Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Flash Fiction on the Edge

For this fortnight's post, given that the topic is "edges", I thought it'd be fun to do some flash fiction.

In true flash fiction style, I'm going to spend 20 minutes writing this -- not a minute more -- and do very minor editing afterwards. (Basically just a clean up edit, but nothing in depth.)

I'm armed with my water bottle and five chocolate eggs left over from the Easter candy stash.

Ready for flash fiction in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... GO!


The restraints at my ankles and wrists cut into my flesh, holding my down, limiting my movement. It hurts, but I like it.

All my attention is on my cock. It's so hard -- it's been hard for almost an hour now -- and Master continues to tease it... to tease me.  The lights are low and I'm blindfolded, sitting in a chair, attached to it with those restraints.  Before starting, Master had put headphones over my ears, pumping me full of a soft, droning noise -- the kind of noise that blocks out all other sounds and puts me in a relaxed state, almost hypnotic.

I can't see my cock because of the blindfold, but I imagine it's a dark and angry red.  Not only has it been hard for almost an hour, but Master has been teasing me with the edge of orgasm.  Every time I start to get the slightest bit flaccid, he grabs my cock and starts stroking, making me insanely hard again, bringing me right to the edge of orgasm and then releasing his hold on me, leaving me gasping and panting and just half a second from having gone over that edge and diving down into orgasmic release.

Master likes to tease me.  And I like to be teased.

Master grabs my cock again.  His hand is meaty and firm, surrounding the entirety of my erection in his grip.  Slowly, he strokes, gaining speed with every passing heartbeat.  It starts to hurt, having been masturbated so much in this past hour, but that hurt is soon subsumed by the rising and mounting pleasure.  I'm so close.  I'm gonna cum.  I'm going to blow my load and have the most earth-shattering orgasm I've ever had.  I'm going to--

Master lets go of my cock.

I double over, as best I can being partially restrained, gasping and panting for air.  The hormones and chemicals of orgasm are rushing through my bloodstream, heightening every single fucking thing I'm feeling right now.  My heart beats so loud it's like there's a drum playing in my ear.  All of it feels incredible, but I'm still denied the one thing that I've been begging for, crying for, desperately searching for.  I still haven't orgasmed.  My load is still sitting in my aching balls.

My breath slowly comes back to me and I don't pant and gasp anymore.  But I'm wired.  I'm so fucking wired.  I need release and I need it now.

It's this moment in an edging session where I question why I torture myself like this.  I could've stayed at home and jacked off and had my orgasm by now.

But it wouldn't be the same.  And it wouldn't be anywhere near as powerful as the orgasm I know I'm going to have when Master determines that I am finally allowed to cum.

Before I can think further on it, I feel Master's hand on me again.  This time, though, he's grabbing and fondling my balls.  He tugs on my sack and rolls each ball between his fingers, like he's testing me, assessing me.  I hope I meet his approval.  I wonder if he can tell how aching and full and tense my balls are to me -- I wonder if he cares.

That hand moves up to my cock and grabs hold of it again.  Like always, he starts off by stroking slow.  With every up and down stroke, he gets a little faster, his fingers grip on a little tighter, and my skin feels on fire from the friction but pleasure soon overwhelms everything.

I whimper.  I gasp.  I moan.  I beg.  "Please... please let me cum.  Please, Master."

I can feel myself rushing to that edge, to that point of no return where I known that if I pass over it, my balls are going to empty themselves so much that I'll be plastered in my spunk.  I can feel myself starting to go over that edge, just a second more, just one second--

Master releases my cock.

"Fuck!" I scream.  The muscles throughout my entire body contract and release, contract and release, over and over again, but that orgasm still doesn't happen.  My chest heaves as I struggle for breath again.

Suddenly, Master pulls the headphones off one ear and I hear him growl, "You think you deserve to cum?"

"Please," I whimper.  "Please, Master.  I'll do anything -- anything -- if you let me cum."

He lets go of the headphone and it slams against my ear again.  I don't know if I've earned my orgasm or not -- I don't know if this is going to end soon or if I have another hour of this excruciating torture.

Master grabs my cock again and strokes -- slow at first and quickly speeding up.  He hadn't given me time to fully recover from the last one, so I'm still gulping air and gasping for breath, my whole body is tense, my muscles clamped down and hard like steel, and I grimace, pulling back my lips and exposing my teeth as I try to bear this exquisite torture.

Like before, I can see and feel that edge, I know that I'm seconds away from orgasming, from being unable to contain my jizz.  I start panting harder, leaning forward and doubling over, but Master doesn't stop.

Maybe this is it.  Maybe this is the time he lets me cum.  I expect him to stop at any second, to release my cock and let it twitch and throb and be unable to release its pent up energy... but he doesn't stop.

That edge is coming.  That edge is so close.  Master is going to stop now... I know it.

Still, he doesn't. He keeps going.

Master keeps stroking me, pumping my cock, pushing me toward that point where there's no turning back.  I grimace and let out a groan, which soon turns into a roar, and then a shout.

And I get thrown over that edge.  I fall over the cliff and into the depths of sexual release.  Fire and life and sex and every iota of energy that exists in my body rushes to my groin, rises through my shaft, and shoots out, splattering all over me.

It seems to last forever.  My orgasm doesn't seem like it's going to end.  I get lightheaded from the rush of energy to my crotch, from my inability to draw in a full breath of oxygen, and I feel like I'm going to pass out.

Eventually, my orgasm comes to an end and I can breathe again.  I'm spent.  I'm limp -- limp all over, not just my dick.  I slouch in the chair, the restraints barely managing to keep me sitting upright.

Master lifts off the headphones and blindfold, undoes the restraints, picks me up, and carries me to his bed.  He lays me down and cuddles with me as I drift off to sleep, simply unable to keep my eyes open a moment longer.

Cameron D. James is a writer of gay erotica and M/M erotic romance; his latest release is The President And The Rentboy. He is publisher at and co-founder of Deep Desires Press. With his erotica writers' group, he is a member of the Indie Erotica Collective (website still under construction). He lives in Canada, is always crushing on Starbucks baristas, and has two rescue cats. To learn more about Cameron, visit http://www.camerondjames.com.


  1. Powerful tension and immediacy to this, Cameron. I've written a lot of flash fiction, but I never heard of a time limit. Perhaps in a writing workshop.

    But the real pleasure of flash fiction is taking this piece and spending some time working it, seeing how far you can trim it down while still retaining its essence. Sometimes it takes me a week to write a 200 word flasher.

    You'll put yourself in touch with your editing skills and allows you to exercise your vocabulary to the most sophisticated degree.

  2. Wooo, very hot. I love the way you so vividly describe the effect of worrying about whether the orgasm will be allowed to complete. In general, the sensations come through very clearly.

    I'm intrigued by the 20 minute time limit. I've never associated that with flash fiction, either, and it seems like an interesting exercise to try!

    1. Indeed, I've always found that flash fiction took MORE time to write, on a per word basis, because of the need to keep things as concise as possible.

    2. LOL -- I was on lunch break from my day job, hence the time limit. I do so little flash fiction, but the few times I've done it, there's been a time limit...

  3. Very intense! And perfect for the topic.

    Makes me glad I'm not a guy, though. ;^)

  4. I can't imagine writing something this polished in 20 minutes. The present tense does make it fun to reread and try to decide whether the action of the story takes exactly as long as the writing of it. Certainly seems possible, although my impression is that the sexual tension goes on longer than the writing.

  5. Yes. The 20-minute limit seems to apply to the timeframe of the action as much as it does to the time-limit of the writing. Very cool, and also very male, IMO. Im not sure this kind of torture would work as well on a woman. Ive had several experiences of being interrupted just at the brink of orgasm (once by my kid entering the bedroom where I had a guest -- ackk! Nothing to see here!), and the feeling doesnt come back. Despite th repeated frustration, this piece shows a relationship of trust and responsibility between Dom and sub. Well done.

    1. A younger friend of mine introduced me to the concept of orgasm denial and ruined orgasm... he says that it's an intense feeling.

      And while I've not had a kid barrel into the room mid-sex, I've had a cat try to cuddle with me... :/


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