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  1. Lemex
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    Lemex That's Lord Lemex to you. Contributor

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    Short Story Contest 128: Barely Legal - Submissions and Details Thread.

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Short Story Contest Archives' started by Lemex, Feb 4, 2013.

    Short Story Contest 128
    Submissions & Details Thread
    Theme: "Barely Legal"


    This contest is open to all wf.org members, newbies and the established alike. Please post your entries as replies to this post. At the deadline I will collate all entries and put them forward for voting in a separate thread. The winning entry will be stickied until the next competition winner. Unfortunately, there is no prize but pride on offer for this contest. As always, the winner may also PM/VM me to request the theme of a subsequent contest if he/she wishes.

    Themes: "Barely Legal" (courtesy of neuropsychopharm). Any interpretation is valid. Entries do not have to follow the themes explicitly, but off-topic entries may not be entered into the voting.
    Wordlimit: 500-3000 words
    Deadline for entries: Saturday 17th February 2013 10:00 am (us pacific time)

    There is a 10% word-limit leniency at both ends of the scale. Please try to stick within the limit. As below, any piece outside of the suggested limit may not be entered into the voting.

    There is a maximum of 25 entries to any contest. If there are more than 25 entries to any one contest I will decide which are entered into voting based on adherence to the suggested word limit and relevance to the theme, not on a first-come-first served basis.

    Try to make all your entries complete and have an ending rather than be an extract from a larger one and please try to stick to the topic. Any piece seemingly outside of the topic will be dealt with in a piece by piece manner to decide its legitamacy for the contest.

    A story entered into the contest may not be one that has been posted anywhere on the internet, not just anywhere on this site. A story be posted for review until voting has closed. Only one entry per contest per contestant is permissable. Members may also not repost a story anywhere, or bring attention to the contest in any way, until the voting has closed

    Please try to refrain from itallicising, bolding, colouring or indenting any text to help avoid disappointment. These stylistics do not reproduce when I copy-paste them into the voting thread. You may use visible noparse BB code to preserve style if you wish by placing [ noparse ] and [ /noparse ] (without the spaces) around the entire text.

    Please remember to give your piece a title and give its word count in brackets at the top of your story.

    If there are any questions, please leave me a visitor message or PM me. Please do not clog up this, or any other thread, with your questions.

    Please note that only current members are eligible to win.





    Thanks, and good luck!
     
  2. Pauly Pen Feathers
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    Pauly Pen Feathers Member

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    Location:
    Just north west of "that toddlin' town"
    Give me your huddled masses. [2907 Words]

    Give me your huddled masses.
    [2907 words]

    I knew it was going to be a rough night. It was already twenty degrees below zero and the wind was predicted to kick up by nightfall bringing the wind-chill temperature down to a deadly forty to fifty degrees below zero.

    The train ride on the south-bound Red Line from my apartment to the Lawrence Avenue stop was only fifteen or twenty minutes. I hoped it would be enough time to calm my nerves before the madness begun.

    ‘All these freezing people’ I thought as I peered through foggy windows, where are we going to put them all? Sixty-five men were all I could take, but there would be more than that. There would be a lot of men who would get turned away. The shelter had strict rules about how many men I could bring in.

    The recorded voice came over the train’s speakers, “Lawrence Avenue is next. Lawrence. Doors open on the right for Lawrence Avenue.”

    ‘Here we go’, I said to myself as I hopped off the train and made my way out of the station. I didn’t have to look up the street to see the scene in front of the old Preston Bradley Building. I’ve been running the overnight shelter three nights a week for almost five years and I knew exactly what to expect. I knew exactly who to expect, too. In fact I knew almost every one of them by name.

    The ragtag homeless men of Uptown Chicago; over the years they had become like family to me and taking care of them was serious business. Some of them were old alcoholics, some were young drug addicts. Half of them were little gang bangers, ‘Gangster Disciples’, ‘Vice Lords’ and a myriad others.

    This was a dangerous part of town but I could walk the streets day or night without worry. I was ‘okay’ they said. But I was more than just ‘okay’ to them when the weather turned deadly and they had nowhere else to go.

    Little Reggie used to say I was a ‘Black man locked up in a White man’s body’. I think he only said that because I fed them better than the other supervisors. Reggie was a good kid, but I think he was a schmooze. He knew I fell for it. More often than not it would get him an extra piece of chicken at dinner time.

    The walk from the train station to the shelter was only a few blocks, but it was a brutal few blocks. The wind was out of the North, but in this city it seemed like the wind had a mind of its own roaring up and down the city streets in every direction. One minute it tried to knock you flat on your back. The next minute it pushed you from behind forcing you to scramble for something steady to hold onto.

    When I got to the shelter men were already lined up from one end of the building to the other, around the corner and down the alley. ‘This is just about sixty-five’ I thought as I made my way up the crowded street to the front door. That was my first miscalculation for the night.

    “Can I help tonight?” a voice blurted out.

    “Can I volunteer, Don?” came another.

    I didn’t say a word.

    The guys knew I could let a few of them in early if they were willing to help setup the beds, work in the kitchen or get on the clean-up crew, but only if I was no more than a half an hour early. This time I was a full three hours early because of the deadly cold. But it was my boss’s day off so I didn’t figure on seeing him at all. That was my second miscalculation for the night.

    I reached the door and put my key in the lock. Looking over to the right I saw a young man standing first in line. He was new to the shelter. I could hardly believe he didn’t have a coat. Some of the other guys were sharing their coats with him giving him a few minutes of warmth before taking it back for themselves.

    “Where’s your coat?” I asked.

    He just looked at me.

    “He don’t speak English, Don. He’s from Africa. ”

    “Joe, there’s lots of Africans that speak English.” I said with a half-cocked smile.

    “Not this one, Don.”

    “Alright men” I hollered as I pulled at the heavy wooden door, “Line up on the stairs, two rows, one on the left and one on the right.”

    There were two broad flights of gray marble stairs leading down to the basement separated at the half way point by a large landing. I knew from experience that it was just enough room for sixty-five guests to sit comfortably while I setup my intake table and got everything ready to open the shelter. Mike, my security guard, wouldn’t be here until eight o’clock so I asked Big Bill to hold the back of the line and keep the guys quiet.

    Big Bill had been in the shelter since before I began working here. He was on the run from New England where he ‘thinks’ he killed a man. He said he didn’t know for sure. One morning he woke up from a black-out drunk full of mud and blood all over his hands and clothes. Later he heard the new of a man who was beaten to death the night before. He was found in the alley behind Bill’s apartment. It was the same alley Bill used to walk through on his way home from his favorite bar.

    Bill told me the story in confidence one night when he couldn’t sleep. He said he had things on his mind. I never repeated it. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but not one you wanted to anger. And he was good in the shelter; he took care of things.

    In my estimation I had about seventy-five men when the last of the guests came through the front door. I told Bill if anyone else knocked on the door to let them in and line them up in the middle of the stairway starting at the bottom. I would have Ken hand out tickets for the lottery. Later, I would pull sixty-five lucky lottery winners. The rest would have to go. Those were the rules. That’s how it worked, usually.

    As I began making my way down the stairs I spotted Sarge in the crowd.

    “You cookin’ tonight, Sarge?” I asked.

    “You know I am” the reply came like a shot. “What are we having?”

    “Tonight we’re having chicken, cornbread, and black-eye peas.” I ordered.

    The predictable roar of approval came from the group of homeless men. Sarge was good in the kitchen and all the guys loved his cooking. His meals kept everyone quiet and satisfied, and that made me very happy.

    There were times I felt one of the nicest parts of this job was seeing a basement full of once cold and hungry homeless men now lying on their mats with their belly’s full, snuggling cozy under their warm wool blankets. I usually felt that way until they all fell fast asleep and began snoring.

    I got the rest of my volunteers, ten in all, and had the shelter setup. Now it was time to run the lottery and put the losers out.

    I had seventy-seven men in total. Twelve of the men had to go. They were twelve long, sad faces looking back at me as I explained to the men what to do and where to go to look for shelter. I knew everyone of them except for the new kid, ‘The African’ as Joe called him, the one without a coat.

    They knew I had no choice. The Fire Department regulation hanging on the wall clearly stated my capacity was 65. It was also in our contract with the Department of Human Services. If we went over our limit we could be shut down.

    But I knew as well as they did there was nowhere left to go. The hospital used to allow the homeless to sit in the emergency waiting room until the Department of Human Services came to pick them up. But the hospital changed their policy when the crowds grew so large they couldn’t hold them any longer.

    The Department of Human Services wasn’t going to be any help tonight, either. Their system is overtaxed as it is, and on a night like tonight it was going to be impossible for them to find a shelter with any room.

    These men, I though, are going to leave here and look for the nearest garbage dumpster to crawl into. And they’ll probably die just like that old man who froze to death ten years ago in a dumpster just up the street.

    That was the whole reason we started this shelter. The community came together to open this space to the homeless and make sure nobody ever again froze to death in their neighborhood. That’s who we are, I thought. That’s what we do.

    So I began to calculate again. The old basement used to serve as a church and a small theatre. There was a stage on one end of the room and I thought I could fit twelve guys on it. I only had five extra mats, but we just got a shipment of new blankets so I would double them up for the guys who didn’t get a mat.

    “Alright you guys” I said “we’re going to run another lottery. This time for the five mats.”

    Eleven of the guys thanked me repeatedly. The African only looked at me, but I could see relief in his face. I suppose if he didn’t understand English he knew by the sound of the others he was going to catch a break.

    I told Sarge we were going to have extra guests and to make enough dinner for seventy-seven. He stared at me with a look that said ‘are you kidding?’ I looked back as if to say I only wish I were.

    #

    10:30 PM - Everyone ate, showered, and tucked themselves comfortably under their blankets for a warm safe night. I told Sarge to leave the ovens on for a little extra warmth as I snuggled up in the kitchen watching David Letterman on an old black and white TV with lousy reception. Now the only job I had was to stay awake, keeping watch over my brood until morning.

    I heard a knock at the back door on the alley side of the building. Making my way up the back stairs I looked out of the small window in the gray steel door and saw a man. He was a black man, I thought, but in the dim light I saw his face was bright red and he had a short beard that was grayish-white in color. When I opened the door the man just looked at me pleading with his eyes for me to let him in.

    I motioned for him to come in but he was so frozen he couldn’t move. I took him by the arm and helped him up the step and into the building. After I closed the door the man just stood there, violently shaking; his breathing labored and rough sounding. I stood there with him at the top of the stairs until he was able to walk down into the basement.

    Putting a chair in front of the ovens I told him to sit and have some coffee. His body shook so badly it was forty-five minutes before he could hold the cup without spilling all over himself. He didn’t say a word for a long time and I just sat there with him, watching.

    I thought he looked too young to have a white beard, and then I realized his beard was that color because it was frozen. His hair was the same way. And I noticed what looked like a few frozen tears under his eyes.

    After an hour, or so, the man finally recovered enough to have some coffee. The first words he spoke were simply ‘thank you’. Then there was another knock at the back door.

    Well, to keep a short story short, I’ll just say this. That night there were eighteen such knocks at the back door. The basement was packed solid with not enough room for one more man. I gathered blankets and started putting men on the back stairs where they might not sleep, but they would be warm and safe sitting quietly until morning.

    It was two o’clock in the morning when Geraldo walked through the kitchen door.

    Geraldo was a short, skinny young man from Brazil. He earned degrees in Theology and Ethics, and spoke seven languages. As Shelter Director he worked very hard but because we were on a shoe-string budget he was grossly under paid. He didn’t seem to mind, though. Years ago he had planed to become a Priest but instead he met a young lady who would become his wife. I thought he was a good boss, and the shelter was very lucky to have him.

    “Hello Don. How are you?”

    “Just great, Geraldo. How are you?”

    “Don. How many guests do we have tonight?”

    “Sixty-five” I answered.

    “How many, Don?” he said without looking at me.

    Here we go, I thought. This is going to be interesting. Geraldo really was a cute little fellow, and he spoke with an accent that was just delightful. But he didn’t budge when it came to the rules. He couldn’t. He had to report to the iron fist of the Executive Director and he was afraid of her.

    The Executive Director was an ex Sister of Mercy and a Bull Dyke by her own description. If she was your friend, she was the best friend you could ever have. But if you broke the rules, you were screwed.

    “Well I have sixty-five men, Geraldo, plus a few ... extra.”

    “And how many is a few … extra, Don?”

    “I have sixty-five on the floor, twelve on the stage, and eighteen on the back stairway.”

    “You have ninty-five, Don. Is that correct?”

    “Yes.”

    Geraldo’s face was turning red. His eyes were the size of silver dollars.

    “You must send them away, Don.”

    “I can’t do that, Geraldo. Its six hours until the soup kitchens open, and its forty degrees below zero. All the other shelters are filled to capacity. They’ll die if I send them away.”

    “You must call the DHS.”

    “I’ve been on the phone with the DHS all night long, Geraldo. They’re begging me to take more.”

    “This is illegal, Don.” Geraldo shook at his own words.

    “It’s not illegal, Geraldo. Well, maybe just a little. But it’s more legal than turning them out to die. You know, it’s kind of like … barely legal.”

    “You’re not a very good lawyer, Don. And I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘barely legal.’ But we won’t discuss that now.”

    By this time I began to get hot. I’m over here working my tail off trying to save the lives of societies least desirable human beings and I have this little chipmunk of a man telling me I don’t understand the meaning of ‘barely legal’.

    “I know exactly what ‘barely legal’ means, Geraldo. It means exactly whatever I want it to mean. So what if it’s illegal. Do you want me to call the fire department, tell them I’m twenty over the limit and to please send a truck to pick these guys up?”

    Geraldo just looked at me in silence.

    “Or should I call the police and see if they have twenty cells over at the Foster District and would they like to donate some space for the night?”

    I was angry, and Geraldo was becoming annoyed with me.

    “Don, this is impossible. They must go.”

    “Okay” I said “They’ll go. And you can explain to Walter Jacobson and his Channel 2 News crew why we have twenty dead human popsicles scattered all over the streets of Chicago.”

    Geraldo hung his shaking head low, and let out a sigh.

    “Don, I’m going home now. I’m tired, and I have a headache. What are you going to tell the DHS when they call in the morning for your numbers?”

    “I’m going to tell them I have sixty-five.”

    “Ok Don, you say you have sixty-five and no more.”

    At that moment the young man from Africa walked into the kitchen and motioned for a glass of water.

    “Is this a new guest?” Geraldo asked.

    “Yes he is. He doesn’t speak English.”

    “Do you know his name? “

    “He’s got I.D. but I can’t pronounce it.”

    “He looks very young, Don, how old is he.”

    “He’s eighteen, Geraldo. Don’t worry, I know we’re not a children’s shelter. I’m not breaking the law again.”

    “Don, according to his I.D., when did he turn eighteen?”

    “Midnight” I answered. “He turned eighteen at midnight, tonight.”

    Geraldo stood there looking at me without speaking for an uncomfortably long time. Then he turned and walked to the kitchen door. Picking up his hand to push the door open he glanced back at me for only a second before looking away again, and he let out a little squeak.

    “Good night, Don.”
     
  3. TurtleWriter
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    TurtleWriter Member

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    Intimate

    Their room had a gorgeous view of the ocean off of the balcony. The white trim glass doors were open as if to invite the serenity permeating the space. The ocean breeze flowed into the hotel room. The wind made the air dance around them. The sweet smell of fresh oxygen invaded their lungs and nostrils. With each breath, they were inhaling life. He stood their holding her hands in his. He stared into the endless pool that were her eyes. Her light and beautiful hair lifted with the wind. The pure light from the sunset reflected off the individual strands. Earlier in the day, he became married to the greatest treasure on this planet.

    The warm breeze caused goose bumps on her skin. Her love for this man overflowed like a river into a waterfall. In spite of her flaws, nay, because of them, he accepted and was enamored with her. She could hear the sound of the waves as they crashed on the beach again and again. The sound of his steady breath made her heart race. She let go of his hands and traced her fingers up his arms. She reached her arms around and embraced him. His body against hers made her feel safe. Joy surged through her being.

    The thoughts of society and people escaped them. People looked down on this couple. He was 24 and she was now 18. Today was her birthday. He met her 3 years ago while she was still a sophomore in high school. The instance he saw her, their souls connected forever more. He spoke with eloquence and grace. They had enduring conversations seeded with intelligence and passion. Regardless of how “wrong” their relationship was, he began to pursue her. The road to having her would cause him much heart ache and trouble. He strove to become the best he could be. He moved up within his work and finished college. Her family spent a lot of time with him and he gained their respect and love. Still, his friends and family called him foolish. They would even suggest that she wasn't worth it and he could find better. However, their words would not sway him. He would make her his precious wife.

    He was aware of the fact she could not see. He found that to be one of the most fascinating aspects of her. He loved how she would describe life by how things felt, sound and smelled. When they kissed, their souls would connect. Even when they hugged, it meant something different to her. She lived life in more beautiful ways than those with sight do. In the absence of vision, she was forced to utilize her brain and other senses more. He thought that she was brilliant. She did not see her blindness as a handicap. Rather, she saw it as a tool to become stronger. The two began to discover more about each other, and she fell in love with who he was as well.

    She adored him for his intelligence and heart. He had lofty aspirations. His motivation seemed endless. When this man had a goal, he would go to great lengths to achieve it. He amazed her with his words. She felt like she was on top of the world when she spoke with him. He praised her. Other people looked down on her or avoided her due to her lack of sight. The kids in her school would make fun of her; not him though. No, he would lift her up with encouraging words. She felt the compassion when he spoke. The moment he asked her to marry him, she longed for this very night.

    They embraced each other and cherished the moment. Both of them waited, for what felt like ages, for their honeymoon. They had dreamed of the moment when they could declare to the world their love. Now, the time had come; the moment where they would become most connected. She had requested he close his eyes. She wanted him to feel the moment as she did. He put on a blind fold so he would not be tempted to open them. They both trembled with anticipation, as neither of them had experienced this before. They waited for each other for tonight. They made love with each other in unimaginable ways. He would not forget this night for the rest of his life. The night that he became blind and felt the world for the first time.
     
  4. JJ_Maxx
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    JJ_Maxx Banned

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    Jason and Stephenie Write a Story [450 Words]

    Jason and Stephenie Write a Story [450 Words]

    I stared at the blank screen. The small black cursor blinked in perfect timing. I sang a Tom Petty song in my head to the beat of the blinking cursor. I was about to grab a couple pens for a drum solo when my wife walked in.

    “Still no luck?” she said, massaging my neck.

    “No,” I sighed. “I got nothing.”

    “Well, what’s the theme?”

    “Barely legal.”

    “Barely legal? Sounds like a porno.” I laughed and looked up at her. She kissed my forehead. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You always do.”

    “Maybe. I don’t know.”

    “You’ve entered the last two contests,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with skipping one.”

    “I know. I’m just having a difficult time deciding on what to write about.” I said, spinning around in my chair. She sat on my lap.

    “What about me?”

    “What about you?”

    “Well,” she said running her fingers through my hair, “you could write about me!”

    “Baby, you’re twenty-two, you’re a little past being ‘barely legal’.”

    “Hey!” she said, playfully punching my shoulder.

    “Okay, okay,” I said, “but you’re just a character and a good story needs a plot.”

    “Hmmm…” she said, deep in thought. “I got it! You could write about this!”

    “This?”

    She giggled and grabbed my hands. “Yes! Exactly.”

    “Exactly what?”

    “Call it ‘Jason and Stephenie Write a Story’!” I thought about this and looked back at her. She was beside herself with excitement. She was adorable.

    “You’re still missing something,” I said. “You and I writing a story is not a plot, it’s a sequence of events. There needs to be motive. There needs to be a ‘why’. Besides, you and I writing a story doesn’t fit the theme. It would be disqualified.”

    “Really?” she said, furrowing her brow. “They would disqualify you?”

    “Well, yeah, they have rules. You have to submit the story before the deadline, follow the theme and keep it within a certain amount of words.”

    “So let me get this straight,” she said, saying the words slowly. “If you entered a story that has nothing to do with the theme, it would be against the rules?”

    “Yes.”

    “So, it would be kind of like an illegal entry?”

    I could see where this was going. I slowly nodded my head. “Kind of, yeah,” I said. “But you can’t make a story ‘barely’ fit the theme.”

    “Okay, well what’s the minimum word count?”

    “Five hundred, with a ten percent leniency.”

    She did the math silently for a moment. “So, if your story was exactly four hundred and fifty words, wouldn’t it be a barely legal entry?”

    I smiled and pulled her close to me, kissing her on the lips. “Yes, yes it would.”
     
  5. Roxie
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    Roxie Active Member

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    Here is my erotic take on this theme. Warning: explicit scene included.

    Midnight Snack


    It’s two in the morning and the house is quiet. Unable to sleep I pad into the kitchen and open the fridge. I hadn’t had the chance to clean it out earlier today. I start pulling out the left over containers and re-organizing the fruits and vegetables. I am wiping down the last shelf when my employer sneaks up on me.

    “Nina, what are you doing up so late?”

    The bottle of water in my hands clatters on the glass shelf. I clutch my racing heart and whirl around.

    “Mr. Beck,” you scared me.

    “I am sorry Nina; I wasn’t expecting you to be up and about at this time of night.”

    From the towel loosely wrapped around his waist and naked torso I can tell he really did not expect to find me in the kitchen.

    “Did you have trouble putting Andrew down?”

    “A little,” I confess “but he calmed quickly enough when I starting singing to him,” I reassure him “he’s been asleep for hours now. I just couldn’t sleep.” I finish lamely.

    He arches his eye brow and says “So you decided to clean out the fridge at two in the morning,” a smile plays on his lips.

    “I guess so,” my voice quakes a little. I feel uncomfortable with him, in such a state of déshabille, and at such close proximity. Never before in all of nineteen years had I been so up close and personal with the opposite sex. For a man in his late twenties, or is it early thirties, Kristopher Beck is hot, hot, hot.

    Six foot two of knotted muscles and tan skin. With sandy brown hair and eyes as clear as the sky and perfect white teeth beaming at you with each smile, it’s no wonder my heart is still racing. His sculpted abs are in perfect display above the loose knot of the cotton white towel. Which, but the way stops in the middle of his precision cut quadriceps. Water droplets shine on his skin.

    My body grows hot. My breath feels heavy in my lungs. I feel my nipples harden against the build-in bra of my spaghetti strap tank top. My cheeks flush pink. God, I hope he didn’t see that. I turn my body inside the fridge and pull out some ham and rye bread.

    “Can I fix you something to eat,” I gulp out.

    Kristopher steps closer to me and reaches for the loaf of bread and container of ham. He deftly takes them out my hands and drops them on the counter. His body is so close to mine I can smell the soap and shampoo on him, like spring rain fresh and earthy tones dance in my nostrils. The minty toothpaste on his breath makes my mouth water.

    “Nina, if I were to tell you that the only thing I am hungry for is you. How would that make you feel?” His voice is low and husky. It plays havoc on my senses. Leaves me breathless. Voice less. My eyes grow large and round. My nostrils flare. My body trembles.

    “Has a man ever tasted you,” he continues as his fingers reach out and glide over my tank straps and move on down “here,” he whisper as his digit tip brushes my lengthened nipples.

    My insides feel like molten lava everywhere his fingers touched. I shake my head from side to side. The burning lava is spreading lower and lower as his fingers skim my rib cage dips down past my belly button “how about here,” he rasps as his fingers cup my mound.

    No air is coming in my lungs. The blood in my veins turns to a fiery sludge. This time I am not even able to shake my head from side to side. I am lost in the feelings of his fingers circling my clit through the thin material of my pyjama bottoms – under which I have no underwear. And his other hand as come up to cup my breasts and tease my nipples through my silky tank.

    “You are so beautiful Nina and I’ve wanted for you for so long,” he says before bending his head down and claiming my lips.

    The moment his lips capture my mine I feel an explosion inside of me, like a gate way as been open and the flood building behind it is now free to unleash its power. My breathing grows rapid and heavy. Every cell in my body ignites with the force of the eruption and I feel it coursing through me full speed ahead.

    His mouth travels down the length of my throat. Licking sucking my over hot skin. My back arches, pushing my breast towards the eagerly searching mouth. He takes the hint and pops a silk covered nipple between his lips. Even through the thin material the sensation of his hot breath and hotter tongue is incredible. I feel his fingers travelling up my arms and slip under the straps. He pulls them down exposing my creamy breast and peachy nipples. His mouth releases the clothed nipple and captures the naked one.

    Ecstasy. The flood pours out me and soaks my pj bottoms.

    “God, Nina, you are so responsive to my touch. This is such a turn on to see you like this. Puffy lips, puffier nipples, wet cunt. The smell of your sex,” he takes a second to breathe deeply in “rich sweet musk is intoxicating. I want to taste it.”

    With that he drops to his knees, pulls down my baggy bottoms and exposes my juice slick lips. “So beautiful,” he says before his tongue starts licking my labia. “So tasty, sweet and tangy,” he purrs and continues to lap up my oozing cream.

    His tongue pushes my inner lips open and dips inside. My fingers dig in his hair. My hips buck on his face as his tongue goes in deeper. Licking my inner walls, twirling my juices round and round and swallowing. His lips find my hard swollen clit and latch at it. Sucking it deep. My fingers pull on his hair and push his face further inside my open pussy lips. My pelvis tilts forward at the same time giving him more of me to lick and suck and slurp.

    He doesn’t disappoint me. His tongue his like a branding iron claiming me as his. His fingers move slowly up and down my lips and find my entrance. One slips inside. He moves it slowly in and out. His tongue flicks my clit to and fro. My hips undulate, gyrate to a primal rhythm and I feel the surge of lava coursing though me again. I buck and trash against him as the flood comes like white rapids cresting, peeking, oh god, I come hard and fast on his tongue and fingers.

    He licks me clean and sucks in his finger to clean it off as well. When he pulls himself up from between my legs his towel is forgotten on the floor.

    “Nina, I want you,” he cups my face in his hands and kisses me with such tenderness it makes my heart swell in my chest.

    This makes me brave enough to admit what I’ve known for quite some time “Kristopher,” I search his eyes, in nearly a year of working for this man, this is the first time I use his given name. The brightness in them tells me how happy he is that I address him as such. “Kristopher,” I say again “I want you too.”

    That’s all he needs to hear. His lips crash down on mine. His hands skim down my spine and squeeze my ass and lift me up. He doesn’t need to tell me he’ll be gentle. His slow sensuous movements and sensitive touch on my skins tells me everything I need to know.

    His kiss is soft and tender. He lowers me down his erection. Kissing me, messaging my breasts, teasing my clitoris as he keeps pushing me down on him. When his bulbous head pierces my hymen my body stiffens in his embrace. He deepens our kiss; plays with my nipples and clit until he feels me relaxing again.

    “God, Nina, you feel so good, hot, wet and so incredibly tight. I want to ride you like this forever,” he groans as his cock moves languidly in and out. His mouth kisses my lips, my chin, my throat, the vein erratically pulsing under my ear lobe, which makes my muscles constrict around his girth.

    “That’s it baby squeeze me tighter, damn that feels good,” the vibration of his voice against my hammering pulse drives me wild and in quick succeeding motion my muscle squeeze and squeeze.

    He pumps inside of me faster. Slapping his balls against my ass. Reaching deeper inside of me with each savage thrust. I feel my blood turn to fiery sludge. I feel the air in my lungs grow heavy. I feel my stomach knot and explode. White fire rages through me. I arch my back, slam my hips down on his upward thrusts and clamp my muscles around his erection milking him to the last drop. Hot thick come, mine, his, slides out of my overfilled pussy.

    His lips claim mine in another slow tender kiss. His fingers dip in my long curls. We break apart breathless.

    “I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t let you go now that I’ve tasted you,” he searches my face to make sure I understand what he means.

    “Kristopher, I’ve wanted you for so long as well, I was afraid to let you know. I didn’t want to overstep. I know you loved Claire I didn’t want to take her memory away from you.”

    “Oh Nina, Claire will always be a part of me. She’s given me Andrew. It wasn’t easy after her death. When you came to live with us things got better. You were able to give Andrew what I couldn’t through my grief. In time the grief lessened and now I am able to enjoy the time I spend with my son. I no longer resent him for taking her away from me. The doctors did all they could to save them both after the car crash…” his voice trails off.

    I lean forward and kiss him.

    The gloom is no longer in his eyes when we pull apart.

    “Kristopher, can this work?” I ask in a shy tone and hope that I have not misread his intentions.

    “I don’t see why not. You are nineteen. Have been for three months. The fact that I am dozen years older, well if you don’t have a problem with that, and I don’t have a problem with it, I don’t see why we couldn’t make it work. Does it bother you that I am thirty one?”

    “Not a lick,” I answer honestly.

    “Then we are good. Now I am taking you to bed. I want to make love to you again.”

    I smile and squeeze his softening cock in response.
     
  6. Stoph Holland
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    Stoph Holland New Member

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    A Newcomer approaches!! 1023 words of "This sure went downhill"! but hey, atleast i dont have writing block!

    -------------------------

    The scene was a complete stereotype, in pretty much every fashion. It was the middle of the night, it was raining and it was a dark back ally in a sprawling city, all you could really hear was a distant bit of jazz music, cats making a mess of some trash cans and the occasion footsteps as people made their way with their eyes fixed on the ground less they look somewhere that they shouldn’t It wasn’t the nicest of areas, the kind of area a man could get mugged and stabbed and nobody would even dare to offer any help. This night brought something new, like most did. A Tall dark man by the name of Isaac was strolling the pavement, he was clad in a long trench coat and wore a trilby at just the right angle to hide his face in the shadows. He was walking with the pace of someone who had somewhere to be, somewhere important. He had come to the Alleyway with something in mind.

    There was a single door with a small Chinese man standing outside, as Isaac approached, the man slid a hand into his pocket and rested it on the handle of his revolver. Isaac noted the movement and raised his hands gently and approached him. “I sure wish the flowers would bloom like in my home town” he said in a hushed voice. The Man nodded and opened the door, allowing him to step inside.
    Isaac made his way down a small staircase and passed a set of curtains, he was greeted by an old woman who was also Chinese, she placed a series of photos on a counter before her and grunted a set of prices, the hollow tone of her voice said a thousand words, one of self loathing and repetition, chances were she was like the girls in the photos once, but had proved to be of less value with age.
    “This one” he said, gesturing to a photo of a rather young looking girl, he dug into his pocket and produced a wallet, he placed a pile of notes on the counter and the woman quickly scooped them up. A large built man strode over and started listing off a set of rules, they ended surprisingly quick and had hardly any 'don’t's.
    “Anything then?” he asked
    “Aye, as long as their still breathing” replied the man with a grin. “Well...”
    Isaac waved a hand, messaged understood. The value of the girls was low, there must have been a ample supply to keep customers coming back, he thought of the possible repercussions of his actions as he was guided down a long hallway, there were doors either side with various sounds that made him shudder inside, but he did his best to hide it.
    The man opened the door and gestured him inside. “Two hours, when you hear a knock you only have 20 minuet’s left so use it well”
    Isaac stepped inside.

    The door closed with a thump behind him and he took in his new surroundings, the room was well sized but hardly in the greatest conditions, set in the middle was a large bed, its cover’s looked brand new and probably just been changed, the carpet however was a mess of stains of all sorts and the various storage cases around the room described different toys and items. On the far side of the room was a bathroom door, almost by queue though- or more routine, there was a flushing sound and the young girl from the picture came out of the room. He could see the glimmer of despair in her eyes before she forced on the fake smile and made her way over to him.
    “Hey handsome-” she started, but Isaac held a finger to his lips and gestured her over to the bed.
    “Say, are there any cameras here for after?” he asked, looking around the room.
    “No-” she replied, a hint of fear in her voice.
    Isaac stood from the bed and dug into his jacket, he produced a big roll of paper with a band around it and handed it to the now very confused girl.
    “Read...”
    She looked up at him, unsure what was going on. “What, you want me to read this while you f-”
    Isaac thrust a finger into the air for silence and just gestured to the paper. She reluctantly opened it.
    “Oh... oh my god” she uttered as her eyes fell on the first thing she saw, a picture of her parents.
    “Who.. Who are you!?”
    “My name is Isaac, that’s all you need to know of my name, your parents hired me to track you down. Its taken me a good few months to get here and I’m taking you back home.”
    The girl looked at him and burst into tears.
    “I... I cant, you don’t understand, they own me now....”
    Isaac shrugged it off, it was of no concern of him what some people thought.
    “Yeh right, I’m getting you out of here.”
    She shook her head in protest while choking back her tears, “No, they made me sign a contract this whole place is Legal somehow”
    “Barely, I don’t care about that shit. now either you get up and come with me or I’m dragging you out, I haven’t followed this trail since summer just for you to say no”
    “But... the bouncers”
    Isaac cast his long coat onto the ground, he was in smart cloths, black shirt and grey trousers with a brown leather gun holster over each shoulder, he drew his snub nose revolve in one hand and slid a brass knuckle on the other.
    “Ill take care of them.”
    “That’s murder!”
    “Pah, I got a card, its Legal... Barely Legal...”
    The girl sighed and put some more cloths on, ready to leave with him.
    “This is insane...” she uttered.
    “Damned right it is, things sure are about's to step up to a whole new level of Crazy!”
     
  7. blackstar21595
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    blackstar21595 Contributing Member

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    Location:
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    The Student (627 words)


    In the studio’s dressing room, Lisa dressed herself in jeans, a red shirt, and a jacket. She put on a pair of sunglasses and tucked her blond hair underneath her sports cap. When she exited the studio, many crowds of people strolled past her; too many for her liking, however, she walked with a group. Despite her dislike, she believed there was safety in numbers. Lisa looked at the subway station, which was far from her, when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She entered a store. When she passed the counter, the store’s owner stared at her large breasts, but Lisa averted his gaze. She kept her back to him while she pretended to browse through the chips and pastries. Afterward, she walked behind a rack of paper towels, and took out her cellphone. It vibrated against her palm, and the word ‘Dad’ was on the screen. She answered it.
    “Hi Dad,” she said.
    “How you been? I thought you forgot about me,” said her father, who was letting the phone rest on his shoulder as he placed a brown package on his bed.
    Lisa laughed. “I’ve been busy! My classes are hard, especially lab. My professor gave the class some powder and I have to find out what it is.”
    “Wow, things sure have changed. When I was in college, I was a protester. You’re never getting drafted because of me!” They laughed together. Afterward, there was silence on the line, until Lisa’s father said “You sure you don’t need help?”
    Lisa rolled her eyes. “We talked about this already! I can pay it on my own. Besides, I found a job.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. I babysit a kid. He’s a sweet boy, and he has a crush on me. Isn’t that cute?”
    “How much do you get?”
    “Eight-fifty an hour and I do it every weekday.”
    Lisa’s father told her to stay on the phone. He went to Lisa’s room, and picked up her calculator which was on her nightstand. He calculated the amount she made in a week. Lisa wondered if her father hanged up, but heard his voice again.
    “Are you sure you’re fine?” said Lisa’s father, who had the phone next to his ear.
    “Yes, I am,” said Lisa. She picked up a bag of cookies, and put it down.
    “Alright, I love you. If you need help, just let me know.”
    “Love you too. Bye dad.” Lisa hanged up and slid the phone into her pocket. Her dad dialed a number on his phone. He waited for the dial tone. In a feminine voice, he heard “Hi honey. How are you?”
    “I just talked with Lisa. She said she can pay it by herself, but I doubt it. I still think we should help her.”
    The woman cursed. “If only she was smarter, a scholarship would have been good,” she said.
    “Come on. Don’t talk like that. You’re her mother.”
    She sighed. “You’re right, but what if she has to pay back loans?”
    “We’ll find a way.”
    “I hope so, bye honey.”
    “Bye Ellen.”
    Lisa’s father put the phone on the charger, and entered his room. He locked the door and unzipped his pants. He sat on his bed, and opened the package. There was a magazine inside, and he was looking at its back cover, which showed the back of a blond woman dressed in a nurse’s outfit. He flipped it to the front cover like a pancake. The same woman is on the front. Her index finger was against her lush lips, she had large breasts, and her panties were slightly exposed. Lisa’s father threw the magazine. It slammed against the wall and landed on the floor. That became his last issue of Barely Legal.
     
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