FFF - Turnabout

 

Officer Hupke liked being a cop; he liked the authority and he looked good in the blue uniform, or at least people seemed to think so. But what he really liked was arresting pretty women. They would do anything to get out of jail, and he was happy to oblige.

Like Darlene, part-time stripper, full-time trouble. Hupke busted her regularly, for possession, for drunk and disorderly, for whatever he felt like, really. But she'd never seen the inside of a cell because she could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch and she had no illusions, unlike some of the girls he had to help see the light. She sometimes saw him coming and offered to fuck him before he even tried to bust her. And she was pretty hot too.

That night, he nutted twice, the sex was so good, and she even offered him a taste of what she was holding, which made it all the better. Darlene had seemed particularly happy to see him that evening too. Hupke let her fool around with his uniform a little as a reward. She looked hot in blue.

The next day when Hupke went to the precinct, everyone avoided his eye. He was called in to the chief's office. IA wanted to see him. Apparently there were pictures, and Darlene was nowhere to be found.

---

The limitations of the form meant that I couldn't tell exactly the story I wanted to tell, but this is close enough. She just looks straight into the camera like she knows it's there, because I figure she does. I'm also proud of being able to work both required words into the first sentence. I could have gone with a female cop, but where's the fun in that?

---

Speaking of fun, Flash Fiction Friday is supposed to be fun, and part of what makes it fun is seeing all the different ways people interpret the picture and the assignment, and the more people there are, the better it is, so you should go to Max's blog and join in the fun. Or at least have the fun of seeing the other interpretations. I'm not going to carrot or stick this: FFF is fun, and it'd be more fun if you were playing, and that's really all that matters.

But I am going to encourage you to visit Max's blog if for no other reason than that it gives him pageviews, and he deserves them for being our host every week. You could leave a comment thanking him. You could spread his link far and wide so others will see it too. That, I'll encourage you to do.

FFF - Rolled

The whores sat back, sagging tits revealed but as yet no snatches in evidence. Their hair may once have been in fashion but now all it did was remind him of the urban legend where a gal didn't wash her beehive for so long that actual bees took up residence. He'd always thought it was just a funny story. Now he hoped these two weren't the kind who didn't wash regularly.

The older one had a sardonic look on her face. Her voice could have cut glass when she said, "You want us to undress you or are you in a hurry?" He was in no hurry.

The younger one had been what had attracted his attention. Girlish in a cute way when she had her clothes on, now she just looked like more tired street meat. Still, she looked at him with a smile, not shy, just smiling. He stripped down to his underwear and she kept smiling, so he appreciated that.

They took turns sucking his cock when he asked for that. After all, what was the point in his first threesome if he didn't get to watch two ladies fighting over his manhood, right? Honestly, they seemed more into each other than him.

"Which one do you want first?" the elder's voice rasped like sandpaper over his brain. He indicated the younger one. He hoped she was a little easier to take.

She smiled again and pulled off her panties with little fanfare. Then she lay back on the bed, legs spread, waiting for him.

The injection stung a little, which was how he knew it  had happened. When he woke, he was naked, they were gone, and so was his wallet.

---

I don't know why this one gave me so much trouble. But trouble it gave me. I initially wanted to do something more interesting with the story, but in the end I couldn't make it work, so the whores, like my inspiration, fled and left our protagonist lonely.

The look in the one in black's eyes was really what I wanted to capture. She looks like she's saying, "Seriously? You expect us to fuck you?" But I wish I'd been able to do something more interesting than just two hookers rolling a john. Just kind of depressing and mundane this week.

---

Surely you can do better. Surely you can take one look at this picture and summon up a flash of inspiration which blows mine out of the water. Head over to Max's blog for the rules of the week and throw your hat into the ring. These gals deserve better than this. You can give it to them.

FFF - Watermelon Man

"Hey Watermelon Man!"

And he would hack the juicy fruit to pieces with practiced ease and I would devour it, the sticky red chaos all around me. It was a ritual.

Until one day, "Hey Watermelon Man!" as he came around the corner only it wasn't him, it was her. She handled the knife a little more slowly, and the pieces of cold, crisp melon were different somehow. But one look at her fresh face, and who was I to judge?

Later, when I had lapped all the sweetness I was going to get out of the rind, she returned, her face looking more care-worn, beads of sweat glistening on her brow. She had cast aside her shoes and unbuttoned the top button of her dress, and as she slouched down and sliced one of her remaining supply, she looked lonely.

"Hey Watermelon Man!" and I laughed to show I was joking. Her eyes lit on me and she beckoned me over and we silently shared the fruit, warm now from the sun.

And who am I to say that that was the beginning of our love?

---

So there's this jazz song called "Watermelon Man," and that's all I could think of, except this was clearly no man.

I'm doing it a bit differently this week. I've written something which I believe cleaves to the requirements, but I'm not going to verify the word count while I'm writing it. Then I'm letting it sit for a bit and I'll come back and do what edits need to be done. Because while simply putting words on the page is a good exercise, editing them to make them work is equally good exercise, and fortunately Flash Fiction Friday provides a mechanism to stretch both muscles a little.

I'll write more about the editing process when I do it, but the writing process is mostly as usual, except I decided that there would be no dialogue other than "Hey Watermelon Man!" How many different ways can you say those three words? Probably more than I've used here.

And the editing process was nonexistent because I managed to, without counting, write precisely the number of words necessary to fulfill the challenge. I am the champion! Sorry if you were planning on an in-depth discussion of editing. I'm not touching a thing.

---

You're probably expecting me to make some reference to stretching muscles here and then to exhort you to go to Max's blog and join in the fun, but I'm not going to do that this week because it doesn't seem to work. You're adults (I hope, anyway; if you're not, I hope you have a parent's permission to read this). You can figure out what you want to do. I respect your agency.

FFF - Check Up

So Daddy being Daddy, even on vacation he couldn't keep from monitoring me. "I just like to make sure my girl is taken care of," he said when I brought it up with him.

"Before I had you I managed to go more than a day without being taken care of," I couldn't resist saying. He sounded a little crestfallen and I mentally promised to make it up to him when he got back.

The next day, a smart-dressed young man knocked at my door. "Bill sent me over to check up on you," he said.

"I told him I was fine last night," I groaned. Just what I needed, a man around the house when all I really wanted to do was have a nice evening in.

"No, you don't get it," said the smart-dressed young man. "Bill said I'm supposed to check up on you, and that's what I intend to do." And courteously but insistently, he shut the door behind him and started taking my clothes off.

I was a little shocked into silence at first, but then Baby came roaring out and I was putty in his firm but tender hands. "Bill said he likes you smooth," said the young man, running his hand over my hastily-shaven pubis, feeling the stubble from too many days without. "'Baby should be smooth,' that's what he said. So hop to it, into the bathroom and let's make sure he comes home to a smooth Baby."

I'd never let a man shave me before, and at first I was awkward and shy, but his hands guided mine in putting the cream everywhere he felt needed it. "He wants pictures," said the young man, and there was a hint of a smile.

"And after?"

"After, Baby can have a treat if she's good."

---

These are supposed to be Flash Fiction in that they're short, not that I write them in a flash, but the past couple of weeks time has gotten away from me and I've written them very close to deadline, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. It forces me to ignore my inner editor and critic and just put words on the page. And isn't that the point of the exercise after all?

Anyway, the lateness of the hour means that despite there being two word limits in this week's rules, I only went for one FFF. Sorry. I'll try to do better next time.

I'm a lousy sub so I don't really know what D/s should be written like, so instead of doing Master and slave, I went with something a bit more familiar. Not that my father ever told a young man to undress me to make sure I was trimming the hedges in his absence. He didn't need to. But anyway, this is not, unlike some of my stories, real incest. It's just a D/s relationship with a bit of a twist to make it easier for me to grok, maybe? I don't know. Hopefully I haven't fucked anything up too much.

---

But you'd be fucking up majorly if you don't go to Max's blog and take part in this week's Flash Fiction Friday. It's not a competition, unless you're competing against yourself. And if it were a competition, it would only award prizes for most forced segue, and I'd win every week, so don't even try to top me. I don't know. I'm not going to appeal to your better judgment. You should just play with us.

FFF - Honey Pot

My baby makes hotcakes
And they come out tasting like glue
Oh lord my baby makes them hotcakes
And they hard as rubber too
But when her honey pot is flowing
There's nothing else I wanna do

The blues droned lazily from the phonograph and Lucinda wondered whether her shift would be over before she lost her shit and punched someone. A string of men with grabby hands and pinching fingers and no respect for the waitress. And Bobbi was out sick leaving the whole diner to be served by little ol' Lucinda.

When the stranger hopped off her motorbike and strolled into Ray's, The Nicest Place in Town, Lucinda plastered a pleasant smile across her lips like her job depended on it, and said, "Howdy ma'am, what can I get you?"

The stranger paused, looked Lucinda up and down, and said, "What's good today?" Her skin was glowing, her lips slightly moist, and Lucinda found herself wondering just what this woman was doing in town.

"Cook makes the best..." she began gamely, but the stranger interrupted.

"No, no, I'm asking you. What is good about your life today?"

The diner was crowded, but to Lucinda it was as if all the noise had fallen away and she was alone with the stranger. "Not much," she admitted.

The stranger smiled. "I believe I'll have you, naked, drizzled in honey, and I'll take it to go," she said.

Lucinda grinned. "Billy Ray, I quit!" she shouted, then flung her apron from her like the chains of servitude broken. Half an hour later, as she spread her legs for yet another helping of honey spooned over her dripping pussy, she wondered just who this stranger was, but it didn't matter much.

---

I don't know. You come here expecting me to explain, and all I can do is say that Lucinda just happened. I started out with a completely different idea, where the husband doesn't think sugar is healthy and his wife convinces him otherwise, something like that, but it wasn't working. And then there was an imaginary song on an imaginary radio, and Lucinda was having a bad day and it seemed like she could use something different. The stranger isn't an author-insert, but I certainly arranged for her to arrive when she did.

---

Speaking of things just happening, it might seem like Flash Fiction Friday just happens every week, but what is involved is a fair amount of effort from Max to bring us the image and the rules, then a certain amount of work from those who participate to bring the image to life in words. Don't take it for granted. Max is awesome for doing it every week, but the way to pay him back is to join in and write something, because it's so much more fun with more people. Why not head over to his blog and check out the rules this week. There's still plenty of time to get one in, as the sailor said to the girl.

FFF - Beckoning

Irina held out the crimson lace, her face devoid of emotion.

"I can explain," I began, then realized that I couldn't explain.

"You might have done me the courtesy of telling me I was being replaced, at least," she spat, throwing the incriminating evidence at my head and stalking away, her hazel tresses swaying in an echo of her hips.

"Not replaced," I managed, snatching the panties from my face. "Augmented. Assisted? Please?"

She slammed the door of our bedroom in my face.

"I think that went about as well as could be expected," Sara said from the couch where she still lay, spread like a two-dollar whore, ass still bearing my handprints.

"What do you care? She's going to leave me, not you." It came out nastier than I intended and I cringed, waiting for fireworks.

"I care, Daniel, because I'm only fucking you to get to her," said Sara, as if that was the most normal thing in the world to say. "She'll come around. Now get back here and get me off again. You're cute when you're confused."

And when Irina appeared some time later, her eyes widened as Sara beckoned her with the same carmine panties.

---

I had other ideas but this was the one that got written this week. I love panties, as you probably know, so it was more a question of limiting myself to 200 words than anything else. I did have to bust out the synonyms for colors because I couldn't just say "red" and be done with it, but also because synonyms for colors are fun.

---

Speaking of color synonyms, why not bust out your own? I didn't use "scarlet" or "vermillion" or "ruby." There are whole worlds of color I didn't touch, and you can use them to write your own Flash Fiction Friday entry. Just go to Max's blog for the rules of the week. You can also see who else is playing, but frankly you should play first and see later, because you'll be so impressed with yourself if you do, and then you can read everyone else's and know what good company you're keeping. Or not. The choice is yours, but I think you're making a mistake if you don't.

FFF - Power

"Ikhan for strength. Ushan for purity. Elboril for endurance." As Marta spoke each sigil into being, she traced its delicate filigree with the brush, then ran the tip across the ink stone.

Kaja remained perfectly still, as she had been taught. No words must interrupt the ritual. But her nose itched and she badly needed to piss.

"Perai for beauty." Marta's brush dipped delicately toward the pink lips between Kaja's legs. This was always her favorite sigil to trace on her partner's willing body, and it reminded them both of nights spent together in the training house, before they were granted the status of the adept. Kaja's cheek reddened slightly and she felt a quiver in the tips of her fingers, but she pushed feelings aside. Not now. Not so close to completion of a different kind. "Affa for speed," continued Marta's slow, steady enumeration.

When all the points had been anointed, the lines dried, Marta put aside the brush and examined her work. "I cause you to be," she intoned. "I call you into life. You are made powerful by all the sisters who have come before you." She sketched a sigil in the air in front of Kaja's eyes, and the ink on her skin burned suddenly, then vanished as if absorbed by a sponge.

Kaja could finally scratch her nose, and she did so languidly. "How do I look?" she purred, the Art in her blood seductive and strange.

"To die for," said Marta with a sly smile. "He won't know what hit him."

---

I could have written more of this. I might still. I know the characters are either Chinese or Japanese but I've chosen to interpret the picture loosely in the service of a more interesting story.

Now that I think about it, another way I could have gone is that they're attempting to write something important on her body so it won't be lost, but if that's the case, they're writing too big.

I don't know whether this is yet another story where Lexi writes about seductive female assassins, or whether "to die for" is simply a metaphor, and Kaja is going off to be a courtesan or something. The prescribed word count came up at the right time to keep it vague, so vague I kept it.

---

If you want to write less vague things, or more vague things, or even if you just want to see what others have written, head over to Max's. It really is more fun the more people who play though, so you should throw your hat into the ring and write one. Please? Pretty please? I'll... I don't know, but if you're a first-timer I'll do something nice for you. I'll show you my tits. You've seen those already. Never mind. Just go write something. It's lots of fun and we're all very supportive.

That sounded desperate. I'm not desperate. Don't write something. See if I care. I'm going to go pout now.