Flash: The Secrets of Cats

Image provided by saphatthachat on FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“The cat slunk by, eyeing me suggestively.” The woman shifted positions, foot to foot. “I’m not saying this right. The expression the cat had said it had a secret, one I would want to know, but it wasn’t going to tell me. But, it might lead me to it.

“That is how I got here.” Maribeth wrapped arms tightly around herself as she waited for the answer from the six people pointing weapons at her. Shivering from the cold as much as fright, she tried to make out faces under the scarfs and furs of the hooded parkas. Her flipflops inadequacies in the ankle-deep snow were matched by her bikini top and the shorts she pulled on to hit the boardwalk. She had spotted the cat going doing an alley behind a seafood restaurant when she went to grab lunch after surfing.

A muffled voice, either emanating from the person directly in front of her holding the old fashion machine gun or from the person to the right holding a crossbow strung with two arrows, one-right on top of the other, asked, “You followed a cat?”

“A cat, yes. About so big,” She took her hands out of her arm pits and gestured, before returning them to the warmest place on her body. She shifted her feet again; they felt more like slush than flesh. “Down an alley.”

She heard laughter behind her.

“Pad.” The voice, clearer this time, came from the crossbow holder and cut like an ice dagger. The laughter stopped instantly. “Girl, go back.”

“I tried. I came out of that tree.” Maribeth risked frostbite again for her fingers, waving at a nearby tree with footprints surrounding it. “I tried and tried. The cat disappeared, and I can’t go home.” She held back sobs, barely, but wasn’t sure how much longer before she broke down entirely.

“Then come.”

The group moved as one, some in high leather boots and others in snow shoes, barely making a sound. Not wanting to be alone, Maribeth followed. One of the group fell behind her.

“Should we mark the tree or something, so I can try later?” she asked.

“We won’t be back.” The one behind her reported.

The college student stopped until the person pushed her, forcing her to follow the trail the others were breaking. “But, how do I get home?”

“That is the cat’s secret.”

(words 398; first published 7/28/2019)

Flash: Jail Break

Rating: Mature

Rare sunlight filtered through the bars into the dungeon, highlighting the paleness of Dagonet’s skin. Prison life did not suit a noble of his stature. He was a knight and heir to a County. Other lesser warriors and nobles could expect to wait in the dank, dark reaches of their enemy’s castle for ransom to be paid. Those like him, heroes on the battlefield and nobles baptized in the same waters as princes, are housed in locked towers with full bedchambers or allowed the dignity of parole.

He had been offered neither parole nor politeness. The lordling’s anger seethed deep; these affronts will not be left unanswered.

Heavy doors opening and closing echoed to his cell. Clinking keys jiggling. During the nine days since his deposit in this stygian hole, his captors inadequately provided his needs through one girl. They hadn’t even honored his prowess with guards, bored or abusive.

Small slippered feet were the first to be seen on the stone steps, then the hem of servant garments. A covered basket emerged from one sleeve and oversized keys from the other, the hands completely concealed by the ill-fitting sleeves. Eventually the blonde chit’s pleasant face became visible.

“Good after the noon, Sir Weckheim.”

His eyes narrowed as she approached, not returning the greeting to one so below his status. Undeterred by his disregard, she confidently opened the cell door and brought the food in. She left the door ajar with no fear of his escape, his chains were heavy and cumbersome and would take an ogre to break, and she was not allowed to carry the keys to them.

The young woman gracefully kneeled, putting the keys to one side and her basket to the other.

“The cook sent the normal slop, the stuff given to the beggars.” She pulled a half-full bowl out of the basket of vegetables in chicken broth. Then she sent him a shy look, keeping her head appropriately bowed. “But today the staff had sausages, and I managed to sneak a few out.”

Dagonet’s stomach growled as the girl laid out three thick rolls of spiced meat longer than his hand. He had not had solid meat since the morning before his capture on the battlefield. Hearing the sound, her head snapped up and her face went from a mask concentrating on her duty to a sweet smile.

It transformed her.

Kneeing in a golden pool of sun, the first light to grace the cell in days, her grey linen dress tight across her legs and breasts, the oversized sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the female became for an instant the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  Her hands were elegant, nimble in movement, leaving dust particles shimmering in their wake as she pulled another item from her basket of bounty.

Dagonet didn’t process it, he was transfixed by other attractions.

Her smiling lips were rich and plump as berries. The light changed her eyes into blue orbs of cool water.

Already seated, he found it easier to fall onto his hands and crawled to her. His chained clinked menacingly as he approached. He watched her breasts rise and fall as she inhaled, the cloth confining them clearly showing her arousal as her nipples hardened.

“And … and … the cellar had a bottle of wine go bad.” She stammered, licking her lips. “It’s vinegary, but with the sugar and cloves I added it should be better than…”

She stopped talking as he drew up in front of her. He took the bottle from her loose grip and placed it beside the meat and stew.

“Later.” The knight whispered his first word spoken at or to the servant, before taking her face in his hands and pulling her in for a kiss.

She tasted of fennel and garlic, her skin as soft as down.  Dragonet slid his right hand to grasp her breast, the girl’s mouth opened in a moan and he plundered freely. His left hand ceased controlling her head and moved to press her willing body closer to him.

Her nimble, uncallused fingers danced over his bare chest. His captors had removed his armor, stripped his clothes to bind his wounds, and never gave him new garments. Much bolder than ladies of his rank, the woman’s hands quickly found their way into his braies to beguile his manhood.

He pulled away slightly, her lips waiting until the last minute to break away. Panting rapidly, he unlaced her kirtle. Before he could cup her breasts, she pushed him onto the cut stone floor.

“Oh, no, my lord, I want to see what I am mounting first.” Her saucy glee nearly made him laugh, but she removed his drawers and was stroking his prick before his laugh escaped. A moan replaced it. Her sly look came back, “Now this looks like a much better sausage than what be served at my master’s table.” After the declaration, she took his cock wholly into her mouth and swallowed.

No woman had ever taken him in such a fashion. He nearly released from the sensation.

Her tongue darted along his hardening length. Then she took him by his tip and drew her sweet berry lips tight around him, and slowly, like drawing juice from a peach, sucked him until she reached his root. How she did not gag he could not fathom, for he had never been so hard or long before.

“If you are going to mount me woman, do it now, or I will ride you, mouth and pussy, until you cannot use neither.”

The blonde released his cock with a pop. Climbing over his legs, she drew her skirts high and slid onto him, like a sheathe accepting its favorite sword. She drew up on her knees until he was nearly outside her channel then fell again, going deeper.

It still was not deep enough to please him. He rolled them over with his hands holding her thighs, he kneeled and settled his weight heavily between her legs, pinning the wench. Moving the chains so they held the skirts down, he then pushed her legs high and hooked them over his shoulders. Grasping her fleshy ass, he lifted with hands he used to control raging warhorses, and impaled her with his complete length. Holding her ass steady, he drove into her again and again.

Her shrieks echoed each slap of flesh, growing louder and louder. Dagonet moaned counter to each thrust. Eventually the wench screamed. The echo bouncing from the dungeon to the countryside. Dagonet held on through gritted teeth as the woman’s womb tried to milk his seed.

He remained kneeling, holding her ass high and her legs over his shoulders as pants and moans continued to come from the incoherent female. He held a 24-hour vigil on his knees without food or drink, he certainly could wait until the wench was ready again.

When her spasming sheath slowed its pulsing, he pulled his rigid cock partially out. Then plowed it in again, harder and faster than before. Less than two strokes later she screamed again. He kept pounding into her, until a third scream – deeper, longer than the earlier two tore from her lips. Finally he released, pumping her chamber full until he had no more to give.

Nearly unconscious, the knight collapsed onto the female, her legs sliding down his arms and back. He slid lower until his head rested on the belly his seed had filled and drifted off.

(words 1,251 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/19/2013 for the 5/27/12 Sunday Fun – See the picture that inspired the story! – As I do not know the copyright permissions, I have not copied it here; republished new blog format 7/14/2019)

Flash: Falling for Aspen

Photo by Sean Odell (Unsplash.com)

Rating: Mature

Dozens of golden maple leaves fell around Andy as Aspen leaped into his arms, kissing him after his proposal. He didn’t expect such as strong reaction to his invitation to shack up together. They had reached the point something needed to change, and he knew it. He didn’t want the change to be them breaking apart.

After several kisses, Aspen slid down his body until both her boots were back on the sidewalk. “Thank God, I thought you were going to ask to marry me.” She said leaning against his chest.

Andy winced, reaching his arms to hug her tight. “Don’t you want to marry me someday?”

“Good grief, no. Marriage never goes well in my family.”

The man held her tighter, thinking back on the two divorces Aspen’s mother had gone through since they started dating back in high school, from husbands four and five, and the family gatherings he had been dragged to during their ten years of dating (today being the anniversary) with the dozens of children brought by her sisters, aunts, cousins, grandmothers, and the original matriarch, her great-grandmother, none with a single father in common. Most of the married femlaes sporting visible bruises from their husbands.

“I’m not like anyone else.”

“Not now, Andy, but you would be,” Aspen smiled up at him, the happy escaping a little from her eyes, shading them with the sadness never far from her crystal blues in recent months, “But maybe we can beat the curse. Love without marriage. Just promise to never ask to marry me.”

“What if I ask?”

Color drained from Aspen’s face, like winter following autumn. “I would have to say yes.”

Blinking, his mind stuck at the thought, both ecstatic and deeply scared. Eventually, Andy asked, “Have to?” emphasizing the lack of choice.

“Part of the curse.”

“Okay. Maybe we should talk about the ‘curse’ before moving in together.” Andy dropped his hands down and took a step back.

In a very small voice, Aspen said, “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. I love you too much.” Her head tilted sideways looking up at him. “But maybe Glassy can, she hates your guts.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Douglas, or Glassy to her friends and family, was Aspen’s next older sister and had done everything in her power to break up Aspen and Andy, including sneaking into his bedroom one night naked and taking pictures before he was awake enough to realize which sister was in his arms as he came awake. He was fourteen and like most boys that age, not operating much higher than hormone function at the time. It was the first and only time he punched a woman.

“Yeah,” Aspen took his hand and they started walking again, enjoying the autumn colors. “You know, as much as I would love to live with you all the time, buy that house we just saw and settled down, it’s just a bad idea.”

“No, it’s not.” Andy squeezed her hand, “I want to have children with you, grow old with you, and not marry you if you don’t want to.”

“Me too.” Aspen leaned against his shoulder.

Sighing, Andy looked around to see where they were in town. They had meandered around for hours just talking, like they did whenever he picked up her from her mother’s house and they didn’t go out for food, or straight to his house for other activities. Today Aspen was on the rag and both of them had had a holiday function at lunch leaving them both really full even after work, so they walked.

“We are two blocks from Glassy’s house. Let’s get this over with.” Andy turned at the corner. Aspen hesitated, then squared her shoulders and followed.

Far too soon for the butterflies in his stomach, the two of them were knocking on the purple door interrupting a screaming fight. Glassy’s first husband, married right out of high school when she had gotten knocked up, had left her years ago. After suing for abandonment, she had bounced around between losers until she found the present gem she married during the summer. The jerk opened the door in the overly appropriate wife-beater shirt and sweatpants, the later trying to escape from his belly overhang. “What?!?”

Behind him, in the living room the very pregnant Glassy wiped at a bleeding cut on her lip.

Aspen sent her sister a look and Glassy shook her head, shrugging her shoulders like, “what can we do?”. Frowning, Aspen talked politely to a man who clearly had just hit her eight-month pregnant sister. “Hello Matthew, I was wondering if Andrew and I could talk with Douglas.”

“No.” And Matt tried to slam the door in their faces.

Andrew’s hand stopped the door, and Matt couldn’t move it an inch further. “I think you need to go for a walk and cool down.”

“Fuck you.”

“Either that, or I can give you fat lip to match your wife before I knock you into next week.”

“Andy…” Aspen cautioned.

“Glassy, call 911 if this fucker lays a hand on me.” Matt’s lips curled back in a challenge.

Andrew, nearly three inches shorter and forty pounds lighter than the older man, stared back. Without breaking eye contact, he said, “Glassy, I mean to marry … no, wait … live with your sister in sin in that house on South Water Way, fucking her nightly instead of when your mama approves, as soon as we can pool our money. She says you need to tell me something before I do that.” Andrew took a step closer, pushing the door wider, making Matt take a step back so both he and Aspen were in the house.

“Aspen?” Glassy sounded sadder than Andrew had ever heard the bitch sound.

“I’ve got to try Glassy.”

“You’ll just end up…”

“I know.”

“And he…”

“I know.” Aspen swallowed audibly. “But I got to try.”

“Matt, take that walk.”

“Fuck you.”

“Now.”

Andrew still staring into Matt’s eyes, saw them unfocus. The man dropped his hand from the door, stepped around Aspen and him, and walked outside in his socks. Blinking his dry eyes, not sure what to think, Andy watched as Matt walked down the gravel driveway and turned right like a automaton when reaching the sidewalk.

“Did that give you pause, puppy-boy?” Glassy growled, crossing the room to a box of tissues, snapping Andy’s attention back to the house. “Because there is more. Lots more.”

Andrew eyes assessed the room, seeing if the new data changed anything, lingering on Aspen. He kissed her on the lips, took her hand in his and went to the couch to sit down. He would likely need to sit down for the rest of this. Once both he and Aspen were sitting, he squeezed her hand with reassurance, kissed her one more time, before turning his full attention to Glassy, who glared at him with pure hate. “Shoot. What is the curse?”

“My God, Aspen, you told him about the curse?”

“Only that there was one. Tell him, please.”

“The curse great-grandma Wiggins dumped on us, her decedents, a fallout from a war with another coven, is as follows – near as we can tell, because it ain’t like the other coven wanted us to know how to untangle this mess. Because we tried. None of them are alive now, so the curse can’t be broke.”

“You killed them.” Andy started rubbing Aspen’s knuckles with his free hand.

“Nah, the rule of three did that. What you do to others returns three times to you. Stupid fuckers. They could have stopped this at any time, but they didn’t.” Glassy pressed the dotted red tissue to her lip another time and pulled it away to evaluate the results. Satisfied she had stopped bleeding, she wadded it up and tossed it on the breakfast bar between the kitchen and living room. “All this because great-grandma couldn’t keep her skirts down around other women’s husbands.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“’Unfortunate’, puppy-boy, it’s hell. It’s hell for me, going to be hell for Aspen, and will be hell for our daughters.”

“Daughters … okay, I’m an idiot. You guys only have daughters.”

“Five generations now and counting.” Glassy rubbed her belly. “My Flora has it, both our witchy ways and the curse. And this little one will too.”

“Aspen wanted me to know about the curse.”

“I’m getting to that. But I guess I should hurry up. Matt’s walk is just to cool him down. Being away from me and my curse should do that in minutes.” Glassy looked at Aspen instead of trying to kill Andrew with her dagger eyes. “Last chance before loverboy knows all.”

Aspen leaned against him, like she wanted to somehow be absorbed into him and his strength, and pressed her lips together.

“Right.” Disgusted didn’t even capture the expression on the pregnant woman’s face. “First, we get pregnant at the drop of a hat.”

“Um, Aspen and I have…”

“I know you have; we all know you have. The coven’s been casting spells for your dates to keep that at bay. But moving in together, she is going to be as big as a tree before you can say Abracadabra.”

Red flushed Andy’s face as he realized, if what was just said is true, Glassy and Aspen’s mom knew every time they had had sex, starting when they were sixteen.

“Second, we have to have a man.” Glassy snarled. “Not the ‘one day my prince will come’ longing so you got someone to open the pickle jar. No, we get physically sick going more than two months without someone between our legs once our mense starts. Fortunately spells can hold that back for several years so we ain’t got middle schoolers pushing out the babies. And by sick, we throw up at first and then it gets to the point we can’t eat. For about a month we can force food down, but eventually we starve to death. But if knocked up, no morning sickness, so there is that.”

“I guess that is a bright side.”

“Sure is Dudley-do-right. Fuck, no. If things are typical, your girlfriend is going to pop out four different girls from four different guys, while depending on spells to keep it down to only four. We use all our circle time on damn contraception spells.”

Now Glassy’s lips twisted into something plain mean and evil. Andy had thought she always looked that way, but this was another level different.

“Now to what the curse means to you, and I am going to love watching you fail like everyone before you have. You will fall in love. Can’t help it when you fuck us. Comes free with the curse package. You are a little different because you two started dating at twelve and didn’t concemate for a very long time. Longest couple on record, but you haven’t taken it to marriage level.

“Most men ask, being in love and all, to get married pronto. For our part of the curse package, once we’ve had sex, we can’t say no to spiraling the relationship down the drain. Want a marriage – ‘oh, yes, my sweetheart’ – pops our of our mouths before we can stop it.”

Hearing the sweet girlish voice come out of Glassy’s mouth was disconcerting.

“Want a baby, ‘oh, do me now’.”

And that, Andrew could spend his entire life without hearing again.

“I need your life’s savings. We can’t fucking say no.”

“We can.” Aspen interjected.

“Not really. If it makes our men happy, we will do it. Tie me up, tie me down. Spank me. Whatever you want, dear.” Glassy slammed her fist against the wall behind the chair she leaned against. “But each time we give in, that love turns to hate. The worm of the curse eats it up. The men lose respect, of themselves and us. And, here is the killer of the curse, you will get angry enough to hit us. And once done, the second time is easier. Most men run after hitting a pregnant woman; and if they don’t, the coven removes them to protect the baby.”

“Why is Matt still around?” Andy growled.

“Because I want him to be. He is an ass, but I love him. Plus he hits like a girl, so mom hasn’t taken matters into her own hands yet. Once Fauna is born, though, he will leave. That is the final bit of the curse. The man can’t love his child. He can feel the baby’s powers developing and it drives him away. Longest man to last was Great-Aunt Maple’s Benny; the man was as sensitive as a brick. Took him until the baby’s first words to bolt, nearly eleven months. And he only had hit her three or four times before he left. The curse barely affected him.”

“Did men hang around before your line were cursed?”

“Not often.” Aspen answered from his shoulder. “Witchy ways are gender polarized, pushing males away and drawing in females.”

“Why haven’t you told me you’re a witch before now?”

Glassy interrupted before Aspen spoke again. “That would be the gag spell we put on the kids so they don’t spell the beans. Kids talk, and a lot of witches got burned because of their children had diarrhea of the mouth, so we do a preemptive strike. After that, habit takes over. Because Aspen liked you so much, puppy-boy, we kept the spell up and would have renewed it last full moon if she hadn’t made herself conveniently absent. As an adult, she had to be present for the casting.” Glassy turned her death glare on her sister.

Aspen stuck her tongue out in return, before saying to Andy, “I wanted you to know.”

“Thank you. So what does witchy ways entail?”

“Well, you two can take that part of the conversation elsewhere, because I see Matt limping up the driveway.” Glassy shoulders slumped as she looked out the window, the weight of the world returning. “I need to help him.”

“Glassy … Douglas.” Andrew stood, not sure what to say next.

“It’s too late for us.” Glassy waddled over to the door. “Too late for you too, but maybe you can pull a Benny and surprise us. You’ve been doing that for a long time already, Dudley.”

“His name is Andrew, sis.”

“Whatever.” Glassy said as she opened the door and took her husband in her arms when he came in, confused and apologetic for slapping her earlier.

Andy and Aspen closed the door behind them. Standing on the stoop for a moment, watching the leaves scatter in the wind across the still green lawn, Andy blinked against the brightness of the setting sun.

“She tried to charm me when I was fourteen, didn’t she?”

Aspen looked up, clearly surprised at the observation. “Doubleganger shapeshift, fairly easy since we are related and she had access to everything I owned, followed by a lust spell, likely from hair she pulled off my clothes. If you had done what she was trying to do, you would have loved her instead of me.”

“I shouldn’t have been able to fight it.” Andy frown at their joined hands as they stepped away. At the corner, they turned towards Aspen’s home.

“We added you to the list in the grimoire of those who tossed it off. Since we started keeping track in the 1500s, only four men and seventeen women have thrown off that spell. That includes you. Before you, no one under the age of thirty. Most over the age of sixty, the rest deathly ill. We figure being lust enhancing, you need a libido for it to work.”

“So, a no. I really shouldn’t have been able to fight it. Not then, not now.”

“Nope. But you did because you loved me.”

They walked back, the twilight changing everything around them to secrets and mysteries. A block from Aspen’s mom house, Andy stopped, drawing her close again, pulling their joined hands up between them, “I love you.”

He kissed her knuckles one by one, staring at her blue eyes hiding behind her glasses.

“Live with me, be my love. We will all pleasures prove.” Andy dropped on one knee among golden fall leaves covering the sidewalk and pulled her down onto his leg. “With curses banished, singular and always by true love’s constant kiss.” He puckered his lips to her in invitation.

“I love you.” Aspen grasped his ears, aiming her lips for his.

(Words 2755; first published 6/30/2019)

Flash: Archaeology is the Best Major

Photo from Victoria Palacios at Unsplash

Rating: Mature (Language)

The doll didn’t fit.

He shoved harder. It will fit.

The.doll.did.not.fit.

Fuck.

He needed to wash it before returning it.

It would be creepy to wash it in a tub like a real person.

Stupid. Fucking. Ugh!

Fred yanked it out. Didn’t laundrymats have large washers? Maybe in the back near the attendant giving him the stink eye.

He pushed the doll body in the mobile laundry basket, limbs flopping over the sides, feet and hands trailing through the day’s grime, dryer sheets, and loose threads until he found the monster machines used to wash sleeping bags and king-sized comforters.

This time he stuck it in feet first, shoving in the butt next, followed by the head. The hands and arms crammed in any which way. The black hair was the worst, clinging to his hands, but he got the door shut without anything catching.

He poured coins and detergent in, set the machine to chugging and agitating, then waited, texting a cute girl he met on campus earlier this week and responded to various emails and facebook posts for other women he had recently met, trying to decide who next to use the amulet on. Someone smaller who would fit in the normal washers.

Seventy-two hours – three days of bliss, before dumping the doll off somewhere, clean and untraceable. Archaeology is the best major of all time.

(words 228; first published 6/23/2019)

Flash: Pink Strip

The strip was pink. So much for leaving Jeannie at the altar. The revenge planned for so long needed modification. He hated the bitch, but governments get antsy when babies are kidnapped out of hospitals. Cops don’t care if the person doing the taking is the true parent.

Jeannie was not raising a Katz after the humiliation she had inflicted on his sister. The wench was vile.

What could he do to get the babe and not go to prison? How to poison the spoiled princess and save the babe from the goblin queen?

Ah, the beginning of an idea started. Time to buy a rose for the monster-to, er, … mother-to-be.

(words 112 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 6/9/2013 for the 1/22/12 Sunday Fun – See the picture that inspired the story! – As I do not know the copyright permissions, I have not copied it here; Republished new blog format 6/9/2019)