Friday Flasher: Initiation

He lit a candle, removed his collar and set it down with care, like the offering it was, before the sputtering flame.

When he finally found the courage to turn and face her, perhaps speak some words of decency to her first, he could only watch mutely as she leaned back and lifted her skirts, the creamy skin of her thighs smooth as any alabaster saint’s in that flickering light.

At the sight of her shimmering like that, a vision in the candlelight, Father Daniel murmured one last prayer for forgiveness and the God inside his mind sighed and turned away. Whether in disgust or anger, or perhaps shame or modesty, he would never know.  And it would never matter.

As she ran the fingers of a graceful hand through the silk of her chestnut hair, he felt his entire life of words and judgements of words coil back on itself, a ravenous circle made full.

But before he could consider that thought, before he could approach the assumptive evil of it with a weapon of learned philosophy or grim belief, she smiled at him.  Within the mirror of  her smile, he saw not a hissing wanton serpent or a temptress made of wretched flesh, but simply a reflection of his own need:  just a man, fallen, back to himself.

Then with neither modesty nor shame, she spread her naked legs open before his gaze. And when she reached out her hand to him, she said his name, just once, in the voice of a lover. He thrilled to the beautiful music of it, the sound of his own name, rightfully returned.

In the wake of her voice, all temptation disappeared, each prayer for deliverance fell away and he knew it was time to begin the long journey, the single step that would take him to where she waited, where she had always waited, for him.

And when he reached her, when at last he touched his shaking hand to the heaven of her skin, all his despot vows flew raucously to the rafters like so many frantic doves set free, finally, to God.

Image: Hungry For Your Touch, Jan Saudek

A very special edition of Flasher Friday

A few days ago, I was very pleased to learn that one of my Friday Flashers, Stealing Soul, was included in Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Round Up.

Now, if I were Sarah Palin, I’d launch into something profound and folksy right about now, something like:

Well, doggone it, now how ’bout that! I’m so proud to be honored myself of the great state of Fleshbot, and I’m just real glad to know we all love Israel, too. But first, let me talk about my energy policy and hopefully this will create jobs and get the economy back on track. Because I’m a maverick, and unlike my opponent, Joe O’Biden, I’m a maverick, like I said. I’m proud of my record and me and Todd and Joe six-pack deserves that, too. And it’s time for Americans to say ‘never again’ to… something. I forget. But I read every newspaper that’s in front of me, so I’ll get back ta ya. *wink*

If I were the Disasta from Alaska, I’d give a shout out to all the perverts over there at Fleshbot and remind them that they’ll all get extra credit for this, you betcha.

But I am NOT, thank whatever powers that be, Sarah Palin. So, like any sane person who is actually operating with an awareness of consensual reality (as fucked as that may be right now), I’ll just say: Hey, AAG, thanks so much for the mention.

Note to anyone who cares: I know that Sarah Palin is not a proper subject for one of my Friday Flashers. And I know this little Palin-bashing post doesn’t qualify as an erotic story by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, talk of politics of any kind veers quite wildly from my "talking points" here at Vespertine Erotica. But hey, if a whole country can lower the bar for her, they can do it for me, doggone it! I’m pretty, tooooo!!! And I wear designer glasses, yes I do. I think I did pretty darn good on this post, don’t you? I think maybe I even won the debate… to nowhere.

Friday Flasher: Stealing Soul

The camera sat on the dresser where Jon had left it. Beth carefully moved her arm from under his head and held her breath until he settled back into his dreams.

She rolled away from him, onto her back, to stare at the ceiling and consider the images now locked inside that camera… her most private faces, exposed, the longing inside her eyes that she had never seen.

She wondered at how her body would look as it arched and struggled at his command, how her wetness would glisten in black and white, how the light would play with the flexing muscles of her inner thighs when he demanded that she spread herself open for him.

She wondered if he would hold up his end of the bargain and give her copies of all the prints as he’d promised to. She wondered what it was about him that convinced her to do it.

She glanced at the clock then back at Jon and finally at the shadowy form that was the camera. Even in the dark, she could feel that lens still staring at her.

. . .

The next morning, after Beth had left, Jon mixed himself a gin and tonic and locked himself in his darkroom to develop the film. Memories of the night before made him catch his breath in anticipation.

Soon those scenes would begin to appear in his magic trays, but first, he took a long, slow swallow of his drink, savoring the wait. He loved this part almost more than he loved convincing women to do things like this. But Beth, he never thought he’d ever get her to do it. As soon as he clicked the camera door open, his cock began to harden.

Under his careful attention, one by one, each frame began its grainy reveal. He could see each scene in his memory’s eye, even before it appeared: her beautiful ass spread just for him, the way she looked away from the camera at the last moment, her creamy skin in that perfect light, her graceful fingers opening herself for him…

But instead of all those pieces of her he thought he had captured forever, he saw something else entirely, something even his own expert eye could not have imagined though any lens: twenty-four perfectly framed squares of himself, sleeping, in ghostly clouds of long-exposure blank and white.

Friday Flasher: In five acts

If you are longing, stop.

If you are sorrowing, stop.

If you are regretting, stop.

If you are lost, stop.

Touch yourself.

Image: Unknown

Friday Flasher: Lick

I watch while, with each long lick, his closed eyes flutter and his long lashes become wet with thankful tears.

I watch while the taut muscles of his neck struggle to reach, how he opens his mouth and uses his shoulders to push himself toward his own taking of this sacrament.

I watch the innocent cock that hangs down beneath his bound and kneeling form become achingly full with its need to release, its trembling longing to be of use.

I watch in rapt adoration while the dirt of the street that he takes into his mouth, onto his tongue, transforms before my eyes into something so clean, so holy that only a man such as mine could be worthy of it.

I watch while, in his servitude, he becomes not humiliated or unmanned, but set free, lifted far beyond the gritty filth of this man’s world he so lovingly cleans from my shoes.

Image: Morguefile