This site contains explicit stories of sexual & kinky fantasies and is not intended for readers under 18.

Morning Paper

by | flash fiction | 0 comments

What was impressive was the glare she gave me when she handed me the folded paper every day. I feel like it really takes a lot to negotiate a fantasy, decide to do something kinky with someone, and then get that authentically mad about having to do what you agreed on. Maybe it was my little laugh or careful remarks about how disgusting she was. 

Of course, she didn’t hand me a slip of paper every day. That would be ridiculous. She only handed them to me when she masturbated or had any kind of sexual encounter. She would text me if she had a note for me. I would let her know if I was available. If I wasn’t, she would slip her note in my mailbox. Usually, she stopped by on her way to work. She would drop by my apartment, I would buzz her in, she would walk to my door on the second floor, and I would let her in, and then she would hand me the paper.

It was always a single sheet, though she sometimes wrote on the back, even though her neat print was very small and tidy.

She wrote how long it took to come, or if she didn’t get to come. She wrote about whatever porn she looked at, if she looked at any. She wrote about any fantasies she thought about. She wrote about what she used, be it her trusty Hitachi or her little portable vibrator or her fingers or a pillow or someone’s cock or someone’s mouth.

Sometimes her fantasies were benign, though they always seemed touched by some kink or some fetish. Being fucked while someone watched from the shadows. Being felt up on the train by a stranger. Being passed around at a party. Going to a gloryhole in a bad neighborhood. Being taken to a hotel where there were several men waiting.

Other fantasies were darker—violence, rape, torture. Though, more often, they were just inappropriate. An old teacher, people she worked with, a cousin she was close with as a girl.

She would often just give me the search terms she put into porn sites. “Teen slut used,” “Fuck pig humiliated,” “Daddy daughter rough sex,” “Sleeping sister molested.”

She would usually be pretty red-faced when she handed over the letter. I would sit with my coffee and unfold the paper and read it while she waited. Sometimes I chuckled, sometimes I was impressed, sometimes it was just a sentence or two, and I would nod to dismiss her.

When she wasn’t red-faced and waiting for my judgment, she admitted to enjoying the arrangement very much. I found it a lovely way to start the day.

There were times, though, perhaps once a month, where the other part of our arraignment took effect. Sometimes she would come to my door, and I would let her in as usual, and she would be far redder, and she would stammer and look at her feet and say, “I didn’t do my assignment today.”

Not “I forgot” or “I wasn’t able to” or “I was busy.” She didn’t do the assignment—the reasons why didn’t matter.

Then I would take my trusty little egg timer that was shaped and colored like a little baby chick, and I would set it to ten minutes. Then I’d go to town on her.

She would always wear dresses or skirts on those days. Usually her blue sheath dress. I liked that one because I could push her against the wall and pull the whole thing up over her thighs and belly and tits and have everything available.

Then it was a quick morning session. Slapping her ass as she faced the wall. Taking hungry handfuls of her tits. Manhandling her and pushing her around, taking her hair in my hand, and just enjoying my control over her.

When she was primed, when her eyes became sort of glazed and her body didn’t fight against my directions, I would lean her over a chair and pull out my cock. I would laugh at how wet she got. Usually, she was wet the minute she got to my apartment. I would rub against her in long strokes, my cock dragging between her thighs, from her clit to the wetness of her cunt. 

She rutted against me, eyes closed, whimpering. My eyes would go from her ass to the little egg timer. Never enough time to use her. Then I would slip into her and quickly fuck her. My morning treat. Hot friction and wetness and tightness. Reaching down and grabbing her breasts, softness on top of all the other sensations. Her whines and moans pushing me quickly. Not much time before the alarm. All those dirty notes in my head. Then pulling out and coming on her ass just as the tinny bell rang.

A quick cleanup. Wet dishrag across her ass, followed by a paper towel. Then sending her off to work while I luxuriated in a hot shower. 

If you have enjoyed any of the 150+ free stories on this site, please consider supporting the author. You can buy him a coffee through Ko-Fi or send him a tip through PayPal or the Cash App. Tips make it possible to keep this site operational and let Jack keep publishing things for free.

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *