Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Just for Fun!, Marketing my Writing, Sexuality and Erotica, Story a Day May Challenge, Uncategorized, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

Dancing: Kifo Island Project for #StaD May 31

Welcome, friends!

Come let me tell you a Story A Day, all May long…

In June and July, I’m drafting two new Kifo Island novels. I know something about 5 of the 6 point of view characters, and I’ve got a sketchy idea of the plots – but I need to learn more about these people and their stories.

I’ll follow A Month of Writing Prompts 2016. I’ll play while moving through my planning efforts. Some of these stories may become part of the eventual novels, but my goal is to invite these characters to show me how their lives fit together to make a novel.

It’s now the final day of the challenge, – so off we go to May 31 – that was yesterday, which means I’m officially caught up once this posts. The prompt? Go BIG!this time, with dancing!

Week Five’s theme is The Last Hurrah!

Warning: Rated R for adult themes. Probably NSFW.

Dancing

She watched him there on the stage, watched his erection pressing hard against his fly, and wondered if he knew that his hips were thrusting forward and back just slightly, but in a lovely rhythm that made her feel like dancing, like pulling him in close, rubbing and teasing against him, feeling the rush of wind as they moved together, became attuned to one another, breathed together…

She crossed her legs over the ache between, that pulsed and spoke of another kind of dancing, one more intimate, more private, needing no music.

He wound down, and she laughed for him, because he was way better than this place. He deserved a proper audience, dozens of adoring young women all salivating over that bulge that teased her, to have his choice of partners for any kind of dancing he wanted to do.

She was the only woman here.

And she wanted to dance.

She applauded him, then came to the stage, waiting there by the side stair. She didn’t want him to leave, or to be unsure that she wanted him.

“You laughed,” he said, and his eyes seemed to caress her, head to toe and back again. He stood there uncertainly, and shuffled his feet.

She climbed up to him, took his hand without saying a word, and led him down the stage stair and out of the squalid little club, and, once they were outside in the steaming night, she led him along the boardwalk, and, shyly, his arm circled her waist, pulling her in close.

Neither of them spoke. No with words, anyway.

Their bodies spoke eloquently to each other, hips swaying in, then away, dancing…

A deep pulse from the distance, and they looked at one another and Yvette kicked off her heels, and carried them, and they held hands and ran across the sand, because the moon was full over the incoming tide, and it was a faster way to reach the place where the music came from.

Into a night club, the salsa beat pounding through them like the waves, the floor thick in sand, so it was like the beach contained in a room, and they whirled and spun and it drove her a little mad when she wanted to be grinding in against him, but then there was something in his arms that said that he wanted it, too, and that they were dancing another kind of dance, one that was part a hunt.

Finally, finally, their hips crashed in together, just for an instant.

An instant that left her wanting more, so much more. She was aware of her skin, the sweat slipping along her spine and into the small of her back, and her thighs were wet with wanting, while that hard tempting bulge pressed in for just a second, then away, again and again, and she moved her body, swaying like sea grass in the wind, and teased him, loving the moan that parted his lips, the way his eyes sparkled, pupils wide in the dark.

Finally, finally, they were grinding and circling, and Yvette knew it was the moment, the moment that would invite, tempt, and promise –
She thrust her hips against him, clawed her way up to him, and dragged him in for a kiss, thrusting her tongue boldly into his mouth, tasting him, tasting his desire, the promise of sex, of a man.

He gave himself to her, took nothing she didn’t offer, but gave her all she wanted of him.

Then, before the beautiful dance could be shattered by reality, Yvette turned and ran off alone.

Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Just for Fun!, Marketing my Writing, Story a Day May Challenge, Uncategorized, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

“The Three Sisters”: Kifo Island Project for #StaD May 30

Welcome, friends!

Come let me tell you a Story A Day, all May long…

In June and July, I’m drafting two new Kifo Island novels. I know something about 5 of the 6 point of view characters, and I’ve got a sketchy idea of the plots – but I need to learn more about these people and their stories.

I’ll follow A Month of Writing Prompts 2016, and play while moving through my planning efforts. Some of these stories may become part of the eventual novels, but my goal is to invite these characters to show me how their lives fit together to make a novel.

Yup, I got behind again. Not with the writing, but with the posting. Life happened.

It’s now the final day of the challenge, and I’m getting my back posts up by midnight – so off we go to May 30 – that was yesterday, which means I’m officially caught up once this posts. The prompt? The Power of Three.”– I’m harnessing my favorite number for creative purposes. Here, a drabble with Quincette, Theresa, and Ubunta contemplating native culture.

Week Five‘s theme is The Last Hurrah!

“The Three Sisters”

“The Iroquois referred to corn, beans and squash as ‘The Three Sisters’. They were planted together, and each aided the growth of the others.”

Together, three girls looked at the display.

“It reminds me of home,” Ubunta’s soft voice sounded like sad music. “It makes me lonely.”

Theresa hugged her, working around the swelling of the younger girl’s belly. “You aren’t alone, little sister.”

Quincette hugged them both. “We’re here with you now, Ubunta. With you, and your baby. Always. We are the three sisters; we’ll grow together now, like the corn, beans, and squash. Together, we will grow strong.”

 

Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Marketing my Writing, Sexuality and Erotica, Story a Day May Challenge, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

Home Invasion: Kifo Island Project for #StaD May 29

Welcome, friends!

Come let me tell you a Story A Day, all May long…

In June and July, I’m drafting two new Kifo Island novels. I know something about 5 of the 6 point of view characters, and I’ve got a sketchy idea of the plots – but I need to learn more about these people and their stories.

I’ll follow A Month of Writing Prompts 2016, playing through my planning efforts. Some of these stories may become part of the eventual novels, but my goal is to invite the characters to show me how their lives fit together.

It’s now the final day of the challenge, and I’m getting my final two back posts up by midnight – so off we go to May 29. The prompt? Torture Your Protagonist.” Yvette’s caught between lover and husband.

Week Five‘s theme is The Last Hurrah!

Warning: For Mature Audiences only!

Adult content, violence, language.

Absolutely NSFW!

Home Invasion

The paint was sensual and slipped onto the canvas almost without effort on her part. Yvette loved the feel of it. Zeke posed for her, right there on the couch where they’d just made love, and she closed her eyes, remembering his face in the moment when la petite mort had claimed him.

He was so tender and tremblingly beautiful then that a remembering shudder of answer passed through her now, as she sat wearing nothing but her skin and the marks he’d made on her. She opened her eyes to take him in en flagrante. He was so young, and aroused again already, even though he was still wet with their mingled secretions.

Her lover smiled as he watcher her with half-lidded eyes somnolent but aglow with all that he felt for her, and Yvette wanted him as though they hadn’t finished only fifteen minutes since.

“You’re a natural model, mon chere,” she told him, as the paint made love with the canvas. Zeke chuckled, and then it was only his breathing, the way he caressed himself now and then, as though not aware of it, and the way his breath sharpened as he rose into his hand.

Mon dieu, il est beau!

Yvette wanted him again with sudden painful intensity. She’d never loved so wholly, or wanted anyone else this way –

She went to her love, her lover, her amour, and, right there on the couch, she claimed him, impaled herself, and his guttural moan was a thing of beauty and joy –

Pain exploded against her head.

“ You filthy petite chienne!”

She was ripped away from Zeke, cartwheeling through air.

Zeke cried out wordlessly as she crashed into her easel, toppling it, spilling the paint over her.

Xavier spat and, kicked her in the jaw. The shock sent her teeth through her lip. But he wouldn’t get another cry out of her. Jamais!

She made that a promise to herself.

“Leave her alone!” Zeke roared, and Yvette twisted to see him standing wide-legged, daring Xavier with his fists up. He was always so placid, so sweet. She hadn’t known he could be angry. He was a revelation.

“Filthy petite piqure, fucking my wife! You’re telling me to leave her alone? Elle est a moi!”

“Je fais partie de moi-meme!” Her words were mangled by her swelling lip, but they were true.

Ecoute-toi! You can’t even speak, now.” His laugh was coarse and cruel. How had she ever thought that he was as highborn as she, a gentleman? Oh, he was a deceiver!

Yvette got up on her hands and knees, and spat blood at him. She forced the words out through her battered lips again, en anglais, so that Zeke could understand.

“I belong to myself!”

He spat at her and kicked again, into the soft flesh of her breast. Yvette swallowed back the yelp that tried to break loose. Non. That’s what he wanted.

“You. Are. A. Monster.” Zeke’s voice was cold, hard, like a sharp rapier, each word a thrust.

“You are a pathetic cheat and a loser, taking someone else’s leavings. She’s une pute ivre -” Xavier kicked her again, in the ribs. He was circling her, and Zeke was circling him.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re too ignorant to comprender le francais! En anglais, puis. She’s a drunken whore, and nothing more!”

“I’ve never charged for my love -”

“Love?!”

Yvette’s breath stabbed through bloody lips. “You know nothing of love. You’ve given me none – only taken, and taken, and taken again!”

She dragged herself to her feet, ready to launch herself at him.

Zeke caught her, holding her gently. “Don’t, love. This beast wants to hurt you. But he won’t dare go through me to get to you. He’s the Cowardly Lion. Let me keep you safe.”

“You think she loves you? You, a skinny little nothing? Non, mon ami, she’s only using you to scratch an itch – the same way she used to use me -”

“Who used whom, Xavier?” She laughed at her husband. It hurt her ribs, her jaw, her lips, but Yvette didn’t care. She sheltered in the arms of a man who loved her, and laughed. “I loved you. All that you stole from me, I would have gladly given you. It meant nothing to me. Do you not know that I loved you once, and would still, except that you stole from me, paraded other women in front of me, gave me only hatred and violence, when all I wanted was to love you?”

“Est-ce votre amour, alors, Yvette? This usurper of a boy who doesn’t know real from his madness? Non, Yvette, he’s only une piqure you ride, to scratch the itch.” His eyes focused on the toppled easel, the smeared canvas and the paints –

Yvette knew what he was going to do before he moved. She lurched out of Zeke’s grasp, trying to protect the art, the beauty of the moment before Xavier took it away, as he took everything.

Non.

Not this.

 

Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Just for Fun!, Marketing my Writing, Sexuality and Erotica, Story a Day May Challenge, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

A Tiny Little Rebellion: Kifo Island Project for #StaD May 28

Welcome, friends!

Come in, and let me tell you a Story A Day, all May long…

In June and July, I’ll be drafting two new Kifo Island novels. I know something about 5 of the 6 point of view characters, and I’ve got a sketchy idea of the plots – but I need to learn more about these people and their stories.

So, in May, I explore. Every day, I’ll follow the prompts in A Month of Writing Prompts 2016. I’ll play while moving through my planning efforts. Some of these stories may become part of the eventual novels, but my goal is to invite these characters to show me who they are and what they want – and how their lives fit together to make a novel.

Yup, I got behind again. Not with the writing, but with the posting. Life happened, in the form of plans with my daughter, an exceedingly hot weekend, a devastating migraine, and just all the other things I’ve been up to.

It’s now the final day of the challenge, though, and I’m determined to get all the back posts up by midnight – so off we go to May 28, and the daily prompt, Go At Your Own Pace.” We’re back to Yvette today, in a story that takes place between my May 3 story, “Chance Encounter”, and my May 10 story, De Rien?”

Week Four’s theme is Strengths – an opportunity to focus more intensely on what’s been working so far.

Warning: This story is rated R.

Probably NSFW, for adult themes.

A Tiny Little Rebellion

Yvette made a cup of tea, resisting the part of her that wanted to rush over to the little box she’d set on her side table.

No, she was going to relax and savor this moment, and the memories that flowed slow and steady through her mind, making her aware of her body in a way she hadn’t been in too many years. She did a little pirouette in the middle of the kitchen while she waited for her tea to brew, the way she’d done when she was just a little girl.

Mon dieu, she felt like giggling!

Oh, that boy! That sweet, sultry, innocent, beautiful boy!

Yvette placed a hand over her skipping, leaping, dancing heart, and laughed – not a girlish giggle, but the throaty proclamation of womanly desire. Her hand strayed over her breast, and she was surprised by the way her nipple contracted as a tingling started – the excited, slightly illicit way she’d felt when she was a teenager just learning the ways of self-pleasuring.

She wanted to touch herself there, now – but she wouldn’t. No. She was going to have the boy; give herself to him. That was the promise they’d made each other, with their bodies, while he stood up there on the stage, funnier than any comic she’d ever seen on television, and totally unappreciated by anyone else in his drunken audience.

But she’d appreciated, it, and taken him away at the end of the show, and they’d walked without saying a word, until they came to a dance club with a throbbing salsa beat that sent intense messages through their bodies, and they’d repeated the promise with the way they pressed and rubbed together, moved with the rhythm, and he was hard, so hard that she wanted to unzip him, hitch up her skirt, and impale herself on that hungry hardness.

She hadn’t. And she didn’t touch herself now. She put the tea bag into her cup with a trembling hand, then went to the table and opened the box. She ran her fingers over the little tubes of paints and the tiny terra cotta pots. The soil and seed packets made her smile, but it was the pots that made her happiest.

It was a tiny little rebellion, and, in a way, it was also foreplay.

Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Just for Fun!, Marketing my Writing, Sexuality and Erotica, Story a Day May Challenge, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

Nothing at All: #StaD Kifo Island Project for May 27

Welcome, friends!

Come in, and let me tell you a Story A Day, all May long…

In June and July, I’ll be drafting two new Kifo Island novels. I know something about 5 of the 6 point of view characters, and I’ve got a sketchy idea of the plots – but I need to learn more about these people and their stories.

So, in May, I explore. Every day, I’ll follow the prompts in A Month of Writing Prompts 2016. I’ll play while moving through my planning efforts. Some of these stories may become part of the eventual novels, but my goal is to invite these characters to show me who they are and what they want – and how their lives fit together to make a novel.

Yup, I got behind again. Not with the writing, but with the posting. Life happened, in the form of plans with my daughter, an exceedingly hot weekend, a devastating migraine, and just all the other things I’ve been up to.

It’s now the final day of the challenge, though, and I’m determined to get all the back posts up by midnight – so off we go to May 27, and the daily prompt, Write to Your Natural Length. I explored a slice of Theresa’s life as a sex slave.

Week Four’s theme is Strengths – an opportunity to focus more intensely on what’s been working so far.

Warning: This story is rated for mature audiences ONLY. Absolutely NSFW, even without violence.

Nothing At All

Theresa lay beneath another rutting man, his face spasming with his release.

What did it mean, that she felt nothing at all in his touch, in his final trembling thrusts? Or that she had been here so long, taken so many anonymous men into her body, that she was able to do all the things that would make him think that what she felt at his ejaculation was more than she’d felt with any other man?

The man flopped down on top of her, spent, and Theresa gave a few more shudders and soft moans, and murmured in false sleepiness, “Mnm, lover, I wish you’d stay, and just hold me until you’re ready to go again.” She trailed her nails down his sweaty back, and now it was his turn to shiver.

“Nah, I gotta get back to my – ” A quick gulp as he slid out of her, limp and satisfied. “To my place.”

Why did they always act like they thought she didn’t know that they had wives, maybe children? Did they think she was here in this place because she’d chosen it? Didn’t they ever suspect that it was a man just like them who had fathered her?

No, of course they didn’t, and that wasn’t really how it was, anyway. The man who’d gotten her mother pregnant with her was no different.

To them, the women they used were just objects. They never got knocked up, and they never had a thought or a feeling that didn’t revolve around the time they spent in bed together, if she was lucky enough that the man would want to take her in the bed. Aneesha deserved credit for providing a sumptuous experience, but that was no guarantee that the johns wouldn’t want to push her up against the wall, have her blow them in the shower, or think she could be even a little turned on by having her ass perched on the edge of the sink, the faucets digging into her back at each thrust –

But what did that matter, if the man got off? That was her job, after all, to get the man off. Let him shoot his load into or onto whatever part of her he most desired, whatever way he desired.

This man, no different than any other john, no matter that his packaging was more attractive than most, rolled off her. “Where’s the shower?” Not even a sweetheart, dear, or baby from this one, as his hot fluids leaked out from between her thighs.

“Yours is over there. Take everything you brought; this door locks on this side as soon as you go in. You’ll leave from the other door.”

He gave her a curt nod and left with the small pack he’d folded his own clothes into. At least he was neat and orderly. Many of the men she serviced had her down on her hands and knees, fishing around under the bed for a lost sock, watch, or – maybe most insulting of all -wedding ring. This one, though, was gone in seconds, the door clicking closed behind him.

Theresa sighed and got up, grunting as the man’s sticky semen gushed out of her. She hated that moment, when the deposits some stranger left inside her like she was some kind of appealing trash receptacle refused to just stay where they were, but followed gravity to wet her thighs, too.

The man probably thought he was giving her a gift.

Would he be insulted if he knew that she was about to wash him away into her bidet, and that, by the time he left his shower, she would be washing any lingering traces of him off in her own shower, while Aneesha’s maids changed the sheets and freshened the room for the next customer?

Why did she care what he’d think? He’d never give another thought to her.

As she passed the little mantel clock on her way to her bathroom, she noticed it was only 9pm. That meant she’d have half a dozen more “visitors,” at least.

Theresa sighed, wondering what would happen if she ever just chose to remain in her bed, after, and refused to get up and on with the transition.

She was certain that the answer, whatever it was, wasn’t “nothing at all.”

Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Just for Fun!, Marketing my Writing, Parenting, Story a Day May Challenge, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

She Was Determined: #StaD for May 26

Welcome, friends!

Come in, and let me tell you a Story A Day, all May long…

In June and July, I’ll be drafting two new Kifo Island novels. I know something about 5 of the 6 point of view characters, and I’ve got a sketchy idea of the plots – but I need to learn more about these people and their stories.

So, in May, I explore. Every day, I’ll follow the prompts in A Month of Writing Prompts 2016. I’ll play while moving through my planning efforts. Some of these stories may become part of the eventual novels, but my goal is to invite these characters to show me who they are and what they want – and how their lives fit together to make a novel.

Yup, I got behind again. Not with the writing, but with the posting. Life happened, in the form of plans with my daughter, an exceedingly hot weekend, a devastating migraine, and just all the other things I’ve been up to.

It’s now the final day of the challenge, though, and I’m determined to get all the back posts up by midnight – so off we go to May 26, and the daily prompt, An Emotional Roller Coaster.. I chose to stay with Ubunta, pregnant and without resources to care for herself or a child. This 100 word story takes place moments after the events in my May 23 story, “Sunset’s Blade.”

Week Four’s theme is Strengths  – an opportunity to focus more intensely on what’s been working so far.

She Was Determined

She wouldn’t let this child be murdered. She was determined. The only way they would kill her child would be to kill her.

Ubunta sobbed, and stared at the knife she held. She was determined. But how was she to feed a child, when she couldn’t feed herself?

Could determination feed the life growing inside her? Was the knife the answer?

She could slice away her life, and the child’s. End pain and want.

But Ubunta was determined. Her child would have life, or the chance at life.

And that meant she must wait for the liberation of the knife.

Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Just for Fun!, Marketing my Writing, Parenting, Story a Day May Challenge, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

Only Running Will: #StaD for May 25

Welcome, friends!

Come in, and let me tell you a Story A Day, all May long…

In June and July, I’ll be drafting two new Kifo Island novels. I know something about 5 of the 6 point of view characters, and I’ve got a sketchy idea of the plots – but I need to learn more about these people and their stories.

So, in May, I explore. Every day, I’ll follow the prompts in A Month of Writing Prompts 2016. I’ll play while moving through my planning efforts. Some of these stories may become part of the eventual novels, but my goal is to invite these characters to show me who they are and what they want – and how their lives fit together to make a novel.

Yup, I got behind again. Not with the writing, but with the posting. Life happened, in the form of plans with my daughter, an exceedingly hot weekend, a devastating migraine, and just all the other things I’ve been up to.

It’s now the final day of the challenge, though, and I’m determined to get all the back posts up by midnight – so off we go to May 25, and the daily prompt, Change Your Point of View. I chose to revisit my May 4 first-person story, 11:43pm Wednesday, in which Ubunta’s future rests in the results of a pregnancy test – or does it? This drabble  (100 word story) explores that question.

Week Four’s theme is Strengths – an opportunity to focus more intensely on what’s been working so far.

Only Running Will

You wanted the test, for proof. But you know. And waiting is dangerous, maybe even deadly. If not for you, then for the child you carry.

For you know that you carry a child. It’s in your tender, heavy breasts, and your rolling stomach that will accept no food.

It’s there, and, if you can feel it, he might see it. Him, or Aneesha, or anyone but Theresa, who wanted to help, and whose hand the test had been in.

But you don’t need the test to know. It won’t save your child, that stick of plastic.

Only running will.