Writing Exercise 2 Responses

[nice90sguy]

How would you write this scene: A date or sexual encounter, where one of the people has a lifelong secret that gets revealed.

The posts below are how eighteen of the authors here approached it.


In alphabetical order, the authors were (links to their Lit stories or bio helpfully supplied by yowser):

• Bodington
• Erozetta
• gunhilltrain
• intim8
• Jackie.Hikaru
• joy_of_cooking
• pink_silk_glove
• Rob_Royale
• samhasstories
• SimonDoom
• StillStunned
• TarnishedPenny
• THBGato
• TheLobster
• TheRedChamber
• Tlan
• VallesMarineris
• yowser

I've posted them in a random order.

Who wrote what?

 

[nice90sguy]

1.

"And just who the fuck are you, exactly?"

"A guest, invited by your loving wife."

Sam turned his head, glaring straight at his wife, who sat tensely at the other end of the couch.

"And why do you think I'll just sit here quietly while you two 'get to know each other'?”

"Oh, nobody expects you to be quiet. You can be as loud as you want. She's told me a lot about you. You won't cooperate because we're asking you to, but because it's what you truly want, what you've always wanted." A malicious, lopsided grin crept onto the stranger's lips.

"And why would I ever want to see my wife with another man?"

"Because jealousy belongs to the weak, to the losers -- and you are no loser. Fragile, insecure puppies cling to conventions because they fear being left alone, but real men know there's nothing more empowering, more liberating, than sharing. You give because it's yours, because you can. Generosity is the mark of the great."

"You're out of your fucking mind!"

The stranger narrowed his eyes, grinning widely. Then he turned to the wife and said, "Lilah, come sit by my side."

Delilah shot her husband a nervous glance before rising to her feet.

"Don't you dare move!" Sam exclaimed, but Delilah continued walking toward her guest and stood by his armchair. Following his gesture, she knelt down, glaring defiantly at her husband.

Sam's jaws clenched, anger rippling across his face. The stranger kept staring at him as he spoke, "Lilah, darling, why don't you open my zipper and show our Sam here what a devoted host and a great cocksucker you are?"

Sam’s eyes bulged in disbelief as he witnessed his wife raise her arms. "Deli," he murmured, "don't..."

Delilah unzipped and extracted an impressive, semi-erect shaft. Her lips moistened at the sight of its oozing crown. Casting one last glance at her husband, who slowly shook his head, she nervously bit her lower lip.

"If you do this," Sam warned, "there's no going back."

Delila gazed at him intently before a mischievous, daring expression spread across her face. Then, with a triumphant air, she opened her mouth and dove in...

 

[nice90sguy]

2.

“¡Joder! ¡María! Tell me already!” I shout.

“I’m gay.”

Nothing moves. I do not stir. I do not breathe. I think my heart stills.

“And… Well… ¡Por dios! ¡Joder! I think that’s why my mother lied to me about your name… Why she told me you were Michaels not Smith.”

“Why would she do that María?” My voice belongs to one of the lost.

She draws patterns on the table with the condensation from the beer bottle, tracing her forefinger through the puddle. She can’t look at me.

“Why María?”

“Because she noticed…” her chest heaves as she sucks in air, “She noticed that all my girlfriends they… They all looked,” her voice is small, barely there, “like you.”

It’s a blow I feel inside me, like a battering ram, cracking the recently repaired pieces. “So, that girl in the picture,” I snarl, “She’s your girlfri-”

“No, no! She’s an ex. Lucía. We were together hace dos años but only for three months. Please, Jane-”

“-How many?”

“¿Qué?”

“How. Many. Girlfriends.” My teeth are clenched so tight I think they might crack. My knuckles are white where my hands grip the edge of the table.

“Er…To be completely honest, five. But none lasted more than a few months at most. I was…¡Por dios!” She sniffs. “Forgive me Jane, please…” her voice breaks, “I was always… I was looking for you in those other girls’ eyes.” The tears come and she’s ugly crying. “I wasn’t over you. I’m not over you. I’m not ready for this."

 

[nice90sguy]

3.

“Hey, Soph, you coming out clubbing tonight?”

The thin blonde girl looked up from her book on fourteenth century trade routes. “Oh, er, no, I’m going to give it a miss. In fact, I’m about to head out to the library. Assignments, you know?”

“Yeah, I figured,” said Rebecca. She was standing in the doorway, already in her figure-hugging party dress and heels, which highlighted what any guy, the evening after at the pub, would try to pass off as a voluptuous figure. “Look, just because you have said no every single Friday night, doesn’t mean we’re going to stop asking you. We’re not just your housemates, we’re your friends. And friends party with friends, you know what I mean?”

“She really doesn’t,” said Dawn, equally glammed up. “Intervention! Look, we’re dragging you out, whether you like it or not. You need to live a little, girl. Love a little. You spend all day in your room and then all night in the library. Life’s not all work, work, work, you know.”

“Oh, no,” said Sophie, flustered. “It’s very nice of you, but no. I’m not good in clubs. Or pubs. Or with boys. Or, you know, people generally. I’m...happy. Just, you go and have fun and tell me about it after.”

“No, you’re coming with us,” said Rebecca, walking with purpose into the room.

“One of us! One of us!” Dawn chanted.

It was, as rough-housing goes, fairly tame. Nevertheless as soon as Rebecca grabbed Sophie by the arm she went limp, collapsing on the bed and starting to hyperventilate.

“Oh, shit,” said Rebecca. “Soph! Soph! We didn’t mean anything. Are you okay?”

Dawn leant over the girl flopped on the bed. “Shit, do we need call an ambulance?”

Sophie suddenly sat upright in bed, took one look at Dawn and another at Rebecca, then bolted out the door and down the stair, grabbing her rucksack from the table in a fluid motion on the way.

She barely opened the front door a crack before squeezing through and as she did her bag caught on the [Chekoved] nail still sticking out. The contents started spilling out. Sophie stopped, tried to gather them, and then looked up, in a certain cat-like terror at her two housemates standing at the top of the stairs.

“Soph?”

“Library!” she exclaimed and fled at Olympic speed down the garden path in her bare feet.

Dawn and Rebecca watched from the front door.

“Shouldn’t we go after her?” said Dawn.

“We’ve done enough,” Rebecca said bending down to pick up a fallen item.

“Is that a leash?” Dawn asked. "Like, for a dog?"

“Well, yes and no,” said Rebecca, turning the item over in her hands.

“And this sure as hell isn’t a chew toy.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Dawn wasn’t exactly top in any of her modules, but a thought was starting to occur to her.

“Becky, I don’t think Sophie has actually been going to the library.”

 

[nice90sguy]

4.

“I have a secret I need to tell you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I just had this amazing epiphany.”

“Tell me.”

“A kind of sexual self-knowledge epiphany.”

“Then you definitely have to tell me.”

She primped her hair. “Do you like my hair?”

“You look great. You were talking about your sexual epiphany.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Do you think I have a pretty face?” She smiled as sweetly as she could and batted her eyelashes at him.

He laughed. “Yes, you’re pretty. Quite exceptionally beautiful, in fact, if you’re fishing for compliments.”

“No, just the opposite.” She thought for a few seconds. “Get my purse there, please.”

She began taking items out of it. “Here, hold the mirror for me. You see,” she said as she began putting makeup on, “People don’t realize it, but being pretty can be a burden. You get a lot more attention than is really good for you.” She carefully applied eyeliner. “And so you learn to hide. At least I did. You hide your good looks. You also have to hide your good feelings about yourself, because they don’t like a pretty girl with a secret smile. Makes them feel left out. How do I look so far?”

“I like how that brings out your eyes.”

“I’m glad you think so. By the way, this is the first time I’ve ever let a man watch me put on makeup. What do you think of that?”

“I feel very special.”

“You are.” She dug into her bag. “Let’s see. Ah, the red. Of course. Hold still.” She used the mirror to apply red gloss to her lips. “How do you like it?” She blew a kiss and pouted. “Let’s try it out.”

She knelt before him and took out his cock. “My secret, my epiphany,” she said. She took his cock in her hands. “I was telling you that, although I don’t regret being beautiful, it’s always been an extra burden.”

“Yes?”

“But not now.” She leaned in and took his cockhead in her mouth. She wetted him all over his helmet. “Now I can be as beautiful as I want.” She used her lips to slick him up all over his tip. “There’s something about fellatio, at least with you, that sets me free and makes it okay for me to be as beautiful as I want to be, and in fact encourages me to be as beautiful as I can possibly make myself, the more gorgeous the better. I love that feeling.” She gave him a series of luscious sucks, dragging his cock along her tongue as she sucked him against her palate and pulled and pushed her head off and on him. “What is it about you,” she said during a pause, when she’d taken him up to the edge or orgasm, “that makes me feel so totally free to be beautiful?”

 

[nice90sguy]

5.

“Watch me. 10 pm. Tonight.”

I read the words, written in a neat, cute script with a heart over the “I”, on the note that had been taped to my apartment door.

There was no signature on the note, but I knew who had delivered it. It was from my neighbor, a young, slender, raven-haired woman in the apartment across from mine.

She had moved in two months earlier, and over the past two months I had made a habit of watching her through my blinds. It sounds bad, I know, but I couldn’t help myself. She left her blinds open, walking around her apartment in the skimpiest underwear imaginable. She had to have been aware of the show she was putting on. I tried to be discreet, turning off all the lights in my apartment so she couldn’t see me watching her. But three days earlier, she caught me. She was parading around her apartment in a black thong, topless, breasts swaying. What could I do? How could I possibly look away? I stood in the darkness, near the window, mesmerized by the spectacle. And then, suddenly, she turned to the window, and she looked straight at me, and she smiled.

I felt guilty, and I wanted to withdraw into the darkness of my apartment, but her look held me fast to my spot and I didn’t move or look away. She didn’t want me to look away.

I walked closer to the window, so she would see me more clearly. There was no point in pretending anymore that I wasn’t watching.

Still, she smiled at me, eyes boring into mine, looking into and through me, as though she could see and savor all the lust and dirtiness that welled up inside me when I watched her. I felt as exposed as she was.

Her slender hands cupped her breasts and pushed them together. She pinched her nipples and then released her breasts, and her hands contoured down her torso to the sides of her black thong.

She pushed the thong down her hips, down her legs, over her ankles, and she stepped out of it. She placed her hands over her head and posed for me, pussy bare and figure pale and sinuous.

After posing for me for a full minute she walked to the wall and turned the light out.

I looked at the note once more. I couldn’t wait for the next show to begin.

 

[nice90sguy]

6.

After the movie, we walked back to my car in a dark corner at the back of the lot, all but empty now after the last showing.

I expected we'd go park somewhere, but one thing led to another, and her blouse and bra were pulled up to her neck while I explored.

After nibbling her cute tits, I lifted my head and smiled to her, leaving my hand where it was. She smiled back, and her hand, which had already found it's way to my thigh, moved inward.

Of course I was hard, and she discovered it immediately without flinching from it. Fourth date, and I was about to get more than I'd hoped? When she opened my pants, I had a moment of panic. What if she saw? But no, it was too dark. She wouldn't notice, would she?

When she wrapped her hand around me, I forgot to think about it. Until she lowered her head. Her lips wrapped around me, slid downward, then suddenly stopped. I froze, but her hesitation was only momentary.

She finished me off, a first for us. She raised up and looked into my eyes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and put her finger on the front of my hip, right over the tiny tattoo I'd been given when I was a baby. Family tradition.

"We can't ever let my father know you're a Harrington," she said, licking her lips.

 

[nice90sguy]

7.

Diddler on the Roof


Wheat fields had grown quiet in the evening air, save the crickets with their soothing thrum. I was pleased that sundown had lessened the daytime heat.

None of this helped my nerves however, as I made my way to Tveye’s home, to ask the most momentous favor of my life.

My thoughts rested on Shprintze, Tevye’s third daughter, and whether the artful man would grant my request.

Her limbs so slender, gentle and graceful in her linen dress. So sweet her voice! And I, a penniless fiddler, what chance might I have?

Tevye greeted me at the door.

“Chayim ! What brings you to my doorstep? Will you be playing?” But no fiddle was at my side.

“No good man, I come with more important business!”

“What greater good than music from on high! Notes to soothe the soul in troubled times! Come in.”

We talked. His face grew grave.

“You seek my daughter? And how will a poor musician, good as you are, support a family? I have my doubts.”

I mentioned the great city, my friend Schlomo there, who knew of the music needs of grand weddings, the bar mitzvah here or there, a bris, all requiring musical sustenance. I would make money off the wealthy.

Tevye stroked his beard.

“Very well. Does my daughter return your interest? Be honest.”

I explained my hopes, and spoke of her charm in a way that I knew would please.

“Ah! Let me fetch her then, and we can talk.”

Tevye came back with his family.

All eyes upon me, they’d heard me play, but sister Tzeitel gave me a wary look that made me flinch.

Tevye outlined the proposal.

Tzeitel’s eyes grew wide and my fear grew thick as the snowfall in January. She tugged on Shprintze’s arm.

“No no, good Papa! You must know something of this fiddler!”

I wanted at that moment to disappear.

“He is not what he appears! Know you what he does on the roof?”

“He plays the fiddle! Above his uncle’s house. Notes that please the whole village!”

“But after that?”

The room grew silent.

“I have seen him. After his last tune, do you know happens?” Her eyes flashed.

Tevya spread his hands. “What does it matter? Notes disappear into the night like nightingales in the evening air. The whole village is soothed by his virtuous playing.”

“Papa! Shprintze! I have seen him. He stands there, feet apart.”

My body trembled.

“He pulls out his - his thing!” Her words grew frantic.

“Lies, all lies!” I stammered.

“His name should be Onan! He drops his breeches, Papa! Pulls out his member, and proceeds to attend to it as mother does the morning laundry! Both hands! Fearful wringings that would throttle a snake!”

“No!”

“He makes froth! Slime flies from his tip and coats the roof! I can show you where, the trail tells all.”

It was then that I made a dash for the door. To the big city, where no one would know my story.

 

[nice90sguy]

8.

He sat across from her, watching her eyes inch slowly down the screen. Wondering how far she'd gotten, what line she was reading now.

As she scrolled, a flush crept steadily into her face. Her eyes grew more intent. She seemed to read faster.

His heart thudded in his chest. He was nervous. To his surprise, he felt his cock stiffening in his pants. He looked around. The restaurant wasn’t busy, but nor was it empty. He shifted his napkin in his lap.

She shot him a look, a smile. She was blushing. She seemed surprised - maybe even impressed? - by what she was reading.

She'd read other things he'd written. But this was different. This story held fantasies he'd never shared with her. Fantasies about being naked, being seen, being watched...

He felt exposed. Like the character in the story, naked, stroking his cock while women look on, rapt, staring.

"God," she said finally. "This is hot."

He let out a breath; nearly a moan. She gave him a look.

"Are you sure you've never written anything like this before?" she said.

He took a deep breath. His skin prickled. He had. Of course he had. She just hadn't read them.

"What?" she said.

She looked at him a long time. He thought she might have already guessed what he wanted to tell her, but she was going to make him say it.

"I have," he said finally.

"You have what?"

"Written like this before."

She said nothing. He couldn’t read her smile. It lay somewhere between suspicion and arousal.

Finally she handed him the phone.

"Show me."

 

[nice90sguy]

9.

There’s not much joy in being a handmaiden. It is as gray as the East Sea, endless, flat, full of dull chores, and by all accounts, all I should expect to have until I die.

There is one joy, however. One beautiful light upon my gray sea. One enough to keep me going: the privilege of undressing Lady Emon every night after supper, and in particular, of pulling her stockings off her slender legs.

Oh, how utterly delightful to curl my fingers into the tight welt and tug on on the delicate fabric, to watch her creamy thighs bloom out of blackness, to have my fingers rake across her soft skin, to hear the sifting sound of silk sliding over skin like sheathes of smooth waves over sand, and of course - the crème de la crème - to watch the particular way she stretches out and curls her dainty toes as I set them free from their cozy cloister. There is nothing quite like setting Lady Emon’s feet free. It exhilarates me. It fills me with naughty, knee-weakening thoughts (like, might she enjoy my tongue against her naked sole?). Oh, how it makes my blood hot. How profoundly pleasurable it makes me feel.

Of course, I should be deathly ashamed of myself for having such naughty thoughts and for allowing myself to feel such pleasure, for I am thus violating the mandate that I am to be always pure and innocent, in body, mind, and soul. Yet I keep this fantasy alive. Why? Because I must! Because it keeps me alive. What is the harm, after all, if I can keep my naughty thoughts to myself? But therein lies the rub: Lady Emon has a knack for rooting out naughty thoughts. Such is how I discovered, that just like the East Sea, my gray life was predisposed to terrifying turmoil.

 

[nice90sguy]

10.

It had been a long day. She came out of the bathroom in her negligée as usual and joined him on the bed, stretching herself out and wrapping her arms around him. When he returned her affections with a squeeze and a kiss atop her head, she sighed but could not stop her trembles. His palm groped at her breast, massaging her nipple through the silk. She removed his hand.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I have a terrible secret," she said with forlorn.

"Nothing is that terrible," he said. "You know you can tell me anything."

"Actually, too much talk is the problem," she began. She could sense him shift beneath her. "You know how we met three years ago when I moved into the flat across the hall from you over on Trent? And you took me in, that hopeless girl whose life was a shambles and couldn't keep her shoes tied?"

"What are you on about?"

"My shoes have always been tied," she said, then swallowed the lump in her throat and heaved another sigh. "Project X."

"Come now, me bringing my work home is nothing to cry over," he said. "It's just that it's my life's work and there are no secrets between us. You know that." He ran his hands through her thick dark hair, the bob haricut that he'd always adored. "I can stop talking about it if you like."

"It's not you. It's me," she said. Then she lifted her head from his chest, her lashes mucked from tears. He deserved to be looked in the eye when she told him. "I'm a mole for the CIA. Everything that you have told me about Project X, I've told them."

"CIA?" he said incredulously. "You're not even American."

"Don't make this any harder," she knuckled the next tear and swallowed. "I was planted across the hall from you. I deliberately got close to you to leak Project X."

"Is this April Fool?" he laughed. Then he turned serious. "Are you trying to tell me that the last three years have been nothing but an elaborate con?"

"No," she shook her head. "At first it was, but then I grew to love you. What we have is real."

"Darling, whatever it is we can work it out," he said and reached to wipe her tear and sat up to kiss her.

"No," she said with another shake of her head and gently urged him back down. "There's more," she told him. "You see, now the CIA knows enough about Project X, they don't need you anymore." She reached for the nightstand, pulled open the drawer and retrieved the pocket knife. "And even though I love you," she said, her voice trembling as she clicked the knife and the blade sprung out, "I still have a job to do." She placed the knife against his throat.

 

[nice90sguy]

11.

Janie smiled as she exited the back door of her home. The sun hadn’t yet gotten overhead and the grass that was still shaded was wet with dew. She walked to the waist high wooden fence until she came to the gate between her neighbors and her property, on which hung a sign. MISS JANIE’S GATE, painted in bold primary colors. The sign had clearly been designed and decorated by a child, but she could see the love and effort that had gone into it.

Stepping through into her neighbor’s backyard she could hear young Drew already practicing on the Miller’s upright piano in their music room. In her thirty years teaching piano, she’d never had a student like him. The boy was a prodigy.

She walked to the glass doors and could see Henry and Nadine Miller, within. She opened the door and stepped onto the cool tile floor.

Nadine looked up from her laptop and smiled sweetly. “Hello, Miss Janie. He’s already at it. He can’t wait for his performance tomorrow night.”

Janie stepped over to Nadine's desk in the family room and leaned over the pretty blonde mother. Nadine lifted her face and kissed Janie sweetly on the lips. She could smell the rose water the older woman wore.

Janie cupped the woman’s cheek. “He will make us all very proud. He has a terrific future ahead of him.” She turned as Henry stepped out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a dishrag. He smiled at the lovely older woman who had been teaching Drew for three years.

He reached around the small of her back and pulled Janie tightly against his body. She took his face in both hands and kissed him fervently. He pulled back and smiled as he felt her full breasts press into his chest. “All thanks to you, Miss Janie.”

Janie glanced at her lovers with a curious smile. “So, when will I receive payment for todays lesson?”

Nadine leaned back in her chair and ran her hand gently up behind Janie’s knee. “Well, you could have one and then the other tonight or both of us on Saturday when Drew’s dad picks him up.”

Janie pulled her dark hair around her neck and smiled. “Mmm, such temptations. How about we make an afternoon of it on Saturday?”

Henry grinned. “We hoped you’d say that.”

Janie playfully pushed away from the handsome man, with a seductive smile. “Well, then I should get to earning my fee, then, shouldn’t I?”

 

[nice90sguy]

12.

Jed grudgingly replied, "What you say is probably true. Still, why poke the hornet's nest to fuel needless speculation in her mind? As I said it's not like Angela can't afford the expense of paying for an unused hotel room."

She now replied animatedly, "This obviously is the vast differences of viewpoints resulting in the disparate circles of society we travel. To you obviously, and to Angela as well, the cost of a hotel room is a mere hiccup in outlay of your cash. Now I'm not poor, but still I come from a background that is well aware of the effort required to earn an honest dollar. Thus, the extravagance of paying for an unnecessary expense is abhorrent to my psyche.

"I could have afforded to pay for my own expenses to attend this wedding, but admittedly, it would have been a struggle. Thus, I'm very grateful that Angela has footed the bill for my expenses. Since I'm in this way beholden to her, it goes against the grain of my conscience to have her incur an unnecessary expense on my behalf.

"Besides, I know she loves to drink. So this way with the money saved for canceling my reservation, she can get herself a half gallon of Johnny Walker Blue, with my compliments."

The next day, the wedding day, having made the necessary arrangements with Angela to successfully cancel her room reservation, she moved her belongings to Jed Baxter's room at the Hilton Hartford.

 

[nice90sguy]

13.

One day Alice flicked her eyes at another table in that discreet way all restaurant kids learn. "She's dressed up."

It was an early Friday evening at the restaurant, and that couple clearly had plans for the night. The girl was in a tight dress that flattered her hourglass figure, and heels that did great things for her calves.

"Yeah, she's all right," Brandon said, taking a quick look.

"Don't pretend." Alice poked him. "I saw you looking."

"Can't a guy look?" he asked plaintively, fending her off.

"Not my guy." She poked him again, daring him to challenge that. He didn't. She smiled. It was fun to be possessive, and to see him submit to being possessed. Then, relenting, she admitted, "She is hot, though."

"You think I'm stupid?" he asked, laughing.

"What?"

"She's hot?" he mimicked. "You think I'm dumb enough to agree with that?"

"It wasn't supposed to be a trap!" she protested.

"Sounded like a trap."

"It's not a trap! I'm just saying, she's got nice legs." Also cheekbones, and a killer smile.

"So a girl's allowed to look?"

"I guess we can both look," she conceded.

"How do you like the guy?"

Alice hadn't even looked at the guy. She did now. He was in jeans and a shirt, with his hair neatly parted. "Eh."

Brandon smirked. "I'm more into the girl too."

She changed the subject quickly but they came back to it. It was a safe way to talk about this, not speaking directly to each other but commenting on passersby.

She was surprised by some of Brandon's opinions. She expected him to go for the overtly sexual girls on their way to the clubs, but his tastes more toward office ladies in work-appropriate skirts and pumps.

Although that didn't stop him from tapping her knee one day. "Lacy top, black leggings."

"What is that?" The girl's leggings were like nothing Alice had ever seen, not the usual wet-look polyester but a glimmering oil-slick surface that looked painted-on. Alice watched, fascinated, as the girl picked her way down the aisle. She wore sky-high heels. The way they made her hips swing was mesmerizing. Only after she had slid into a booth did Alice speak again. "It's so shiny."

"Rubber."

"Rubber?" She moved her hands as if pinching and stretching a rubber band. "They make clothes out of that? Doesn't it get sweaty?"

"Yeah, and, uh, yeah. If you wear a catsuit long enough you can pour the sweat out afterward."

Alice looked at him. His eyes widened as he realized what he had just revealed. He glanced away and mumbled, "There are videos."

 

[nice90sguy]

14.

She turned to fuss with the coffee and I took the opportunity to examine her better. Almost my height, she had an admirable figure, strong shoulders and long, trim legs. She had her hair down today, a flood of sunshine over her shoulders.

My attention had, quite implausibly, drifted away from her bottom to a framed photograph on the wall when she put a mug in front of me.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Oh. One sugar, please.”

She passed me a bowl of sugar and a spoon and we fell silent for a moment, noses above our mugs.

“This is very good,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I sometime think that time spent with good coffee is a refuge from the world outside.”

“So true,” I chuckled.

I nodded at the framed photograph, one of a somewhat younger Suzanne dressed in a skimpy ice-skating outfit. Smiling brightly, arms raised above her in a leap of triumph, she was magnificent.

“That’s very special,” I said.

“Yes,” she smiled. “I’d just won a bronze medal at a singles competition. Just regional, of course, but I had my hopes up.”

“Singles? Like ice dancing?”

“Oh yes. I loved it! My sisters and I all skated.”

She examined the image with a wry smile.

“But there’s always somebody better, isn’t there? In real life, I mean.”

She dropped her eyes. “Memories. It’s hard to believe that was nearly 25 years ago.”

I thought about that. If true, it would mean Suzanne would be 40 or 45 years old now. I looked at her skeptically, openly allowed my eyes to roam quickly over her face and body.

“If that picture’s 25 years old, Suzanne, then it’s an older sister. An aunt, perhaps?”

She giggled, almost blushing, then turned to stare at me.

Those blue eyes seemed to grow, to fill my world. They grew bigger and bluer and deeper and I could hear my heart pounding, one beat about every 20 seconds. I felt my jaw drop slightly open, felt myself leaning towards her to meet her approaching lips.

We both jumped slightly as a bell sounded.

 

[nice90sguy]

15.

Sometimes, to get away from the pressures of work for a while, I would go into the file room and sit on a desk.

One day, while I sat there, Alisa came in and said hello to me. Then she proceeded to open a drawer of a filing cabinet to look for something. She was facing away from me, and I idly noted what she was wearing: a white long-sleeved blouse and olive-green trousers.

Perhaps she was distracted by whatever her task was. I was simply looking at her because she was right in front of me, about six feet away.

Alisa then opened a second drawer at the very bottom of the cabinet. Instead of squatting down, she bent over to search for something at the lowest level.

Now I took more interest in her. Her trousers were tight, and her round little bottom pressed against the stretched green cloth.

A moment later, she turned her head and looked back at me. I felt a bit embarrassed at having gotten caught gazing at her, but some instinct told me to not avert my eyes and to just keep looking.

Alisa stood up straight and turned to face me. I wondered if she had been offended but instead, she smiled at me. “So, are you imagining giving me a few pats on my fanny?”

Rather than apologize, I decided to take a chance and escalate with my reply. “Actually, I’d like to give you something harder than some pats.” That was unlike anything I had said to a woman before.

She knew exactly what I had meant. “I guess you think I’m a very bad girl and I need some discipline, is that it?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” That would give her the chance to either back down or to continue.

“I’ve indeed been a very bad girl. In fact, I need to be shown the error of my ways and be firmly corrected.”

At that point I didn’t know if she was kidding me, flirting with me, or if she was perhaps serious. “So what do you think you’ve done wrong?”

Then she stepped forward and came quite close to me. “Well, let’s just say that I’ve been very naughty. But first, I think you know exactly what needs to be done with bad girls like me and you know how to do it too.”

“So you want me to tell you what I would do and how it would be done?”

“Of course, that’s why I asked you. Go ahead, you can tell me all of the details.”

Yet I wanted her to make it explicit, not me, and I became more cautious. I had indeed often fantasized about what I would do to such a woman, but I had certainly never tried it with anyone.

My resolve folded and I chickened out. “Alisa, you are just a co-worker of mine.” We had come to the verge and I had backed down.

 

[nice90sguy]

16.

The athame became heavy in her hand as she picked it up from beside the bed and drew the pointed tip across herself, just below her navel. A small trickle of blood from one spot was all that flowed. Keres heard a grunt and she smiled, closing her eyes. Her hips rocked in a slow rhythm down the man’s shaft.

He pulled at his restraints, “God, I want my hands on you.”

She clenched her eyes a little tighter, repeating the incantation in her head. Her eyes opened, her head tipped to the side and she brought the athame to the man’s mouth, spreading her blood down the prominent bow of his upper lip.

“Shit, was that your blood?” The man, whose name she'd forgotten, asked. “This is getting weird—”

“You tormented my girls for weeks, shut up and see how it feels to simply be seen as fodder,” she said, secure in her control of the situation.

He cringed and she sat flush on his lap, rocking. A groan filled the room and her smile grew bigger.

“What the fuck was that?” The man beneath her asked as he looked around the room for the source of the noise, which was oddly sexual and sounded male, yet was not him.

Keres rocked her hips and leaned back, her hands on his thighs as her hips worked over his cock. She gasped and moaned, closing her eyes as she neared orgasm from a stranger’s dick when she felt lips close over hers and a hand tug on her hair as another slid down her side. A deep, masculine voice whispered, “And who might you be, lovely one?”

“Sam?” Keres said with a smile.

“Who’s Sam? My name is…”

Keres put her hand over the sacrifice’s mouth.

A heavy sigh landed on her ear and a hand stroked her neck before she reached out to lay her hand on top of his. “With lust-filled blood on my lips I bind you to speak only the truth upon my command,” she said in a quick rush of words.

“SHIT,” called out that same deep masculine voice.

The man beneath her scowled and tugged at the restraints, much more fiercely than he had before. She pulled her hand from his mouth and he yelled, “What did you do, Keres?”

“So you do remember my name?” She smiled as the words left her lips.

“I do, now tell me why I’m in this wretched form.”

“Because I want some answers.”

“You could have just asked.”

“I’ve asked for weeks, Sam. You’ve ignored me since I got home. Let’s start with… what’s your real name?”

“Names have power…”

“And I want yours.” She smiled and ran her finger over the jaw of the man involuntarily hosting her guest.

“Can’t tell you that, love.”

“I could just say it,” she said, a smirk on her lips. “As...mo..de...u…”

“Don’t… don’t. You clearly know my secret, just don't say it out loud.”

 

[nice90sguy]

17.

The place fancied itself an authentic Italian pizzeria and it was definitely quite a few notches above your usual Papa Johns.

Heavy wooden tables were dressed up in several layers of cloth, a candle on each waiting to be lit by a mustached waiter in a black vest. Olive oil and Calabrian peppers were the only condiments you could reliably count on, and an intense embarrassment should befall you if you even considered asking for ketchup. Gaudy, lyrical vocals of some Italian starlet from half a century ago were pouring out of an old-fashioned radio of Italian make, reminding you how this Italian restaurant was, in fact, very Italian.

As Kelly sat at the booked table in the corner, she thought it was more than a passable locale for a first date. She had to admit she was excited. Preparing for tonight, she had tried very hard not to appear as though she'd been trying very hard, but she couldn't help but to put on her most elegant, body-hugging red dress. It accentuated the large and firm butt which she considered her best asset, while a bold cut into her cleavage allowed the push-up bra to flaunt what a great job it was doing to her bosom.

It wasn't like her to go on a Tinder date but this match had already shown a lot of promise. His name was Ryan, he was an attorney at one of the top agencies in the city, and he had the most delightfully chiseled jawline Kelly had ever seen. They hit it off very quickly. She was surprised how readily she'd accepted his invitation to meet in person, only a day after she'd swiped right.

Oh, there he was already... My, wasn't he just yummy! This jacket suit him really well. Now that he took it off, Kelly wondered how good he'd look if he lost the shirt as well...

"Hey there," he greeted her in a low, vibrating baritone. "I hope you didn't wait long."

"Only a few minutes," she replied, batting her eyelashes as she offered him a hand. He squeezed it firmly, sending shivers of excitement down her spine that the alluring smell of his cologne redirected straight towards a warm place between her legs.

He sat down and they exchanged pleasantries, Kelly blushing at every heartfelt compliment and twirling her blonde locks as they spoke. When the waiter lit the candle as he brought the menu, their flirtatious conversation moved to negotiating what ingredients should the native Neapolitan chef sprinkle over their stone-baked pie.

"Well, call me a philistine if you like," she fished for more compliments, "but I'd actually go for Hawaiian..."

"Uh, would you mind picking something else? I'm not a fan of pineapple."

Kelly's breath caught in her throat. She looked at him horrified, eyes bulging as she groped for her purse. Without a word, she stood up and ran, sobbing quietly as she flew through the door.

 

[nice90sguy]

18.

The Thing is coiled up inside him. It always is. For as long as he can remember, it’s been there. His secret, his dirty little secret.

Nobody knows it but him. Three people can keep a secret it two of them are dead. A glib line from a fantasy novel, but to him it feels real.

But it burns. The Thing. It wants to get out. It presses on his mind, it curls up on his tongue as if it might slip out when he’s not paying attention. He can’t let his guard down, ever.

Except with her he feels that he might. She’s… different. Her presence is comforting. With her he feels like he can be himself, all of himself. Including the Thing.

Her lips are soft but insistent on his. Pressing against his mouth, and the Thing wants to press back. Her hands glide over his body, like they’re looking for hidden secrets. Clues. Something that no-one knows. The Thing.

It would be such a relief to share it. To tell her. He knows he can trust her. She accepts him for who he is. That’s why they’re here, isn’t it? Naked in her bed, kissing, stroking, murmuring soft words. Learning about each other’s body, like they’ve already learned about each other’s mind.

Surely she can know? the Thing insists. Surely she deserves to know? If you can’t tell her, who can you tell?

It’s right. For once, it’s right. She deserves to know. Her lips are on his chest. Before they go any further, before they make their down any lower, she should know about the Thing.

His mind is made up. It’s been made up for a while now, he realises. But it’s hard to break the habit of a lifetime. Now that he’s decided to let the Thing out, it seems reluctant. As if it’s afraid to leave it’s cage. As if it isn’t really sure it wants to escape the safety of his heart.

Out! All this time, and now you’re afraid? Out!

He takes her by the head, gently lifting her away from his cock. Her lips come away, wet and shiny. There’s a question in her eyes.

It’s time. Now or never. He forces his mouth open, forces his voice to speak.

“I have to tell you something.”

 

[Bramblethorn]

I'm calling post #14 (Story 13) as joy_of_cooking. Not just because I remember the names from an earlier excerpt..

 

[StillStunned]

Story no. 4 is Tlan, I think.

 

[nice90sguy]

Lol this bit is fun for me, now I know how dungeon masters feel

 

[TheRedChamber]

I'm calling post #14 as joy_of_cooking. Not just because I remember the names from an earlier excerpt..

I think you're probably right. I hesitated a bit as I'm expecting more food and drink in it, but there is a cup of coffee at least (a concesion to 500 words?). None of the others seem to be more culinary, so my vote goes with yours.

 

[TheRedChamber]

Instead of going through the stories one by one and trying to match them, I'm going to pick an author and match them one by one.

Starting with SimonDoom - alas no penis fish in any of the examples and even more surprisingly, not even a 'Mom'. I call cheating. Possibly 7 as a very off-kilter and slightly OTT entry - but that's a stab in the dark.

 

[nice90sguy]

more surpisingly, not even a 'Mom'

Yeah, my abandoned attempt was that: Shock/horror: "I'm your [close relative]" - kind of too obvious, I guess