blinkern, Author at NSFW story

Possession [ambiguous flash]

Warm, thick blackness and the faint smell of sweat on laundered sheets. I press my cheek down into the pillow and take a deep breath. My hands close into the folds of the sheets. I’m awake and it’s late.

I open my eyes a crack, the time is 2:34 am. My mouth feels dry when I swallow experimentally. Your fingers are on my body. You’re the reason I’m awake.

You’re making little circles, softly, so softly, teasing my left nipple with your fingertips. I make a plaintive little noise, and wriggle back against you. I want to be asleep.

The sensitive nub betrays me, hardening under your touch. There are electric currents thrumming quietly down my spine and into some secret place inside me. You pinch gently and I feel your stubble against the back of my neck.

Your breath hot in my ear, “Are you awake, baby?”

I pout into the darkness. “Mhhhmmmm … no,” I tug the sheet up to cover my exposed shoulder, “I’m sleeping.”

“Okay then,” you say, and you pull softly, stretching the skin around my nipple. I feel your cock pulse against my leg, thick and hot. Read more »

The Artist (voy , creep, str8)

It’s the easiest thing in the world. I stand on the platform with my phone in my right hand, my arms hanging naturally at my sides. I rock slightly on the balls of my feet, back and forth, up and down. From time to time I sigh with annoyance and glance at the dot-matrix signs above our heads. Our train is late, of course. I am grateful for that. I pace anxiously back and forth, swapping my phone into my left hand as I pass you, and back again as I turn at the other end of the platform. I am careful to maintain the optimal distance from you. Roughly 5 feet should frame you perfectly in shot. The brightness on my phone screen is turned to its lowest setting. To those not in the know it would seem turned off. Read more »

Blink [les][ffm]

It begins, as things do, in a bar. This is where you work, six nights out of seven, in a small town at the South Eastern extremity of Spain. The bar is garishly decorated with British flags, punk memorabilia, and football scarves. The sign above the door reads “The Crown and Piper”, but the successive garblings of Spanish regulars have renamed it to Pepe’s. Self-consciously billed as an “English pub”, the bar is, in reality, an American style sports bar with soccer playing on large screens, and an extensive selection of bottled ales. Shunned by the ex-pat community it was design to attract, Pepe’s is unironically adored by a hard core of Spanish students and elderly regulars.

It is Thursday evening, and you are serving a young American sat alone at the bar.

You lead him through the beer menu with professional elan, deciding on Tea, “a light, golden ale with grassy notes” and you match his warm smiles with your own. He is dressed in a navy blue t-shirt and has short cropped hair. He has a cross of St Christopher around his neck. You are keenly aware of how snugly the shirt fits his body. He is built like a runner, or a gymnast. He is lean and hard. Read more »

The Wreckage [Str8][oral][cheat]

There is something wrong with me, although you wouldn’t know it at first.

I was high as a kite and drunk that night. My foot pressed hard to the floor so that the white lines of the road blurred and whirled away past me into the night. I gripped so hard to the wheel that my fingers ached, throwing the car into the corners so that the tyres screeched desperately, trying to hold fast to the road. She never stood a chance, and neither did I. I had only the briefest impression of her, eyes and mouth wide open O’s of terror, skin white as snow in my headlights, her black hair flowing into the wind and rain. The sound surprised me. Like a coke can thrown into a wall, a dense thick sound of metal and water. My windscreen crazed, sending thick bolts of frosted lightning out from the spot where her forehead kissed the glass, and I slammed on the brakes. The car spun round in the road and my body hung heavily against the belt for a terrifying second. The enormous forces hurled me sideways, then dropped me and I rolled back, dazed into my seat. Read more »

Paean of Beauty and Joy [sandwich][MF?]

The car door says “whumpf” and the engine says ahahahaha gruuuuuummmmmmmmrumrumm to the tyres who respond with an excited gravelly crunch as they pull away. We’re alone. I take a moment to reflect on that. I breathe slowly in through my nose and out through my mouth. I promised myself that the last time was the last time. I promised myself that I would be strong. I can choose to make better choices. I stand quietly in the bedroom watching the car pull away, and desire courses through my veins making me reel. I lean against the doorframe and rest my head on the wall. I mustn’t. It’s wrong.

Slowly I walk down the stairs, pretending to myself that I have a choice in this still, that I’m not going where I am going. My feet carry me of their own accord, directed by some secret, shameful part of me. We stop, my feet and I, outside the kitchen. You’re in there, waiting for me. I know you’re in there. I run my finger along the doorhandle pensively. I could go and do something else. I could go and do some housework, for example. I don’t have to make this choice. I could choose to be better. Read more »

An Ordinary Slut [str8][voy]

The first thing I need you to know is this: I am a dirty bitch. Not a whore, thank you very much. Whores charge. I do these things because I like them. You can keep your female empowerment, and your sex positivity. I _like_ being dirty. I feel sorry for you young girls with your slut walks, and your tumblr blogs, and your reclamation of the word “cunt”. You’ve made sex safe and wholesome, scrubbed it free of stigma. You’ve Disneyfied fucking. I’d rather be nasty.

The second thing you should know is this: you know somebody just like me. You mightn’t think so, but you do. You overlook us, is all. I could take your hand and show you: lead you through the underpasses and back alleyways, past the motels and municipal recs, into the car parks and quiet lay-bys where we thrive and swarm. There you would find us at play, unburdened and free as we writhe and squirm and shudder together. You would be shocked at how many of us you recognise. Read more »

[blkmail][mast][ff][spank][reluc] – Old Enough to Know Better.

I’m Robin Goodfellow. I write stories for people based on their fantasies in exchange for orange envelopes and upvotes. Yes, I’m needy, no I’m not sorry. There’s a whole cornucopia of carnal curiosities in my post history.

If this titillates or terrifies or troubles you, PM me, help relieve my all-encompassing ennui.

———–

A premium rate text number costs about $50 to set up and then about $40 per month. Best money I ever spent. The game works like this:

The room is dimly lit so that the girl in front of the laptop is cast in a stark blue light, all shadows and sharp angles. The low light levels cause the webcam image to pixellate and sputter, turning black whenever she leans away from the screen to reach for her drink. I assume her name is Stephanie, but she calls herself Steph. Her long brown hair frames her face and spills over her shoulders and breasts. She purses her lips thoughtfully as the next challenge flashes onscreen: _Turn around and wiggle your butt at the screen: 25 points_. Read more »

Für Erick – [Fm][mast][bi]

The chair feels scratchy on my skin. I guess people don’t usually sit in office chairs naked, though, so they probably don’t take that into account. Maybe it’s uncomfortable for girls in short skirts, though? I never thought about that before. If I twist my hips I can swivel the chair around from left to right. I’d like to spin it all the way around, but I don’t want to bang into anything and hurt my knees, so I won’t. I wonder what’s taking her so long. I wish she hadn’t blindfolded me. Left, right, left, right. It was sexy at first, but now I’m getting kinda bored. My dick isn’t hard any more. I’m just sat here, handcuffed to a chair. Wait, is that her? The soft nearly-crunching of socks over carpet, the brush of material against a door. Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder companionably.

I hear clicking. Is she using the computer? The rapid-fire staccato of the keyboard is followed by the haphazard click. click click. click, of the mouse. What is she doing?

“Hey babe” her voice is breathy in my ear, “are you comfortable?” she giggles, “those cuffs aren’t too tight are they?” Read more »

It’s pronounced boo-car-kay, actually. [fmmmmmmmmm][buk]

I just couldn’t help myself. I know it’s lame, and I know it’s a stupid thing to be pedantic about, but for some reason, it just really grinds me. It’s like, I have this friend on Facebook who goes completely mental when someone mistypes “there” or “their” or “they’re”, and I had a boyfriend once who would get red-faced over the “10 items or less” signs at the supermarket.

I’m not that weird, is all I’m saying. Not really.

I was standing behind another customer, in the dimly lit basement of _Dirty Dreams_ and I was half-listening to him. “Do you have, uh, any of that Japanese stuff? You know with the girl and all the guys?” He looked more or less like you’d expect. Big sweaty guy whose ass-crack was winking nauseatingly at me from the too-tight waist of his pants.

“Bukkake?” asked the clerk.

I couldn’t help it. I cleared my throat, “Actually,” I said, “it’s pronounced boo-car-kay”. The guy swivelled to look at me. He inspected me like I’d shown up at his doorstep trying to sell him religion.

He snorted, “‘Boo-car-kay’, huh? And you’re some kind of – ” he waved his hand dismissively – “expert?” Read more »