Sinful Sunday Week # 35

Welcome back to Sinful Sunday! This week, I’m excited to welcome guest judge Dani Richards!

Sinful Sunday #flashfiction week 35 judge

Dani Richards is a lifelong lover of words both written and spoken. When she’s not writing, she’s being a mom to her two small kidlets who have infinite tolerance for their mother’s unhealthy attachment to her laptop. When she’s not writing or parenting or doing the things that seem to keep her days filled to the brim, Dani’s also wife to a crazy-smart software engineer. In related news, Dani loves geeks! Dani and her family reside in western New York. She is currently editing her first novel — a contemporary romance.

If you’re unfamiliar with the usual Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction contest rules, please check them out.

The photo prompt is meant for inspiration, but you must use both prompts in some way. Have fun with it, and synonyms are accepted! (If you use a word other than the synonyms listed, please include that information after your entry.) The word minimum is 100, maximum 200, and don’t forget to include your word count and twitter handle!

Word Prompt:  


1. A licentious, dissolute or profligate person; a roue; a debauchee.

2. A lecherous and promiscuous man. See philanderer for synonyms.

Photo prompt:

Sinful Sunday #flashfiction week 35 prompt

Disclaimer: The author does not claim to have taken any of the photographs used as prompts. All imagery was found in the public domain via Tumblr.

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


  1. Kristine says:

    His stage name was Rake. And he took great pains to live up to the meaning of his name.

    On the road for some ridiculous number of weeks a year, with any number of employees relying on him, and his band, for an income, he needed the release. An outlet for his stress. Which he found in the multitudes of women who sought his attention.

    Tonight, she was a small-breasted brunette with a tight pussy. He couldn’t remember her name, so Babe sufficed. They were all Babe. He couldn’t get into trouble that way.

    Right now she knelt astride him, inner thighs clenched hard around his hips as he thrust shallowly, his lips trailing down her torso. He may have been focused on the beauty in his lap, her snatch hot around his cock, but he could still hear the pants and moans and demands of his bandmates who were partaking of various debauched acts in the same room. He knew later that they’d probably trade, and he already had designs on a cute little blonde with an ass just ripe for fucking, but right now he was ready to cum in this babe’s stretched cunt.

    This was the life.

    200 words

  2. AnnaLund2011 says:


    I look down, mesmerized, as he makes a pass over the same point, over and over again. He shows no mercy—he is relentless. Oh, the power of youth. Glory be to a man on a mission.

    The sunshine bathes his torso, bringing life to the images encrypted on his skin, in his skin. Drops of sweat gather and slowly make their way down his back, his front, his arms.

    I watch as strong, wiry muscles grip, hold, and work hard. He gives it his all, shaking with convinced and constricted furious commitment.

    Again and again, fast—but with purpose, the man knows his job. Short stubble in his wake, my eyes flutter, a sigh leaves my lips. I fall, through eons of undignified and wanton desire, leaving pieces of myself, shattered, scattered.

    He pares, grazes, grinds, even worships. He holds the whole world in his strong hands, as I let go, as I abandon all reason, as I lean back and give in. Then I watch, with hitched breath, moaning as he gathers up all the fallen pieces.

    I lean my head on the cool window and wish.

    Yeah. My young garden-boy gives new meaning to the word rake.


    Word count: 200, on the nose
    Twitter handle: @AnnaLund2011

  3. The sun shining in the window surprised him, he was usually long gone by now, never did he spend the night with any of the girls he hooked up with. He felt no shame in that either, he’d make it clear when he took them home, it was just his way, he was not interested in anything more, ever. He had been given the name Rake in high school and it stuck. He was confident in the fact that he was destined to be alone, although never lonely, as he couldn’t imagine himself with just one woman.

    Yet here he was, the beautiful brunette lying beside him, he remembered their night together, she’d been so willing to please, although they both knew it was just for the night. He reached out to stroke her breast, she stirred and let out a soft moan. His hands began caressing her soft skin with a need that surprised even him.

    Still partially asleep the brunette let herself be pulled into his lap, she knew this was the last time they would be together and as she felt him fill her slowly she threw her head back and let out a wistful sigh.

    Word Count: 199
    Twitter Name: @MiamiTrue

  4. Elle T. says:

    He’s all passion.

    Straddling his waist as he kisses under my breast, he’s all sex. We paint the perfect picture of wild desire, and restless fucking.

    A carefully lit hotel room is our place today, and we make the most of it.

    He must have the word “rake” written on his body, and he acts the part.

    I whimper when his hands tighten around my body and he moans in response, like I knew he would.

    We’re so close, but not really.

    It feels real, but not really.

    I’m desperate, pushing and pulling and rolling my hips. I want to make the best of the moment we’ve been given. Maybe it’ll be enough to lure him in completely. I moan louder and grip his arms tighter, catching his surprised eyes.

    I feel like the debauchee I’m not supposed to be.

    “What are you doing?” He hisses in my ear, reminding me of my place. The faint murmur of everything that surround us is getting louder and I know we’re almost done.

    I force myself to forget about it, and I manage to come without him noticing.

    The director yells “cut” and the scene is over.

    195 words.

  5. Gingerandgreen says:

    “Don’t do that,” he said the first time.


    “Assume. The ink doesn’t spell philanderer. When you can read it, you can have me. All of me.”

    She didn’t understand, not then. It took months. They’d talk and laugh, eyes dancing off skin and fire, spending precious evenings in company or without. Occasionally she thought she understood, fleeting knowledge in the corner of her eye.

    His day job was saving lives; she served the spoiled at junctions in their railroad journeys – weddings, funerals, graduations. No great reader, she gave away her smiles, certain they didn’t count.

    They were in a market when she got it, sun glinting off patterned muscle as he bent to help a child. He noticed; took her hand and kissed her knuckles, a question answered. They went to his home, a quiet place of worship.

    He filled her so deep, he pushed tears from her eyes. He kissed them away, lips sucking at taut flesh until he reached her belly, hot with need. She tasted of woman – lilies and silk, seaweed and smoky butter.

    She cried out, not his name – other people used that. The word his ink spelled to her: mine.

    199 words, using philanderer instead of rake, by @Gingerandgreen

  6. Domysticated says:

    She’s called him many things.

    Godless (and yet he worships the ground she walks on).

    Heartless (and yet the ache, deep in his chest, keeps him awake at night).

    Rake (so why does the way she tenses and trembles as his tongue tastes her skin, his mouth marks each rib, each fold, each mole… why does it make him want to weep with tenderness, to promise surrender and offer forever?).

    He’s her dirty little secret. Her hard man, inked and pierced and badass. Her fast glorious fuck, which she loves to consume in shitty little motels out by the ring road.

    Later, he’ll let her draw blood with her long nails, scratch her signature on his chest. Sink her teeth in the unadorned patch on his shoulder blade.

    She’ll call him something else, something harsh, hateful, untrue.

    He’ll shrug, seemingly unaffected. It’s so important to her that he doesn’t care. It makes her feel powerful, uninhibited. Free.

    He’ll let her live the fantasy one more time.

    Then she’ll leave and he’ll be alone again, waiting for morning to come.

    179 words

  7. Morning light daggers my eyes as you shift, trying to sneak away. My arms tighten and freshly stained sheets slip free, baring your regrets and purple sex bruises. I trace those that match the scratches you furrowed down my back.

    Sad little baby blue, eyes shining with tears, did you think I’d let you go easy? Think I’d get you skin to skin then send you back to him?

    Ignoring your silent plea and the insulting glint of that diamond ring, I pull you up over me, curl my hand and cup that tender, fucked sore pussy. Trembling, you ride my fingers, hating yourself, hating me. I drag my touch down your inner thighs, painting you with the visceral proof of us and everything he can’t make you feel.

    You think I’m a rake, but baby you don’t know the half of it. I’ve worked my way through rows of discardable women, trying to fuck you out of my head. As I pull you down and bury my cock so deep you can’t tell where I end and you begin, I know I’m done with poor substitutes.

    So are you.

    You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go.

    . . . . . .

    200 words

  8. Antonio Angelo says:

    Most of my kind prefer the neck, but I prefer to feed from just below the rib cage. The victims own blood fuels my erection and I swell within her as her body dances between orgasm and death. The dance goes on for hours as every last drop of life drains from my companion. I expend more energy than I should but making her last moments pleasurable is the least a rake like myself can do.

  9. My artist appears from a backroom looking like he just bent a women over the bathroom sink in a seedy bar and screwed her into Nirvana without exchanging names. Rakishly handsome. Perfect when he smooths the transfer over my ribs with gloved fingers. Clinical. Efficient. “This close to the bone, it’s going to hurt.”

    “I know.” Everything does. Some things don’t hurt enough. My sex throbs, guilt and need.

    The barbell through his eyebrow bobs up. He’s still skeptical about my ability to withstand this pain. My skin is virgin, a sharp contrast to the riot of color swirling up his muscled arms.

    I flinch at the first needle bite. “Sorry. Just nerves.”

    “Be still. If you need a break, ask.”

    An hour in and we are intimates. He mops my blood, soaks up my secrets. No one has touched me in a year and I’m relieved it feels like broken glass ground into an open wound.

    A field of poppies blooms beneath my arm, under my breast, hidden where any future lover will see.

    I imagine I am straddling him instead of this chair, that he is fucking me with practiced patience, branding this memorial with lips and teeth.

    200 Words

  10. It didn’t happen in Buffalo; it happened afterward.

    After the ink, and the muscles, and learning where to be hard and where to be soft, and when the time was right to be exactly the opposite. Whether it was in a sunlit hotel room, a dark alley, a bedroom, a car, or an abandoned playground.

    Some boys might be rakes by birth; some men grow into it.

    But would it kill you to pronounce my name correctly? It’s right up there in red, lady.

    82 words
    @etcet (who is an unrepentant wiseass)

  11. “Honestly,” she looks down at him with lazy eyes and smirks, “are you ever going to get around to fucking me?”

    She’s impossibly more beautiful in the dawn light, and he’s never felt so hopeless as when he mutters, “Shut up,” and flips them over, her laugh sharp in his ear.

    “Careful darling,” she whispers. He licks his way across her ribs again, traces the swell of her breast with his tongue, nips the tight bud of her nipple to feel her body jump underneath him. “I’d almost think you care.”

    Drake knows why he’s here. It’s inked across his arm, tanned into his skin, scarred across his knuckles. He’s the dissolute bad boy, here to entertain her for a couple hours before she pulls on crisp clothes worth more than his car and walks out the door to her Wall Street Wonder.

    “Shut the fuck up,” he repeats as he digs his fingers into the curve of her ass and pulls her body up toward him, lining them up. She moans and he hates himself.

    He slides home and gasps for breath, unable to move for a moment before he grits his teeth and fucks her hard.

    198 words
    Woo! First time 😀

  12. “I-I don’t want anything to do with you, you…you rake!” she yells at me as I pull her over me on the bed. Goddamn, I love it when she’s pissed off; and, right now, she’s fucking angry as hell.

    “Come on, baby,” I murmur seductively, grabbing hold of my cock and running it through her folds. So wet. Always wet for me. “She didn’t mean anything to me. You’re all I want.” I slip into her.

    “You’re a fucking bastard.” She tries to shout the words angrily, but they come out as more of a throaty moan, and she throws her head back at the pleasure building inside. Despite her resistance, she cannot deny her body.

    “That’s never stopped you before,” I remind her, biting at her ribcage just under her lovely breast. Goose bumps break out over her flesh and her nipples harden before she comes around my cock. “It will never keep you away from me,” I say before I explode within her.

    167 Words

  13. Alina stretched out her nude body on the bed, as the rake walked through the door of the motel room. She smiled as his tall, muscular form shut and locked the door before disrobing, letting the silk robe float to the floor to show off his nearly perfect body. All he wore was a devilish grin on his face.

    She beckoned to him with her finger and licked her lips. He crawled onto the bed and drew her into a long, passionate kiss before working his lips down to her breasts. She cradled his head in her hand and moaned as his tongue teased her nipple. He lifted her onto his lap and slid inside her. She gasped and leaned back, relishing every inch of him as he slowly gyrated below her. She barely noticed as he opened his mouth and sank his fangs between two of her ribs.

    149 words

  14. The sultry atmosphere of the club was very promising. He had numerous prospects approach him, but he denied them just as quickly. He was very astute in his search. He only bed a woman with a certain look: slender figure, long dark hair, and small features.

    An hour later, she came in with some friends. He wasted no time flirting with her and they eventually left.

    All night he worshipped her body. They slept for a little while, only to be awoken by the brilliant sunlight through the hotel window.

    “Mmm, Don,” she moaned as he pulled her off the bed and positioned her the way he wanted.

    They began kissing and writhing, their passion quickly building.

    “Take me, Don Juan. Mark me.”

    He slid into her, and pulled her closer, claiming her body with his lips and cock. He kissed down her chest, nipping her skin along the way. Losing herself in ecstasy, she leaned back on his legs as he continued his sinful rhythm. Feeling her come, he bit her under her breast and came inside her.

    Later that night, it would be a different woman in a different hotel in a different city.

    Word Count: 196

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