Mature Fiction posted July 5, 2022

This work has reached the exceptional level
A mildly sci-fi, wildly erotic, slightly horrifying tale

The Contours of Sparks

by Fleedleflump

Erotic Tales Contest Winner 
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.

Her fingers clasped around my length and I felt every detail of the sensation - her soft skin riding the dunes of my distended veins, her palm enclosing my shaft and squeezing, her thumb grazing my head, finding a dribble of fluid and spreading it gently like butter on toast. A thrill pulsed through me, shooting from my gut into my erection, and I heard a breathy giggle as she felt me responding to her touch.

Her tongue slipped across my nipple as she moved her hand and I revelled in the moment. I was lying flat on my back, her hair tickling my throat and chest, one soft leg crooked over mine, her supple breasts pressing into my side and stomach, warm tummy against my hip, and the intoxicating aroma of shampoo and sweat.

She swept her lips from my nipple up to one ear, flicking her tongue across one earlobe then gnawing it gently. "I can feel you throbbing in my hand," she whispered directly into my ear canal, pumping her hand a few times as she spoke.

I turned my head and kissed her fiercely, locking lips, dancing tongues, breath coming in rushes from our noses. Her hand pulled down, slipping back skin, fully exposing my head, and then further, fingers unfurling then cupping, clutching my balls like ripe fruit. I moaned involuntarily, feeling our lips vibrating together at the sound.

Her face moved away from mine, kissing my neck and moving to my chest once again.

"I have to check," I mumbled, reaching one hand across the bed for my phone. Swiping the screen open, I glanced across the display. Sure enough, my Contours app was recording, saving these sensations so I could relive them at a later time via my earplug.

"Check mine," she said between kisses, releasing my balls and slipping the hand between her thighs. She sighed and half-laughed, half moaned. "I'm so fucking wet for you, baby."

While I made sure her phone was also recording, I felt her hand return to my solid shaft, so hard it almost ached. Her touch was like silken sponges, slick with her juices, massaging that ache like a tight muscle, working her moisture into my rampant hardness. Ants crawled into my head and bees buzzed in my chest as all my muscles began to tighten. I knew where this was heading.

"Slow down," I said, gasping. "I'm gonna squirt."

She ran her tongue across my tummy, loosening her grip. "No, you can't finish yet. I want you to cum in me."

I curled my hand carefully into her hair and pulled her face back to mine for a deep, slow kiss. She shifted her body onto mine, her curves moulding to my shape, lifting her leg across my hips so she was fully on top. I felt my erection graze her thigh as she moved it across, pressing like a spring against her skin, then release to nestle in her warm pubic hair. I could feel her shape against my head, parting like curtains around a leg.

Needing to feel how excited she was, I slid a hand down between us while we kissed, suppressing my erection with the back of it so I could curl a finger between her lips, slipping easily between velvet folds into her slick heat. She sucked in a breath as her tongue danced with mine, writhing her hips down against my hand in response to my touch. I folded another finger into her, pulling upward with gentle pressure, feeling her tighten rhythmically against their length as they pressed all the way in.

"Your turn to slow down," she said between kisses. "Don't finish me off yet."

Slipping my fingers from her wet grasp, I pressed my palm against her mound, compressing wiry hairs on feather-soft skin. She raised herself up on her arms to look down at my face, and I was instantly awash in the ocean of her smile. She sat upright atop me and my shaft pressed between her buttocks. It was all I could do not to explode right there and then. I bit down on my lower lip, refusing to breathe, knowing a big gulp of air would set things in motion earlier than we wanted. She pulled my shiny hand up to her face, sucking her flavour from my fingers.

"Sit on my face," I said between grunts. "I want to taste you."

"Mmmmm," she said, lifting herself forward. "Show me what you've got, you naughty boy."

She placed a knee a little behind each side of my head and lowered herself onto my mouth. I felt her cheeks settle onto my shoulders, her hair around my nose, and I slipped my tongue between her lips, parting them to slide into a world of damp and sticky warmth. She made one of the most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard, spurring me on.

I raised my arms, caressing her breasts, finding her nipples with my thumbs and forefingers, squeezing gently as she moved in a slow rhythm atop me. I lapped my tongue across her clitoris, feeling it spring back in the wake of my caress. She shuddered and, encouraged, I clamped my lips around her, sucking her clit into my mouth, flicking my tongue back and forth across it, my chin warm and bathing in her stream.

Her nipples were firm in my grasp, responding eagerly to my touch, her seething arousal like a lava flow in my mouth.

"Fuck me," she whispered urgently, grinding against my face. "Fuck me now, before I cum all over your tongue."

I sucked against her clit one last time, sweeping my lips across the end as she lifted away and turned, straddling me on all fours. I ran my tongue down across my saturated chin, tasting her sweet excitement. As she arched her back, raising her posterior to show me the way, I rose to my knees behind her, lightning in my lungs, passion in my throat, iron in my loins.

"Fuck me," she said again. "I need your cum deep inside me."

Thrusting forward, losing myself in a perfect pressure sensation, I did as she asked.


2025 - that was the year it all changed. Coming out of another lockdown, with meeting in person becoming increasingly taboo, people turned more and more to technology. The first breakthrough was sensory earbuds - wireless earpieces that employed a probe - so small, you barely noticed it threading through your ear canal - to connect directly into the cerebral cortex.

Once paired with a user, they allowed us to hear without the need for audio, and as the technology evolved, experience other sensations without the need for external stimulus. Beyond the practicality of not needing wires or any devices beyond a standard smartphone, they allowed the deaf to hear, the blind to see - if only in their minds - and for people to connect over distance, almost as though they were together.

The second breakthrough came only months after the sensory earbuds. A company that supplied half the world's market for remote controlled vibrators saw an opportunity. Not only could the buds be used to replicate sexual stimulus, their pairing with smartphones meant those experiences could be recorded. And so the Contour app was born, allowing everyone to relive their most intimate moments at will. Almost overnight, masturbation became as popular as Netflix and escort services began catering to a clientele looking for that 'one ultimate experience' they could save in the Contour app for later.

Of course, it didn't take long for enterprising users to come up with other ways to use the technology.


"Are you sure?" I asked, pulling my earbud from my canal and watching the probe retract into its tiny body. "The user manual's pretty clear we shouldn't do this." We were sitting in our his-and-hers armchairs, placed next to one another in the near-dark living room. A fire licked at the air lustily, bathing her gorgeous face in flickering orange.

She smiled. "We both watched the hack videos online, so we know it works. We'll be just fine. I want to know how it feels to be the man. I want to know how I feel in your arms."

I nodded, and we passed each other our earbuds. I looked at hers, nestled in my palm, faintly warm still from having been in her head. "I love you," I said quietly, and placed it in my ear, wincing slightly at the odd sensation of the probe worming into my mind.

We swapped phones too and, sharing a grin, opened the Contour app and pressed the button to engage.

Colours slamming, sparks bursting, waves crashing, sounds bubbling simultaneously in a rushing cacophony as smells and thoughts and pain and dreams and passions explode until it's now, now, now, now, no-

I feel his tongue, slimy and cool, flopping like a desperate fish between my ... between my what? My balls? No, they're on the outside. Wait, I don't have balls, do I? I feel him suck on something, and his hands are pawing at my nipples. A rush runs through me but it's more like the twinge you feel when you realise you've jumped down from something a little too high - that anticipation of pain and damage you can't avoid.

That tongue is lurching around like a tentacle, intruding, violating, raising sensations I've never even imagined before. I want to rise up, away from the discomfort, but I'm not in control. I'm not me. Oh God, is this how I make her feel?

"Fuck me," I hear my throat whisper, and I recoil from it. No! No, I want it to stop! I want to be me again, safe in the denial of my own confidence, comfortable in the understanding of my own body. I'm moving, turning, positioning myself.

Even though the tongue has moved, I can still feel its legacy like it's ground acid onto the surfaces of my insides. I feel raw, and open, and out of control. There must be a way to stop this! Where is my phone? I need to press the pause button. This isn't what I wanted. No, this isn't me.

I'm in front of him now, arching my back, presenting myself wantonly to his face. I can feel my vocal cords vibrating, begging to have cum injected deep into me.

There's a bole of panic in my gut, but right now it's not my gut, but it is... How can I have two sets of sensations at once, so wrong and right? In a flash of clarity, I remember seeing interviews in a documentary, talking to pre-op transsexuals about who they are and why they need to change their physical bodies. Is this what they feel like, beforehand? Am I being punished for previous assumptions?

I shuffle on all fours, panting, loving it, hating it, anticipating dread, trying to control the limbs that aren't braced in depressions of the bed covers, praying to the god of technology that the Contour app has some sort of failsafe.

It must. It must know. They should tell people not to do this!

And then it happens. He/she thrusts forward, sliding into me like a boat launching into water. I feel vomit cough across my chin and slop into my lap, but I'm on all fours, getting fucked like the dog I am. Colours rush in my vision, horror clutches my windpipe, pain erupts through my brain. I hear a scream as if floating on a breeze from a distant shore.

And then there's-


Erotic Tales
Contest Winner


How far is too far with technology?

I hope you enjoyed the read :-)
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Save to Bookcase Promote This Share or Bookmark
Print It View Reviews

You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.

© Copyright 2024. Fleedleflump All rights reserved.
Fleedleflump has granted, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.