Voice Guessing Submissions for April 16th

[BlackShanglan]

Below you will find the voice guessing thread stories for April 16th. (Yes, yes, I know, the thread title told you that. Pray indulge my repetition.) At 5 PM Eastern US Time on the 16th, I will close the entries; shortly thereafter I will post a list of contributors with a red herring or so thrown in. Guesses will be taken until 5 PM Eastern US time on the 18th; answers will then be posted and the winner will take possession of the two lowest scorers as permanent members of his or her seraglio. Get your harem pants ordered and your eunuchs ... prepared. *wince*

If you wish to discuss the entries, please discuss them on the announcement thread rather than here. I will post a scorecard thread as the 16th draws closer.

Shanglan

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry # 1

THE SECOND PERSON
Who says “you” can’t do it?

This is one of those second person point-of-view vignettes that all the “real” writers claim can’t be done well. Go ahead, roll your eyes – but read it anyway. You might enjoy it. You might even get turned on. (If you don’t tell, no one will ever know.)

So, this business trip you’re on – dull, isn’t it? The days are long and the evenings alone even longer. What a team player you are! Suffering a whole week away from home and those endlessly tedious contract negotiations. The only thing that makes it tolerable is that new corporate attorney. Damn, she’s hot. Isn’t she? So hot that after a day of working with her, you can’t wait to haul your aching hard on back to the hotel and jerk off. Housekeeping, you might be surprised to learn, has a running bet on how many different places you’ll blow your load each night. (Yes, they did notice the jism on the lampshade – and on the bedspread – and on the room service menu. Somehow, they missed the wad on the alarm clock even though it obscures the last digit.)

Her name’s Daphne, and you just know she gives great head. Just know it! With a name like Daphne, she must. Right? It’s a cock-lovin’ name if you’ve ever heard one. She’s got those incredibly full Angelina Jolie lips that mesmerize you. When you close your eyes, you can see her thick, auburn hair falling over her face as she leans forward to take your dick into her mouth. All of it (which, of course, is no easy feat).

She groans while she does it, too – like it’s the best damned thing she’s ever tasted. Mmm and oh and uh and even a whispered yes when she pulls back in order to give your balls some more attention or when she slowly licks that trail of hair up to your navel and squeezes her lovely tits around your cock. That particular image resulted in the spurt you left on the bathroom floor – the one that started housekeeping’s aforementioned wager. Carmelita slipped on it, you see. Wiped out. Bam! Landed on her bountiful tush. You should’ve heard her swearing while Ruby just cackled. She had to walk around the rest of the day with that glaze on her ass, and Ruby mocked her incessantly – even after she put her cleaning smock on backwards.

But, that’s neither here nor there. In a few more hours, it’ll all be over and you’ll be on your way home. You just have to endure the dinner celebration with a dozen of the stuffiest suits known to corporate America – and, of course, Daphne. If it weren’t for her, there’s no doubt you’d feign some sort of mysterious stomach virus. She’ll make the evening tolerable – to say the least.

The thought of watching her eat has your cock twitching, and you have to sit in the rental car in the restaurant parking lot for a few minutes while the tent in your trousers subsides. Yeah, so it makes you a wee bit late. So what? The contracts are signed, sealed, and delivered. Fuck ‘em.

Twelve corporate scowls greet you as you are shown to the table, but you can only see Daphne. She has changed into an emerald green silk dress that hits just above the knee. One of those wrap numbers that crosses her chest and dips between those delectable breasts. Twitch.

She looks genuinely pleased to see you, and who can blame her? You’re no Adonis, but you’re certainly the tastiest entree at this particular buffet. You take the last remaining seat, which happens to be directly opposite her. Dinner is absolute torture. She sucks the oysters from their half shells (twitch), licks the Tabasco sauce from her fingertips (twitch), and kisses the wine glass leaving deep pink lip prints (twitch).

The slab of corporate pork to your left digs an elbow into your ribs. “Right, buddy?” he leers, cocking his head Daphne’s way. Well, if you had a clue what he had said, perhaps you’d agree – but Daphne’s expression tells you that she’s not at all enamored of his remarks. For the first time this evening, it’s your brain that twitches and you respond, “I think that’s highly inappropriate, and you owe the lady an apology.”

Shut him right the fuck up! Daphne, on the other hand, has that “my hero” light in her eyes. While you’ve no doubt she could hold her own in any situation, there’s apparently something she finds sexy about chivalry. She holds your gaze with those smoldering grey-blue eyes and says, “I’m so glad you came.”

You sputter, choke on your wine, thinking for just a moment that she was somehow privy to your hotel room antics.

To be continued ...

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry #2

Three times. You wash the spinach three fucking times. It’s not goddamned brain surgery.

Mark jabbed his fork through a mouthful of gritty leaves. He’d have given up on it, but what were the odds that the rest of the meal would be edible? And why the fuck did he bother finding handcrafted teak salad-ware if she was going to serve up dirty spinach with Wishbone Zesty Fucking Italian? Janice. He stabbed a forkful of spinach as he glared across at her. Goddamned Janice.

She sat there simpering, ready to burst into tears. That seemed to be her entire life –dithering there, waiting for him to come home so that she could follow him around and hang on his every fucking word. Some how, he’d seen something in it once. But Christ, look at her now. Flabby tits. Cheap sweatshirt. That stupid bandana in her hair. She looked like she ought to be pushing a fat, screaming two-year-old through the Fat Broads clothing section of the local Wal-Mart. Maybe there’d been a time when her obsession with the cheap garbage of life was useful – when he was still in law school and money was tight, and she’d covered the bills. But he should have known then. She never complained. She didn’t have the brains to be bored. She could happily stand there checking groceries for other fat, middle-aged sows until the sky fell, because she was an empty fucking space.

He stared past her. Every day it got harder, coming home to this. The place was a sty. Look at the fucking mantelpiece. Piles of books, month-old birthday cards, hunks of ugly pottery she’d made in her night classes – talk about pissing money down the drain there – plates from yesterday’s lunch, and ... was that his father’s fucking ashes shoved up with the rest of it? Mark ground his teeth and stared back down at his plate. Fucking cunt. The one thing in the house that deserved some goddamned respect, the remains of the firm’s first freaking CEO, for God’s sake, a man who was a legend in the fucking boardroom, and she shoved his monument up with her goddamned junk like it was a baseball trophy. You couldn’t trust her with anything. Tasks that a five-year-old could manage were too much for fucking Janice.

He gulped down the last of the salad and shoved the bowl away, not even looking at whatever pinkish slop was smeared over the main plate like a wash of vomit. Screw this. In fifteen minutes he could be downtown, up a flight of stairs and into Cynthia’s loft. Chinese. Some hot fucking. And call the divorce lawyer from there. It wasn’t even worth pretending. Janice would cry, she’d stuff herself with cheap, greasy chocolate-covered cherries, and then she’d marry some pork-faced air conditioner repairman and pump out ugly babies.

“I’m leaving.”

He threw his napkin on the congealed mess that passed for an entree and looked at her. She sat there, her eyes rimmed in red – but weren’t they fucking always? – and looked at him with that slapped puppy look that seemed to be her only expression any more. Oh, so she’d found some letters from Cynthia. Christ, you’d think she was Joan of Arc the way she carried on. Her stricken, fawning look pissed him off further, and he twisted the knife.

“Fuck this. You’ll get the papers in the morning. I’m out of this shit.”

He threw on his jacket. She just sat there staring at him. She hadn’t moved since he sat down. He felt an urge to smack her, to punch her puffy fat face until some vestige of response appeared. But she just sat there like a sagging cabbage. Finally, as he was standing, she mumbled to him.

“Don’t you want your dinner?”

He glared at her irritably. She hadn’t touched hers – not a bite of anything. What the fuck did it matter now? He repeated his declaration, slowly.

“I’m gone. Fuck dinner.”

She met his eyes, for once – that dull, mousy glance. The she turned. She lifted the urn off of the mantelpiece. He darted forward for it. He wouldn’t put it past the cow to drop it. She’d never liked his father; he’d been the one person with the balls to warn him not to marry her.

He got it with a sigh. She looked at him. She lifted the lid and set it carefully down next to his salad dish. He looked into the urn, baffled.

It was empty.

“Goodbye, Mark,” she said quietly. “And bone appetite.”

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry #3

Kai pressed the button on the side of his watch again. Blue digits flicked up on the screen: 6.52PM. “Ohhh god!” he groaned, before he thrust his hands back into the sink and under the spray of freezing water coming from the tap.

His hands were numb and Kai struggled to bend his fingers around the scrubbing brush again. The CD he’d been listening to had ended over an hour ago and the thrumming of water against stainless steel sink seemed to be the only sound in the world. The noise seemed deafening, like he was standing thrusting his hands under Niagara Falls and Kai wanted more than anything to turn the tap off. He wanted to go and throw himself down on his bed and cry without ceasing, to see if he could sob this urge out of him.

He picked up a potato from the pile on the draining board and started to scrub. The skin of the potatoes had long since been worn away and Kai had visions of still being there two hours later, cleaning pea-sized pieces of potato.

Kai laid the potato down on its own on the draining board, sighing with satisfaction as he finally started the ‘cleaned’ pile. That potato was clean. There was not a speck of dirt or germs on it. Kai was certain this time; it was clean.

Suddenly the doorbell chimed and Kai started, his head turning towards the kitchen door. He checked his watch again – 6.54. She was early! How could she be early; he wasn’t ready yet.

Tears brimmed in Kai’s eyes as his left hand stretched out and picked up another potato from the dirty pile. He needed to make sure these potatoes were clean. This was a special date, their third date, the date when she’d agreed to come over to his house. He was going to cook for her, they were going to have some wine and everything would be perfect. He’d planned it, he’d planned everything! His clothes were lying on the bed, freshly cleaned and ironed and ready for him to jump into when he’d finished cooking, the wine was sitting in the fridge chilling and his date was at the door. All he had to do was finish cleaning these potatoes and he could start getting ready.

The doorbell chimed again and Kai felt a tear roll down his cheek. Without thinking, he lifted a hand out of the freezing stream of water and wiped it away.

“Fuck!” Now his hand was unclean. He couldn’t keep cleaning potatoes with a contaminated hand. Kai placed the half-clean potato back down on the dirty pile and flicked the switches on the tap to change the water temperature. He pumped the soap dispenser, nearly filling his palm with handwash and started lathering, trying to ignore the steam that was now rising from the stream of water. It needed to be hot. If it wasn’t hot, then his hands wouldn’t be sterile enough. It hurt, but it was good that it hurt, because otherwise how would he know if…

“OH JESUS FUCK!” The pain was like gouging needles into his hands, but Kai forced himself to keep them underneath the scalding water. He needed to be clean.

The single potato sitting in the clean pile caught his eye and Kai looked at it. Was he quite sure that it was clean. After all, it had been sitting out for a good minute or so now; maybe some germs had got to it. “No. No. It’s clean. You cleaned it,” Kai said out loud. “You know you cleaned it.” His voice choked with tears, but he forced himself to say it out loud, praying that he could make himself believe it. “You’ve been cleaning it for the last two hours; it is FUCKING CLEAN!”

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the potato. Maybe some soap had got onto it. Maybe a germ from another potato had infected it. He couldn’t be sure that it was clean. Not any more.

With a sob, Kai flicked off the hot tap and moved the potato from the clean to the dirty pile. Just one more clean, then it would be done.

Kai turned on the cold water again and forced his red hands to close around the scrubbing brush. The doorbell rang again, but he knew he couldn’t answer it. Everything needed to be perfect. Everything was going to be perfect; he’d planned it all. But first he had to make sure these potatoes were clean.

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry #4

"This bites," Annie observed. "Chandra, you must be feeling awful. You want to go home? We'll understand." Chandra shook her head. "Can I get you something cold, or would you like a backrub? Backrubs always help, even when nothing can help. Please. We can just leave you alone if you want. Anything." I saw her father the clearest in her when she was being a hostess.

Chandra stirred.

"They-- Mother asked me not to come home just yet, she says it's pretty hellish. They're examining her or something at the hospital, that's where they all are. There's police all over the place, and she says she's glad I'm here with, with good friends."

Seeing her tears I took the bull by the horns and walked over. She cried harder, but relaxed into me. I guessed I was forgiven.

"You are with good friends. Annie, I'd like a coke or something, if you wouldn't mind. The best thing would be to play with some ice in a glass, but you don't need to bring all that up here. Just a coke. You, Chandra?"

"Iced tea! Or water."

"C'mon, Bobby, you're supposed to be repenting, come help me," Annie said, relieved to have something to do. "You can bring glasses and ice and stuff for me."

I spoke low into Chandra's hair.

"Worry won't change anything, it never does. Come sit down on the bed, at least. I'll rub your feet or something."

"Okay. Look, I'm so sorry, can you..."

"Always." I met her eye. "Strangle me, and I'll forgive you."

"I was... Well, are you gonna rub my feet or what?"

"Yo!" I smiled happily, knelt, and removed her shoes and knee socks with a placid air. I leaned against the bed.

The trick with rubbing feet is to avoid tickling. Firm and deliberate motions helped her relax and trust my hands, and I could move easily about the whole sole of her foot, with a little patience.

Chandra was unloading about how awful it must still be for poor Aditi, to be at the hospital with another, longer ordeal on top of the first one. I made sympathetic grunts and nasals to acknowledge what she'd said. Before long, I could hear our clinking friends along the hall.

"Well! You look so natural at her feet like that. Considering a career as a slave?"

"I was wondering," I said, ignoring the question, "if there was lotion."

"Only if I get to use some, too." Annie spread a slip over her vanity, tablecloth wise, and deployed glasses, and Bobby followed her lead with the bottles and pitcher.

"Better leave the feet to me, I have a knack."

"Mmm," Chandra agreed. "When I'm rich and famous, I'm gonna hire him away just to rub my feet. Oo, goody, iced tea."

A little pile of Annie's linens had been placed under the wet pitcher: slips, shorts, underwear. She'd gotten the pile from a suitcase, there were no other folded things in the room. The cold-drink service had an individual look to it, as she laid smallclothes under the other things. During this, she uncovered a squeeze bottle and passed it to me. Chandra sipped her drink, and I put the lotion to use, marveling. Bobby moved a bra over to be a coaster for his coke-over-ice. Annie got me mine, and brought it to me with a folded skirt.

Annie stepped up on the bed behind Chandra, coming to rest kneeling straddling Chandra's hips. She was in sandals and a linen shift, but she kicked the shoes off and hitched the shift up without ado. Chandra's hair was still put up from when they were baking. Annie began to stroke and then knead her neck. Chandra made noises of appreciation. Bobby was working assiduously at the joints of her hand.

There was a clumping on the stairs. We looked at each other, but stayed put. What the heck, everybody was decent.

Annie's dad came up and rapped on the jamb. "Come in," sang Chandra, "I have put them all to work."

Stepping in, he broke into a smile and then took in the things on the vanity for a couple of beats. He shook his head. "Lunch will be ready in three minutes: prosciutto-wrapped shrimp, potato soup gratinée, lamb chops, green beans amandine, Port Salut, and peanut butter cookies. I made coffee, too." He waved a hand. "What brought this on?"

"A lady needed comforting," Bobby said, "so we put out our best efforts."

"I can see that. I'm envious, Chandra. Once they're trained, do you hire them out?"

"No, they work only for love, they're devoted to me! Especially the one on my feet."

"Ah, what a drag. A pity, I mean. Get ready, though, lunch in two minutes!"

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry #5

Strawberries. That’s the key, Thomas thought. Kris loves strawberries. The package of strawberries added to his cart, he moved to the checkout. Candles, strawberries, champagne, he mentally checked his list, pillows, champagne flutes, soft music. That should cover it, I think. Anticipation shivered through his body. It had been a long time since he had set out to woo a woman, but Kristine wasn’t just any woman; she was the woman he had waited for all his life. Transaction complete, he drove home.

Thomas arranged pillows on the livingroom floor and lit the candles. The champagne chilled in a gilt edged bucket off to one side and the beautifully etched, silver bowl of strawberries sat next to it. Thomas stepped back and surveyed the setting. Perfect. Glancing in the mirror, he checked his appearance. Not bad, he thought and straightened his collar. The doorbell rang and he looked at his watch. Right on time, he smiled. He walked to the door, took a deep breath, smoothed his hair and opened it.

“Hi,” Kristine said with a shy smile.

“Hi,” Thomas answered and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “You’re beautiful, Kris. I like your dress. It really shows off your figure and the white shows off your tan. I like your hair down around your shoulders, too.” He felt the heat rush to his face, God, I sound like an idiot! Rambling on and on. Shut up, Thomas.

Kristine blushed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Thomas stood in the doorway and stared at her.

“Um, can I come in?” Kristine asked and broke the awkward silence.

“Oh, God, I’m an idiot. Yes, please come in.” He stepped back and let her in the house. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, suddenly I feel like a teenage kid and not a man of 45 years.” He gave an embarrassed chuckle and closed the door.

Kristine laughed softly. “I understand. I’m feeling a little giddy myself. It took me almost two hours to get dressed tonight.”

Thomas laughed. “Well, I’m glad to know I’m not alone in my awkwardness. Shall we?” He pointed the way to the livingroom with an open hand. Kristine moved in the direction he indicated and he followed behind her.

Taking in the scene before her, she turned to him and asked, “What’s all this?”

“I thought we might do something a little different tonight.” The heat returned to his face. “Have a seat on one of the pillows.”

Kristine looked at him strangely but took a seat nonetheless. Thomas popped the cork on the bottle, filled two champagne flutes and handed her one of them. “Strawberry?” he asked. “I hear they bring out the flavor in the champagne.”

She took a strawberry out of the bowl, bit it and took a sip. “Mmm.”

Thomas picked up his guitar and sat on a pillow opposite her. “I’ve been working on something I’d like for you to hear.” Kristine raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak, so he began to play. It was a beautiful, lilting melody. He closed his eyes and began to sing.

“Kristine, I love the smile that lights your green eyes. Kristine, I love the gentle sway of your hips. Kristine, I love the feel of your lips on mine. Kristine, being with you makes my heart flip. Kristine, I’m so in love with all that you are. Kristine, I’ve been looking for you all my life. Kristine, loving you is written in the stars. Kristine, I’m wondering if you’ll be my wife.”

The music trailed off and he opened his eyes. Tears rolled down Kristine’s face. Thomas set his guitar aside and took her into his arms. He inhaled the musky scent of her and prayed. He felt the barest whisper of her breath on his neck and looked at her. “What?”

“Yes, Thomas.” Kristine repeated in a louder whisper. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” She kissed his lips and his heart soared.

“Oh, Kris. You have made me the happiest man alive!”

Kristine’s eyes crinkled at the corners and she gave him a wicked grin. “Would you like to see what else strawberries bring out the flavor in?”

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry #6

The Rise
"So what do I do now?" Molly asked.

"We wait. Sprinkle some flour over the top of the dough and cover it with the proving cloth. Then we wait for it to rise." I replied. "An hour and half should do, it's warm tonight."

I watched her as she went about her work. I enjoyed watching her. She made me feel young. She was young enough to be my daughter and experienced enough to make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

She'd worked with me for about four years, initially as a waitress then turning her hand to cake making. I'd pushed her through a cake decoration course. She had an aptitude for decorating and passed with flying colours, her cakes had a professional edge to them; my efforts were more 'homely' in appearance.

When she'd suggested learning to make bread I'd tried to dissuade her. She didn't understand the effort involved; night work, lonely work; it's when your thoughts ramble and you imagine all manner of things to keep you company in the small hours. Many a night Molly kept me company in the dark hours before the dawn. Only in my thoughts, you understand. I suppose in a way my attempt to deflect her from spending the night with me - making bread - had something to do with the thoughts she continually stimulated in me, I wasn't at all sure I could behave myself, or would even want to, if we spent the night together in the kitchen.

Molly is an outrageous flirt; she's entirely natural, flirts with everyone. It's one of the reasons we do such good business, it is not just the excellent produce. Most of our male lunchtime customers come into the shop to flirt with Molly and I know for a fact she's slept with a handful because she tells me. She tells me everything with a beguiling innocence that I've never been certain is not just put on, for effect.

Molly is stunningly beautiful. I shouldn't really be saying that because it sounds so corny, but it's the truth. She truly has the face of an angel framed with dark blond hair and a dimpled chin. She's tall and slim, slim breasted, slim hipped, flat bottomed and has a tummy like a washboard, apart from the turquoise stud in her belly button that is matched by another through her tongue.

She knows she is beautiful and uses it to the maximum. It took some little while to persuade her that she didn't need to 'dress up' for work, simple tee-shirts and trousers or skirts preferable to the 'pub' wear she thought best displayed her to potential partners. She became quite cross with me and insisted I inspect her attire each morning and approve of her dress rather than cast her disparaging looks all day.

It had become a ritual. She'd arrive first each morning, before the other staff, always with a warm smile, and take herself off to the staff changing room. A few moments later she'd appear for inspection. Her clothing had settled down into tee-shirts and jeans, I've only ever seen her in a skirt once, before tonight. This summer her tee-shirts were pastel shades mostly short to expose a patch of tanned tummy, and the stud. She'd twirl for approval and occasionally offer her neck for me to smell since she knew she shouldn't wear perfume because of potential contamination problems with handling food, but occasionally she'd dab on a little and ask me if it was 'ok' and 'not too strong'.

She rarely wore a bra. She didn't really need to, her breasts barely bulged the fabric and I curiously never saw the mark of her nipples; that made me curious and I looked often enough to be caught doing so.

"If you're that curious come out the back and I'll show you." She once said to me, grinning for all she was worth at my embarrassment.




"So what do we do now?" Molly asked as she coved the dough with the proving cloth.

"Well, I normally doze for a little while." I answered.

"What in here?" She asked.

"No. I sit at one of the tables and put my head down."

"That seems like a waste of time. I don't think I could sleep."

She stood there looking at me moistening her lips, her tongue darting across their plumpness, wiping her floury hands on her apron.

"Come here," I said, "you've got flour on your neck."

She walked over to me and pulled at the tie of her apron letting it fall to the floor, then reached with her arms looping them around my neck.

"Christ," she said, "I thought you'd never notice."

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry #7

Bran reached inside a bulging pocket on the leg of his pants and pulled out something, pale tan and lumpy, about the size of a fist… Niko’s stomach growled when the scent reached his nostrils. Food. He watched Bran bite into it as he walked along. Some kind of pastry with a filling inside. Flaky… tender… meaty… Niko swallowed like a hungry dog, but his pride would not let him speak.

Humming slightly, Bran devoured the pastry and then reached back into the pocket. When he brought out another and started to bite into it, Niko couldn’t stand it a second longer.

“You bastard,” he snarled, “That one’s mine!”

“Yours?” Eyebrows shooting up, Bran smirked. “I don’t think so. I was the one who found it, so that makes it mine.”

“But what am I going to eat!” Niko shouted, a burning heat flooding him. His hands clenched into fists of rage at his sides. “You didn’t find it, you stole it, and I’m starving, you -”

“Ah-ah,” Bran chided, snickering. “Not nice.” Slowly he brought the pastry up to his mouth and bit into it, grinning as Niko bared his teeth in a snarl. He wanted to jump on Bran and pound him. Take his food and make him bleed.

“You bloody whore,” Niko growled hoarsely. He was so hungry his knees felt weak. And that was the only thing preventing him from physical violence.

“See, that is the thing,” Bran said smiling calmly. “Did you get the food? No. I did. So it’s mine. And nothing’s free… if you want something from me you have to pay for it. Just like you bought me last night - and you never paid, either. So the way I figure it, not only do I not give you my food for nothing, you owe me.”

Taking a deep breath, Niko made himself calm down. He had to have that food. He didn’t care what he had to do to get it.

“I have riches. Lots of them, piles and piles of gold. I’ll give you as much as you want. When we get this thing settled you’ll be so rich you’ll never have to steal again.”

“But you haven’t got a single bit now,” Brian pointed out with a smile that would have seemed innocent if not for the gleam in his eye. “You haven’t got anything to pay me with, so… if you want this food you’re going to have to earn it.”

“All right,” Niko nodded quickly, “just tell me what to do.”

“Hmmm.” Bran appeared to ponder. “Let’s go over your skills, shall we? Can you steal without being caught?”

“I’ve never tried, but -”

“Can you get our next meal?”

“If you tell me how, I can -”

“Just what I thought. You have nothing to contribute. So if you want to eat, you’re going to have to suck my cock.”

Niko couldn’t speak for a second, then he sputtered. “You’re joking.”

“Oh no.” Now Bran’s smile was spread all the way across his face. “I’m not joking. You don’t have any skills and you don’t have any money. The only thing you have to offer me, in return for feeding you and keeping you alive and taking you where you need to go, is your sweet little mouth any time I want it.”

“Absolutely no bloody way!” Niko shouted, exploding with rage. “You’re mad, completely mad if you think I’m some kind of whore -”

“That’s exactly what I think,” Bran said softly, smiling. “And that’s exactly what you are. You’re my little whore, princess. Or… I can leave you right here. And you can starve, if you don’t get stabbed before the sun rises again.” And Bran slowly lifted the pastry up to his mouth and nibbled a piece of the flaky crust.

Gasping, Niko stared while Bran took a bigger bite and chewed it slowly, smiling in a way that seemed almost innocent, but at the same time savage. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction at Niko‘s hungry gaze. Bastard enjoyed ever minute of torturing him, taunting him like this.

“Stop,” Niko gasped faintly. The rumble in his stomach didn’t know pride. He took a deep breath as he looked up and met Bran’s eyes, laughing at him.

He was starting to feel faint… if he didn’t eat soon he was going to pass out. And, a little reasonable voice said in the corner of his brain, Bran was right - he would never survive out here on his own. . His aim right now was to live; and compared with death, a blow job didn’t seem too bad. At this time, in this situation, he didn’t have anything else to bargain with. He’d done it for no reason at all, so why not trade it for survival?

But there will be a time…when this is all over… oh, yes, Bran will get what he deserves…

“Where do you want to go?” Niko said flatly.

 

[impressive]

BUMP

 

[English Lady]

And another

 

[angelicminx]

my turn

 

[Guest]

Bumped for Sasy Girl.

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry #8

I stood in the doorway of the shed, trying to find the courage to speak. The glassy scent of sand was heavy in my nostrils and decaying wood, laced with the tang of citrus, tickled my throat. It was an excited sort of terror that had driven me there, but I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I had ridden to my own doom on a blue Schwinn bike.

"I – I brought you a gift," I finally blurted, feeling young and stupid.

Ben turned, wrench in hand and smiled at me. "Did you now?"

He dropped the wrench into a toolbox at his feet. Already skittish, the jingling rattle startled me and my heart thundered, telling me to run, run, run away home.

"And what's the occasion then, Katie-Mac? What've you got there?" He moved until he stood in front of me; so close I could feel the heat from his body pressing into my space. He smelled like sweat and soap.

I wanted to lean forward…I wanted to lean forward and put my hands against his skin, drawing that heat into me. I wanted to rub his flesh and smell him on my fingers.

Ben waved a hand in front of my face. "You in there?"

He was smiling and his eyes were the most pure shade of blue I had ever seen. I couldn't help it, I stared at him stupidly, my head spinning, dizzy.

"Honey," I said.

"Sweetheart," Ben countered, grinning.

I laughed, as he meant me to, and loosened my grip on the jar in my hands. "You--I brought you honey."

Ben's grin smoothed out into something sweet and perhaps a little sad. "Of course you did."

I offered him the clear glass jar. "It's orange blossom," I said quickly, my chest too tight.

"What else would it be?" he murmured and with hands that even I recognized as careful, Ben held the honey up to the sunlight coming through wide slates. It glowed clear, pale amber, the honeycomb creamy and mysterious in the uneven light.

Looking into the honey--looking for answers, or salvation, or simply time--I felt as if I were looking into a crystal ball; and if I looked carefully enough, I would be able to divine my future. I recognized the moment as pivotal, but I didn’t know exactly why. And I was already too drunk on sunlight and the smell of Ben and the promise of something sweet to care.

"It's beautiful," Ben said, voice low and deep, different, "but does it taste as good as it looks?"

My gaze moved reluctantly away from the jar and the future I could almost see. Ben watched me. Bars of dusty light poured between the slates and in the open door. Looking at him looking at me, my belly warmed in a rush that shortened my breath and made me ache so sweetly my jaw clenched.

"Wait here." Ben walked out the door and I turned my head, watching him, unable to stop myself. Over my pounding heart I heard the muffled screech of metal on metal and the throaty rush of water from the outside spigot.

My eyes closed and I stood very still, trying to breathe.

I smelled the rich mineral smell of well water--part sweet, part swamp--and knew he was close. Opening my heavy eyes I saw moisture beaded on the backs of his hands and tiny droplets darkened his shirt.

I desperately wanted to sip those little drops off his skin.

"Let's taste," Ben said, dipping into the jar.

I expected him to lick the honey off his fingers, but he held them out to me. I could feel the life radiating from them, warming my mouth, making my lips quiver. I stared at him, confused and wanting, skin shrinking, tingling, aware distantly that the honey was gliding in small glowing lines into nicks and crevices of his worker's hand. He had a crescent shaped scar on his thumb, old and white, and crazily I wondered how that skin would feel against my lips.

There, in that decaying packing shed, in a sun-stupefied town in Central Florida, my world shifted, realigned and gods named Ben walked the earth, tempting me with honey and scared brown hands. The honey was smooth and his fingers were rough and I knew as absolutely as I had ever known anything, if I took what he was offering, that Katie Macalister, as I knew her, would cease to exist.

On the brink of something painful and perfect, I hesitated, not breathing; then my eyes closed, and I leapt blindly into the abyss, hoping for something amorphous and too fragile for words. But in that moment, confident with youth, mind spinning through honey-colored light, I didn't care if I fell forever.

 

[BlackShanglan]

Entry #9

She had good lips, soft, plump and sensuous ones that need no lipstick to make them look like sexually aroused labia. She had found out in her formative teen years the power that she held in (and between) her lips. Lollipops, banana’s and ice pops had all been used to her advantage when chatting with a member of the male species. They would be rendered nigh on speechless and would consent to anything she demanded.

First dates were always arranged to take place in a restaurant to take advantage of her best feature. Steve had been eager to please and so agreed immediately to a date in the most expensive restaurant in town. She prepared by donning her dusky rose satin dress, scooped at the front to show off her wonder bra made cleavage and to echo the colour of her lips. High heeled shoes to match grace her petite feet which like her legs are bare after a recent visit to a tanning bed.

She piles her blanched almond hair upon her head, securing it there, one long curl cheekily caressing her cheek, ready to twirl coquettishly or nibble seductively. She applies a soft layer of foundation, waves a mascara wand across her lashes and lovingly applies a coat of shiny lip gloss to her best features, slapping them together and smiling in satisfaction at their seductive shine. Steve would have no chance.

She arrived late, smiling and blowing a kiss to her suited prey and kissing his cheek gently as he pulled back a chair for her. She ordered the most phallic starter and began her seduction. A long, thick and suggestively pink tiger prawn is picked up delicately by her manicured fingers and delicately dipped into the creamy sauce. Slowly she lifts it to her lips, engaging him in conversation, her mint green trained on his, watching his attention drift to her lips.

Just as his gaze drops she touches the prawn to her mouth, slowly slipping it in between her lips and letting out a little sighing moan as she gently sinks her teeth into the sweet pink flesh.
As she finishes chewing she wipes her tongue around her mouth, slowly licking up every escaping drip of flavour. Steve’s manly starter of flavoured ribs is more or less untouched as she sucks down the last sea salty prawn treat.

The dinner continued in the same vein, spears of succulent asparagus, soft, ripe summer sun strawberries dipped in cream, left to drip “accidentally” onto her chin. He barely ate anything of his own but he devoured everything by sight that slipped between her satin lips.

 

[BlackShanglan]

All submissions are now posted and submissions are closed. Please see the guessing card thread to view the list of participants and post guesses.

Shanglan

 

[English Lady]

*bumpity bump*

 

[English Lady]

Anyone else going to join in and guess?

 

[impressive]

I've finally finished the story started as part of this challenge:

The Second Person​

If you liked the beginning, please read (and vote). If you hated it, please don't.