Writing Challenge ~ September 2013

[Britwitch]

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ SEPTEMBER 2013​

New month. New challenge.

This challenge is going to run for the remainder of the month and this month we have two prompts! With a theme of Autumn.

You can involve the prompts themselves in your piece and make your links to the prompts as obvious or as subtle as you like or use them simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompts, just one aspect of one image, or use them in their entirety.

The word limit for this month’s challenge is 1,500 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

It’s your writing, your challenge. You write whatever you’re inspired to write! Be it one piece or several!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Writing Challenge Review Thread

The deadline for this month’s challenge is Sunday 29th September 2013, to allow readers time to get through everything before the next, Halloween themed, challenge starts!

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

(Oh and a little something for the readers to bear in mind…the pageview counts for this thread are always pretty healthy so there are definitely people reading what’s posted but the amount of feedback is generally pretty low. Even if it’s just a few words, please let the writers know how their writing was received. Thank you! )

 

[marauder13]

Not quite Autumn, but there is a Rake involved

... ignoring the pleas of the vulgar, young cad as he tried to wrestle himself free of my grasp. I took two steps forward with the eldest son of Duke Robert, and none too carefully threw him back into the main hallway he was so desperately attempting to leave.

The answering howls of rage and rejoicing from the veritable army of protective brothers, cousins and younger uncles of Lady Celia made it perfectly clear why the young swain was so urgent in his desire to find somewhere obscure to rest.

I looked on with almost neutral interest as Duke Robert's spawn scrambled to gain his footing before he could be brought low by the rightful fury directed at him by his pursuers. Lord Alexander had gained the wrong kind of reputation about the court, and many young women kept their distance from him, or were guarded most diligently by male relatives to deter the man from adding to his less than wholesome tally. But until just then, no one had been willing to chastise the man for his indiscretions with their unfortunate female family or friends.

But I was glad to see Lady Celia's family was one to put their honour above the political games and see the young fellow suffer the proper consequences of his actions. Lord Alexander did make it to his feet before his pursuers got to where I had left him, but I heard that they caught him not far beyond where my line of sight ended.

I turned, satisfied with my part in the retribution, lucky as I was that Fate handed him to me when She did. While I was not courting Lady Celia, nor had any intention due to my pursuit of another Lady of the court, Lady Celia and I had grow up together while her family fostered me during a time of illness within my own family while younger. She was a sister to me in my heart, and when she came to me to disclose not only the misfortune that befell her, but the cruelties the rake had added as well, I saw to it that her family found out about the indiscretion, but not the other indignities.

I smiled as I walked away, readying myself to hear, in all the horrid details, of what indignities Lord Alexander would suffer in return.

 

[Vailyn]

Autumn Masquerade

Fall has always been my favorite time of the year. Warm days followed by cool nights. The vibrant green leaves turning into a brilliant spectrum of burning flames. It's not just the color of orange, gold, palest yellow and burnishing reds that capture my greedy eyes. It's the play of all those shades layered together in a canopy that only nature can provide.

The perfect backdrop for a mysterious and gay masquerade ball! A dance with decadent waltzes, lively foxtrots, hearty reels and a sedate march. The food will be glorious and varied to tempt the most cynical taste buds. Yet, it's the costumes and masks that are the true lure. To be clothed in a mystical ornament, glittering accessories and hidden from all eyes behind a fanciful mask. The idea of being someone different, doing something a little wicked and getting away with it gave me a secret thrill that I held close to my heart.

The ball was everything I could ask for and more! Armed in my dark fairy costume and mask, I found myself in more than one dance with men of wild repute. One of them, the infamous Lord Alexander, paid more than close attention as the night drew closer to midnight. He was everything my lady Mother had advised against. Tall, bright copper blonde locks that fell adorably over his face, wicked green eyes and a smile that promised decadent delights that no true lady should ever consider. Rumors say that he's ruined more than one proper young miss and that he's been caught with several of the married ladies of court. Drowning in his green eyes, the feel of his strong arm beneath my hand and the way he whispered naughty observances in my ear-I willingly fell beneath the charming rakehell's grace.

That night, we stole away from prying eyes and he taught me how to kiss, to tease his lips with mine, the way my body will shiver at a simple touch, shudder under a flicking thumb, come alive in swollen need and the truth of a man's passion. The hardness of his rampant rod and the primal cries of release. He praised my quick wit, alluring curves that begged for touch and the innate sensuality that eagerly caught onto the act of love. He promised to meet me the next night. He said that there was so much more he would teach me about love. That what we had was only the smallest taste of many wild hedonistic pleasures that I have never could have dreamed.

I eagerly drank in his passionate whispers, his promises and voluptuary designs. I did not hide my moans or trembling loins from his sight as he cleaned the flood of our releases from between my legs, upon my belly and thighs. I held close every piece of our memories to my heart and replayed them over and over again as I waited for the next night.

One night became two in a bewildering purgatory of wild imagination and no information. Two turned into three. The days passed in sullen drag of lifeless mud. Even the autumn colors and weather failed to rouse me from the dreadful well of misery I have become.

Then I found fire.

A furious fire of a woman scorned.

An urgent note arrived from a dear friend who has fallen ill. Of all my friends, Lady Amelia was my best friend. We told each other everything and she is the sister of my heart, if not family. Of everyone I know and love, she is pure in heart and angel in life. Where I could not find the spirit to care for myself, I drew up strength to be strong for her. I found a spark of my old self, dressed and left to see my closest friend. I found her listless and drawn. I thought she had caught a cold or bodily ill. Instead, with some persistence, I heard a familiar tale of deviltry, curiosity, debauchery, promises and heartbreak.

Apparently, Lord Alexander has been a very busy man. Very busy indeed.

Sorrow for broken dreams quickly burned beneath the lava thick heat of my anger. Dangerous hatred drew several plans and rejected each until a sound strategy set. I shared my intentions with Lady Amelia and vowed that she would be avenged. That we would both be avenged.

It was simple matter to approach my oldest friend. He fostered with my own family when he was young and we have been close ever since. As Lady Amelia is a sister of my heart, he is a brother of the same. Then all I had to do was draw Lord Alexander out, which I did. The fool never suspected.

I watched avidly as my family wrought their own vengeance on Lord Alexander on a fine autumn day. The fiery leaves a splendid foil his rude comeuppance.

 

[fr33ks33k]

The death of the leaves is the birth of long walks with held hands and steaming breaths. A column of thick-barked obelisks bear the banners of Autumn; golds and bronzes, pale yellows and life's-blood reds in patterns seemingly random and obscure. Their passageway is the only trail. It is inescapable, irresistible...but why would you turn away the beauty of the Fall?

Such an appropriate name for the season marked by the plummet of temperatures, the shedding of leaves, the shortening of days. Yet even though it seems to embody dessication, withering, and diminishing there is duality. For every tree that loses its verdant cloak, a child will know the joy of crunching leaves beneath their feet. For every day the sun slips low on the horizon sooner, there is a night that will be full of laughter and fire and memories made.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He watched her.

The wind was steady and cool, confounding her attempts to corral the fallen leaves into a pile. She was unaware of his presence, unaware of most things but the leaves and the breeze and her frustration with both, it seemed. And so he watched.

She was as he remembered, for the most part. She had aged some, everyone had, but she wore it well. Her hair was long and auburn, with the blond highlights picking up the sun and shining as if lit from within. It was shorter than he'd last seen it, but the time spent styling it was evident just from the strands that came lose and flew in the breeze. Given the size of the house she worked in front of, money to style it came easy. As did the gym membership she no doubt had, and the nice car that was hidden in the garage, and the fine clothes she wore despite working in the yard.

He knew she had married well, at least in terms of money. Now a stay at home mom, but she kept herself in shape. Her jeans were dark, and hugged her like a second skin. The long-sleeved shirt she wore fit her flawlessly as well, and he knew despite the vest hiding them from view that her breasts were still full and firm. Perfect. He had always loved her breasts.

The years had not been quite as kind to him, though to call them hard would have been overplaying things considerably. He was similarly married, though he would not let himself begin to compare the two women in his mind. He loved his wife, of this he had no question, but the woman with the rake... there was just something else, something unnatural and otherworldly and eternal there. An invisible thread that tethered one to the other. Unbreakable, unexplainable.

Oh, they'd had their fights. Loud and long, angry and with words sharpened into daggers and thrown with frightening precision to the soft spots in each of them. Ironically, they never turned physically violent. The neighbors often expected them to, many times phones were held at the ready when the yelling started, but violence was something else entirely for them. Never used in an argument, when violence occurred it was measured and controlled, and she wore the bruises for a week afterwards. The road map of his need, she took to calling them, and over time she would be able to look at the damage done to her body and know what he had wanted of her. What he had taken from her. Dark hieroglyphics on her skin that told a tale, the plot of which she alone knew. She had suspected even he didn't realize the patterns he left her with.

He knew she was being bruised no longer. Her husband, a man he had seen a time or two, simply didn't have it in him. He suspected, though never had been able to confirm, that she was the one that controlled their house. Decided what sports the kids would play, controlled the money he made, rode him in bed at night. He clearly spent time in the company gym himself, and they made quite a picturesque family, but some part of it, some secret part, tugged at the thread.

When they had parted, for real parted, he told her he'd be back some day. They didn't work as a couple, that much was evident to anyone that knew them, but that thread between them was woven of a different kind of love, connected to a different kind of soul. He wouldn't be back to sweep her off her feet, to profess his undying love and run away with her for a life spent together happily. She would leave her feet when he returned, yes, but it was her knees she would land on.

For his part, his wife knew he was away on business, as he often was, and thought nothing more of this destination he flew to than she had any of the dozen others. She knew a little of his previous loves, knew of the blowups they had, but that was where the story ended for her. She didn't know his business would end a few days before he returned. She didn't know he would be sitting in this rented car, watching this woman who wore the ring of someone else on her finger. Maybe he should feel guilty, but the thread was beyond guilt. Or reason. He loved his wife, yes, but he was incomplete still.

The car chimed softly when he opened the door, and he watched her as he closed it. She didn't even register the sound, so focused on her battle with the dead, dull brown leaves. Not even as he crossed the street did she look up. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, which was zipped against the cold, and he kept his head down as he passed, by just dozen feet away on the sidewalk. If she even knew someone was walking by, she made no indication of such.

He walked casually, in no hurry as he turned and stepped onto her driveway instead of continuing on. Stopping a few feet up from the sidewalk, he turned so he faced her direction, and again he watched her. It was early afternoon, most of the houses on the block were deserted as people worked to afford them, and he made no effort to hide his gaze from any that may remain. Still, unaware, she worked.

For a brief moment, the wind fell away and the world stilled but for the sound of her rake gathering the crunchy leaves, and it was then he finally announced his presence.

"Christine."

As if on cue, the breeze returned just as her name left his lips, and she froze. The rake was extended, her arms held out to collect more leaves into the pile she had started to have success creating. Seconds past as they each stood frozen, her back to him still. She knew who it was instantly, his voice was something she could have never forgotten. He wondered, as he watched her, if she'd thought of him through the years even a fraction of the times he'd conjured up memories of her. Lonely nights in hotel rooms with his fist around cock, and images of her in his mind working better for him than hotel porn ever would.

The rake was still held in her hands as she turned, slowly, to face him. Grey shown in his temples and turned his hair salt and pepper on top, but up close now he saw that time had indeed been kind to her. Perhaps even made her more beautiful than before. Her skin was fine and smooth, nicely tanned even though summer had ended some weeks ago. Her lips were full and pink, her eyes green and bright with life and experience and wisdom gained through the years. It only made him want to break her more.

"Let's go."

His voice knifed through the air to reach her ears, and he could see her throat work as she swallowed. It was the only reaction she had, her bright eyes looking unflinchingly across the space between them and into his darker ones. He remained where he was, hands in his pockets still, watching and waiting.

"I..." she started, faltered and shook her head slowly, and then continued, "I can't. I mean..." her voice trailed off and a hand left the rake to wave at the house they stood in front of, as if to say I belong here now.

His head shook slowly, side to side twice, but his feet remained rooted to the ground under him.

"You can wear his ring, and have his children, and live in his house. But you belong to me, and I've come to collect you. Let's go."

Silence stirred around them, broken by the wind whispering secrets in their ears, as she stared at him.

"I can't. You know I..." her head shook again, her fine shoulders lifting in a vain attempt to indicate the helplessness of the situation. "The kids will be home in a couple-"

"Go inside," he interrupted, "Call a baby sitter to be here for them, leave a note for your husband. You're coming with me."

"Micah, I-" she began, but at the sound of his name his brows rose, his chin lifted, and she fell suddenly silent before his gaze.

"I'll make you a deal, Christine," he said then, and for the first time he moved forward, stepping onto the grass. Leaves crunched underfoot as he approached until he was quite close, entirely invading her space, "You tell me that he uses you the way you need to be used, and I'll go. You'll never hear from me again. Tell me he knows what a needy, depraved slut his pretty little wife is. Tell me he bruises you, and makes you want more."

His hands were still in his pockets as he leaned forward, his lips moving close to her ear where he whispered to her.

"Tell me your cunt belongs to him, and not to me, and I'll leave without you."

He heard her exhale at the words he left in her ear, a shaky release of breath, and he knew she was his. Straightening, he found her gaze lowered when he looked to her face again.

"Can you?"

"I-" she started, her gaze rising, and then stopped when it reached his chest. Her eyes fell again, her voice lower when she spoke this time, "No."

She swallowed again, and her eyes remained cast downward.

"No, Sir."

"Because?" he asked, prodding her for more.

"Because... my cunt is yours, Sir. It's always yours."

His hands left his pockets then, and he grabbed the rake from her hand.

"You have three minutes. If you're not in my car in three minutes, then I'm coming in after you. I don't care how you explain to your husband, but doing so is going to be much harder when your neighbors have seen you pulled out of your house by your hair, won't it?"

She let out another shaky breath, and then nodded once.

"Yes... Sir."

"Three minutes," he said and turned away from her to retrace the path he'd taken across her yard. The rake was tossed aside carelessly, left laying among the leaves she'd not get to today. His hands returned to his pockets as his feet found the cement once again. He heard the rustle of leaves as she moved towards the house, and he turned in the opposite direction, crossing the street to return to his parked car.

Two and a half minutes passed before she emerged again. She had not changed and carried nothing with her, but her hair was down fully now, released from it's clip and allowed to dance in the breeze. Her back was turned to him as she pulled the door closed and checked the lock, and then she turned and made her way down the stone steps. She found his car, found him waiting in it, and without hesitation began to make her way to him. Three minutes, and the seconds were draining fast. She crossed the street quickly, and then turned to make her way to him.

He watched her.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

The end of the world.

Of, fucking course. She spun around with the rake in her hand, and prepared for the onslaught. The drooling, mindless mass of former humanity tripped towards her. Hungry.

They were always fucking hungry. The first lurched for her and she bashed him with the rake sending him sprawling backwards with a grunt. She ignored him and hit the next, and pushed another, focused on her task of keeping them back, she was here for a reason.

Her reason worked behind her. Scurrying to suck the last of the gasoline from a truck, her partner pulled at it and then filled the gas tank they carried. She heard him spit behind her, and knew they had been successful. But those deadheads kept coming.

Why were they at this point? What had happened?
Armageddon and there not being room in hell?
A fast moving rage virus?
The bacteria that had wiped out humanity?
Voodoo?

Fucking candy.
Turned you into a "zombie" for a few hours.. it was supposed to be a joke. Until it wasn't anymore, and people started eating it by the truckloads, and they were just... gone.

Kind of.

She swiped at another and used the force and spread of the rake to send several more falling off the hill they were on.

"We're done."

She turned and ran, her partner at her side and the dozens of undead shuffling behind them.

End of the fucking world.
God dammit.

 

[Britwitch]

Glory of Autumn

The morning was crisp and quiet, autumn’s glory painting every tree within sight although a chill in the air spoke of the season that would soon hold the country hostage until spring came and the sun returned.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. She'd run too fast. She was too excited. There was that odd metallic taste at the back of her mouth, the kind you get from exercising in the cold air. Trying to catch her breath she leant against the tree she was hiding behind, unable to stop smiling for a moment.

They were far too old for hide and seek but then, they'd both been acting like children since they'd strayed, hand in hand, from the main path through the woodland. Throwing leaves at each other, making stupid jokes. Laughing at nothing and everything.

Then he'd suggested the game from their childhood and before he'd started counted her booted feet had taken off at a wild pace through the leaves that carpeted the ground. Sending leaves of gold and red dancing upwards in her wake.

She knew when he found her, because he would, the giggling would give way to other things. That made it all the harder to catch her breath.
His voice was loud, numbers steadily increasing. The sound seeming louder given how still the rest of the world was in that moment. She turned, fingers holding onto the rough bark of the tree and tentatively looked around the trunk. Just as she did his voice announced he was on his way and she shrank back. Her smile so wide it threatened to split her face in two. She bit her lip against a giggle. It was a game. Only a game. But it wouldn’t be half as much fun if he found her too easily.

She heard him long before she saw him. The swish and crunch as he strode through the dry dead leaves, the odd snap as a twig broke beneath his stride. She could picture him, bright eyes scanning the woodland, looking for something…out of place. Her coat was well chosen, dark brown suede that blended well with the trunks around her. The bright purple scarf at her neck…not so much. But by the time he spotted that the chase would be all but over anyway.

Closer and closer. Louder and louder. Her breath formed soft billowing clouds before her face, each hovering before dissipating into thin air and being replaced by another. She wondered if he would spot them and held her breath for a second or two. It made the pounding of her hear that much louder in her head.

Then he was behind her hiding place. She knew it. She could hear his breath, hear each pass of his feet through the fallen leaves. He was moving slowly now. Deliberately so.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” He taunted and she somehow swallowed a giggle. She pushed herself tighter against the tree, fingernails digging in.

Then she looked up and saw the almost blazing hue of his eyes looking triumphantly back at her.
“You found me.” She whispered, turning so that she faced him and the tree was at her back. Breathless as if it had been she who was running mere moments ago.
“I win.” He grinned. His voice low, still playful, but the game had changed.
His frame dwarfed hers much as the trees dwarfed the pair of them. Crushing her against the trunk as his lips took their reward. The kiss was heated and deep, fresh wisps of steam escaping their mouths, but neither saw.

Soon hands pushed beneath clothes, eliciting yelps as cold hands found far warmer flesh. Smooth skin stroked then squeezed, making hips clash instinctively.
“We shouldn’t…” Her wasn’t overly genuine.
“I don’t care.” He didn’t care either way.

Soon her hands were braced against the rough back, one hand wound into the length of her hair to keep her face from colliding with the tree, the other holding tightly onto her hip. Coat raised, skirt raised, panties to the side. It was rushed and desperate. Needy and animal.

It fitted with where they were. They fitted with one another.

He was ready. She was, almost. She whined as he claimed his prize fully, that line between pleasure and pain blurring deliciously. She wanted him, wanted this. Hips pushed back lewdly as his own pressed with impossible depth and force. The silent woods were quiet no more. Sighs and slaps of flesh, cries of need and words of pleasure.

A voice, loud and long, keening in tone and tremulous from start to finish, rang out in the forest. A cry that eventually faded back into sighs and whispers. And giggles. There would always be giggles between them. It was why they’d been together so long. Even after all the years, each time still felt special. Every kiss still meant something.

This was the tenth year they’d returned to the stately home that had played host to their wedding and the tenth time they’d renewed their vows among the trees that witnessed their first union long before rings had been exchanged. Always in the autumn, with a myriad of colours around them.

Autumn would always be special to them, it’s glory was their own.