Song to the Siren by Larry Becket and Tim Buckley. Lyric images created with ImageQuote app.
The waves lap at the hull of the boat. There are no other seaworthy vessels to be seen for miles. I am adrift, and I am lost. Though not as it might seem to some in a navigational sense, I am lost of heart, adrift in a sea of longing. I remember with a dull ache in my chest and I must confess a throbbing in my cock, how your eyes sparkled as I drew your lips to mine, your fingers firm and certain guiding my hard length into as yet unexplored waters.
My heart sang, or perhaps you sang to me, I cannot recall the details, the memories of our union made hazy by the way you enveloped me, your entire being taking over mine, your existence in my world and your proximity to my body rendering everything but my knowledge of you utterly unimportant.
I sounded far more prudish than I had planned to but I had to admit to being slightly horrified by the scene before me.
‘Oh come on. You know how much I love Christmas.’
She did love Christmas, but this … this was just … obscene. She was lying on the bed with everything from baubles to tinsel scattered around her, a smooth bauble was still nestled in her palm and I am certain it’s shine would be slightly dulled in parts as her juices began to dry upon it. Fairy lights twinkled all around her and despite my reservations about her choice of erotic inspiration I did giggle, she looked like the naughtiest elf there had ever been.
“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.” – Oscar Wilde
‘My dick is so fucking hard, I just need to watch a ton of porn and jerk off until my balls stop aching.’
‘Let me watch.’
‘What? Are you joking? You want to watch me jerk off?’
I did, I really fucking did. I was as horny as he was hard, and if there hadn’t been an ocean between us I’d have let him destroy my cunt with his dick until neither of us could walk. Instead, I’d settle for watching him pump his fist up and down his shaft, praying I got the cum shot I was eager for.
Content Warning: If religion in erotica is not your thing, this may not be for you. Prayers and religious icons are referenced.
This is not my usual theme, and for good reason, I’m not practising any religion at present but I have been a fan of Jesus at certain points in my life, for various reasons. Which some people will probably find more offensive than the content of this blog post! I think two things inspired this piece though.
Firstly ‘Why should we call ourselves sinners’ by May More, which is an extremely sexy read and the image below that I saw on Twitter, I am however unsure of the original source of it. If anyone knows please do let me know.
Featured images by Posy Churchgate and used with permission.
‘Alice! Alice! Stop this infernal daydreaming and listen to me, and while you’re at it take off those ridiculous socks!’
Alice raised her gaze slowly and looked at her husband, with a look that could not be mistaken for anything other than disdain. Her loving, adventurous Robert was long gone. His corporate job and his commitment to it being greater than to her had turned him into a dull, unloving and even worse, an unlovable man.
‘You know what Robert? I won’t take my socks off, but I will take them away from you. I’m going to bed, don’t bother following. The spare room is all yours tonight.’
I peered through the crack in the door, almost certain of what I’d see and I was not wrong or disappointed. He held in his hands a pair of my knickers, lacy, flimsy and definitely no match for his ever increasing erection.
‘Interesting choice. What made you choose them to wear?’
‘What? I … er …. oh, haha, very funny, no I just found these in my drawer and was putting them back for you.’
‘Or you were planning to wear them, watch porn and have a wank. But now you are going to wear them, not watch porn and be wanked.’
This week’s Friday Flash was inspired by the image provided for this week’s prompt …
‘Listen to me.’
She wouldn’t listen to him. Especially when he meant ‘obey’ when he said listen. She was not a child or a doormat and he did not know what she wanted.
She despised him and his air of arrogance, his assumed authority over every woman that caught his eye, his piercing gaze and tone of voice that told her he thought she was just like the rest of the women who fawned all over him.