Pomelo: Catalonian Flu (erotic flash fiction)

 

1

I first met Maria in the supermarket as I browsed the fruit isle looking for white pomelos. At that moment she was standing above me on the flat apex of a short ladder, re-arranging things on the uppermost shelf.

I could see only her backside in detail from this position. Nice. Small. Two plump oranges wrapped in black fabric. They wobbled a little as she worked.

And then, after a minutes or so, she looked down over her shoulder, preparing to descend the ladder. But before my presence beneath her could register in her mind, Maria, my beloved, sneezed violently, sending a spray of salty gunge from her nose into my open mouth.

This woman’s face was shocking to my eyes. So pale for Spain. (I have since learnt that she is Catalonian.) Her black hair was tied back in a tight bundle, scraping her eyes higher than they would otherwise have been. It was a look I liked as soon as I saw it.

“Lo siento!” she said breathlessly, bringing her hands up in front of her face just a few seconds too late. “I’m sorry! Lo siento!”

But the fluid was in my mouth. And as I savoured it, the salty, gooey fruit of Catalonia; and as she noticed that I was savouring it, she transformed her face to present a Catalonian smile.

PG


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Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah, a ruthless sadist, manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of extreme perversion.

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The Cherokee’s Nearly-White Slave

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The Beautiful Girl with a Cough (erotic flash fiction)

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My girlfriend Meredith is beautiful. It’s a banal observation. But I’ve made it. Here’s another. Today, she is ill. We are lying together in bed, perhaps the hundredth time we have done so. Our relationship is anything but new.

But Meredith has just said something to me which I found quite revolting. She has been coughing phlegmatically for hours, spitting out the issue each time into a coffee mug on the floor by the bed. I did not – and do not – judge her for this. We all fall ill.

But just moments ago, Meredith lifted the mug to my eye level and tipped it so I could view the thick, patchily golden mess at the bottom of it. She then smiled and said, sweetly, with her usual feminine grace, “Look at that. Look at it.”

I frowned, revolted.

“Tell me I’m beautiful,” she said.

“I’ve already told you a million times,” I remarked.

“Is this beautiful,” she asked, gesturing with her eyes to her drying lung honey.

This was a bizarre question. For an answer, to produce anything resembling one, I had to think not with my mind but with my lust.

“Yes,” I said.

Satisfied, she laid the cup back down on the floor by the bed.

PG


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Pinke Grapefruit

Professor Porn Logic (erotic flash fiction)

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Julia Wainwright was a professor of German literature, unique within her faculty for her youth and youthful attitudes. Most of her colleagues were grey-haired in body and soul alike, oppressed and made unpleasant by tediously conservative opinions and worldviews dulled by a longing for the past and all its boredom. Julia, by pleasant contrast, was a vivacious and sexual soul, lively in conversation and flirtatious by force of habit.

All her students loved her, but none more-so than Stephen Berkeley, a shy and awkward orange-haired misfit, deprived by his undisputed charmlessness of friends and a fulfilling social life. Being a kindly and sympathetic woman, Prof. Wainwright took a special interest in Berkeley and often inflated his grades to improve his self-esteem, a gesture Berkeley was smart enough to be aware of.

One day, after a lecture on Goethe’s Young Werther, Berkeley waited until the other students had dispersed and approached Wainwright’s desk.

“Stephen,” she smiled warmly. “How are you doing?”

“I just wanted to say…” he stuttered.

“What?”

“I-I-I just wanted to say thank you. I know you’ve been very kind with my grades. I’ve been fucking up. And you’ve been very nice. I just wanted to say thank you.”

“I have been nice,” she agreed, nodding, and then she stood up from behind the desk. “So?”

“So what?”

She laughed. “You’re a student, Stephen! You know how porn logic works. I do something for you. You do something for me. Go and close the door. Come back. Pull down my jeans. And then suck my dirty asshole until I tell you to stop.”

PG


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The Bathing Quarters (erotic flash fiction)

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I am required by my mistress to clean her bathing quarters at this time every week. This is the first time this has happened.

As I mop the floor, my mistress, with her long black mane of hair still dry around her shoulders, lies naked in the bath, one of her thick and pale legs draped gracelessly over the edge. She is eating a leg of chicken. She has yet to take her eyes off me. I have asked her if it would be better if I return at a later time. But she has disagreed. And her word is all that counts. A Negro’s counts for nothing.

She just won’t take her eyes off me. I wish that she would. My heart is accelerating. The stripes and wounds on my back are still fresh and painful. There is grease from the leg of chicken all over her white fingers. Bits of liquid fat are dripping into the water.

She just won’t take her eyes off me.

PG


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The Mexican Trance Epidemic (erotic flash fiction)

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One day in Arizona, in a town on the borders of Tempe, a girl of 21 named Gail Partridge discovered that whenever she placed a finger in the left ear of one of her Mexican-American friends and blew on his nose, he fell at once into a deep and obedient trance.

At the local hospital, the doctor was naturally sceptical of Gail’s account.

“I’m afraid I’m not convinced,” he said with a weary shake of his bald head.

“I assure you,” Partridge returned, “that’s exactly what happened. Bring him out of it and I will make it happen again here in front of you.”

And so the doctor administered a strong form of amphetamine and slapped the patient back into something resembling sobriety.

“Go on then,” the doctor said to Gail, who then dutifully repeated the action, putting a finger in her friend’s left ear and blowing gently on the tip of his nose. And in an instant, whatever sobriety had been restored promptly faded from the patient’s face. His eyes glazed right over.

“Kneel down in front of  me,” she instructed him.

He obeyed without saying anything.

“How odd,” the doctor, whose name was Parker Barnet, said, stroking his chin.

“I told you,” Gail said proudly. “He just becomes like a zombie. Can you explain what’s happening, I’m worried about him.”

“I would if I could,” Barnet shrugged. “But I’ve never beheld anything like this in my life. We’ll need to keep your friend here tonight for observation.”

Gail left the hospital and returned to her home in Tempe. Still intrigued and haunted by the mystery of what had happened, she called several of her closest friends and asked if they could think of any rational explanation for it.

They couldn’t. But the next morning, Gail switched on the local news and found that one of them had notified the media of the story, which was now the leading headline of the day. It was no longer centred on her friend, but was being reported as a general outbreak afflicting the Mexican-origin community across Southern Arizona.

“It’s a terrifyingly simple procedure,” a stone-faced blonde reporter declared in front of a Mexican volunteer. “You just place a finger in their left ear, blow upon their nose, and Mexicans fall into a deep and impressionable trance. The condition seems to last for just over an hour; at most, for two.”

“Mexicans?” Gail mumbled, frowning at the screen, “Only Mexicans?”

“It’s important to note that this only seems to affect people of Mexican origin,” the reporter continued, as if reading Gail’s mind, “Several experiments have been performed on Dominicans and Guatemalans with little result.”

Gail grabbed her coat and set out for the hospital. When she arrived her friend had already been discharged.

“Did you find out what’s causing it?” she asked Dr Barnet urgently.

The doctor shook his head. “No,” he confessed, “I’m afraid we’re no closer to understanding the process. But we’ll know soon. It’s a national issue now.”

“Is it correct that it only affects Mexicans?”

“That seems to be the case, yes. It also seems to be gender-specific. Whatever it is would seem to exclusively affect males of Mexican descent, not females.”

“Are crimes being committed?”

The doctor laughed sarcastically. “Ms Partridge, have you been paying attention to the media? People are taking advantages of Mexican men up and down this continent. They’re being manipulated into doing all sorts of things; robberies, murders, agricultural slavery. If we don’t find a way to explain and prevent this the world will never be the same.”

Gail looked down at the floor, her face frozen in shock.

“If you feel like doing something useful,” the doctor added, “I’d go and shelter any men of Mexican descent that you care about. Do you have any Hispanic friends, relatives?”

“My ex-boyfriend is half-Mexican.”

“Find him, Gail. Find him now.”

II

Jose Moreno was sheltering in his apartment when Gail rang the buzzer. He was surprised to see her.

“What are you doing here?” he said, blocking the doorway. “Are you here to gloat or something?”

“I’m not here to gloat,” she assured him, “I was worried about you. Can I come in?”

“How can I trust you?”

Gail, seeming genuinely offended by this question, refused to answer it. Jose turned around and walked back into his apartment, leaving the door open for Partridge to follow after him.

“I’m scared, Gail,” he confessed tearfully when she had closed the door behind them. She smiled at him warmly, pityingly, and held out her arms. They embraced.

“You’re too trusting,” Gail whispered into his right ear, a forefinger surreptitiously inserted into his left. Before this comment could fully register in his mind, Gail pulled her head away  and blew directly at the tip of his nose, immediately putting him under the trance he had been sheltering for fear of.

When it was clear he was fully pacified, Gail burst into giggling laughter. She slapped his face with increasing viciousness. He said and did nothing.

“Muy bien,” she smiled. “Now go into the bedroom and lie on the bed.”

Jose walked towards his room with the stiff gait of a robot. Gail slapped him on his buttocks as he left.

“Muy bien” she giggled once more, watching him obey her orders without complaint.


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Veronica Hurts Her Employees (erotic flash fiction)

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I am too poor to refuse. I have no other options left to me. Though it stabs at my pride as if with a jagged-tipped blade, I have no way of resisting her.

I can hear Veronica rubbing her hands with lubricant behind me. The noise is nauseating. Chook, chook, chook, slide, slide, chook. It’s ghastly. Every nerve and muscle in my body is tensed to breaking. My feet are far apart. She has me as she wants me.

Why would she want to do this? Why would anyone? What strange pleasure can she derive from it?

“Here it comes, baby,” she says.

She has never called me this before.

But there is no time to think any more about it. Soon enough I feel the cold, sticky mess of her fingertips slide into the crack of my buttocks, parting them wider the further she penetrates. She is quickly up to her knuckles, and then past them; deeper, deeper still. It is the most bizarre and un-erotic sensation I have ever experienced. I feel like I am being examined.

“Nearly in,” she mutters excitedly. “Keep perfectly still.”

When her hand has squelched up to her wrist, I feel her fingers slowly begin to curl into a ball inside me. I know too little of biology to decide whether this is something that could damage me. But that is what my common sense cautions me.

The tightened elastic of my anal passage is resisting the swelling shape of her fist with everything it has. The squelching is growing ever more disquieting. The sensation is nearly indescribable.

“Good,” she sighs. “That’s great. Can you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Stupid question really,” she laughs pleasantly, as if expecting me to laugh along with her.

There is now a fist inside my anus. It is all the way in. She is trying to force it still higher. Only science can save me now.

I am breaking wind in long loud gusts. This is so undignified.

She fucks me with her hand, pushing and pulling the fist she has made up and down my anal canal.

“Take that, baby. Take it.”

I should have studied harder in school.

PG


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Suzetta (erotic flash fiction)

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Suzetta was always an unfortunate girl. She never stood a chance. And had it not been Cheryl who brought her to an unhappy end in this way, it would have surely been someone else.

“Eat it!” her flame-haired tormentor shouted, scraping the globs of saliva she had spat inaccurately into Suzetta’s face closer to her mouth with her fingers. “Open your mouth. Eat it. Drink it.”

Suzetta was a quite terrible sight to behold, covered with phlegm, shining with sweat and tears.

“Leave me,” she sobbed pathetically. “Leave me alone. There is still time.”

“No, there isn’t.” Cheryl returned, poking the gathered film of spit between her victim’s lips.

“Eat it, you piece of trash. Eat it. The nurses are coming.”

But the nurses did not arrive for a further hour. When they did return to the ward, they came upon a horrid scene. Cheryl, naked, was seated triumphantly upon Suzetta’s face, the latter’s body cold and limp. Hot cum was pumping in squirts from Cheryl’s red-haired pussy. Her eyes were closed. Her career was finished.

PG


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