Earlier in May two very talented women, Molly and Wriggly Kitty combined their forces to start a new project: Storyin12. The goal of this project is to write a story in exactly 12 words, using and including the word that is given as a prompt. Every day a new prompt follows.
When I saw this, I though I would not participate, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about the first prompt.
I decided to try my hand at it, and guess what?
I was hooked.
Below you find my stories for the month of May… and yes, this will probably become a fixed feature on my site for as long as I participate in #Storyin12
His tongue’s dialect swirled around the sensitive nub, bathing me in pleasure.
An intense consciousness enveloped her as the remark rolled from his lips.
The suitcase brimmed with emotions dragged her shoulders down. No one noticed.
Irony was that she had kissed his wife, not the accused neighbour.
She loved sneaking off to her bedroom to masturbate. Unlike her sister.
A high shriek cut through the thin air. A deadly silence followed.
“My good girl.”
Bright blue eyes matched the gem in her collar.
Squatting down, the tight workout pants deliciously hugged and framed her cunt.
Something shifted in her core when she read the words: “It’s over.”
The dry desert of his heart cherished the oasis her love granted.
Her hand on his head forgives him for his hard words. Salvation.
Fierce hands lovingly distribute angry red prints onto the quivering white flesh.
Penetrating deep, her body’s emergency made him the hero of the day.
Loved. Cherished. Safe. Her feelings. He is the trustee of her heart.
His upset voice told her she had loved and lost all.
Her long legs awakened the animal inside. The silent growl alerted her.
Waiting for the pole dancers, they eagerly install themselves around the podium.
Control wasn’t what he gave her, only compliance, making her feel lost.
Did I really see her?
Sadly, it was merely a vision.
Note: The night before I had a very vivid dream about my mother and when I woke up, or maybe before I really woke up, I asked myself where she was, only to remember the reality.
The dream is still with me.
A hot fuck, a rough garage floor and her bottom was ruined.
The tape measure rounded her curves, speaking truth about her weight gain.
Note: This morning I actually took my measures again, for good reason. I needed to know the truth.
Weight gain developed new curves, each one showing evidence of her emotions.
Note: This one is autobiographical too. When last year we learned that mom was sick, I tried my best to keep to my diet, but I am an emo-eater, which means I have gained every gram I had lost before mom got sick. It’s time to change that…
© Rebel’s Notes