You trembled, either from fear or anticipation.
“Just relax,” someone whispered. “It will be okay.”
One moment, you’re standing, quivering. The next, you find yourself pushed to the floor.
Intrepid fingers mapped the plains and contours of your body. Warm hands touched, plucked, stroked. Hungry lips tasted, nibbled, devoured.
An animal groan rumbled from your chest.
You’re a mindless bundle of pleasure, desperate to reach that pinnacle of relief where you glimpse a slice of heaven.
Hours passed and you lie there.
You feel empty.
But you have the bag of money to buy your mother another day.
This was my entry for our last 100-word challenge. The theme was erotica, but what I wrote doesn’t seem like one. I don’t know. I would have wanted to turn it into a passionate love story. But I stuck with this idea instead.