Read Flash and Burn: First Five Online

Authors: E.J. Swenson

Tags: #short stories, #flash fiction, #erotic fiction, #dubious consent, #erotic short stories, #dark erotica, #literary erotica, #erotic shorts, #erotic flash fiction, #edgy erotica, #dark paranormal erotica, #dark erotic fantasy

Flash and Burn: First Five

Flash and Burn: First
Five

by E.J. Swenson

Copyright © 2014 by E.J. Swenson

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information
storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from
the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote
short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

1. Alone

"I've never done this
before."
She giggles nervously, placing her
bag on the floor.
"I guess everyone says
that."

"It's OK to be nervous. I
was nervous, too, when I started looking for women through
Craigslist. There are unsavory people out there. I'd be a little
frightened, too, if I were a woman."
He
smiles, a little too broadly, like
he's hiding something. His posture is loose and weak, like an old
man's, although he appears to be in his thirties.
"Let's get something out of the way right now. I'm
not going to touch you. I have congenital immune deficiency, which
means I have to stay behind this plastic curtain."

She nods. Her expression is
uncertain.
"Can't you get a bone marrow
transplant or something?"

He shifts with impatience,
and his smile dims by a few watts. Everyone always asks this
question
"No. My condition is genetic. That
means the doctors can't just irradiate all the bad cells and
replace them with good ones. My illness is built into all my cells.
It's a part of who I am."

She stands frozen like a statue. Her face is
both taut and vacant. She can't think of anything to say, and it
bothers her.

"Don't worry about it. I
don't want you to feel sorry for me. I just wanted you to know why
my sex life relies so heavily on commercial relationships."
He rubs his hands together, and his posture
becomes straighter and more confident.
"Let's begin, shall we?"

She nods.

"Please undress for me."

She shivers from fear. It
has begun.
"All the way?"

"Yes, please."

She shucks off her coat and unzips her silky
red dress, the one it took hours to choose.

He shakes his head with
irritation
. "No, no, no. Do it slowly, like
you're undressing for a new lover. Someone you want to be
vulnerable with, even though the relationship is new and fragile.
Someone you want to tease."

Her cheeks flush. She pulls one long,
gym-sculpted arm from the dress and then the next. She lets the
filmy fabric slide over her flat midsection. She waits a beat and
steps out of the skirt. She is now wearing nothing but a pushup bra
and transparent panties.

He plays with the drawstring of his pants and
pulls out his cock; it is fully erect. She finds herself strangely
aroused.

"Very nice. Your breasts look as if you've
served them up on a platter just for me. They've done their job.
Why don't you set them free?"

She undoes the back clasp and shrugs off the
bra. Her nipples stiffen into hard, brown pebbles.

"Beautiful," he sighs. "Your areolas are the
size of silver dollars. I wish I could take them in my mouth and
nibble on those stiff little nips."

He strokes himself. She shifts her position
slightly, noticing an unfamiliar dampness between her legs. I'm
only doing this for the money, she tells herself.

"Take off your panties. Show me that slick,
hungry pussy."

She pushes her thong over hips slowly, as if
her boyfriend were watching. He gasps at the sight of her slick,
bare mound.

He takes off his own pants, and then makes a
series of quick deft movements with his hands. The plastic curtain
falls away.

Her hand flies to her
mouth.
"Oh my God, what have you
done?"

His smile is toothy.
Wolfish.
"We all have to die
sometime."

2. Beach reading

The night is her day, the moon is her sun,
and the asphalt rooftop looking out on the city's lonely, twinkling
lights is her beach. She wears a tiny red bikini, and her slim pale
body--too pale for both health and fashion--rests on a plastic
chaise. She reads something forbidden on the glowing,
lozenge-shaped device that has fascinated her for almost a year.
Her thick chestnut bangs fall into her eyes, and she sweeps them
back with a shake of her head. She's absorbed in her book; she
wants to know what happens next.

A loud thud disrupts her
reverie, and she springs up, moving with predatory swiftness
towards the noise. She feels rather sheepish when she almost knocks
over her new neighbors. They are a matched set of excessively
good-looking graduate students--one light and one dark--who live on
the ground floor and eye her with wary desire, exactly what they
are doing now. In fact, they seem mesmerized by the sight of her
long pale body and the tiny strips of crimson cloth obscuring what
they probably think of as
the good
parts.

She smiles widely and unhooks her bikini top,
freeing her tiny, strawberry-shaped breasts. The sight of her
blushing nipples, erect in the soft evening breeze, causes both men
to inhale sharply. The more confident one--the dark one with
shoulder-length hair the color of night and a lean, rangy
build--steps forward. That's all the invitation she needs. She
pulls him to her and lets his lips and tongue jostle with hers. She
deftly unbuttons his shirt and slides it off, tasting his warm,
minty breath.

She's undoing his belt buckle when she feels
warm, sure hands around her hips. The other roommate--a cool blond
with an obsessively gym-toned body and slightly stiff
mannerisms--slides her bikini bottoms over her rump and thighs
until they fall to her feet. She steps out of them and leans into
him, sighing softly. He moans and reaches his hand around to the
mound between her legs. She worries for just a moment about
stubble--how long has it been since she shaved?--and then relaxes
into pleasure. His manicured fingers part her plump, lower lips and
find the juicy berry within.

As her excitement builds, she teases and
nibbles the dark one's lips and pushes his jeans and shorts over
his hips, freeing his long, straight cock. The orgasm hits her with
sudden, thigh-clenching force, and she cries out, pushing the dark
one into his own climax. The smell of his semen as it hits the
humid night air awakens something else--something ancient--inside
her, and she plunges her teeth into his sweet neck, her fangs
piercing his jugular in the same easy way a straw slides into a
juice box.

When she is sated, she releases him, and his
lifeless body slides bonelessly to the ground. She turns slowly,
her eyes bright with life and her mouth red with gore, and sees the
blond staring at her, terror and rapture mingling in the strained
contours of his face. She smiles. "So what are you waiting for? We
need to move the body."

 

3. The druid

The altar is made of oak. The naked woman
bound to it wears a crown of mistletoe. She lies with a stillness
that resembles death, drugged into a dangerously torpid sleep. The
monk knows his duty. He must open her veins and let the earth drink
her blood. It's the only way to save the crops from a summer
drought that has lasted since the Equinox. The bronze knife in his
hand is pleasantly warm, as if it thirsts for the offering. It
feels good in his hand.

And yet he hesitates. He has never before
seen a woman unclothed, and his eyes drink in the sacrifice with a
seemingly unslakable thirst. Her hair is a pale, shimmering red
that glows in the late afternoon sun, and her fair face is dusted
with freckles. Her body is a creamy vessel that tapers and flares.
Her breasts are soft, round moons tipped in blood. The cleft
between her legs is both confusing and inviting. As a monk
dedicated to serving the villages of the valley, he is no stranger
to self-denial. His body is strong and lean from hard labor and
frequent fasting; it has been conditioned to obey his will.

He steels himself and raises the knife, only
to let it drop to his side. Part of his body--the steel rod under
his robe--is rebelling against his discipline and the gods of the
harvest. It is unpleasantly stiff and insistent, thrusting into the
fabric of his robe like a hungry goat. He considers relieving
himself--he is required to be celibate but not to suffer--and lets
his hand creep slowly inside the rough, folded fabric. He touches
himself experimentally, but finds the sensation strangely lacking.
He approaches the sacrifice and lets his robe fall open.

This is weak and
unseemly
, he thinks, cursing himself. He
places the knife against her neck, just as he would do with a
tender lamb, and her eyes pop open. They are wide with fear and the
same vivid green as the choicest pasture in springtime. "Take me!"
she murmurs. He thinks she is a willing sacrifice, that she wants
to die for their people. A wave of defiance flows through his body,
and he shakes he head.
No, I can't let her
do that.

He removes the knife from her neck the same
moment she turns her head towards his cock. Her lips are plump and
rosy, an echo of the pink softness between her legs that he finds
so compelling--and terrifying. He lets himself slip between her
lips, and the sensation is like nothing he has ever experienced
before. The warmth flooding his member fills his body with a fiery
pulse. He is the blazing noonday sun beating down on the
countryside, taking its green, young juices into himself. He spurts
his greed into her mouth, feeding her stolen life. Her eyes widen,
and then she swallows twice.

His member shrivels and falls from her
reddened lips. He feels weak and drained. Her cheeks are flushed,
and her eyes are bright with hope and wonder. Now he knows why the
monks must be celibate. He retrieves his knife; it is time to drain
the sacrifice and save the fields.

4. Open window

She leaves her window open when she goes to
bed. She likes it when the summer breeze tousles her hair and
caresses her face. She always sleeps naked. Otherwise she wakes up
sweaty and tangled. Her bedroom is dark and quiet, and she lets her
eyes flutter shut. Her mind drifts to the melodic trills of night
birds and tree frogs. Her boyfriend will be making her a special
dinner tomorrow for her twenty-fifth birthday. She imagines his
strong hands and slightly beaky nose and smiles.

A low mechanical sound plays
at the edges of her consciousness, like the soft rev of an electric
car, but she isn't alarmed. Her neighborhood is small, safe, and
perfumed by blossoming trees. She dips under the glassy surface of
sleep, dreaming of her boyfriend's hands and how his expert touch
can miraculously heal anything from a damaged engine to a shy,
retiring clitoris.
If only he weren't so
worried about damaging me
, she
thinks.

The metallic thud of a
heavy-booted foot kicking through her window screen rips her out of
a groggy half-sleep. The thick, steel-toed boots are attached to a
tall, muscular body, and his head is obscured by a dark-colored
balaclava.
This man could really hurt
me
, she thinks, and he's on her in seconds.
He uses zip ties to secure her writs to her wrought-iron headboard
and places a strip of duct tape across her mouth. She reminds
herself to breathe through her nose and struggles with futile,
floppy motions of a hooked fish. He tears her sheet away and
watches her squirm. She is acutely aware of her long, curved legs,
the blond wisps at their apex, and her shell-pink nipples. She
arches her back as if to display herself more fully, and marvels at
her depravity.

The intruder wastes no time, running his
hands all over her as if he's probing for weak spots. He handles
her breasts roughly and pinches her nipples. She snorts with a
mixture of sharp pain and involuntary desire. All too soon, his
hands find her blond wisps. He strokes them gently and then
wrenches her thighs apart, inspecting the responsive pink flesh
that glistens in the moonlight. He pauses a moment and glances at
the wrecked window as if he's deliberating a course of action.

His deliberations do not last long. He
unbuckles his belt and pushes down his pants and boxers just enough
to expose a slightly curved cock. With no preliminaries, he climbs
onto the bed and straddles her writhing body, pushing her knees
back towards her shoulders. She tries to scream, but the noise gets
caught in her throat, becoming a vibrato moan. He plunges into her
warm, wet depths, and she wonders at her body's capacity for
inappropriate response as he takes long, greedy strokes. When she
shudders from pleasure torn from her very core, he cannot stop his
flood of molten seed. After a moment of rest, he is all business,
cutting away the zip ties, putting away his cock, and ghosting out
the window.

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