Flash Erotica ~ The Scotsman’s Kilt

The ever lovely and amazing Alison Tyler is running her 250 word story contests again!  Below is my entry for this one.  Ended up tied for third!  The poll is over, but do go and check out the other entries!

Damn.  Looks like the deadline for her latest one was Sunday and I didn’t even realize it!

The Scotsman’s Kilt

“You’re a tart, you know that? A bloody. Fucking. Tart.”

He was breathless and a touch of awe roughed the edge of his voice. I let his cock slip from my mouth, my hot pink lipstick smeared along his length.

“I am, hmm?” His fingers tightened in my hair, urging me back. Mac’s body curved, a strung bow, every stroke of my tongue plucking at him.

“Aye. Oh, don’t stop.” His hips bucked, popping the darkened glans past my lips once more.

Waves crashed beyond us. A bonfire crackled and snapped behind us. My knees dug into the sand, still warm from the long departed sun. Drumbeats throbbed, guiding dancers through sinuous steps in the distance, leading my mouth up and down. A low growl built in his throat and he flipped me onto my back.

The rough wool of his kilt bunched between us, a rough, odd counterpoint to the slick, silken slide of his thick cock against my thigh. “I’m gonna fuck you,” he said and I widened my thighs, tilting my hips.

“Yes, fuck me,” I begged.

“Such a tart,” he rasped again as he thrust, sinking deep into me. My thighs closed around him, pulling him deep, the heat of the flames glowing on my upturned face.

Grinding together we matched the drums; lifting, pulling, gripping, slipping; following the crescendo of music. With a shout he spent himself inside me, carrying me over the edge, my cry spiraling out.

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2 Comments

  1. I totally voted for this!

  2. Lovely and evocative!


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