Sinful Sunday Week # 10

Welcome back to Sinful Sunday. If you’re unfamiliar with the Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction contest rules, please check them out! You must use both the photo prompt and word prompt in some way. The  minimum is 100, maximum 200, and don’t forget to include your word count and twitter handle! Our guest judge this week is Helena Hunting!

Helena is an aspiring erotica romance writer. She loves tattoos, hockey, and reading. She hates snow, which is unfortunate, since she lives in Canada. She can be found on Twitter, Goodreads and Facebook.

Word prompt:

One hand clappingA metaphor for male or female masturbation ; probably coined by a good-humored Buddhist monk in answer to the age-old Zen riddle: What is the sound of one hand? See masturbation for synonyms.

Photo prompt:

Get those steamy thoughts going! You have until midnight EST to get your flash fiction in! Come on and get a little sinful!


  1. Gingerandgreen says:

    “ I’m gonna have to check your ID.”

    He sees me cringe when I hand it over. As though it’s not mortifying enough having to pay for sex my first time.

    “Hey,” he says, “Don’t sweat it. Think of me as your private tutor. I’m good at what I do. I can make you feel good.”

    I doubt that, but I’m willing to try. “Gotta be better than the sound of one hand clapping,” I mumble, then blush furiously, because I know he heard me.

    He pulls off his shirt. I act nonchalant, but his confidence is sexy; so opposite to my awkward.

    I’m relieved when he keeps his pants on, I’m not ready for that.

    By the time I’m half undressed, I’m second-guessing, but the feel of hands on my skin sets me on fire and gives me goosebumps. So fucking contradictory, just like my body.

    “Don’t be scared,” he whispers. “Just close your eyes and feel.”

    I feel: callouses on warm, dry fingers; the shiver running down my spine; hot breath on my shoulder; freedom in being naked in front of him – he’s still here; hot, molten arousal, chasing release.

    Finally, I let go. Holy shit.

    “Thank you.”

    200 words by @Gingerandgreen
    That was by far the most challenging combination of prompts to date!

  2. In the darkness he pushed her back against the wall, breathless with desire and anticipation. She tried to think but her arousal was overpowering. She felt his kisses trailing down her neck, little bites stinging, marking her, claiming her as his.
    He held her hands above her head with one hand while the other started to caress her inner thigh, tracing the edge of her delicates with skilful fingers. Slowly working his way to her warmth, and finding her so ready for what he had planned.
    As she writhed against his hand, his fingers exploring, his touch so delicate yet firm, her thoughts clouded by ecstasy.
    She felt like she was on the edge of despair, not knowing how much more she could take, he sensed her need for release. She realised how close she was, this was a first for her, she had had plenty of one hand clapping experience, but never reached this point at the hand of another.
    Moaning, leaded to a carnal scream, mouth open his fingers found her lips, and she tasted herself.
    “Taste your innocence little one, so so sweet”

    186 words by @SheWhoWas

  3. ‘What was your first time like?’ The question comes out of nowhere and hovers above us in the darkness.

    I turn towards him- this promises to become too much of an interesting conversation and I want to be close to him when I tell my tale. I am surprised it hasn’t come up yet; after all, it’s the kind of thing you would expect to have shared after three years.

    I start pretty casually: 17, last days of school, … the usual stuff. But then, as soon as the words ‘trainee teacher’ and ‘took me over the desk’ have left my mouth I can feel his breathing hitch and his torso move closer.

    Reaching the point where I was about to come, panties and wood digging into my backside, I realise that there is a distinct movement under his side of the blanket. I stop.

    ‘Is that one hand clapping I can hear?’ I whisper.

    I can feel his grin against my cheek. ‘Maybe…’ This time it’s my own skin that heats up.

    My hand clasps over his and he groans. ‘Just don’t stop the story…’

    ‘Yes, sir.’

    When he comes over my hand, I feel nostalgic and horny.


  4. She looked so good at lunch, I had been nervous all day and finally I just couldn’t help myself I finally asked her to prom. I was pretty sure she would say yes, but I wasn’t expecting what came next. She asked me to skip 4th hour with her. We walked to her house; as soon as we got inside she just started kissing me. She pulled her shirt and skirt off and just stood there in her panties, I was so nervous, I put my hand on her belly and just froze. She smiled and I pushed my hand down, I felt hair, real pubic hair and just stopped. She asked if that grossed me out if I wanted her to shave. I turned bright red; my cock felt like it was going to burst out of my pants. Just as suddenly as it all began she covered herself with her arms, she apologized and pulled back. She said she was so sorry she hadn’t shaved, I told her it was ok, I didn’t mind but she started crying. I had no idea what to do.

    Hold on a second, I have a text message.

    Oh My God, look what she just sent me.

    Dude, you can’t start one hand clapping to my girlfriend’s picture. That was dumb, promise me you won’t tell her I showed you that. I can’t believe she shaved though.

    #not eligible 235 words

  5. Always

    This workshop had been his favorite place. Amber could still smell him here, intermixed with the scent of wood. She closed her eyes and let the memories come. Most of his sculptures had been erotic, sensual pieces and she had loved to watch his hands glide over wood, massaging it, coaxing it into the perfect shape. It turned her on, and he knew it.

    She remembered those times and without thinking slipped her hand into her jean’s, cupping her pussy. It hurt to know he’d never touch her again. These days everything hurt. Her fingertips brushed her clit and she sobbed, “I miss you!”

    “I know.” Ian’s voice rose out of memory and she clung to it, eyes closed and heart open. “But that’s no excuse. What did I tell you about your pussy?”

    “That I’m not to touch myself without you there.” She answered aloud, knowing this wasn’t real, but needing it anyway. “Did you hear the sound of one hand clapping from heaven?”

    He laughed. “No, baby. I never left you.” She felt his calloused hands stroke down her stomach, pushing her fingers out of the way as he claimed her pussy. “I’ll always be here for you.”

    200 words

  6. Commencement/Culmination

    Standing in his daddy’s workshop, Tommy gave me a wicked grin. “Come on, sugar. Just one more step.”

    I knew better but was tired of being everyone’s good girl. I crossed the threshold. The garage door rolled down behind me.

    “Now what?”

    “Depends on you.” He circled me.

    I side-stepped and ended up against the workbench.

    “Magic word is stop.” He dropped to his knees and tugged my skirt down inch by inch, until it puddled at my feet. Then he kissed each thigh, warm breath setting afire the place he didn’t touch.

    I trembled when he stripped off my shirt, more when his fingers slid over my belly and lower. He placed my hand on the front of his jeans. I knew he expected me to pull back, but I’d arrived with a purpose. I undid his zipper and closed my hand around hot flesh.

    He drew a sharp breath, then groaned. “Late at night, one hand clapping, I think about you. This is so much better.”

    “Then I won’t say stop.”

    His fingers stroked me faster and faster.

    I came against his palm.

    “That’s my good girl.”

    For once, that phrase didn’t bother me at all.

    199 words

  7. “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” he asks, advancing toward me.

    “Yes,” I whisper.

    “Not your husband?”


    “Good.” He stops in front of me. “Because when I jerk off, I think of you.”

    I step back, but there’s no escape; I’m trapped between him and the table.

    Problem is I don’t want to get away. On the contrary—I want him to catch me.

    He tugs on the hem of my t-shirt. “Take it off,” he says, and I do as he commands. He leans into me, and together we watch his palm slide down my stomach, watch as his fingers slip under the top of my panties.

    We don’t speak, and I find the silence much more erotic than the sound of one-handed clapping to which I’ve become accustomed. Ragged breaths and grunts of exertion make up our conversation. When I come, he presses his hand against my mouth, stifling my cries of pleasure.

    “Sometimes silence is golden, sweetheart. Don’t forget that.” He pulls his hands from my panties, licks his fingers, and walks out the door.

    Two nights later, when he’s fucking me inside his car during the neighborhood block party, I don’t forget.

    200 words

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