Man of the Year

Man of the Year

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Summary

This is a really short one. Under 500 words, for Sexy Scarlett’s Flash Fiction Contest. You must use at least 5 consecutive words from a song and use them in the story. I chose lyrics from the song “Chelsea Hotel” by Leonard Cohen. Rufus Wainright does a fabulous job singing this one. Here's the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4rQ03pl2Og

Summary

This is a really short one. Under 500 words, for Sexy Scarlett’s Flash Fiction Contest. You must use at least 5 consecutive words from a song and use them in the story. I chose lyrics from the song “Chelsea Hotel” by Leonard Cohen. Rufus Wainright does a fabulous job singing this one. Here's the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4rQ03pl2Og

Content

Submitted: February 14, 2016

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Content

Submitted: February 14, 2016

A A A

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She stood in front of the mirror wearing plum colored Chantilly Lace panties and bra. The light passed easily through the fabric, revealing her silver dollar nipples and neatly trimmed bush.

I watched her in all of her loveliness as she applied mascara to her eyes. Her brunette hair was pulled back tightly and tied into a chignon bun.

With the exception of my shoes and suit coat, I was dressed and ready to head out to the limo. I looked in the mirror and said that my hair was graying as quickly as the seasons changed. She smiled, ran her fingers over my ears to tuck away some wandering strands and said it made me look distinguished. She said I looked handsome.

I moved to the hotel room window and watched the New York madness. Park Avenue was moving at breakneck speed just as it did every minute of every day.

I was only a few hours away from making the most important speech of my life as I was selected to receive the Man of the Year award. To describe the state that I was in at that moment could only be expressed in three simple words: bundle of nerves.

She told me to relax as I paced the hotel room. More easily said than done.

I poured myself a scotch and water at the minibar and then sat down. I fiddled with a box of wooden match sticks that were on the credenza, considered lighting the fireplace, but changed my mind. I fidgeted in the chair, for peace was a stranger to me at that moment.

She told me to lie down on the bed. She threw one of her legs over me and mounted my face and said she was going to cure me of all my anxiety. She began to thrust her pelvis to and fro. She said she loved performing the 69 position with me because I had a gifted tongue. She began giving me head on the unmade bed, while the limousines waited in the street.

I began to lick her just the way she liked it and exhaled my hot breath just the way she loved it.

 In the beginning, her strides across my face were beautiful and clean, long and graceful. But before long, I could hear her purr and her movements became imperfect and fragmented for a storm had taken over her body. The scent of her ocean was intoxicating as its mist and surf filled my mouth.

She continued consuming me--devouring me until my loins became a raging fire. “My love! My love!” I cried as I flooded her mouth and she swallowed me.

We rolled over on the bed and embraced.

“Thank you, my darling. Now I feel peaceful as a daydream.”

She smiled and said, “Anything for my Man of the Year.”


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