Flash: Red Mug

Image courtesy of imagerymajestic. at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

“So, coffee?”

Jeffrey passed Amanda the red mug.

Two burning gulps later, a semblance of life entered her eyes.

“Should I just start the second cup now?” he offered, moving to take the white pod out of the coffee maker.

Resting her elbows on the sandstone-marbled countertop between them, Amanda whispered, “You are a god.”

“Not yet, but there is still time. Mocha or espresso or,” Jeffrey rubbed a hand from mid-chest to his six-pack, and hinting going lower “straight black.”

Smirking, because amusement, let alone laughing, took energy she did not have after the New Year’s party, Amanda finished the mug and pushed it back to her friend and surprise lover. “Espresso next.”

“Then, we talk.”

Amanda shook her head, leaning forward afterwards to hold the forehead. “Then mocha, then talk. Maybe.”

“How much did you drink last night?”

She waved her hand back and forth trying to erase the thought from the air. When Jeffry placed the refilled cup in front of her, she grabbed it with both hands, immediately quaffing the near boiling liquid. Jeffrey switched out the pod again for the mocha and refilled the water tank. She pushed the red mug his way a second time, and he provided the nectar of life for the third time.

This time she tasted the liquid. “Oh, god.” Miraculously, beside her hand appeared four aspirin. She tossed them back and took a snip to wash them down. “I said, you are a god, right?”

“Yep.” Jeffry poured himself a bowl of cereal and added milk, betting Amanda wasn’t up to smelling food cooking for a few more hours. This wasn’t the first time she overindulged at his New Year’s party. It was the first time they were both drunk enough to forget not to have drunk sex; she had stayed after, like she had every year since they met four years ago at a work party one Christmas and he randomly invited her over. She hated how trashed his place had been that first year, and stayed to help him pick up the debris after everyone left.

Amanda worked upper management somewhere in Europe most of the year, coming home during the holidays since the offices were closed but having no one to come back to. Her loose ends matched his pretty well for the holiday season in recent years, being an army brat and his parents and younger siblings located somewhere in Asia this deployment and his older siblings scattered throughout the world, so Amanda and he had become once-a-year friends and party crashers.

Somehow this year they started skyping outside of her holiday vacation. Why? Right, Toni had punched through a wall last year, missing her ex by a mile – but chasing the jerk off, and Amanda wondering how the remodeling and assault changes had gone.

One thing led to another and, well, here they were.

“Human yet?”

She shook her head, but it didn’t like it would fall off this time. “Troglodyte, but human may be possible by lunch. We can’t all be gods.” She pushed the red mug forward again.

“Another, or will you be vibrating?”

“Let’s do a decaf this time, something smooth, and hit your patio.”

Jeff grabbed a green pod of his favorite roast, adding a breath of his hazelnut cream when it finished perking, and passed it over.

Silently they padded barefoot to his deck. After clearing one of the mosaic tile tables of the bottles they didn’t touch the night before, because of the … distraction, they sat down to admire his mountain view, pulling their thick robes around them against the January chill. Amanda tucked her feet up onto the chair lip, stuffing the excess of the robe around them for warmth. Since the robe was Jeffrey’s, and he had about ten inches on her five foot four inches, she had plenty of cloth to work with.

He admired the snowscape, carefully not staring at his guest, though a couple other peaks called to him from where she huddled. Another dusting had fallen in the night; combined with the wind, the tracks and forts from last night’s snowball fight, everything now softly rose and fell in mounds.

“Last night,” she stated, baldly.

“Yep.”

“Great sex.”

“Yep.”

“I’ve not had anything in a year, you clean?”

“Yes.” Thinking about the last holiday season, that would mean, let’s see, Bentley from accounting. “Sorry about not using a condom.”

“I found them in your medicine cabinet this morning; they were all expired.”

“Most likely,: Jeff chuckled without amusement. “You don’t need condoms when masturbating.”

“Do that often?” She took a sip of her steaming decaf.

“Enough to keep the plumbing working.” He shrugged, settling back into the webbed chair.

“It worked well last night.”

“Yep.” He finally looked over at the brunette. “But I had some very nice inspiration.”

The blush started between the V of the robe and climbed to her ears, the joys of being white. The red path tempted him to follow it with his lips, as the plumbing reminded him it really, really liked to be used in the morning.

“Thank you.”

“So clean is good.” Jeff cleared his throat. “Leaving the next question; I am not snipped, and we didn’t use a condom.”

She made a face. “Yeah, that could be an issue. I’m normally on birth control, but forgot it would lapse during the holiday so I didn’t pick it extra before leaving for the states. I’ve been off for seven weeks now.”

“You want to get a morning-after pill, just in case?”

“Do you want me to?”

Jeff smiled at her. “Not unless you want to. I’m cool to raise a kid.”

“With me?” Her eyes, previously stilted against the snow glare opened a little.

“Or without, if you just want to carry and dump. I know you really love your career. I wouldn’t mind a kid but haven’t found anyone yet.” He turned his body to completely face her. “On the other hand, I like you and think we could be adults about it.”

She stared into the red mug for a while. “I’m getting up there in age.”

Jeff nodded, understanding. While he had technical expertise, landing him a six figure income at a young age allowing him to live his dream, she had been plodding and career climbing for a long time, and pulled in nearly fifteen years his senior.

“I’m game to play roulette.”

“Promise to keep me informed.” He pulled one of his hands out of the robe sleeves, offering her a pinky.

A laugh exploded from her, and she put down the mug. Offering her pinky in return, they crossed digits. “Promise.”

“Now about that godhood,” he growled, lowering his voice a register pseudo-seductively.

“Are you suggesting you want to double-down on the wheel?”

His smile crafted in response to the question was meant to send shivers up any heterosexual female spine. “Maybe, but also I want to taste you sober, sweet cheeks.”

She leaned forward to kiss his broad lips. Coffee and hazelnut mixed with Fruit Loops and milk; he reached a hand back to pull her closer, opening his mouth. She responded by transferring over to his chair and opening her mouth. Her hands dug into the robe and started stroking his chest.

Pulling back a little, Amanda asked, “So what do you think?”

“Delicious.” Jeffrey pushed her off his lap for a moment to stand. After opening the glass doors, he lifted her up into her arms, letting her wrap her legs around him. “But I want a meal, not a snack.”

The nibble beside his ear whispered, “I think we got time for a feast.”

“A feast,” he groaned, laying her on his bed, glad to make it that far this time.

“Gods should have feasts.” Amanda opened her robe. “I’ve got two days before the return flight.”

(Words 1,314; first published 3/17/2019)

 

The complete Red Mug series:
3/17/19 – Red Mug
3/24/19 – Green Cheeks
3/31/19 – Copenhagen Blue
4/7/19 – Clear Glass
4/14/19 – Gold Bands

Flash: Thebe is Sultry (Attempt Four)

Rating: Mature

“Excellent pout,” the photographer explained. “Now go for sultry”.

Thebe tilted her head towards the camera, endeavoring to put steam behind her hazel eyes.  Feathers from the mask tickled her ears, chin and neck. They also brushed her generous breasts, the sensation tightening her nipples. Thebe’s eyes darted to the Master of Ceremonies, the lead Satyr for the Nymphs and Satyrs club. One of the few men in the world who could make her seem small and dainty. Her eyes drifted down to his most prominent feature.

Some of the women would be intimidated by what lay in his mass of curls. Thebe couldn’t wait to rub against it for the photoshoot.

“Sultry down!”

Thebe eyes darted back to the photographer.

“Now tempting. Come on my nympho. Tempt me. Make me want to be a satyr.”

(words 136 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 6/30/2013 for the 6/3/12 Sunday Fun – See the picture that inspired the story! – As I do not know the copyright permissions, I have not copied it here; republished in new blog format 3/10/2019)

***

Blog comment on Flash: The flash did not want to be. After my fourth attempt, I have given up. The other 2,000 or so words give good background – Thebe in competing in  a contest hosted by Nymphs and Satyrs à la Big Brother (provided to viewers through an on-line subscription). I kept trying to find the point at which to begin this flash and have it end with Thebe wearing the big feathered mask – each story began later and later in the competition. I know the above is more like a scene than a flash, and actually only part of a scene. I’m giving up wrestling with this picture for now.

I only have 21 more Sunday Flash pictures from the old format for the Breathless Press blog. Sometime in November these will all be done. And end of an era.

Previous Thebe Flashes (dates provided are the republished dates): Thebe at Nymphs and Satyrs (12/18/16), Thebe gets her Nymph Mask (12/25/16), Thebe Fired (republished 3/3/19)

Flash: Thebe Loses Day Job (attempt 3)

Image courtesy of Ambro at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Surviving the first three days of the Nymphs and Satyr club’s Halloween competition meant Thebe needed to call her day employer and beg for time off. She hadn’t expect it to go well, and she was right. Bryson fired her.

Fortunately the $3,000 she had already pocketed from making it this far would easily cover her until she found another retail position. Her night job had given her a week’s vacation before signing in, so she had something if she was kicked out tonight.

Thebe wished she could talk to Rhene, her best friend who dragged her into this mess. But since Rhene had pulled a blue and white domino and Thebe’s mask was the green and black of forest, her confidant was on a different team. Celestial to her team of Nature nymphs. Their two teams, plus Fire and Water, made the four-way competition. No contact or collusion between teams except during head-to-head matches.

She really could use an ally. The competition was not only between teams, but also had one winner. Each day saw another woman kicked off each team. Thebe still wasn’t sure how her two hundred and forty pound ass had gotten this far. Sure her six foot frame distributed the weight so she wasn’t a butterball like Cristina on the Fire team who weighed the same but was an entire foot shorter, but Thebe knew her teammates hated her chunky butt. The mix of team and individual results drove paranoia within and without the teams. The high-scoring Water team was pulling away from the pack in more ways than one. Thebe gave them one more day before self-destructing.

Having used up her one personal call for the competition, and her daily break from one-way mirrors and web-cameras, Thebe returned to her team’s room for a quick shower as the rest of the girls got their daily privacy break.

Thebe played it up for the camera as water sluiced over her. She was pretty sure she had gotten a following on the members-only website. No way her teammates hadn’t put her head on the chopping block. Yes, Daisy had been a no-brainer the first day, but since then … According to the other girls, who have actually watched this competition on the web, ejection votes were only part of the mix. The winning team gets to “immunize” one member from each of the other teams. The object is to weaken their chances by forcing the other nymphs to keep weak players.

The balance of the decision came from audience. People could pay up to $100, $10 per each keep vote. Anyone making it five days gets to take home 10% of their supporter’s payments as a bonus. So Thebe soaped up her D-cups, trying to find the balance between titillating and tawdry. 

Meryl was tawdry and had come screaming in the room yesterday. Once during the week each competitor can find out how the vote work – she could find out how everyone voted on every team for that day only, or she could find out how her team voted that particular day plus her standings for every day before. … Meryl’s slutty and superior behavior was playing well for the hard-porn audience the competition catered to, but not her team. After Meryl’s initial rant about how many ugly and fat girls were in the competition this year, including but not limited to Cristina and Thebe, Thebe hadn’t changed her eject vote once.

Heavy breathing echoed through the speakers signaling the next competition. Thebe wrapped a towel around her and rushed into the main room.

A photo shoot, each girl dressing up as the winner. The Nymph Mistress to a Satyr Master. The shoot would be in the Elemental mask and nothing else.

Seeing no reason to dress , Thebe followed the other women into “magic” room. Today it was a …

(and this again is too much for a simple flash I am aiming for)

(word count 643; first published 3/3/2019)

Flash: Hidden from the Surface

Image courtesy of alexisdc. at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

“Not ready yet, my dear.”

Cheyanne glanced over her shoulder in annoyance at the vampire lord who bought her body and soul, but not her spirit. “I would be if your brother didn’t keep unzipping the dress.”

“Garrett.” Clayton admonished, a touch of exasperation lacing his voice.

“I can’t help it, Clay,” the ghost formed between the woman and the silver-backed mirror. “This body should never be covered up. Especially these bazongas.” He reached for the large breasts the loose dress top revealed, the dark brown tips drawing into points as his cold presence brushed against them.

“While I agree with the sentiment, our guest and I are expected at a gala within the hour.” The younger brother approached the warlock-kin’s back and grasped the zipper, sliding it up her back.

Rather than keep eye contact, Cheyanne turned back to the mirror where her master remained invisible. Garrett hadn’t fully formed, so she could focus past him. Knocking his insubstantial hands out of the way, she pulled the top into place as the fabric tightened with the closure. She worked hard to appear resolutely angry when the ninety-year-old vampire raised her hair to kiss the back of her neck, and the ghost, who had died in his teens, continued to play with her nipples through the beaded fabric.

One day she would kill her father for enslaving her, and maybe when she raised him from the dead with her rapidly developing necromantic powers, she would thank him for selling her to the brothers.

(words 253; first published 2/24/2019)

Flash: Peace Out

Photo by Kyle Szegedi on Unsplash

The damp reached its oxidizing claws toward the abandoned VW camper. The cheerful sky blue outside an affront to its power. Even though the daisy and flower decals long ago succumbed to its strength, peeling back the paper and glue, the metal sides continued to shrug off its assault year after year. Not heat, frost, or cold mattered.

Vandals and homeless equally tried to leave their mark, attempting to break windows or streak the side with obscene and vulgar messages. Only one tag stayed after the assailant left, a beautiful mural of a mother holding a baby who transformed into a solider, died, had flowers grow and another child, clearly related to the solider, was shown running with flowers in hand to a grandmother. Even that artistry did not stand up to the onslaught of time and elements.

The only thing left was the annoying cheerful sky blue van-a-gon, waiting for its driver to return from a long-forgotten concert held near the field where the vehicle had been abandoned. The damp pulled back as the sun raised above the hill, cursing its failure in dozens of spiraling evaporation trails as heat dissolved the dew.

Sometime later the vehicle sighed, a shifting of metal during the heat of the day. Sliding side doors became arms, wheels became hands and feet. The robot stumbled as it stood in his true form for the first time in decades.

“Man, what a trip.” He looked at the sky stretching from horizon to horizon, as blue as his body. Missing his driver and the group of Deadheads they gathered crossing the country, and their multi-colored smokes filling his cabin-lungs, he sighed again, “Guess it’s time to peace out.”

The damp screamed its frustration in unending steam as the metal body launched itself into the waterless void of space.

(Words 303; first published 2/17/2019)