Last week I posted a flash fantasy challenge for the Best Sex Blogger contributors. You can read the original contest information here. This is the result of the writers’ challenge. Readers can still participate in the Reader’s Twitterific Flash Fantasy Contest by going to the original post and leaving your twitter flash fantasy (no more than 140 characters!)
VOTING: Is over… you can now see who wrote what by clicking the title.
“So, um. Would you like to come up and check out the toys in my sex toy case?” The line sounded stupid to me as I said it; it always did. It was like the modern day version of asking some if they’d like to see your etchings. Yet it’d worked for me countless times.
“Sure! You said something about a unicorn horn dildo? That’s just crazy enough that I have to see it!” Her smile was infectious. God, mentioning that dildo had seemed awkward at the time, but in hindsight, what a brilliant decision.
I unlocked the door to my apartment, and after throwing both of our coats over the arm of the couch, I led her to my bedroom. Hoisting my sex case onto the bed for better viewing, I unzipped it.
“See, voila! The infamous unicorn horn dildo!” I pulled it out of its zipped container, handing the pearlescent toy over, watching as she ran her hands over it.
“That is crazy, and so you! Hilarious, in fact.” She eyed the case speculatively. “What else have you got in there?”
“Everything but the kitchen sink…and that’s only because I can’t figure out how to pervert that yet.” Reaching in, I grabbed a pair of red and black wrist restraints. “Here, try these on, they go so nicely with your tie.” What was it with me and cheesy lines? I was about to hit myself for my stupidity…until she took them from my hands and started buckling them on her wrists. Since my idiocy seemed to be working, why not go for broke? “You know, I think they’ll fit better if you take your shirt off…”
“Really? Ok. Here, hold these.” She handed them to me as she unbuttoned her shirt and let it slide to the floor. Reclaiming the cuffs, she put the first one on, and then held out the second to me in order to buckle it around her wrist. “Ok, so, um, now what do you do with these?”
“Well, if you lie down on the bed, I can show you.” Carefully, I deposited my toy case next to the bed for easy access as she settled herself on the bed. Climbing up next to her, I reached up and hooked the cuffs with carabineers to the headboard. “See, this is what you do with them.” I smiled.
“Oh. I see.” She pulled on the cuffs a little bit to give them a test, and then with a sigh of pleasure, resigned herself to her fate. “Um, so what else do you have in that toys bag of yours?” I almost laughed as she looked at me so hopefully.
“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” I said, as I pulled out lube, nipple clamps, a wartenburg wheel, two vibrators and a dildo from their compartments, placing them just out of her line of sight. “You DID say you wanted to find out what I had in that naughty toy case of mine…”
I walk through the lobby to the bank of elevators, marble floors, burnished brass… very Art Deco. This building has decades of history. There are six elevators, in rows of three facing each other. I decide on a whim to let the Fates decide how you will be taken, by assigning a toy to each of the elevator doors, and the one that opens first shall decide. Smiling blandly at the suits and skirts who have clustered around, I see that fully two thirds of us are carrying briefcases. My smile reaches my eyes for a second. My case, which looks much like there’s hold much more than the detritus of commerce.
The elevator dings, and the door directly in front of me opens. Excellent. I wait for the milling masses to shuffle in, and press the button delineating their place in the hierarchy, since vertical alignment is very often… vertically aligned. Once everyone has pressed their floor number, I politely reach around a Men’s Wearhouse (7th floor), an Ann Taylor (11th) and a Ralph Lauren Black Label, in order to insert the key that takes me to the top. Duly noted on the part of everyone. Black Label gives me the once over… and then we’re off.
The cattle car unloads floor by floor until Black Label and I are alone. The car is slowing, and as the doors glide open, he casts a glance at me, and nods farewell. “Keep your powder dry, pardner.” He laughs and nods, since I’m obviously Someone.
The car continued its ascent in silence. The doors opens. I walk to the Executive Assistant, place the Nymphomation XL Sex Toy Case, on her desk, and say, “I’m here to fuck your boss.”
Her eyes widen slightly but this woman, a beautiful brunette with perfect porcelain skin… the kind that bruises like blooms in Spring, presses a button, and speaks into the phone,
“Mr…?”
“Master.” I correct her. She blushes, but doesn’t miss a beat. This woman makes more than anyone on any of the floors below. She is Professional, and we recognize our own.
“I’m sorry, Master is here for you.”
I lift her chin, gently so our eyes meet. “Tell her that Master is here to fuck her…please.” I smile an honest smile of friendly cheer. Her eyes twinkle and her nipples stiffen, and I can just barely smell her cunt. Good girl. “Master D. Sade is here to fuck you.” She couldn’t keep the passion from her voice. Blood in the water to a guy like me. She hangs up. “She asked if she could have a brief moment to prepare.”
“Of course.” I pop open the Nymphomation XL Sex Toy Case, and take out a beautiful ebony flogger, and a glass dildo, millefiori and regal. The office doors open and she’s there, naked. On her knees.
I raise an eyebrow to the girl behind the desk. “Well? Come on.”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Martin board the A-train to midtown Manhattan, each of them carrying a heavy black case. Mr. Smith is disheveled and shifty-eyed. With only a casual glance it is apparent that whatever he may be up to, it is absolutely no good. Mr. Martin on the other hand is well-groomed in his expensive three-piece suit. The train is overfull, and as a result there is a good bit of jostling around throughout the ride.
Mr. Smith disembarks first, to meet a chance hookup he’d made on Craigslist. Mr. Martin gets off a few stops later at Wall Street, where he works as an investment banker.
Mr. Smith arrives at the apartment of his hookup. After some small talk, they move to the bedroom. Mr. Smith opens up his black case, promising a world of wonder to his latest FWB. He reaches inside, talking that kind of talk that boys like to talk when they know they’re about to get some – and pulls out a thick pile of…spreadsheets.
Needless to say, Mr. Smith’s newfound FWB is no longer feeling terribly friendly, nor is she interested in offering up any benefits of her own. Mr. Smith for his part is the very picture of disappointment, especially after he is unceremoniously shown the door, all the while being called a “little-dicked bullshit artist”. He spends the remainder of his morning at Starbucks obsessively doing double-shots and masturbating in the bathroom, before going home and spending the rest of the day screaming at the Transit Authority over the telephone.
Mr. Martin on the other hand is in a great hurry – the A was running late, and he has a 9:00AM appointment with a big-money prospective client. He nearly decapitates other pedestrians as he scampers toward his office, just getting to the conference room at 9:00AM sharp. After the formalities, Mr. Martin reaches into his case, promising his client-to-be a world of financial opportunity, using the most florid language that an investment banker can possibly muster. As he launches into his pitch, he finds that he’s having a hard time getting his case to open. Out of exasperation, he shakes it, hoping that will loosen its fasteners. At which point the case flies open, sending a bee colony of dildos, vibrators, whips, paddles, floggers, condoms, butt-plugs, nipple-clamps, cock-rings, O-rings, bondage rope, bondage tape, spreader-bars (in lieu of sheets), and other sexual ephemera sprawling across the conference room.
The last item to extricate itself aerially from Mr. Martin’s case lands squarely facing his prospective new client – a speculum. The client looks down at it, appraising it like a jeweler, before looking back up at Mr. Martin with a suspicious grin.
“You like asshole milkshakes too, eh?”
Mr. Martin, shocked, horrified, appalled, embarrassed, and tongue-waggingly speechless, stares mutely back at his hopeful client. The client meanwhile is still fiddling with the speculum, his smile widening.
“You know, Mr. Martin – I have the feeling that this is the start of a wonderful partnership.”
She wanted to, she really did, but it was no use. Patrick’s huge hand came down once on her ass, a sharp high smack echoing through the room. He was always so in control, but just then even his strike was a
little too hard, a little too stinging.
Lucy waited on her knees, pouting perfect, cheeks as red as her bottom. Arms behind her back laced up tight, black rope coiled around and around those pretty pink arms.
“Are you going to put away your toys?” Adam was so very tall, imposing, handsome and cruel. She dreamt of him sometimes and he scared her even in dreams.
She was on her knees on the floor wearing nothing but thigh high black stockings, which gave only the slightest protection from the thick black rope around her ankles that coiled up to her knees and then
stretched over her hips to meet the ropes that bound her arms behind her back. She bent at the waist and pushed around the fat dildo on the floor, the big vibrator that had been her most vigilant tormentor. The
fat spade shaped plug that stretched and embarrassed her.
“Pick them up!” said Stephen, his bare hand on her face, a quick smack that left her dizzy.
She was back down, her face so close to the floor. She needed to think. Perhaps she could bite one, but before she could try another blow on her ass, then a hand in her hair. On the floor she was looking
at three pairs of strong legs.
The black toy box was so close, but could have been a million miles away. Her hair stung as Stephen pulled it, then she felt Patrick’s hands on her breasts, squeezing them roughly and then slapping them one at a time. Her nipples had been tortured for hours and now they throbbed agonizingly. Adam stood next to her, his cock unendingly hard. She could smell herself on him and her breath started coming fast.
Her ass stung again, then her breasts, then her hair pulled, then the floor coming at her.
“Put them away.” She didn’t know which voice.
She rocked on each knee pushing the dildo on the floor a few inches and then she fell. Three throaty laughs and she was being picked up by her shoulders, put right back on her knees. Two cocks now inches from
her mouth and a slap across her face. The head of one cock so close, rubbing wetness across her lips.
“Put away your toys.” And then it started again. She couldn’t do it, it was impossible but the spanks and pinches and pain kept coming and coming. She couldn’t breathe.
The tears came hot down her cheeks, the room was blurry and the sobs came long and low from the very core of her.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
She was laying on someone’s lap, her hair being brushed back. It was over.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the case. It sat between us on the kitchen table, the mottled black faux-leather looking almost alive to me, rich against the dark wood. I stared as if I could see through and into it, I stared helplessly, because I didn’t know what was inside. Not this time, not any other time, not until it opened and-
“Are you ready?” came the commanding voice from across the table. I couldn’t look up into those eyes – not yet. Later, of course, I would, through tears and hope and struggle and release and oh, that beautiful used
feeling. I would look into them for – no, not mercy, but some glimmer of approval, of recognition of this gift I was giving.
Gift. Ha. As if I could keep it to myself. Suddenly my focus narrowed, drawn to the little silver lock, vindictively holding my future closed to me. The tiny key was on a chain around the neck of my tormentor, my salvation, my lover, my owner. No collar for me; nothing so plebeian. This dark ominous case held all the tools of ownership, though they changed every time. That glittering lock would softly click open. the growling zipper revealing whatever world of pain and pleasure had been placed within.
“Are you ready?” came the voice again and I started in my chair. I realized was already aroused, and adjusted in my seat surreptitiously, wondering if it was noticeable. My face flushed. Of course it was. I opened my mouth, but no words seemed to come.
Was I ready? My body was, obviously. My mind raced, though, like a cornered rat, trying to retain some shred of independence against the impending tide of my surrender. We both sat there, dressed like normal people, the case between us a laptop, a portfolio, a video projector perhaps. But I remembered.
I remembered the whip coming out of it and cutting deliciously into my back; I remembered the black silicone cock glistening with lube, impossibly huge. “Yes, you can take it deeper, take it harder – for me…”, the whisper lancing into me through waves of orgasm. Shuddering a little, I remembered the jeweled steel plug in my ass, the tiny glittering nipple clamps, the jar of golden dust transforming me into a sculpture of lust and devotion. I remembered tasting the chocolate sex that had come out of the case.. I remembered the ropes twisting me, opening me, binding me into a trembling and breathless object of desire and submission. I remembered.
I took a slow breath, still unable to take my eyes off the dark rectangle, not knowing what was within and yet, in a way, knowing exactly what was within. The journey was a mystery, but the destination was never in doubt. I pushed my chair back and knelt on the floor, lips touching the sleek leather boot before me.
I’m sitting on the metro, this afternoon. The seat is warm under my thighs, and my dildo harness is digging ever so slightly into my slit, rocking my piercing just enough to get me damp. I’m lost in a daydream about her - her scent, her skin, her sweet ass, that little divot at the bottom of her spine, the way my fingers cradle around her gspot when I’m fucking her…
“King Street, Next Stop”
As the train brakes, my toy case bumps against my calves. There is rope in there, for me to bind her delicate wrists and ankles so that her ass is up in the air where I can admire it while she squirms. A vibrator for me to press just a little too close, a little too hard, to make her tense her thighs and try to get some room between her flesh and the not-quite-right buzzing. A few of my cocks, so that I can decide at the last moment if I want to fuck her for her pleasure, or for mine. A sharp little blade, to tease her skin with while I fuck her, to hold against her neck while I cum and rock my hips back and forth, gasping.
Oh, the fun I’ll have with her tonight…
Untitled II
She’d met him online. It was typical lust at first sight. He was exactly her type. Lean, strong, and pure alpha-male. Much like the last one. It was the picture of the tattoes covering his forearms that made her write that first email. She was so tired of feeling neglected, and in need. And he was exactly the right tool to satisfy her.
Those first emails were revealing. There was no tenderness, or sweetness. And that was exactly what she wanted. There was only her urge to give into that side of herself- to fall once again beneath the lash of someone stronger. And she could tell from his responses that he had his own corresponding need. He talked of looking at her pictures- he imagined bruising her fragile white skin. The first time she read those words, she had to masturbate immediately. It was a strange courtship but it worked for both of them. Then they decided to meet.
He was taller than she imagined, and better looking than his pictures. He stepped close to her in the dark of the bar, touching her face in greeting. There was violence behind that touch. She craved it. She found herself closing her eyes, and leaning into him.
“Let’s talk.” He said quietly in her ear. She smiled. It was perfect. Voice to her was key, and his was low, and raspy, as if he’d smoked way too many cigarettes in his time. What about her liked this so much? She didn’t care. She was caught up in the throes of submission already. She accepted his arm as he helped her into the chair. His questions afterwards were a rapid fire of negotiation. Likes, dislikes, limits… she answered as best she could, her eyes trained on her hands. She couldn’t look at him. It was too much and it had been too long. Her need was overwhelming her. She didn’t care that he was just another version of what she’d known before. That wasn’t the point. They needed each other, if only for a few hours.
When he reached for her hand, indicating they should leave, her heart was pounding. She looked up into his dark eyes and smiled. He touched her cheek one more time, softly… reverently. She shuddered, knowing that this was just the tip of the iceberg.
Back at her house, he helped her off with her jacket. His fingers dug into her shoulders painfully as it slipped off, and she couldn’t repress a cry of delight.
“I want you to show me what you like.” He commanded. Her legs almost crumbled beneath her. Without a word, she went into the bedroom, and he followed. She went down on her knees to retreive the black case beneath the bed. He smiled knowingly as she pulled it out.
“Ah..” He said. “A Nymphomatic XL Sex Toycase. That tells me all I need to know. Show me what’s inside.”
She could already feel her panties get wet, as she complied….
The bag was heavy and black; faux-leather, I presumed given the absence of that leather smell. She sat the bag down next to my head, just out of my line of sight and unzipped it, removing the first device with which she intended to torture me. I was tied to the bed, wrists bound to ankles with my ass in the air, which was her favorite position for me. She walked around me, keeping the mysterious device out of sight just long enough for me to whimper with anticipation. I was scared. Scared for my ass and scared for my sanity. She ran the device across my flesh and I realized that it was a paddle just as she brought it down hard onto my pale skin. A yelp escaped my lips and she caressed my ass with her small hands, numbing the sting. She swatted my ass a few more times, each time increasing the force she used to spank me. I was dripping wet at this point, and praying for her to pull another toy out of that bag, one that could fill my swollen cunt. She continued my spanking and in between her swats to my ass she traced her fingernails along the backs of my thighs and up to my cunt. She pinched the inner lips of my pussy between the pads of her fingers and reached back into that black bag, putting away the paddle and taking out a glass dildo. Placing the dildo inside of my mouth, she reached inside my pussy to feel how wet I was and realized the dildo didn’t need any lube at all. I relaxed my jaw as she pulled it out and transferred it into my cunt, hitting my g-spot. Within minutes I was brought to orgasm and collapsed, still bound, and panting. As I recovered, she unwrapped me, placing the coils of rope and the glass dildo back in to that bag of hers, and kissed me softly on the lips while she stroked my hair.
The door opens and he enters, radiating intensity in his sleek black suit. Holding a black attaché case in one hand, he closes the door behind him with the other, pushing the latch to lock it.
In two strides, he is at her desk, and with one expansive sweep of his arm, he pushes everything on the floor with a resounding crash.
She leaps to her feet, furious words dying in her mouth as she takes in the look on his face. Without a word, she begins to unbutton her blouse, letting it fall to the floor with her skirt, disrobing until she stands before him in her sheer lacy bra, garters, stockings, and heels.
He beckons to her, and she obeys with only a moment’s hesitation. Standing before her, he grasps her around the throat, lifting her until her toes barely touch the posh carpeting beneat
