For this week’s Masturbation Monday flash fiction, I owe thanks to the artistic Little Rara whose cosmic image/prompt served as the inspiration behind the inspiration for a narrative poem that I adapted into this erotic sci-fi flash fiction tale. Hope you enjoy it! ~B
He is out there, the stranger I’ve welcomed to my strange. When I close my eyes, I can feel his presence slide between my lust-slicked lips, feel the repeated thrusts of his fecund thought penetrate my fissure and embed deep within, his seed fertilizing my cerebral lobes. His signal transmits loud and clear from a bright nebula of yearning that defies time and space. Each message is an libidinous probe, communicating his desire for first-contact from his distant galaxy.
There’s no distance between us when I read his words. Eyes pressed tight, my fingers become his — receptors that are fluent in the sensual Braille his words have transcribed along the smooth skin of my quivering inner thighs — as I move them towards the wetness that awaits. There is no void now to separate us. Mentally and sexually, we are tethered, an astral bridge connects us. I can see his thoughts, hear his words, feel him watching me through my minds eye.
Phantom lips that defy quantum physics reach across the divide to land with precision on the sensitive network of nerves located at the midway point between earlobe and collar bone, beginning the crucial countdown to a launch sequence that is now beyond my control to stop. T-minus far too few, far too many minutes until I explode.
With cosmic tongue and teeth he worries my frayed wires, gnaw at tangled circuitry normally so self-contained, leaving invisible marks upon the atomic structure of my flesh as I imagine him moving towards my breasts. He finds his way to my milky way and latches onto erect nipples so sensitive to touch. Every imagined pull of mouth and throat brings more fluids to the surface as if I’ve sprung a leak at multiple points. Mouth, nipples, sex — they all pool for him, under his undivided attention. My hands, now his hands, seek my clit to dock.
Tight, small strokes transpire over my swollen flesh for what feels like hours but is mere minutes. Toes curled, gut clinched, eyes pinched shut, I shoot into outer space on a wave of dopamine-laced ecstasy. For a split second, I see and understand all the mysteries of the universe, then I come — down, flailing back into the Earth’s atmosphere with a leg-shaking, womb-sucking realness that renders me mute as I fight for oxygen. Spent, I am a lifeless puddle. His words have reduced me back into primordial ooze. ■