Author: maleghast (Page 30 of 35)

Olivia was still unsure of herself as she perched in the corner of the room, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. She had been trying to get into this party for about four months and now that she was here she was suddenly aware of the gulf between fantasy and reality. She checked that the green armband was visible, announcing to anyone who looked that she was present as a voyeur, only to be invited to join in by being asked specifically to watch; never to be touched. She also felt in her pocket for the red one she had been given in case she changed her mind.

Just to her right there was a staggeringly beautiful woman perched on the edge of a table, naked, with her feet on the shoulders of the woman who was eating her out, still fully dressed and dressed as a man. Olivia watched, mesmerised by the woman’s beautiful breasts as they rose and fell irregularly with her gasping breaths as she approached orgasm, her head thrown back and her long raven black hair sweeping back and forth on the polished table top.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

George rested the mop against his brow and fought back his gag reflex. It was, and always had been, his worst fear that one day he would be forced to do a job that had bad smells attached to it. Now, here he was, cleaning the toilets in a school and wishing that the children who attended were not such animals. Why did they feel the need to block the toilets, piss on the floors, smoke and vomit and whatever else they got up to in here? Surely the majority of them were horrified by the state of the first floor toilets for both genders when they came to use them?

In most cases the majority would and did make sure that the minority were aptly punished for standing out. Goth kids were beaten for being ‘spooky’, sporting failures were ridiculed for not being able to catch a ball. Why was it that the ones with no respect for their private spaces, who created this stink and mess, were not equally punished? George certainly knew what he wanted to do to them, but he also wanted to keep his job, even with the smell.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

Ferdie wondered if he was ever going to look at anything more than a blank screen. It was three weeks since he had written anything and his editor was starting to get really quite aggressive in his demands for material. Ferdie was not sure that it was okay for anyone to threaten to remove each of one’s fingernails with pliers if you did not deliver a blog article.

He had tried everything; drinking, getting high, sitting outside in the dark looking down on the lights of the city, smoking cigarettes and driving around the Venice streets looking for people that he used to know… Anything to find some inspiration, but nothing was working, and there was nothing there every time when he did one of these things and then reached in to try and find some inspiration.

There was nothing that had not already been said, nothing to believe in any more and it had been this way for almost exactly three and a half weeks. Why was this? Anyone could have guessed that it was because Vicky had left, but he could not see it.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

I wanted to buy Sara a present; that was made me understand what had really changed. It was a week before our fourth anniversary and a month before we were still due to marry. I was in town alone and I decided that I would buy her something for our anniversary. I knew that no gift was going to make it better, but I wanted to signify to her that I was thinking of her; thinking of her more than I thought she knew.

I wandered around her favourite stores, looking for something that would make her smile, that would let her know that I had thought about what she liked, who she was and then I had found the perfect gift. That was the problem though; I was looking, and she could not do that anymore. After about an hour it dawned on me, and crazy as it may sound, I think it was then that I really understood for the first time that she was blind. I could not buy her a beautiful painting or exquisite jewellery, things that would once have captivated her with the way they looked. Now that was only cruel, not thoughtful.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

Frank sat back and stared up at the fireworks exploding over the Potomac, the strains of patriotic music on the edge of what he could hear from the District.

There was something odd about being an Englishman on the Fourth of July; the defeated enemy watching the fete of his defeat. He had not received anything but welcoming and friendly overtures from his American hosts, but even so none of them had missed the chance to point out that he was witnessing the celebration of his nation’s own Waterloo.

There was really nothing like this at home. There was Saint George’s Day, which usually passed without mention apart from on conservative talk radio – a much less powerful force in the United Kingdom than he had found it to be in the US. There was the Last Night of the Proms, but that was not really even close to comparable. Having not been invaded for nearly a thousand years there was no great opressor’s downfall to cherish, no great uprising to remember. England was a rock, an island, and he liked Her that way.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

Layla sat looking at her phone, willing it to ring. The problem with not having an excuse to ring someone when all that you want is to hear their voice, is that very few people have the power to make that desired voice and the person attached to it make a phone call.

She placed the phone back on the desk by her keyboard and picked up her coffee. She took a sip; it was cold, of course. Most people might see this as the very last straw, but she was one of the true coffee fanatics that just saw this as unplanned iced-coffee experience, and carried on sipping as she flicked through RSS feed after RSS feed of work related internet mumblings.

It was one thing to ‘keep up’ with the comings and goings of the start-up world, but it was another dimension of madness, as far as she could see, to actually care about it. Sure keep a weather eye on any other companies in the same space, but does it really matter if start-up X operating in a totally different market has announced that they have their first round funding?

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

John was pleased with the way that things had gone. As he cleaned off his Peacemaker, which had been spattered with blood and grey matter from the first shot, he reflected on a job well done. Mister Sparks was going to be very pleased.

He had already heard that the Police were mystified as to how the killings had occurred. In truth there was no riddle to solve; the five heavies were killed so that he could get to Smalley, if they had run after the first one fell he would have let them live – why waste the rounds?

Mister Sparks had been very clear about how he wanted Smalley to die, and though John was most pleased to perform surgical kills he was not squeamish over special requests. It had been hard to find a knife that was able to pierce an average skull easily enough that he could be precise about the entry points of the stab wounds. He had found the perfect one in a hunting store in Virginia a week before and paid cash. It was a small place with no cameras, so he had decided to keep the knife for now.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

Paul stared down at the scene from the catwalk above, trying to walk through the sequence of events in his mind, based on the resulting carnage.

The attacker must have entered to the left, shooting the first stiff in the back of the head as he walked past. This apparently casual act of violence clearly sent the remaining people in the room to seek cover – all of the overturned tables were pointing in that direction.

So the assailant, whoever they were, just kept walking, shooting as they went. The lack of bullet holes in the pieces of ‘cover’ that had corpses behind them suggested a high velocity load in his or her ammo, and a keen eye for shooting blind at a target behind cover. Whoever the assailant was, they had unparalleled confidence and actual ability with a gun.

One, two, three, four, five shots and five dead bodies. It was at this point that the only person left alive in the room apart from the mystery assailant was Smalley. He had only lived long enough to kneel and be stabbed thrice in the face.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

Paul looked around the carriage and wondered how many of the other people on the train were unemployed. It was not as though he was actually unemployable, he was in fact only technically unemployed, so he was one of the ‘stealth unemployed’ who don’t show up in the figures, who don’t draw benefit, who are not impoverished by their status.

It was the Monday after Glastonbury; many of the people on this particular train were in fact on their way home from Pilton, and so with the cost of tickets and living at the Festival for three or four days being so high most of them had to be employed in some sense. Either that or were indescribably wealthy and so formed the third kind of unemployed; do not need to work.

The interview that he had just attended was still playing on his mind – that was why he was toying with himself in this way, calling himself unemployed. It had not gone as well as he wanted it to and he was needling himself, both out of disappointment and his need to remain focused on other opportunities.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

Jason pushed his amusement away and concentrated on the framing. He was suddenly and inexplicably struck by the reaction that many of his friends would have to the situation he was in. A lot of men dream of watching a woman masturbate, Jason included, but here he was worrying about the light, and the composition of the frame.

The faint smell of sex in the air, the soft and apparently quite real moans of his model, even the sight of a beautiful, un-enhanced pair of breasts was not breaking through his concentration. Not even the rhythmic movements of her wrist as she described what were no doubt delicious circles around her clitoris were enough to shock him into a more normal frame of mind.

None of his friends would understand – that was what was amusing him – at least none of his male friends. Sure she was a beautiful woman, and he had no one in his life so was even free of thought crime, but no matter how sexual the situation, it was not there for his personal pleasure; just for his camera to witness.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.