Erotic Romance, Love and Lust, Passion's Invocation

Naked Beauty

Naked Beauty

Part 1

 Naked Beauty

 

 

Jermaine had thought of nothing but the success of this assignment. He boarded the plane with his hopes up higher than the flight would take him. Then Vera had fallen ill. He got her voicemail at the hotel.

 

Vera hadn’t realized that the milk in her refrigerator had turned while she was bucking for a promotion beneath Jermaine’s boss. She was quite fond of Jermaine, but Mack was much wealthier, more established, and more likely to settle down soon.

 

She had arrived home ravenous the next morning, never guessing that the power had been off all night. She only read about the fierce storm as she stirred milk into her morning coffee and drank her third cup.

 

Karma had never approached her subtly and she knew that it was going to be a vengeful bitch this time too, even though Jermaine had been far too preoccupied to notice that she had been much less than attentive lately. He had neglected her a little bit, but Vera knew she wouldn’t have needed much of an excuse anyways. She had always been drawn to money and power.

 

Gizelle had been her replacement on the shoot. Man stealing little jezebel from hell, she grumbled, clutching her stomach, much too ill to care about much else.

 

Jermaine knew he would lose the shoot entirely, along with his enviable career, if he couldn’t pull off an incredible feat of magic. He paced the room, mumbling to himself, “Some men make women disappear. How do I make the perfect woman appear in front of my lens?”

 

Vera had it all, he surmised dejectedly. No one is as excellent for Italy as she is. What am I going to do now? Picturing her, Jermaine voiced his anger, “You just had to poison yourself the day before a shoot that will make or break me, damn it all!”

 

He strode across the room raking his fingers through jet black locks. Leaning into the ornate sill, he peered out the window in a full blown panic, seeing the pink hued sunset, an expanse of white sand, and the translucent, turquoise Mediterranean Sea. In which to drown myself after I get the axe, he added dismally.

 

Then his gaze landed on her. Laying on a blanket, completely unguarded in sleep, was the naked beauty he had been praying for. He blinked and shook his head, certain that she was a mirage or that he would wake up to realize he had only dreamed her. Instinct and adrenaline took over. Jermaine raised the camera dangling from his neck, and snapped his first photograph of her.

 

Viewing her through the telephoto lens, he took stock with a critical photographer’s eye. She had skin like liquid velvet with a slight blush on her face, obviously unaccustomed to lying nude beneath the sun, and he smiled, pleased with that rumination.

 

He’d seen many beautiful women, had bedded more than half, and was always dismayed that so many had sun damaged skin. Look at that red hair; he grinned, longing to drive his fingers through the silky riot. That’s not a color you can get from a bottle, he beamed happily, lost in his voyeurism.

 

Suddenly she stirred, causing him to drop the camera. He ran from his luxurious surroundings as though the room were on fire. With his stomach in knots, he paused to catch his breath and run faster.

 

His lungs were near to bursting when he found the place he had seen her. Jermaine dropped to knees as his hopes fell away. He placed his hands on the still warm indentation of her exquisite body and closed his eyes in grief. A musical voice startled him back alertness.

 

“Por favor señor, encontraste mi anillo? “Please sir, did you find my ring?”

 

Jermaine opened his eyes to find his naked beauty wrapped in a blanket and speaking to him in a language he didn’t understand. Her thumb grazed her ring finger urgently and the message was conveyed.

 

“Ring! You’ve lost your ring,” he said, gesturing to indicate his understanding.

 

“Sí. Por favor, ayúdame a mirar. “Yes. Please, help me look.” Gizelle knelt down to run her hands lightly over the sand, pleading with her gaze.

 

Jermaine pretended to search, knowing that his knee had landed on it. Not wanting to risk losing her twice he kept it hidden, asking, “Do you speak English?”

 

“¿Inglés? Un poco. Lo intent. A little. I try,” she stumbled, still searching the immediate area frantically.

 

“Okay, that’s good,” he exclaimed. 

 

“¡No, no es bueno! ¿No lo entiendes. It’s not good! Do you not understand?” she asked, emphatically pointing to her ring finger.

 

Suddenly, her meaning registered in mind and he did fully understand now. She’s engaged to another man. She’s promised to another. He hoped his devastation didn’t show.

 

She glanced at him and realized he was crestfallen. He looked like a man in great physical pain. Though she didn’t understand most of his words, she understood the look of personal torment. It touched her heart and she forgot her own panic.

 

Gizelle tucked the blanket around her, sat down in the sand, and took his hand. Jermaine’s breath caught as they looked into each other’s eyes.

 

 

 

By Wildfire8470

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© April 22, 2018 at 8:13 AM

Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected

 

 

Tags:  love, lust, erotic, fiction, cheating, infidelity, karma, lovers, romance, voyeurism

Fantasy, Fiction, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation

Rescuing Love

Rescuing Love

 

E59EEA71-D75E-4EF6-8109-CBE03C0198ED

Anne Stokes

 

Zathom Contest Entry

 

3 word prompts (Fathoms) made into a 55 (or less) word story. Must be category Hero/Antihero.
My Fathoms: Dolphin, Dragon, Crumbs

 

The perils of love have always been dangerous, she surmised, taking refuge behind a tree to calculate an epic rescue.

 

She had not planned on crossing shark infested waters on a dolphin, but luring a dragon from its lair with breadcrumbs, was the most dangerous peril she would attempt to rescue her love trapped inside.

 

By Wild Uniqueorn

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This link!

https://www.zathom.com/read/U3Rvcnk6MzMwMg==

 

 

#Contest #Entry on #Zathom #Microliterature #flashfiction #fiction #hero #heroine 

 

Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, Short Stuff Sunday

Not Broken

Not Broken

 

Not Broken

  

He was a pirate in every sense of the word. He came into her world while she slept and stole her away from safety. He was a literal thief in the night, stealing her virtue and then her mind. He twisted her into whatever amused him most. She followed blindly, depending on him to lead. She had not asked for his world but that was what she got. In time, she learned to tolerate his abuses in quiet servitude.

  

She lived an unfamiliar terror, never knowing what anguish he would inflict next, only knowing that he would not fail to. They had battled for her life, and for her will to live. She suffered seven years of soul crushing degradation, beating her black and blue, forcing her to bend and then forcing her to her knees, ignoring tears and screams. He had beaten her unconscious and nearly into her grave.

  

Finally, she freed her hands as he stumbled towards her. In a flash of fatalistic joy, she bolted, running for the gangplank, and flung her body overboard. She slipped beneath midnight waves, holding her breath with lungs near to bursting. Hiding in the breakers, silent for hours, she watched the search party relent and the ship sail away.

  

She washed onto shore beaten, bloody and scarred.  As she laid her head on cool, damp sand and closed her eyes, she whispered, “Not broken,” and passed out, sure in the knowledge that she would die fighting before letting him break her.

  
  

By Wildfire8470

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© March 19, 2018 at 4:09 AM
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Tags: #microliterature #microfiction #flash #fiction #shortstory #pirate #tales #heroine #enduring #spirit #message to a #tormentor #shortstuffsunday #amwriting
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

Fiction, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, Psychological Fiction, Short Stuff Sunday

Killer Reputations

Killer Reputations

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Photo from Tumblr 

 

Brindle was all dime store cosmetic allure and overlong eyelashes dwarfing her face, attractive only to certain types of men from the wrong side of the tracks.

Everyone said she was no good, that she would be her own ruination.

She did business on her back, while dreaming of spreading her wings and broadening horizons, but she owed her soul to heroin. She had to have the drug to blur the faces and perversions that  were her survival.

But she dreamed of better things, a better life teeming with love, until she was three months gone and her fate was sealed.

They said she had dried out and gotten her act together; she bore a girl child in a rehabilitation center, still on the straight and narrow, and returned to her home plus one.

But wagging tongues and cold stares finally broke her. Paramedics found her with a needle in her arm.

Her daughter attended the solitary service, watching alone, as they lowered the casket into the earth.

Everyone said she had grown quite beautiful in her late teen years, and spoke in hushed tones of what a shame it was that she had inherited Brindle’s poverty.

She was all dime store cosmetic allure and overlong eyelashes dwarfing her face, attractive only to certain types of men from the wrong side of the tracks.

 

By Wildfire8470

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©March 19, 2018 at 12:17 AM
Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected

#shortstuffsunday #SundayShorts #flashfiction #shortstory #psychological #fiction #human #condition #reputations #prostitution #harlots #history #repeats