Flying Colours

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[romantic erotica, love lost and found, sexual exploration, young lover, Kiefer Foley, the art of seduction, teacher and student sex]

Sylvia is an unapologetic sixty-something university lecturer. Her interest in her students drills into needs deeper than good grades. Teaching and learning are at the top of Sylvia’s itinerary. Instructing pupil, Simon Conrad, in the art of seduction and pleasure is her first priority until she meets charismatic Irish musician, Kiefer Foley. The wide age gap between Sylvia and Kiefer is no barrier to lust, and the Professor’s office is the perfect place to satisfy mutual curiosity. Flying Colours is a short story also included in Generation Game, a series of linked erotic stories.

Warning: Explicit erotic content from the start, including sample. Some readers will find this short story offensive. Unsuitable for all for readers under the age of 18.


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      I’m dressed for sex. Cybersex.
      My Cyberman has made an appointment for midday, which suits me perfectly. I have tied a wide piece of ribbon around my neck, tight enough to constrict my throat. The pressure burns my skin. Feels divine. My thundering heart beats a rhythm expectantly behind my ribcage and moves the fabric of my silky wraparound dress. I intend to give my heart a run today. Put myself under pressure as I climax. I want my cream to soak my panties. Did I tell you about my panties? They are deep burgundy in colour, overlaid with black lace and trimmed with black velvet ribbon, not unlike my choker. I’m wearing a matching suspender belt and that’s it, covered only by the sheer dress I’m wearing for modesty’s sake if someone unexpected comes to the door. As a further precaution, I have wrapped a sedate scarf around my neck to hide the choker.
      My footwear. Long, suede boots, over the knee and buckled with two fierce straps, which I shall ask him to remove.
      Use the straps to beat me.
      Buckle side down.
      The heels are high, but not too high. I will part my legs for him.
      Wide.
      My moist channel an open vessel for his fingers, cock or tongue, or anything else he wishes to fill me with.
      I am his to take.
      I shall bend face down into the bedding.
      I want him to pull the choker tight.
      Jerk my head with force so intense, I think he will snap my neck.
      Reach for my cunt, and feel how wet it is.
      Dip. Dip his fingers; one, two, three, and four.
      Use his cock.
      Bugger me.
      Force me.
      Force me into the bedding and plunge into my rectum.
      Spill his seed into me.
      Flood me.
      Flood my depths.
      Brand me with the marks of our passion.
      Still semi-hard, turn me over, face up on the bed.
      Straddle me, his hands in place of the choker.
      Apply pressure, firm, solid, as harsh as he dares, and squeeze. Just right. Just so. Just him, me, his hands, my throat, my burning skin.
      Create a new constellation of bruises, a match to his fingers.
      Hold tight.
      Squeeze.
      Obliterate.
      Everything open.
      I am a flower of flying colours turning towards the sun.
      Emerald pierces my little death.


Word Count: 3,208

  • Manufactured by: Secret Narrative

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