Quickies: A Collection of Short Fantasies

by Abigail Grey

  Retrieving a box, he tore it open. He walked while unraveling a white cord, turning off the lights in the room and each of the umbrella lights. He knelt to plug the cord in that he held, revealing them to be multi-colored Christmas lights. With the room dark, other than the glowing lights in his hand, he stopped in front of me.

  He stood there in silence. I could feel his stare as sure as he must have felt mine. The thought of what he wanted to do sucked the moisture from my mouth.

  "Jess?" His voice was soft and unsure. I responded with a hand on his as my other reached back to unhook my bra. I stripped quickly, kicking my clothing out beyond the soft light still coming from the strand in his hand.

  Eddie lightly trailed his fingers down my arm, catching my wrist and bringing it above my head. He wound the end of the lights through my fingers to anchor it, then winding the length down my arm. Reaching my shoulder he crossed my chest with it, wound around my back, under my breasts and over the other shoulder. The glow under my breasts casts shadows that, to me, seemed to highlight the curve of my waist and hips. But Eddie wasn't done. The lights curved over my hip and between my legs. The lights raked gently across the sensitive skin of my pussy lips. I gave a shuddering start that didn't affect Eddie at all. He wound the lights over the other hip and down around my leg. Then he started adjusting.

  My eyelids slammed closed as I felt his knuckles brush my nipple. He positioned one of the lights specifically to throw sharp light on the nipple as I could feel it stiffen. The lights that wound behind my back were placed to follow the line of my ass. He bent my knee slightly, turned my head at a precise angle and the camera clicked repetitively. The sound stopped and I felt, rather than saw him approach. He repositioned me, and once again the camera punctuated the pose. The soft glow of the lights made the encounter surreal, my vision clouded until I felt his hands on me. The lights were warm against my skin, reminding me vividly of my nudity. Eddie moved me quickly, with minimal contact, and I could feel myself wavering toward each small touch. Small shivers came to me and I could hear my breath loudly in my ears against the reverent silence of Eddie's digital eye.

  After several more poses and clicks, the lights came on above me. I blinked at the sudden change. Eddie stood near the door, camera in hand. He seemed to be breathing heavily.

  "I'll give you some time", he said. "You can dress and I'll let you know when I have them edited." He slid carefully out the door to protect my privacy.

  I felt frozen for a minute until a loud sound in the corridor spurred me to move. I divested myself of the lights, dressing quickly. Gathering my things, I considered taking the lights with me, but left them plugged in where they lay on the floor.

  Weeks went by and I finally stopped thinking about it. I had stopped dreaming about the way Eddie's camera had stared at me. I hadn't looked at the book in a full week. I hadn't regretted leaving the lights in ten days. And that was when he called me.

  "The pictures are ready, Jess. Do you have time to come by and look?" I didn't tell him I ditched my class for it. I didn't tell him that I took the extra time to apply fresh lipstick, to run to my dorm and change into a skirt, to tear my room apart looking for the book, to hug it close on the way to his apartment. I just told him I would be there.

  He made small talk when I arrived, leading me to his couch. He left me seated while he grabbed a soda for me out of the kitchen. My eyes touched everything in the room, wondering if I could find them before he got back. My breath started to come shallower, the anticipation driving me crazy. Re-entering the room, he waited for me to sip the soda before he spoke.

  "I have to apologize to you." When I looked up sharply, he continued. "I couldn't stop working on them after we finished. I didn't leave the dark room for hours, until every one of them was exposed. And then I just couldn't-" He ran his hands through his hair. "Jess, I couldn't share them. I wanted to keep them for myself, to tell you that they were ruined somehow, to tell my professor that the project had failed, just keep them secret." Eddie's eyes wouldn't stay on me. "It took me this long to convince myself that I had to at least give you these."

  From his backpack he brought out a folio. I flipped through them, taking in the perfect capture of an appropriate headshot for an actress. I looked at every one of them, thirty-one in all. Not a single one had what I wanted to see.

  I felt my lip tremble. I sniffed, refusing to let tears fall. I couldn't believe I had obsessed over this. I had held out hope that a photographer with his talent could bring out the inner beauty, strength and sexuality that I had never gotten to reveal on stage as I had wanted for so long. And I had been wrong. Maybe those things just didn't exist in me. "I- uh- I understand. These are fantastic. Thanks." I stood, ready to leave and end this whole failed experiment. Reaching the door, I made myself ask. "Eddie?"

  "Yeah?"

  I couldn't look at him. "Did I- Are they- um- Did I at least look pretty?"

  He made a strangled noise that I couldn't identify, just before his hand went around my wrist. He pulled me, nearly making me stumble, down the hall to a closed door. He opened it and pushed me ahead of him. As I gained my balance, he flipped the switch, lighting a lamp.

  Papering the walls were eight by ten prints, some black and white, others in color. I noticed peripherally that the room held a bed, dresser and night table, but every surface was covered with glossy photo paper. Every one reflected the glow of Christmas lights.

  I saw myself from every angle, in every stark emotion I had felt that day. I could see my tight nipples, begging to be touched. The shadows between my legs seemed to beckon for someone to discover the secrets to be coaxed from my core. The line of my legs, the curve of my ass, the reach of my arm, it was all sexuality at its most romantic. The lights cast a dreamy glow on my face, which was frozen in an expression of blatant wanting.

  As I spun slowly, taking them in, I realized that Eddie stood still in the door way, his hand lingering on the light switch. His face displayed the internal war of his decision to share this with me. I realized what it was: he had said he wanted to keep them secret, but it wasn't for the horrible reasons I thought. As I stood in the center of the bedroom, surrounded by the photographic proof, I held my hand out to the man who made me beautiful.

  Married

  (Previously published in “Only You: Erotic Fiction for Women”, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel)

  In her sweatpants and beat up tank top, Jane flipped through her Netflix queue. Sighing at the severe lack of good movies to watch instantly, she turned her attention to her laptop. Tightening her ponytail holder and straightening her glasses, she got down to the after hours job of grading papers and folding laundry while catching up on her guilty pleasure cop comedy series.

  In the middle of typing another mind-numbingly boring response e-mail to yet another overly concerned parent, a chat box popped up in her window.

  "Hey. Haven't seen you around here lately."

  Jane sat back, a semi-hysterical laugh coming to her lips. She hadn't seen a message from this account in years. She looked behind her, into the kitchen, craning her neck to peer down the hallway where her kids were sleeping. "Honey?" she called out.

  From down the hallway, she heard his answering yell. "Yeah, sweetheart?"

  She shook her head, eyes glued to the screen and the surprising instant message. "Nothing. Never mind." She closed it out with another chuckle, continuing the e-mail she was writing.

  Moments later, it popped up again. "What are you doing?"

  She rolled her eyes before responding. "Grading papers."

  "Oh, right", she read in his response a few minutes later. "You're a teacher or something, right?"

  Jane decided to play along and see where this spectre from her past would lead her. "Yup, second grade."

  "Sounds like a barrel of laughs. Care for a distraction?"

  Jane laughed with a lightning quick response. "Absolutely not. I have way too much to do. I mean, these Arctic animals may just wander off.
Or, you know, one of the uber-anal super moms might freak out if she doesn't have the winter project- that she spent all night on- graded and back in her hands the next day." Jane knew his distractions would be more than she could handle while continuing her nightly routine of multi-tasking work, housework and her small amount of daily 'me' time.

  "Oh, fuck Super Mom. They'll live. Come on. What are you wearing?"

  Looking down at her ratty sleep clothes, Jane sighed. "Nothing interesting."

  "What, nothing fun to get your husband all hot for you after grading papers?"

  She could imagine his smirk as he typed it. She typed back, "Nah, he's working on some reports for work or something."

  "You're no fun. Make it up for me. What would you be wearing if I was there right now?"

  Jane thought back. What would she wear for this man, the builder of some of her best nights in college? "Okay, okay. How about a satin set, shorts and this little tank top? A little lace, all silky and smooth?"

  "That sounds nice. Do you like that set of pajamas?"

  Jane set her things aside and laid back with her laptop, clicking a pen on her knee. "Yeah, they're really nice. And I love the way they feel on my skin."

  "Tell me how they feel."

  "I especially like them after I've taken a really long bath, after I've just shaved my legs smooth. Feeling the satin slid over my smooth skin is so decadent."

  "It's not just on your legs it feels smooth, is it?"

  Jane smiled a little. "You remembered."

  "Of course. It's not often a girl tells me how good it feels to get fucked right after she shaves her pussy."

  "I had forgotten about that. Those pajamas feel amazing after that, too."

  "That's really too bad."

  "What are you talking about? Why would that be bad?"

  "I would hate to rip your favorite pair of pajamas when I got there."

  Jane dropped her pen. She felt the flush creep up her cheeks. "Rip them? Why would you do that?"

  "To get to that luscious pair of tits you used to send me pictures of ages ago. I can still imagine having them right here in front of me."

  Jane laughed quietly. Both the bane and pride of her body, being blessed with naturally large breasts had served Jane well in the past. "Oh, well, that makes some sense. But what if I didn't want you to rip them?"

  "That's an easy one. You'd have to be tied down." Jane sighed and snuggled into the cushion at that comment, continuing to read his message as her body continued to heat up. "Now that I've said it, I really feel like tearing those satin pajamas to shreds."

  "So with my hands tied to the headboard, satin strings hanging from around my arms and hips... You realize, I'm sure, by that point I'd be begging for your hands somewhere", Jane typed out.

  "Oh, of course. And I would indulge you, in a way. Perhaps I would start with a hand winding around your neck, squeezing a little. Run it down your arm, over your body, until I can grip your hip and grind my cock into you."

  Jane squirmed on the couch. "That would definitely start me begging. It's been too long since I've felt the rub of a hard cock."

  "Hubby isn't keeping you satisfied?"

  Jane sat back for a moment before responding. It had been quite a while since Adam, her husband, had even brought it up. So often lately, he was working in his office for hours, even after she went to bed. "You know what they say about married life. All work, no play. We don't have time between our jobs, the kids, random family schedule stuff."

  "Too bad. An ass like yours needs to be used, hard and often. Know what I'm picturing right now?"

  "No, but I think I could guess." Jane took a breath in and smiled. "I'm guessing you're thinking of the picture I sent you when I was on all fours, the one where you can see my ass really well?"

  "Not exactly."

  Jane waited, nearly holding her breath in anticipation. The creativity of his mind had gotten her through some horrible all-nighters in college. She remembered nights that she had been so tempted to call him, to hear if the voice behind the ideas could inspire as well. He had seemed to have an automatic insight to her need, whether she needed a gentle hand, a heavier one, or even one wielding rope in one hand and a bucket of ice in the other. And the anonymity of the medium, messaging and e-mailing, had opened her own coffers of fantasy. He knew things about her that she was still ashamed she had opened up about.

  "What I'm thinking is you, tied by your wrists to the headboard like before, but flipped over onto your knees. Your cheek is on your pillow, your tits brushing the bed and your ass up in the air."

  Jane shivered, closing her eyes to savor the image. She could see it clearly in her mind: the pillows haphazard on the bed, the sheets and blankets tangled at the foot and around one of her legs. She could imagine feeling that presence behind her right before his hand curved up her ass and around her waist. The bed would dip as his weight settled behind her. She would squeal as his cock parted her wet pussy lips.

  Her chat box lit up with his new message in the middle of her little fantasy. "What I really wish I could feel is your tight little ass wrapped around my cock."

  Jane amended the image in her head as she typed back, "You know, the last time I did that with my husband it hurt, and not in a good way."

  "Oh, babe, I could definitely make up for that. We could get you all kinds of hot and just go nice and easy. Can you think about that for me? Think about my cock splitting your ass, so slowly. You'd feel that burn, but it would go away so fast. Can you picture it? Feel it?"

  "Yes, I can think about it. I remember how it feels."

  "How does it feel? Tell me. Tell me what it feels like to have a big cock stretching out your ass."

  "It feels good. I just feel so full when I get fucked that way. And it feels so dirty, so wrong. I love how wrong it feels sometimes."

  "That's right, you like being a dirty little slut, don't you? Getting your ass fucked hard by some guy who will just take what he wants?"

  Jane's mind reeled and her hand crept between her legs. A quick rub over the seam of her sweatpants reminded her of how it felt when he turned her on. She could tell she was getting wet and swollen just thinking about his words.

  "I remember something else that makes you feel full. Do you remember?"

  Jane's mind flipped through so many scenarios. She had told him about her gangbang fantasy, her fantasy about her kitchen utensils, the one in the shower; which one did he mean?

  His message brought it back. "Do you remember my fist?"

  Jane felt her abdomen clench. "Yes, I remember."

  "Did you ever do it? Did you ever take a whole fist since we've talked? Felt your little pussy stretch so much, wanting to scream it out, fighting against how much it hurts?"

  Jane's eyes went wide. Her breathing got shallower and faster. Fingers shaking, she typed out her answer.

  "Not yet."

  A sudden flurry of activity from her husband's office at the end of the hall made Jane look up. Adam stood in the doorway, wearing the old t-shirt from their alma mater. His hair was mussed, like he'd been running his fingers through it. Jane zoomed in on his hands, the ones that had held her down, tied her up, and tormented her since the day she gave in to his online suggestions. The creative inspiration in his typing definitely showed through to the other ways he used his hands on her. As she watched, he clenched one into a fist, his wedding band glinting on his finger.

  "Bedroom?" he asked her.

  She grinned, determined to make time tonight. "Bedroom", she confirmed.

 

 

 
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