Sinful Sunday Week # 14

It’s time to get in a little naughty flash fiction before Christmas! (Or, for those of you who don’t celebrate, before Monday!)

This week’s judge is last week’s winner, ElleT!

ElleT is a passionate young woman flying all over the internet searching for inspiration, admiring other’s people talent and finding ways to express herself. You will find her under a bunch of different pen names in Twitter, Tumblr,, among other ones. Outside of her online world, she’s a 20 years old obstinate dreamer, living in a small Caribbean island, 8 months away from graduating college with a BA in Advertising, trying to find common ground between all the things that interest her and what I can do with my degree. Music, books, movies and all forms of art expression are big part of her life. She is in love with herf amily (parents and brother) and friends. She’s always questioning herself and reinventing who she is, so if she ever wins this again, her bio will already, probably differ from this one. 😉

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!

Word prompt:

WhiskerAmerican slang for a prostitute.

Photo prompt:

Get those steamy thoughts going! You have until midnight EST to get your flash fiction in!


  1. Gingerandgreen says:

    “Hush, Beautiful, hush now. You did so well. Here, take a drink. I’ve got you.”

    Gentle fingers tip my head back, supporting my neck in a gesture almost more intimate than the acts that led me to this place.

    Oh god, this place – I came within a whisker of unconsciousness, I swear. I had no idea pleasure could be this disabling. The world could end right now, I wouldn’t care.

    Masterful, that’s what he is. My incoherence is as internal as it is external, and I can barely string a thought together; but if there is anything going on in my head, that’s it. Fucking Masterful. I get the whole BDSM master thing now – I mean, who knew? Who knew a sexy fucking god could have that kind of effect on your body, mind and soul?

    If this is all I get, I’ll always be grateful, because I didn’t Know, and now I do. I sure as hell do. Oh. My. God.

    But I have to tell you, if he doesn’t ask me out on a second date, I’m going to cry. For weeks. Or learn how to boil rabbits… Shit, I didn’t think that, did I?

    199 irreverent words by @Gingerandgreen

  2. The whiskey wasn’t strictly necessary, but why settle for mere overkill when complete obliteration is in the offing?

    She’d given herself to me as soon as I saw how her eyes lit up when I encircled her wrist with my fingers. Though the negotiations were substantially more nuanced; they were a mere formality, and we both knew it. I had her body, her trust, and now, with that absolute control firmly grasped, I let her dissolve any lingering hesitation, any remaining veneer of inhibition, with the raw, smoky liquor I plied her with.

    Her gasp when my stubbled whiskers grazed her throat before my teeth found their mark was everything her eyes had told me she would be.



  3. Sam Overton says:

    He had referred to her as a whisker, but I knew what she really was. A prostitute. She entered the room wearing nothing but some lacy piece the stopped at her mid-thighs. She had a beautiful grin on her face and a tattoo on her shoulder. He had also told me her name was Candy.
    “Whatcha drinking?” she asked in a Southern drawl.
    I looked down at the small glass of bourbon I was holding in my hand and smiled. “Bourbon.” I said.
    “Can I have a drink?” she asked, reaching for the glass. I pulled the glass out of her reach and she frowned at me.
    I pointed to a chair next to me and she turned to it and smiled, already making her way. She sat down in it and looked up at me. I grabbed the two strips of silk from off the bed and wrapped each one around her slender wrists. When she was securely bound to the chair I walked behind her and held the cold glass to her chin.
    “Do you want this?”
    “Yes,” she moaned.
    “You can have it,” I whispered, “But not until your nice and fucked.”

    Words: 198

    Twitter: @darklybeautiful

  4. The Fathers always brought their untrained girls to me. I trained them to fulfill the fantasies, dreams, and wishes of the Fathers business clients, turning them into the perfect whiskers. Until the Fathers brought her to me. The transporter that brought her handed me a note signed by the six Fathers. In honor of my years of service, they had her to me.

    Of course, I had to teach her to fulfill my fantasies, dreams and wishes. I’d removed her clothing. Save for a shirt. Tied her to a chair. Kept her there. I was teaching her to do what I wished. When she did, she was rewarded. When she didn’t, there was always pain.

    This morning, I provided more instruction in oral sex. The methods and ways I like it. I must admit, I enjoyed the lesson very much. She did well. Taking my whole length without complaint. Drinking ever drop of my happiness. I rewarded her with a glass of Southern Comfort. As she remained tied to the chair I tilted both her glass, and head for her.

    After her drink, she spread her legs wide and begged to let her please me more.

    198 Words

  5. Time.
    I wish there was more time.
    “Asian, Hispanic … long hair, big tits, what?”
    “No preference.”
    “Whatever, buddy. One hour.”
    “Young,” I breathed.
    “Like, real young?”
    My silence traveled through miles of dark wires.
    “Okay. One hour.”
    When you showed up, my brisk little whisker, five foot nothing and shimmering with heat, my fingers ached.
    “How old are you?” I ventured between sips.
    “Twenty-two,” you smiled.
    Your drink order told a different story.
    When you finished the tumbler of Sprite and offered your left hand, slipping me your keycard, I waited before purchasing the rest of the bottle of Dewar’s and walking towards the elevators.
    Upstairs, I set the bottle on the dresser, pouring an iceless double before turning to you.
    “Twenty-two?” I asked.
    You laughed, and leaned forward.
    If we had more time, I’d ask you about your first kiss. I’d talk to you about my work, ask if you’d read any of it.
    I’d trace your eyebrows with one finger and fall in love, just a little bit.
    When I was younger, I did.
    I lifted the liquid burn to your lips, holding your throat steady, and began to pour.
    If only we had more time.

    200 words

  6. Every waking hour burns down to this:

    Twisted sheets, fever-hot cheeks, and qualing, shameless pleas.

    “God,” I pray, aching and straining to arch higher and open wider. “Please, please, please-”

    He’s a dream above me, pitch-dark scarlet rocking inside, all around and all through me. He’s the sound of my covetous pulse. He’s a feeling like sinking into burning.

    When he chuckles, his holy voice touches me within, low, thick and full.

    “Shh.” He enfolds me. “Open, truelove,” he whispers between my ribs, in my veins. “Let me all the way.”

    He can’t be real.

    But he’s been here since my body opened like a primrose. Every night, deep between asleep and dreaming, he’s carefully opening and slowly completing.

    He spreads me like hands and fills me like a man. My eyes can’t see but my heart knows his wings are spread above us, stretching from sacred shoulders while he fucks like only the God of Longing can.

    “Please,” I whimper, trembling as I open all the way, desperate for his loss of control like an overworked whisker for cool water.

    I beg.

    And darkness shakes.

    Cupid’s surrender is lush mercy and intimate grace.


    And mine.

    199 words @soWarrenAshley

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