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The Moon Curse (A Short Story)

Princess Tatiana adjusted the lace at the end of her ballgown, looking out among the people. The most affluent, the most elite were at the St. Williams Gardens tonight to ostentatiously celebrate the rising of the moon’s tide. St. Williams was an incredibly superstitious country town where everyone followed the rules.

Tonight she would disobey those rules. She would stop the senseless defiling of one of the landowners tenant’s son. An act that had happened every few months since before she was born. She could scarcely think of it without shuddering. It was a horrifying practice that she refused to allow to happen anymore. Tonight was the night.

Tatiana adjusted her crown when no one was watching, knowing that her curly raven’s nest of hair would set off by the rubies and emeralds in the crown, the town’s colors. She smiled and nodded to countrymen as they passed. The women were all settled in a room off of the galley way, probably planning needlepoint and gossiping about barren wombs and slutty daughters.

“Princess Tatiana, you look charming this evening,” It took a moment for his thin rather rodent-like features to register.

“Yes, of course, Lord Wilfrog, how do you do this evening?” He was one of the biggest landowners in the town, however, he treated his land and his wives like chattel. Probably worse than his chattel as he needed to actually sell the cattle.

“As long as the sun rises and sets, all is well,” he smiled, and she imagined his whiskers shook. She excused herself and went to find her father. She could feel his eyes on her bared back and she stifled the need to shiver. The little man had always made her feel entirely uncomfortable.

“Shouldn’t you be holed up somewhere with the other bitches Tatiana?” her nemesis, Lord Canton sneered at her. The boy was jealous because she would always have a higher standing than he would. And she’s always be much more clever than he could dream of being.

“I’ll be sure to let your mother know you said so,” she said, just to watch him squirm.

He shook it of quickly, “Regardless, the lady-folk are to be in the backroom, sipping tea and doing what women folk do. And you are to be doing something entirely different.”

“Well, thank you for that succinct summation of my lady duties. I’ll be sure to make a note of it in my planner. Now if you would excuse me,” she spun out of his light grasp and went on toward her father.

She stopped less to talk to people. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to get to him in time. She needed to stop the travesty before it occurred. Not again. Never again.

Her father stood on the balcony, his hand already wrapped around the boy’s throat. The entire party gave him room, a semi-circle to watch the festivities with a grim resolution. The boy himself was only a few years younger than she. He had kicked out a few times when he was younger, but he’d been soundly beaten for it.

He had learned obedience.

“The dagger,” her father, the Lord King said, open his hand. He whispered something she couldn’t hear in the boy’s ear and he nodded quickly. He closed his eyes.

One of the King’s footmen put the jeweled handled dagger into his hands. This was the only time she ever saw it out. For this outdated ritual. The King pressed it against the boy’s neck, starting a small river of blood to drip down his neck, pooling at the top of his ragged-edged shirt.

The boy’s eyes were tightly closed and then her Father, the Lord King, latched onto him, almost slurping up the boy’s life’s blood. As he drank greedily, the boy became even paler than before. His hands twitched at his side and he made a strangled grunt.

It was horrifying to watch, but yet she couldn’t look away. She knew her father would take a moment to allow the boy to have a bite of a bread with jam and to drink a bit of wine and then he would go for more. Leaving the boy half dead on the floor.

When that happened, she knew what she would do.

Her father’s hand had blood flowing over his fingers. The boy’s pale skin glistened in the moonlight. She could smell blood and the scent of the aroused males around her. They liked to watch, they seemed to feed on her father feeding on this poor lad.

When another foot soldier came with the tray of bread with jam and the wine, she knew she had to make her move. Her father disengaged from the boy and the boy stood there swaying in the wind. A small shove would send him over the edge. And really what would be better for him? To live like this for the rest of his days until The King accidentally took to much, which happened more often than not? Or to be freed from these procedures. To fly free.

Before she could truly registered what she was to do, Tatiana rushed over and pushed the boy. He wasn’t able to cry out, but she could hear the final thud as he fell down the three stories.

“What have you done?” her father asked. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”
She remained silent, defiant. Raising her chin against his cruelty. His sickening madness. What kind of man would do such a horrid thing?

“Oh dear, she’s ruined us,” the footman whispered under his breath, but loud enough she could hear. “She’s ruined us all.”

Her father marched over to her, blood clinging to his beard, dripping from the fingers that were pointing over the banister.

“That my foolish girl, was the only thing that separated the town from the monster that’s inside of me.”

‘What ?”

“The blood from my bi-blow in the pale full moon’s light keeps me from turning into a monstrous beast that will roam the land, slaughtering and killing along the way,” he said, and she noticed how long and sharp his teeth truly were. “Now I’ll have to take another one of my children to finish tonight’s job.”

She gulped, inaudibly. She had a feeling she knew who that unfortunate soul would be.

****
This flash fiction piece was in response to April’s #writestuff prompt. Check it out and if you want to share your own piece.

Aloha y’all!

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After the holiday party (A Short Story)

Eilene’s perfectly coifed bouffant stood up against even the wind that was blowing in the woods. A classic look called for a classic outfit. She loved her dress with its A-line skirt and fitted waist. It felt like she was transformed to the 50s. She loved the fashion sense those women had. They had so much style.

“Eilene…you don’t want to do this,” Jim’s voice was like a gnat buzzing around her ear. She’d decided this holiday season was going to end differently. Ever since she’d gone to the holiday party- Holiday party, why didn’t people just say Christmas for crying out loud? Can’t good Christians have anything?– at the law firm, she’d known things would be taking a turn. She also knew he wouldn’t be making it for partner any time soon.

“Jim, darling, do be a dear, and shut your mouth,” she said with a smile. She was wearing a bright red lipstick that was perfect for the Christmas season. It was one of those newer lip stains that didn’t smudge or smear. Remarkable!

If that harlot would’ve been wearing it, Eilene wouldn’t have noticed her lipstick on front of Jim’s boxers. At least it wasn’t as clichéd as his collar. She knew it wasn’t her color. She would never wear something as vulgar as a plum. Simple out of order, that slut was.

At the office party, everyone has seemed so quiet when she walked in. They’d all known and as such they hadn’t been expecting her. A party certainly wasn’t any fun without a surprise. And she was always so much fun at parties.

“Honey, I’m under the mistletoe,” she’d said, smiling at Jim.

He’d shaken his head at her, “Just go home Eilene. You can leave the cookies. George loves those cookies, isn’t that right George?” And he’d given a chuckle and a wink at one of the partners. The man had nodded back stiffly. Jim was always too much of a fool to see who really liked him.

And who was his enemy wait for his next stumble. There was never a long wait.

Eilene stood over the roasting fire, soot clung to the bottom of her gingham apron. She’d unthinkingly wiped her hands on it earlier. Now it was stained. Club soda wouldn’t take out that stained. Now there was brownish flaking hand smears running down the front.

This was her favorite too one. Ruined about cause of that stupid bitch. Her teeth clenched and she would’ve stabbed her again, if she wasn’t already burning in the fire. She’d splashed her with some of Jim’s propane that he had collecting dust in their hallway closet. No matter how many times she’d asked him to move it to the basement. It was as though he couldn’t be bothered with anything that involved her.

It’s only premeditation if she’s caught.

She backed away from the fire pit, looking all around. The snow had really helped her today, laying down thick layers blanketing the sounds and the prints. She leaned down and laced up Jim’s snow boots. He always did love these things. They were part of his “Mountaineer Trekker” outfit. He didn’t actually like mountain climbing or camping. He just liked to look the part.

“Lene…sweetheart…you don’t have to do this. We. Can. Work. It. Out,” his voice was so thread and weak. It was just like him to try to sweet talk her now. Like there was any going back. Things had happened today. Words had been exchanged that couldn’t be taken back. Blood was on her good apron!

She had been so glad for the heater still working in her second hand car, when she waited for him and his whore to pull out of the parking garage in his brand new Mercedes. She knew they’d be going to their little get away. The lakehouse. Very picturesque this time of year.

He never seemed to have time to take her in the past. Imagine her surprise when Eilene had decided to clean a bit for the winter- you never could trust those maid services to do it right– and to find a tube of lipstick in that same lip color. Plum And lingerie that certain didn’t suit her more classic looks. She’d known then that she needed to bring the sanctity back to her marriage.

“Do you know darling?” Eilene turned and took a good look at him laid against the log. He was so groggy from the drugs she’d slipped in his coffee a few hours ago. Perfect to his demands. Just like his eggs benedict and his English muffin. He’d ordered a service to bring them their meals in her bed. HER BED.

She kicked the girls foot causing embers to shoot into the sky. It smelled vaguely of bacon. Had she eaten breakfast today? “This could’ve all been avoided. I just wanted you to honor your vows. Is that too much to ask?”

She glanced at the fire again, adding another log to it. Once she was done here, she’d make sure to put out the fire so the animals would have something to eat. No need to waste the meat, just because it wasn’t to her taste.

“You’re so unbelievably predictable, Jim. You made things so easy,” she laughed. The sound sliced the air; sent a flock of birds flying from the trees nearby. They must have been crows attracted to the smell, but not to her, she thought.

Typical.

He’d gone to the lakehouse. And the girl had gone in with him. And Eilene had been waiting for them. She’d parked on the other side of the lake, and headed through the woods where she wouldn’t be seen. Wearing his boots. The girl hadn’t had a chance to scream. Eilene was thorough and never was afraid of a little hard work. To get a little dirty.

“Eilene. You have to stop this. You have to-“

She turned quickly, her dress’s silhouette flowing around her. She smiled again, “I’m sorry darling, I don’t think you understand the situation here. I don’t have to do anything. Nothing. You reap what you sow mister.” She laughed a little, “And you’ve been sowing her for how long?”

She took one step toward him. And then another. His eyes widened looking down at her chef’s knife and where it was pointed.

“Merry Christmas, Jim,” she said.

***

This is my addition to the #writestuff short story prompt for the month. If you’re interested in putting your own spin on it, check out the prompt here. This was a fun one to write, very cathartic. I think this would make a fine addition to an anthology.

Aloha y’all! 

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Part One: Just One Night

I wasn’t able to do what I set out to do. I want to do this as a short story serial, but the companies available aren’t quite the right fit. However, I have another one that may work, but there’s an application process. I don’t want to wait any longer. I think you guys have waited long enough.

While I’m working on other options, let’s begin on this erotic adventure. (I would recommend if you don’t like romance that leans more toward erotica, then this may not be the story for you.) Otherwise, check it out and let me know what you think in the comments.

Venise is a woman on the edge. She has a no-strings attached creed. She’s all work and no play though that line gets blurry at times. In this chapter, she is doing one of her usual things to relax: wedding crashing.

Venise is The Black Widow and sometimes her carnal desires gets her caught in her own web. http://penpaperpad.com

Here’s Just One Night: Part One “Caught in a Web.” 

 

She stretched her leg up to the barstool, hiking the already dangerously short front of her siren red dress. The gulps in the room were almost audible. She smirked, well aware of the attention. She leaned forward and gave the bartender a little show while she lifted her finger for another drink. The young man fell over himself trying refresh the whiskey sour she’d been sipping on all night.

From the doves being released after he kissed the bride, to the flower girl who’d been too shy to walk down the aisle by herself, the wedding was typical. The entire evening had clearly been for the bride, from the fuchsia fluffy decorations to her now-husband’s matching cummerbund. The waiters were perfectly unobtrusive while weaving in and out of the crowd with trays weighed down by hor d’oeuvers and complimentary champagne flutes. The evening had started winding down, with the bridesmaids and groomsmen finding nooks and crannies to hook up in. Grandpas and grannies were having their last cocktail of the evening and the creeps were in full swing.

A hand snaked around to grab her arm close to her breast. Too close. Her eyes narrowed. She turned to see the same asshole who’d been hassling her all night, still not taking the hint. She grunted in annoyance. She really wasn’t in the mood for this.

“Hey, how about me and you see what kind of freaky thangs we can do in my van?” His gold tooth shone in the light.

“We are cousins, Harry. Get the fuck out of here.” She tried to shrug him off, but his hand tightened. He was stomping on her last nerve. Causing a scene would not further her objective.

“We twice removed or some shit. Now c’mon girl. I know you ain’t shy.” She hoped his Afro Sheen wouldn’t drip on her dress as she rolled her eyes.

“Your mom is my mom’s aunt. The only removed is you getting your old, drunk ass on.” She’d said her dad was his mother’s cousin before. He was just getting drunker and bolder by the minute.  She pulled her arm again and he yanked back. His fingers tightened, digging in. She bared her teeth.

“Hey, if you gonna dress like that, then you even giving it or selling it. Now which is it?” He leered, actually leered at her, and made a move for her tit. She was reaching back to get the drink that was sitting on the bar to bash him in the face with it, when Mr. Tall, Dark, and Where The Hell Did He Come From, swung Harry around and popped him once in his jaw. He slithered to the ground, an ungainly lump of shiny blue polyester. She stifled the urge to rub her arm. It felt like he’d left a greasy imprint there.

“Are you alright?” His voice was as dark as his skin, though his eyes had this silver look to them that showed someone had dipped into a lighter gene pool at some point in his genetic history.

She shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine and I would’ve handled that myself. Who asked you?”
“I’m working security at the wedding, so yeah that’s who.” Then she took in the dark clothes, with the subtle security written across his broad shoulder. He was built like a wide-receiver.

“They asked you to punch out ever drunken schlub who tried to cop a feel tonight? Because your fist must be really fucking sore.” His eyebrows raised in surprise. She considered him dismissed; she didn’t have time to deal with the help. Although the help had raised her blood pressure a few notches. Though she prided having an independent nature, a show of brute strength always did something for her.

She turned away from him, setting the glass down. She reached into her small bag, big enough for some cash, a credit card, the invite and a condom. She set some money on the bar with a wink to the bartender and grabbed her drink. She slipped her leg from the bar stool, ignoring the pinch in her toes from the imitation Milanos and strutted away into the rest of the melee.

Kids were running all over the damn place, revved up from the ice cream station. Moms and dads were too busy having a good time to supervise them. There was a lot of sloppy dancing going on, and party fouls splashing onto the ground. The bride and groom were still there, in the middle doing one of those line dances that people do at weddings. She shook her head and took a slow drink.

Her dark eyes scanned the crowd, not missing anything. Some nights was for business, but tonight was pure pleasure.  Who would it be? That guy who sat in the corner looking low into his diet cola. Rejected from a bridesmaid perhaps? That sadness could be fun to play with. The silver fox sitting at the table, strumming his fingers with his eyes a little unfocused from the bourbons he’d had? Too easy. She needed some excitement. The one guy over there loosening his tie, who was shaking his head a little? Jilted lover of the bride, or maybe the groom? This was the new millennium after all. Anything goes. She changed direction, letting each hip drop in deliberation, flipping her hair knowing that the light was catching each ebony strand just so. She would look like a dark goddess to him. And she would be, for the night at least.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” that voice rumbled against her ear. The security guard. She couldn’t believe she had let him get so close. She must be slipping.

“What do you mean? I have my guest ticket. Want to see it security boy? Or do you just want to drop me like you did my cousin back there?” her voice mocked him, as she pulled out her invite.

His breath was warm against her neck, making her breathing a little erratic. He tugged the card from her hand, reciting it without reading it. She realized her mistake. Maybe this dress had created too many waves. Subtleties were not her strong suit.

“This isn’t your name. Edith Beltone died three weeks ago. Who are you?” He crumbled it and slipped it in his pocket.

She smiled as her voice became a little breathy. “Who do you want me to be?”  He felt so good pressed against her like this.

“I’m disappointed. I didn’t expect you to use such played out lines.” His voice rumbled against her. He smelled like something spicy and dark. Exotic.

“You say played out, I say classic.” His hand was on her bare back, right above her ass, guiding her away from tonight’s delight toward the exit. His heat poured through her, lighting a fire deep inside. Maybe she’d found her toy for the night after all.

He placed her glass on a waiter’s tray as they walked through the party. His hand firmly steered her into the hallway. The only people in the hallway were those who were leaving the dancehall and the servers who were too busy to pay attention to guests.

“How did you know?” she asked. She’d been crashing weddings for years and no one had ever been the wiser. She’d found the invite in the mail. The person who’d lived there before her hadn’t updated her address. She’d just returned from a particularly messy mission in Bahrain. She forcefully pushed the memories aside.

Oh well. It would’ve been a good run.

“We’ve been watching you for a while Venise. Aren’t you glad we found you?” A cold lump dropped in her stomach. She didn’t bother trying to deny her name. His tone told her more than just a crashed wedding had gone wrong. Who was he working for? He could be from anywhere. She’d gained a lot of enemies in her time.

Her eyes darted down the hallways knowing the exits had already been blocked. She knew this day would come, but she hadn’t realized it was so close. Her red heels seemed to sink in the plush carpet. Then she smiled the smile that had gotten hundreds of men before him into so much trouble. She slipped the straps of her dress down, lifting her arms. It danced down her body like a flame, leaving the heels, the fishnet stockings, and the smile. She leaned in closer and ran her thumb over his full lower lip.

“Wouldn’t you like to know what it’s like,” she whispered. “Just for tonight. Don’t you want to know what it is that draws them in?” She pressed her breasts pressed against his chest. “Can you take me?” she issued her challenge, leaned in and licked his ear. That’s all it took.

He lifted her from the ground and her legs wrapped around his waist like they were made to be there. He swiftly found an unmarked room, opened it with his ID, and slammed the door behind them. She barely had time to notice the security screens set up before they were kissing; though less kissing and more a dance of domination, a mark of tongues and teeth and groans. He grabbed her amble ass, lifting her and rubbing her wet slit against his pants. She arched her back, ready to do what she did best.

He bit the inside of her neck, marking her and then licked it. She laughed throatily, turning to him.

“So you like to bite?” Her voice was almost a growl, her eyes wild. She ripped his jacket down. “So do I, but I save it for the end.” She grabbed the edges of his shirt, ripping it apart and scattering buttons everywhere.  His body was so hard and perfect that she tried to paint his chest with her mouth, licking, kissing, and scraping her teeth against his nipples. She ran her nails down his back, leaving her signature V. He groaned, taking a handful of her hair and yacking on it, pulling her away from him.

He led her with her hair to a desk, brushing everything off of it. She jumped on top, opening her legs wide to him. He unzipped his pants, and her greedy little fingers had to play to see what she was dealing with. He was just as big as she thought he would be, filling her hand with his thick, throbbing cock. He took his place between her legs. He pulled a condom out of his pack pocket, ripped open the protection, and sliding it over himself. He didn’t give her time to breathe, to think. He nudged against her opened, teasing her slit with his throbbing rob. He grit is teeth for control as he sank right in, filling her, stretching her. Hurt so good, so good.

“Fuck me!” she groaned letting her head fall back while squeezing her eyes tightly. His hips started pounding into her. Sounds of flesh smacking against flesh and rough groans filled the room. He lifted her higher, until he got that perfect angle. That one where she couldn’t think, she wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. This was so wrong. She was the one who usually had the control, but she didn’t care just as long as this never stopped. Her toes flexed in the air. He was staring down at her, his face an almost angry mask, as he bit his lip, pumping his hips like a piston. She arched her back and he bent down while grabbing one of her nipples that were hard and ready for his taking. He sucked at her, bit her, lapped with his tongue just to suck on her again.

That’s all it took. Her body shook and contorted in spasms like it was out of control. She was definitely out of control. She may have hit him, and she definitely scratched him. Still, he kept going until he blew his load, grunting as he let it all go.

He then looked down at her with what almost seemed like regret, and she felt a pinprick in her side. Her eyes widened as she felt herself start to lose feeling in her body.

He pulled out of her, straightened his pants and pulled out his radio transmitter. “The Black Widow has been captured. Repeat, The Black Widow has been captured.” She felt like she was a marbleized horror show. Only her eyes could move. She watched him walk to a closet and pull out a robe. She couldn’t feel it when he put it on her.  She couldn’t feel the tear fall down her cheek.

**

Who is Venise really? How did the bodyguard know her? Where is she now?

Thank you for downloading the first part in the “Just One” short story serial. Each month you’ll get another piece of the puzzle as you learn about “The Black Widow” and her shady past.

Here’s a sneak peek into Chapter Two:

When she woke, her body was laid prone on a table. The room was a searing white with an antiseptic smell. Was she in a hospital? It had the hushed sound of that type of facility. She glanced down at her hand; she was tied down to the bed. It didn’t matter at this point. She hadn’t regained feeling in her extremities, even though her mind was wide awake. It was like a waking nightmare. Who had her here? And why? What were they planning on doing with her?

The clicking of heels hitting linoleum alerted her to her first unwanted guest.

 

 

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