This was originally written in response to Kate Valentine’s Flash Friday prompt Forbidden Fruit.
I believe the instructions were 500 words or less but I’m rule breaker so while I take full accountability for my actions and whatever punishment accompanies it, I wanted to keep writing so I did😈
Content Note: This piece contains explicit sexual content, psychological manipulation, infidelity, and a deliberately cold, predatory narrator.
All characters are adults (21+)
Is intended for Adults (18+)
And for the record I don’t condone this fucked up shit, so if you are running through the world doing shit like this…you are SO blocked.
Read at your own risk.
Forbidden Fruit
I looked up to see Mr. Kowalski standing over me.
Mostly innocent.
Oh, who am I kidding?
No one in this room was innocent.
I’m lying on my back on their $8,000 leather couch.
Thigh-high stocking-adorned legs spread wide.
Looking down over the peaks of my full, gravity-defying breasts.
At the face of Mrs. Kowalski ravenously slipping her tongue through my folds.
Her thinning auburn hair was nice enough for a woman in her thirties.
Not as full and glossy as long brown locks, but nice.
She had a freedom and charisma that most young women my age didn’t have.
The fact that they had embraced the Lifestyle certainly implied that she wasn’t ordinary.
But then again, neither was I.
My body trembles, a sudden involuntary reaction to her sliding her finger into a lubricated heat box.
She certainly knew what she was doing.
I make eye contact with her husband as I arch my back.
She was too distracted with her meal to realize what I was up to.
I had already come loudly twice while he filmed us from across the room.
Each moan calling him.
Each breath wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer.
Now he’s standing directly next to me as I writhe on his sofa.
His wolf eyes locked onto what I’m sure is the most incredible pair of tits he’s ever seen.
I can feel my attentive pink nipples cutting through the air.
My floral black lace bra is still technically clasped around my body, but the cups have been empty for quite some time.
I had read in psych class about a study in which the participants were told they couldn’t have freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, were then left alone in the room with those cookies, and told to eat radishes instead.
Turns out nearly all of them managed to resist.
But then something interesting happened.
Immediately after the experiment they were given unsolvable puzzles to solve, and those poor souls fucking gave up quicker than a rich kid without Wi-Fi.
Apparently all the willpower was used up resisting the cookies.
Now I’m not calling Mrs K a radish.
But I am most certainly an unsolvable puzzle.
And the moral of this particular story is that every man, no matter who he is, has his limits.
If a woman knows how to apply pressure, he’ll melt every time.
And Jolene knew how to apply pressure.
That’s my name by the way.
I wanted him.
Some might even say that I was obsessed with him.
I had spent years babysitting their children and eyeing him from beneath the shadows of my girl-next-door facade before heading of to college.
Even my parents and best friends had swallowed that act.
But deep down, I always knew what I was… a ravenous slut.
And beneath my glasses, hoodies, and retro wide-legged jeans, the former valedictorian babysitter had a secret…
A body that turned loyal, happy men into beggars.
And I could see it in his eyes.
He was a beggar.
I turned my head away from him to create the illusion that no one was watching.
And it wasn’t long before I felt the warmth of his hands on my exposed skin for the first time. A bit nervous and probing.
I smiled at him coyly and bit my lip, pressing my chest into his palm.
Mrs. Kowalski noticed and smiled into my cunt.
Stupid bitch.
She was alone, and didn’t even know it.
