Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction Week # 40

Welcome back to Sinful Sunday! I can’t believe we’ve had forty weeks of sin.  This week’s judge is last week’s winner, Les!

Sinful Sunday #flashfiction Week 40 judge

Les is a writer who lives in Texas with her husband and family. She writes about boys in love with other boys, boys who want boys but don’t want to want boys, and boys who like to have lots of sex with other boys. She loves to read about the same kinds of boys. Her first story will soon be available on Goodreads as part of the summer Love Has No Boundaries event. She also loves Chick Fil A, cheesecake, and purple.

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 Prompts (There are two to choose from this week!):

Compulsion: An abnormal , irresistible urge to act without the conscious desire to do so.

1. A derivation of bun, a British word for the female genitals since the 17th century.
2. In the 1960s, a pert and attractive girl, especially one who practiced a sport or activity because of the social life attached to it. Ski bunny/beach-bunny.3. Bed-bunny, a bed hopping, promiscuous woman, based on the rabbit’s proclivity for mating.4. A male prostitute, straight or gay, agreeable to anal-intercourse.

5. An adolescent boy regarded as a sexual-object .

6. Or: Playboy-Bunny/Bunny-Girl , a waitress or croupier in a Playboy Club (since the 1960s) dressed in a rabbit costume complete with fluffy tail and head-dress with large floppy ears.

7. American slang for a male homosexual experienced in anal-intercourse.

8. In England, to talk or chatter.

9. A term of endearment or nickname.

Photo Prompt:

 Sinful Sunday #flashfiction week 40 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. AnnaLund2011 says:


    Where angels lightly tread—

    My love, he is like a whisper, treading lightly on my soul.

    He is—therefore, I am.

    I am the man to his youth. To me, he is the air itself.

    He helps throw my fears to the winds, as he leaves in his wake nothing but desire. He is my compulsion: breathable, alive, a necessity, a basic, intrinsic need.

    He finds me every time I lose my way. He keeps me focused; he feeds my creative nerve. He makes me explore and go deeper.

    His past, lost in terrible destruction. In immense pain, in treason and hurt, abandonment and solitude.

    People say I’m too old for him. People say sad things. Can they not see the beauty? Can they not feel the love?

    I hold him in the palm of my hands; light as a feather, he dances for me. He is beauty, and he is love.

    He is finally all he was meant to be. As his past is swept away, no more can pain find him; calm, I am the holder of all his secrets, he, the holder of mine.

    Also of secrets that live in the murkiest of waters.

    —darkness cannot linger.

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

  2. MeraNaamJoker says:

    “This is crazy.”

    His voice betrays none of the terror or revulsion I’d anticipated. Instead, he sounds like it’s too good to be true.

    “Told you.” I smile, trying to look confident even though it’s a difficult task when you’re stark naked and hovering three feet above your mattress. Thank God for vaulted ceilings.

    “Is it—wait.” His hands run down my legs, then caress the soles of my feet. “No tricks.”

    I play-scowl down at him. “Where would I be hiding anything?”

    “Nowhere.” Now his fingertips trace my calves, and continue up. “I just wanted to touch.”

    My head falls back, eyes drifting closed, when he reaches the juncture of my thighs. “You don’t need an excuse.”

    “Mm.” He nudges my legs farther apart. “And you’ve always been able to do this?”

    The warmth of his breath on my most intimate places makes my voice quaver. “Always. It’s a compulsion. My mom had to force me to learn to walk.”

    “Can you teach me?”

    He licks my clit before I can answer. Gasping for air, I manage to say, “I’ve never tried.”

    “If you can learn to walk—” He licks again. “Maybe I can learn to fly.”

    * * *
    Word count: 199
    Twitter handle: @in_purdah

  3. Tinsley Warren says:

    “Fuck!” She yells throwing herself on the kitchen counter, her hair a mess. Her face doing nothing to hide how stressed she is. “I’m sorry my obsessions and compulsions ruined dinner with your parents,” she sniffles, leaning her head against the cabinet. “I will never be the daughter-in-law of the year with my OCD. They think I’m a freak.”

    I sit beneath her and start playing with her delicate feet. This usually calms her down pretty well, and gets her aroused. “Oh Bunny, screw them. I think every little obsession and crazy act makes you unique.” I kiss her leg and feel her shiver against my touch. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

    She laughs and tries to move herself away from my teasing. “Liar, you just love me because you finally have a girl that likes anal.”

    This time I laugh with her as I get up and pull her to the edge of the counter, settling myself between her legs. “That’s just an added bonus,” I whisper, kissing her. Our tongues battle for dominance as I move my hand under her dress. I find her wet and waiting for me.

    “Thank you,” she sighs into my ear. “As long as you love and accept me, all of me, that’s all I will ever need.” She smiles as I feel her rub her hand through my hair three times, one of her crazy acts, as I call them. How can I not love her when I think every little thing she does is adorable, even checking the lock four times before we leave the house.

    I plunge my fingers into her core and she moans loudly in our kitchen, clutching the granite countertop with white knuckles.

    “You’re all I need, always. I love you my Bunny.”

    Words: 300

  4. Jami Denise says:

    We were on a precipice, tippy-toeing around the situation and the pain. It was the end, and we were unable to change the series of events that brought us to that point.

    But there was that compulsive need for him to belong to me, and me him. From the beginning, we were too intense. Over the top, and unhealthy in love.

    “I need to be inside you. I need to hold you.”

    The words ground out of his mouth like shards of glass. Needy and addicted, he grabbed me, took me.

    His hand wrapped around my ankle, pulling me to the end of the bed and shoving himself inside, breaking my heart further.

    His kisses felt like a farewell, and his touch was too eager to feel like hope. Each thrust of his hips, every time he touched that place inside, I died a little bit more.

    We were holding on to yesterday. The yearning between us was so strong, it just wouldn’t let go. We couldn’t. My hands held his back, the muscles rippling as he plunged deeper and deeper into my soul. I let him take everything.

    As my orgasm approached, the tears fell.

    Tomorrow, we were over.


    Twitter: @JamiDeniseO
    Word Count: 200

  5. Eileen Griffin says:


    More than desire. Claiming her is an ache that burns deep inside my soul. Some call her my obsession. The truth runs deeper. One touch, one glance, one word and I’m lost.

    She balances in my embrace, total trust and submission. My thumb gently glides over the ink nestled against her instep. The ink, so tiny the ears and slope of the nose are barely discernible. Her shivers are electrical currents that shoot straight through me, demanding that I be buried deep within her until she’s screaming my name. Only mine.

    We balance on the precipice of carnal want and desperate need. The small moan that falls from her lips is all that it takes to push us over the edge. My hands lower her to the ground in front of me, possessively memorizing each small facet of her porcelain skin. As my teeth sink into the small of her back claiming her as mine, the point of no return is sealed.

    And the compulsion to fall drags us under.

    Word Count: 171

  6. Gingerandgreen says:

    It seems to me that true love is as commonplace as a feather in a garden.

    Time was, the tales we told one another around the fireside featured pain and cruelty. Our hair prickled our necks, and ghostly breezes nudged our spines; but as we listened huddled together, we were made grateful for what we had. We were not forced to dance nightly until our feet bled, or led wickedly into witches’ lairs. Love was easy because the beloved was clearly not the monster of our dreams.

    When mercenary greed bled into procreation and familial bindings, our stories changed apace. Cinderella sought freedom and found, instead, a Prince. Exquisite Sleeping Beauty awoke with a kiss so rare and unprecedented as to be unique.

    So the compulsion to seek the One True Love grew until we barely noticed him living next door all along.

    Although you dance in the palms of my hands, you remain oblivious to what I give you. I am present; faithful; strong and true. I nurture your dreams. When you leap, I bear the pain with steady ardour. I am the feather in your garden, unnoticed, unseen.

    Open your eyes, Precious One. I can make you fly.

    200 words by @Gingerandgreen
    (Not exactly sinful, sorry!)

  7. USED
    He stood in front of the mirror, naked and white, running his hands over his own skin, feeling the way it dipped painfully inward between his bulging ribs and jutting hipbones. His eyes were hooded in shadows, his cheekbones ominous and sharp. He was just a pale slip in the reflection of the dark room, standing out brightly against the mass of hulking hills soaked in shadows behind him. Grunting hills that squeezed swollen purple flesh and panted for his white skin, his frail little body. The circle seemed to loom collectively closer as his hands finally slid down and grabbed his own hard length. Finally one of them broke away and came forward, answering the call, claiming him. He felt the thrill of being used jangle up his spine. It was an unceasing compulsion, his craving for strange hands and violent penetration and appreciative, babbling hate speech. He dropped down on his hands and knees like the eager bunny he was, like a praying whore, already slipping into the thick blind storm, already lost in the endless in and out, the sweet rough rhythm where he’d rediscover himself in the morning.
    word count: 192

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