Contributor: Brian J. Smith
Writing as Chance
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SHE EASES HIM ONTO THE EDGE OF THE BED AND STEPS BACK. SHE BITES bashfully on her thumb, stares seductively at him and slides her hand down the left crease of her strapless red dress; the front of the dress pushes her bosom high up on her chest. He shrugs off his camel-colored work shirt, lets the lamplight from the bedside table trace the contours of his rock-hard stomach, and tosses it over the back of a nearby chair. She slides the dress down her slender frame, exposes ashen skin pulled taut over her ribs and feels it caress her ankles on its way to the floor. He discards his blue jeans, leaves them in a heap around his feet and steps out.
“Looks like I’ve bagged me a good one.” She says.
“I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
Without hesitation, she jumps across the room and wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders. Their kiss is gentle as their tongues swab the caverns of each others mouths. Giggling through their kisses, she pushes him onto the bed, slides out of his grasp and licks his groin; she pants heavily as the lamplight now winks off the saliva
coating her tongue. He writhes under the blanket of euphoric pleasure she provides, sits up to watch her work and then lifts her up and casually tosses her on the bed.
She rolls over on her stomach, plants her knees into the bedspread and welcomes him in. Feeling every inch of him sliding into her, she moans under her breath and peers over her shoulder at him.
“Oh, God. Right there, baby.” She pants as she digs her white-knuckled nails into the bedspread. “Pound me now, motherfucker.”
Gripping her sides like they were handlebars, he drives his cock hard inside of her, pops her head back as he slides in and out, in and out. Her body racked by his pelvic thrusts, she stares down at the mattress as something deep inside grows hot and relentless. She feels it now and she loves every second of it as his cock plunges into her again and again and again. The bed springs creaks under their combined weight; the bleached wood headboard knocks against the rough yellow wallpaper and sends second-hand photos into a scratchy, swaying frenzy. She tugs on the bedspread again as their orgasms collide with one another; spilling his hot load inside her doubles him over and presses his stomach against her upturned buttocks.
Falling onto the bed together, she says, “That was great.”
“You were wonderful.”
She rolls over to the left and he flinches.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She says, sounding apologetic. “I didn’t mean to—.” “It’s okay, honey. Everything seems to be intact.”
They look down past their stomachs and smile. The bright pink tube starts at the tip of his shaft and connects with the center of vagina; it pulsates like a helpless earthworm as it pumps a continuous depletion of sperm. He brushes a strand of hair away from her forehead and admires her in the glow of the bedside lamp. He can’t believe how pretty she is. He almost quivers when he stares into her vivid blue eyes.
“How many do you think we’ll have?”
“Two to three.” She says as she rests her head on his elbow.
“So many names,” He says and stares up at the ceiling with brown eyes bright by with both love and accomplishment. “so many possibilities.”
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Brian J. Smith has been featured in such anthologies E-Mails of the Dead, Book Of Cannibals 2: The Hunger, Pill Hill Press’ 365 Days of Flesh Fiction, Metahuman Press’ The Dead Walk Again and such magazines as Dark Gothic Resurrected Magazine and New Voices In Fiction and such e-zines as Postcard Shorts, The Horror Zine, Thrillers Killers and Chillers, The Carnage Conservatory, The New Flesh and The Flash Fiction Offensive. He currently resides in Chauncey, Ohio with his mother, his brother the writer J.R. Smith and six dogs. His novella “Dark Avenues” is available for download for Kindle; he’s also available on Facebook and Twitter.
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Writing as Chance
- -
SHE EASES HIM ONTO THE EDGE OF THE BED AND STEPS BACK. SHE BITES bashfully on her thumb, stares seductively at him and slides her hand down the left crease of her strapless red dress; the front of the dress pushes her bosom high up on her chest. He shrugs off his camel-colored work shirt, lets the lamplight from the bedside table trace the contours of his rock-hard stomach, and tosses it over the back of a nearby chair. She slides the dress down her slender frame, exposes ashen skin pulled taut over her ribs and feels it caress her ankles on its way to the floor. He discards his blue jeans, leaves them in a heap around his feet and steps out.
“Looks like I’ve bagged me a good one.” She says.
“I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
Without hesitation, she jumps across the room and wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders. Their kiss is gentle as their tongues swab the caverns of each others mouths. Giggling through their kisses, she pushes him onto the bed, slides out of his grasp and licks his groin; she pants heavily as the lamplight now winks off the saliva
coating her tongue. He writhes under the blanket of euphoric pleasure she provides, sits up to watch her work and then lifts her up and casually tosses her on the bed.
She rolls over on her stomach, plants her knees into the bedspread and welcomes him in. Feeling every inch of him sliding into her, she moans under her breath and peers over her shoulder at him.
“Oh, God. Right there, baby.” She pants as she digs her white-knuckled nails into the bedspread. “Pound me now, motherfucker.”
Gripping her sides like they were handlebars, he drives his cock hard inside of her, pops her head back as he slides in and out, in and out. Her body racked by his pelvic thrusts, she stares down at the mattress as something deep inside grows hot and relentless. She feels it now and she loves every second of it as his cock plunges into her again and again and again. The bed springs creaks under their combined weight; the bleached wood headboard knocks against the rough yellow wallpaper and sends second-hand photos into a scratchy, swaying frenzy. She tugs on the bedspread again as their orgasms collide with one another; spilling his hot load inside her doubles him over and presses his stomach against her upturned buttocks.
Falling onto the bed together, she says, “That was great.”
“You were wonderful.”
She rolls over to the left and he flinches.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She says, sounding apologetic. “I didn’t mean to—.” “It’s okay, honey. Everything seems to be intact.”
They look down past their stomachs and smile. The bright pink tube starts at the tip of his shaft and connects with the center of vagina; it pulsates like a helpless earthworm as it pumps a continuous depletion of sperm. He brushes a strand of hair away from her forehead and admires her in the glow of the bedside lamp. He can’t believe how pretty she is. He almost quivers when he stares into her vivid blue eyes.
“How many do you think we’ll have?”
“Two to three.” She says as she rests her head on his elbow.
“So many names,” He says and stares up at the ceiling with brown eyes bright by with both love and accomplishment. “so many possibilities.”
- - -
Brian J. Smith has been featured in such anthologies E-Mails of the Dead, Book Of Cannibals 2: The Hunger, Pill Hill Press’ 365 Days of Flesh Fiction, Metahuman Press’ The Dead Walk Again and such magazines as Dark Gothic Resurrected Magazine and New Voices In Fiction and such e-zines as Postcard Shorts, The Horror Zine, Thrillers Killers and Chillers, The Carnage Conservatory, The New Flesh and The Flash Fiction Offensive. He currently resides in Chauncey, Ohio with his mother, his brother the writer J.R. Smith and six dogs. His novella “Dark Avenues” is available for download for Kindle; he’s also available on Facebook and Twitter.
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Author:
Brian J. Smith
