Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette

Woman As Art

He’d done all the right things: romantic dinner complete with candles, champagne and chocolate under the stars, followed by the ring. Diamonds and silver, her favourites, glittering in the moonlight. Of course she’d said yes. 

Afterwards he’d taken things slow; gentle kisses, soft caresses, all the right words. He undressed her like she were glass, a delicate beauty to be treated with care, and he’d kissed her – how he’d kissed her! His lips trailing down her neck, across her breasts and navel to lap and lick at her sensitive folds below. She spread her legs wide to give him full access; she found her back arching as wave upon wave of pleasure coursed through her body, as her orgasm began to build, as she were about to beg him to fill her with his cock…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“No!” 

“Sorry hun.” He scrambled for his pager, frowning at the message. “It’s a fire; I’ve got to go this time.” 

She smiled to hide her disappointment. “It’s okay, really, it’s okay.” He’d  occasionally stayed back from alarms that were too often false, sometimes predicting with an accuracy that made her laugh-“That’ll just be burnt toast.”  But as a fireman, his pager was almost part of him. He couldn’t give up his duties for her, so she held her smile until he’d gone, when she lay back on the bed, groaning with pent-up frustration. 

Her fingers found her still swollen pussy, and began to manipulate her now sensitive clit. She focused on the image of her man in uniform, remembering every detail of the pressed navy trousers and light blue shirt that sat comfortably on his strong frame. Then the image changed to her favourite fantasy, even if it was totally unrealistic: her very own hero rushing in to save her, from what she wasn’t sure, but that didn’t matter. The muscles on his bare torso were highlighted by flickering flames;  his chest, arms and face smeared with soot and ash, sweat glistening on his bare skin.

Her fingers moved faster, travelling now and again to fill her cunt, desperate for cock. She moaned long and low, as in her mind he pulled her into the safety of the fire truck and took her there and then. 

“Fuucck.” Finally she came, her juices spraying across the bed to splash the floor. She lay back, panting, revelling in the sensation as the energy from her orgasm dissipated.

“Did I miss something?” He was back – she hadn’t even heard him come in, and the spark in his eyes showed he’d seen at least part of the show. 

“Was a joke from the lads,” he said. “They didn’t think I’d actually turn up – just wanted to interrupt us for a laugh.” 

“Bastards!” she said, though she felt too good to be truly upset. 

“I don’t know – perhaps it was fate. You certainly put on a good show. Will have to do that one again sometime!”

“Yeah, well not till you’ve finished what you started!” 

“You want more after that!?” 

“Damn right I do. That was just a warm-up.” She grinned up at him, loving the deliciously mischievous twinkle that lit up his eyes at her words. 

The End

Heather Kinnane is an Australian writer who experiments with all genres and formats.  Strangely, erotic flash fiction seems to be something she’s good at.  She blogs sporadically at Heather Kinnane or you can follow her on Twitter.