Little Ones of Holda In ~ Short Story

“There’s trouble coming, son. Take your sister and hide in the basement. Remember, always survive. Live to survive.”

Solemn brown eyes in thin oval face were bright with fear and determination. The sharp edges of his nose, cheeks and jawline become prominently displayed as every muscle in the young boy’s body coils close to act. His only answer was to give his Father a single nod of understanding and then he was off to gather his sister and minor provisions.

A tiny little girl with lopsided pigtail braids, bright smile and tattered boys clothes sat at a chipped wooden desk. Homemade ink splattered across her right hand as she tried to draw a lizard on an old magazine. Igwa the lizard was a present that her Father had given to her as a birthday present that year. She loved it! Her older brother called it a lazy animal but she didn’t care. She loved the way it scampers across the floor and flicks its tongue out to eat bugs. She was just about to finish drawing the spines on the back when her brother tapped her shoulder.

She looked over her shoulder and beamed at her brother. “Guguh! Look, I’m drawing Igwa!”

The boy’s sharp features softened as he looked at his sister. “That looks great! We have to go and play the hiding game. You ready to play?”

“Yes! I remember. We have to be quiet, take our bag and go hide.”

“That’s right. Go get your bag and be ready to go in one minute. Ok?”

“Ok, Guguh!”

As the youngest Park scootched off her seat and ran to get her backpack, the young boy moved to grab a water filter, a large bottle of water and the flat cakes that their Father had made for breakfast. He threw everything into a bag that already held a change of clothes for each of them and zipped it closed. He swung it onto his back and met his sister by the main door to their suite of rooms. He put a finger against his lips and she nodded. He opened the door slowly and listened hard.

Nothing.

Nothing but the rush of blood pumping hard in his chest. The angry hiss of him trying to breathe sounded too loud. So loud that anyone could hear it. He knew it was nothing but fear spiking into paranoia but he couldn’t strangle it silent. Taking a big breath, the young boy that has yet to see his teen years, took his baby sister’s hand and they ran down the shadowed hallway, past the stairwell, rusting metal doors, and stopped at the maintenance closet just long enough to open the door and closet themselves inside.

His heart pounded louder than their soft footfalls on the carpet when they ran in the hallway. He put one hand on the wall and held onto the little one with the other. Uneven texture of pitted and paint peeling wall turned into a cold rusted metal. He pulled the chute open and whispered, “Remember to keep your arms and legs together and roll once you get to the bottom. Ok?”

“Ok,” she whispered back. She felt him pick her up, and she gave him a quick hug and kiss on his chin before he placed her into the chute. There was a moment where nothing happened at all and then she was off! She almost gave out a whoop of glee before she remembered that they were playing the hiding game.

The little girl loved the way the world seem to pass by in a hissing whoosh. She knew she was falling but it felt more like an adventure ride that ends in a pile of old pillows. She couldn’t help but giggle when she landed with a whumph and a cloud of dust danced into the air. She was about to jump up and down on the pillows but remembered to roll away instead and hide behind the large grey laundry cart. She tucked into herself, became as small as she could be and waited. She started to count to a hundred the way her Father taught her to.

One one thousand.

Two one thousand.

Three one thousand.

Her bubbly joy began to fade as she reached the thirties without a sign of her brother and started to count into the forties. A ping of unease wove into her heart and the palms of her little hands became moist. The feeling of foreboding crept over her slowly with the passing of each thousand and she was ready to give up on the game when a hissing noise tempered the silence and a darker figure flew into the air to land with a whumph! She didn’t wait like she’s suppose to. She ran fast as lightning, threw herself on her brother and hugged him tight.

“I was scared, Guguh.” she whispered into his side. Her eyes closed tight. She felt him hug her back awkwardly, patting her thin shoulder.

“Shh– shhh. It’s ok. Don’t forget the rules. We have to be very quiet and hide. Let’s go hide in the basement storage room. We’ll hide until Father finds us.”

The little girl nodded. One of her pigtails loosened and wavy little locks of blue black hair bounced as she moved her head. This time, she grabbed her brother’s hand and held tight. Her small, heart shaped face no longer held a bright smile.

They moved quickly in an almost jog. He lead her in a maze of turns that they both knew well. The whole building was their home, haven and playground. They knew every inch of it. Though, he had a better grasp of it than she did. The darkness didn’t frighten them. It never did. It would be hard to live in the desolate wastelands if one is afraid of the dark. Yet, the tension in the young boy’s frame only coiled tighter and the littlest Park could feel it. She didn’t understand why but she could feel that there’s something wrong.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the small storage room. He was careful to lift the door slightly and then open it. Otherwise, it would make a screeching squeal of worn and rusting metal. He tapped her on the back to let her know to go in. She felt for the edge of the door frame and walked in slowly with her hands held up in front of her. She only took seven steps into the room before turning around. She listened hard.

A noise of cloth moving against cloth. A huff of breathe. A ting-cked of metal and a definite click of the door setting into the place.

“Guguh?” she whispered.

“Go to the corner. We’ll wait on the little couch.” he whispered back.

They settled down onto the old, lumpy couch. He unrolled a blanket that their Father had left down there and pulled it over them. “We may be here for a while. Why don’t you try and take a nap?”

He felt her nod her head against his narrow chest and she snuggled in closer. It was a while before her breathing evened out in sleep. He tried to keep himself occupied by going over the plans for surviving in the desert. What to do if their Father didn’t come for them by nightfall. What he would have to do to keep them both safe until they reached Dodge City. It wasn’t safe for kids to be out in the desert alone.

Trouble was the code for raiders. Raiders came to toss Holda once every few years. Different ones for different reasons. The world’s gone to hell in a hurry when the bombs were let loose. Now everything is a wasteland and life is far from normal. Survival wasn’t for the smartest or the most fit. It was for whoever was strong enough to fight for life and smart enough to keep it going after victory.

Disjointed memories flooded his mind. He couldn’t just sit there and think about plans. No matter how many times he went over it all, it may not matter one whit. It could have been a false alarm. The Holda people may fight off the raiders. Their Father may die in the fight. Memories of the last big raid pushed over his denials and clogged his brain.

Screams.

The sharp Hai of fighting turned into harsh denials that turned into screams of fear and pain.

Dark red.
Everywhere.
It flowed quickly like a creature with a mind of its own. Searching for him. It came so close. Within inches of his face before stopping. A thin flow of red that grew thicker and darker. The rounded edges bloomed and made a lake of red out of the thin flow.

It grew each time Mother screamed.
Her screams grew hoarse and weak.
Wet sounds and masculine grunts took over.

He doesn’t remember when she stopped screaming.
When she stopped making any noise at all.
But the grunting and cursed filled satisfaction of the strangers didn’t stop.

He woke up in the darkness with a jerk and a whimpering scream clawing his throat dry. A rush of fear driven adrenaline and heat flooded his system. The cold quickly ate away the jagged warmth from his uncovered face as knowledge of where he was took root. An uncomfortable weight pushed down in his tummy. It didn’t help that the little one was snuggled tight against his side. He needed to go but he didn’t want to do it in the room.

He froze.

A loud clank and the sound of people moving. Muffled voices. He shook his little sister awake with a hand over her mouth. It muffled her questions. Her sleepy confusion. He put his lips near her ear and whispered fiercely, “Keep quiet and stand up with me. People are coming. They may find us. If it’s not Father, we have to run. Ok? Just nod your head.”

She nodded.

They stood up. He reached into the cushions of the couch and pulled out a metal rod. He rolled his shoulders and loosened his muscles. They were light from sleep but sore and tingling from were the littlest Park slept on him. He put her hand on edge of the back of his shirt. She knew to stand there. To be out of the way if he had to fight. To run.

Only minutes passed as the noises and voices grew louder but it felt like eons to the children. They waited. Growing more tense as time edged by. They didn’t have to wait too long before the heavy metal door was thrown open with a screaming metallic clash.

The shadowed outlines of a large man filled the doorway and wetness quickly puddled in the young boy’s pants as his bladder let go. The sharp smell of fresh urine filled the air and his body shook in shame wrapped fear.

With a roar of defiance, he tore away from his sister and rushed the enemy.

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Yours (Short Story)

The shreds of my clothes from last night litter the path of our feral abandonment. The signs left in the yard, on the front door, the glasses left to shatter in our need, fine scratches left by my nails on the corner wall and countless other small to large points to loudly declare the steps we passed.

But none of them compare to the marks left on my body. I can’t even remember exactly when or how each was made. Yet finding each one is like a personal treasure trove of passion and I smile.

Because I am yours.

~VS

PS – I took another shirt for my collection.
XOXOX

Pretty please? (Short Story)

A steamy short story with mature content.

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Note to Readers:  This is an interactive short story. Two songs were chosen to accompany the following story. To get the full effect, you may want to listen to the songs as you read. Enjoy!

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Beep-Beep

Text:  I’ll be home in 10 min. I have a surprise for you. wicked grin

The sound of the door unlocking catches his attention and he turns his head to see her walk in the front door. Her long dark hair is in a fancy twist and held in place by two silver bejeweled sticks. A rich black mantle hides her body from neck to ankles. Leaving only her shining silver heels and dainty feet in view.

“Here catch.” She’s turns to face him, a mischievous smile quirking up the side of her dark pink lips and she throws something at him. A small blur of motion that he catches with ease. It’s her smartphone. He raise his dark brow questioningly. She laughs softly and her smile blooms wickedly. “I have it on the music program. Push play.”

She waits.
Laughs softly, a purr rising from her throat.
Lashes fall to hover over dark eyes, she pleads sweetly, “Pretty please?”

He activates the screen and pushes play.

A simple intro plays and fills in depth as a female vocalist begins to croon. As the music starts, her confident carriage flows into a sensuous line that hints at the curves hidden by the mantle. Pulsing with the slow deep beat, she draws the black velvety material apart by lifting her hands up by her sides. One slim leg steps into view as the vocalist croons and a slow circular thrust of her hip gives a flash of red inside.

Dancing to the sultry melody, she turns in a circle with a flare of black cloth. Looking over her shoulder, she teasingly draws down the mantle to reveal a delicate red ruffle and shoulder. Rolling a shoulder with the throbbing beat, she shows a flash of bare skin as she uses the mantle like a overlarge scarf that caresses her petite body and hides whatever is beneath. A secret smile whispers on her lips as she shows off one shoulder, the next, a graceful toned arm and then leg. Hips swinging side to side with a twisting flare, her torso flows in sensuous rolls as she bends down until all he could see are her cloaked round ass flowing and grinding to the music.

Slowly the mantle rises up and her muscular sculpted legs are revealed inch by inch until a fanciful red, ruffled lace panties are put on display. A clinging, sheer frame over her small curvy round behind and hint at the secret heat between those slightly parted thighs. A hand appears between the tender legs with a middle finger leading the rest, reaching back to land in the valley of two pale cheeks and circles over a hidden star to the song and caresses down towards her moist entrance.

Isolating core muscles, she undulates her body as she stands up and drops the mantle with a twist of her shoulders when the siren vocalist raises her voice. Her hands flow up to her neck, caressing down along her sides and turns with a gyration of hips to face him. He sees the sexy ruffled red lingerie that he’s only caught glimpses of thus far. The silken half cup wire bra displays two tempting mounds. The lace ruffles lining the shoulders and hips change the delicate lingerie into a miniscule halter and skirt.

Now there is nothing to hinder his view of her lithe body’s flowing limbs, staggered stretch and flex of toned abs, circular isolations of her torso and graceful hip bumping circles as she dances for him and comes closer with each sultry bump and grind step.

Her only desire is to perform for him. To please him with her body, her come hither dance and entice his powerful masculine desires. Though she dances alone, his eyes blaze over every part of her and sends the tempered flames of her need into a blazing passion that she cannot deny. A sheen of perspiration coats the shallow dip of her throat, glimmers from the shadow valley between her breasts and along the curving lines of her belly.

With flirting brown eyes and a wicked dance, she makes her way across the room to him as the guitar solo riffs and refrains fill the heightened air of tantalizing expectations. Another song heats the air with a burst of drums and guitar. She straddles his lap with one knee tucked on either side of his thighs and starts a wanton lap dance. When his hands raise to touch her, she raises one index finger and waves a denial before dragging a nail across his lower lip. Her hips gyrate on his groin as the female vocalist declares her love. Small fingers weave his into his hair and massages his scalp, down to his neck, dragging nails over the long muscle laying over his shoulders and play over his body as she undulates her form on him.

She can feel his raging, engorged length pushing up to meet her teasing and dripping wet center. Now that she was where she wanted to be, dancing on the man she desires more than anything else. She can’t help the little whimpers and breathy moans that sing out of her and winds with the music. Even as she hopes to bring him to a fever pitch of arousal, she knows she is willing captive in the same web she weaves. Grinding on the taunt steel flesh beneath her, she gives into the need to take and lays her soft lips over his to kiss him with all of her pent up passion.

The song draws to an end with quick fingered guitar riffs and tempered clashing percussion. Breathing heavily, she pulls away from his addictive kiss. A small hand caresses his rough, bristled cheek and she smiles into his eyes.

“Did you like it? Your surprise?”

***

Silent Encounter (Short Story)

(Note:  A steamy short story. It is not explicit but it does have sexual context.)

It was just a quick, fast fuck with smothered moans and cut off grunts. He didn’t say anything. His look shut off anything she had to say. There were no sweet kisses and leisurely caresses to tantalize her senses.

He watched her as she pulled up her tight skirt and pulled down the sheer stockings. As instructed, she didn’t wear any underwear. Without any indicators, she knelt before him to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants to release his erection. She wanted to touch it, take it in her mouth, stroke it with her tongue and suck it hard with her greedy desire. Instead, she stood up, bent over and braced herself against the prestigious wood paneled hallway.

There was no foreplay or warmup. He took her. Hard and fast. And she took him; hot, wet and willing. His hands marked her soft pink flesh where he held her hips for his use. The smack of moist skin to skin muffled by the thick wooden panels. He jetted his released into her with several thrusts that shoved her into the wall. Held her still as the last of his release soaked her inner walls and pulled out to wait. In seconds, she turned, knelt before him and eagerly cleaned his semi-erect cock of their tryst.

He tucked himself away and dressed. He straightened his tie as he walked away. She was left alone, dripping from their encounter and staring hopelessly at his retreating back.

~*~

Drip (Short Story)

Plop

The trickle of water slides down the numb skin that’s grown colder even as a fever burns white hot beneath. The shivers and uncontrollable shuddering stopped hours ago. Not a good sign.

Plop

An ordinary drop of who-knows-where-it-came-from-or-how-clean-it-is water dived with no feelings, but he couldn’t help but think it must have felt glee, to splat into an ignoble shift of nothing-shape and careen down his side.

Plop

Funny how you take for granted the things you have on a daily basis when it’s all taken away. Clothes, for example, are worn to help shelter the body but most would only think of them as a matter of necessity of not being nude or a fashion choice that determines their status and worth.

He just wanted some fucking clothes to be warm. Not that clothed, wet and dying is any better than naked, wet and dying. But dammit if he had to choose one over the other. Clothes is the way to go.

Plop

Counting is overrated. Even if it’s something you can do unto infinity, the monotonous cadence eventually numbs the thinking mind and zeroes out the whole point of staying occupied. If he had wanted a zen state of nothingness, he would’ve just slept.

He didn’t want to sleep.

He didn’t want o think.

He definitely didn’t fucking want to remember.

Plop

Being insanely awake and lucid as his body slowly succumbs to the leeching death was no party but it was better than dreaming shit he had no control to negate. The madness of simple things like water drops, pervasive cold, intensifying feverous heat and bitching was better than giving in. The goal was to give nothing.

Nothing more than his life.

Plop

Lady Ceclia (An Autumn Short Story)

Fall has always been my favorite time of the year. Warm days followed by cool nights. The vibrant green leaves turning into a brilliant spectrum of burning flames. It’s not just the color of orange, gold, palest yellow and burnishing reds that capture my greedy eyes. It’s the play of all those shades layered together in a canopy that only nature can provide.

The perfect backdrop for a mysterious and gay masquerade ball! A dance with decadent waltzes, lively foxtrots, hearty reels and a sedate march. The food will be glorious and varied to tempt the most cynical taste buds. Yet, it’s the costumes and masks that are the true lure. To be clothed in a mystical ornament, glittering accessories and hidden from all eyes behind a fanciful mask. The idea of being someone different, doing something a little wicked and getting away with it gave me a secret thrill that I held close to my heart.

The ball was everything I could ask for and more! Armed in my dark fairy costume and mask, I found myself in more than one dance with men of wild repute. One of them, the infamous Lord Alexander, paid more than close attention as the night drew closer to midnight. He was everything my lady Mother had advised against. Tall, bright copper blonde locks that fell adorably over his face, wicked green eyes and a smile that promised decadent delights that no true lady should ever consider. Rumors say that he’s ruined more than one proper young miss and that he’s been caught with several of the married ladies of court. Drowning in his green eyes, the feel of his strong arm beneath my hand and the way he whispered naughty observances in my ear-I willingly fell beneath the charming rakehell’s grace.

That night, we stole away from prying eyes and he taught me how to kiss, to tease his lips with mine, the way my body will shiver at a simple touch, shudder under a flicking thumb, come alive in swollen need and the truth of a man’s passion. The hardness of his rampant rod and the primal cries of release. He praised my quick wit, alluring curves that begged for touch and the innate sensuality that eagerly caught onto the act of love. He promised to meet me the next night. He said that there was so much more he would teach me about love. That what we had was only the smallest taste of many wild hedonistic pleasures that I have never could have dreamed.

I eagerly drank in his passionate whispers, his promises and voluptuary designs. I did not hide my moans or trembling loins from his sight as he cleaned the flood of our releases from between my legs, upon my belly and thighs. I held close every piece of our memories to my heart and replayed them over and over again as I waited for the next night.

One night became two in a bewildering purgatory of wild imagination and no information. Two turned into three. The days passed in sullen drag of lifeless mud. Even the autumn colors and weather failed to rouse me from the dreadful well of misery I have become.

Then I found fire.

A furious fire of a woman scorned.

An urgent note arrived from a dear friend who has fallen ill. Of all my friends, Lady Amelia was my best friend. We told each other everything and she is the sister of my heart, if not family. Of everyone I know and love, she is pure in heart and angel in life. Where I could not find the spirit to care for myself, I drew up strength to be strong for her. I found a spark of my old self, dressed and left to see my closest friend. I found her listless and drawn. I thought she had caught a cold or bodily ill. Instead, with some persistence, I heard a familiar tale of deviltry, curiosity, debauchery, promises and heartbreak.

Apparently, Lord Alexander has been a very busy man. Very busy indeed.

Sorrow for broken dreams quickly burned beneath the lava thick heat of my anger. Dangerous hatred drew several plans and rejected each until a sound strategy set. I shared my intentions with Lady Amelia and vowed that she would be avenged. That we would both be avenged.

It was simple matter to approach my oldest friend. He fostered with my own family when he was young and we have been close ever since. As Lady Amelia is a sister of my heart, he is a brother of the same. Then all I had to do was draw Lord Alexander out, which I did. The fool never suspected.

I watched avidly as my family wrought their own vengeance on Lord Alexander on a fine autumn day. The fiery leaves a splendid foil his rude comeuppance.

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This short story was inspired by another short story that I read. Both of the stories are part of a writing challenge for September 2013. Hopefully, you will enjoy reading this story as much as I had fun writing it. Enjoy! Comments are always welcome.