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.

FFF - Gradient

 

Hostels are such a crap shoot. When I went to the front desk to book a bed, they only had a room which already had three people in it. But it was either that or sleep on the street, so I took it. "Be careful, they're already asleep." Yeah, that was on-brand for me; if they were asleep while the sun was still up, they'd probably be up at 3 am to do yoga or drink kombucha or some shit.

But when I quietly eased the door open, there they were in all their assortedly-tanned loveliness, three sets of blue eyes stared at me, and one of them murmured, in a delightful accent, "Oh good, a man to share." Things got very busy after that and I revised my opinion of hostels up a few notches.

---

While walking up the strand
three lovelies hand in hand
got sun a bit more
than they bargained for
and came out unequally tanned.

It may have seemed unplanned,
and their bare flesh I eagerly fanned
to relieve all their hurts,
but I came on them spurts
of semen as hot as a brand.

From their room I've been totally banned,
As a poolboy been totally canned.
As they put it to me
"If your face we see
You will find yourself unmanned."

The rejection I can stand.
My performance they regularly panned.
But I'm trapped on this isle
and it might take a while
to swim back to the mainland.

So I sit here in the sand,
soothe my wounded ego, and,
because my mind's eye
can their asses still spy,
stroke my cock to beat the band.

---

Two of one length this week because while I knew I wanted to write a poem (it's Max's fault for giving so many rhyming options) the other story I felt like writing didn't seem to need the length. Then I was just going to write a poem and to hell with the length requirement, but there were a few rhymes I hadn't used yet, so I used them and it wound up just meeting the shorter length requirement. I couldn't have kept it going to the longer one I'm afraid, even if I reused words, which I didn't want to do.

It's doggerel, not quite limericks but closer to that than anything else. I think I can be excused the deviations from form because they're in the service of a longer poetic form than a limerick. Also, "unplanned" is a different word than "planned" so you can't fault me for ignoring the forbidden words.

I kind of wanted to write something about how they're like a paint chip card, which is where the title came from, but the idea didn't go anywhere.

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On the subject of ideas which go places, pretend you're an idea and go to Max's blog where you'll find the assignment for the week. Then pretend that idea was better than my segue and write something for us. We want to read your paint-chip analogy, we really do.