Flash: One Soul Per

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

The two girls looked like water nymphs, half-submerged in the bay. “How soon will one of us die?”

Layne frowned. “You should be feeling the pinchers by now. Don’t worry, they only eat dead things.”

Sheep, at least he thought it was the girl with the Sheep constellation tattooed on the back of her nape smiled, “So we aren’t going to have any clothes soon?”

The picture of the two girls naked, with hair floating around them, while chained, had Layne’s fifth extremity lengthening. He adjusted his lower armor to make room. “No, pinchers recognize dead matter attached to living matter and leaves it alone. Only if you dead inside and out will they eat everything.”

The water started to recede, leaving wet lace covering their bosoms and nothing to his imagination. The Keeper of Kaireen’s Sacrifice requested the surviving twin be brought back promptly. Normally those undergoing the Tide Test wore simple white linen. But these two had apprenticed to a lacemaker and wanted to wear their skill on what could be their final day of life. They had spent the day before the Test creating the dresses from new silk and fresh linen, dyed specially for surviving the salty sea. Whichever survived would wear her masterpiece to report to her journeyman position at the lace shop. It was clear the Keeper was proud of both girls, as much as could be knowing one was a monster. Layne did not envy the Keeper his job of raising children and monsters together, never naming either to prevent giving the monsters the power of a name. Only one soul per child birth was given by the gods, and so the question becomes which of a set of twins has the soul and which is a false one. Unwilling to kill a true person without reason, the city set aside the Sacrifice grounds to raise them until they were old enough to be tested.

“We live sister!” One leaned into the other, as hugging wasn’t an option because of the short chains attaching them to a concrete block for the test, while the tide continued to fall back. They kissed cheeks and lips. Hands touched wet legs as if assuring each other that no wounds were hidden by the sea. Turning as one back to their guard. “Please, may we be released.”

Never had both twins survived the Test. But only if one had a living soul would the pinchers not tear her apart in the tide pools.

A new wave, higher than previous, and wind-blown, hit the girls about the shoulders, knocking them over. Layne’s eyes returned to the distant ocean. A storm had rolled in while he had watched the girls. The narrow bay would fill with storm-driven water. Panicked, the girls tried to stand on the cement block they were chained to, keeping their head high as waves returned without the tide.

Tossing aside his spear, Layne ran. He unbuckled his armor and sword before splashing into the water, holding the key in his hand. He quickly unlocked the chains. Sheep made it to the beach, but the girl with the Mare tattoo was terrified of drowning. She fought mindlessly, hardly aware of his presence as her water phobia terrorized her. He finally managed to carry her in and put her down on the sand.

He looked around for the Sheep tattoo, and spotted her as she flung his sword into the ocean. A hand touched his fifth, exposed by the lack of armor, immediately hardening it and freezing him in place. “What…”

“I just want to thank you for saving me.” The girl at his feet rose to her knees. “I really am afraid of the water.” Her mouth claimed his fifth, slowly sucking it deeper and deeper into her mouth until he touched the back of her throat.

He moaned. Barely able to move, he brought his hand to rest on her soaked hair.

“Don’t make him cum sister.” The Sheep had returned. “We have need for his seed if we are to survive.” The girl circled around his back and bit his ear. “And need for many other things as well.” She whispered.

Despite the Mare cupping his balls and her round mouth stroking up and down along his shaft, Layne managed to ask, “How?”

“How?” The woman whispering his ear repeated. “How are we both soulless or how did we survive the test?”

He could only moan a response. Both of his hands clenched the hair of the girl giving him the blow job.

“Enough sister, we need to move him before his fellows return.”

His fifth popped out of the Mare’s mouth. “We won’t own him until he owns us.”

“True.” The Sheep wrapped around his torso and lowered her channel onto his shaft. She squeezed the warm, wet channel around his dick. Already on the brink, he surged into the false woman, his seed spurting into her. “That’s it, give me half your soul.” Her mouth claimed his, and he felt something being pulled unwillingly from him, as much as he willingly gave her is cum.

Once he was spent, the Sheep climbed off him. Confusion clouded his thoughts when the woman instructed, “Take my sister’s hand. You know you want her soon. Don’t let her go until you’ve given her everything you have.”

Layne’s vision narrowed to see only the girl as he grasped her hand. He followed her as she pulled him over sand and rock, his eyes focused on the Mare constellation tattoo on her nape showing between the wet strands of her hair. Darkness chased them as the storm grew closer until he was drawn into a cave high in the cliff face.

Mare pulled him down on top of her as she lay on the stone floor. “To be fair, I should tell you, while there is still some of you left, my savior.” Her hands stroked his shoulders, loosening the last of the linen until he was as naked as an animal. His fifth was refilling with the juices of life, and started prodding the woman’s moist entrance. “You see we weren’t twins but triplets. While one soulless one cannot overcome a true being, two can. The true girl died stillborn.”

Horrified at the secret truth, Layne still could not keep himself from entering her. He pumped into her, feeling the last of him pass into the woman. 

(1,071 words – originally appearing at Breathless Press 10/21/13 for the 9/23/12 Sunday Fun; republished in new blog format on 1/14/2018.)

Flash: And so they meet again

Rating: Mature

Art peeked out the window of the clothing consignment shop where she worked as she flipped the open sign to close. Drat, the creep was still hanging outside. What had she done to earn her own personal stalker?

She had to admit he was absolutely yummy with his layered blond hair and kicking fog coat, like something out of an English fantasy. His cheekbones could cut bread. He also had the patience of a priest or demon.

She started noticing him in the audience during fencing competition her Freshman year. Art had asked around since he looked interesting, but he wasn’t from campus. Over the next two years, he would show up randomly in classes open to the public, at her favorite pizza joint, and sometimes at the action-adventure movies she loved. All he did was watch from a distance.

Then three weeks ago, the guy changed from someone she saw sometimes in a crowd to a constant presence. Enough was enough. The street was beginning to empty of holiday shoppers, but plenty were still around in case this went south. She closed and bolted the shop door, lowered the gate and locked it, shifted her carrying case, then turned to see he was still leaning against the building across the street.

After checking for traffic, she strode across the roadway taking advantage of the long legs her six foot two frame provided. Up close she discovered the man stood a disappointingly five eight; she had gotten good judging height and reach on the salle.

Crowding him against the wall, she asked “What do you want?”

The man raised black eyes to meet her piercing blue. They looked impossible knowledgeable in the young face. With a sad smile, he replied, “Your future.”

Taking a step back, the woman glanced around again to verify she was still safe in a crowd. “Well, you can’t have it, you perv.” Touching the sword case strapped to her back for courage, “And if I see you around again, I will call the cops.”

“A threat to use governmental structure. Excellent. Not unexpected from a political science major, but you are also a woman of action. I wasn’t certain which way you would go.” His shoulders pushed him away from the way and Art instinctively took another step back. Something about the man screamed power … and sex … she could feel her body getting loose as though she was about to fence or fall into bed with a teammate after a match. His English accent was to die for. “When you call the bobbies, please say my name is Emrys.”

“Do you got a last name so I can Google it and find out all the other women you stalked?”

He shrugged. Her mind instantly presented a picture of the wirely frame he had sported at the spring fair. He had worn cargo shorts and a muscle shirt. Not many muscles, but no excess fat either. A runner’s body. Unfortunately her mind provided the picture sans clothes. 

“First name, last name. I’ve had many names.” He started walking away backwards. “Gregory gave me the last name of Ambrosus; I guess that will do for now.” He turned around and she watched the wool coat getting damp as light flakes of snow melted on it. He stopped for a second. Turning his head around for a second, he said, “But then I guess I should say my first name is Merlinus.” He smiled a totally, ass-kicking, pussy-warming smile before continuing his retreat.

(Word 587 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 12/2/2012 (at least tried to, doesn’t seem to be taking); reprinted in new blog format 12/24/2017. The inspirational photo for the prompt was of unknown origin; since I could not verify the copyright, I am not posting it here.)

Flash: Captivated

Rating: Mature

Lucius twisted counter-clockwise as the cave exhaled cold air from deeper in through the torture chamber of the goblins. His cuts, bruises and burns welcomed the chill, from his bleeding wrists tied with hemp rope to the celling to the blister burns on his toes. He tried to keep his feet raised flat, away from the roasting coals he was suspended over. His calf and thigh muscles burned from the effort. 

A moment later, sweltering summer air from outside spun him clockwise, re-inflaming every branding the goblins had dug into his flesh. The vertigo cramped his stomach, but he had long vomited everything out. 

For an eternity he had twisted back and forth, ever since his captors had been called away because fairies were attacking. Lucius held hope the goblins would be slaughtered even if he died hanging over coals. While he was certain the goblins were being attacked because they dared steal a human thrall from the fairy mound, Lucius was also confident the fairies would not bother to actually rescue a human foolish enough to be caught by the dimwitted creatures. 

Leananairre and Gwendolynne would find another lover soon enough and he wished them luck. For the untold time he had spent under the hill, they had treated him fair enough since he first found his way into their stone circle. No human could ever imagine what he had experienced at their hands, both in pleasure and pain. The goblins hadn’t even scratched the surface. But he never fooled himself into thinking they had any natural feelings resembling human women. 

He hissed as feet dropped and touched the red coals. Still too warm to see if he could provide a little support through his feet, to take pressure off his dislocated shoulder joints. White dots danced as his eyes warned him of impending unconsciousness. He caught the edge of movement in the incoming chamber entrance as he spun. The Roman forced his eyes to focus as he continued the rotation, so he could see what form of doom was approaching. Mars would never welcome a soldier who faced death with his eyes closed. 

Two golden fairy warriors entered the cave. Both carried gore-caked swords; black blood splattered across the engraved chest plates. Lucius noted the metal plates were shaped to hold woman breasts without surprise. To his knowledge, fairies were not male. One of the reasons they captured the Ferrata Legio when it invaded Hibernia. Ancient treaties prevented the fairy horde from stealing natives, but no such agreements were in place for the new interlopers. 

A pair of blond braids trailed behind one warrior and a mesh of brunette braids fell as the second removed her helm. Leananairre’s blue eyes studied him as he continued to rotate. 

In perfect Latin, Gwendolynne’s clear soprano came from the fully armor woman as she turned to watch the other’s back, “Please tell me we haven’t done all this for a corpse.” 

“The human yet breathes, sister.” Leananairre sultry alto made his dick respond at full erection. After centuries, it knew it was about to get used when he heard both those voices together. The redirection of blood blacked him out a moment. 

Waking on stone, he felt new burns stinging from the icy floor. The fairies must have cut him loose and let him fall into the fire. Putrid water was being tipped slowly into his mouth. He recognized the bucket beside him for the second he was able to pry open his eyes before they reclosed, where the wooden mug against his lips no doubt had been filled, from the number of times the goblins had cooled hot pokers in it after driving them into his body. Lucius was so thirsty he swallowed the trickle until the mug was empty. 

He felt a wet cloth being run over his body. Strange. His two lovers never caressed him, they only did that with each other. Nor had they ever chosen to have a child; having seen them with the few changelings others had chosen to have with their thralls, Lucius was grateful. Neither had a maternal bone in her luscious body. Warriors and guardians of the mound, few could kill on their scale. 

Care for anyone in their own strange way but each other, unheard of. 

When the cool cloth wiped over his forehead and face gently, he opened his eyes to see two emerald eyes staring at him. Now he knew he was dreaming the rescue during his final moments before death. Gwendolynne was the dominant of the fairy dual and had never shared one kind word with him. Her two perfect lips pressed quickly against his before she dipped the cloth in the water again and continued to wipe his wounds. 

“We will need to heal you before we leave the cave.” The blonde informed him. “Every visible wound will need to be removed.” 

Lucius had long learned not to ask questions of Gwendolynne, so he looked around until he found Leananairre. She was stripping out of her plate armor. Sweat soaked her silk shift to her body, showing her nipples and breast to full advantage. Catching her eye a moment, he asked “Why?” 

The brunette unbuckled the sliver clasps of her leg armor as she responded with a smile. “Because we told no one. The queen would not permit your return.” 

“I am not going to lose you over a farce like this.” Gwendolynne declared as she dropped the cloth into the bucket and started removing her armor as well. Dropping her arm braces heedlessly, not caring if one bounced against his broken ribs, she ordered. “You are never to tell anyone.” 

Lucius watched the women prepare for the healing. It would hurt; accelerated healing did not bypass business of healing, just made it happen all at once. 

Leananairre walked over to him and then lowered herself onto his erection. He stared at her blue eyes, as she leaned forward brace herself to ride him hard. In them was an emotion he had never thought to see. Love. If this be a dream, Venus, please never let him wake. 

He grabbed her wide thighs with aching hands, as his shattered fingers reassembled, and pounded into the woman who came to rescue him. Gwendolynne moved his head into her lap as he rocked back and forth with Leananairre.Gwendolynne’s lower blonde curls were damp with sweat. The heady scent of her sweet cum started as she watched the juncture of his human body with her fairy partner. He grunted his release as the pleasure and pain of healing took him. 

When they tenderly traded positions, a second magic behind the healing magic started to build. Lucius could feel it, but they didn’t seem to notice a difference. 

Gwendolynne smoothly slid down his lubricated shaft. Her nails raked down his chest removing healing scabs, tearing at puckered scars from branding and pokers, and prodding broken ribs into place. To distract her from forcing the healing faster than he could handle the pain, the Roman reached for her full breasts. Twisting the nipples sharply, and then stroking them, Lucius applied a bit of side pressure to bring the blonde closer. After the battles she had fought today, she bent to his will easily. He suckled the tit, catching the tip between his teeth before darting his tongue over the end. 

The two magics fused with the emotion he always held back from the fairies as his second orgasm took him. The emotion and magic reflected back the emotions the women felt, the fear of loss, the protectiveness, and the love. The final solider discipline containing seven hundred years of human emotions broke free driving the sexual healing magic beyond its natural limits. A third orgasm immediately followed, ripping through him, discharging the magic in full between all three. He heard both women scream as his seed was released.

(Words 1,316 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 2/10/2013; republished new blog format 11/19/2017)

The photo provided in the prompt did not impact this story so much as the instruction “please tell in a flash the most romantic situation your hero/heroine has found themselves in. … Delicious, sexy, terrifying?” I first wrote one story, the most romantic scene I have ever had in stored in my head to be used someday. But that one didn’t gell right. So I went through all the old stories here to see if anyone wanted their most romantic moment shared. Lucius volunteered his. I am glad to know that his fae eventually came to love him. 

Flash: Harvest Time

Photo by Tikkho Maciel on Unsplash.com

Photo by Tikkho Maciel on Unsplash

I pen these words, looking out the window at October’s cold landscape. Though the wind does not carry threat of snow or ice, the leaves on the trees have turned dozens of colors and the forest looks like it is on fire. Walnuts and acorns are falling like raindrops and our late-season almonds are ready for their trees to be shaken one last time before we send our young novices climbing.

I spent the day in the dairy while others of my order are scatted throughout our farm and helping the serfs in the nearby village. The spring-born calves are just about weaned (the kid goats long detached from their dams), therefore the last bitter milk is being turned into hard cheese for the long winter. It doesn’t matter if winter stays for a single month, like it does for our sisters in the south, or five, as the chilly abbey I transferred from experiences; time without plentiful food is always long. And only God knows if next summer will come for certain.

Meat has become plentiful for a short time as cattle are slaughtered to match the surviving herd to the hay and grain we must miser for them through the winter. Tomorrow, my turn at the cauldron will be the even more loathsome stench of lard preparation; boiling milk for cheese is more pleasant in the spring. If I could but wave a hand for one task to be done, changing fat to lamp and cooking oil, grease, candles, and soaps would be my choice. The scent clings through the night interfering with my prayers.

I would vastly preferred to be helping with the fruits. The apples are being prepared dozens of ways for the winter – stored in sawdust for whole fruit, cut into slivers and set in the sun or by the fire to dry, and, the abbess’ favorite, adding chunks to last year’s wines. But no farming task is without its portion of Adam’s curse. Blackberries need to be picked off the bushes with bleeding fingers; berries and bramble thorns are inseparable by God’s design.

I will tend to my stirring without a word of complaint passing my lips. Sister Cecilia provides a squash mash in the morning which carries us from dawn to dusk in the harvesting. Empty bellies will come soon enough, and our chores, Lord willing, should keep those days few.

Those more skilled than me in gardening have trimmed back the herbs and hung the trimmings in the rafters to dry. I will need to confess when the brother visits, and I write my shame here so I do not forget. The kitchen sisters stripped the plentiful mint leaves from their stems and left them in bowls to make tea leaves. I did grab a handful of mint leaves to chew and keep my mouth moist while stirring over the fire.

A few more days and I shall return to my primary duties in the scriptorium, and I think everyone will be happier. Even the novices who have been running the leaks, garlics, onions, and many of their relatives into the primary root cellar step wide around me the last few days. I am not suited for kitchen or gardening duties; let others work God’s creation and allow me to paint it.

Ah, full dark and the dinner chime has sounded. Tonight’s meal is beef cooked in beer with some mushrooms and other harvest Sister Cecilia saved for larder instead of storage. Beer for the drink as well; we are not drunkards in the convent. Those barrels need to be emptied by the end of the week because winter mash must be started. It is a task set to the entire convent, a welcomed one at the end of the hard harvest days.

(words 632 – first published 10/15/2017)

Book Review: Old Nathan

Amazon Cover - Old Nathan

Book Cover from Amazon

Old Nathan by David Drake

BOOK BLURB ON AMAZON

FIFTH YEARS AFTER THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, MAGIC IS LOOSE IN THE BACKWOODS

The forces of evil are poised to prey on the folk of the hamlets and hollows: witches, demons, and red-handed men—but first they’ll have to overcome Old Nathan the Wizard.

He doesn’t claim much for his magical powers, but they’re real enough for what they are—and besides, he hasn’t forgotten how to use his long flintlock rifle ….

Enter the gritty, realistic world of Old Nathan, a backwoodsman who talks to animals and says he’ll face The Devil himself-and who in the end will have to face The Devil in very fact.

 

MY REVIEW

Old Nathan by David Drake is a collection of stories about a cunning (witchy) man located in the Carolinas about fifty years after the revolutionary war strung together in a novel-type package but easily read separately. Old Nathan is the person a body goes to when you’ve dun run out of all other options. His price is high. Mostly swallowing yer pride but he do speak to animals and does strange things, and maybe in league with the Devil.

The writing is in the dialect language of the space-time. The stories themselves are getting long-in-the-tooth; not enough for a modern high-speed cellphone addict to identify with. A different time and place, slower and more magic. Back with the things in the woods didn’t take selfies with intruders, they ate ’em.

I enjoyed the magic not being wiz-bang wizard robes and lightning bolts. Farseeing was done with wellwater; ghosts were dealt with by feeding them ashcakes cooked in the hearth. Old Nathan is creepy powerful in that he not only does the minor hedge magic, but goes beyond, into the shadow realms opened at twilight, into places which bend the mind and create madness. 

He is old enough and lived through the war that death holds little fear over him. He is too slow and tired to run far from things people in their right minds should run from. And so the things in the night become curious since he isn’t running or scared, and in their curiosity the teethy things become vulnerable. Not greatly vulnerable – they still be hungry, with great claws and teeth, but sometimes the second pause of “what is this different thing” gives Old Nathan the moment he needs to live. It worked for him so far, but in each story the question is “is this time when the beast will be faster then cunning?”

I wrote the review after the third story but have finished the rest. Again, the stories may not be enjoyed very much longer just because living in one-room houses, drawing from wells, and needing horses to get to your nearest neighbor are becoming things of ancient history. 

Is the cunning man always cunning enough, or does he need to run from the danger in some of the stories? Well that would be tellin’. 

If this your cup of tea, you should read it. – The book is offered for free on Kindle, so take the chance.