Fiction, Flash Fiction, Love and Lust, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, Romance

Just Act

Just Act

Celeste2

Celeste stared out the window not seeing the bounty of scenery rolling by. She held a coffee in one hand focusing her energy on not trembling. She felt that her entire life had conspired to bring her to this day, this train, and this life altering decision.

 

She had not wanted to be here. There were no plans and no preparation for this. Nothing in her twenty eight years of school, training, work and regimen which had hinted that she would find herself at this precipice now, today, at this very moment.

 

Her fingers shook and coffee spilled splashing her slight hand. It had long since gone cold. Celeste didn’t care. It was the exercise, the determination it took to hold a tangible object steady despite herself. Celeste just needed to hold the cup as evidence that she was, and would remain, steady.

 

She dabbed a napkin to her hand as her thoughts reclaimed her, my background was entirely reputable. I’m educated, knowledgeable and well spoken. My breeding is impeccable. There isn’t a blemish to be found anywhere in my life history, until now.

 

Celeste started down the narrow corridor in search of sustenance when a thought occurred that nearly knocked her to her knees. She froze, thinking, Terror! That’s what this is! I’m absolutely, utterly terrified!

 

She propelled herself forward with a forced smile, until she retrieved food and drink, and then resisted the urge to run back to her solace. Upon drawing the curtain, she murmured, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so overwhelmed. It’s as if I’ve never felt anything until now – and I’ve never been so well acquainted with terror.”

 

She had left her apartment three nights ago for a girl’s night out and did not return until this morning. That alone was exceedingly rare for her, but she met a man that first night, Clay Collier, and she was forever changed.

 

Celeste had felt an instant connection, but more than that, she felt as if lightning had struck her and was still singing in her veins, still searing her very soul. She didn’t know whether to laugh aloud or vomit.

 

She had spent the first night in a local cafe with both of them talking, laughing, a reassuring touch, whispered secrets, shared confessions, and edging slightly closer. Neither of them was willing to let the night end. They had ended up at his flat. Celeste knew that they belonged together. That was not in question.

Clay had looked into her eyes and straight down into her soul, saying, “You are my destiny, Celeste. I have to return to Italy tonight. Come to Verona and marry me. I love you more than life. We are meant to be. Say yes, Celeste. Don’t think beyond your first response. Just act.”

 

She kissed him passionately, embracing him as if for the last time, and said, “I will come and I will give you my answer in Verona.”

 

Clay clutched her to his solid frame, breathing her in and memorizing her face, etching this moment into his soul, and not wanting to consider that she may not come.

 

Celeste could barely pry her fingers from his arms. They had spent two days and three nights together, loving wildly, savagely, living as though propelled in a dream state, like an alternate universe where they had always been together, yet were suddenly together and new. It made no sense but made perfect sense to her.

 

She hurried back to her apartment, breaking the lease to vacate. She packed what she could carry and checked as many bags as possible. She had not returned to or called work. She hadn’t called anyone. That was another world which was her past now. It had no bearing on her future.

 

With several strokes of a pen and some packing, she had essentially checked out on her life and an exceedingly bright future. She was stunned at how easy it was to drop off the face of the earth. She knew friends and family would think her dead. I’ll have to repair the relationships later, she summarized.

 

The flights were interminable, giving her several moments of pause as she lost sight of land for long periods and now, on the final leg of the trip, she had time to reflect – and feel terrified.

 

By Wildfire8470

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© 12/10/2019 – All Rights Reserved

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#fiction #flashfiction #flasher #microfiction #SlapDashSat #romance #wickedwednesday #WiP

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, slapdashsaturday

Survival Skills

  Survival Skills

Image from:  https://unchartedsupplyco.com/blogs/news/basic-survival-skills

Sara lay on a dirt and rock floor, too stunned to discern one pain from the next. 

 

One moment she had been hiking, laughing with friends, and planning to stop for the night. The next was an ill-fated step that sent her falling, immediately dropping through trees and then tumbling hard to land with an abrupt thud. 

 

Sara surmised that she must have fallen into a canyon, below the mountain they were hiking, but couldn’t imagine she would have survived the fall. Her backpack was still with her. It’s a plain miracle, she mused, Thank you, Jesus!

 

She looked up, trying to see where she had fallen from, but it was too dark to determine. Slowly, she pulled her aching body to a sitting position as breathing was restored. 

 

She ran one hand over her head and arms, checking for blood and broken bones. “Even my bruises have bruises,” she muttered, peering into the murky darkness miserably, searching for anything resembling shelter. Unable to make anything out, she extracted a flint from her backpack.

 

A welcoming warmth illuminated the night and a long, low scream was wrenched from her soul as she realized she was not sitting in the safety of a canyon floor. The fall had cast her onto a small shelf on the side of the mountain. The darkness she had stared into would be sudden death with a single step.

 

By Wildfire8470

 

 

#amwriting #amwritingfiction #lotsofbooklove #saturdayflash #saturdaysharetheloveday #SlapDashSat #writingcommunity #writerslift #writelife #writerslife #amwriting #amwritingfiction #lotsofbooklove #saturdayflash #saturdaysharetheloveday #SlapDashSat #writingcommunity #writerslift #writelife #writerslife

 

 

 

 

 

Flash Fiction, Microliterature, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, Psychological Fiction

Gennalise Chalcedony

Gennalise Chalcedony

Gennalise

Shelly was seventeen years and three hundred sixty four days old, a straight A student and the apple of her father’s eye. She donned her school uniform hoping it would be the last time, and thinking, I’m so excited and nervous I could just throw up.

 

 

She wondered how she would lie to her parents. She had never done that before. To focus her mind on less unsettling thoughts, she got up to retrieve her books and spun her head, throwing a wide smile into the mirror with a backwards glance, trying to imitate a movie star she had seen at the theater. Not bad, Miss Gennalise Chalcedony! Not bad at all!

 

 

She called herself by an alias she’d thought of. One more fitting for the big city and the grand  stage. “You know,” she whispered in her southern drawl and winking at her reflection, “for when you’re a big star!”

 

 

She smoothed her hair and tucked some escaped  tendrils behind her ear. She was the picture of innocence as she ascended the stairs for breakfast. Her stomach churned, knowing this would have to be a perfect performance.

 

 

Shelly mumbled her way through breakfast trying hard not to meet her parents eyes. They were always so ebullient in the morning, effervescent with questions about her daily goals. Any other time, she would have felt refreshed and welcomed the attention but this day, not so much.

 

 

She managed to escape their barrage of morning questions, saying her stomach was upset. At least, I didn’t have to lie about that, she comforted herself, surmising, I’ve always been a nice Catholic girl. I never once told them a lie but, suddenly I’m waist deep in lies! God, I no longer need a push broom. I need a snow shovel!

 

 

She rolled her eyes trying to calm her fears and rubbing the bills together for the bus ticket she would purchase, whispering, “I hope you’re right, Mr. Samuel. Smoot but, you wouldn’t be funding my audition if you didn’t have a really good instinct about me. I’m going to be a huge star!”

 

 

 

By Wildfire8470

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© September 6, 2019 at 2:16 AM – All Rights Reserved

Reproduction or republication of this content, without written consent from author,  is prohibited without permission.

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Abuse, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Institutionalization, Miscellaneous, Poetry, Poetry + Prose, Poetry + Prose, Prose, Psychological Fiction, Short Stuff Sunday

Glorious Bird

Glorious Bird

I am a glorious bird

Placed on the windowsill

Where I am free to watch

All that composes me

Everything I am made of

And all that’s bread into me

I am perched upon shelf

Staring out at freedom

Knowing my keeper loves me

Enough to value safety

Over life and deed

So clipped my glorious wings

Leaving me free

To envy in others

Everything that I am

Rendered useless to do and dream.

 

 

By Wildfire8470

© August 18, 2019 at 10:53 PM

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Erotic Romance, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, Tuesday Teaser

Finally

Finally

 

Finally

 

Slowly, I am dragging the tip of my hot tongue up the beast, lightly suckling until I can nuzzle your balls while I kneel between your thighs. You are harder than I knew you could be and I want to linger here, breathing hotly against your erection as I explore and learn you again.

You are urging me to quicken the pace, but I have you trapped exactly where I want you, kissing and suckling your balls, stroking your cock, and memorizing you with my lips and tongue.

I am tasting, titillating, and lingering overlong, knowing that you cannot pull away, and loving this sweet torment because it was so very hard won.

I move to find the best position in which to stroke you lightly with the tips of my fingers, scalding a trail on your skin and building a desirous tempest. I tighten my hand around your hard length as I suck your full, firm balls into my hungry mouth.

You drive your hands into my hair, shaking with desire, and I am loathe to let this moment change, but cannot stop myself. I increase suction of my wanting lips as I stroke you harder and faster, but change incrementally to unbalance what you expect.

This is a battle of wills and I intend to be victorious, so I lick, stroke, and nip at your nerves of steel and powerful resolve, silently assuring myself, I will break your stubborn concentration.

The aching dampness between my thighs is nearly more than I can stand. I need your fulfillment, but more than that, I want to tattoo you; to bruise and brand you with bruises and tiny nips to your marble strength.

Holding your erection with one hand, I am moving my lips and tongue up and down your growing girth, sucking hard and then softly, quickening and then moving with maddening slowness; tasting, kissing, fondling, and feeling your balls and butt cheeks with the other.

You’re trembling with need, longing for release, but I grip your the perfect curve of your ass with both hands and spank you hard, showing you no mercy, as I battle your obstinate will. I am trying to shove you past your determined precipice to send you reeling into ecstasy, when suddenly your emotional armor begins to fail.

I have been aching for this moment, when I feel your tenacious grip slip and I move to wrap my tongue around your rampant desire, sliding skillfully up your strong shaft, branding you with my lips all the way down to your soul.

Just as you reach the end of your control, I pull you to me hard and tilt my head back to feel the entire thick length of you pulsing in my throat, and I swallow hard against the last of your aching erection, spasming within the tight confines there, and adding the element of pressure to the last of your orgasm.

When I have drained you entirely, I curl into your muscled arms, softly breathing, “I love you” against your hard chest and close my eyes. Both of us have finally found release, assurance and fulfillment, to dream of until I wake you in the morning.

“Good night, my Bit,” you whisper, and the love in your voice ushers me into sleep, filled with assurance that it is all I need to make my life whole and complete.

 

 
By Wildfire8470
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©May 8, 2018 at 9:34 PM – All Rights Reserved
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Tags: #adult #Adultcontent #18+ #love #lust #lovemaking #erotic #romance #eroticromance #erotica #romance #sex #shortstory #microfiction #microliterature

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Passion's Invocation, Short Stuff Sunday

Sylvia’s Salvation

Sylvia’s Salvation

Syliva's Salvation

Blue Dream by bluechameleon – Aminus3 Photography

Sylvia possessed an inexplicable beauty that left most people groping for words, though she wore it with silent grace. She would never be at the top of anyone’s scintillating guest list, but she didn’t care. She loved this place. Trinity was home, now and forever.

She had seen many drifters pass through Florida, enough to keep her feet firmly planted. She would never have the stuff of an itinerant, but that was fine by her. The most she dared hope was that someday they would scatter her ashes here.

Some referred to her as an old soul and she rather liked it. Sylvia found the description rather fitting. She spoke knowledgeably on a large range of topics, which needed to be addressed for betterment of the town, and always did so with elegance.

The townsfolk of Trinity had come to rely on her slightly severe manner, commanding presence and intuitive nature in lieu of her abiding love for Trinity and irreplaceable knowledge of it.

They basked in the benefits she brought about for them, and she was everyone’s immediate source when needed for a mother’s solace. Spinster or not, she served a purpose that was bigger than herself, and found immense satisfaction in so doing.

Not one of them could discern how sitting alone in the evening mist, beneath an aged, knotted, old willow tree could be the solace she sought. Nevertheless, she was a fixture there every evening.

The evenings were still and quiet, with dew settling silently around her, and therein she realized the shelter of a grandparent; old and bent with unparalleled longevity, knotted and battered, yet strong and pliable protection that swaddled her in its consistence; just as darkness enveloped the evening, affording it solace, protection and succor.

Sylvia and her beloved town would rest easy, sleeping soundly in the arms of security and certainty which was home. This town, these people and her commitment to cradle them, this was her salvation.

By Wildfire8470

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© January 14, 2018 at 10:25 PM

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Tags:  shortstuffsunday, fiction, flashfiction, Trinity, Florida, Cryptkeeper, historian, mother