Sinful Sunday Week #4

Welcome back to week #4 of Sinful Sunday! I couldn’t believe how many fantastic entries there were last week! So many, in fact, that last week’s judge chose honorable mentions and a runner up in addition to a winner. (There will be badges for everyone, as soon as I get them finished, that is!) This week’s judge is Jeffrey Hollar, our winner from last week!

Jeffrey is an author/poet, father, husband and Klingon/Ferengi hybrid . He is a writer without genre and a short fiction specialist.

This week’s prompt:

I’m also adding a sexy word prompt to the contest now!  Using the deliciously raunchy site SexisLexis, our additional Sin-spiration term comes from a random letter and number choice, courtesy of my husband.

damp patch: Or: wet-patch / wet-spot , a damp spot on the bed covers after sex.
(It doesn’t have to be on the bed covers only, nor does it have to be after. Before, during. Towel, panties, ex-husband’s sheets…you get the idea.)

We can’t wait to see what you all come up with! If you’re unfamiliar with the Sinful Sunday contest rules, please check them out! Remember: the word minimum is 100, maximum 200, and don’t forget to include your word count and twitter handle! You have until midnight EST to get your flashfiction in! Come on and get a little sinful!


  1. Uncharted Horizons

    Tatiana thanked whatever erotic guardian angel it was who’d sent her Seth. The man was hung like a horse, had the stamina of a bull and was an unashamed dirty dog in the sack. In the brief time they’d been intimate he’d expanded, not only, her sexual horizons but had sure as hell increased the elasticity of her thoroughly-satisfied orifices.

    She ground her hips back as he thrust into her with increasing vigor. She was so wet her juices flowed uncontrollably down her legs leaving a wet patch on the carpet she didn’t even care how she would clean up. Thinking wasn’t a high priority as she surrendered to the raw animal strength of the man.

    Hands braced against the large picture window of her Manhattan loft, she knew her naked form was readily visible, feeding the voyeuristic appetites of an untold number of faceless watchers. Any initial reluctance she’d felt about doing something so unaccountably naughty was swept away as her first climax overtook her. Let them watch, she purred; let them see a hot woman getting the hell banged out of her. As long as the orgasms kept coming she really couldn’t care less who else was aroused.

    200 entirely ineligible words @klingorengi

  2. Ginger Green (@Gingerandgreen) says:

    Turns out cotton is the thing for a second wedding anniversary, so I got her some Egyptian shit. ‘Course, we had to try ’em out on our last night in the old place, but neither of us would sleep in the damp patch. She wants to change ’em.

    Thought I’d worn us out; should’a put a block on the Kahlua coffees.

    “Jeannie, much as I love watching your tits jiggle, I don’t appreciate the pricks across the street getting some too.”

    She jerks her head round, alert to the open blinds; turns back to me with her crazy laugh, and waggles her bare ass in their direction.

    “What,” she says, “you think they’re getting an eyeful?”


    Gives me the finger, whips around, presses her whole, bare self up against the glass.

    Primal lust burns through my veins, quick as fire. “Oh, you’re getting it now. Don’t you move!”

    When I push up against her, she’s as wet as I am hard. “This is my woman, fuckers,” I crazy-yell. “You can see her pussy, all pressed up here; only I can fuck it!”

    Which I do – real hard.

    “Fuckinggoddamnyeeaahh!” she screams back.

    192 sinful words; @Gingerandgreen

  3. The rain on the glass door overlooking the balcony wasn’t the only wet spot in the apartment. Hours of frantic exertion had left provocative sweat angels on the bed, the bare tile of the kitchen floor, the top and front of the washing machine, and on at least two of the walls.

    Now it was the window’s turn to be desecrated and decorated. As they moved together, both of them scanned the buildings outside – looking to see if they were observed and at the same time, keen to see if they weren’t the only ones channeling the night’s storm into some exhibitionist passion.

    As they built towards another climax, a spire of light lanced the darkness, illuminating the clouds and ending their tryst as surely as if it had pierced the window and lit them up for the entire city to play voyeur.

    “Fucking Bat Signal. I’ll beat Gordon to death with my goddamned cock for this.”


  4. “Window of Opportunity”

    The damp patch on the front of my silk boxers is a testament to how hot Kendall makes me after all these years. I adjust the video camera from my hideaway across the street, sharpening the focus on the unadorned window and the couple fucking up against the glass.

    His fingers bite possessively into her hips, making me growl. The sight of her perky tits mashed against the glass draws a low moan. Rabid jealousy followed by cock-twitching covetousness.

    Kendall presses her lips to the glass, leaving behind a scarlet kiss. She knows I’m recording her little tryst, that I’m uncomfortably hard right now and wish it was me slamming into her.

    Pulling out the high-tech receiver, I activate the device hidden in a potted plant in Jackson’s office.

    When Kendall clamps herself down on a man, he talks.

    They collapse onto his leather couch, breathless and spent. There is laughter and whispering before she asks him the all-important question. My equipment records it all.

    “Gotcha, fucker,” I sneer.

    Later tonight, after she washes his taint from her sleek body, we’ll share some wine and laugh over his demise while she rides me.

    Corporate espionage is a heady cocktail.

    200 WIP words

  5. My husband found me looking out the window, naked and staring over the buzzing city below. His icy hand gripped roughly around my middle and he drew a finger below my nose. I smelled myself on him and knew he’d found the damp patch I’d left on the bed.

    “Have you been a naughty girl?”

    I remained silent; the evidence of my arousal was plain. He plunged a thick finger within me and it felt cold and unwelcome. I sighed though, knowing it was what he wanted. My ass pressed against his nakedness and I shivered, but not with desire.

    I knew he would take me against the window, but he grew impatient with my inability to find him in the moment.

    “Did you wear yourself out earlier? Leave none for me?”

    He squeezed my hip and I closed my eyes. Another face flashed in front of my eyes.

    “Ah, there’s my girl.”

    He took me swiftly, mercifully quiet. He left me alone with my own thoughts, and with them I found release.

    173 words

  6. Exposure Therapy
    By Lisa McCourt Hollar

    Looking down at the city, Deanna struggled against her acrophobia. A wave of nausea swept over her, the throngs of people milling around below morphing into an angry swirl. His arms encircled her waist, whispering that it would be okay. Leaning against him, she shivered. His hand moved up, sweeping against her breast, teasing her nipple until it was taut. Deanna thrilled at the mixture of excitement and fear.

    Placing her hands against the glass, every fiber in her screamed that this was wrong, she would fall.

    “It will be okay, we’ll get through this together.” Nudging her legs apart, his hands joined hers on the window.

    Afterwards, with her clothes back on, Deanna smiled, unsure.

    “Tell Sally to schedule you for an hour next week.” Dr. Tremane didn’t look up, writing something in his notebook.

    Nodding, Deanna left. Downstairs, she thought about not coming back. Was this really therapy? She had faced her fears… hadn’t she?

    “At least the glass is mirrored,” she thought, looking up towards his office. That’s when she noticed that at night, with the light on, she could see anything pressed up against the glass… such as his next client spread eagle against the window.

    Word Count: 200

  7. Christopher woke up. Sat up in his bed. Shook his head. Slapped himself a couple of times. “What a dream that was.”

    He’d dreamed he was on vacation. In a room on the 15th floor of a hotel. In the dark. With Glenda. She of the cleavage, the hips, the legs, and the ass. She who was the living, walking definition of the word distraction. Around her, his brain cells abandoned him. Leaving him a babbling idiot.

    But, there she was. In that dream. Naked. Her hands pressed against the window. He could see her image reflected in the glass. And she wasn’t saying anything. Just breathing heavily. And he was naked, and standing behind her. Watching every stroke he made into her. His hands on her hips. Pulling himself as deep into her as he could get. Enjoying every moment.

    As he finished in his dream, he woke up. And the dream was gone. “Gods, I’m such a slime,” he thought, as he got up and stumbled to the toilet to take his morning leak. He was glad of one thing. At least the dream had ended without leaving a damp patch on his bed.

    199 words

  8. They eyes locked. His gaze was smoldering, her answer was in a grin. They looked away briefly, turned away, but their eyes returned a shared desire. His face went flush on the return gaze when he noticed the blush upon her face. Striding to the bar with ease, he faces the bartender to order the liquid courage. The corner of his eye keep her in his command. A slight smirk graces his face as he sips his drink noticing her stare. Dipping his tongue purposely, he closes his eyes, the sweetness coats his tongue, he sighs. He opens his eyes, a beautiful vision appears smiling sweetly at him. His attention strays when a glass of amber liquid appears before him. The bartender smiles, quirks his head towards her, and grins. Picking the glass up, he sips the nectar, a blush appears from the heat of the drink. He takes her hand, kisses the inside of her damp palm, wonders if she has a damp patch anywhere else. Leaning into her, inches away from her lips, whispers thank you. Feeling her lips press gently against his, swept away in the pleasant sweetness on their tongues. Hand in hand, they stroll on.

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