Brit's Book of Ideas

[Britwitch]

A place for story links, ideas for future threads, random scribblings, inspirational images and the like...

...am running out of space elsewhere!


Active Threads

Current Thread Ideas

Challenge Pieces

Notable Past Threads

Paused Threads

Social/Public/IC Threads I've Made



​

 

[Britwitch]

Active threads


CURRENTLY WRITING

Big Smoke vs 1960 with EroticLiteracy

Chasing Shadows with EroticLiteracy

WW2 with EroticLiteracy

Along The Path Yet Revealed with marauder13

Nothing Like Old Times with marauder13

The Bull with marauder13


PAUSED PIECES


Welcome to Etham, Alabama with Scuttle Buttin', IvoryTigress, thestruggle and LeChatNoir

The Right One with Scuttle Buttin'

Getting Away with Scuttle Buttin'

Night and Fog with Scuttle Buttin', thestruggle and saysalice

Free & Easy with LitShark

The Tipton Traveling Show with thestruggle, IvoryTigress, Scuttle Buttin', prettyserpentine, StarryEyed665, TechnoGeek and TinyDuchess

Hunter's Pride with Randolph

Domestic Bliss with TinyDuchess and Scuttle Buttin'

 

[Britwitch]

Notable Past Threads

In the interest of keeping things neat and tidy, including my signature (which was getting awfully crowded) I'm going to keep the links to some of my favourite past SRPs here...so I know where to find them when I want them...

Starting with the most recent...

Beauty and the Beast (with Miss_Vivi) FINISHED

Away from the World (written with marauder13) FINISHED

The Calends of January

A Kind Of Magick

Wandering In The Woods (Deliciously dark…)

Inspiration

To Catch A Shadow

Madame Guillotine (Got put on hiatus *sigh* I miss this one…was promising!)

The Maiden and the River (Another one I long to see continued…)

The Eagle Falls

Stowaway

Sharpe’s Exploits

Wrong Place…Wrong Time

The Torturer

To Buy A Slave

Witch Hunt (One of the first ensemble SRPs I took part in and a brilliant one it was too…it’s sequel was promising too!)

A Triangle Of Two Sides (My first real one-on-one SRP here)

Master and Maid (Slow and, admittedly, not the way I hoped it would start but then it got good!)

 

[Britwitch]

Permanently Paused Threads (In theory)

A Fine Line with Fish_Tales

H.M.S Honour with Seranova

Master and Maid with se7en

The Seer with Noon_Shadow

Hyde and Seek with se7en

A Fresh Coat of Paint with Firmhanded_Daddy

The Remnant with Scuttle Buttin' and choklatekoneko

A best friend's best kept secret with Niriate

The Garden with Scuttle Buttin', marauder13 and Miss_Vivi

Behind Enemy Lines with Scuttle Buttin' and Miss_Vivi

Salvation with thepoeticmaster2121

Out of Sight with Niceandbrutal

Infiltrating the Feminist Resistance with BornYesterday

 

[Britwitch]

Thread Ideas

UPDATED:~ Sunday 17th January 2016​

Lost

A young woman wakes up in the back of an apparently broken down or crashed car with no recollection of how she got there...or even who she is. She wanders through the woods in which she awoke until she reaches a small cabin and knocks desperately on the door.
The owner ushers her in and offers to help.

She truly believes he is going to help her, sits and listens to his call to the police who apparently will come in the next day or so, but her knight in shining armour isn't as chivalrous as he seems.

The idea is that he'll keep her with him in the cabin under the pretence of helping her regain her memory by keeping her close to where she awoke. But his methods of awakening her memory seem more than a little unorthodox and perhaps he knows more about why she was there than he's letting on.

When she starts to suggest she should leave, maybe a week or so later when it's clear the police aren't coming, his manner will change and he'll show his true colours.

Will she escape...will she ever discover the truth? Looking for a co-writer to help me work out the wrinkles in this and help me tell what could be a really gripping story.

*~*~*~*~*~*​

An Unlikely Love

Something along the lines of Beatrice and Benedict in 'Much Ado About Nothing'. A couple who spend so much time fighting, arguing, mentally sparring that they don't see the reality...the fact that they can't actually live without the other.

That is until something happens that throws their relationship into this strange, new, and thoroughly unexpected phase.
Could be a present day tale or something more historical and closer to the Bard's setting.

Still need something, the catalyst, for the change in their relationship...any ideas?

*~*~*~*~*~*​

Abandoned

In the middle of a storm a man, injured and running, finds an abandoned church and ducks inside to find shelter. When the morning comes he finds his wounds have been dressed and he has hazy memories of a beautiful face, illuminated by sunlight filtering through the old stained glass windows.

The Inspiration

Who was the good samaritan who helped him? Were they someone else sheltering from the storm or something more otherworldly?
He finds himself revisiting the church to try and catch a glimpse of her, staying the night in the hopes he'll see her face in the light of the dawn.

*~*~*~*~*~*​

Love and Duty

A Lord and his ward. Love blossoms in 18th Century England.

After the death of her parents she came to live with him as his ward, her father and he being best friends since childhood. He doted on her, having not managed to find a wife of his own to lavish with affection. He saw to it she was as well educated as any male counterpart of equal age, she wasn't spoiled - making sure she saw the responsibility attached to their position in society. She was witty and charming, not to mention having inherited the beauty of her mother. She was well liked, by nobles and servants alike. He was proud of the young woman she had become, and knew her parents would be too.

One day, when her personal maid had a day off, she was trying to dress for a ball. She could do most of it herself but her corset was something that took two people. Certain he wouldn't mind, she asked him to help. He did, embarrassed to see her in such a state of undress, and off she went.

He was left with the image of her, more adult than child, barely dressed. Shocked to find long forgotten feelings of desire rising up inside him, he is a little lost as to how to continue. He's certain she doesn't feel anything for him but...now, he isn't sure he can think of her in the same way he did before.

Does he try to woo her? He knows her better than anyone so he knows what she likes, what her passions are. But, could a young beauty like her ever be happy with an older man, one she saw as a father? Perhaps there is a suitor comes calling who spurs him into acting, knowing he'd make her far far happier.

Does he find his want of her is too much to wait and so feels he is due something in return for his caring for her all these years? Letting a dark side rise to the surface.
Marrying her, as did happen between wards and their guardians from time to time, and keeping her for his own.

The Inspiration

*~*~*~*~*~*​

Wrong

They shouldn't want to be together, but they do.

She's a teacher, adored by her little pupils and their families, respected by her peers. He's a widower, recently moved to town and his child has been placed in her class. As a new starter, the two have a meeting to discuss how the child has settled in and find out how best to meet their needs.
Things start innocently enough, he thinks she's pretty and loved by his kid, she thinks it's a shame that he's been through what he has. Then they start seeing each other, bumping into one another, around the small town. In the store, giving each other tips on what to buy. Once or twice at a bar when they're out with friends. Neither thinks anything of it but late at night, when they're alone...they always find themselves thinking of the other.
Gradually they admit to themselves, not each other, that they might have feelings there. But, it's wrong.

Isn't it?

Things will come to a head after a parent/teacher meeting some weeks/months later where something is said that makes them both react. Passions are high and difficult to ignore.

But then what...?

Continue an illicit affair or risk the condemnation of those around them and make their love public?

This I would like to be a long story, with tension and romance and a real sense of their struggle with what they want. I'm open to discussion on setting and details - his history and background, perhaps she has a fiance (another teacher even) who he finds isn't worthy of her. There are issues of professionalism for her, she shouldn't get involved with the parent of a student. Which is more important...her job...or her love?
Would love to work out the kinks in what I think could be a very romantic tale with a passionate co-writer.

*~*~*~*~*~*​

Watching

A young woman living alone in the city, happy with her job, happy with her life. Her mother was a little unsure about her moving to the city alone but news of a former/older police officer living downstairs soon put her fears to rest. He's so friendly and kind, always keeping an eye out for her.

But what she doesn't know is that he's watching her in more ways than one. An unhealthy interest in her has developed, he's lonely following a messy divorce and now feels the need for companionship. Using his contacts in the police department, he's procured surveillance equipment and her apartment is filled with cameras and microphones.
He watches her day and night, planning a new life for her.
With him.

Looking for a Dominant male character to write against. I don't mind the gender of the writer but I want a writer who'll manage more than a couple of lines per post and who wants to help build tension leading up to her inevitable capture. There will be sex, but not for a while. This is probably going to get pretty dark and so would ask interested writers to check my SRP Profile and their own for compatibility.

*~*~*~*~*~*​

 

[Britwitch]

Inspirational Images

I love this picture...it has a story in it somewhere, just need to find it!

~*~*~*~*~*~​

Found this during my wanderings...there may be a story in it...or just a filthy little fantasy about someone wanting to see me over my desk...

~*~*~*~*~*~​

Because this man is devilishly, dangerously...inspirational

~*~*~*~*~*~​

 

[Britwitch]

Smiles

Special people

I’m not actually a fan of lists, someone almost always feels left out…but there are some special people that I’d like to know I think of them in that way, as being special to me…so there!

• marauder13 ~ One of my oldest friends here at Lit. Years of writing together now, one completed tale behind us and it would seem a ceaseless number of tales still waiting to be told. You are awesome my friend, pure awesome!
  
• Miss_Vivi ~ Years. Years I’ve watched from afar, longing to get to know this amazing woman better. So, so glad that I have. She rocks. In every possible way.
  
• Scuttle Buttin’ ~ A relatively new friend but a dear one. Makes me laugh so much it hurts, makes me so damn squirmy it should be illegal…wait, it probably is somewhere… Anyhow...so glad to count him as a friend.
  
• Fish_Tales ~ Truly, he is my favourite fish. Eloquent and funny, sweet and not quite as naïve as his posts might have us believe. Wish he was around more but totally understand why he’s not. Definitely my favourite fishy.
  
• Niriate ~ A truly lovely person, thoughtful and sweet. Someone I admire very much and someone I’m very glad I can now count as a friend.
  
• Vail_Indigo ~ Another lady I’ve had in my Lit life almost as long as I’ve been posting here…on and off…on and off…she’s always been there, I would hope she always will. One day we’ll get around to following through on all the promises of years gone by…one day…
  
• Annisthyrienne ~ A beautiful woman inside and out. There is nothing mean or spiteful about her and I do wish I could take a little more of that, learn a little more of that, from her for myself.

Those brilliant people, old and new, whose posts and presence make me smile nearly every day…

Nina, Fauxy, CT, Luna, fr33ky, DW, Dream, Tess, Ivory, Alice, Spec, VT, Veroe, Mav...

And those gone, but not forgotten, memories of whom always make me smile…

Trudee…Noon…Seranova…PG…Plexi…Magbeam…

Smile inducing quotes and things

From Vi ​

Some are mine, most are other people’s. Some are funny, some make me blush, all make me smile…

Yes... but you are more like piglet... only way more brave and... well, fuckin hot.

Sorry, I can't remember anything before "Brit" and "cowgirl."

So, I'm a freckled, stetson wearing, apple stamped pony...?

Let it be said here and now that Brit, myself and Bubbles are an unstoppable team...threesome...something.

Probably better than "asleep and upside down."

Unless you're a bat, I guess.


Also, if you're a bat, you have excellent typing skills for such little fingers.

"There once was a witch from ... way up"
"Who I liked to call my... butter cup"
"Well fell right in love"
"and I kissed her all day"
"till we fell asleep in the hay"

There once was a witch that drank ceylon
Who shall be called 'freckles' from here on
Possessing the cleverest of wits
And delightful naughty bits
Her clothes I wish she'd not don

 

[Britwitch]

Spare

...for whatever...

 

[Britwitch]

Something to consider...

3rd March 1805

Today I truly feel as if my world is coming to an end. If someone had told me a year ago what would have come to pass I would never have believed them. All I had is either lost or about to be taken from me. I am too young to feel such sorrow and yet that is the lot that has fallen to me.

Stephen has not been seen for almost a year now, after that awful business with the Smythe girl and those terrible accusations he fled. I am certain he went to sea, although Mama insisted he wouldn’t have gone so far away. I think it was clinging to the dream that she would one day see him again that kept her going after Papa left us. And now, it is just me. Mama’s heart finally gave up and now she and Papa are reunited once again.

As if all of this were not enough, my dreadful cousin, Geoffrey is now laying claim to our home. The will states the property should pass onto Stephen but in his absence, he believes he has a rightful claim. I cannot stand the thought of him living here, it makes me feel quite ill. Something must be done, but I cannot for the life of me begin to imagine what that might be.

*~*~*~*~*​

5th March 1805

I am running away. Even now as I write I am riding the stage bound for Portsmouth, the jerking is bound to affect my handwriting but I shall try to maintain my control. Yesterday everything changed, a letter came.

A letter from Stephen.

My suspicions were correct, he did go to sea. He went to Portsmouth and joined the navy, hence that town being my first port of call. He had been fighting the forces of Napoleon all over the world, by all accounts. His letter was full of assurances that he was well and happy but with no indication that he was thinking of coming home. And so my idea was born. The postage mark on the letter showed he was in Portsmouth not two days ago. If I can get there and talk to him, try to convince him to come home and claim his birth right and clear his name of those ridiculous charges that were levelled at him, then all might not be as lost as I first thought.

And so to Portsmouth go I. I have his letter and the name of his ship, H.M.S Honour. It is a start and I can only pray I will get there before it sets sail once more.

*~*~*~*~*​

6th March 1805

I saw him. I actually saw Stephen. Although if the truth be told at first I didn’t recognise him. The year has changed him, he seems taller, stronger. His skin is tanned and hair longer. He also looked happier than I had ever seen him. He and some of his ship mates were walking back towards the harbour but when I tried to follow them back onto the ship I was stopped, rather roughly I might add, by a particularly swarthy looking chap who told me in no uncertain terms I was not to be allowed on board. I asked if a note could be given to one of the crew but he just laughed in my face and made some unrepeatable comment about ‘tarts’. I am quite sure he thought me a woman of ill-repute.

Nevertheless, I did manage to discover that the Honour is due to leave port in two days. That gives me two days to somehow get on board, find Stephen and convince him to return with me.

I have no doubt that if I wish to get on board I may well have to disguise myself in some manner and so tomorrow, I will see if I can purchase some suitable clothing and a cap to hide my hair. I confess the idea terrifies me as much as it excites me to think that soon I may well have my beloved brother back and that my troubles might at last be over.

*~*~*~*~*​

8th March 1805

I don’t know where to begin, my cheeks are still wet with tears and my heart racing with alarm.

My plan did not work quite as I had hoped.

I managed to find some male clothing and, with some careful wrapping of my bust, I managed to give the outward appearance of a young lad, my long hair tied back with a strip of ribbon. I made it onto the ship but was stopped before I had gotten very far. I lowered my voice a little and said I was hoping to sign on, to work as a cabin boy. At that time I didn’t even know if such a role truly existed. I found myself hauled before the ship’s doctor who checked my teeth and eyes, worked my arms –checking my strength one would imagine – and asked if I could read. I replied that I could both read and write before I could stop myself. Within moments I was informed I would one of the ship’s boys. A very low ranking role by all accounts, fetching and carrying for the Captain and higher ranking officers. Not that I cared at that moment. A large tome was placed in front of me, for me to ‘make my mark’. So overwhelmed was I that I even went so far as to write ‘Charl-‘ but managed to stop myself before I continued and finished my name, changing it to Charles at the last moment.

I was shown to the sleeping quarters, which I must say smelt better than I was expecting but still far from pleasant, and then left to my own devices. I made short work of finding Stephen and managed to find a private space in which we could talk. At first he didn’t recognise me either but oh it felt wonderful when he embraced me as he used to do. I explained to him about Mama and Papa, and the impending problem of cousin Geoffrey, but to my confusion he flatly refused to come home. All he kept saying was that he’d changed, that he actually enjoyed this life – something I find hard to believe. Nothing I said could move him, he apologised but his decision was made. He was a sailor now, a man in his own right and that was the life he wanted.
I returned to the sleeping quarters, intending to collect my things and leave the ship as quickly as possible but my head was such a swirling mass of confusion I wasn’t watching my footing and I must have walked straight into a low hanging beam for the next thing I knew, I was in my hammock with a pounding head…and the ship was rolling.

I scrambled up on deck and am ashamed to say I vomited over the side of the ship when my eyes saw nothing but blue stretching out to the distant horizon.

We were at sea.

I have yet to find Stephen and alert him to my presence here.
I am sure he believes me back in England, safe.

But we have left English soil behind and onwards we sail, God only knows what we may encounter. I fear I may have made a grave error and the true consequences of it are yet to be discovered.

*~*~*~*~*​

15th March 1805

I do not think I will survive this voyage. The weather, the constant rolling of the ship, all make me feel most unwell. When combined with the sheer levels of manual work I am expected to undertake, I think I may well collapse of exhaustion before we even reach Africa, let alone the distant destination of the Pacific. My skin is already turning browner in the sun, my hands blistered from cleaning the deck and hauling yard after yard of rough rope again and again. My only relief comes at night, when I can rest.

This is the first opportunity I have had to write, the first chance I have had the slightest amount of unused energy to spare. I did manage to find Stephen shortly after leaving British waters. I suggested we tell the Captain the truth but he forbid me. It is a crime for a woman to be on board, not to mention the penalties for stowing away. I explained that I have, in a way, signed onto the role call of this ship so I’m not a stowaway as such but that is little consolation when considering that to be found as a woman on board carries the strictest of penalties. I have managed, thus far, to conceal my sex. The wrapping around my chest has hidden my natural shape and thanks to the grime and the effects of the sun, my pale features look less feminine than they did but a week ago. That said, I make a conceited effort not to look anyone directly in the eye for very long. Luckily, the nature of my position on the ship means I address all officers with a bowed head. A small mercy indeed.

*~*~*~*~*​

28th March 1805

This voyage has barely begun and already in the last week I have seen more bare flesh than I have in my entire life. Africa lies not far from our position and the weather grows ever hotter. The men have been granted permission to relax their state of dress. I took this to mean the opening of shirt buttons and the rolling back of sleeves. Oh how wrong was I. There are men, tens of them, at this very moment working naked from the waist up on the deck. Flesh is everywhere I look and I find myself saying my prayers that little bit louder every evening that my soul not be corrupted by what it has already witnessed. I know that there is little offensive about the male form but for my eyes to see so many men in that state without having a wedding band upon my finger is just…wrong.

This is not to mention the conversations that take place in the bunks on a night time. Talk of women and of copulation that make me feel nauseous. I have been asked for my opinion on such things several times but as yet have managed to evade the questions, blaming my youth ~ for I am sure they believe me to be little more than a child. Thank the Lord they don’t know my age…nor my sex.

I can’t begin to imagine the scenes and conversations I will be forced to endure before this journey is through.

There is one who doesn’t bend to the temperature or act in such brutish fashion, besides myself, and that is Captain Wesson.

The Captain is a good man. Stern and driven, I can easily see why the men admire him so. He is principled, from what I have seen of him in more private settings, and while I am sure it is just a fleeting fancy that stems from the perils of my situation, but I find myself drawn to him in a way I don’t quite understand. I have spent a large amount of time with him in the last few days, engaged as a writer of sorts. Writing up notes from his own slightly sprawling hand, copying letters and taking down dispatches to be sent back to England when we call into our next port.

*~*~*~*~*​

8th April 1805

I have finally managed to start making some friends amongst the crew, not many admittedly. They had heard that I can write and so a few have come to me to ask for my help in writing letters to their loved ones. This also allows me a little more time write in here, the men leave me if they see me writing, assuming it must be somebody’s letter…perhaps even their own. Although I know I must be careful not to become complacent. Should this journal be discovered then all will be…

*~*~*~*~*​

The journal was pulled from her hands and it’s disappearance accompanied by a loud laugh.
“And what’s this then…?”

“Can I have my journal back please…?” Charlotte asked bluntly, holding out her hand and trying not to let her anger boil over unnecessarily. Convincing her ship mates that she was a boy wasn’t easy at the best of times, she was all but certain she’d fail miserably if she allowed herself to get upset. She stood up, her head only reaching the chest of the sailor who held her precious journal in his grubby fingers. “You and I both know it’s of no use to you, you can’t read!” She taunted. “So do the sensible thing and give it back before we both get into trouble.” She moved forward to take the book back but his other hand shot out and took hold of the top of her head, holding her back at arm’s length.

“You want it, shrimp, come and get it.” The massive sailor bellowed, dangling the book just out of her reach. “Not so clever now are we?” His name was Jameson and he was something of a bully. Charlotte sensed this was the result of not having had a decent education in his youth but she had so far managed to avoid his attentions.

“Everett, he’s spoiling for a fight, just ignore him!” one of her fellow cabin boys whispered, using her surname as was the common practice on board.
“Just leave it, Charlie,” called one of the other men from his hammock. Using the nickname those that she spent time with had given her. In truth, she didn’t mind it, Stephen himself used to call her Charlie in their infancy. “It’s not worth it, let ‘im have it if he really wants it.”

“Give it back…” She continued as she tried to prise his fingers from her head, all the time straining to reach the book, to propel herself forward. “Give my back my property!” She twisted and fought before lifting her foot and driving her heel into the top of his foot. Using his shock and fleeting pain to her advantage, she pushed forward and grabbed the book. Turning she ran the length of the bunk room to try and stow her journal in its hiding place before he could get to it again. She didn’t make it.

A meaty hand snatched hold of her arm and dragged her back. She swung with her free hand, nails catching his face.
“Let me go!” She yelled. Then cried out as her scratch earnt her a back handed slap that spilt her onto the floor, along with her journal.

“Alright you two, break it up. Break it up!” Came a new voice. Different hands took hold of her and hauled her easily to her feet. It was Mr Barnes. The ship’s first officer. Charlotte felt her stomach drop. She knew that in order to remain undetected she would have to stay out of trouble and with the metallic taste of blood leaking from a cut on her lip she knew she had just failed on that score. He held a handful of her shirt in one hand and her book in the other.

“’E jumped on me!” claimed Jameson, pointing to the small, bleeding, scratches on his cheek.
“It wasn’t me, he stole my property!” She tried to explain, finding it hard to keep her voice as low as it should be. She needed that book back before anyone had chance to discover the truth about its contents. “Please, can I have my journal back…?”

“I don’t care who started it, I’m finishing it!” Barnes’ voice was loud and final. “Brawling is a punishable offence, Jameson you should know that by now and Everett, I’m surprised by you. Both of you, to the Captain’s cabin. Now!”

 

[Britwitch]

So I can find it...

His voice. Three words. A whole story.

"Don't stop me!" His voice is laden with laughter, fingers tickling, pushing up beneath clothing to find warm skin beneath. She squirms and pulls back, until the wall means she can go no further. Hands trying to bat his away, to take hold of his wrists, to stop the delicious torment. Squealing she pleads for clemency, promising anything to make him stop.

"Don't stop me..." His voice a whisper now. Playful but in a different way than before. Hands ceasing their tickling, rising up over curves to press gently on shoulders, to wordlessly inform her of how she should repay his kindness, his benevolence. Within moments she's on her knees, mouth gliding up and down. Hands in her hair helping her find the rhythm he most desires, most needs, in that instant. Guiding her with a subtly increasing level of control and power until that power and grip is used to pull her from him and guide her somewhat less than carefully onto the bed.

"...don't stop me..." His voice is growing hoarser as hands remove clothing and eliminate barriers, pushing her down on her back, knees nudging legs apart and allowing him to start to tease her anew. Her back rises from the bed, chest heaving as expertly he has her on the precipice within what feels like seconds. The rubbing and the probing of fingers doesn't falter and soon she's falling into that delicious oblivion.

"Don't stop me," His voice is a taunt, she couldn't stop him if she tried. The hand not rubbing her cruelly towards yet another climax holds both of hers over her head. It's been some time since she'd lost count. Bucking and writhing, a mess of words and sounds, soaking his hand and the bed beneath. Only stopping when she's finding it hard to breathe but only letting go of her long enough to flip her to her stomach and raise her hips. She groans and shivers in to the bedding as he thrusts inside her.

"Don't. Stop. Me." His voice is now laden with heat and need, so low it's almost a growl. Words punctuating by his body claiming hers. Again and again the slightly too hard thrusts collide their bodies and every time she cries out that little bit louder, that little bit higher. Skin slapping on skin. Strong hands now gripping hips, holding her in place, leaving her no choice but to take it. Take everything.

Somewhere in the middle there are no words. Just sounds, whimpers and moans, groans and cries. Until, after a rapid increase in speed and force, all movement suddenly stops. The room is silent. Heavy breathing. Thumping hearts. Sweat beaded skin rests against flushed skin. Limbs entangled there in the gloom.

"...don't stop me..." His voice is soft, so soft, almost trembling as their lips meet and meld. Tongues stroking, silent expressions of affection and desire communicated more succinctly than the most eloquent of admissions could manage.

His voice. Three words. Their story.

 

[Britwitch]

Threads I've Made...

Social/IC Threads

The Lounge's Summer Pool Party - 2014

The Lounge's Autumn Escape - 2014

The Lounge's Winter Wonderland - 2014

The Lounge's Secret Garden - 2015

The Lounge's Summer Pool Party - 2015

The Lounge's Autumn Escape - 2015

The Lounge's Winter Wonderland - 2015

The Lounge's Secret Garden - 2016

The Lounge's Summer Pool Party - 2016

Writing Threads

The Writing Challenges

Visual Inspiration - Settings and Scenery

Community Threads

The Lit Lounge Cookbook

The 'Pick Me Up' Thread

 

[Britwitch]

Something of an idea...a period piece...

1920's, post war, women emancipated following the war, the daughter of a well to-do family starts a relationship with someone her family would rather she didn't. A member of staff perhaps? An ill thought of family?

So she's sent away before things can become troublesome. A distant relation/family friend is a missionary abroad...China or somewhere equally hot and foreign - the perfect place to send her. The intent is for her to lost these unwanted feelings and learn a little more of the kind of behaviour they think she should display.

But things don't go quite as planned.

This could go one of several ways...she could fall for someone who works at the mission (which itself could be romantic or something a little darker) or a local...again, something which would not approved of. She could meekly learn the lessons hoped she would or she could rebel against them. A local 'dignatary' could take an interest in her.

Not sure where, if anywhere, this could end up...but...the idea is there nonetheless.

 

[Britwitch]

 

[Britwitch]

Looking at this scene, I feel a ramble coming on...

grins

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Looking at this scene, I feel a ramble coming on...

grins

Seeing that makes me wish I was there. I would be sitting on the ground, leaning back against that tree, watching the beautiful sunrise or sunset. I prefer to think of it as a sunset, because then there would be no early morning chill to offer any discomfort. I'd be bathed in the toasty warmth of the remains of the day.

On the other hand, if it were sunrise, then it would mark the beginning of the new day, full of potential.

One thing is for certain, when nature's beautiful display was over for the moment, I'd be skinny dippin' in that lake in short order.

 

[Britwitch]

Seeing that makes me wish I was there. I would be sitting on the ground, leaning back against that tree, watching the beautiful sunrise or sunset. I prefer to think of it as a sunset, because then there would be no early morning chill to offer any discomfort. I'd be bathed in the toasty warmth of the remains of the day.

On the other hand, if it were sunrise, then it would mark the beginning of the new day, full of potential.

One thing is for certain, when nature's beautiful display was over for the moment, I'd be skinny dippin' in that lake in short order.

Tempting, isn't it?

grins

This is in the Lake District, one of our planned stops on our UK tour. Can't wait!

 

[Britwitch]

The woods are quiet and serene. Their peace only broken by the occasional laugh from a clearing deep in among the trees. A picnic lies in ruins, delicious food demolished and appetites sated. Well, some appetites.

"Show me." His voice is teasing.
"No, I can't." Hers is a giggle. Bubbling and light like the brook dancing nearby.
"Oh, you're not getting shy on me, are you?"
Cheeks colour as she sits astride his waist.

"Who's going to see you? Some squirrels? A lonely rabbit?" A tease, fingers dancing around her waist, tickling. Dancing playfully over her dress.
"When we get home." She leans down to kiss his cheek, nuzzling his beard with her nose before sitting back up. She pushes lightly against his chest, starting to lift a leg and intending to slip from where she sits over him and lay beside him on their tartan blanket.

But long fingers grip suddenly. An iron like grip against softly curving hips.
"Show me." There's an edge. Sharper now.
"Please don't make me."
Hands slide down over hips, down to knees and then back up. This time skirting under fabric to follow thighs up, higher and higher.
"Show. Me." Hands hold hips and tug, pulling her up to kneel over him. He's no longer asking, as warm palms slide around to cup and hold rounded cheeks.
Cheek colour further. Small, even, white teeth catch on a pale pink lip as fingers catch on gracefully floating hem.

Dress is lifted, flesh revealed.
A prior instruction has clearly been followed.

"What am I looking at?" His eyes remain focused beneath her carefully lifted dress.
"That which is yours." She replies without missing a beat. Her cheeks pinker now, but with a different kind of blush.
"And why am I looking at it?"
"Because you wish to. Because it pleases you to know you can have what is yours, as and when you want. And to see for yourself that it is always ready. As you have instructed."
"Good girl." His smile is pleased. Proud. "Now. Let me show what good girls get."
"Oh, yes, please." Her tone eager now, willing as one hand leaves a hip and fingertips trail a path between opened thighs.

The woods were quiet and serene. They weren't anymore.

"Thank you..." A shaky whisper drifts on the breeze when calm seems to return.
"Oh, don't thank me yet. I don't believe I'm anywhere near finished with you."

 

[Britwitch]

An idea...

Thinking of a heist situation, bank is robbed and a hostage taken. He picks a nervous woman, the type who he figures has a husband and children to worry about her and for her to keep in mind - enough reason for her to behave, to not give him too much trouble as they flee.

But their escape goes awry and they're forced to spend more time together than he intended. So, to fill the time, they talk. It turns out she had less than honest business in the bank herself that day.

Do they become partners in crime or does she become the thing that keeps him 'honest' as his plans grow in audacity and danger?

Think there are a few places this could go, with the right partner.

 

[CallmeLayla]

If you watch Game of Thrones, this statement takes on alot more meaning!!! LMAO...

 

[Britwitch]

 

[Britwitch]

Block Busting

“I am going to tell you a secret. Everything is about wanting. Everything. Things happen because of people wanting. Watch closely, and you’ll see what I mean.”
– David Mitchell​

"So, what do you want?"
"I don't know." The answer came too quickly.
A pause.
"You do."
"I don't!"
Another.
"If you don't tell me? You know you won't get it."
"I've already told you, I don't know what I want." Her tone grew tighter, like elastic stretched beyond the point of comfort. Soon, it would snap. So would she.
"Let's try this a different way then." His tone was resigned. "What do you want right now?"
"For you to stop asking stupid bloody questions?" She grinned. For a moment, but it happened all the same.
"What else...?" He smiled back, the expression lingering longer on his face than it had on hers..
"A drink."
"What kind of drink?"
"Are we really going to do this? Not sure this is the time and place for 'Twenty Questions'." A delicate eyebrow rose above a bright green eye.
"You're the one who wouldn't answer." He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. There was a sigh from her.
"Fine." She resisted rolling her eyes. Just. "A strong drink."
"Alcoholic?"
"Sure, why not."
"That's not an answer."
The eyes rolled now with a frustrated exhalation.
"Yes. Alcoholic. Vodka...with something fruity. More vodka. Less fruit."
"Good." He rose and moved away, returning with a tall glass that was filled with a rosy hued liquid. He held it out for her to take which she did, a slightly bemused smile on her lips.
"Thank you."
She sipped it and he watched, grinning a little wickedly as she coughed at the taste.
"You said a strong drink." His voice was smooth but brimming with mirth. "See? You need to answer, but you also need to be specific."
"I want this to stop." She replied sullenly, setting the glass down and pushing it away with a finger as if worried it might somehow leech into her system just by being close.
"Want what to stop? Us?" He knew she didn't mean that.
"This conversation."
"It will end when you answer my question."
She frowned.
With a sigh he moved from his chair, crossing the distance between them and bringing his face towards hers. For a second she thought, or was it hoped, that he'd kiss her. Stop her mouth with his and let this be over.
But he didn't. His face went by hers and towards the curtain of her hair, a finger hooking a section and moving it aside to let him move closer.
"You're worrying about the why." His voice grazed her ear, breath warm and yet causing goosebumps to prickle her flesh in spite of it. "You're worrying about something that doesn't matter, something I don't need to know. Stop thinking, it's no where near as complicated as you're trying to make it. What do you want? Right now. What do you need...?"
"You."
"You already have me." The tone bordered on being dismissive but they both knew it wasn't. Not really. "What do you want?" He sat back, so that their eyes could meet.
"Your touch."
He just looked at her. Waiting.

Specific.

She needed to be specific. He was right. She needed to stop worrying, stop thinking almost. He wasn't here to judge her. The motivation, the psychology behind her desires wasn't the point. Didn't really matter. He knew her. She knew him. She knew that deep down he knew what she wanted and needed probably better than she did herself. This was about her admitting it. To him. To herself.

"I need you to touch me, to hold me. I want you to take me and use me. I want you to mark me, as yours." Her voice dropped in tone and volume. "I want you to hurt me...because you want to." Green eyes held his, warmth shining in their deep brown depths. "Because you need to."
There was a whine next, as a strong hand wound into long hair, tugging her head back.
"You don't need to tell me what I want. I've always known. This isn't about me..."
Another pull, not releasing her hair until she whimpered. The noise making him smile.
"But thank you. Now, let's see about giving you what you want."

Fingers moved from her hair, tickling over a cheek and down her neck. Lower over collarbone until bare breast, as naked as the rest of her, was found. Fingers catching a hardened peak and pinching, almost cruelly.
Another whimper from her, louder this time, and a squirm that he would have to have been blind to miss.
"Good girl."
The fingers tightened until she cried out, the sound affecting more than just the width of his smile.
"Please, Sir!"
So perhaps it was a little about him and what he wanted too.

 

[Britwitch]

Good points to remember!

 

[Britwitch]

 

[Britwitch]

'Finders Keepers'

In the shadows she waits.
Her beauty belies her purpose.
The red of her cloak draws the eye, distracts from her blade.
She might look like the bait...but she's anything but prey.

 

[Britwitch]