Posts Tagged ‘snippets’

Five Minute Drills

August 24, 2011

Back in 2008, Wiseguy asked people to write pieces of flash fiction in exactly five minutes. Didn’t matter how long they were, as long as you wrote them in five minutes. I was thinking about them tonight, because for the sake of my dignity, I’d at least like to be only six days behind on this blog and it’s less than twenty minutes to midnight. 🙂 And I figured I could share mine with you, since I doubt many people who read this blog ever saw them. So without further ado, my Five Minute Drills!

***

Janna drew her dildo from its sheath and held it out in front of her. “You can never win, Marat. Evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction.”

Marat flicked a switch, and her own phallus begin to vibrate. “This is your final chance, Janna. Join the Lesbian Conspiracy, or perish in sapphic pleasure.”

“Never!” Janna shouted, turning her own vibrator on and bringing it down in an overhand strike at Marat’s pert breasts. Marat blocked the blow, and Janna felt tingling up her arms to the elbow as the twin sex toys clashed.

“You are a fool,” Marat snarled, pushing Janna’s own dildo back towards her breasts. “You could have been a ruler of this world, and instead, you will suffer the ultimate fate–death by orgasm.”

Janna tried with all her might to hold back the vibrating sex toy, but as it slowly pressed against her nipple, she feared that Marat might in fact be right…

***

Gina groaned, trying to keep her mind focused on baseball, on her job, on anything but the vibrating butt plug whirring away in her ass.

“You can’t fight it forever, you know,” Kara said. “Sooner or later, you’re going to orgasm, and when you do, the drug will anchor itself to your neural receptors. And when that happens, you’re going to be my slave. Forever.” She patted Gina’s pussy gently, sending all-too-pleasant shocks through her body.

“…i can fight this…” Gina gasped out, struggling against the ropes that held her. “I’m not…not gonna be your slave…”

“Guess it’s time to pull out the big guns,” Kara said. She reached under the bed, and pulled out something that looked like a cross between a sex toy and a power tool. Which was exactly what it was, Gina realized. A dildo, mounted on a massive pumping shaft. “Nobody’s ever lasted longer than five minutes with this baby shoved inside their cunt,” Kara said, revving it up. “No matter how hard they tried. I call it…my five-minute drill.”

***

(This third one was written under the explicit rules, “Write for 5 minutes from a perspective far removed from your own. That is, try writing as a different sex and/or sexual orientation and/or D/s perspective from what you are.”)

Bob sighed as he shot his load into Carol, purely for the purposes of procreation. “Ah,” he said. “It’s so wonderful to be having missionary-position sex with my wife, purely consensually and free of any sort of hypnotic coercion!”

Carol nodded in agreement. “But only because we’re married and under God’s covenant,” she reminded him. “If we weren’t, it’d be a sin in the eyes of the Lord.”

“Very true,” Bob said. “Just like that homosexuality I hear about. Good thing we don’t have anything like that here in the good old U S of A!”

“You said it, darling,” Carol responded. “Homosexuality and bisexuality is for those degenerate Europeans, not for true-blooded Americans like us! We don’t even use sex toys, let alone any sort of sinister ‘mind control’ to increase our arousal or the pleasure of our coupling! Vanilla sex is the best sex!”

Then a rampaging elephant trampled them both to death.

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What Happened Next: Every Rose Has Its Thorn

April 7, 2011

I usually intend for the words “THE END” to appear at the end of my stories specifically to create an emotional impression. Even if I know what happens next, I don’t necessarily want the reader to share in that knowledge. After all, I think that the reader has the absolute right to decide what happens when the story’s over; my opinion of the events after the story ends is just that, and shouldn’t supersede the reader’s.

But every once in a while, I do have a pretty good idea, and this blog feels like the place to share it. While this isn’t meant to be “Word of God”, because I don’t believe in ’em, I do think of it as what happened after the words “THE END” for the story “Every Rose Has Its Thorn“. Which ended, as you may or may not recall…

WildRose listened to the tone in her voice, the tone no computer could disguise. “Sharpe,” she said, “I think we should meet. No earphones. No secrets. Face to face.” She paused, not quite sure how to say what she had to say, but letting that reckless excitement guide her words. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

There was a long pause before Sharpe spoke. “She brainwashed you, didn’t she.” It wasn’t even a question.

“What?” WildRose had expected a lot of different responses, but that wasn’t even on the top ten. “No! I just…I thought we should meet! We’ve been team-mates for something like six months now, we’ve saved each other’s lives, I think it’s kind of silly that we only communicate over seventeen layers of frequency encryption!” Oh, and I think you want to sleep with me, she decided not to add.

“Uh huh,” Sharpe said, her voice full of world-weary cynicism. “So you battle ‘Mistressmind’, you’re completely off the grid for about twenty minutes, and suddenly you’re full of ideas about the two of us meeting face to face? Wow, that’s the kind of coincidence that doesn’t come up often.”

WildRose rolled her eyes to the heavens. “I am not brainwashed!” she snapped out. “Listen to the police band right now! The squad cars are pulling up! Any second now, they’ll be reporting a defeated supervillain and a security guard who needs new pants!”

“Then it’s a trap,” Sharpe said. “She got to you, you told her about me, now she’s trying to lure me out into the open so she can complete her collection. Come on, how dumb do you think I am?”

“You so don’t want me to answer that right now,” WildRose grumbled. “Yes, fine, that’s right. You are right as always. It’s a trap. You’ve figured out our clever scheme. She cunningly got me to kick her in the back of the head, dislocate her shoulder, and gas her, all as part of her master plan to discover your secret identity! Wait until you see the next stage in her cunning strategy, where she becomes prison bitch to Big Aileen!”

“Hey!” Sharpe said, her own voice getting louder in WildRose’s earpiece. “Don’t take that attitude about it! You know the rules! Day One, I told you. No face to face. You accept my help or you don’t, but it’s on my terms!”

“That’s before I realized you were–” WildRose paused, her voice caught somewhere in the back of her throat. All her earlier courage seemed to have deserted her.

“Were what?” Sharpe said. “Hello? Still there? Did something happen? Did Mistressmind break out somehow?”

WildRose sighed. “I wanted to talk about this in person, but…I heard it in your voice. You like me.”

“Most of the time, yeah. I mean, I’ve gone through three of those little stress balls, and I’m popping antacids by the handful, but…”

“No, I mean…” WildRose wiggled her eyebrows, then realized how stupid she had to look to anyone watching. “You like me. As in, y’know…the way women tennis players like each other.”

There was a long pause. “Women tennis players? SRSLY? Are you going to use the Indigo Girls as your next simile, or do I get treated to an ‘Ellen’ reference?”

WildRose tried to remind herself of why she was doing this. “Look, I’m not good at this, okay? I just thought…if you wanted, maybe we could meet, because…Sharpe?” She took a deep breath. “I’m gay too.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sharpe said. “I just thought that honestly, you probably wouldn’t be too into me. I mean, you’re always lusting after the amazonian type, and–”

WildRose’s voice could have cut diamond. “You. Know?”

“I did my due diligence, you don’t hide your browsing habits very well, and straight girls don’t go to ‘BigTittedAmazons.Com’,” Sharpe said apologetically. “I just figured scrawny geek girls didn’t do it for you.”

WildRose smiled, feeling her courage return. “Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. But if you don’t meet me at the Java Bar in an hour, we’ll never find out. And wouldn’t that be a shame?”

There was a long pause on Sharpe’s end. “Fine,” she said at last. “But if you’re brainwashed, I’m macing you.”