Woman As Art
There is that day of the week. The once a week for her to feel sexy without needing any of them. Where she does her work-the law office where the predatory gaze in the men’s eyes is the preamble for their acts of law. She knows many are unaware how their sexual aggression transmits into their profession. The men with their law cases, their starched suits and their victories. This is about that for them. She carries her energy outward and it is the emotion as well as the physicality. Both are linked and inseparable for her, often an intellectual mistake of some men to cleave the body and mind apart until enemies. Her own victories lie in helping couples maintain dignity after the divorce is served. That one day where she wants to be flush with her victories and theirs. It is not every week. But when it does happen—she takes her time to be ready.
The first thing—the underwear. During the week it is the woman’s briefs—white often more than not. When it is that day, she slowly slides on the red thong—the one that nestles her crotch and back that rests between her ass. Then, the bra. This is really the point of the show, the talisman which fulfills that day. It is white and silky, a kind of blend of the finest fabrics—strong, yet caresses her breasts. The frilly tops—the way they highlight the tops of her breasts—the bulge of white skin and tan. Without the bra—the shirt would not make it that day. Then, she dons the wrap around pink shirt, the one that carelessly droops as the day progresses. The one she makes open a bit by bit until the men begin their furtive stares toward her. This is the excitement. The older members of the firm look with their quick, greedy glances. The young one, Tim, bold, whose eyes trail down into the depths of her shirt—she gets wet quickly when he looks. The others, here, there. All of the looks build the rolling warm pleasure in her belly; all these looks build that subtle, warm wet in between her pussy lips that is held tight by the red thong. A practice between constraint and freedom.
A Woman In Orgasm
When she has had almost too much and she will go mad with horniness, she is done for the day—to return home. To drink her glass of milk against the counter, her hips digging against the hard surface of her kitchen counter, her shoes carelessly slung off, her busy hands on the zipper of her skirt, the pink shirt. Her padding heavy into the bedroom, the bra coming off, to allow her heavy breasts to fall against her chest, her hips inching out of the thong until she is nude. She bends down to retrieve the box under her bed. The box is like one her mother had, a huge hatbox with layers of thin wrapping paper. Pulling out that long, black dildo with the ridges and veins, the mushroomed top like a real cock. That day—where with all the looks, long and short, the knowledge that real desire is evoked that real cocks grow hard under business suits—that men want her and she does not want any of them. Then to take that dildo and fuck her warm, wet sex. The whole act twenty minutes at most from when she opens herself carefully to that rubber imitation cock, her vaginal lips rhythmically squeezing around the circumference, letting each inch in and then fucking herself furiously with it, her finger stroking clit quickly—the looks in her head, the desire, her tits a little bit more out as the day goes on—then, the hard strong feeling in her belly—the onrush, whistled between her pressed lips as her hips bridge, thighs shake, her pussy clenched like a fist around that dildo. That is her day—her day to have an orgasm.
The End
David Cameron loves writing. He thinks flash fiction is a great way to tell a story. He has always wanted to get a naughty story published.
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Filed under: Guest Writers | Tagged: bra, crotch, David Cameron, erotica, flash fiction, fuck her dildo, her breasts, One Day To Feel The Right Onrush, orgasm, sexy | 2 Comments »
