Imprints

“Where is your old typewriter?” asked Alexandra.

“It’s in the hall closet.” Stephan looked up from his art easel in the studio. His seductive gaze held her, as did his stance, edgy and ready.  “You need it for what?

“Project for my writing class,” said Alex as she bent over to pick it up.

Alexandra set the machine on her desk and reread the assignment.  Address your specific audience. Type a communication to imprint the reader’s soul like a key strike of an old typewriter stamps a letter through the ribbon onto the paper.

After loading a sheet paper, she typed.

To Stephan,

I want to be your medium for erotic art.

Permit me to be your muse.

Do carnal things with me. Explore me; to your liking. Chose the angle that best exemplifies your work and then photograph me, paint me, film me.

Bind my skin and push my limits.

I want to experience your presence by the dig of a rope as it holds me in place.

Pinch me, clamp me, and hook me in the ass.

Smack my skin to create your desired color palate and then smack me some more.

Let me be life art for you.

Fill my holes, then decorate my skin with dripped wax, then fill me again. Document what you will.

Just devour me,

devour me,

devour me.

I totally surrender myself to you, only you.

Have I earned the right submit?

You know what’s best for me.

In quiet moments alone, I dream of your tongue, your fingers, and your cock filling me.

As extensions of you, I worship them. My spirit soars to the idea.

Together, we can affirm life as we hover in the space between pain and pleasure, lust and love with our hearts and minds.

Sear my body and my soul.

Just brand me.

Alexandra left the typewriter, horny and needful. Dare I release the tension writing created?

She walked into the kitchen grabbed an orange and a fork. She jammed the fork tine in the peel and pulled back. A squirt of juice landed on her chest; the scent filled the room. After peeling, she stared at the naked orange in her hand; she closed her eyes and plunged her thumb inside then, again and again.

It was Stephan.

It was her.

A creak in the hallway interrupted her, and she opened her eyes. Wrapping the orange in a paper towel, she headed back to her project.

A new sheet of paper perched up in the typewriter. Alexandra’s chest tightened when she leaned closer. Stephan’s words.

Further south, her pelvis throbbed, she flushed with heat, and her heart skipped a beat.

To Alexandra,

Your words inspired me.

Please be my muse.

You, as a medium for sexual art, would be a cherished gift.

Any modeling requires training.

Textures will be our first theme.

Bring the orange and the peel.

Come, now, to the studio.

I await you.

And, bring the fork.

For all other flashing, please check out Friday Flash. Click Here.