FLASH-FIC IS HERE
PLEASE JOIN US EACH FRIDAY TO SEE WHO'S FLASHING US
Each Friday a new prompt will be posted along with the previous week's winners.
What exactly is a Flash-Fic? It's pretty much a spur of the moment, tiny story, prompted by words, images or silliness. Not sure if you've ever been on twitter when this has happened, but it's pretty awesome when it does. It also happens often in threads, with a combination of people contributing.
How does it work? Each Friday one admin of TLS posts a picture prompt here to the blog. Using this image, entries are created by commenting on this post. Submissions must be 100-300 words ONLY. No more, no less. The entries are then judged and we post the winners here, each Friday, to share with all of you.
You will have until next Wednesday at 9 p.m. EST to submit your entry.
Picture prompt and judge this week is Guest Judge: Cosmogirl7481
Please leave your submission in the comment section at the bottom of the post using this format:
Your name (use your Twitter, Facebook or FFN name)
Your link to your FFN profile if you choose to share it
Submissions will be judged on Thursdays and on Friday the winning entry will be posted here, on the TLS blog.
This feature is open to everyone, so come one, come all!
LAST WEEK'S PROMPT AND WINNERS
"I know I shouldn't be watching him, but I can't look away."
Special thanks to our last week Guest Judge, @Carenl!!!
FIRST PLACE WINNER
I haven't been back here since that fateful day - the blow up between him and I. The two months that have passed since I moved with my little guy into the small town down in the valley, have shown me that I really can make it without Edward. Even when it hurts like hell.
Taking a deep breath, I use the old key he gave me back when we shared this small home, and let myself inside. The room smells like bacon and coffee and butter, and I know he's already made his breakfast. I hope he hasn't already left to work for the day, because, frankly, I'm not sure that I have the nerve to attempt this twice.
The entire place is eerily quiet, except for the crackling wood that is likely falling apart in the dying stove fire. I'm about to push back through the creaky door when I hear it: the squeaking springs of the old brass bed, and the irrefutable sound of his moans.
I carefully - quietly - make my way back toward the room. The door is open just enough for me to peer inside. What I see steals my breath.
Edward is pumping his cock with one hand while the other fists the white cotton sheets. My pussy clenches when he moans my name, and every nerve ending is alert. I must've gasped, because his bright green eyes are suddenly focused on mine. His hand stops rubbing and he quickly pulls up his shorts to cover himself.
"Bel--" he starts to call my name, but I'm already running.
Making it to my old red pickup, I start to open the door but his hand slams it closed. And he spins me, lips assaulting mine and his breath becoming my own.
"Mine," he groans. Owns. Possesses.
I crept along the hallway, wishing I had grabbed my socks. October in Marquette was cold. I was freezing, tired, and completely on edge.
He had arrived today with his cocky smile and wicked sense of humor. When we ended up alone in the kitchen, he was all flirty banter and light touches. I wanted him, and I knew he wanted me, too. But he didn’t make a move - just teased me all night - so I went to bed alone and frustrated.
I slipped quietly across the floor as I headed for the kitchen, knowing Edward and Jasper were sleeping in the great room. A soft grunt stopped me in my tracks. I peeked around the corner into the den, wondering what...
Edward - on the couch - in nothing but his boxers. Head back, jaw clenched, his body practically glowed in the moonlight. That chest, those arms, those abs - everything about him was long and lean, sinuous...almost feline.
His arms shifted down, his ab muscles quivering, his hand disappearing under the black cotton fabric.
Oh my God, his hand was on his cock.
I knew I shouldn’t be watching him, but I couldn’t look away. The way his muscles contracted when his fingers wrapped around himself...the sighs and groans as his arm moved faster...the frantic way he used one hand to push the fabric over his hips so he could grip his balls.
It was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.
I glanced up at his face as he came, shocked to see his eyes open, watching me as I watched him. A slow smile spread across his face, and I returned it as I stepped into the office and closed the door behind me.
When Bella asked if one of her old friends from college could stay with us for a few days, of course I was fine with it. When she told me that this friend was male, I was a little leery, until she laughingly explained that Carlisle was gay and they'd never been anything but friends.
Carlisle turned out to be easygoing and personable, with a wicked sense of humor. He and Bella were like siblings—inwardly I laughed at myself for thinking he might have an interest in her. We drank wine and talked and laughed, and I was sure I was imagining the lingering looks he was giving me.
Eventually we were all yawning and decided to call it a night. As we climbed into bed, Bella asked if I would check and see if Carlisle needed anything. I got up and walked across the hall to the spare room, seeing a thin sliver of moonlight spilling out. I raised my hand to knock, but stopped short when I heard my name in a hoarse whisper.
Peering in I saw Carlisle had pushed the blanket down past his groin. His hand played along his abs, combing through his pubic hair and grasping the base of his dick. I knew I shouldn't be watching him, but I couldn't look away. “Edward.” A strangled groan and then come was spilling over his hand and onto his abs. My heart was pounding, and I felt sick with guilt as I realized that my own cock was in my hand, hard and throbbing.
Word count: 293
This is wrong. So, so wrong.
"Lead me not into temptation..."
My impatient fingers drum the mouse. Just one click. One click.
No one will know.
Erase the history.
"Flee from sexual immorality." -First Corinthians 6:18 I hear it echo in my head as I stare at the link Jessica sent me.
I glance over at the bible on my nightstand. Father would kill me if he found out.
I shift my laptop to obstruct my view of The Good Book. I'll ask for forgiveness later.
"Oh be careful little eyes what you see..."
Palms sweaty, heart racing. I flex my fingers, and I click.
And I gasp.
And I can't look away.
My eyes are frantic across the screen.
A man, shirtless, six pack, leans back on a couch. He's...he's...touching himself...while he watches her.
He watches them. Two women.
Kissing. Squeezing. Petting. Licking. Legs spread, tongues out.
Does that feel good? My free hand absently moves to my chest.
He calls the women to him. His hands stroke himself wildly, and he says bad, bad words. He kisses the blond, pulls her by the hair to his mouth while the brunette pulls down his pants.
Then, I see...it.
My eyes go wide.
It pops up, stands erect, the tip almost reaching his belly button. She takes it in her hand. Her long, decorated fingernails barely wrapping around his girth.
I lean closer. Breathless. Flushed.
My body feels soft and heated, but I have goose bumps. I'm trembling with anticipation and nerves.
"Put to death sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires... Because of these, the wrath of God is coming." -Colossians 3:5
The floor creaks behind me, and-
"ISABELLA MARIE SWAN!"
“Knew you’d be here,” he says, and the shame coursing through me makes me shut my eyes.
Just for a moment, though - the image he presents is too tempting to ignore.
Flushed skin and dark hair covers hard muscle, his abs tensing in time with his grunts as he fists his cock.
“He fuck you tonight?”
His words are vulgar and crass, a venom-dipped arrow meant to pierce my softest part.
And it does.
“Yes,” I whisper, not certain he can even hear me from my place just inside the door. But he doesn’t have to hear, because he already knows.
He always knows.
“Yeah, bet he did. He fuck you good?”
I shake my head. He knows this, too.
“No, never does. That’s why you come to me.”
At my nod, he pulls his cock free. I stare at it, just as flushed as the rest of him, the skin tight and straining as his hand swipes over the head.
“No one but you gets me this hard. No one. That’s fucked, babe.”
This time, my eyes stay closed for long seconds, because he’s so right.
“Touch yourself. Legs spread, let me see what belongs to me.”
My movements are an apology; my reparation for the parts of myself I can’t give because the wedding band on the third finger of my left hand won’t let me.
He gives me words full of filth, but it’s the raw affection in his tone that makes me hurt.
When I come, it’s a sigh that’s edged with tears.
When he comes, it’s with wet eyes locked on to mine.
There is no afterglow, just endless dark.
“Me or him, Bella. ‘Cause I swear, I’m done with this.”
As I creep into the corridor, I pray to God he’s lying.
The Lemonade Stand would like to also thank all of the participants. We thoroughly enjoyed ALL of the entries!