Category: Visual

Flash: Small Wings

Erin Penn

Photo by Tikkho Maciel on Unsplash (Cropped and Color Adjusted by Erin Penn)

Someone wanted him here. The geocache might as well have made for him, taking him from one end of the city to the other on his skateboard for the last four hours. A couple of clues…. well, he had fallen for it.

Raff looked around the empty parking garage, his stomach saying it wasn’t empty. He learned to trust his gut a long time ago. The sibilant hiss of pipes in the ceiling and tires echoing from the streets above seemed too loud. Spreading his legs to drop his center of gravity, he called his true self to the surface, giving his eyes the ability to see elsewhere. As soon as his wings appeared, black snakes rose out of the shadows and raced at him, sliding back and forth on the cement.

His Cupid bow released three arrows before they had closed half the distance, and he hoped for some gender differences between the snakes, or at least a beneficial, to him, sexual orientation, so the lust would distract them. No effect. Snapping down his skateboard where it leaned against his leg, he jumped on it, using his right foot to push it hard, and he beat his tiny wings for what little help they could give to move faster.

The ramps all led up. The final stage of the geocache was in the bottom of the old Sears catalog building, three floors below ground. One of the periodic bumps lifted the board off the ground enough he turned it on edge to use a column to bank, aiming up a ramp. Two lights behind him snapped off; no sparks or flares, just dark. Spinning on the board to look behind, he saw the snakes enter one end of the deep shadows and exit the other end the next instant.

Cheaters.

Well, two can play at that game. Rounding another column, he reached out and crushed a chunk out. Twisting the board around, he took aim and threw the mass of concrete at one.

It sailed through the insubstantial creature.

The way the snakes were acting, they weren’t going to be insubstantial when they closed.

His arrows had hit them.

He likely could hit them too, thanks to his frisky pop’s sperm donation to his mom. Eros, like every Greek god in existence, couldn’t keep it under the toga, and Mom was never what you would call discerning in her choice of male companionship. But Eros was no Zeus, and Raff was no Hercules. Snakes would win if he wrestled. Coils trump arrows.

Making for a bank of bright lights, hoping to slow them down, Raff switched his push leg. Did Psyche send the snakes after him in revenge for Cupid’s wandering ways, like Hera did on Hercules? She hadn’t seemed upset, just tired, when Eros brought him by at age thirteen to get his bow. The one and only time he met his dad.

Maybe one of the other living mortal Cupids were ticked off at the new guy. But he wasn’t the new guy anymore, Shewon over in Tibet had that dubious honor, hitting thirteen last week. At nineteen, Raff was now one of the old guys and no longer the most powerful Cupid and well glad to be rid of it. Were any of the other twelve pissed off at him and had been waiting for his powers to drop?

The lights slowed them down. Though a few of florescent winked out so shadows became available for the snakes to slither through, the deep dark allowing the teleportation they had used before did not result. Raff had vaguely missed that aspect of being the head Cupid once he had his life back; having a life way outweighed the benefits of the extra magic, even if that life mostly focused on earning his GED after six year helping strangers hook up. Now he really wanted to blink up to the afternoon sunlight to keep his life, sad though it was, intact.

The ramp between level B and A was completely in the dark. He jumped off the board, flipped it into his hands and ran up the pavement.

The fastest snake exited the dark at the same time he did, snapping at his feet with its triangular head. Triangle means poison, right? Missing out on all of high school killed everything science. Popping around the world let him see its wonders, but he didn’t understand any of it. Fortunately his high ankle sneakers kept the fangs from breaking skin. Calling his bow back to his hands, he dropped his board, swung the bow to crack the creature on its jaw, then ran once he was free to jump on the board and start moving again. The first shadow snake’s brethren joined it after it reoriented on him.

Too close. He wasn’t going to make it.

(words 807; first published 8/26/2018)

Flash: Bowman

Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

Bowman reviewed the duty assignment screen wistfully. His unit-individual number was followed by a blinking active, in-port code, and after that was a duty code he was beginning to know far too well. No change from yesterday. Meaning he got to mop floors in the Mess … again. He grabbed his undress yellow blouse and made his way to the Port Kitchen, arranging the securing sashes before stepping out of the empty barracks.

His severed hand, a minor injury by modern standards, had held him up just long enough to miss the 94th Infantry Division’s deployment. The tattooed private inhaled as he walked into the cooking area. He had to admit after all the times he had been on brick rations, being around live food was nearly worth the monotony.

It did not make up for the loneliness.

He wondered who was left to cook for. The last remaining divisions using Squamata Port mustered out yesterday for the Orion Theatre. All the support staff except for a few old-timers went with them. He never did get to adequately thank the doctor who screwed up his nerve reattachment badly enough that even after the second and more successful surgery was completed, he had to go through physical therapy.

Stripping out of as much of his uniform as one could tweak regulations, Bowman tied an apron over his already kitchen stained trousers and made his way to the ticking sounds of rapidly moving knives. “So Fatso, what are we mutilating today?”

Rounding the corner, Bowman saw a perfect heart-shaped butt snugged in mustard yellow weave. His eyes made their way up a back bare of everything but two apron loops. His fingers twitched for a second as he contemplated untying the loops. A blond by the military fuzz adorning her scalp. Damn, he loved blonds.

“That would be Colonel Fatso.” Replied a heavenly contralto, with an unmistakable undertone of command. “And breakfast will be vegetable omelet.”

Served him right for forgetting Faraday had been on one of the outgoing ships yesterday. “I am so sorry, Sir. What do you want me to do, Sir?”

“Apology accepted; been in kitchens before.” Watching her julienne the potatoes, Bowman had no doubt about that claim. “Second, it’s Dame. Air Force not Army – civilized people have genders. Third get the food. Net closest to the entrance. Put all three meals there when got vegetables last night.”

Bowman looked at the officer’s profile out of the corner of his eye while pulling on the environmental suit. Her small breasts popped over the top of the apron, tangerine nipples puckered tight. Her face was young; she could pass for his age. Her golden-hued eyes gave away her home sector of Orion, pushing up Bowman’s age estimate from nineteen to twice that. His eyes dropped to verify her origin, sure enough, a Rigelian parasite had replaced the pinky and ring fingers on her left hand.

After a second staring at the red veins pulsing with human blood visible through the translucent green skin, Bowman discovered he was caught staring. Cold gold chips met his blue eyes, “Do you have a problem, Private?”

“No, Sir … Dame.” Normally he wouldn’t add more, the Army did not like explanations – either getting them or giving them, but he had heard Air Force was a little different. “I just haven’t seen one before. Not in person, Dame.”

She sighed, “Get the food and we will let you closer look. Can’t have you making an accident staring.”

Wanting to break the tension and trying to gauge the officer. “Does that count for the boobs too, Dame?”

A laugh escaped her. A surprised look crossed her face like she didn’t laugh much. “Get in the airlock Private. … And no. Men having accidents over knockers is inevitable. Nothing can be done to help there.”

“Getting in the airlock, Dame.” He sealed the door and starting doing what his superiors constantly grumbled was his defining characteristic. He started thinking.

While moving the food to from the cold storage nets located on the skin of the port habitat, he went over the puzzle represented by the new person in charge of the Mess. An Orion in a Sol uniform, Air Force in an Army Port, Colonel cooking in a kitchen where the highest officer since before today was a lost second lieutenant, a new person after the base has been emptied, – and most importantly – the sexiest woman he had ever seen. Whatever was about to happen in the Snake Rut was big and very, very secret.

The big question: Could he avoid the shit fan about to hit, while also getting a chance to hit on her? Rhetorical really, he admitted as he started the airlock cycle to return inside. No way would a mud pounder be able to avoid any shit fan, let alone the size that this one seemed to be. And no way would he be able to jump that high of a grade let alone fuck another military branch.

(words 837 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 3/25/2013 – 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 8/12/2018)

Flash: Arousal 2

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

The unknown man loomed over Roberta, and for an instant, recognition darted out of her memory. Someone from her husband’s work. A dinner party before the recession had cut the sales’ income, someone high up. Senior.

His skilled lips, recently attending to her breasts, claimed her mouth. His tongue demanded entrance even as his solid shaft continued to rock inside her slick channel. She tried to regain control over her arousal, but a quick squeeze of a tit had her opening her mouth in a moan. Once inside her mouth the tongue danced along her teeth. He drew back for a nip on her bottom lip and returned for seconds, or thirds. Roberta was losing count.

Lighting flowed through her, sending shivers through every bone. Her hands clutched at the man’s shoulders desperate for support. Panting with thrust after thrust, sensation took her. Multi-syllable words like husband and fidelity slipped from her vocabulary.

Instead, “Fuck me, fuck me,” was whispered into sweaty shoulder. Finally a scream started at the base of her spine and surged out. This time the man followed her over the edge, her inner muscles milking him dry as orgasm after orgasm gripped her.

They collapsed together, exhaustive sleep claiming her.

Languor weighed her limbs in the morning. Sheets tangled about her and the male. Unable to move she prodded her sluggish mind for his identity.

Samuel. Best salesman two years running. Her husband said he was brutal. Stealing customers from competitors and colleagues alike. A client list longer than her arm and the only person last year with positive sales growth. He had hit on her a couple of times, but then most of her husband’s associates did. Salespeople were always selling something, sex included.

How had he got in? The door had been locked. Key.

“How did you get the key?”

“Tom.” Samuel’s hand started playing with her nape.

Untangling her limbs from the cloth binding her, Roberta stated, “Thomas would do no such thing.”

“Call him yourself.” Leaning against the sleigh bed’s headboard, Samuel smirked.

Pulling the white cover about her, Roberta grabbed her phone and sat up. Scrolling through her recently called list with her back towards the intruder, the blonde quickly found her husband’s number. Five days had passed since the last time they talked. Typical when he was at a convention, but a little scary under the present circumstances. She waited while the phone rang.

“Hey beautiful.”

“Hey yourself.” Roberta replied. “I’ve got Samuel here.”

Thomas broke in fast. “Right, just do whatever he asks and I will explain it when I get home.”

“No, Thomas,” death dripped from her tones, “you will explain now.”

“Er.” Roberta could almost see her husband rubbing his hand over his balding head, like someone polishing a brass lamp hoping for a genie to appear. “Sam’s leaving the company and the industry, and put his list up for bid. I won.”

“Won how?”

“Oh, come on, don’t be this way sweetheart. We are hip deep in debt and the credit collectors pounding down the door. If I don’t do something, we will lose the house.” He inhaled deeply. “All he wanted was some time with you, a couple dates. Listen, it will take me a month to establish myself. Contact all the clients and set up new connections. Just keep him happy until then and we will be back on easy street.”

Roberta turned to look at the man in her bed. A smug face beamed back at her. “A month?” she growled.

“Only a month,” her husband promised the same time Samuel said, “To start.” Roberta shivered, unsure if it was fear or anticipation. Samuel pushed back the blankets displaying an erection larger than any she had ever seen. Part of her voted anticipation. Her pussy contracted in memory.

“Only a month,” Thomas continued. “Just do whatever he asks.”

“He wants to fuck me.” Roberta declared, testing how far this would go.

“Very observant.” Samuel said reaching a hand out to stroke her thigh with the other slowly pumped his shaft. Each pass brushed her lower curls, teasing. Her cream flowed out to wet the pubic hair.

A couple of curses came over the phone. Roberta ruthlessly suppressed a moan when Samuel’s fingers started looking for her clit.

“Yeah, I kind-of figured that.” Thomas wheeled, trying to handle her like a client. “I’m sorry, really I am.”

“You sold me.” She gasped as Samuel found the nerve bundle. She could have moved away. She should step away. Instead, when Samuel’s hand put pressure on her hip to draw her closer, she went.

“No, no. I am doing this for us, beautiful. The man’s list is gold, pure gold. Just keep him happy.” Roberta heard his tone change like it always did when he went for the close. “Love, honor, and obey. Don’t forget the obey part. Do this and I promise we won’t have to worry about money ever again.”

Samuel slid down to lie flat. Then he guided her until her slit was over his mouth. His hands pushed her lower lips apart. His wonderful tongue darted out touching her most sensitive part.

“Oh, oh.” She hoped the sounds would be interpreted as sobs, which in one respect they were. Roberta was positive her husband wouldn’t recognized them as sobs of passion. He hadn’t given her an orgasm in years. Her voice shaking, she needed to get off the phone before he heard something that would make him rethink the situation. “Right, money. I’ll do this. Bye.” She pressed the red button hard and verified the call had disconnected before throwing it across the room. Her hands freed, she braced them against the headboard.

Later, later she would think. Now was not the time.

(words 962 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 6/24/13 for the 8/12/12 Sunday Fun; republished in new blog format 7/22/2018)

Flash: Arousal

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

A hand trailed down her back leaving a light trail of fire behind. Roberta suppressed her reaction. Her tormentor quenched the fire with a trail of kisses. Roberta continued to pretend to sleep.

The hand slid along her side, lightly touching her waist with a sensation half laughter half sin. She wished she wasn’t so ticklish. The hand continued to her front and splayed across her stomach. It slowly inched up to cup her breast. The thumb rubbed circles just under her areola.

The bed dipped as the other person moved closer to her. Unintentionally she rolled into full body contact. The person behind had some incentive to continue if what she was feeling prodding her back was any indication.

A tongue darted out to lick her nape. Breath dried the wetness sending shivers down her body. The stiff body part settled between her butt checks during the movement. She shifted a little more so the thumb started flicking her nipple.

The intruder suckled the nape of her neck, sending a shot of electricity to her pussy. She felt herself become instantly wet. A moan escaped her lips. The lips behind her switched to her ears and started nibbling. Roberta arched into the hand on her breast.

The body behind her shifted and a second hand started stroking her ass and thigh in slow circles. The hand changed breast and started brushing her other nipple, with unexpected pinches driving things to a higher pitch. When she was ready to snatch the hand dancing around her nether reaches and put it in the proper location, it dived there on its own volition.

Her panting belied her pretense of sleeping. She was curling her hands deeper in her pillow to keep from turning and grabbing the man. One finger slid into her slit. It circled, testing readiness and quickly was joined by a partner. A third was added to the team and then the group started moving in and out.

Without realizing what happened, Roberta turned from her side to her back to give the teaser better access. A mouth immediate claimed hers and demanded entrance. An especially intense combination of Team Nether, where the three fingers entered her vagina the same time the benched thumb stroked her clit, made gasp giving the mouth full access.

The tongue that had beset her nape stroked her mouth in time with the lower fingers. Roberta’s heels started digging into the mattress as her body arched upward.

Still refusing her eyes, she felt her bed partner move over her. Strong hands quit stroking to support his new position. Instead a different body part was working its entrance to her womb while the mouth continued the rhythm previously implemented.

The dick entering her was larger than she expected. Much larger. It immediately hit THE SPOT, and her hands grabbed the man for support as her initial organism lifted her completely off the bed.

He stilled so the storm within her was all she felt. Once she drifted back down, he started the slow stroking, building her up again. The mouth quickly nipped down to taunt one breast then the other. Because of the tilt of the male’s back, her hands slid down the shoulder into the thick hair.

Wait. This wasn’t her husband come back early from his trip.

Roberta’s eyes burst opened.

(words 557; First published 4/24/2013; republished new blog format 7/15/18)

Flash: Decanting

Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

Carrying the last of the missing scientists from the burning facility, the mystery man dumped him with the others next to the arriving ambulances. I am concerned. I don’t recognize half of the labcoats or the man who knew the facility well enough to get them out. As security chief for Morning Star Enterprises, I should know everyone from that facility. At least three of the labcoats had names not on the list I keep.

I checked off Anderson; he was the only one left on the list I did have who hadn’t answered his phone or been taken away by the EMTs. Anderson was a chief researcher investigating drugs to maximize human potential. His team recently had their new antibiotic go into human testing.

I walk over to the mystery man. His skin was blackened from the fire and who know what other chemicals are being released from the facility. Everyone else arriving on site is wearing haz-mat suits complete with oxygen masks. A medical worker is trying to steer him to an ambulance without success.

I see some black strips fall off the man. I hope they are from burned cloth, but the man seems to be completely naked. One of his ass-checks bubbles with second-degree burn blisters. The other side black from an oily substance. Other than these two issues, it is the finest butt I have ever seen.

“Hello, I’m Jophiel Caster.” I introduce myself. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

The man turns his deep blue eyes on me. The pain nearly makes me miss the arrival of a couple black sedans. The police detectives have arrived. So far the on-site police have just been directing traffic. Rules and priorities were about to change. I hope Lucette, the CEO, arrives soon before the media circus begins.

Unable to keep eye contact, my eyes drop to his generous lips which I note are twisted in distrust. A feeling I share. Not with the man, but with the situation. I just realized Lucette had been keeping me away from the Indian Land Facility for months now. Something tells me that today’s fire, this man, and three scientists whom I haven’t done background checks on are just the beginning.

I fade out in personal anger, barely seeing the hairless sculptured chest in front of my nose. Sure we were opening our first out-of-state facilities, but I should have noticed the shell game Lucette was pulling. I always had to keep an eye on everything he did from a security standpoint. Lucette was a little too obsessed about research; his passion made him a great CEO. People were willing to risk millions on his beliefs.

Refocusing on the man in front of me, I notice his dick standing proud. Hair curls around it waiting to be touched. The black oil substance has begun to run down his legs leaving his skin clean. The man never responded to my introduction and turns away from the police line blocking the road. As he walks toward the landscaped woods, I notice the butt no longer is burned. The bubbles have disappeared under the oily substance and the other side is rapidly clearing showing tanned skin. Unless the man was always a nudist, this was very bad.

Oh God, is this the genetic creation I have tried to talk Lucette out of? Fuck. He speculated about it five months ago. I told him never in America. The next month he started the expansion. I thought that meant five or six years to get big enough to be in a country without America’s ethics, and also out of my watch as I would quit before dealing with resplicing human DNA on the level Lucette wanted to experiment with.

Shit. Lucette did go forward with it. Scrambling after the creature, I hiss, “B.O.T.I.S., wait”

My world gets reordered when the man freezes. Basic Organism Test of Ideal System. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He responded. Maximum of four months old, of course he follows orders. Probably not successful on the first try, so likely younger than that.

I grab his wrist and drag him to my car. Stuffing him in I say, “I don’t know how much you understand at this point, but I am going to get you someplace safe.”

He holds onto my wrist. “I understand. The man we need to avoid will be here in four minutes. Give an officer your information and get us out of here.” He then grabs my oxygen tube and rips it out. “An excuse to leave.”

Four minute exposure to the chemical soup. I run to where the detectives are located. Why did they have to be where the smoke was pouring out the heaviest?

They accept my clipboard, checklist, card, and explanation one of the scientists spasmed earlier damaging my mask and it finally broke. I escaped as the first of the news vans pull up, demanding all the police to hold them back. None of the reporters have hazard material gear.

In my car, I find Botis in the passenger side wearing the jogging suit I keep in the trunk. The top, thanks to my generous breasts, was big enough for him. The bottom emphasized a prominent feature I should have no interest in. The thing beside me wasn’t human.

Once we were on the road, his hand rested on my nape. “You will need to pick up everything you need from your house and empty your bank account. We will not be able to use anything traceable.”

“Stop touching me.” I say through gritted teeth.

“I must,” replied the male. “I was only decanted nine hours ago and don’t know how to talk yet. I am just glad you will be my mate.”

I realize I never heard his voice, tenor or bass. Fuck, fuck fuck.  My breast swell as he continues to massage my neck. Oh, fuck to infinity.

(Words 987 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 3/17/2013 – 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 7/8/2018)