Flash Fiction with Brigham Vaughn

Welcome to the new and much improved Flash Fiction Monday. From this week forward I will be joined by the charming and very talented Brigham Vaughn. Both of us will write a short story – no longer than 500 words – based on the same picture and post them on our blogs every Monday.

While you’re on Brigham’s blog don’t forget to take a look at her other wonderful posts – including her wonderful photographs – as well as the free stories she’s made available. You’re in for a treat.

This week's gorgeous picture was selected by Brigham.

Pushover

I’m still not sure what has happened. How did I end up here, with a cigarette in my mouth leaning my forehead into the man I’ve been lusting after for months despite his obvious disinterest.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Scott, I’m a thirty year old sound engineer and I haven’t smoked in six months, two weeks and three days. Also six months ago I went from working freelance to signing a contract with this exclusive club for men. I’m in charge of music and lightning. Background music, performances, dance nights and pole dance performances; the sound and vision effects will have been thought up and provided by me and I’m good at what I do.

The man’s who’s about to light the cigarette I really shouldn’t smoke, owns the club. His name, would you believe, is Charles – never Charlie - and he’s everything I’m not. Where I’m rough around the edges he’s suave. As soon as I open my mouth I betray my working class background whereas he has a silver spoon well and truly lodged in his.

Ever since Charles approached me during a festival gig and offered me this job I’ve wanted him. He’s in my every fantasy; his mere presence has an instant effect on my cock. His proximity while I’m working my knob twiddling magic on the sound desk inevitably leads to thoughts about another knob I’d like to twiddle. For six long months he’s kept his distance.

Earlier tonight he approached me with a look on his face I hadn’t seen before. His gaze travelled down my body and up again until he stared straight into my eyes and licked his lips. Instantly my knob felt as if it had been twiddled with. When Charles asked me to put on a long dance sequence so I could take a break, I almost messed the transition. What the fuck. I don’t get nervous; I never make mistakes.

For six months I have fantasised about pushing him against a wall and taking him, by force if necessary. While I wait for the tantalising smell of sulphur once he strikes a match, I realise I’m lost. If he lights my cigarette I’ll smoke it, despite my vow to never touch the cancer sticks again.  My need to please him goes deeper than nicotine. 

For the first time in my life I don’t want to be in charge. I don’t want to take, I desire to be claimed. I yearn for the feel of a wall against my back while his body presses into mine. After all these years of taking what I want, this pusher is about to turn into a ‘pushee’.

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If you haven't already done so, don't forget to move on to Brigham's blog and read her story here.