Tag Archives: Lust

Lust: The Winner is…

 

Lust

Lust (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Despite my best efforts to laze about – using “recovering from surgery” as an excuse – I find I must re-enter the world of productivity – kicking and screaming all the way.  I’ll be returning to work in less than 10 days, and I find myself wondering how I ever managed to exercise, commute, teach, plan, write, blog, snuggle my pup, and occasionally speak to my spouse each day.

It is all I can do to wander from the desk to the sofa, to the table to the desk, to the sofa, to the table…you get my drift.  I keep discovering posts I missed while either under the influence of powerful drugs or snoozing the days and nights away.  I’m trying to catch up.

The deadline for voting in the “Lust” Round of the 7 Deadly Sins writing contest was noon on Saturday and the winner is:  Lorna from Lorna’s Voice.  Her entry:  I Want, I Need You, I Love You” was spectacular.  Congratulations.  Once again – a donation will be made to the charitable organization of Lorna’s choice and her name will be placed in the Wall of Fame over on the left of this blog.

I have to say that I was more than impressed with the quality of the entries.  The voting (for finalists) was extremely close.  This contest has been so much fun and I appreciate all of you who participated.

So, at some point in the near future I’ll resurrect the submission box and prepare the next round…for now – I must move to the sofa…

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Lust – Post 4

Well, kids, it’s time for the final installment of the “Lust” entries for the 7 Deadly Sins Series.  This round has had some shizzle with sizzle…don’t you think?  You’re going to love these entries, as well.

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First, I’ll include my non-contest submission:

Broken Hearts

“I won’t forgive you next time” I’d said, hot tears stinging my eyes.  “I can’t.”

“There won’t be a next time” he’d reassured me, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I was stupid.”  He lifted my chin, searching my face, then pulled me close.  “I’m so sorry.  I promise you.  It will not happen again” he’d whispered into my neck.

-/-

That had been a year ago – a stressful year punctuated with health issues, job changes, and a now empty nest. For the sake of our daughter, her senior year of high school, her promising tennis career, and because I was terrified of starting over again at my age – I forgave him.  But I did not, and could not, forget.

I retrieved my car from the long-term lot and headed in the direction of home.  It had been a long week of meetings, presentations, conference calls, networking, glad-handing and schmoozing. I just wanted to take a long, hot shower and lie down in my own bed.  I’d finished a day early, and I needed rest.

I caught a glimpse of a familiar looking red sports car leaving very our very secluded driveway.  My stomach clenched. My hands gripped the steering wheel.  “It couldn’t be” I told myself.  “She wouldn’t dare come to our home.”  I let myself quietly in the front door, my hands shaking.

His cell phone was on the counter, vibrating madly.  I checked it as I headed for the bedroom.  Four voice mail messages, three from me – and a text message – not from me.  “Miss you already.”

“Did you forget something, Shelly?” my husband called out from the bedroom. I picked up speed down the hallway, footsteps pounding. My heart was thudding and my palms sweating.

“Shelly?” he called out the name of our daughter’s tennis coach.  “Is that you?  Did you forget something – or did you come back for more?” His voice was playful.  “That Viagra’s worn off, but I’ve got plenty more.”

I stopped outside the bedroom door.  He was lying on his side in a provocative pose, sheet draped over his pelvis.  On the nightstand stood a champagne bottle, two flutes – one stained with lipstick, and a prescription bottle.

“That’s good to know” I said coolly from the doorway.

“Oh, my God” he gasped when he saw my face. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Apparently.”

He grabbed the sheet and shot up from the bed.  “I…I can explain.” The color drained from his face.  Sweat droplets appeared on his forehead.

“I seriously doubt that” I said, holding up his cell phone.  “Shelly misses you already – the poor thing”.

“I’m sorry.”

“You certainly are that.”

“It’s just….I…um. Oh, God. Honey, please,” his eyes pleaded.  His color had turned ashen.  He clutched his chest, the sweat began pouring down his face.  He swayed side to side.

“Please?  Please what?” I yelled.  “Please pretend you didn’t just have your mistress in my bed?  Pretend you haven’t broken not only your marriage vows but your promise to me?  Please, what?” I shoved his chest with the cell phone.

He stumbled backward and plopped unceremoniously onto the bed, rubbing his left arm.  His color had not improved – it matched the tousled gray at his temples.  “It’s my heart…call an ambulance.  Please.  Oh, God. I’m begging you.”  He reached toward the nightstand where he kept a bottle of aspirin.  I pushed the drawer shut with my knee.

He pitched forward to the floor, gasping and clutching his chest.  His face contorted in agony.

“It’s time to think about my heart.”

I pocketed his cell phone, locked the front door, and drove away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

From MJ at mjmonaghan.com :

DIAMOND DAVE

If Prohibition was the law of the land, then the speakeasy was the law’s biggest ball-buster.

It was 1925 at Manhattan’s “Jack and Charlie’s 21.” Most everyone just called it “21” since it was located at 21 West 52nd Street.

The four dames sauntered into that gin joint like they owned the damn place. All dolled up in “shorts”: short hair, short skirts, and short on virtues – typical flappers.

Every head turned in the place as they made their way down the steps and into the main room in the bar:  From gangsters, and feds on the take – who were giving them the up-and-down – to back-biting women who wished they could throttle the broads (not that they weren’t still giving them the once-over, too, by examining their shoes, dresses, and hairstyles).

Men wanted them – in the biblical way – and women wanted to be them, in spite of hating what they did, and who they were.

No one could deny they were lookers; all from different places. How they became roommates, was anyone’s guess, other than the fact they were young ladies who liked to dance, drink, and carouse:

Meg, was from the Midwest, and because of her long gams was nicknamed Meg-O-Lamb.

Carla was from the tip of the Northeast, somewhere in Maine. It was hard to believe, but even New Yawkuz poked fun at her accent.

Sadie was the tough, no-nonsense leader of the pack. Her nickname on the street was “Sadie-did” – because anytime something bad happened and the question came up about who done it, the response was always “Sadie did.” But no one called her that to her face. They wouldn’t dare. She was tough as nails.

It was rumored that Sadie was from the Midwest, also, but she never talked about it. Something too painful had happened “back there.”

Lastly, there was Jewels. From the time she was a little girl she dreamed of living across the Hudson River from Jersey. Now she was doing it, and in style. Her typical winter outer wear consisted of her trademark, full-length chipmunk fur coat.

On the surface this passel of women was like any other, excepting for the looks and fashion. The quartet seemed kind and caring, but deep down if you tailed them, you’d find the four running interference for bootleggers.

The four were the kind of girls you were glad your sister wasn’t.

Primarily they worked for Dave Moffett. Everyone in Manhattan called him “Diamond Dave” because of the giant, diamond-encrusted pinkie ring he always wore.

Diamond Dave was tied into all manner of criminal activity, but made most of his money on hooch. He hid his rum-running by working for the local rag covering the city beat. Cops knew him, but steered clear since he had them all in his pocket.

He had a weakness, though: He was a big womanizer and couldn’t keep his hands off the dames.

***

That night was like any night. The four girls were there for fun, and to collect their money from Dave. They would always meet in a secluded back room. First Dave would discreetly walk back, and then a few minutes later Meg, Carla, Jewels, and Sadie would make their way to meet him.

As Diamond waited for them, his mind wandered, and he couldn’t get Meg out of his mind. She had flashed him her left leg through the slit in her short skirt that was more like a belt. He always liked her, but now he WANTED to have her; possess her; to make her his.

The door to the private room opened and the four flappers strode in. Diamond Dave was burning like an ember as his eyes fixed on Meg.

“You got the sawbucks?” Jewels asked.

“Yeah; sure thing, girls,” Dave said as he pulled a wad of $10 bills out of his pocket with his right hand.

“Hey, Meg, why don’t you come over this way for a minute?”

Meg moved toward him, and Dave’s fat hand latched on to her left breast. What happened next was a blur.

Instinctively, Meg reached for something to break Diamond Dave’s grip from her body. She fumbled and felt an object behind her, and picked it up and struck him in the head. Blood ran down Dave’s head at the same time his body dropped to the floor with a “thud.”

Meg quickly threw down the weapon – an 18” tall, Empire State Building promotional statuette for the soon-to-be-built skyscraper.

The other three shook Meg so they could get their story straight before the coppers got there.

Sadie-did, Meg-o-Lamb, Carla and Jewels

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And from Jules at gojulesgo.com:

7 Deadly Scenes: Lust

“No! You have to do it like this!”

His laughter is infectious. He grabs the cell phone from my hands and shakes it, showing me how to rearrange the apps on the screen. I grab the phone back and give it an exaggerated wave.

The final weeks in August are dead at the office.

“Is this why these things need protection?” I ask, holding up the phone to reveal its plastic case. “Safe sexting?”

His fit starts anew, and he collapses in his seat, wiping tears away with a single hand.

I can’t take my eyes off his hands.

~*~

“You better hold on tight, spider monkey!”

I throw my head back and laugh. My favorite line in the movie. It’s not supposed to be funny, but it gets me every time.

We’re really pushing the ‘hardly working’ part of the old saying, but Friday afternoon before Labor Day seemed like the perfect time to watch a video projected from my lap top onto the largest screen in the office.

I stop laughing abruptly when I realize his eyes are on me.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. His gaze is soft, brown and loving.

“Nothing,” he smiles, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

~*~

“And that is why they invented therapy.”

I chuckle, delighted by his secret-sharing.

“…So?” he adds, eyebrows raised.

“So?” I echo, butterflies in my stomach.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I laugh again, relieved, frustrated. I take a sip of my beer, staring at the forest green walls of our favorite after work haunt.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, and my smile fades as I force myself to meet his gaze.

~*~

“You love your husband?”

My hand halts on the car door handle.

“Yes,” I reply quietly, not because it’s the right thing to say, but because it’s the truth.

“Okay,” he says, and walks away, my sudden sobs filling the hot summer air.

~*~

“We should go,” he whispers.

“Or what?” I whisper back, still only a breath away.

I never should have agreed to stop at his place before the meeting.

I reach out a shaking hand and touch his wavy brown hair. It’s thick and soft. Far softer than it should be.

I bet his lips are, too. These thoughts come unbidden. I am used to them now.

“We’re late,” he says. His eyes darken and I drop my hand. We’re not late.

Though I have no right to be, I’m hurt.

“He’d kill us both,” he breathes, his eyes softening.

“No,” I smile ruefully. “Just me.”

~*~

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

He looks helpless, standing in my doorway. He knows my husband is gone for the weekend, on his annual fishing trip.

Something deep inside me explodes.

“Yes you do,” I say, surprised by the raspy wanting in my voice.

He doesn’t respond. At least not in words.

~*~

“I found this.”

I blanch, seeing my phone in my husband’s large hand.

In his other hand rests something equally shiny and silver.

“Didn’t I always tell you what I’d do to you?” He takes a step towards me.

I open my eyes and clutch my heart, breathless. It was only a dream.

This time.

~*~

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Lust – Post 3

Whoa – that last batch of entries was smokin’.  Grab an iced drink, a fan (you’re gonna need it!) and savor today’s offerings:

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From Darla over at She’s A Maineiac:

Sweets for My Sweetie

As far as Violet was concerned, her life began and ended on a hot muggy day in Savannah, Georgia, July 25, 2012.

The Clearview Baptist Church was stifling; even the cicadas normally buzzing about the open doors sought shade. All eyes were on her as Barney Sutter slipped the 2 carat ring on her trembling finger. He clasped her hands in his, perspiration dripping off his meaty paws. God, all he does is sweat, Violet thought. He’s so disgusting! She looked up into his eyes and offered up a sweet as honey smile.  His eyes lingered again at her plunging neckline, hungrily devouring her like she was some midnight snack.

“…I know pronounce you, Man and Wife,” the pastor’s voice boomed, cutting through the soggy air.  Well whaddya know,  that rich bastard Barney Sutter married lil’ ol’ me…just a po’ girl from Atlanta! And if there’s one thing everyone knows about me–I always get what I want.

She sucked in her breath, bracing herself for the kiss, the beaded bodice of her dress squeezing tighter around her breasts. Barney mopped his bald head with his handkerchief and leaned in for the kill.

****

“Now, where you two lovebirds plannin’ on goin’ for yer honeymoon?” Barney’s mother asked, sneering at Violet over her champagne glass. Violet glared back at the old woman.

“Oh, now Momma, I told ya already, this sweet lil’ pumpkin’ of mine don’t want no fancy honeymoon!” Barney said, wrapping his arm around Violet and pulling her close. Underneath her dress, she felt his chubby hand tracing the inside of her thigh. “We just gonna lay low at Magnolia manor, let the movers do all the work. Once we settled, we can really start to feather up our love nest…ain’t that right, Pookie-Pie? Hell, maybe this time next year, they’ll be some pitter-patterin of little feet! The future president of Sutter Candies, Inc!” He laid his hand on her belly and gazed at her with the lovesick look of a bulldog. Violet felt nauseous. But she had to keep her eye on the prize.

****

Later that night, as Barney heaved himself on top of her, she closed her eyes to escape. She was seated at a banquet table that stretched for miles, an endless line of waiters delivering silver platters full of decadent confections: thick slices of Black Forest cake, hot fudge sundaes, pecan clusters enrobed in dark chocolate. She could almost taste the velvety sweetness on her tongue.

They had been married one full month when Violet knew she would have to make her big move during the factory tour. Standing next to her husband on the small platform perched above the main vat, she peered down into that day’s batch of Sutter’s White Chocolate. Her spine tingled as she watched the giant steel blades churning in an ivory ocean.

“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed into his ear. “Smell that! God, it’s like heaven to me!” Violet pushed her husband closer to the railing.  “Please, just breathe it in…”

Barney obeyed, the frail platform shaking as he stepped closer.

“Unnngh!” Violet grunted as she shoved him toward the edge, the railing breaking apart under his massive frame. In mid-fall he turned, grabbing at her shoulder with one hand while reaching out for the railing with the other. Teetering on the edge with his grip starting to slip, he clutched at her necklace, twisting it until she started to choke.

“Let—–go!” she gurgled. She looked into his wild eyes and almost felt sorry for the fat son-of-a-bitch.  Falling backward now, he clawed at her neck with both hands and pulled, plunging them both into the vat below.

Searing hot pain sliced through her body as the blades tossed it around like a rag doll; her screams muffled by the sticky chocolate filling her throat and lungs.

If there was one thing about Violet: she always gets what she wants.

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From Marta over at Lost and Forgotten:

“Like this,” she breathes.

Raising her hands above her head grasping at the tips of her dress, she lets the threads slowly rise across her body pushing past her ears and tumbling over her fingers.  The white cotton fabric falls to the ground behind her. Her heels push forward as she rises on the tips of her toes and leans towards him. She places her hands at his hips on the bed.

Her lips to his ear, “your turn.”

He looks upon her, his pupils dilated. The warmth of his hazel eyes melts her insides. He has never looked at her this way.

Slowly he begins to unbutton his shirt, fumbling at each one as his hands shake with nerves. Her impatience begins to overtake her, the awkwardness of her standing there watching him. The room suddenly feels empty and too quiet. As the thoughts pour into her head she pushes them out.

She reaches for his hands and presses the clammy palms against her bare back. Places her knees at his side and sits upon him. She sweeps her long blonde hair behind her and it falls against his fingertips. She pushes her body against him until his back is cradled by the mattress. She slides down unbuttoning each button as her mouth circles the bare skin above.

His breath increases against her.

It is so hard for them to not think. To separate the want from the truth. His body on fire, he leans his head back and stares upon the ceiling fan above him. She drags her fingernails down his sides and across his hip bones pulling at his pants. She comes up to his face, her hands grappling at his belt buckle.

His eyes lock on hers. The blue and green irises he fell in love with swallowing him whole, he cups her chin with his hand and pulls her lips towards his. As they brush lightly against hers, her body freezes and her breath stagnates in her throat. A tear begins to slide down her cheek and as he kisses her deeper it touches his fingertips the cool wetness squeezing in between his hand and her face.

He pulls away.

She blinks the escaped tear away and pushes his hand against the bed whispering in his ear, “please.” Her hair catches in her lips and he brushes it away and tucks it behind her ear. She is so beautiful, he thinks as she lights up the room above him. The fan pushing cool air across their bodies in intervals. She pushes the belt buckle through and he raises his hips as she slips his pants under him.

He cradles her neck and kisses her closer, tighter, harder against him. His tongue seeking hers as she lets her body meld against his. He carefully lifts her and places her underneath him and kisses the tip of her nose, the crease of her neck, the crook of her elbow, his fingertips graze her chest as she lets a small squeal escape past her lips. His lift in a smile.

She pulls him up towards her, staring into his eyes, and whispers, “Now” while pressing her lips against his.

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And from Susie at Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride: (Visit here to see Susie’s entry on her blog)

The Art of Seduction

He traced his finger along her curves, only stopping to admire her strength and beauty. They fit together like tailored leather. Her opalescent skin, like pewter in the moonlight, gave the false impression of being as malleable as mercury, but a steely inner strength resonated from her core.

It was dangerous, yet the risk excited him.

He slipped inside and adrenaline filled him with a thrilling rush. He threw her into high gear and never looked back even though he knew they’d been found. He didn’t want it to end.

~~~

“It makes me sad to see a work of art like that wrapped around a tree.” The officer took notes as steam rose from the crumpled Jaguar.

“What about the carjacker?” asked the coroner.

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Lust – Post 2

Yes, folks, it’s time for another heaping helpin’ of lusty goodness.  Grab that coffee, put your feet up (the boss won’t mind) and lose yourself in these fine fictional fabrications.

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First up, from Audrey from Dangerously Daydreaming:

Supply and Demand

 It’s all about supply and demand.  So here’s to another day in hell.  Imagine waking up in a drugged stupor every day.  Never knowing exactly where you are.  And forget crying out for help.  The weak don’t survive here, but neither do the strong.  This is my life now.  And it started so innocently.

I needed a job, desperately.  Since the downturn of the economy I hadn’t been able to find steady work.  Then I saw it, an ad for a tour guide program.  It was everything I dreamed of and hoped for.  They were looking for young women who wanted to travel the world, work with people, make great money doing it, and would be willing to learn foreign languages.  I was in.

When I went in for the interview I knew something was wrong.  Intuition, premonition, whatever you want to call it.  The interviewer was smarmy with his oiled hair, reaking of cologne, and sitting too arrogantly in his Italian-made suit.  He told me to sit down, asked about my family, my past, nothing about my job history.  A few minutes later some thugs ran up and threw a bag over my head until I passed out.

That how I got here, but that’s not the worst part.  The awful truth is why I’m here, drugged into oblivion, locked up like an animal.

The “customers” come at night.  The pay up, use us, abuse us, and walk away.  I’m part of a multi-billion dollar industry that profits off of using my body to satisfy someone else’s carnal urges.  Supply and demand.  The people who keep me here are no worse than the people who pay to use me.

I’m a slave and I’m waiting for death to bring me freedom.

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From Isadora at insidethemindofisadora: (Click here to view and comment on Izzy’s blog)

“Ruby”

Her name was Ruby. She loathed it. The color a deep red; deep as the wounds she carried with her. She was tired of being told it was a strong color. The only thing she felt strongly about was her anger and resentment for her mother. A prostitute who wore red because the men she accompanied prized the color. Was this a joke she was playing on her? Ruby means nothing to me. It’s blood color; a sign of death. A death, I would take pleasure in.

The doorbell rings.

Flowers from my Tom arrive.

Oh no, red roses.

He’s sent dozens of them. Angrily, I grab for the attached card.

It reads –

“Ruby, my delicate red rose. Scatter these petals towards and upon your golden bed.  I want nothing more than to smell the fragrance of you lying upon them. Your white satin gown against the red roses will captivate my eyes with a glow that will leave me blind with shameless immoral want. I will devour every tiny part of your skin. There, you will tremble, as I approach to bring you to heights that only I can bring you to. Ravenous for your body, I will gently show you my heated desires. Quivering, you will beg for more. I will never let you long for more. It will be a night you will want to remember forever but, perhaps, will have no more”.

A glow covered Ruby’s body. She felt something for Tom. It was so hard for her to give into her feelings. Men were users. They had evil and salacious needs. Her Mother showed her that. All of those men had been eyeing her since she was young. They all made her feel like a piece of meat. Her Mother was their prize catch, not her. She hated them; she hated them all.

But, now, here was Tom. Yes, he was 15 years her senior. She liked the idea of his greying temples. She didn’t mind when he showed her his fatherly caring ways. They had not been intimate yet. She had wondered why. Then, she put it out of her head. After all, wasn’t that what she had wanted; a man who would respect her. But – tonight seems different. His instruction for the red roses was very specific. The notecard with the flowers was very erotic. It felt lurid and scandalous all at once. Tom – my quiet and gentle Tom – was making lustful commentaries. It felt odd; yet, flattering. Ruby felt sensual but distressed.

I have to relax.

A bath – yes – a bath.  She thought.

It will help me relax.

Ruby grabbed her glass of white wine and drew a foam-covered bubble bath for herself. As she soaked, she melted into the hot water. Her thoughts went to the evening ahead. Her body quivered as she thought of his intense longing. Ruby was starting to feel an unbridled sexual desire.

Toweling dry, she could feel her skin glow with coveting abandon. Her satin white gown against her skin felt luxurious. As she lied upon the red roses she let herself feel free.

In her dreamy smolder, she felt Tom lie upon her.

How did he get in? She thought.

His lips offered amnesia. She let herself feel him ravage her. She was free.

In the radiance of their burning longing; they lay. Ruby was floating with feelings she never thought she would have had.

Then, she felt a sharp knife in her heart. She opened her eyes and there he stood with the bloodied knife above her.

Oh, Tom.

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And from Peg at Peg-o-Leg.

There’s No Accounting For Lust

Kat wiped her sweating palms on her skirt and gripped the steering wheel, hard. She drove the car mindlessly, thoughts turned to the coming meeting.  It had been a week since she’d seen him.

Her body flooded with sensation, arousal fighting with guilt.  She should not be doing this. Her husband, Eric, was perfect by anyone’s standards.  Successful, affectionate and as handsome as she was beautiful.

She wasn’t bragging; her beauty was a physical fact, like being left-handed.  The handsome prince and the beautiful princess married and lived happily ever after.  Or at least 13 years worth of ever after.  Then, six months ago she had met him.  Her lover.

Eric thought she had yoga class on Friday afternoons.  But after she dropped her son Jason’s duffel bag at school, she would rush to meet the man who now filled most of her dreams.

Her main regret was that Jason would be hurt when they killed his father.

They were lying in one another’s arms, passion spent when he first suggested it.  “Katarina.” He began, idly stroking her back. Everyone called her Kat but him. He always used her full name, growled in a way that made her melt.

“I cannot share you with him.” Her lover continued, “We must do something.”

She had been shocked at first, but such was his hold over her that the idea had taken root and now seemed inevitable. Nobody made her feel like he did.  Eric must die so they could be together.

Kat pulled into the school parking lot.  Classes were over for the day and just a few cars remained as the staff wrapped up.

She walked briskly to Jason’s locker, duffel bag in hand.  It had been her idea to drop it off so he wouldn’t have to lug both bag and backpack on the bus on Fridays.

As she approached the front door the principal, Mr. Janowicz, came out of his office. He smiled at her approach and said “Good afternoon, Mrs. Henderson.”  His deep voice had a faint Polish accent and his slight bow was a courtly gesture from another era. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I brought Jason’s bag to him.” she explained, gesturing to the backpack in her hand. “It’s his usual Friday night sleepover at Aaron’s after basketball practice.”

“Ah.” Mr. Janowicz smiled.

A teacher walked by them on her way to the front door. “Goodnight Miss Cuthbert.” the principal said and Kat took the opportunity to study him surreptitiously.

He was a slight man, slender and only about an inch taller than she.  His sandy colored hair was already starting to recede.  He was altogether ordinary looking, unless one took the time to look past the thick glasses.  His bright blue eyes were keenly intelligent.

“May I trouble you for a moment, Mrs. Henderson?  There is a matter I wish to discuss.”  The principal gestured toward the open door to his office.  Kat smiled her acceptance and preceded him into the room.  Her glance took in the decor with its guest chairs, long couch and wide windows, now shaded against the afternoon sun.

She stood before his desk and heard the door close behind her, then the soft snick of the lock being turned.  She tensed at the sound, sensing Mr. Janowicz approaching behind her. She did not turn around.

It seemed ages but it was mere seconds. She felt more than heard his low growl on the back of her neck. “Katarina.”

A faint quiver ran along her spine and her head fell back, heavy on his shoulder.

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Whew, is it hot in here, or am I Fifty Shades of Menopausal?

If you haven’t submitted your entry – please do.  We all love reading them – and you might just win this round…

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Lust – Post 1

All right, put the kids to bed (I don’t care if they just got up – it’s my blog and I get to make the rules).  Here is the first installment of submissions for the Lust Round of the Seven Deadly Sins Contest.  Enjoy.

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First, from Dave at 1pointperspective: (Visit here to see Dave’s illustration) and leave comments:

Crystal Light and the Look of Lust

Crystal was around 14 when she first noticed men giving her what she called “the look”.  Before she reached 16, she fully understood that the look was one of sexual desire.  By 32, it was a simple fact of life.

While giving her order at the deli counter in the Shoprite, the guy in the apron and paper hat would glaze over, no longer hearing her.  He was stripping her naked and doing freaky things to her in his deli-guy mind.  Crystal would smile at him, lean over the counter a little, and end up with a pound of imported soprasetta for the price of baloney.

One man hadn’t given her the look in years.  They say marriage does that.  She didn’t know whether it was the years or the fact that Mr. Light had doubled in size since their wedding.  Everyone, including Crystal, called him Mr. Light, out of respect and fear.

She’d gone to see a private eye to help her discover if Mister was off his diet, but wasn’t in his office two minutes when the guy started giving her the look.  She re-crossed her legs and tried to ice him back to reality.  She hoped he’d returned from his porno mind-vacation as she handed him the cash.  Now the detective wouldn’t even return her calls.

Crystal changed her strategy and tried to get a young guy named Nicky from the pool to hang out with Mr. Light.  Maybe a guy who could see his own feet without mirrors would snap her husband out of the habit of stuffing his face.  She was talking with him to see if he’d pal around with Mr. Light when Nicky got the look.  She knew his brain was busy pulling off her bathing suit, touching her in  places which the sun hadn’t browned.  He wasn’t listening anymore. How many guys today?  She broke it down as simply as she could for him.

“Could you just take him out?” she finally asked.

Nicky looked stunned.  She thought she’d gotten through.  Satisfied she’d made her point, Crystal got up from the chaise lounge and walked to the snack bar to find Mister.  She could feel Nicky’s eyes on her.  She swayed her caboose a little to thank him for finally paying attention.

Mr. Light had just finished talking to that creepy pool manager with the missing thumb.  The amputee looked a little pale as he shuffled past Crystal like a zombie.  She gave silent thanks to the patron saint of pervs, as the troll didn’t try to sneak a glimpse down the front of her bathing suit like he usually did.  Mister was giving her a look, but not the look the other men did.  Not a good one.

That all was two weeks ago and nothing had changed, except her bruises fading slowly toward yellow.

She went down the driveway to pick up the newspaper, and saw a gun under the bushes.  She wondered if it was time to find a safer home as she picked it up and quickly wrapped it in the Inquirer.  She glanced around the still street before heading inside.

Mr. Light was asleep, making those choking sounds like he did.  A smile crept across Crystal’s full lips at the thought of him choking.  As she glanced down at the bruises on her arm, her eyes traveled further to the newspaper with the pistol inside.  She touched the cool metal, wondering if the police could miss her bruises.  She thought about a horny cop giving her the look and what he might do to help her get away with something.

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From K.L Richardson over at Closing Time: (Visit here to see her post) or to leave comments

Lust For Life…

“I’ve looked on many women with lust. I’ve committed adultery in my heart many times. God knows I will do this and forgives me.”~~ Jimmy Carter

It was supposed to be a once in a lifetime trip – Paris, the city of love!  Elaine would never have a chance like this again; a discounted trip courtesy of the senior class.  She and her husband Henry, were going as extra chaperones; Elaine was beyond giddy.  She always had an expressive, romantic soul- perfect foil (she thought) to Henrys more staid demeanor.  While he was not given to displays of affection Elaine thought Paris might change his mind and put a little spunk in him.  One could always hope!

Just a week before they were to leave he started acting funny.  Not thinking much of it Elaine blithely went about packing and arranging what needed to be done.  Then she got “that call” informing her that there was someone else in her husbands life and it wasn’t his golden retriever.  However, the trip was paid for-no refunds, so on they went.  Obviously a volatile situation, Elaine tried to make the best of it.

The flight over was uneventful if a bit tense.  On the surface Elaine looked calm but her mind was boiling with the years of deceit that had come to the surface at this inopportune time. Her romantic  side warred with her scorned, hurt side making her quiet and morose.  Being a school tour nearly everything was arranged in groups, check in at the hotel, trip to the Louvre, “typical” French restaurant.  All orderly and scheduled with no room for error.

“This isn’t the way to see Paris,” she thought, “I should be on the back of a motorcycle, zipping through traffic, arms around the waist of a hot hunk.”  She intended that to be her husband until plans changed.

One day they got a “free day” to explore as they wanted.  Being motorcycle enthusiasts they and another couple went to the Paris Harley Davidson. The strain must have showed on her face because as the others were browsing the clerk approached Elaine, making pleasant small talk.  She wasn’t used to the accent but she tried to keep up with the conversation.  Suddenly she thought she heard him say “Would you like me to arrange that for you?”.  ”I’m sorry, what did you say?”  ”Mademoiselle, does she like zee French boys?”  ”B-b-but you do see that I’m here with my husband?”, she finally managed to stammer out. “Zoot alors! What does that have to do with Paris and fun?!”, was his pragmatic reply.  Joining the others she returned to the hotel.  Elaine sadly reflected on the irony of the proposition presented earlier in the day.

In the middle of the night she realized that Henry was no longer in bed. Dressing quickly she hurried downstairs to find him whispering sweet nothings into a lobby phone, apologizing for not bringing “her”.  Quietly slipping back to their room Elaine started packing her bags; they were to board the plane tomorrow.

Early next morning as everyone stood groggily in line for the airport bus Henry’s eyes searched for Elaine.  ”She has to be here.”, he mused since she had already packed, leaving the room before he was awake.  Unable to find her they checked the American embassy to no avail.  Henry returned home.

That afternoon, zipping through the cobbled streets, a smiling blonde perched behind a lusty Frenchman.  Her arms encircled his waist as she surveyed her future.

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And from Lorna – from over at Lorna’s Voice (Visit here to see Lorna’s Lush Lust post) :

I Want You, I Need You, I Love You

The occasional static and crackles caused by obsessive listening was no match for Elvis’ satin voice. She played the record again, swaying her shapely hips to the music and mouthing the words as she watched herself in her full-length mirror. She knew the words as well as she knew her reflection. Both felt as hollow as a grave before the casket was lowered into it.

Hold me close, hold me tight.
Make me thrill with delight.
Let me know where I stand from the start.
I want you, I need you, I love you
With all my heart.

How many times had men fantasized about her while listening to this song?

She made a career out of making men want the seductive woman they saw when she put on her mask. And she was the best in the business. Desire is what she sold and men bought it up with reckless abandon—men who never knew her, only her act. Nameless men offered her just about anything she wanted from them in exchange for a chance at devouring her body. All she wanted was their undying love and an unbreakable promise never to leave her alone. But they weren’t able to offer her those things, even in for a chance to fondle her breasts and feel her shapely legs wrapped around their torsos.

Ev’ry time that you’re near
All my cares disappear.
Darling, you’re all that I’m living for.
I want you, I need you, I love you
More and more.

“I want you, I need you, I love you.” Elvis crooned. She felt that way about a man once. He was really just a boy and it was so long ago that it hardly counted as this lifetime. But she ached for him with something inside so strong that she knew she would love that man to death…or she would die trying.

I thought I could live without romance
Before you came to me.
But now I know that
I will go on loving you eternally.

But he didn’t give her the chance to give her life to him. He up and left while she was still young and innocent. So she made herself into a woman no other man would ever up and leave. Not and live to tell about it.

Won’t you please be my own?
Never leave me alone
‘Cause I die ev’ry time we’re apart.
I want you, I need you, I love you
With all my heart.

“Yes, Elvis. I know how that feels,” she said to her reflection, which was the most real thing about her anymore. “But no matter how much you beg and plead, they always leave you alone, don’t they? It’s best to leave before you get there, don’t you think?”

She zipped up her dress and adjusted her ample breasts to make sure the cleavage looked just risqué enough for the crowd she wanted, needed, loved to please.

The doorbell rang. She appraised her reflection from glamorous head to spike-heeled toe. Blowing herself a kiss over her shoulder, she grabbed her purse and headed toward the door.

On the dressing table were two empty champagne bottles and one glass smothered in lipstick kisses.

Elvis was silent now. The needle on the stereo was stuck, so she exited to the faint sound of kerrrr…chrrr…kerrrr…chrrr…kerrrr.

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