Innocent Attaleia


Innocent Attaleia4 6-7-2013

Attaleia had just arrived from her home near the Anatolian Peninsula in Turkey. Named for her heaven on earth, she hoped to return soon, to marry a wealthy man, whom she dated sporadically, but the modeling agency demanded her presence.

Attaleia was no innocent. She knew she may have four good years left, before the agency replaced her with a younger model. She had made it her business to become worldly wise. She was every man’s definition of beauty and she knew it. She put on her very best helplessly forlorn look, and scanned the garage for prey.

She caught the eye of a good looking man and lured him in. She held his appreciative gaze with innocent, pleading eyes.

“Hi. I’m Randy. You seem to be at a disadvantage. Those bags must weigh more than you do. Can I help you with those?”

She could see his hard cock straining the front of his slacks.

“Yes, well, first things first,” she hedged, “Would you be a dear and put them in the trunk,” she asked, handing him the key.

Randy looked perplexed, but set about the task. Attaleia leaned against the bumper watching him, every muscle that tightened, and every strong, angular sinew that was pure, powerful, masculinity. She knew he would be a stupendous lover.

As he turned to reach for the last suitcase, she reached into a bag and extracted a black velvet bag, saying, “I’d like to repay your kindness, Randy.”

“Oh no, that’s not required,” he protested, as she extracted handcuffs from the bag behind her back.

He turned away wishing her happy travels, when she caught his elbows, drew his hands behind him, locked the cuffs around his wrists and said seductively, “I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you”

By Wildfire8470
© copyright 2013-06-13 09:25:11 – All Rights Reserved

~Wildfire8470 - KAS~

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Iowa Assignment



I stood resolutely in my boss’s office, with white-knuckled hands gripping the edge of his desk. 

“You’re sending me to Iowa? Iowa? For God’s sake, Hal! I said I needed time to think, not miles and miles  of nothing to do,” I argued.

 “Mia, you’re going,” he stated emphatically.

 “Hal! I’m a Reporter! What in hell is there to report in friggin’ Iowa? Did someone see Jesus in a cloud,” I spat with incredulity.

“Mia, you’re getting married in a month. Even if you don’t attend the meeting, I’m making you go. Go think about this,” Hal insisted, not backing down.

His face was filled with concern and his brows furrowed every time he looked in my direction. I took a deep breath and relented slightly,

“Enforced vacation,” I queried.

 “Yes,” he said unapologetically, “You’re engaged but not wearing his ring. Face it, there’s something wrong in paradise. Spend some time at Sycamore Access. Take some fabulous pictures. Sit by the river and really think about this. You’re not happy, Mia.”

I stepped back and took a seat in the leather chair, remembering how arguments as vehement as this one used to end in wildly passionate sex. My heart dropped from my chest to my feet. I knew he was right.

“Okay,” I agreed, “On one condition,” I said with a hungry smile as I stood and walked toward him.

He grinned tentatively, backing up in his seat, warning, “Mia,” but I knew he still wanted me as much as I wanted him.

I approached like a cat preparing to pounce. Hal pushed his chair back until it hit the wall. He was trapped. I grinned licking my lips.

I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of a black, half-slip to reveal my black stockings, garters, and heels. Then I leaned down to unbuckle his belt and remove his dress slacks.

“Miaaa,” he said again, “What are you doing? Remember, you’re en…”

I put two fingers over his mouth and quietly shushed him, “Shhh. Don’t,” I instructed him.

Hal fell silent. We hadn’t made love in months. Both of us had reluctantly agreed that an office romance was entirely too complicated, especially in an office filled with nosy reporters.

Finally, he was naked from the waist down and I seized the moment. He was already harder than I’d ever seen him and I closed my lips around him. I ran my tongue around the head of his stiff cock as his head fell back and he released a groan.

I pushed him fully into my mouth through tight, sucking lips while stroking his length with my tongue. Slowly, I pulled away and straddled him. He gripped my ass whispering how he had missed this.

“Mmm hmm,” I replied, unable to speak intelligently. I watched his face, his closed eyes, the wrinkles in his brow disappearing, and I pushed up and down his entire length. God, he was hard.

Hal gripped my ass tightly and stood to push me down over his desk. I pulled up my knees and perched my four inch stilettoes at the edge while he ravaged me, kissing me everywhere he could reach, pounding my wetness while his balls slapped my ass. He pinched my nipples and squeezed my full, aching breasts until we built a crescendo that insisted on release.

I bit my lip hard to stifle a scream, and he held his breath as his thick girth throbbed inside of me.

By the time we were through, it looked like a small bomb had detonated in his office, just like old times. I knew it was now or never. I had him exactly where I wanted him.

I caught my breath as he softened, sheathed in me, and said, 

“Please Hal, don’t make me go.”

I pleaded, batting my eyelashes slightly as he reached for his desk drawer. I waited pensively, wondering what he would find to use for a makeshift toy. Instead, he retrieved the airline ticket and stuffed it into my partially open lips.

“You’re going,” he said staunchly.

Then I groaned for real and mumbled around the envelope, “Alone or tickets for two?”

Hal turned to retrieve our clothing and said, “Alone. Then, we’ll think about what comes next,” with a grin like a cat with canary feathers sticking out of its mouth.

“Okay! Okay,” I laughed at his determination, “But I’m already looking forward to my return!”

“I’ll pick you up at the airport, “he taunted, “Wear something sexy and no underwear… except stockings and garters.”

I grinned my victorious defeat, knowing that I wouldn’t have as much to think over, now that we were beginning again.

By Wildfire8470

© copyright 2013-03-21 16:21:14 UTC – All Rights Reserved

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Thursday Thrills: Half A World Away


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Half A World Away


Ava knew that he was surrounded by photos he had enlarged to grace the elegant walls of his home. He had been to everyplace she could see in the paintings and pictures behind him. She also knew there were scads of women who would kill to be his girlfriend, his lover, or even just the recipient of his attention for a short while. Most of all, Ava knew she was one of the many… but, perhaps, a special one to Master Kane.


They used Skype almost every night. Though he was half a world away, she wanted to know everything about the personal world he lived in, and wished to re-experience Piccadilly and its shops with him. Once, he had lifted the camera to show her the view from his window. The neon signs and lights had her mesmerized and longing to be there.


They met at Shaftesbury Monument Memorial Fountain. She was unaware that she was the subject of several photos he took that day, and had no clue about what he longed to do to her then and there. He had mailed her the photos just today; their one year anniversary of meeting.


They met when Ava was in Westminster on vacation. While she had always known that her’s was a submissive nature, she knew nothing of the BDSM world. Over the past year, Master Kane had shown, and taken Ava to, places she had never dreamed existed, but the place she liked best was in his arms. Still, she admitted to herself that subspace had been one worth revisiting over and over as well.


Though he had introduced himself as Dillon Kane, he was Master since their first night together. He had made it clear that theirs would be a Dominant/submissive relationship. She definitely hadn’t expected to be wearing his collar, but he had collared her in their first week together. Ava was fascinated by all of it, her surroundings, the sounds and smells, every emotion he awakened in her, until she had made the mistake of calling him Dillon.


He had arched one brow, ordered her over his knee, and hiked up her skirt without ceremony. Then he grabbed her red, plastic hairbrush and spanked her until her bottom nearly matched the hairbrush. Even as tears fell, Ava was filled with a heat that rushed from her cheeks to her center, making her beg for orgasm.


Master Kane had toyed with her then, dragging the flat side of the brush over her burning ass cheeks, making her wait and wonder while he asked,
“What do you call me, my sweet sub?”


“Master,” she whimpered, “Master Kane!”


Slowly he caressed the inside of her thighs until his fingers found her wetness. He drove his fingers into her with one hand, while the other smacked her red cheeks hard with the brush. Then he wound an arm around her waist to bring her down from tiptoes as he drove into her tightness more deeply. Finally, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. They made passionate, incredible love all night long.


Ava sighed, picturing the disappointment she had seen in his eyes that night. She set up her camera and adjusted the Skype settings, knowing that she would give anything to even just have that single night back again.


By Wildfire8470

© copyright 2013-03-15 04:25:27 – All Rights Reserved

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2-7-2013 Done!

Kimberly lay across the edge of the tub, half-drowned and too exhausted with his abuse to care anymore. She lay as though dead, amazed she was able to think at all. He had nearly killed her this time.

“One hour late from girls’ night out is not call for this,” she raged with no ability to move. She wondered how or why she had survived for this long as she stared into the mirror across the room, her makeup running down her ashen face, almost wishing he had succeeded tonight.

Everything inside her was screaming,

“I’m done with this fucking shit!” Done! DONE,” but she had no energy to utter a sound.

She couldn’t even summon the strength to strip from her sodden dress and dry herself, but the voice in her head wouldn’t stop. Not this time…


On nights like this, she used to wonder why she had married the bastard. Now, she only contemplated ending it.

She closed her eyes and really thought hard this time. She hit extremes without fortitude to put plans into action, so she lay there drenched, gasping for air… and plotting.

Finally, a quiet strength encompassed her as an actual plan took shape.

Kimberly knew she couldn’t divorce the asshole. She had inherited millions when she lost her parents,

…and I’m not going to lose it to him, she fumed angrily, I’d end up supporting the lazy bastard too!

Thoughts of losing house and home to him were nearly unbearable but the money she inherited from her parents was non-negotiable.

No! That is NOT going to happen, she railed at him mentally while realizing she would likely get stuck with paying alimony too.

Then her weakness began to subside. Kimberly knew now that she had options.

Okay, no attractive options, she surmised while rummaging through her thoughts, examining each of them one-by-one, but do-able, she stated to herself determinedly.

She pushed herself upright and every bone in her body ached. Her lungs hurt from fighting him for tiny amounts of oxygen. Kimberly wondered how many hours she had struggled with him tonight. With arms weak and limp at her sides, she succumbed once more,

Why didn’t you just do it this time, you fucktard? You could have spared both of us this, she yelled without sound at the blue light of the television flickering through the doorway, knowing he was passed-out drunk in front of it.

Kimberly slipped from her precarious perch on the edge of the bath tub to the cold, tile floor.

What the hell am I thinking, she questioned herself as she sat in a heap of wet clothing with limbs askew, Am I really thinking about… but she couldn’t finish that thought.

She crawled to the cupboard beneath the sink, opened the small door and reached inside, fumbling in the unlit interior until she grasped the items she sought.

With trembling hands she extracted his straight razor and his old, rolled-up belt. A small smile claimed her lips and she found renewed vigor. Kimberly placed the items in the sink and pulled herself up by the surrounding vanity.

Suddenly she realized that she was still in her stiletto heels. Kicking them off, she thought of how far away the night of fun and gayety with her friends seemed to be.

That was maybe, eight or twelve hours ago, she thought, staring at her haggard appearance in the mirror more closely, Seems like it’s been years.

At twenty eight years old, Kimberly looked forty years older than that and her rage was renewed.

“I – will – not – let – him – do – this – to – me,” she whispered haltingly at her reflection.

Grabbing up the razor and belt, she tucked them into her elbow holding them close to her side, and raced quietly past the bedroom where he sat, exactly as she knew he would. He was sprawled, with his head dangling to the side of the easy chair, with beer cans and a whiskey bottle strewn about the floor around it.

She stared at him for a second thinking, So unlike you. You’re gonna make this easy for me. Aren’t ya, dickwad?

Knowing she would lose her nerve in a moment of pause, Kimberly raced out to the garage and collected a large coil of rope and cut off a length of duct tape. She stuck the tape to her upper arm and got into the truck she had so carefully parked only hours before. She backed it into the driveway making sure to leave the keys in the ignition.

In a moment, she was standing in the soft glow of the porch light with her heart racing. She leaned down to grip her knees focused on slowing her breathing. When she realized that her dress was still damp, she was enraged anew.

In a shot, she was back at the bedroom padding in quietly, even knowing that dynamite wouldn’t wake the drunken shit. She laid the utensils on the ground, nearly tripping over an unseen bottle of half-empty Tequila, and set about the task at hand. Quickly, she wrapped the rope around him, effectively binding him to the La-Z-Boy recliner and bound his legs with the leather belt. She almost snickered, thinking,

Boy, you really missed your calling, you lazy fuck! You should have made commercials for La-Z-Boy!

She stifled a hateful smile and gingerly peeled the duct tape from her arm, then pressed it to his mouth and firmly anchored it behind his head.

He stirred from his alcohol-laden sleep to find himself immobilized. He struggled and tried to yell, as he had when he was trying to drown her. Kimberly bent down resolutely and picked up the straight razor. With a final, wounded-animal cry, using every ounce of pressure her tired arms would exert, she dragged the razor across his throat unleashing all her years of pent-up rage, screaming,



By Wildfire8470

© copyright 2013-03-17 04:21:27 – All Rights Reserved

Wildfire8470 Digimarced


Slow Burn


Slow Burn

It is too hard to think of when my slow burn began, too hard to focus on fact while I lay next to you letting thoughts of you and me, secret thoughts of us, drift into and out of my consciousness.

Wrapped into your embrace, I am musing silently beneath the star filled sky. It is that amazing time in the early morning, far before the garish sun is near to claiming the night; where I can close my eyes and inhale you… breathe you in with all of my senses. It is that perfect hour where I can let myself walk the too-thin line between anxious thought and deep, dark emotion.

I lay there, lazily dreaming, lost somewhere between salacious desire and intense, raw-emotion, the place I never dare to approach in my waking world. But the breeze brushes over me gently and your fingers run slowly up and down my back, as I realized that you are lost in your own world of half-asleep thought.

I watch you, here in the darkness, conflicting features crossing your face, while you think you’re most personal thoughts, believing that you are safe in the night, unaware that I am taking in everything. Every crease around your beautiful eyes, soft smiles that come and go, the occasional frown that saddens your expression, and I realize that I have the desire to take all of your worries from you, but wonder if I have the ability.

I lay back on the blanket you brought for us and stretch languorously. Finding myself too close to my own fearful thoughts, a shiver runs down my spine, so I hold you a little more tightly to me, snuggle into you more closely, and close my eyes as I finally close the door on lingering fears; fears that you are fast-eclipsing here, in my heart.

It is the one place I dare not examine too closely, but then I remember that you have always been twenty-five kinds of patient with me. I smile to myself as I gingerly touch my lips to your cheek, dreamily picturing the day you asked me out, remembering how I stammered and stumbled nervously in all of my uncertainty;  knowing how long I have been wanting you but paralyzed in the breadth and depth of my residual pain.

I was overwhelmed by your confidence and larger than life personality then, and I picture your rugged handsomeness on that day.

“Have coffee with me,” you said as you approached me.

I scanned the spaces beside and behind me, wondering if you were actually addressing me. I stood rooted to one spot, rummaging through any number of replies that I might have choked out, but my still-wounded heart leapt into my throat so I just stood there, mute in your gaze.

“Never mind,” you stated firmly, “Make it adult beverages, girl. Seems like you could use it.”

I stammered something unintelligible which thankfully, you did not hear.

“Pick you up at eight,” you said, over your shoulder as you turned to walk away, but then quickly turned to flash a grin at me that crinkled your eyes, and I was hooked. I was completely and utterly taken, and then I knew… this is where my slow burn began.

Unaware that you have been watching me this night, I am completely unguarded in re-experiencing you, and this is where your lips meet mine, startling me out of that not-so-long-ago moment. I drag my errant thoughts back to the present, into the here and now of you, into the profoundly sexual kiss that is steadily heating up.

Slowly, you let me come to you, and I returned your passion two-fold as I let you part my lips. Your hand lightly cups the soft, warm globes beneath you as you graze my unexposed nipple with just one finger. You stroke me tentatively through the fabric of my blouse, and deepen the kiss gently, yet firmly demanding of me, not making any sudden moves but deliberately exploring me with maddening slowness.

You entwined your tongue with mine and press deeper, forcing my lips and mouth open to you. Knowing how much I want you, you let me know that you will determine how this goes.

You slow my actions with a gentle hand to my shoulder and will not give in to my urgency. Ever so slowly, you knead my taut breasts squeezing my nipples slightly as you undo my buttons, all without ever breaking our kiss.

Your hands are gently seeking, feeling, softly rubbing and stroking until you suddenly stand and pull me to my feet. With my body pressed full-length against you, locked in your muscular embrace, you loosen your grip slightly to remove the last of my clothing and yours.

Not letting go for a second, you stroke my long hair and move your hand to caress my cheek. You press your steel-hard need between my legs. Your cock is my scabbard, springing to life from its dark patch of hair.

I am aching for you to fill me, aching for you to make this slow burn blaze into unrestrained passion. But you lift me gently into your arms to gingerly lay me down upon the blanket and, in so-doing, lay waste to my inhibitions; the content of my wounded soul.

As you lay atop me with your firm, broad chest pinning me down, you crush me to you with your devilish eyes locked on mine, almost daring me to utter a word of protest, but I cannot.

Instead, I wrap my legs around you, trying to pull you closer still, finally let me melt into you. I give into the mêlée of riotous emotion that only you can make me feel. Your every touch is searing white-hot flames upon my skin, branding me your own.

l let you trail fire down the length of me, as you drag your fingertips down my stomach, past my abdomen to find the nexus of me and I cry out into the night at just the tips of your fingers touching me there.

Sizzling, electric-heat shocks me, leaping from synapse to synapse, culminating in the core of my womanhood while this slow burn threatens to consume me; to incinerate my very soul and I am suddenly assailed with terror.

I am unprepared to feel this deeply and intensely, ill-equipped to fall face-first and headlong into the all-consuming fire that constantly torments my waking and dreaming hours. I am writhing, squirming and pushing; fighting you, fighting me, and then begin begging you,

“Stop! Wait! Stop! Please! Please stop!”

But you do not let me go, will not let me run. Knowing that you are plenty strong enough to hold me down, you just hold me gently in your firm grip. Again, you pull me to you hard, letting me panic, writhe, and fight to push you away until my terror gives way to tears.

I am weeping in silence, tears streaking down my face, while you hold me tighter than you ever have, murmuring loving words into my ear, letting me retreat and die, to be reborn into your arms; the girl all but gone and a woman in her place.

Then finally, we both move, kissing frantically, wrapping ourselves around each other, rolling over and over again, both of us finding “our rhythm.” Then you push up from the ground to kneel between my thighs while lightly fondling my clitoris. You stroke me softly there with the full, firm length of you deep inside of me. You continue your sweet, sensuous torment until my breathing comes fast and ragged.

You begin a quicker rhythm, slamming into me hard and fast, as you stroke my most intimate secrets. I feel the slow burn become tumultuous as both of us push harder and faster. My hips meet yours, matching you, thrust for frenzied thrust, our crescendo building hotter, wilder, your fingers stroking my sensitized womanhood while you fill me with your steel-hard length, your unrelenting girth impaling me and letting my orgasm build.

Soft whimpers and longing moans escape me as I am twisting, thrusting, and aching to explode with you just as your deep, guttural growl fills the air, matching my soft scream that splits the stillness of this night. Finally, I let myself fall into our mutual fulmination, into flames that are borne of you and me. Our simultaneous orgasm rocks us through and through.

Then, at last, I am lost in you; in feeling your pulsing member sheathed within my hot wetness while I contract almost violently around you. I let our torrential lust and love consume me as you fall into my arms. I so love the culmination and completion that is you… and me… that is us… wholly and only us… and just the thought sets me back on a slow burn.


By Wildfire8470
© copyright 2013-05-09 15:06:06 UTC – All Rights Reserved

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Shelby sat near the Princess phone in the house she shared with Nathan. While waiting for her fiancé to call about dinner plans she tried to decide which cosmetics were appropriate. Even now, six months later, she was completely unaccustomed to the makeup intended to enhance natural beauty.

“Makeup with no color,” She murmured, “What a waste.”

Shelby leaned into the mirror trying to discern the contours of her cheekbones, dabbing on light blush and trying to shake off her irritation.

Nathan phoned every Friday, even if he had to return to work after he took her to dinner. Recently, his habit was to ask several coworkers to join them and the dinner was suddenly a business meeting.

Shelby drew a troubled breath, turned to face the makeup mirror and opened her eye shadow. She went about her ablutions which were usually enjoyable, yet seemed an annoying imposition this evening.

The clock struck seven and chimed the time. Something in her wanted to pick it up and hurl it at the wall. Instead, she squelched the momentary urge and reached for the black mascara. She knew the drill. By the time she was ready to apply her lipstick, Nathan would call to tell her he was on his way.

Feeling troubled that his work hours were quickly usurping her time with him; Shelby wondered how long she would be in his company before she would be exiled to listening, not participating. She set about the task at hand lamenting the lonely hours she’d spent waiting for him, but she knew that her anxious loneliness wasn’t all that she was suffering.

Why do I feel so… so?

Lacking an appropriate adjective, she moved on to the distraction of choosing stockings and retrieving footwear from the closet. Shelby rolled her eyes and donned the high-heels she had dyed to match her dress, but couldn’t help eying her fuzzy bedroom slippers longingly. Again, she tried to talk herself out of the pall that had descended upon her,

I worked damned hard to make it into the upper-echelon; to be one of society’s elite. She screwed up her courage, all of her cunning, and leveled her gaze at her reflection, So it doesn’t feel quite right yet, so what? It will in time. So what if you don’t feel like sustaining the facade tonight? You will. You will because you have to!

Shelby pulled her shoulders square narrowing her eyes determinedly, but realized she was gripping the vanity with white knuckles, You can and you will, she chastised herself for even considering the alternative for a second, but She couldn’t drive one thought from mind; I miss being important. Call girl, hooker, prostitute, call it what you want, but I was desired and important.

“I hate this,” she whispered, “Why did grandma call it a deep blue funk? It feels more like red! Like danger, lightning storms and wildfires, like fire engines blasting earsplitting sirens, like screams in the night, like neon, city lights and prostitute red; urgent, immediate and not to be denied!”

Shelby chafed at the feeling gnawing at her but reached for the coral lipstick, attempting to thwart the pull of the past she had buried, when an old nursery rhyme came to mind, One grammy told me, she thought smiling wistfully while reciting it in mind,

“Sugar and spice
and everything ni… nic…
red!” She finished.
“That’s what real women are made of!”

Looking around her with fresh eyes, Shelby took in the sterile, white walls adorned with ornate crown molding, the closet doors slid on hinges that wouldn’t dare to squeak, the exquisite crystal figurines and bone china ensconced in the hand-carved breakfront with its shiny lacquered finish.

“I’m a utensil,” Shelby whispered in horrified recognition, “My purpose is for appearances, like this house and the other women traversing these circles. They’ve been dealt with; brainwashed! They make elaborate dinners, entertain business colleagues and invite wives and girlfriends, no, drones,” she corrected herself, “They float around in chiffon dresses, throwing tea parties and garden parties for their men.

They’re… I’m unseen; invisible. Our lives are of use only for betterment of social standing; the social standing of our men, our husbands and their families,” Shelby said aloud, “This isn’t what I fought, scraped, scrambled and scrapped for!”

Turning on her stool, the trappings of the room assaulted her senses; the California King bed with one corner turned down to reveal a precise amount of goose-down pillow in its frilly, embroidered cover. She cringed at the white satin sheets under luxurious, rich linens, all of which was finished with a white-satin dust-ruffle trim.

I’m a grown woman trapped in a little girl’s fantasy, Shelby realized.

She longed for a man who was tanned from months spent working in the sun, a man who appreciated a hard day’s work and a longer nights play. Suddenly, Shelby hit her limit,
I would walk through fire to be held and loved by a man with a muscular physique; a rough, wind-scorched body that speaks of using his hands for more than pushing papers across a desk. I want a man who will fuck me wildly, like it’s his last chance, a man to take me roughly, make me crave his attention focused entirely on me. I want him to claim me with longing passion, grateful to give and take pleasure in moments stolen from this too-hectic world.

“I need a man who would sacrifice precious hours and see it as time better spent, even if only for an hour a week. There’s a lot to be said for time that’s heady with desire, lust, longing and hope,” She sighed, “After all of this, after everything I’ve suffered, I’ve dismissed the only identity that is actually my own.”

Her thoughts turned to Nathans’ well-timed niceties; the trinkets, jewelry and flowers that now took the place of intimacy. She remembered that his hands were still softer and better manicured than her own, and how his mechanical, perfunctory lovemaking left her bereft and sad. Instantly, she was filled with remorse and revulsion.

Her future seemed dismal at best, not at all the picture she had carried with her in mind. Shelby thought that hers would be a Cinderella story. She had imagined newspaper headlines; a fantasy that had sustained her while she reinvented herself:

“Call girl retires to marry rich, eligible bachelor. Couple to honeymoon at exclusive resort in Florida’s South Beach.”

Shelby slumped before the mirror when the phone rang slicing her already frayed nerves.

“Nathan darling,” She answered, stifling her sorrow.

“Where would you like to go tonight?” Nathan inquired good-naturedly.

Shelby paused to think. This life is a child’s fantasy; a fairytale. None of this is real and all fairytales end. Stay strong. Her breath caught and stuck in her throat. The only thing she knew with certainty was she could never talk to Nathan about it.

Finally, she gave him the first semi-honest answer she’d had in six months, “I want to go back to the last place.”

“Which place, dear?”

“The one that was red.”

“Oh yes, of course, The Red Lobster then?”

Shelby held her breath, unable to voice her life-altering decision. Making her way to the walk-in closet, she found the only memento she’d kept. Pulling a red mini-dress from the hanger, Shelby placed the receiver back in its cradle, whispering, “So am I.”


By Wildfire8470
© copyright 2014-07-05 16:50:53 – All Rights Reserved

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