Sinful Sunday Week 28

Welcome back to Sinful Sunday! I’m so excited to have SassyKathy for this week’s judge!


In real life, SassyK is not as sassy as her name implies. She’s a mom and a wife, and prefers to express sassiness through her words. She has dabbled in writing for the past few years, and enjoys the challenge of creating flash fiction stories.


If you’re unfamiliar with the usual Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction contest rules, please check them out. You must use both the photo prompts and word prompt in some way. Have fun with it, and synonyms are accepted! The word minimum is 100, maximum 200, and don’t forget to include your word count and twitter handle!

Word Prompt:

Philanderer: A man who likes women and has many casual and usually short love-affairs with them.

Photo prompt:


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


  1. Gingerandgreen says:

    She calls me a philanderer. First, I’m nonchalant. I mean, if the shoe fits…

    Then I look at her. Really look at her. Since we broke into the pool and skinny-dipped years ago, my eyes have never focused on my cousin by marriage, lifelong partner in delinquency. Embarrassed teenage lust invaded the Suzy-shaped space in my mind, which I chose to overlook. Then.

    Call me a slow fool, but the fire in her eyes slams me. She’s as hungover as I am. Puffy; smudged; sweaty. Her blonde hair’s a mess. She’s fucking beautiful. Her tank’s slipped, and a slither of pale pink nipple peeks shyly at me over the top.

    My mouth waters.

    My finger traces a line from her forehead to her wine-stained lips. “ I’m a prick,” I mumble. “But I wouldn’t be, if I was yours.”

    “You are mine,” she declares. “Just taste me.”

    She is sunshine in my mouth.

    My tongue traces all her contours, salty sweet with a lifetime of knowledge on her skin. We fell in love when we were three; it’s taken twenty years to reach this bed of desire. She tastes like forever, and I am so fucking greedy for it.

    198 words by @Gingerandgreen

  2. He played my body like I was an instrument designed for his hands only.

    He crawled inside my dark soul to never leave again. I was in need of his rough touch.

    I craved the way he had me on my knees while he painted my back with his tongue. I loved the way he rested his hands on the headboard, knuckles turning white from the intensity of his thrusts.

    It was a night ruled by lust; raw, unashamed, unabashed lust.

    He gave me things I didn’t even know I needed. Not until him.

    He managed to peel off more than my clothes. He stripped me bare to the core and saw right through me. He saw what I was and didn’t shy away. He embraced it.

    In that moment, I was beautiful.

    In that moment, I was confident.

    Until daylight came, and with it, his careless goodbye. Chaste, forehead kisses were the only thing he gave me that morning. It felt like ice being thrown at my scorching skin. He had started the fire within me and extinguished without a second thought.

    Philanderer? That’s exactly what he was.

    Me? I was just a fool that was still burning.

    199 words.-

    • “He had started the fire within me and extinguished IT without a second thought.”

      Missed a word there…
      so that makes 200 words now.

  3. Call me a philanderer. Call me a sex addict. I don’t care. The truth is I love women. I love everything about them. Their lips, necks, shoulders, breasts, backs, hips, legs. Everything. I love women. I love all of them. I can’t stop at one. One’s just so… Limiting.

    Last night, I met a new one on the dance floor. The way she shook her hips. The way she shimmied. I had to dance with her. I had to let my hands wander to her hips, then to her ass. I had to press myself against her during the slow dances.

    She asked me to come home with her. Once there, I explored every luscious inch of her. Of course, I screwed her. More than once. We passed out on her bed.

    This morning my hands woke her as they gently squeezed her breasts and massaged her nipples before they found their way between her legs. She move to her hands and knees, riding my fingers as I savored the flavor of the skin. I’d entered her, my hands on her breasts, pulling myself as deep into her as I could get.

    Gods, I have to explore more women.

    199 words

  4. One woman, one night, one fuck.

    The subtle sway of her bare back. Her ass.

    My fingers got tangled in a stubborn knot in her long blond hair.

    The moment, tarnished. Made real.

    No, I refuse this to happen.

    She made me laugh. At her. At myself.

    I’d met her type before. One fuck and they clung, like flypaper.

    Pulling on my sweater, I zipped my jeans and shoved my feet into my Docs and bolted from the room.

    Fresh air was what my mind craved. I needed to clear it of all these thoughts –of her. They were smothering me.

    Two blocks away, my text alert sounded.

    “What’s wrong?” Her.

    The sweet, salty taste of her still lingered on my taste buds, I had not one reason or desire to leave her.

    Her body was perfection. She knew it.

    Philanderer. I had embodied the definition.



    Passing a garbage receptacle, I dropped my cell into it.

    After I replied, “You.”

    Yes, I was a motherfucker.


    Twitter: Caffeine_Needed
    Word Count: 167

  5. lellabeth says:

    Philanderer, womaniser, heartless bastard. I’d been called them all; let them sink into my skin until they were another layer there. I anticipated the admiring looks from women, the flirtation and the teasing touches before I took them home.

    And you were no different, another beautiful woman with a tight body and soft whispers in the muted morning light. I expected the flat stomach, the hard nipples and blonde hair. I knew the slick of your spine would be tangy against my tongue, could guess that you’d want the curtains open while we fucked just from the way your teeth sank into my lip, banked on you arching your back and pressing your ass against me.

    I didn’t foresee how you’d look back at me as I slammed my hips against yours, didn’t suspect the whisper of ‘gentle’ when I slid my thumb to rub against your clit, didn’t even contemplate how your eyes would widen when I rolled away from you after we’d both been sated.

    But what I really didn’t expect, what I couldn’t even imagine, was how the wrinkled emptiness of my bed the following morning would match the gaping hollow sitting beneath my breastbone.

    198 words

  6. He stalked me across the ballroom and cornered me near the cash bar. Looking world weary, rugged from digging wells or saving rainforests.

    I scanned for Annie. She’d gushed about his return, and his latest mission, at the rehearsal dinner.

    “We have unfinished business.”

    My nipples tightened to stiff peaks. Traitors. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

    He leaned in so close I could smell his cologne, feel the whisper of his stubble against my cheek. “I’ve never wanted to be inside anyone as much as I wanted, want, to be inside you.”

    Trapped in the cage of his body, I thrummed at the memory of his tongue tracing the curve of my spine. Stopping him, stopping myself, had been like severing a limb. “You were visiting Annie then, too. She still loves you.”

    “She only loves the idea of me. Her philandering saint. I’m a fable. Besides, Annie is married now.”

    “And I’m the one that got away? Forbidden fruit?”

    He answered by nipping my earlobe; sliding his fingers further up my inner thigh until he found the soaked crotch of my panties, the pulse in my clit. Proof.

    “Let me taste you and find out.”

    200 words

  7. Violet Lyte says:

    The ache in my arms makes me want to give in, to sag into the mattress beneath me, but I don’t.

    I won’t.

    When his tongue traces the dip above my ass I lock my elbows and fight the urge to throw my head back in ecstasy. It’s his chest against my sore bottom that stops me. The warmth of his smooth skin sets my own on fire, reminding me of all the pleasant torture I’d received the night before.

    This is his game and I’m oh so fucking willing.

    When he speaks his lips brush against me, prickles of gooseflesh racing toward my scalp. “You gonna be my good girl tonight, Mae?”

    I don’t dare to speak, confident he finds the answer in my silence.

    Knowing this won’t last, that I’m one conquest in the long line of my chaser, I brace myself to take all he’s willing to give me. He might not be mine to keep, but I’ve offered him my body, every single inch for him to use. And when he leaves, the burn in my limbs and the ache between my legs will remind me that he was real.


    Word count: 194

  8. It’s mid December, brutally cold. Gray, wintry daylight leaks around the edges of lowered window shades. Inside, with him, naked on this bed, nothing is cold. My skin feels flushed and no doubt is. My hands fist in sheets warmly damp with sweat we’ve both shed. It’s hot everywhere, in me, over me, all around me. Philanderer thy name is heat, and you consume me utterly.

    He knows this. It makes him smile wickedly against my back as I moan, his tongue lashing out, flickering against my spine like an obscene promise. I melt like ice under the raze of his fire.

    My name is Wednesday. Today is my day. Thursday he’ll belong to some other woman, Friday someone new, Saturday reserved for whoever catches his eye when Friday fails to hold his attention, silly Friday. Perhaps Sunday is his alone. A day of rest, for surely even a womanizer needs time to recoup. Monday, Tuesday…

    I don’t know. I don’t care.

    All I need to know is I’m his one and only consistent. As he fucks into me, deep, hard, stealing my breath with practiced ease, it’s more than enough commitment for both of us.

    196 words

  9. Antonio Angelo says:

    Her body perfection, its only 200 words he said how in love could a man fall in 200 words. He began the task letters spilled out across the page; they licked up her bare naked back and thrust themselves into her perfect ass. A raging cauldron of letters and spaces, periods and commas came together in perfect harmony and a picture grew into a story. There would be no apologies, no tomorrow only two hundred words would be devoted to this particular creature yet in them a love affair would burn so bright so powerful it consumed him.
    As his eyes drank in her beauty and his fingers typed out holding her breast his philanderer’s heart went wild. Blood moved from his brain to his cock and he held himself beneath the sheets. Just one more time he lied, a beautiful black and white lover became real if only for a few hundred words the man in the picture completely disappeared it was him upon the precious mount fucking a woman without name, fucking a woman without shame, fucking a woman just the same yet all alone in life’s game he cherished this moment as he came.

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