Friday, October 30, 2009

Bookends 5

Trust

“The only wisdom we can hope to acquire is the wisdom of humility”

He wrote it on the blackboard in large letters and underlined it.

“Now who'd like to tell me exactly what old T.S. meant by that”

I sat in the back of the hall, feeling smug. I let a couple of the girls of either sex in the front row struggle with answers before I raised my hand.

“Yes Janice?”

He cocked his head to one side with that quizzical look of his that was so endearing.

“He meant that literally – he was a great believer in humility. Since the rest of the line is “Humility is Endless” I think it was his way of describing our relationship with an infinite being...”

“Were you paying attention at all girl? That is the silliest interpretation I've ever heard...”

He continued describing my stupidity for the next minute or two before proceding to what he really wanted to say. I was stung. hiding my face from the rest of the class. I thought I really had the answer locked up. Last night after a particularly intense game of “professor and coed” where I spent most of the evening with my skirt up around my waist he'd finally tired and lay back on the huge bed. He was snoring in a minute and I rose to clean-up and leave. As I walked by his desk I saw the notebook he taught the class from. Figuring any advantage would help even if I was teacher's pet I looked at his lesson plan for today and saw underlined his “make them think” question with the answer I'd given next to it on a sticky note. I felt like I'd been suckered.

He ended the class (not soon enough for me) and noticed several girls smirking at me. Teacher's pet indeed – they felt like I had gotten taken down a peg. I deserved it and I could see it in their eyes. As we filed out he called “Janice I'll want to see you after office hours today”

I was puzzled – what would he want that was that important about a wrong answer anyway. Couldn't it wait until later when me met at his house? I rolled it around in my mind during the rest of my classes, searching for an answer.

His secretary didn't like me – of that I was sure. I think she suspected our relationship. Anyway she was usually quite rude to me on the few occasions I had to meet him at his office. Today she was competely smiling, friendly. The hairs raised on the back of my neck. Something was wrong. I knew it. She escorted me into his office, actually placing her hand on my back as we enterred the inner sanctum.

“Professor here is that student you wanted to see...”

He looked up over his glasses and smiled. Now I was really worried. It was definitely the cat and canary smile, and I was wearing bright yellow.

“Shut the door Phyllis – but I may want you back in here in a little bit.”

The door closed behind me and he cleared his throat.

“Well last night was a test and I'm sorry to say you've failed...”

“What do you mean?”

I was trying to figure him out.

“Well, Janice, I trusted you. You had access to my lesson plan and there isn't a way in the world you would have come up with that answer on your own. I was surprised, I guess. And I am very disappointed...”

I stared at my toes. I felt like a little kid who was in trouble, and Daddy was mad at me. Oh damn, I remember what used to happen to me when that happened. Daddy had a thick leather belt and he used it when he thought it appropriate. Mom had a hairbrush that she used. I stood there twisting back and forth. Oh god, I hated it when they were disappointed...

“Janice, I don't know if we can continue if I can't trust you...”

I was stunned.

“Please Paul. Oh please. I'll never do it again. I'll do whatever you want to make it up to you...”

He sat, stroking his chin, that thoughtful expression on his face.

I told him about the spankings I'd gotten from my mom and dad when I disappointed them.

“Couldn't you do something like that?”

The idea of being alone after I'd had a relationship with him for over a year was devestating to me. I'd do anything rather than live with that.

He pressed the button on his desk.

“Phyllis would you come in here for a moment?”

I wondered what she would have to do with it. I started to talk but he put his finger up, motioning me to be silent. She came in and shut the door.

“Phyllis I have a little problem with Janice here. It seems that she has broken my trust with her and I'm pretty unhappy. She's made a suggestion about her behavior and I wonder what you think about it.”

I looked back and forth between them, trying to understand.

He described my behavior, not mentioning what had gone before. He ended it...

“And she thinks that maybe a good spanking would straighten her out. What do you think?”

“Well, if I had to say it, girls often benefit from a good spanking to clean up their behavior. But if it was me I'd use my hairbrush on her for half an hour or so. I guarantee you she wouldn't be sitting in that class for a while, and I think she'd remember to mind her p's and q's for a while.”

I looked back and he was nodding.

“So you wouldn't mind helping out with this ?”

I looked back at her.

“Not at all. I'll just take her down to the ladies room and we'll just have a nice little talk, won't we dear”

Her smile was enough to make my want to throw up. I looked back at him and he was nodding again like a bobblehead.

“Yes. yes, I think that's the right answer. Janice, if you want to continue then I think this will be the way. Do you have any questions?”

I couldn't talk. At least I'd be back with him afterwards but I wasn't looking forward to a spanking from Mrs. Greene. She was taller than I by a lot, and bigger. She looked strong – I thought this wouldn't be pleasant at all. And she looked like she would enjoy it. In the end I just nodded.

“Well, you bring in your hairbrush tomorrow...”

“Oh – OK professor. Janice, you'll be here tomorrow night at this time, right?”

I couldn't do anything but nod.

“OK then – see you then.”

I walked out with her – she seemed so bouncy I wanted to choke her. I walked across the street to the little cafe in the student union, feeling nauseated. I had twenty-four hours to wait and I wasn't looking forward to any of them. I was really scared.

I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and I knew I had to get something – I hoped it would settle. So I did sit and eat...

---------------------------------
Written from a different perspective - last time I did this it worked out well...

Bookends, run by @caseydamnmorgan is an interesting exercise - given two sentences, write the story between them. Try it sometime... see http://www.caseymorgan.org

Monday, October 26, 2009

MicroFantasy Monday #51

Waiting


The call had been brief
The message terse.
She took a childs stance
Eyes inches from the corner
Her jeans and panties
Lay on the bed
Hands behind her back
Legs cramping
The quarter hour
Joining the last two
Her eyes clamped shut
To hide the terror

The hairbrush waited
Where he decreed
The chair in position
Armless
Straight-backed
Evil
Her body shaking
Anticipating
The reach across his lap
The restraint of her movements

A drop of sweat rolled down
As she recalled
The pain
The last time she disobeyed
The marks, the soreness
Stayed for days
She promised herself
It would never happen again

But it did

A car door slams
Minutes later the front door
It seems hours before
His footsteps drum on the stairs
Days before the bedroom door opens
And he strides to the chair
Calling her
She opens her eyes
Turns from the corner
To see the anger in his
And show the naked fear in hers
Before, eyes downcast
She lies over his lap
Terrified
Awaiting his touch

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

MicroFantasy Mondays courtesy of Ang at http://www.swelteringcelt.com/. This week the theme is fear.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Friday Flash Fiction #26

The Jedi's Slave: Padawan's First Adventure


The ship's engines rumbled, resonating in Lara's mind. She was on a mission with Jar Gon - a real mission as his Padawan. She was excited - she had never left her home planet. Her job was to watch and learn - nothing more. Still, it was an honor. She reached down again and touched her lightsaber - it was still there! Jar Gon looked over and saw her. He smiled, then turned back to the reports from Mangus, a dumply planet famous for mining obscure metals needed by the Republic's industries. After a moment she did the same.

She thought about the last few weeks - her training progressed, but she'd had difficulty with the blind sessions. She could avoid attacks, but she couldn't find Ben Kor to strike.She tried falling back on her feelings and was amazed to see his figure outlined in the yellow-orange of hatred. She slipped behind him and struck him repeatedly until he surrendered. After three more bouts with the same result the lights came up and the leaders eyes were twinkling

"Good senses you have, Lara. An excellent swordswoman you will be. Your capabilities are better than the force alone."

She had gone through the ceremony naming her a Padawan. She'd received her lightsaber, one of few women to do so.

She tried to focus on the reports but a vision kept interrupting. In the distant future she saw herself and Jar Gon on the jigsaw peaks of a mountain range fighting for their lives. She shivered, wondering what lay ahead.

Friday, October 23, 2009

The New Listing

It was the sort of house that you never seem to come to the end of, and it was full of unexpected places. Marilyn moved to the next room, laying her measuring tape in both directions and enterring the size on her listing form. Being a mid-19th century estate there were many more rooms than normal, and she had to document each of them, She had finished inventorying the kitchen appliances, noting the clever way they had been built in behind false wooden fronts that matched the cupboardry. No expense had been spared, it seemed, making the home modern, yet not violating the classic ambience. She was impressed.

She was especially impressed with the price. If she could swing it she would buy it herself. Jan, the woman who had listed it didn't seem to match the careful planning and execution of the home – she was just in a hurry to get it sold and move on. She presented the necessary paperwork showing that her husband was deceased (in England, of all places). Marilyn expected not only her normal commission – the woman was willing to pay to have all the furniture removed and placed in storage, as well as having any necessary cleaning and inspections done.

The house was quiet – almost too quiet. She had finished with the downstairs - next she would head upstairs and measure the bedrooms – all eight of them – and the multiple bathrooms. As she passed the full length mirror on the wall she turned and checked her appearance. She felt proud of her figure at thirty-six – she turned back and forth. Not that she was vain (well, maybe a little). Her appearance was one of the tools she used to sell houses. That and her friendly, if slightly authoritative personality. She had come a long way in the four years since her divorce. Ten years of marriage had left her very little. When she had discovered that he was an alcoholic and a cheat that was enough. She had moved to the small lakeside town to get away from everything she had been. She had worked her way into real estate sales, and it looked like she would be able to take over the brokerage when Jack retired. She was studying frantically to pass her brokers license. Then, even if he didn't allow her to take over she would be able to take the next step. And afford a place like this. She sighed, and turned to take one last look out the window over the lake. Another example of the care with which the home had been built, it was a modern picture window, but wrapped in old molding and sills so it fit into the great room. It was a beautiful view. She headed up the stairs.

She pressed the old-style pushbutton to light up the long hall. That switch must be 100 years old, she thought. Still it worked perfectly. The first few bedrooms were of average size, furnished with antiques, and beautifully done. They looked like guest rooms – they didn't appear to have been used often. Still, all were immaculate and well laid out. She measured them and dutifully enterred the values. The last two included the master bedroom and, she had been told, a den. She turned to the left and opened the door – she was amazed at the size of the bedroom and the choice of the furnishings. Rather than the antiques furnishing the rest of the house this room was unashamedly modern. A huge bed, matching his and hers chests, sparkling mirrors, large screen TV. electronics... there must have been tens of thousands of dollars of furnishings alone. she stepped through to the master bathroom, where the motif continued. Even – she giggled – a bidet. She turned to the womans low vanity. Centered on it was an old fashioned mirror and hairbrush set. The hairbrush was long, dark wood – the type that had terrorized little boys for generations before hers.

She picked it up and held it in her hand – it was heavy. She'd had only one experience with a hairbrush in her life – her “big sister” during hell week at her sorority had used one on her for infractions real and imagined – it didn't matter. She smiled at the recollection – she had rubbed her behind at night, then between her legs, then gone pleasantly to sleep after several orgasms. She hadn't thought about it in years. She set the hairbrush back down and headed across the hall to the den.

The door refused to open and she had no key for it. She tried to reach across the molding above the door but she was too short, even on tiptoe. Grumbling, she returned to the master bedroom and carried out the chair, then stood on it. Running her hand along the molding she felt the key. She caught it as it fell, then returned the chair. She opened the door and gasped.

It certainly wasn't a den, at least not in the normal meaning of the word. All along one wall were implements for punishment. She recognized a few, from where she wasn't sure- paddles, canes (she thought that's what they were called), several leather straps. Also several with multiple tails – she didn't know what those were called. And the room was furnished in the same type of thing. Across the room from her was a large straight backed chair, a small table next to it containing several more paddles and a hairbrush that was the mate to the one in the bedroom. There was a stool, and a reproduction of an old-fashioned set of stocks - she'd seen the original in a museum on vacation she recalled. Finally, there was a padded sawhorse, only it wasn't rough-built like the sawhorses she'd seen workmen use. It was smooth, oak she thought, well-finished, and the padded leather looked rich.

It looked too tall for her, but she tried leaning over it. She was a little too short to bend all the way over it. She wondered what it would be like... She tried getting on tiptoes and she nearly fit.

“Hmmm... You've been a bad girl” she giggled to herself. She walked over to the opposite wall and took down one of the smaller paddles. She came back and bent over the sawhorse again. She was curious as to how it would feel – she tried swatting herself. It was hard to do - in this position her blazer was a little tight. She stood up and took off her blazer and laid it over the table next to her. She leaned over the sawhorse again and tried swatting herself with the paddle. This time it really did hurt.

“Ow” she thought. "Guess I'm glad that I'm not getting that for real."

She closed her eyes and thought back to the time in college. She wasn't sure why but she felt a sense of arousal. She swatted herself one last time.

“Would you like a little help with that young lady”

The voice was deep and distinctively masculine.

She squealed and tried to ease off the horse.

“Oh no – not yet”

She felt strong hands around her holding her in place, then the paddle was wrested from her hand. She tried to turn and look at her captor, but all she could see was the bottom of his slacks and a pair of very expensive wingtips.

“Let me go.”

She began to have a moment of panic.

“I dont think so”

She felt herself lifted from the horse and carried across the room. He sat in the chair and stood her in front of him. She appraised him. “Yup, qualified buyer” was the first idea that came into her mind. His Armani suit, silk shirt and power tie matched the shoes. He clearly had the money to do what he wanted. Then she realized how silly that train of thought was.

“Supposing you tell me what the hell you're doing in my house first. Then we'll talk about everything else.”

“Your house? I have a client who came in and listed this house for sale...”

He looked impatient.

“For sale. Hmmm... let me guess. Jan. Tall blonde. Forty-ish. Drives a gold Lexus...”

“Yes...”

“Needed a quick sale. Had to leave the area...”

“Yes...”

“Closing costs dont matter. Send the money to her in Nevada...”

“Yes. That's her. She had the death certificate for her husband.”

He began to look angry.

“Death certificate?”

“Yes. She said he died in England. She was broken up about it and just had to leave.”

“Well I just bet she was. Well, rumors of my demise are greatly exadurated, as they say.”

It took a minute for her to understand.

“So this is all a scam?”

“Looks that way. You see, I am a consulting geologist for several oil companies. I spend a lot of time out on oil drilling rigs here and in England. I also spend a lot of time reporting to management and boards of directors both places. So I'm gone for long periods of time. She was expecting me to be gone for the next month.”

“What happened?”

“We had a rig blow out and I dont have to be out there until they fix it. So I have a week off. One she didn't expect”

“Oh”

“This is just an ugly divorce. She was trying to get an additional settlement. I'll have my lawyer visit your office and he'll have the police take care of it.”

She stood there in front of him, not sure what to do.

“OK – so you dont want to sell then? This is a beautiful place...”

His face relaxed in a smile.

“No – not as long as I'm alive.”

He looked at her thoughtfully.

“So shall I pretend that I didn't see what I did?”

His eyebrows raised. She blushed bright red, and now she felt really confused. She looked at him in a different light. He was attractive, very attractive now that you thought about it, and if she was ever going to get a spanking from any body...

“Well?...

He was so attractive that she could want him even if there was no spanking invloved. But there was. Or could be...

“Ummm. I guess you know a lot about this stuff, huh?”

She was trying to give herself time to think, but he wasn't having any.

“I know enough to be able to see a girl who thinks she needs a spanking”

He reached over and pulled her down across his lap. She felt more embarassed than she remembered ever before in her life. His hand lay on the seat of her skirt, and his touch awakened something within her, a desire, arousal. She couldn't help squirming a little on his lap. She felt his hand smoothing her seat, gently, but with a firmness that made her melt.

“Ouch”

He swatted her – not particularly hard – more it was a surprise and she cried out not in pain but because she was unprepared. The room had no carpet and the walls were panelled rather than the softer coverings in the other rooms in the house. The sound of the swats from his hand echoed around the room. He didn't really hurt her – she couldn't explain why but the impact of his hand was driving her to heights of arousal she didn't recall before either. She could not hold still on his lap, wriggling back and forth.

“So how's my naughty girl doing”

She could hear the smile in his voice. He continued the spanking, not too hard, just enough. After a while her wriggling turned to thrusting her hips. She began to really want him inside her. He stopped, then she felt her skirt slipping up her thighs.

“No wait. Dont....”

“Well, well, well. If that isn't cute”

She knew he was enjoying the view. Her one surrender to feminine frilliness was her underwear. She loved lacy underclothes, and preferred old fashioned stockings to pantyhose, so her tormentor was looking at skimpy black lacy panties, a matching garter belt, and dark nylon stockings. She had never shared her preferences with anyone, so no one she worked with would ever have guessed. But he knew. Her face, if it was possible, was an even darker shade of red, she knew.

She felt the intimacy of his hand on her bottom. Without the skirt in the way she could feel the toughness of his hand.

“Ow”

Being spanked this way was much more painful – she couldn't keep from crying out, and this time it really smarted. He continued. She couldn't help but feel that he somehow knew how to handle her, how to master her. She definitely felt the swats much more – they were hard enough to make her beg him to stop if he went on much longer. But then he stopped, wthout being asked. Again, somehow he knew, she thought.

She felt him open her legs slightly, then run his finger along the edge of her panties. Down her bottom. Down the inside of her thigh. Down next to her lips...

“Oh God”

His touch was unbelievably right, sensitive, gentle... She bucked on his lap as he began to stroke her, moving far more than from the spanking. He continued until her words became incoherent, lost in the pleasure of the moment. She had no control, no knowledge, nothing.

He stood her up, lifted her and carried her across the hall to the bed, softly laying her on it. She watched as he stripped off his shirt, pants, shoes. As his shorts came off she caught her breath – she had only been with a few men, but he was bigger than anyone she had seen. Or heard of, considering the powder room grapevine. Gently he pushed her on her back, then slid her panties off. Opening her legs he gently dropped onto her. As he enterred her, she felt him moving slowly – perhaps he had learned to be tender because of his size. But he quickly filled her - if he were any bigger it would have been painful. She reached up and enfolded him, giving back the pleasure she felt. Their passionate thrusts matched and it was not long before they came, both crying out together as one.

The sun was setting as they rose, having lay together holding and whispering the rest of the afternoon. She fetched her clothes and dressed – he pulled sweats out of the chest and slipped easily into them.

“So how long are you here?” she asked.

“Till Friday. Would you like to come over?”

“Try to keep me away. What happens then?”

“I'll be on the Gulf coast for three weeks, then over to the North Sea”

“Would you like company?”

He looked at her appraisingly.

“You know, in all the five years I was married to Jan she never wanted to go anywhere with me. I never expected... I mean, yes, of course”

The expression on his face warmed her.

“That was her. I'm me. I go where my man is”

It was a little presumptuous, she thought, but he would get used to the idea.

“You do know, the paddle is still here. Waiting”

“Well you know how to use it, dont you?

“Yes”

“Then I'll learn how to take it."

He walked her out to her car, kissed her goodbye. As she backed down the driveway she looked back. He was leaning against one of the porch pillars, a smile on his face. She waved and he waved back. As she headed down the river road towards home she started thinking about the paddle. Yes, it would hurt. It would hurt a lot. Enough to be scary. But the thought flittered away quickly. If things are good they’re not terrifying, are they?

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Bookends, run by @caseydamnmorgan is an interesting exercise - given two sentences, write the story between them. Try it sometime... see http://www.caseymorgan.org

Monday, October 19, 2009

MicroFantasy Monday #50

The Contest

Her eyes gazed up
Shiny with unshed tears
Her heart pounding
As she nodded obedience
To his unspoken order

The contest between
What she deserved
And what she endured
Defined her submission
And her love

She bared her body
As always
And bent to grasp
A dancer's ankles
With her delicate fingers
Forcing herself
To want the pain
To desire the pain
To accept the pain

His muscular arm drew back
Then planted
Rattan's kiss
She bit her lip
To stifle her cry
Eyes fixed
On chair legs
For if she wandered
Her control would go
And she would lose him

After the stroke
Her mind eased the body
By meditating on
Their passion
And their love
Knowing that she needed
What only he could give

The pain a line of fire
It took all
To maintain the stance
To avoid the dance
Many do
Because it pleased
But fire it was

She awaited the next stroke
And the next
Now tensing
Now letting go
The fourth was always the worst
Because there were still more to go
And the urge to surrender
So high

She could no longer keep
The tears
The cries
But in letting them out
Her resolve rose
To see the end

She stood
After he released her
Pride in submission
On tiptoes to pull
Them close
As they walked together
To their bedroom
For an afternoon of
Aftercare
She caught a glance
Of the double stripes
And smiled

She had
Indeed
Won

Firday Flash Fiction #25

The Jedi's Slave: The Power of Mind

A glow suffused Lara's being. After the gentle passion with Angaa she'd pulled herself together to return to training. The afternoon was a mental challenge. It was the first time she had to try – in a world of darkness, black as coal, she had to engage a Jedi and avoid his training light saber. While not fatal, when it hit her it stung – badly. And it did not help that the young one who disliked her – Ben Kor – clearly enjoyed the process. He was her training partner. One thing that betrayed him was his anger – she could sense it as if it were visible. Again and again she avoided his blows. At the end she was worn down and his final blow caught her on the back of her thighs – she cried out and the pride was clear in his voice.

“For the Win!”

The lights came up and the leader stood. She was still rubbing the sore spot as he complimented her. She winced and shook her head.

“I can do better” she gritted. She did not want him to think her a tempermental female, easily beaten.

Ben Kor smiled.

“When you are ready”

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

That night she lay with Jar Gon, drained after lovemaking.

“Master, I have something to share with you”

“Yes little one?”

“Master beause of the rosewater I now enjoy the touch of a woman. A lot. Are you angry with me?”

He smiled.

“Of course not. I just wondered when you were going to tell me...”

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

This weekend not only did I have to work, but I had two down computers - one hardware failure, the other a nasty virus. Should any of you encounter the SecurityTool virus the latest version is really nasty - took over the whole machine. It took all day Sunday and much of this morning to get it wiped out...

Friday, October 16, 2009

Bookends No. Three

The Train Ride

"A blind agitation is manly and uttermost. If you do not enjoy it, why make a fuss about it"

She planted her little flower of civilization into the conversation.

"Uh huh - and what exactly did you mean by that, Ma'am?"

"Oh you're so ignorant, you're such a ..."

Words failed her, an uncommon occurance. Just then the train enterred a tunnel; the darkness and the sounds enveloped them for a while. When they exited, blinking at the sunlight, she found her travelling companion in the same condition, slowly laying down the cards for solitaire. One difference - he was smiling at her.

"You yankee women sure can talk."

She sputtered for a second.

"Well, I should hope. I've studied in the finest universities, spent time in Paris..."

His calmness was unmoved.

"Well that doesn't say what kind of person you are, now does it Ma'am. I can't help but wonder what you are doing out in this god-forsaken part of the country"

She pulled her cloak around her shoulders as if for protection.

"I have family business in San Francisco. One of my sisters..."

Her voice trailed off as she thought of the errand she was on.

"Hope its nothin' serious."

His voice was half question, half condolences. She wan't sure she wanted to share family secrets with a total stranger, especially a man so... different.

He stood, picked up his Stetson from the seat next to him.

"Pardon me Ma'am, I'm going for a smoke"

She watched him cross the car to the rear platform, pulling a cigar from his suitcoat pocket as he went. Actually she was surprised at his gallantry - she half-expected him to smoke in her presence. The silence almost turned into loneliness - something she thought silly, but there it was. She turned back to the need for her trip - Lily was not only in trouble but sick as well. She wasn't looking forward to straightening out another mess. She was the strong one, though, and that had always been her lot in life. Sometimes she wished she wasn't.

He walked back to their seats - they were the only occupants of the car. No wonder, she thought. Who would want to come out to such an uncivilized country unless they had to.

He stretched out on the seat, dropping the hat back next to him. He looked at her thoughtfully, his weatherbeaten face concerned.

"Ma'am, you really seem to be troubled. Is there anything I can do to help you out?"

She laughed bitterly.

"Certainly. Help me pry my sister out of a really bad marriage and get her on the train back home. Her husband is truly evil."

She was surprised that she had stopped trying to hold everything in. She didn't know why, but she was beginning to trust him. He seemed to have a quiet strength, different from the men she knew.

"In what way is he evil? Just because he wants to keep her there?"

"No - if it were that simple... He beats her. All the time. And now she's sick and he's been beating her even more becasue she isn't ..."

She couldn't bring herself to say her own sister was a whore. To be honest she didn't know what she would do when she got there. Or could do.

"Dont cotton to men like that"

She felt strength from his displeasure. She felt a sense of right, of doing the correct thing. But she suddenly couldn't hold her feelings in any more, just could not continue to be strong. She started to sob, teardrops running down her face. She felt his body next to hers, hard and lean, his arm around her heaving shoulders.

"Ma'am I've got a few friends in that town, including the police chief. I think we can get him pried away from her. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it"

He reached down and tilted her face up to his, his blue eyes angry.

"Don't worry"

That was all he said. She was content to sit near him, watching him play.

Later they talked. They talked of differences and similarities. They talked of New York and of Dallas. They talked of her writing and his cattle ranch. They talked about each other. She became used to his gentle drawl and he to her sharp-edged pronunciation. She walked out on the platform while he smoked, something she had never dared do before. He sat quietly playing cards while she read.

The night before their arrival she curled up next to him, sleeping while he played. His arm around her body, she felt completely safe in a way she hadn't since she was a small girl.

As they climbed down from the railway car she was impressed at his command of the disorganization of travelling. He lined up porters for their luggage and got everything moving to their hotel. He had insisted she stay with him - he had cancelled the reservations she'd made in the small hotel, moving her into his suite in the Stanford.

She was impressed when the chief and several policemen paid them a visit that night. Bret explained the situation to them far better than she could. All of them had grim faces as they left. He left with them, telling her to wait for their return. It was over an hour when the door burst open and he carried Lily in to the bedroom, accompanied by the policemen. The two women screamed and hugged each other, Lily thanking everyone within earshot for rescuing her. She promised again and again that she had learned her lesson and all she wanted was to return home. Home never looked better.

The next morning they put Lily on a train headed there.

"I've got a little business to attend to, then we'll have dinner."

Business took several hours - she took the time to think over her new find. They weren't lovers but she could easily see it hapening. She wondered if she could give up her life for his - she had no idea what it was like to live on a cattle ranch. Of course, he hadn't even asked her yet.

Over dinner they began again.

"Train leaves for Dallas in the morning. Would you like to be on it with me?"

She looked at him. She'd already worked through to her answer. Tears welled up as she said yes. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a box.

"Guess you'll be needin' this then" he said with a sly grin.

She blinked at the size of the diamond, then screamed and threw her arms around him.

The next morning they held each other as the train pulled out. She curled up next to him, putting his hat on the other seat. She smiled as his arm wrapped around her body, then gave a little sigh.

He gathered some of the cards together and shuffled them...

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Bookends, run by @caseydamnmorgan is an interesting exercise - given two sentances, write the story between them. Last week since I bitched about writing like a Brit she instead gave us quotes from a couple of American authors (although Stein was an expat in Paris most of her career). It remains an interesting exercise regardless of how you frame it. Try it sometime... see www.caseymorgan.org

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

MicroFantasyMonday #49

Black and White


Kayla walked into her great-grandmother's house, laptop under her arm. It was her on-going challenge to try to get gramma Louise onto the net.

"Hi Gramma"

"Hi child. How are you today?"

"OK - want to check your email and see if you have any?"

"No, not right now. But there is something else I'd like to try"

The old woman pulled out a letter, crumpled with repeated reading.

"This is from an old friend of mine. Thanks to you we just got back in touch with each other"

Kayla smilled at the recollection.

"She sent me a place on the net I'd like to see. Can you help me with it ?"

"Sure Gramma. Let me see it"

She unfolded the note and swiftly keyed in the address. Quickly a website popped up - it was totally foreign to Kayla, but she looked over to see her great-grandmother totally entranced.

"Honey show me how to get around here..."

Kayla showed again for what seemed the fiftieth time how to use the mouse. She was surprised as the older woman moved assertively in front of the monitor.

"Kayla go get yourself a coke..."

When Kayla returned she was amazed to watch the woman she had thought computer-illiterate easily handling the keyboard and mouse. She seemed lost in deep thought as she maneuvered quickly through endless photos of groups of men, old airplanes, and unfamiliar scenery. Suddenly she stopped, zoomed the photo she was looking at to fill the screen. Louise screamed, then began to wail. Through her tears she was repeating

"Oh God, I miss you..."

"What is it, gramma?"

It took a long time before she made a visible effort to pull herself together. She attended to the tears with kleenex, than began to explain.

"Honey, that is your great grandfather and his crew. He died right after that picture was taken, and I've never seen it before. He was a real hero."

"That was a long time ago, gramma?"

Kayla didn't know much about her great-grandfather except he had died before her grandfather was born.

"Yes child. During World War II. We were so proud of him. I met him at the beginning of his flight training. We were married then, and I only had a few months before he finished and he was gone. I had hardly any photos of him - we weren't supposed to take many back then. And when he was over in England some of his buddies had cameras, but they weren't allowed to send the photos home. So I've never seen these before."

She pointed to the picture of a dozen men in bulky clothes standing under a huge airplane. She pointed out one, a tall handsome man.

"That's your great-grandfather. Everyone of those boys was in my kitchen at one time or another. His copilot.."

She pointed to another of the black and white figures.

"...Jack and his wife were our best friends. I know Jack survived, but his wife was killed in an accident before he made it back. I always felt for him"

"Gramma, How did he die?"

"Honey you have to remember how close these men were, and how bad it was for them. Grampa Bill - I guess that's what you would call him..."

Kayla nodded.

"...He was promoted again and again because everyone around him kept getting shot down. Anyway they were over Germany I think it was - I've never been sure. They had been hit a bunch of times by airplanes and guns. And the plane was going down. He kept the plane level enough that everyone else could get out..."

Her voice started to break.

"... and then it blew up before he could get out..."

"Gramma..."

She stood up and walked over to her credenza and opened one of the drawers. She handed a small box to Kayla. She opened the box, looking at the blue ribbon and gold.

"This is the highest honor our country has to give. And your grampa got it. In fact the president gave it to me himself"

"Gramma - really?"

She reached further in the drawer and pulled out a framed photo. Kayla looked in disbelief at the much younger image of the woman standing in front of her taking the box from the man she remembered from her history books.

"Oh my god..."

Kayla simply didn't know what to say.

"Kayla, I'd like to borrow your laptop until I get one of my own. Would that be OK?"

"Of course gramma"

"OK then - why don't you get on your way. I want to go through all these photos for a while. I'll be OK"

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Late this week - had a funeral for a friend that took up most of my time until now. Really puts you in a reflective mood - thus the treatment of this week's theme...

Friday, October 9, 2009

Firday Flash Fiction #24

The Jedi's Slave: Reconciliation


The summons had been brief.

"We have not seen you for a while. Please honor us with your presence."

Lara knew it was the right thing to do, scary though it was. She requested an autocar to take her to the Ordelian ambassador's residence. Angaa rushed out to greet her, hugging like old friends.

"It has been weeks. We've missed you. How can we grow..."

Lara interrupted her.

"There have been new developments. We must talk":

"Of course - come in child"

They walked in together.

Lara began.

"You must realize that I now have to live in two worlds. First, in yours, the world of the sisterhood..."

"Of course. That is why..."

"Listen. They have tested me.It seems that I have the midichlorian levels to be a Jedi. A very high level Jedi."

Angaa drew in her breath.

"But how can you be part of us and part of them? Aren't they our enemies? Don't we need to rebel against them?"

"Listen, dear one. My abilities will allow me to be..."

Lara paused. It was important that she phrase this correctly.

"... a bridge between the sisterhood and the Jedi. It is most important to both our continued growth that this work well, and to our mutual benefit"

Angaa looked at her in a different light. That Lara could be a person of power rather than a conquest was new.

"You know that I must discuss this with the others..."

"Of course. But know this. It can only be good for you. Already I have the start of votes in the senate to prevent women from being punished for witholding information from the sisterhood. We have hopes of getting it passed soon."

Angaa stared

"How could you do this? This will benefit our drive to be one with your..."

Again Lara interrupted her.

"I do not have much time. I am due for training in a few minutes. It is that simple. You must trust me. I have only our interest at heart."

Angaa nodded.

"So have you discovered the drive I told you of?"

She took Lara's hand, reached in her back pocket and produced a crystal bottle.

Lara smiled.

"Perhaps I do have a few spare moments..."

Bookends No. Two

Peter's Little Wife

She liked people who made their own scrapes for themselves before they fell into them, and then got out without being fished for. She liked them because they were interesting, because they were strong, because they were clever, but mostly because they were something she was not. Never in her life had she been quick-witted enough to get out of problems of her own making. Like today.

After university she found a position in a small law firm. The smallness guaranteed she would be visible, highly so since she was secretary to one of the partners. The many men flocking to his office also guaranteed her a steady stream of flirtacious encounters. In the end another partner, young by law firm standards, has stolen her heart with his gentle wit and she was now his. He still stayed at their flat in the city during the week while she had retired to run the country house. She didn't mind the isolation at all, and with three in help she was able to keep a pleasant home for him with little effort on her part. He was gentle, kind, and twice her age. And therein lay her problème de jour. He was as much parent as husband.

She had a small acount to manage for the house - for the grocer, the chemist, a few others. She'd made an inconsequential error balancing the account, and the bank had rejected three cheques. When she realized her mistake she had tried at once to make it right, but she didn't have any money of her own. She could not see any way clear of this. Unfortunately Peter was rather unyielding on financial matters, and she remembered his words the first week they were married. He had presented her the materials for the household account, and casually said if she ever made a mess of it she could look forward to a caning.

So here she was - a twenty two year old woman about to be thrashed like a child. The last time her mother had thrashed her she'd been ten. She hadn't enjoyed it at all. And she wasn't looking forward to tonight either. She'd sent the chauffeur to pick up Peter at the train, and the smells from the kitchen hinted at a delicious dinner. The maid had polished the living room to a high gloss. Now all she could do was wait.

Once again she thought over her choices. She could bluff it out and just ask him for a little more this month. She could tell all and beg for his mercy. She could lie. She just didn't think she could out-bluff him, and she had never been able to get away with a lie, even a little one. She sighed deeply. Might as well get it over with and try to salvage a decent weekend, even if she couldn't sit comfortably.

She dismissed the servants early - she told them she'd like to serve him dinner on her own. She went to his den and fetched the cane from the closet. He'd never touched her with it - she knew that was at an end. She heard the Bentley on the gravel and hurried out to meet him, the cane held behind her skirt. The smile split his face the moment he saw her. She threw her free arm around his neck and kissed him passionately. She knew that after her punishment things would never be the same between them. After a bit he pulled back and looked into her eyes. Tears began to flow as she brought out the cane and handed it to him, He shook his head sadly.

"Tell me" he wanted to say "everything in the whole world."

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A continuing series - see http://www.caseymorgan.org/ for more information. Two phrases are supplied - one must be the first, the other the last part of the story. We fill in the space between the bookends.

Monday, October 5, 2009

MicroFantasyMonday #48

Survival

Your little pink pin
Reminds us all of
The time you lay
A small body
In a huge white bed
Ensnared to the wall
By tubes and wire
The fear you faced alone
No matter how much we were there

Women are strong enough
But you are the strongest of the strong
Fighting to care
To continue
To be the moms and lovers you have always been

You’re missing a curve or two
Here or there
But in our eyes
You are as beautiful as ever
And always will be

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Dedicated to all the victims of breast cancer. Soul mate and I have been lucky in that it has never affected her, but we both know lots of women that it has.

In case you missed it, the National Football League (American football for those elsewhere) allowed players to wear pink in support of National Breast Cancer Awareness month. It was kinda cute to see these big burly lineman and tough defensive backs with pink shoes on. Coach Singletary had a pink brim on his hat.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Friday Flash Fiction #23

The Jedis's Slave: Training

The sweat drop rolled down her nose. She hated PT. Her young body was in fantastic shape, but that seemed to motivate her trainer to push her further. Padawan hell, she felt like a pack mule. The mental exercises were ridiculously easy – they had not even started to push her capacity, though she was careful not to let anyone know that. And then there were the bullshit things, taught by those who couldn’t do, so they taught: the unfailing courtesy with which Jedi were expected to respond; the haiku-like chants; and the geopolitical knowledge to help run a republic spanning their part of the galaxy. She sighed. It was hard, but she was making progress. And she had been made a special case. She had gotten what she wanted

She and Jar Gon looked at each other across the bed. She had dropped in a fit of exhaustion.

“Well according to all accounts you are doing well, Padawan”

She knew he called her that just to tease her.

“Yes Master, err Yes Master Jedi – is that better?”

“Yes little one – I’m never sure which role you’re playing at the moment.”

He smiled, and her heart beat faster. She reached over to him, longing for his touch.

“You know, although you are a slave, some people from the lesser developed planets would probably treat you as a god.”

He rolled over and positioned himself above her. She felt the arousal rise as he entered her.

He grinned.

“In God we thrust”

Friday, October 2, 2009

Bookends No. One

The Prisoner

He slept like a man that’s dead. The gentle release of sedative gas into his cell had taken him down quickly, down from the heights of screaming paranoia to near-normalcy – if you could describe inability to think normal. As he went under again the glimpses of faces appeared before him – no amount of sedative could prevent that. Their mouths open in horror, their eyes frantic with desire to avoid any contact with him, the trails of blood as he opened their skin – he wondered idly what they had done to deserve dying at his hands. Oh well, it really didn’t matter. They deserved to die and he was better than most at making it happen. A man should enjoy his work, after all.

His body twitched as random synapses fired, still not aware that sleep was coming. He dropped, sliding down the smooth aluminum skin to a heap on the floor, an unkempt pile of clothes, flesh, and telemetry. His dreams were dark chains of death, one victim after another. He could hardly tell the real from the desiderata. A few he thought he recognized. Most, he had no idea. It filled his mind, awake or asleep. Save for the few moments he had on first arising to ponder his life.

The cell was small but not unduly so – an efficient size to house the prisoner. The light was always on – enough to see, but not enough to keep him awake had he wished to sleep without intervention. He rarely did. The color was neutral, a light cream he thought, though other than his skin he had no way to differentiate colors. It was always clean, though he had never cleaned it himself. He had tried to set traps to catch someone cleaning it while he was under, but he was never truly able to say that he could prove it. It was the not knowing that ate at him. He could never be sure...

Similarly there was always food available in the small cupboard. He never knew exactly how it was replenished, but there was always enough. He liked the bars in the red wrappers best, although the ones in blue were a close second. He almost never ate the ones packaged in yellow. There was nothing on the wrappers to indicate what they were. And he could not describe the taste – only that the three were different and that he enjoyed one over the other. He could not even recall what real food tasted like. Like the cleaning he had set traps to catch someone replacing the food bars, but he could never be sure...

Water was available, and sanitary facilities. He had tried all sorts of experiments to provoke some action – a visit from his jailers, a maintenance man, anyone. But nothing worked. A supremely intelligent man in his life, he knew that some of his experiments had to have caused the need for response, but the constant cycle of raving paranoia followed by enforced sleep rendered continued rational thought difficult. Still, he tried. The lack of reference or a diurnal cycle – any semblance of normalcy – frustrated his attempts. He had no idea how long the cycles were. Hours, he thought. But he could never be sure...

There was nothing to write on or with. He was limited to what he could carry over in his mind, twisted though it was. He had tried scratching on the walls – the traditional prisoner’s calendar, a record of bad and worse days, but there was nothing he had that made a mark. Once he had thought he had made a small dent in the area above the head of his bed, but when he next awoke it was gone. But he could never be sure...

Bodily movements indicated his imminent wakening. He planned this part of his life carefully, for it was the one period where his mental faculties functioned. He tried not to give any indication he was awake, laying still and continuing his breathing to try to think through things. This was when his memories were accessible. This cycle was no different. He remembered that he was a prisoner, that he was being punished for killing hundreds of innocent people on his home planet, wherever it was. He recalled being dragged past crowds screaming for his execution. He suddenly recalled that he was in an automated prison is space, that there would never be any release for him, no human contact, he was here forever. Of that he was sure...

Previously whenever he remembered it all he had tried to end his life. He had tried every way open to him, but he had no weapons. The cloth for everything he had couldn’t be formed into a noose. The sink didn’t hold water, and the water level in the toilet was too shallow to drown himself. He sat on the floor and began to bawl, the enormity of his punishment dawning on him once again.

He felt the paranoia begin to rise again. As he began to lose control he wondered if his mind was going or if they were doing it to him. It didn’t really matter. But he never could be sure...

The worst was the silence. In the years he had been there he had not heard a sound save his own voice He was being punished. The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind…

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The first in a series - see http://www.caseymorgan.org/ for more information. Two phrases are supplied - one must be the first, the other the last part of the story

Late, as usual I am.