Declan Stanley » Flash Fiction

Madeline, Sarah and Dave

Declan — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 20:05:28 +0000

“That’s all there is. There isn’t any more,” whined Madeline in her little girl voice.
“Oh, There’s always more,” Sarah’s green eyes sparkled at Dave. “Isn’t there?”
Dave groaned, but was too exhausted to even pretend to strain at his bonds.
“But I am pulling and squeezing just like you showed me,” Madeline continued, “and nothing is coming out.” She let out an exasperated sigh, “Look it isn’t even getting hard anymore.”
“That’s because Dave is holding back on us,” Sarah smiled at David, “Aren’t you?”
Panic started to rise inside David. What more did this bitch want from him? What more could he give her?
Sarah lent in close and put her lips close to Dave’s ear. “I want you to cum until it hurts,” her voice was low, but not so low that Madeline couldn’t hear her. “I want you to cum until you shoot blood.”
A chill ran through Dave. He was in no doubt that she meant exactly what she said.
Madeline giggled.
And even though an icy dread ran through Dave’s very soul his cock started to get hard once more.

This is not what it looks like

Declan — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 21:50:45 +0000

I walk into my bedroom and find my girlfriend in bed with my room-mate. Stuttering, “Err, s-s-sorry,” I turn around and walk out again. Well that’s what any well brought up young man would do upon entering a bedroom and finding two naked bodies entwined on the bedsheets.
Standing in the hallway outside I realize what I had just seen: my girlfriend in my bed with my room-mate!
From the other side of the closed door I can hear the muffled commotion of my girlfriend and room-mate untangling themselves and scrambling around for their clothes.
While I was in a state of shock, I was also a little lost as to exactly what to do. Having just left I couldn’t very well barge right back in again. On the other hand I couldn’t very well just stand there in the hallway waiting for them to emerge.
So I go to the kitchen to make some coffee. But instead I pour myself a very large whiskey.
Now, everyone knows my room-mate is a lesbian. And she is totally hot. I mean really, totally hot. Every man and every woman wants her. And my girlfriend has always been a little bit suspicious, perhaps even jealous of her and of our friendship with each other. I mean, it’s not like my girlfriend doesn’t trust me, or anything. And I was never going to cheat on her, even if my room-mate hadn’t batted for the other team. But, as I’ve said, my room-mate is totally hot. So the door was always going to be open for that little bit of doubt in my girlfriend’s mind.
At breakfast a few days previously my room-mate had said, “Well, I could always hit on her. That way she would really know that I was gay and not about to try and steal you away from her.”
“Don’t you dare,” I’d laughed, knowing full well that my room-mate was crazy enough to do just that. “I have enough trouble convincing her to hang out here as it is. I don’t need you to scare her off completely.”
“So she’s scared of me, is she?” my room-mate had smiled as she sipped her coffee.
“You know what I mean,” I’d replied.
And I had thought nothing more of it. Until now that is. I took a large sip of my whiskey. Because my room-mate had certainly been hitting on my girlfriend just now! I shudder as I swallow.
They both come into the kitchen, looking very sheepish, my girlfriend’s face bright red, and neither able to look me in the eye.
I am taken aback for the second time that afternoon.
I have never seen my room-mate look sheepish before. She has never been shy about being out. I have often walked in on her making out in front of the TV with any of a long line of girlfriends. And in our small 2 bed apartment we both know when the other isn’t just sleeping in bed. So I didn’t expect her to look sheepish just because I’d accentually walked in on her making love to another girl.
But then again, I take another gulp of my whiskey, she had been in my bed and with my girlfriend when I’d walked in on her. So maybe she feels she has something to feel sheepish about this time.
“It’s not what it looks like,” my girlfriend starts.
“Ah fuck, dude,” my room-mate interrupts her. “It totally is exactly what it looks like.”
“I mean,” my girlfriend shoots her a dirty look. “It just happened…”
“Because I decided to hit on your girlfriend.”
“Agh,” my girlfriend balls up her fists.
“You know that I didn’t expect her to got for it,” my room-mate explains.
“And when she did?” I put my drink down.
“Ah fuck,” she looks at the ground again. “Your girlfriend’s totally hot, man.”
“Yeah, I know.”
We all stand around for a moment.
“So what now?” I look at both of them.
Neither look up.
“Well, you know…” my room-mate starts to say.
I look at her.
“Well it’s just that…” my room-mate starts to draw circles in the dust with her toe. “Well… lately I’ve… always been curious… about, you know,” she shrugs.
“Curious?”
“About, you… you know,” her face is bright red.
“I fucking knew it!” my girlfriend shouts at her.
“No!” my room-mate shot back. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“It totally is exactly what it looks like,” my girlfriend takes a step towards her.
“Whoa there,” I step between them, knowing that no matter how angry my girlfriend is, my room-mate could tear her apart without breaking a sweat. “This is not what it looks like.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not?”
I smile at them, “Look, I’m not angry.”
“Oh.”
“You’re not?”
“I know you two haven’t been fooling around behind my back.”
“No.”
“Totally.”
“I know that sometimes stuff just happens,” I look at my room-mate.
She gives a half shrug and looks away.
“And that nobody planned this,” I look at my girlfriend.
“Absolutely,” she looks up hopefully.
“So, let’s go see if we can work this out,” I take my girlfriend’s hand and my room-mate’s hand and lead them back towards my bedroom.
“Is this what it looks like?”
“It totally is exactly what it looks like.”

June’s Caning

Declan — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 22:56:56 +0000

June hesitantly takes hold of the sides of her white cotton panties. Bent awkwardly over the hard desk she has to arch her back, sticking her bottom up into the air, as she stretches back to pull her panties down.
She is crying now. She knows she shouldn’t. She knows she should put on a brave face and pretend that she is strong. She should not allow him to see her weakness. But she does. She can’t help it. Bent over his desk, with her skirt flipped up, she can feel his eyes burn into her, and she feels weak.
Weakly she grips the waist band of her panties and starts to pull them down. Pulling them down over her round buttocks. Revealing her ever so soft skin. Revealing herself to him.
Her pert bottom uncovered she hesitates. Now that her panties are at the top of her thighs she can’t pull them down any further. He has instructed her to spread her legs, and to keep them spread. She knows she can’t pull the panties down with her legs so far apart. She has already felt one bite of the cane across her thighs for not obeying him. She does not want to provoke another, even though she knows more are sure to come.
“Let me help you with that,” there is an edge of cruel humour in his voice.
Swish! The cane flies through the air.
She opens her mouth to scream, but just gulps. There was no biting sting. No cut to her tender flesh. No pain. The cane didn’t hit her. There was just a sharp breeze behind her buttocks as her panties were snapped out of her fingers.
The cane swishes through the air once more and the tangled remains of her panties drop onto the desk beside her face.
He laughs softly.
She shivers in anticipation.
“Resume the correct position.”
She stretches her hands across his bare desk. The hard, polished mahogany half reflecting her arms. With her hips pressed tightly to the edge she can just reach far enough to hook her fingertips over the edge. He has a big desk, she thinks. Then starts to laugh to herself, he has a big, hard, mahogany desk. The laugh starts inside her mind, but as it percolates up to her voice the rest of her situation soaks into her perceptions and it emerges as more of a soft sob. I am stretched over his big, hard desk and he is going to flay my bottom with a sharp cane. Her blood runs cold and she shivers once more.
She can feel him looking at her
She knows she is wet. She doesn’t want to be. But she can’t help it.
She sobs.
She knows he knows she is wet. She knows he can see it. She knows he can smell it.
Her desire, normally kept so secret, is now on display. Paraded in front of him where he can not help but see it. Where he can not but see the burning need deep inside her. That gaping void waiting to be filled. Needing to be filled by him.
She needs to be filled by him.
Swish!
The cane burns a line across her buttocks.
She gasps, too shocked to cry out.
But the second cut makes her cry out.
And the third makes her shout.
The fourth makes her scream. And the fifth, the sixth and the seventh.
Again and again the cane cuts. And again and again she screams.
Until she is unable scream any more. Unable to shout. Unable to cry out. Unable to do anything but hang on by her fingertips, knuckles white as they grip the edge of his desk. They are all that prevents her from sliding onto the floor and becoming nothing but a pile of passion filled flesh. She hangs on, only slowly realising that the cane has stopped.
“You know I can’t resist you,” he moves behind her, slipping in smoothly, taking her and filling her.
Her weakness crushes her, cascading over her in successive waves as he moves inside her, filling her need and making her his.

New Man at the Lesbos Palace

Declan — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 20:56:54 +0000

Slap!
He did wish she would stop slapping him
Slap! Slap!
He cries out through the “panty gag” that fills his mouth.
“Don’t you dare fucking cum,” she pants, grinding herself down against his pubic bone.
He tries to moan, but all that comes out is a muffled burble.
She pushes herself up and then slams back down forcing his cock deep inside her.
He grunts again
Slap! Slap! Slap!
He wants to put his arm up and stop her, but there is no give in the ropes that hold them down.
She starts to grind herself in earnest, matching the deep thump of the club’s music, pulsing the air even here in the lady’s room.
Thump, thump, thump.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
“Fuck, fuck fuck,” she pants as she starts to climb to her final climax.
He lets out one long moan, almost a sigh. Pain or pleasure? He can’t tell any more.
She grabs his shoulders and grinds herself hard against him.
“Oh, shit,” he tires to say, but all that emerges is an incoherent moan.
She pulls him tight, grinding hard against him and forcing his cock deep inside herself. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She screams in his ear.
He tries to turn his head, but there is nowhere for him to go.
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” she finally shudders to a halt, her arms and legs squeezing her cunt tight into his crotch.
“Oh, No!” incoherently bubbles through the sodden cotton that fills his mouth. He rolls his eyes up as his raw cock and aching balls dry spasm.
She collapses on top of him, her whole body a dead weight pushing his naked flesh onto the toilet seat and against the pipes that bruise his back.
Everything is still for a moment. Just ragged breathing and pulsing baseline.
He is just glad that she has stopped rutting. And stopped slapping his face.
Slowly she pushes herself upright. A contented glow on her face. She pats the side of his face, gently. But he still winces at her touch.
She pulls herself off him, stumbling slightly as her legs regain their strength.
He looks down at his lap. The tight rubber band at the base of his cock is making it swell bright purple. And the even tighter band around his scrotum is making his balls ache and stopping them from cuming.
Through a fog of fatigue he once again wondered if it was healthy to have his cock and balls bound so tightly for so long. Surly his circulation was being cut off. Surly there was going to be some damage. What if he never came again?
“Admiring yourself?” the woman laughs.
He looks up. Which one was she again? How many had there been? His eyes close for a moment.
Slap! Slap! Slap! “No sleeping on the job!”
“Ugh!” his face really hurt. Why did they all want to slap him?
She steps back, smoothing down her skirt.
“You just wait there,” her blond hair is tossed all over her head. “My friend will join you in a moment,” she smiles as she pulls open the bolt and squeezes passed the cubical door.
For a moment he catches a glance of himself in the bathroom mirror. A slumped figure in the dark shadows at the back of the last cubicle.
Then a dark haired girl in a thin, tight dress steps in front of him.
She smiles as she squeezes the cubical door closed and slides the bolt home.
He moans as she reaches under her skirt to pull down her panties.

His new job as washroom attendant at the Lesbos Palace was not turning out to be quite what he had expected.

Sam And Julie

Declan — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 09:49:53 +0000

I am sitting in front of the TV, munching a banana, when my new room-mate comes in.

“Hi, Sam,” I call out to her.

“Oh. Hi, Julie,” she drops her sports bag on the floor. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Did you run up the stairs again?”

“It’s only five flights,” she pulls the sweatband off her head. “What’s the point of going to the gym and then using the elevator when I come home.”

“I suppose,” I shrug.

She plonks down onto the sofa beside me. “Can I have a bite?” she nods at my banana.

“Err, sure,” I was about to say there’s a bunch in the kitchen if she wants one, but she leans in and opens her mouth to take my banana in her mouth.

I don’t know if it was the way she closes her eyes, or the way she opens her mouth with a tiny flick of her tongue on her lower lip, or if it is the tilt of her head, or the way the banana brushes her lips as she takes it inside, but suddenly I am very aware that there is a hot, sweaty body sitting very close to me.

She takes a modest bite. It’s not like she deep throats my banana or anything. But somehow it was very sensual, very sexual, as she slowly chews the banana, savouring it’s flavour, still leaning across me with her eyes closed.

I suddenly wanted to know what the touch of her skin feels like, how her lips taste, how she moans when she comes.

“Are you hot?”

“Huh?” I come out of my dream.

“Are you hot,” she nods down at my body. “You just have a t-shirt on, I was wondering if you wanted to turn the air-con down a notch.”

“No, I… I just had a shower and didn’t want to dress before going to bed.”

“Yes,” she takes a deep breath through her nose. “You still smell of apricot shower jell.”

Somehow my heart is racing.

“Apricot’s my favourite,” she smiles

“Oh,” my voice catches in my throat.

She sits back on the couch, pressing right up against me. “So what are you watching?” her hand drops onto my naked thigh.

Her body feels hot against mine, she hasn’t showered, but her sweat is sweet and fresh. The heavy heat of her body contrasts with the light touch of her hand resting palm down on my bare skin. I suddenly feel the absence of my panties.

“Is this CSI?” she asked.

“Err, yes,” I manage to say.

“Cool, I haven’t seen this in ages.”

There was a kind of buzzing in my ears. And I am not sure what I was looking at any more. All I knew was the physical closeness of her body next to mine, the hot, heavy sweetness of her scent and the deep tang of my own arousal.

“Are you going to eat that?”

I am not sure what she means.

But she leans over and takes another bite of my banana. Her shoulder brushing against my nipple sends electric shivers through my body.

“Open up,” she says around the piece of banana she holds between her teeth.

I let my lips part and she presses the banana into my mouth, her lips touching mine, her tongue pushes the banana into my mouth. I start to chew and she lets her tongue tease my lips for a moment before pulling away.

She bends down and takes another bite for herself, then shifts around and and settles down with her head in my lap. Her damp hair caressing my naked skin.

I don’t quite know what to do with my free hand.

She reaches up and takes it in hers, tucking it under her elbow and pressing it to her chest.

I can feel the rise and fall of her breathing.

“You’re not wearing any panties are you,” she says.

“Err, no,” my voice is weak.

“Cool,” she settles her shoulder against my thigh and her head into my lap. Nothing between her damp hair and mine. “You have a double bed in you room don’t you?”

“Err, yes,” I reply.

“Good,” she closes her eyes. “I only have a single.”

I know. I’d vacated the smaller bedroom when the previous girl had moved out.

“Wake me up when you want to go to bed,” she falls almost instantly into a deep sleep.

Now I am stuck with a banana skin in one hand, Sam hugging my other hand and the TV remote on the arm of the couch to far away to reach without disturbing her. So I sit and watch two and a half episodes of CSI before she wakes.

“Oh, it’s late,” she yawns. “You should have woken me.”

“You looked so peaceful.”

“I’ve an early start in the morning.”

“So do I.”

“So we’d better get to bed then,” she sits up and flicks off the TV. Taking my hand she leads me into my bedroom.

I snuggle under the duvet while she quickly strips.

Then she slips in beside me and wraps her arms around me. I know I’ll never have to sleep alone again.

P.S. I have no idea what happened to the banana skin.

Cinderella’s Glass Phallus

Declan — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 15:08:33 +0000

One ugly sister has collapsed in a arm chair, her skirts pulled up around her knees, almost faint from her exertions to prove herself the rightful beau to the prince. The other ugly sister reclines on the chaise longue, her skirts up around her waist, legs spread wide, also worn out from her efforts. Their mother fans first one then the other with her shawl, unable to determine who is in more dire need of her maternal comforting and whether she should feel more concerned about the health of her daughters, or the fact than neither have managed to pass the prince’s test.
The courtiers of the prince’s entourage trade dumbfounded glances at each other. Nobody knows how to advise the prince.
The prince sits with his head in his hands. Every eligible young lady in the land has been tested. He had left the two ugliest girls to last, but even they have failed to prove themselves as the one who has stolen his heart.
Nobody knew what they should do next.
Shiny stiletto heels step into the suddenly silent room.
The prince lifts his head from his hands. His eyes continue upward, but his mouth hangs open, as he drinks in the sight of the rubber clad goddess who has just entered.
Glossy black latex seamlessly coats her like a second skin, flowing up from her stiletto heels along her sleek calves and tights. Curving over her buttocks and hips, the black rubber tightens around her slim waist sweeping over her flat stomach and up over her pert breasts before it circles her elegant neck and flows down her slim arms and hands. Her face is pale against the black gloss, her blue eyes set with a slight mischievousness in her inscrutable face, golden tresses pulled into a tight braid that hangs to the middle of her back.
Click, click, click, she casually walks to the centre of the room. She’s already the centre of attention.
Cinderella’s step-mother is livid. She steps forward. “Where did you get that outfit?” she hisses.
“Let’s just say,” Cinderella gives her a theatrical wink, “that my fairy godmother gave it to me.”
Cinderella’s step-mother gathers herself to unleash her full fury.
But Cinderella walks past her without a second glance, click, click, click, straight up to where the prince sits at the centre of his royal entourage. “Good afternoon, your royal highness,” she gives a little bow then stands legs apart, hands on hips looking down at him. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
The prince can but stare open mouthed at her, frozen by her sheer physical presence.
A footman pulls himself together and presents a satin pillow to the prince.
The prince is unable to take his eyes from Cinderella.
Cinderella holds out her hand.
The footman, unbidden by the prince, scurries over to present the pillow to her.
Cinderella smiles down at the object nestling on the soft satin for a moment before picking it up.
The footman bows and backs away from her.
Cinderella considers the glass phallus in her hand, hefting it’s weight for a moment and turning it a little to let the sunlight glisten within it’s depths. “I believe,” she still regards the phallus, “that this has been tried out by every eligible young lady in the land.”
The prince barely nods.
She lifts her gaze to the prince, “And they’ve all been found deficient in its use.”
Again the prince nods.
Her smile widens. “Perhaps they’ve been missing the other piece of the puzzle,” she holds out her other hand and lets a tangle of leather straps dangle.
The prince catches his breath.
Slowly Cinderella steps one foot, then the other, into the tangle of straps. She pulls the straps up her sleek tights and over her pert buttocks. With an almost coquettish smile she slips the phallus into the straps, before pulling them tight into her crotch and around her slim waist, settling the base of the glass phallus firmly against her smooth mound.
“I nearly ruptured myself pushing that thing inside my cunny,” the first ugly sister complains.
“You!” the other interjects. “I fucking stuck it up my ass!”
But nobody pays them any heed. All eyes are on the tall, slim girl with the glass phallus standing at the centre of attention.
The prince opens and closes his mouth as if he is about to say something. But he can think of nothing to say to the magnificent beauty that stands before him.
“So, your royal highness,” Cinderella speaks to him as if there were no one else in the room, “why don’t you bend over and take it like a prince.”

Making a Big Mess Again

Declan — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 16:46:53 +0000

I don’t normally write erotic poetry. I don’t really write many poems.

I don’t even know if this erotic. But it definitely is a poem.

Making a Big Mess Again

Suck, suck, suck.
Suck, suck, suck.

Stroke, stroke, stroke.
Stroke, stroke, stroke.

Squirt, squirt, squirt.
Squirt, squirt, squirt.

Splatter, splatter, splatter.
Splatter, splatter, splatter.

Splodge, splodge, splodge.
Splodge, splodge, splodge.

Making a big mess again.

Second Best

Declan — Sun, 31 May 2009 15:13:53 +0000

She looks at me with that “Little Girl Look” in her eyes and I can’t tell her that she’s second best.

I can’t tell her she’s an “eight out of ten” and I wan to live a “ten out of ten life.”

I can’t tell her I’ve “settled.”

I can’t tell her “I want more.”

I can’t tell her “I’m worth it.”

I can’t break her heart

We live in an “80/20” world.

So I will sacrifice my 20% for her 100%

How can I break her heart?

Then she says, “We need to talk.”

Oh, shit.

“Listen,” she smiles softly. “It’s not you, it’s me…”