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)

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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: 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)

Flash: Reversed Reflections

Image courtesy of Ben Schonewille at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The men were still following her, she was sure of it.

Heather adjusted her mirrors after pulling into the rest stop. She watched as the black Tahoe continued down the highway, positive that when she passed the next gas station it would be pulling in behind her again. But for the moment, she was off their radar.

Leaning  back, she took a moment to breathe and center herself, then adjusted the mirrors for real. Cars with intent to follow would have a red haze around them going forward. At least until nightfall, when her sun and nature-based magic failed. That’s when they will attack again, her gut said.

“I guess I could try some of the night magic.” Heather suggested to the two rear-facing seats shown in her inside rear-view mirror. The twins neither approved or disapproved the suggestion.

Not that she would do the night magic her ex-boyfriend taught her. Her demon lover. She hadn’t known how true that appellation had been when Jevil had introduced himself at the club. She thought he had just been a bragging asshole, and she always liked bad boys.

Having a guy gyrate behind her while she was dancing, and somehow whisper in her ear , “I’ll be your demon lover tonight,” made her panties melt five beers in to the night. She hadn’t questioned the magic required to perform a whisper while dancing to ear-shattering club music after sunset.

When she started showing, Jevil had flicked her aside like the butt from a used smoke, and she thought that was that. Lesson learned, sun and darkness don’t mix. Until yesterday when he had shown up at the daycare with two other men who could have passed for his brothers, wanting the kids. The twins had already been strapped in, so she floored her sedan, making one of the men leap out of the way and she had seen wings behind him for a moment before the illusion reformed. Real, honest-to-badness, bat-like wings shimmering like oil in the dim winter sun.

She had spent the night at her house, her haven, behind wards made by her coven before they had cut her from the circle, while the trio battered and pounded the magical walls denying entrance. It was the night before winter solstice, so nearly fifteen hours of her tossing what little magic she had under moonless skies. Every stone and plant in her house was drained or dead by the time the sun rose. The house would not survive another night.

Not that it mattered, because they had tossed gasoline against the side they had breached close enough to touch the physical siding, and then added a match.

Heather barely managed to get the kids into the garage and strapped into their seat in the Honda Civic before flames roared through their living quarters. She pulled out from the flames and smoke while dawn broke the horizon, which she used to power a nuclear blast of Light, capital L intended, to clear her path. She had been driving ever since, exhaustion held off only by magic. She wouldn’t make it through the night.

Stumbling out of the car, she opened the driver-side rear door. Carefully unbuckling her daughter, she took the baby over to a picnic table. Looking around, to see who was about to get an eyeful and finding no one, she kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the sod. After that she lifted her shirt and unsnapped the nursing bra pad protecting an aching breast. The child latched on as soon as the nipple was in range.

“I know, I know. I am so sorry to have missed your morning feeding. You’ve been so good, Diana.” She had been feeding Apollo when she had smelled the gas; he had not been happy about the interruption, but settled immediately after the car started moving. Both of them had been eerily quiet as she drove in a panic to nowhere. Her coven had removed her when she had shown up with a reverse witch streak, the black lock damning against her blonde hair. Dabbling with Jevil, using sex magic at night and other seductive tricks, left its mark on her body, life, and soul.

“I should have known better.” Heather talked using the rise and fall babies love to hear. “You will know better, won’t you? You are going to be my smart little girl.” The baby sucked steady, leeching liquid from her body she hadn’t replaced since yesterday’s, goddess help her, breakfast. She had worked through lunch at her retail job since two of the staff quit. Well, management must be having a field day with her being a no-show today. She drew more energy from the soil to push back the low-blood-sugar headache and dehydration migraine. The brownish grass turned black as she killed it for her survival, removing every particle of light the living mass had stored for the winter.

The clear blue eyes of the very young stared up at Heather, studying her intently, until, finally, Diana slowed her sucking. Unlatching the nipple, Heather tucked everything back in and slipped on her shoes, not worrying about the mud clinging to her toes, before carrying the drowsy baby to the car. Laying the two-month old back into the seat, Heather started buckling the child in. Kissing her lightly on the forehead, she promised, “I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you and your brother.”

Heather quaked as she considered her words. Everything in her power. She had to do it. Closing the door, she walked around to the other side where Apollo patiently waited for her with his black eyes. As she unbuckled him for the afternoon feeding, Heather commented, “Well, I guess your daddy is going to find out how well he taught me the Empty Magics.”

(Word 975; First published 1/20/2019)

 

Flash: Respect My Profession

“Please, could you?” he begged. His clear baby-blues pulled at her soul.

Victoria eyed Dodd’s muscular arms, the bunched shoulders pleading for rubs, the tight back ripe for touching.

She should not. She needed to stop giving away her services for free. Now she understood the complaints of doctors and lawyers, people always asking them for advice. The complaints of singers and musicians, where family and friends expected free performances at every life event from weddings to birthdays.

Victoria had spent years getting licensed because she wanted to help people. Now she wanted her career to pay her mortgage. Moreover, she wanted her friends to respect her as a professional.

Did she ask Dodd to fix her computer every time he came over? Well, maybe. That last malware infestation had been a bitch.

Sighing, she dug out the special oil blend.

A childish grin danced over Dodd’s lips as he buried his head between his crossed arms. Victoria could do a massage like no one else.

(words 169 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/11/2013 for the 6/10/12 Sunday Fun – See the picture that inspired the story! – As I do not know the copyright permissions, I have not copied it here; first published on the website 9/11/2013; republished 1/13/2019)