Happy Sinful New Year!

It’s not Sunday, but it’s New Year’s Eve! Let’s ring in 2014 with a little smutty flash fiction!

There are so many things we could be doing on New Year’s Eve, so I picked a range of photos and words that might resonate with you. Pick whichever one (or ones) inspires you. Your flash must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 200. Post your story in the comments section of the post. Include your word count, your Twitter handle, blog link or email. You have until midnight EST on New Year’s Day to get your flash in. (If you’d like more info before the prompts, please check out the new rules.)

Photo prompts:

Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction New Year's Eve (4) Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction New Year's Eve (3)Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction New Year's Eve (2)

Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction New Year's Eve  Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction New Year's Eve

(Special thanks to Shari Slade for helping with the photo prompts.)

Word prompts:

Bubbly: 1) containing bubbles. Synonyms: sparkling, bubbling, fizzy, effervescent, gassy, aerated, carbonated; 2) (of a person) full of cheerful high spirits. “A bright and bubbly personality.” Synonyms: vivacious, animated, ebullient, exuberant, lively, high-spirited, zestful; 3) champagne. “A bottle of bubbly” Synonyms: champagne, sparkling wine, spumante, cava.

Revel: to enjoy oneself in a lively and noisy way, esp. with drinking and dancing. “A night of drunken reveling.”  Synonyms: celebrate, make merry, have a party, carouse, roister, go on a spree; 

Stroke of midnight: (I invite you to interpret this as you like 😉 )

Choose any word, words, or all of them.


Happy 2014!



  1. Last night was a dream. It must have been.

    The way she touched and kissed me feels surreal even if I still feel her taste on my lips and her hands on my body.

    I had never spent the last day of the year with a special someone by my side.

    I had never received a new year with an orgasm.

    This time around there was no party, no big dinner, no bubbly champagne…

    We cuddled up in bed and watched TV until midnight arrived. Then she turned her face and kissed me.

    And she took my clothes off.

    And she bit my neck.

    And I grabbed her waist and rolled us over.

    And I touched her where it mattered before she asked for more.

    And I entered her.

    It was perfect.

    “What?” she asks me, looking over her shoulder.

    “You,” I say.

    She shakes her head and messes with the big sweater she’s wearing. I get a peek of her pink panties.

    She watches my books, touching the spines with curiosity.

    I stand up and go to her.

    Moving her hair away from her neck, I kiss her.

    “Happy new year,” she says.

    For the first time, it is.

    200 (not-so-good) words.

    Happy New Year!

  2. Her stockings sparkled,
    Her personality bubbled,
    Her laugh tinkled,
    At the stroke of midnight,
    She kissed me sweetly.
    It was the first night we met.

    A year later,
    Same place,
    Same stockings,
    New ring,
    (I hoped.)

    11:58 on the clock,
    I knelt in front of her,
    11:59 I popped the question,
    At the stroke of midnight,
    She kissed me.

    A year later,
    Same place,
    New stockings,
    (We ripped the old ones)
    Another new ring,
    For both of us.

    11:58 on the clock,
    She said, “I do”
    11:59 on the clock,
    I said, “I do”
    At the stroke of midnight
    I kissed her.

    102 words

  3. “On top of spaaaaghetti…” she sings off-key, our plates steaming between us.

    What the hell did I get myself into accepting a blind date for New Year’s Eve? Laughter rumbles up, effervescent, untwisting my panties. If I wore panties, which I don’t, because I’m a sensible boxer-briefs guy. I realize then, if she asked me to wear panties, I would. “Do you always sing for your supper?”

    She touches her flushed cheek, eyes darting around the crowded restaurant, and leans across the booth. “I couldn’t resist. You had that big meatball on top and I didn’t and–oh, I don’t spend enough time with grown-ups.”

    “You have a kid?” My disappointment surprises me. I like children in theory, but dating a woman with a kid is foreign territory. I don’t have that map. Not yet.

    “No, I’m a swim instructor at the Y. Polliwogs. Guppies. We blow bubbles in the water to the tune of that song, for breathing.”

    She pantomimes it, puffing her cheeks out rhythmically. Innocent and lewd. I imagine her sliding under the table and blow out a breath of my own. I won’t need a champagne-soaked revel at the stroke of midnight; I’m already buzzing.

    200 words

  4. One more song.

    Fourteen shows, ten costumes, five pairs of embellished heels, seven days, six nights, four costumes, two sets a night, two-cocktail minimum, and finally, finally, one more song.

    I’ll sing all the verses. I’ll hum it during the countdown, pick up the chorus while the crowd has their kiss. The light will fracture off my glitter, the microphone will send my voice, and then all my old times past will settle as so much dust to be brushed from the linen tablecloths by the busboy’s brooms.

    Thirty-five years, twenty-two contracts, sixteen albums, eleven golden statues, eight lawyers, four back-up bands, two marriages, and now, one man. Backstage.

    Waiting for me. Flipping through his phone at pictures of a baby for the new year, the baby that made him a grandfather, and me, an honorary grandmother, with a pink sweatshirt that says so, and everything. Me. A grandmother. When I never thought I’d be a mother. There are rhinestones on my sweatshirt and it will be the most beautiful costume I’ve ever worn.

    One more song, for you.

    All the rest of my songs, I’ll sing just for her. Over and over. Without counting.

    195 words

  5. I never thought I’d see her like this, half-dressed and covered in some mix of my residual kisses along the inside of her thighs and a lightness that shimmers off her. The tilt of her shoulder, the stretch of her sweater–the habits are the same: the absentminded tugging–but now it’s all tender and needy and makes my clit twitch even though we’ve already made each other scream and scratch and beg for the past hour. Right now I’m watching from my kitchen, pouring us each a glass of wine, and she’s trying to decide what DVD we should watch next. And then I’m grinning. On stupid New Year’s Eve we finally figured it out. After years of friendship and the best friend-love, we’re eating food out of containers and passing them back and forth and laughing and then she flops her head onto my shoulder and sighs into the comfort of it. And then the spark flares or whatever the hell it is when magma forces its way to the surface of a planet and all the bubbly gases and unstable elements cool to form a new earth. She is my new year. My new planet.

    200 words

  6. Kristine76 says:

    “The bubbly’s gone to my head,” I declared throwing myself back on his hardwood floor, eyes closed and arms thrown carelessly above my head.

    I could hear him moving towards me, slipping off the couch and crawling across the floor. I felt him pause beside me for a moment before he reached out and ran the tip of his finger across the swell of my breast.

    “If the bubbly’s gone to your head, does that mean I’m taking advantage of you if I do this?” he asked, his hand pushing up the little piece of black lace nothing I wore, baring my skin.

    I grinned, shaking my head from side-to-side, eyes still closed. He began to work on my sparkly stockings, easing them down over my hips and thighs; making sure he had the glittery fuck-me heels back in place before shifting himself above me.

    “It’s almost midnight,” he murmured, pushing against me.

    I wondered when he got naked, but I didn’t really care. He was hot, hard, ready and I wanted him inside me to welcome in the Near Year. As the big grandfather clock struck midnight I tilted my hips and he slid home.

    Happy New Year indeed.

    200 words

  7. Gingerandgreen says:

    A Modern Romance

    To Skype or not to Skype; that is the question. But when did it become the anxiety-inducing, butterflies in the stomach, cock-stirring question that it is? Andreas sits, a thousand miles away from the woman he would like to be his lover, and fears.

    They have been flirting with more than friendship for weeks. Once, he watched her tongue tickle a flake of dry skin on her lower lip with such fascination, he forgot to give her the rest of his sentence. Another time he caught a flash of brown nipple, sun warmed (he imagined) in a spicy heat he has yet to feel on his own skin. He has replayed the image in his head – and on his hard drive – many times.

    “Skype me at the stroke of midnight!” she said.

    “Whose midnight? Yours or mine?”

    “Yours, silly. Your stroke.” Her giggle made his balls twitch. A wicked eye crinkle framed the next words to fall from her lips: “Be naked, lover boy.”

    So, will 2014 begin with humiliation or passion? He can hardly bear the burden of choice. He flips up his laptop screen, clicks on an icon. Maybe Reddit will help him decide.

    198 words by @Gingerandgreen
    Happy New Year!

  8. EverdayBella says:

    The twinkling lights of the dance hall blinded me of his face. I saw the stupid plastic top hat and his red hair sticking out underneath it, but it was hard to find his beautiful, gem like green eyes and brilliant smile.

    His arm was wrapped around my waist, guiding me with casual grace across the dance floor.

    I felt a chuckle rumble through his chest before I heard it. “It’s almost midnight.”

    I swallowed thickly. Would he kiss me? We hadn’t been going out that long, but there was always hope. I wouldn’t mind. “So it is. Um, thanks for the night. It was really magical.”

    “I wanted to show you something different. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

    The clock tolled midnight signaling that a new year had began. I thought for sure that like Cinderella, the magic would end and I would be left with nothing but a glass slipper.

    And then he kissed me. Just a brief, chaste brush of the lips, but it held the future in it’s grasp.

    It was over too soon as he pressed a glass of bubbly into my hand. “Here’s to a new year.”

    “Here’s to the future.”

    195 words

  9. She feels odd, walking around his apartment. Uncertain in her own skin, last night clinging to her thoughts as her fingers skim over books on a cluttered shelf.

    Morning diminishes nothing, and if regret percolates it does so as quietly as the coffee he’s brewing. For her part, Professor Dale Lewis exceeded her fantasies. Who knew the meticulous care he took grading papers foreshadowed an equally meticulous lover? Or that he’d have the machismo to wear tight electric blue underwear and make it look hot?

    Certainly not her.

    The shoulder of one of his staid cable knit sweaters slips off her shoulder. Cool air kisses her legs, reminding her that the sparkly stockings she thought so daring are now in tatters on his bedroom floor.

    She blushes, remembering the way he ripped them off with his teeth, flipping her over, his tongue running over the tight rosette of her anus. So obscene, conflicting…

    She’s never come so hard.

    She blames the champagne. The beverage wrapped her inhibitions in bubbly effervescence, floating them away in the revelry of New Year’s Eve.

    She smiles, mentally striking a line through her resolution to paint her life in bolder colours.

    Happy New Year, indeed.

    . . . . . .

    200 words
    Happy New Year!

  10. I know I’m late on this…like a week late…but here’s my flash. I love the first prompt so much. – Madi

    Her legs were made of stars, drawing me deeper into the great unknown and closer to everything that would ever matter. She was the astroids and the moon, the universe compacted into a beauty with raven hair. She walked on golden shoes, a goddess atop the blazing sun. And she was everything I ever needed and more than I realized I wanted.

    One kiss from her Venus-red lips, the brightest charm in the sky, spun me around and set me into orbit. Everything about her, everything she did, was a new frontier—a galaxy waiting to be explored. I was God.

    102 words.

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