Monday, June 29, 2009

FFF #9

Waiting

The wind wrapped the silk around her body, trailing behind with her windblown hair. She stood on the deck with the warm body of his cat curled in her arm, listening to the waves breaking below, the gentle hiss as water slid back over sand to the sea. The starlight lit the waves and she could almost see his boat. It was like this when a storm was coming in. He’d explained why the wind was in her face, later at her back. Something about weather – one of the myriad things he needed to know.

They’d been out – not far, she could still see land – he sat in the corner of the cockpit giving her a turn at the wheel. She’d tried to keep the course, but going back and forth, never quite on it. He didn’t seem to be paying attention. He’d pulled out his knife and cut off a length of a jib sheet – it was never a rope – it was a sheet, a line or a hundred other names sailors had for rope. He’d pulled out a marlinspike and worked one end into a ball – a turk’s head he called it. He reached over and swatted her on the seat of her shorts.

“Ow – that hurt”

She rubbed herself self consciously. He stood behind her, spun her gently around. She looked into his confident blue eyes, smiling as he bent down to kiss her.

“Next time steer where I tell you”

Oh God, please come back.

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Sorry ths is late - on weekends where I have back-to-back races it is really hard to make 6 PM Saturday - if I dont get it done very early Friday (~0100) it just wont get done until late Sunday at best.

Originally this was going to have a very different tone, but it was just too long. I wonder about the rest of you guys - do you wind up making several passes at this or is it just me?

Anyway - my thanks to my compadres for keeping this up.

Monday, June 22, 2009

MfM 33

Together

Lying next to me
Silky skin slipping under my fingertip
Soft brown eyes holding me
Your scent, your hair, the curve of your breasts,
Your body against me
Pleasing me beyond words
Your gentle southern voice
"Daddy - I'm a good girl for you"

Our arms, our bodies entwined
Your lips on mine, full, moist, wanting
I can only surrender to you.
I close my eyes
Sensing your warmth,
My fingers stretch to touch your core
Feeling your moisture,
Your breath quickens
Knowing your arousal
I play you like the beautiful instrument you are

Waiting for the moment you give voice
To the music within.

You lay back
spent
done
complete
the lazy smile, eyes slightly open.
"Ummmmm... Daddy?"

I smile and reach to pull you into my arms again.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

FFF #8

Patrol Afternoon

Impudent would have been my description. She stood there daring me, hands on her hips, ash blond hair in a pony tail, the rose-colored skirt flouncing around her as she twisted her hips back and forth. She looked up at me, eyes sparkling, lips forming a pouty smile. Most girls found me imposing. She acted like I was her plaything.

“What’s the matter, officer. Cat got your tongue?”

She smirked – I swear she smirked.

“You cant make us leave”

There was no us – the other girls had run behind the barricades squealing as soon as I stepped over to them. Sergeant NumbNuts told me to keep the area clear, and it would stay clear.

“Miss, sorry but you’ll have to get behind the fences like everyone else”

You cant make me”

The thought of smacking her with my baton was appealing, but I thought better of it. Sure as hell I’d be on the six o’clock news – “Police brutally beat spectators at concert today”

“For the last time, Miss – move”

“No”

I heard the sirens of the escort. Oh hell – I reached over, picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. I stood holding her while the bikes and limousines passed, then carried her over to the cruiser. The wind kept blowing her skirt in my face. DAMN she smelled nice. I reached up and swatted her butt, then dumped my wife in the back seat and slammed the door. I decided to take the long way to headquarters.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Poetry I stumbled across

I seldom read something so good it brings tears to my eyes, but I thought these two were that good...

http://www.writingroom.com/viewwriting/Starlingpoet/i-picked-up-your-guitar

http://www.writingroom.com/viewwriting/Starlingpoet/Your-words

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Flash Friday Fiction # 8 - Ready Set Go

Cancel this - casey surprised us all by getting on line from England. Please look at her blog http://www.caseymorgan.org/2009/06/3f-8-is-afoot/ for this week's info.

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OK - I'm doing this because casey is enjoying England and presumably off-net.
Write a 250 word story (erotic, tgi-oriented, or whatever) Start anytime Friday, finish by 6pm PDT Saturday. Try to include the keywords (wildcards) below. Post the link to your story in the comments below and/or on Twitter (Microfantasy monday always includes them in the announcement post, and it makes things a little easier since they're all in one place)

Thus far, the usual suspects:
@WorldOfRafi
@vanimp
@thursdays_child
@naughtyabby
@caseydamnmorgan
@spankinresource
@sabrinamorgan
and of course, yours truly, @PapaTomLA

The keywords are

1. Silk (moi)
2. Rope (@vanimp)
3. Sand (@WorldOfRafi)

Thanks to everyone in advance

Monday, June 15, 2009

Microfantasy Monday #32

Control

On all fours, face low, blistered bottom high,
toothbrush in one small clenched hand, rags in the other,
the meager supplies I've allowed to her right,
kitchen cabinets to her left,
arms moving, muscles burning, face flushed,
damp with the sweat of effort, not the sensous wetness of arousal
cleaning, cleaning, cleaning

One hour of sparking floor behind her, five more of filth to go
face inches from my tiles, searching for any stain, dirt, grime,
twenty minutes ago I pointed one out to her
with my belt.
Now and then a few tears,
but still she keeps it up, heartening me by her obedience
She continues,
cleaning, cleaning, cleaning

For months the lesson stays.
No more sarcastic wit, tantrums.
Not a door slam, raised voice, nasty comment
in all this time
because any time one begins,
All I need do is remind her of
cleaning, cleaning, cleaning

Saturday, June 13, 2009

FFF #7

Desert Racer


One always trains if you want to compete. One trains the body and the mind, for they must work together no matter the exhaustion, the stress, the fear. So I had been. I had to cut down my running to 3 miles a day, because although my cardio and legs were great my upper body needed work. I did curls with Chevy 350 heads, stretch exercises with spring sets, haunted the gym.

After finishing my workout I’d fired off the bike. And I rode. God, I rode. For miles and hours, seeking to hone my skills, flicking several hundred pounds of motorcycle back and forth down skimpy trails through cactus. Hours later I realized I was somewhere I’d never been. I took off my helmet and goggles, wiped the dust. I was getting low on energy drink, and I needed to think through a return. I looked up and realized the sky was darkening.

If you’ve never been in the desert as night falls you cant begin to understand how enchanting it is. I could see the early stars, the bright ones anyway. I refueled, looked for the sky glow that showed where home was. I found it, and it brought a smile to my face. Dinner, I was sure, would be waiting when I got there. I kicked over the big Honda and headed down off the mountain, following the slim beam of light. I felt a contentment I wish I could share with everyone.

----------------------

That truly was my life for a while, and now one of my sons does it as well. And it looks like one of his also - and one of his daughters. The go-fast gene got tucked into us somehow.

What is wild is that a totally different story popped out of my small but active mind on the choice of keywords - I've not written SF ever, though I truly enjoy reading it. I finished it, and started to polish it, but there was no way I could get it under 600 words. I may post it here, or maybe if I get really overconfident send it into Analog. You never know.

Thanks as usual to all my co-writers. I'm tired and (to be honest) a little depressed tonight - hate being by myself on Friday nights.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Microfantasy Monday #31

My first try at this - this may be too long (its a little over 1000 words) - if it is someone please let me know. This is probably an overreaction to Flash Fiction Friday, which is limited to 250 words and may be considered a challenge similar to writing a haiku...

Conflicted

From the start, from the first email she seemed torn. What it was eluded me, but she wanted, no needed a punishment spanking. She didn’t want to say why at first, but she was definite on how important it was to her. I explained that few girls really needed to go through a true punishment spanking, but her response was that I couldn’t understand. She had heard of me through a friend, and that the friend (I wasn’t sure who) had assured her that I was the guy. I patiently explained the level of pain she was asking for and just how life-changing it could be. She responded that she needed to be taken to that level no matter how much it hurt.

She was different from the usual submissive. She only wanted to see me once, and when I explained that even with experienced girls I never would administer a punishment spanking without having had several sessions together the emails became more desperate. She admitted that she had never been spanked as a child, much less as an adult. She wanted one session to finish everything, just one, and then she would be out of my life. And she absolutely wanted me to promise that there would be no safeword.

There was a flurry of emails back and forth as I explained my policy. I was met by pleading on every turn. Finally - against my better judgment - I relented. If she could make her case in writing I would do what she wanted. But she had to be honest and completely straightforward about why she needed to do this. I wanted it hand-written. Via snail mail rather than email, and I suggested three pages was a good length. What I got two days later was half a handwritten page that shocked me – it took a while to get over my feelings, much less empathize with hers.

She was young, in her early twenties. So had her lover been, the age where everything was so important and so dead serious. Despite their intimacy she had weakened and shared a passionate evening with an old flame. Her lover, when she begged forgiveness, responded in the way young ones sometimes do – the sense of drama overcame intelligence – the answer was to bail out. The cowards way - overdose. She felt guilty, abandoned, even she said sometimes dirty. She needed what I could give.

I struggled with the decision – I felt as uneasy as she. My first wife had cheated on me 25 years ago. Could I even be fair under the circumstances? I never have a problem calling a session if I feel the girl is in over her head – should I even start in the first place? My first inclination was to point her to a good shrink, but considering all the rubbish I’d been fed by the psychiatric community over the years I felt that definitely wasn’t the right answer. Finally I rationalized that she was dead set on doing this – I knew that I could stop things if that was what was needed. God knows who she could have run into had she gone elsewhere. I’d heard enough horror stories from my girls. I set an appointment for Friday at my local Starbucks, with the proviso that if I felt that she couldn’t handle the situation I would call the session. She reluctantly accepted that and promised to meet me.

She was tiny – no more than five foot one. When she saw me (I’m six foot one, two eighty) her eyes widened. She also clearly hadn’t sorted out her feelings yet, because although the smile was painted on there was terror in her eyes. We talked for a long time – I offered condolences, and again tried to get the best feeling for her mental state. After listening to her pour out her heart for an hour she seemed rational enough – just needy.

We went though my rules, and I gave her a safeword anyway. She started to protest, but I insisted. I told her that even if she used it, I wouldn’t necessarily stop, but it did give me an idea as to her ability to continue. I also explained that like it or not I would be checking with her as to how she was feeling. I needed to know that she was breathing (submissives often forget) and still conscious. She laughed nervously. She seemed relieved when I told her that I would accept her – she followed me home and we walked in together.

I’d previously told her that she would have one chance to change her mind. After that she would truly be punished - she shook her head. I sent her into the bathroom to go before we started, and to bring me the spanking brush from the upper right drawer in the vanity. When she came back holding it, it was clear that the heavy wooden implement had rattled her – I thought this was good. It might shorten up the duration of the punishment if nothing else. I planned on stopping as soon as I reasonably could. I had no desire whatever to be brutal – only to meet her needs.

I was hard on her – anything else would have been insulting. She was tougher than I’d expected, but it wasn’t that long before the tears started. I took her to the point where she was losing control - that was as far as I was prepared to go. Afterwards was long, gentle and caring. I held her in my lap like a small child and ran my hands over her skin. Her tiny body shook with deep sobs, murmured words I hardly caught, fresh tears flowing. I let her cling to me as long as she needed. It was a long time.

Much, much later she sat across from me and we continued exploring her feelings. I told her my unvarnished opinion of her lover – sorry but suicide is the ultimate form of selfishness and self absorption, and I didn’t think he deserved her. That brought on more tears (I know the female readers will think it uncaring, but I simply couldn’t hold any other opinion) but later more discussion. Long into the night.

I was truly surprised when I was escorting her to her car – she asked me if she could come back tomorrow night – “just to talk” We’ve been talking five years now. Guess it was the right decision…

Friday, June 5, 2009

FFF #6

Concrete

So I'm workin' this job up near the golf course. Subbed out from an old buddy of mine. Gave my the plans and everything. Nice piece of change just to put in a patio. Got everything all layed out and the redi-mix truck is pourin' when this broad comes up in a golf cart. Real classy dame, grey linen suit, fancy shoes, the whole bit. She starts in like I gotta stop right now, “Emergency Stop” she calls it

“What the hell for, lady. Are you the homeowner” I figure its a reasonable question

“No, I'm on the architectural review board. You simply can NOT build that mostrosity here”

“Well lady, if you aint the homeowner and you aint a county inspector there aint no way this job is stoppin'”

She's mad. She starts runnin' around the side of the forms pullin' out the layout strings wavin' her arms and yellin' and sayin' she'd stop me. Then she ran into my parts box. Ya know, we all use them, a box of screws and nails and that stuff – about the size of a bread box. So she trips over it and goes face first into the fresh concrete. Laughin' like hell I pull her out, cause you aren't supposed to have that stuff on your skin. I pick her up and hose her off, which makes her even madder. Then she makes a big mistake. She takes a swing at me.

First time I ever spanked a grown woman...
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My thanks and congratulations to all my co-writers. Also condolences to spankinresource for losing a family pet - I've had it happen and its always tough