Snippets - December 2006

[angela146]

We haven't had a snippets thread for a while - at least one that I could find.

So, for those of us who are in a mood to write but not in a mood to write 750 words, here is a place to do it.

Please include a category and title at the top of our post.

 

[Trombonus]

Does it have to be erotic, or can it be anything?

 

[Trombonus]

*An Excerpt from something currently in the works.*

I sat down against the tree looking out at the stars, wondering if I'd ever see home again, or if I even wanted too. The wonders of this place amazed me, and though we were struggling just to survive in these harsh conditions, I still couldn't help but admire the beauty surrounding us.

"Want some company?" I turned around to see Mia walking up the slope of the hill, the moonlight bathing her in luminescence, making her seem even more beautiful than she already was.

"Sure," I said as she sat down next to me.

"Thinking about your home?" she asked.

"Yeah." I replied, smiling gently.

"Don't worry, you'll get home some day. I'll even help you look once the war is over."

"That's just it Mia, I'm not entirely sure I want to go back." I looked off in the distance again, thinking. Here beside me was the one person who'd shown me more joy in the past few weeks than I'd known in my entire life. I knew that when the time came I would have to decide whether I wanted to return to my home, or stay with Mia. Right now though, she was the only thing on my mind.

She reached down and clasped my hand in hers, almost as if she knew what was going through my head. "I know you'll make the right decision Chris."

I looked into her deep blue eyes. They drew me in like a magnet, almost as if they connected our very souls together. I caressed the soft skin on her face and felt her warm breath against the cold night air. Our faces drew closer, and closer together, inhaling each others breath until our lips finally touched for the first time. My senses faltered, and the world around me disappeared. All I knew was Mia and I, and the love we were sharing with each other. My decision was made. I could never leave now, and I vowed to always be around to protect her.

We separated and she leaned her head against my chest. "I love you Chris."

"I love you too Mia." I kissed the top of her head as we looked off into the distance, staring at the stars, holding her close, embraced by the love we shared.

*end scene*

 

[cloudy]

The beginning of a story I've put to the side for the moment:
_________________________________________

Nayef turned at the faint susurration that accompanied Damali’s entrance. She didn’t come through the door, of course not. Such an entrance would be too mundane for her. She came through the tapestry on the wall. The tacky one.

She could have come through the one they’d lifted from Baron Von-something in Germany, but no. She chose the one that Nayef hated. The one that they’d picked up from the street merchant in Morocco that had picked his nose while he bargained. Nayef would rather have hung a velvet painting of poker playing dogs, but Damali loved it. He suspected she loved it simply because he hated it.

Nayef snorted in disgust, and turned back to the paper in front of him. Damali laughed in reply, and snaked her hands over his shoulders, trailing her black hair over his smooth skin. “You’re such an old fussbudget.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Nayef spoke without turning, “I’m not any older than you are, thank you very much.”

Damali’s hands withdrew, administering a light pinch on one shoulder with long red fingernails before the warmth of her touch disappeared. She sauntered over to the divan, and threw a pillow onto the floor before reclining her length on the pillows that remained. The thump of the pillow on the floor made Nayef turn and look at her, finally. “Something displeasing about that particular pillow?”

“I don’t like the color; it’s not flattering. And the threads are itchy.” Damali smiled. Nayef was amusing to needle. She stretched, like a lazy cat in a sunlit window, then turned her black eyes to the ceiling and sighed. Her fingers began idly twisting an inky strand of hair between them. “I’m bored.”

Nayef cocked an eyebrow at her display. “What? No mayhem, chaos and disorder for you to sow tonight?”

“I’m not sure. I may whip up a khamsin later on, but even those aren’t as much fun as they used to be.” Damali sighed again, then turned to face Nayef. “And, don’t be hateful, darling. It causes those little bunched-up lines to appear between your eyes.”

 

[Jenny_Jackson]

Ok. I'll bite. This from something I'm working on. This is about 850 of 3000 in the chapter.


The young Nubian girl, Tiye, stood and slowly climbed the eleven steps to the entrance to the Temple. There she faltered and looked back over her shoulder at her procession and assembled crowd, still prostrate at the foot of the temple steps. Nothing moved. There was not a sound.

“Come girl. Come inside and meet your destiny,” the High Priest whispered.

Tiye looked at the Priest’s face and saw only kindness there. Straightening her back and raising her chin, she walked regally through the entrance into the shadowed temple. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but then she could see the way into the sanctuary was lined with temple priests waiting for her.

Somewhere in the rear, past the tenth pylon of the Temple, a drum beat softly. The High Priest took her by the arm and together they walked toward the great sanctuary of Amun and the man who would soon become her husband. As the two passed, the lower temple priests dropped to their knees, bowed and averted their eyes as a sign of respect.

What the High Priest had taken for fear in the girl was only wonder. Never before had she seen anything of such size and magnificence. The lotus shaped columns seemed to reach nearly to the heavens. In the darkness, Tiye could just make out small sanctuary cabinets on either side of the great hallway. These, of course, were closed against the prying eyes of the foreign unbeliever, but inside were the sacred statues of the many forms of Amun. Even in her own country where Amun was worshipped, there was nothing to compare with the grandeur of this Temple.

As Tiye and the High Priest approached the great sanctuary of Amun, the priests began to chant. Over and over, they intoned much less words than somber moans of satisfaction and praise. The chant kept time with the drum, Tiye still could not see the great sanctuary in the darkness. The chant had grown louder and seemed to still seemed to grow as they came closer to the sanctuary, which was still some way ahead in the darkness.

Then Tiye could see it. The shrine stood easily taller than the tallest man. The outside was incased in gold with scenes in relief. It sat upon skids that resembled the sleds used to move heavy objects, but, of course, these skids would never move. The roof of the shrine was cantered toward the back with a neat row of serpents wearing the solar disk on their heads completely around the edge. The two doors stood closed with a cord looped through the simple gold handles to hold them shut. Before the shrine was a single prostrate figure dressed in a simple pleated skirt held with a blue belt edged in what appeared to be gold. On his head was the tall “Dsrt” or Red Crown of Lower Egypt. The great Pharaoh, Amenhotep III, soon to be Tiye’s husband stood, turned and held out his hand to her.

Tiye stared for a moment at the Pharaoh. He was a strong, young man about 28 years of age. He was of average height. His face showed a strength of character she had never seen before.

Together, Tiye and the Pharaoh fell to their knees before the shrine. Side by side, they prostrated themselves with their foreheads touching the limestone floor. Then the High Priest unknotted the cord holding the door to the great statuary and the doors swung open. It was as if all the light from the sun shown forth from the interior of the shrine. The solid gold statue of Amun seemed to focus every ray of sunlight falling on Egypt upon them. Tiye could feel herself bathed in a warmth that reached out and covered every inch of her. It was a warmth that was life giving. This light of the sun renewed everything and gave life to all, man, animals and plants alike. And Tiye felt this life-giving sun focused directly on her.

There was a joy that ran though Tiye’s body. The feeling was so strong she was lifted momentarily to another plane where only the gods could dwell. Then it was over. Tiye looked up and the doors to the shrine were closed.

The Pharaoh helped her to her feet. Tiye rose as Queen of Upper and Lower Egypt. Together, arm in arm the King and Queen walked back down the passage between the lines made by the lower priests to the entrance of the Temple. Still the priests chanted, but now the chant had changed. It was no longer somber moans but joyous words of praise. The High Priest preceded them and at the top of the steps, raised his voice to the assembled crowd, “Behold. The Lord of Upper and Lower Egypt, Amenhotep III and his wife and Queen, Tiye, bound together forever by the grace and will of the One God, Amun.”

 

[TxRad]

Angela.....

You had to bring up snippets..... You may be sorry... my life is nothing but snippets....

The Place
By TxRad

What do you call a place with only a past and a present, and no future? Endless, is what I’d call it.

Some people would say that, that’s not bad. Maybe to start with it wouldn’t be, but sooner or later, it will get old and the threadbare edges will start to creep in. Without a future there is no place to go, only an existence. Existence, unto itself, is tedious and repetitive. It becomes a prison for the mind and the soul.

The path you choose dictates the past, your present, and your future. The past is dead and gone, so it is no longer yours. The past is only a way to learn from your mistakes, so you won’t make them again in this moment of the present and so you will have a better and or longer future. You have only the present and the future to work in and on. Choices in this present, make the future.

It has taken me many lifetimes to figure this out on my own. If someone would have told me this, I would not have listened. I either, did not have time to listen or was so wrapped up in the present that the future wasn’t something I had time for. If those sound like the same thing to you, then think again. They are like apples and oranges from the same pear tree.

In this lifetime alone, I have made the same mistakes so often that they have almost become habit. These mistakes have cost me dearly, time after time and I still make them. What does that say about me? There’s no fool like a fool getting older. That is if, you live to get older. There is always the possibility that you won’t and then you get to start all over again from square one without a past to draw on.

Wheels within wheels and cycles of cycles.

No Earl, I’m not talking about a Harley.

 

[angela146]

Stroking by Candlelight (Masturbation)

He relaxed on the bed, on his back, with the covers pulled down most of the way, blindfolded. There were four candles in the room; enough for me to see him. The easy chair was stationed next to the bed and I sat down.

"Go ahead".

It took him a while to get started. His hands stayed by his side, but his shaft came to life of its own accord. At first, it pulsed and wiggled rhythmically.

He squirmed and suddenly it went rigid. Some naughty little thought must have occurred to him. I could hear his breathing now. Finally, his right hand reached over, the middle finger extended. He found a spot down near the base and just touched it.

It pulsed. He shook.

Tracing his finger slowly up toward the head, he tensed his body, reaching up and arching his back. He did that several more times, slowly up and down, teasing himself or maybe keeping himself at a plateau.

Then, with his ring finger and middle finger, he started bouncing it toward his stomach. His breathing became deeper and his head turned from side to side.

"Who are you thinking about?"

He laughed. "You don't want to know."

"Come on. It's OK, I don't mind."

He smiled, turning his head toward me. "Marie."

I bit my lip. He was right. But, I had asked. "Are you fucking her?"

He smiled and turned his head back. "Not yet. I'm still taking her clothes off. A wrap around dress. Yellow"

"What's underneath?"

"Just bra and panties." He took his hand off of it completely and ran it up his chest.

I was feeling a little devilish. "They would be yellow. Lighter than the dress, probably pastel. She's meticulous about that kind of thing."

He moaned, his body began fucking thin air. "She's taking the bra off."

His hand returned to his shaft, this time stroking it, starting to get overheated. Quickly, he pulled his hand away and clenched it in a fist. He was throbbing a little but had stopped soon enough.

I teased a little more. "Her breasts are smaller than mine, but firmer. Nipples a little darker."

He whimpered.

"Oh, and she has a freckle on the under side of the left one."

He was breathing so hard, it sounded like Lamaze exercises. His shaft was pulsing but his hand was nowhere near it.

He continued. "She's lowering her panties, bending from the waist and then stepping out."

I continued. "Dark, flat, not curly. Coarse. Neatly trimmed but full."

He couldn't stand it anymore and took his shaft in his hand and stroked it.

"You're fucking her now?"

"Umph," was all he could manage.

It actually took him a while. He would speed up and then slow down and then speed up again, his body raising and lowering in rhythm with whatever she was doing.

We stopped talking. I didn't mind helping him along but I didn't want to know the details of what he was doing with her... or how she was responding to it. But, whatever was going on in his mind, he was savoring it.

I decided he had had enough fun for one night, so I threw in one more morsel: "No condom. She's a good catholic girl."

That did it. He groaned, arched his whole body and twisted from side to side, squirting white sticky fluid all over. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. I hadn't intended to talk to him, just to watch. But half of the fun of it was getting inside his head.

It took a while for him to recover, and he left the blindfold on. "How much of that was actually true?" He asked.

Thankfully, he couldn't see my face turning red. "Some of it, not all."

I got up from the chair and climbed up the bed between his legs, getting ready to lick him off as I had promised earlier. But then I paused.

"If I ever catch you fucking my sister..." I took him in my mouth and nibbled a little as I licked.

"I know," he said. "Besides, the reality wouldn't be as good as the fantasy."

 

[neonlyte]

Trombonus: You are a romantic soul (but we knew that )

Cloudy: Love the 'dynamic' between those two

JJ: Like the atmosphere, but lose some of the action in the description

Tx: Interesting, I'd read more - don't entirely agree but this isn't the place...

Angela: Pulsating, is there more?

Might post something later.

 

[neonlyte]

NO TITLE: Mystery

There is scene in one of my dreams of a woman being shot with an arrow. She appears running, fleeing from danger, then stops, aware that danger is now facing her; she turns her head to each side looking for a way to escape. It is raining, the ground muddy, she cannot get purchase to change direction, her bare feet slip and churn in the mud, and she surrenders, standing with her arms held away from her body as if marking a cruciform and waits for the arrow to strike. It pierces her breast, rocking her backward, and now she somehow finds the balance she previously sought and instead of falling sinks onto her knees, her arms outstretched, her mouth open in a silent scream and the dark blood of her wound stains the linen of her dress. Her hair hangs wet and dank across her shoulders, and around her neck, a crucifix, gleaming, like the sun off the cross on the spire of St Enogat. Her eyes plead with her attacker as a dagger blade is carefully inserted behind the chain holding her crucifix, cutting through the chain, dropping her crucifix into an outstretched hand, before the blade continues down, ripping at her clothing and she sprawls back, exposed on the ground, her naked body astonishingly white. Her attacker, not done with her yet, uses her body while she slowly dies, rain and blood mingle in rivulets that trickle across her skin down into the mud that forms her bed. In my dream, I never see his face only the ermine flag loosely stitched at his back marking him Breton, and a Christian.

“I’m ok. I want to go inside.”

I barely glanced to the crossbow bolt, other than to note its height and damage its force inflicted on the wall. It would have passed right through Catherine, or even one of us if we hadn’t been so scrupulous. The room oozed atmosphere despite it’s smallness, the icons lent it elevation and broadened its girth, it was a shrine in all but name. Larsen had burnt candles here, wrought iron candle stands dripped with wax flanked the alter front with the cruciform reverentially set above. It was an alter and I could imagine him knelt in prayer and wondered if he sought forgiveness for what he’d done and for what he intended. Even in the incandescent light of the bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, the icons glowed through their thin layers of surface dust, gold and reds, yellows and blues, richer than I imagined or remembered, as if not being looked upon had lent vibrancy to their hue. I didn’t need to examine them to know these were the originals; that even these might also prove to be copies was a fear not one of us had voiced. Alain touched my arm pulling me back into the present.

“You ought see this,” he said, leading me from the room.

In a room that might have been a bedroom but for the characteristic of a monk’s cell, lay a thin mattress set against the wall and a grimy sleeping bag. A cheap pillow marked with the stain of Larsen’s scalp, showed where he had slept. In the centre of the room was a simple desk — a square card table judging by its folding legs — and a slatted wooden folding chair tucked neatly under one side. On the table, a spiral bound notebook of the type I used as teenager to write my school notes. A wax encrusted candlestick, its candle burnt down to a stub, a red pencil worn to a third of its length, and almost comically a pencil sharpener — Mickey Mouse by design — as if Larsen in his haste to write had bought the first pencil sharpener that came to hand. On the floor, amongst the dust that seemed thicker here than in the adjoining sanctuary, the curled shavings of his pencil, edged with pencil red, like lipstick on a mouth that would speak from the pages of the notebook.

“Can I open it?” I asked Alain.

“Yes… but just touch the edge.”

My hand trembled as I reached to turn the cover, and what ought have been a simple exercise became fraught with tension. I lifted the cover with a nail, propelling it open and it dropped raising a puff of dust from the surface of the table.

 

[cloudy]

Cloudy: Love the 'dynamic' between those two

Thank you. Now if I can just finish the damn thing.

I love yours! The dream at the beginning makes me want to beg for the rest of the story.

 

[neonlyte]

Thank you. Now if I can just finish the damn thing.

I love yours! The dream at the beginning makes me want to beg for the rest of the story.

Thanks It's from my NaNo story, it's finished - now if I can just find time to edit...

 

[gauchecritic]

"To Heartshome."

"Where, exactly is that?" she asked his retreating back.

Gille walked on, scuffing the toes of his heel-worn shoes, through dust, through leaves, through snow and eventually, with thighs strumming and calfs become molten agony, through silver-gold sand.

Instead of walking to beckoning lights in the middle distance, Gille opted for the hissing foam, and sitting at the tide edge, burned away the lava and muted the singing chords.

After a short while, with the sun only half immersed in the tall horizon, legs clad in spray decked linen and the early breeze making cullottes of her skirt, Iris came and sat in the sand and the hissing noise.

This being the country side and Iris knowing no other, she sat surprisingly distant from Gille, whose personal space ran only some eighteen inches without his frame.

Iris began as though continuing an interrupted conversation, which was her way. "How did you get here?"

"Through dust and leaves and snow." He answered.

"So can you tell me if I'm right?" she seemed to beg.

"If I have the knowing of it."

"To reach Heartshome...?"

"To reach Heartshome." he repeated, willing her to continue, knowing she was afraid but sure of the answer.

"I would have to travel through..."

"Through."

"Snow..."

"and?" he encouraged

"And leaves and dust."

Gille stood in the rising tide and leaned forward to offer Iris his hand. With tacit understanding and wonder at his strength, to offer now straight return, Iris put her fingers in his palm consenting to his self trial and return to Heartsholme.

 

[neonlyte]

Think I'll pin that on my wall, Gauche. Give me something to admire.

 

[TheeGoatPig]

I might continue this someday, but this is it for right now.

_______________

Deformed - Mystery?

It was like a bad joke out of a movie. There was a scene in Boondock Saints where three police detectives were brainstorming, trying to figure out how two Russian mafia goons were killed when one of them floated the “serial crusher” theory. In the movie, the FBI agent that showed up debunked that theory in no time flat, making fun of the detective who came up with the silly notion. But now, standing in a Manhattan apartment, FBI agent Wilson was faced with a similar theory, and it was the only possible explanation for what happened. He had five bodies spread out across the New York/New Jersey area with their necks snapped, and another five right here in this apartment all killed the same way. It sounded really stupid, but he had himself a genuine serial neck snapper.

“Buckley!” called out agent Wilson. “Buckley, when does the coroner say these poor slobs were done up?”

Agent Buckley flipped through a notepad, glancing over his poorly organized notes for a few moments before zeroing in on the information his superior wanted. “Time of death was about eight days ago, sir,” said the flustered rookie.

“Eight days ago? That puts this before all of the other killings,” said Wilson with glee.

“Yes sir, it does. By one day, sir,” said Buckley, a little puzzled by Wilson’s response. “Sir? Why is that a good thing?”

“Because, Buckley,” said Wilson in a now hushed tone, taking his underling aside. “This is where it all started. With the number of bodies lying around, and the haphazard way they are scattered about with such a mess made of the place, that means that he didn’t have time to plan it out properly. That means that he made mistakes! That means that we stand a chance of catching the son of a bitch before he kills again…”

Wilson wandered off from the other FBI agent ignoring his prompting of further questions to come. He was a little premature with his deductions, but he felt like he had solved the case. All that he needed now was to find a name to go with the crime and his job was done here. Forensics could handle that, and there was no doubt in his mind that they would figure it out.

Though, despite his feelings of confidence and joy that the case was solved and another criminal would be brought to justice, there was still a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that just wouldn’t go away. It was a feeling of puzzlement, and unassuredness. There was a mystery in his mind that something in his own life was amiss, but he just couldn’t put together the clues that would answer all of his questions. Agent Wilson was convinced that he was an alien, and that was the only case he cared to solve anymore.

 

[TxRad]

Tx: Interesting, I'd read more - don't entirely agree but this isn't the place...

I don't entirely agree with it all either and i don't know as there will be anymore to it. It was just some thoughts that got wrote down that helped me iron out a problem..... I know what i wanted to say but i feel i didn't express it exactly right.

 

[SeaCat]

This is from a story I am slowly editing to post. I know it needs a lot of work, but,,,,

I remembered something else I had read about, a thing called a kiss. I had never done this before but I did want to try it. From the little bit I had read about it, it was supposed to be something special and maybe it was something that would give me those feelings I so wanted to experience. Lifting my arms I slipped one behind his neck and pulled his face towards mine. Pursing my lips tightly together as I had read should be done I felt my lips touch his. Once again I was vastly disappointed, it seemed to have no effect on him and it certainly had no effect on me. I lowered my arms in dejection while David looked at me with a small smile and asked what I had just done.
When I told him and why he looked surprised. His smile faded as he looked at me and a strange expression grew on his face, one I hadn’t seen before. I was afraid I had done something wrong when he didn’t say anything for a long minute but then to my surprise he shook his head.
“You say you just kissed me?” He asked me with wonder. “Maybe that’s how they say to do it in those books you’ve been reading but that is certainly not the way I learned to do it.”
I didn’t know what to say to this. Were the books wrong about kissing or had I just misunderstood them? Before I could think of anything to say I felt him moving as he told me to relax and close my eyes. I felt his one arm move slightly so it was cradling me across my back, supporting me as he rested his other hand on one of my arms. I hadn’t realized just how tensed up I was until he told me to relax. Slowly I forced myself to relax as I closed my eyes. Cradled in his arms I felt myself relaxing, the stress leaving me even as I felt him move again. Before I knew it I felt the first faint whisper of his breath against my cheek as he brought his face to mine.
I almost jumped when I felt his skin against mine, whisper soft he just barely touched me before withdrawing. What was he doing? It took a moment for me to realize it was his lips touching my cheek so softly even as they touched it again. Slowly he moved his lips closer to mine, gently caressing my face as he moved. I felt his strong arms cradling my body in their strong security as he eased me over. Now his lips did touch mine, I felt them for the briefest second before they pulled away only to return a second time. This time I felt my lips part slightly of their own accord even as I felt my heart hammering in my chest. I couldn’t believe how this felt, I didn’t believe just his lips touching mine could make me feel this way. When his lips touched mine for the third time I couldn’t resist, I moved my arms and held him so his lips stayed against mine. I heard someone moan slightly as I felt his tongue touching the insides of my lips. I mirrored what he was doing and soon our tongues were touching and twining around each other. I heard myself sigh into his mouth when he moved his free hand across my body to gently rub my arm. Every time it moved I felt his forearm brush against my breasts. I had never felt anything like this. Even as my body reacted to what he was doing I felt him grow even harder between my legs, pressing insistently against me.

Hey you asked for it.

Cat

 

[angela146]

Angela: Pulsating, is there more?

I hadn't planned on a "sequel". However, I might at some point flesh out the story with more details.

What did you like about it?

I created this thread primarily so I could post this story and some others without having to make them full length and without necessarily exposing them to the trolls.

 

[elsol]

In a future set of stories, I will be taking my Guitar series of stories and writing one as a Mind-Control story.

Here is the one of the flash-stories --- There are Seven Stories in all that make up the Stringbreaker Mind-Control Story.

----

The Strange Duet
Part II

Her door tended to slam so I put my hand out to guide it to a silent closing.

"Who the fuck are you?!? And what were you doing in my girlfriend's apartment?"

For easily the hundredth time, I wished Jo had fallen for someone lower in the instep and vocal range. I rested my forehead against the door; the music from the other side was almost out of my reach.

"Answer my question, asshole! What the fuck were you doing in there?"

I turned until the sweater-hood no longer blocked my view of the woman, "At least, she still picks the fine ones, even if her appreciation for loud women has grown past my preference."

She took a step back, but stepped forward when she realized how she reacted. I walked to the guitar case I set down before entering the apartment. I hadn't needed it inside, but the woman in the hallway called a different song.

"You know her?" More a challenge than a question, I ignored it to bend down and open the case. The woman's heels clipped against the tile as she walked by.

"She doesn't want to talk to you," I said touching the guitar strings.

"I don't care what she wants!"

"That's part of the problem. Regardless, I don't want you to talk to her."

"I don't give a fuck what you want either!"

"Yes, you do." The guitar was in position. I leaned against the wall and touched the strings. The hand she had poised to beat on the door fell to her side. She turned to look at me.

"You shouldn't frown," I told her. "It's not attractive on you."

I smiled at her confusion; she would understand soon enough. "Move away from the door please."

"Fuck you, asshole!"

I waited until she walked back to her original position by the stairs before replying, "I'm predisposed to disliking you, --courtesy would not harm your cause."

She stared at the door. The song made its presence known around us. Her brow furrowed as she glanced at everything on the landing to avoid looking at me. The music turned her head until her eyes met mine. Had she applied any more pressure to the lip trapped between her teeth, she would have drawn blood.

"Fuck you!" She forced the words out through her uncertainty. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

"Who are you?" she asked suddenly.

"The dream she can't remember."

The woman laughed. I opened my eyes and tilted my head to the side. My fingers gave the song enough physical form to press against her from all sides. I squeezed. Her breathing stopped, and her eyes widened. I let go and waited.

"You're the one she won't tell me about!" Envy lent strength to her voice.

"She can't tell you about me."

"What do you mean can't?"

"Knock on the door."

She managed to lean in that direction. Her eyes bored into me before she bit her lip, this time drawing blood, and leaned harder.

"She can't tell you what she doesn't remember, but you knew about me anyway, didn't you?"

She stared hatred at me for a second before driving towards the door with all of her will. It was no match for the music. She gasped and pulled back.

"That's impossible!"

"She said the same thing once, but she didn't put the gusto into it that you just did. In fact, she was a little desperate to believe it was possible."

"No," she shook her head. "You're not one of them."

My fingers froze on the strings, "One of them?"

She shook her head even harder. The music convinced her to speak, "Those disgusting stories she reads. Soul takers don't exist!"

"Soul Taker," I whispered. "I like it."

"You're not real!"

"Knock on her door and tell me I'm not real." She was too afraid to try again.

"Why?" Her voice cracked. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I could almost hear her counting down from the heights of fear. There was defiance in her eyes when she looked at me.

"You hurt her," I said. "Now, I'm going to hurt you."

She spun on her heel and tried to flee.

I put a spell on you

She dropped as if the words had sliced through her knees.

Because you're mine

Her body convulsed as her will pushed her to try standing while the music turned her towards me. The spark of anger in her eyes was drowning in horror.

You better stop The things that you're doin'.

She crawled to me. Her hands were touching my shoes before she looked up.

"While I appreciate not having to find you, I'm curious why you would come back here." I kept the song alive with the guitar. "The last argument seemed final."

She pressed her lips together until they turned white. Her hands fisted against my thighs, if not for the music she would have tried violence.

"You can't do this to me," she said finally. "I won't allow it!"

"I would think you kneeling naked at my feet proves I can do whatever I want to you."

"I'm not naked!" But she had to check.

"An oversight on my part," I said smirking. "It was rude to point it out instead of correcting it by taking your clothes off."

She looked at me with the minor victory dancing across her face.

I ain't gonna take none of your Puttin' me down;

"I guess she spoiled me. The hard way then," I sighed. "Take your clothes off."

The music barred any reluctance. She danced, removing every article of clothing with the intent to seduce. Even her eyes were in another place. Breathing hard, she knelt again. Within a minute, terror consumed her to a point I had to use the music to keep her in place.

"How far away did you park your car?" I asked to distract her.

The question was too unexpected for her to do anything other than reply truthfully, "A couple of blocks away."

"Naked, it's going to be long walk in this weather, but there won't be many people around to see you."

"You can't!"

"We've already had the 'can't' discussion," I pointed out. She turned and looked at the stairs.

Her eyes pleaded when she looked back at me. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"You hurt her," I replied. "Had it been the normal pain of love, I wouldn't get involved, but you went too far."

"I won't do it again!"

"Why did you do it in the first place?"

She shivered and stared at the door. She extended her hands to my thighs and tried to dig her nails in.

"Because she loved you, and you could," I said shaking my head slowly. "But again, it begs the question: why are you back?"

"What are you, her fucking guardian angel?" she shouted. I wrapped the music tighter around her.

"With what I have in mind for you, certainly no angel," I answered. "As to guardian, did you ever wonder about the music she listens to when she's afraid, lonely... heartbroken?"

The curiosity of a lover peeked around fear.

"It makes her feel safe, but it would be a lie if she wasn't safe. My music has never lied to her."

"Why do you care about her?" Jealousy pushed her fear aside; I had a part of her lover she could not touch.

The guitar rained notes around us.

"You can't have her!" she yelled. "She's mine."

"You've done too much damage for that to be true anymore."

"She's mine!"

"It's over, even without me in your way, and you know it."

Tears crept down her cheeks. She wanted to deny my words, but want wasn't enough to make them untrue.

"You can't have her," she said gritting her teeth. "I won't let you."

"We could make it her choice." Her eyes snapped up hopefully.

"The power of her fantasies versus your failed love," I offered. Her hatred was almost mindless in intensity.

"Fuck you!"

"Yes, you will."

She swallowed hard. Her eyes were unbelieving as she stared at me for a long time.

"You wouldn't." She could not make it sound convincing.

"I can't. I shouldn't. I wouldn't. Very original," I said. "But that's what I get for giving you a choice."

I waited for her to figure it out.

"A choice?"

"Yes."

"What choice?"

"She does love you and as stupid as you might be for spitting in the face of that, I believe you love her too," I replied. "If she remembered what I could do, she wouldn't think highly of my mistreating you."

She sat back on her heels; she had learned enough to know there was a hammer.

"I'll let you go, if you let her go," I said. "Never talk to her again. Never see her again."

"Okay," she said too quickly. She made it to her feet and halfway to the stairs before she remembered she was naked. Looking at her clothes brought reality crashing down; it had been too easy. She turned and lifted her chin.

"Haughty," I said almost laughing. "Better than the frown."

"What's the rest?"

"Maybe it's your mind she's attracted to."

"What the rest of it?" she insisted.

"She won't remember your nights together. The only thing left of her love will be a queasy distaste when she sees you."

"You are fucking evil!"

"By nearly all measures of the word," I replied. She looked at the door, fisted a hand, and punched her thigh. "But I'm not one to cheat my victims."

"I don't understand."

"When I'm done, she will welcome you back with open arms. She'll know you've subdued whatever it is that made you think submissive meant weak."

The tears flowed freely.

"Starting over won't be her choice, it'll be yours," I said. "Without me, you won't even get in the door."

She knew it was true.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Prove you're worthy of her love." A sob escaped her. "Otherwise, let her go."

"I can't," she whispered.

I put a spell on you

The music cradled her fall as she went down on her knees.

Because you're mine

She didn't need the music to make her crawl to me.

"I love her."

-----

"We should go," I said laying my hand flat on the strings to silence them. She stood up, grabbed her clothes, and headed for the steps. "Where are you going?"

"To my car," she said turning around.

"My apartment is upstairs," I said. "Above hers."

She looked at me with gratitude, like I'd done her a favor. I watched her walk up the stairs before kneeling to put the guitar away. Music from inside the apartment caught my attention. I turned to listen and laughed.

Jo was playing our song.

Try try try to understand
He's a magic man, mama
He's a magic man.


------

It's a snippet in that the actual title of the story is

El Coronado: Jo's Story

Oh well... 2007 here I come!

 

[TxRad]

Phung Shuia, (Damn, where’s my Japanese dictionary when I need it.) is the polite way to tell someone that they have all their shit in the wrong bags and it’s stored in the wrong closet, on the wrong side of the room. Wouldn’t it be nice, if you could just turn the room around and leave your life alone?

 

[angela146]

This one is very rough. I will probably expand it and extend it as I clean it up.

Leaves in my Hair (Lesbian)

I arrived at Anna's at about eleven. It was a few mile's ride in the cool air, but my biking outfit and the work of pedaling through the Vermont countryside kept me warm.

She and her younger sister were out in the yard raking leaves. I would have preferred to see Anna's flaming red hair blowing free in the breeze, but both she and Sarah had their hair in scarves.

No matter. We could remedy the situation once Sarah left for her weekend trip with Todd. In fact, Sarah had a kind of cuddly look about her with her covered hair and sweatsuited body, cuddly and domesticated.

I parked the bike and ran up to get hugs from both of them. They both felt as soft as they looked. Sarah smirked a little at the longer hug that I gave her sister. "We've got some leaves to finish, you two... and my date isn't here yet."

Reluctantly, we let go. Sarah gave me her rake while she went to set up the mulcher. Anna waited until she was out of earshot and then told me, "I don't think she's going to be a virgin anymore when she gets back from her trip."

Looking over my glasses, I tried to see if she was kidding. "You mean she and Todd haven't...".

Anna shrugged her shoulders. "She asked me how to put a condom on a guy - like I have a lot of experience with that procedure."

Sarah started up the mulcher and from that point we couldn't hear each other. That was alright. It gave me an excuse to watch Anna's graceful movements raking leaves while I did the same a few steps away.

It took an eternity, an hour at least, before we were done turning the leaves into neatly bagged garden supplies. Right on cue, Todd arrived. He put away the equipment for us while Sarah and Anna spent a last moment whispering.

Sarah is actually my age so Anna was technically no longer her guardian, but for two years she had taken on the role of mom in addition to big sister. Another set of hugs exchanged and we sent Sarah and Todd off to their love nest.

Once they were out of site, we turned to each other. Her hands encircled my shoulders and mine slipped around her waist. She smelled sweaty and I'm sure I did too, which isn't a bad thing.

But most of all it was the feel of her that I wanted. We slid our hands all over and snuggled breasts, thighs, and other soft areas; whatever we could press into each other.

After a moment, I pulled back to look at her. "Why are you wearing this?" I reached up to untie her scarf.

She looked at my hair, gently pulled a couple of leaves and showed them to me. "To keep these out of it."

I removed the scarf, fluffed her hair to let it billow while she ran her hands through mine to remove the foreign matter. She looked down at the collection of scarlet maple leaves in her hand and at the remains in my hair. "Actually, I should leave it where it is so you can look like one of the family."

She was right, the leaves matched her hair color. Her hair - long and flowing behind her - I wanted her. I moved to kiss her but she turned her head, looking around on the ground for a soft spot. Spying one, she eased me over to it and then helped me down to the ground.

Looking up at her, with the sun shining off her hair I watched as she decended and surrounded my vision with a sea of red, then gently pressed her lips and body to me.

 

[neonlyte]

I hadn't planned on a "sequel". However, I might at some point flesh out the story with more details.

What did you like about it?

I created this thread primarily so I could post this story and some others without having to make them full length and without necessarily exposing them to the trolls.

Economy and pace. It would be all to easy to 'over write' and lose the impulsive urge of the piece.

 

[Aurora Black]

The opening scene from my upcoming Phaze novella, I Heart You:

_________


He knew her, perhaps more than anyone had ever dared. He knew what she wanted. From the depth of depravity in her novels, he saw the darker side of the shining public image.

The man sat before the large television, staring straight ahead. Other than the harsh glare of the screen, there was no light in the room. He didn't care. All his concentration was focused on the image that danced across the screen.

Rachel Malone. He watched the woman in silence, the television muted. He didn't need sound; it ruined his enjoyment of the show. He didn't need to hear the multitude of inane questions the journalist was asking her. He already knew which ones they were and how she would answer, which facial expressions she would use.

She was an open book; he wanted to read her from cover to cover before ripping out the pages and scattering them upon the floor. He wanted to tear her apart like paper, make her scream. He wanted her to beg for mercy for the pain she caused him.

His cock gave a little twitch inside his jeans at the thought, and he lightly traced his fingers over the growing bulge. She'll be ours soon enough.

He unbuttoned his fly, easing his hardened cock from its confines. His attention to the screen was constant. He spit into his open palm and applied the moisture to his dick, jacking it slowly as he watched the muted interview.

In the studio, the journalist was grinning cheerfully as he sat across from the young author. The viewer moved his hand faster on the shaft, licking his lips at the sight of Rachel's image on television. His voice was husky with arousal, tinted with rage.

"Bitch...Gonna get you..."

Behind him was a low table, bare except for a single sheet of paper: an early valentine for his prey. Taken from newspaper clippings, the pasted letters spelled out his message loud and clear. He was coming for her, and there was nothing she could do to escape his wrath.

The man grunted rhythmically, thrusting his hips upward to meet the strokes of his fist.

Fucking bitch...romance writer. All of them are ungrateful bitches. They fucking hate men. They're always writing about the perfect man who doesn't exist, so no one's ever good enough for them. She's the worst of them all. She must pay.

Groaning loudly, he closed his eyes and a flurry of images came to him as his climax drew near. He imagined Rachel Malone kneeling before him, choking on his cock. He saw himself bending her over and ramming her hard, pounding her holes without mercy as she screamed for him to stop. Inside his mind, she called him Master.

The room echoed with his roar of release.

 

[Zeb_Carter]

Opening scene of a Sci-fi short I'm working on...

------------------------------------------

The Gods of Thunder

The street lights were blinking and the sky was rumbling as the lightening struck the tree in front of the house, lighting up the sky with a display of sparks and flame. Ducking for cover I rolled behind the brick wall that protected the flower garden, crushing the beautiful blooms beneath my body. Looking into the black sky I could see them, ghostly figures flitting from cloud to cloud as they attempted to hit one of us with their lethal package of electric force.

Raising my pulse rifle up to my shoulder, I lined the sights up on the almost imperceptible glow on the edge of the cloud above me. As the glow became brighter I pulled the trigger losing a bolt of super heated plasma toward the heavens. The glow died to nothing as the ghostly figure was consumed by the white hot flow of plasma. One down and thirty trillion to go, and was he really down and out?

 

[Trombonus]

Trombonus: You are a romantic soul (but we knew that )

lol, yeah I know, problem is everything I write ends up having a romantic theme, even the stuff that's not supposed to. I'm working on that though. After I get back I should hopefully have a few stories that will break out of that mode. Not my next one though. My next one is very heavily romantic, and that's what that snippet is from. I'll finish it someday.

 

[Skip1934a]

lol, yeah I know, problem is everything I write ends up having a romantic theme, even the stuff that's not supposed to. I'm working on that though. After I get back I should hopefully have a few stories that will break out of that mode. Not my next one though. My next one is very heavily romantic, and that's what that snippet is from. I'll finish it someday.

Speaking of 'romantic', my current submission is a romance. Nothing in the opening scene romantic, but it's coming. Here's the opener- but not the whole chapter

___
I descended in an otherwise unoccupied elevator from my office on the sixteenth floor to the lobby level, anticipating lunch at Mary Mac’s. I’m a creature of habit, and have always eaten there except on the weekends or when I’m out of town. The food is always good.

Well, there was a short period when it wasn’t. The place had been sold, and the new owner lacked the dedication that Mary had put into her restaurant. As a result, the quality suffered. She didn’t like that because her name was still used to identify the establishment so she bought it back, in turn restoring the quality. The lost customers returned. It was a small place, actually, on Ponce de Leon Avenue, just a block or two off Peachtree Street and within walking distance of my office.

I turned the corner from West Peachtree Street onto North and began the easy walk up a slight incline to Peachtree Street, then left over to Ponce, and right. I could see the place now, a short distance down Ponce on the left. My eyes caught sight of a very nice-looking woman just entering the restaurant.

“Down, boy,” I told my budding erection. But she <i>was</i> a piece of eye candy, nobody would argue that point. As I entered the restaurant a moment or two later, Mary grabbed and hugged me.

“Hi, David. You want a menu, or are you brave enough today to try the special? Salmon covered in a dressing laced with a hint of horseradish?” She led me to the booth I have used for eight years, since I first joined Ross and Faber, Architects, as one of several vice presidents.

“If you recommend it, pretty lady, I’ll try it.” Mary beamed at the complement.

“Good. I’ll have Suzie bring it out.” She seated me and wandered toward the kitchen, gracefully interacting with several other customers along the way.

I noticed the usual crowd, and a few I didn’t recognize, but didn’t see the woman that had intrigued my interest anywhere. None of my office friends ate here. They preferred the upscale high-priced places, but I liked the home-style cooking Mary served. I even brought clients here, and it didn’t hurt our business any. Mary had gleaned a few kudos from them, too.

My back was to the restrooms so I couldn’t see in that direction, but I heard the woman in the booth behind me ordering from the menu. That booth had been empty when I was seated. There was something about the lilt in her voice that seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Suzie brought me a glass of sweet tea, telling me the salmon would be ‘up’ soon.

“Thanks, Suzie,” I replied. I flashed her my swoon-maker smile as she turned to leave.

I kept mulling that voice over in my mind, trying to place it, but my memory just wouldn’t pull it out. I decided to make a trip to the restroom to see if I could recognize the person with the lilting voice upon my return.

As I returned, I glanced unobtrusively at the woman. It was the woman I had seen earlier. Still no recognition came to me. She was a lovely thing, though. She had beautiful auburn hair that cascaded below her shoulders in a provocative style that turned heads. And her eyes. Behind frameless glasses were green, playful orbs that could pierce your heart.

As I took my seat I was still pondering from where I might know her. I was certain I did, but from … ? It was at that very moment, as Suzie was placing my salmon before me, that I blurted out loudly, “Nancy Worthington,” to nobody in particular. I wasn’t sure it was her, but the resemblance was there.

Suzie backed away abruptly. Her mouth was about to fall open when the lady behind me slid from her booth. As the stranger’s eyes scanned the dining area she questioned, “Who called my name?”

“You’re Nancy Worthington? Of Sprayberry High School in Savannah?” I countered, blushing a bit.

“I am. And you are… you’re David Duncan! My God, David, it’s been a long time. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Uh… sure. Sure I do. It’s the hair and glasses that threw me off for a moment,” I recovered. “It used to be blonde.” I smiled my killer smile again. The eye candy was my girlfriend from eighteen years ago, and she was as stunning now as then. I offered my hand, but she slapped it away.

“I’m taking no handshake from you, you son-of-a-gun!”
She enveloped me with her arms, squeezing as hard as she could. I would have returned the hug but her arms trapped mine.

Suzie was still standing there, mouth agape, but was beginning to break into a smile. “Suzie, bring Miss… Mrs.… Ms… Worthington’s order to my booth and put it on my tab.”

“Certainly, Mr. Duncan,” Suzie replied, now smiling brightly.

I motioned an invitation for Nancy to join me in my booth. She reached over for her purse and accepted.

“You don’t have to buy my lunch, you know.”

“Yes I do. You’re in my booth, and nobody but me pays for meals served at this table; at least not while I’m here.”

“You’re a hard man to deal with; you know that, don’t you?”

“So I’ve been told. But I’m really a pussycat for a good-looking lady like yourself,” I quipped.

She beamed at the compliment. “Really, David, I insist. I can pay my own way.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second, but this one is on me. How long has it been since we were together?”

“You mean since we were ‘together’ together? Or since we were at the same place at the same time?