grin is mischievous, yellow-hazel eyes gleaming from a face framed by glossy black hair.

I blink, and then her lips are on mine, crushing, tasting, biting, soothing and riling. My own clothes join the samples on the bench. Hers join mine. Skin joins skin. The smoothness of her palms, seeking fingers. My eyes go wide and I gasp as they find what they seek.

Before my gasp can be released, though, her other hand is over my mouth, smothering the moan about to escape, smothering the breath about to whoosh out. My eyes go wide as the pressure from her palm and fingers arrows right to my cunt.

“Shhhh,” she whispers. “I’m on the clock!”

Microfantasy Monday - Growth

He used to have a clit. But why would so fine a man be satisfied with a small, delicate nub of eager nerves? All that is changing now.

His mini-cock throbs and swells beneath my touch as he moans, his head falling back on the pillows. It stands to attention as I run my fingers along the shaft which before had been entirely hidden beneath the veil of a clitoral hood. His moans turn to gasps and deep, guttural utterances of mindless pleasure.

His cock is growing. And the new man behind the cock is growing on me.



Thanks as always to the Sweltering Celt for providing us this excellent Monday distraction!

A Lazy Microfantasy Monday

Also my first! So... enjoy! Thanks for this awesome idea go to the ironically cool Sweltering Celt.

*

Bright spring light pours through the window, making her squint sleepy eyes in a vain attempt to block it out and cling to sleep for a few more precious moments. Why not? There’s nowhere else to be. Someone seems to have different plans, though…

Sleep melts into wakefulness as strong hands tug at her pajamas until she feels soft flannel sheets against her bare skin. She is turned, her arms pinned above her head by those same clothes-stealing hands. Stormy blue eyes smile down at her.

“Good morning.”