#FlashMobWrites 1×31

Welcome to #FlashMobWrites Week Thirty-One

Come one, come all! This is an open flash fiction challenge with a musical inspiration, hosted by authors Cara Michaels (formerly of #MenageMonday, #WIPflash, and #RaceTheDate) and Ruth Long (of the wicked fun #LoveBites and #DirtyGoggles challenges).

Mob Rules

  • The challenge begins: Fridays @ Noon EDT (Eastern USA)
  • And ends: Saturday @ Midnight PST (Pacific USA)
  • Word count: 300-500 (no less, no more)
  • We love you and wish to heap praises (and random prizes) on you, so be sure to include your name (no, it doesn’t have to be your real name) and a way for us to get in touch (Twitter handles are encouraged)
  • A prompt choice is offered by each judge. Choose one (or both!) and include it in your story as given.
    • The prompt may be split between sentences, but no order change or dropping words.
    • Words may be added before or after, not in the middle.

The Inspiration

NSFW: Suffice it say, he does not say S.O.B. in the song. 😉 For your musical enjoyment only. You do not need to reference the video or song themes in any way for your story.

The Prompts

Cara Michaels: “cover myself with”

Ruth Long: “writhe and shake”

Now pick your prompt(s) and post your story in the comments below!

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31 thoughts on “#FlashMobWrites 1×31

  1. Games

    Dinner had been a lulu. Our bellies were full.

    Conversation, though, had been awkward. Luci Squires was clearly suffering from loyalty pangs. She and Gabi had been friends even before Gabi had landed permanently in Crowbar City in 1936.

    She perceived John and me as a threat to her husband. We might turn out to be. Jackson Squires was the type to play fast and loose with the law if it served his ambitious wants.

    “Jack didn’t really know, Hazel,” Luci had said at dinner. “She played a large part in helping Gabi and I grow up. She would never…just leave. I know Jack is taking the easy road. But he is my husband…”

    So far, all we had done was reconnoitre the town and countryside. Gut instinct told us something was off. Squires might well be part of it.

    To ameliorate tension, John and I both praised our eating experiences in Crowbar.

    “Best run of meals I’ve had since before the war, Gabi.” I was positively, wickedly effusive.

    “And the cake, Luci! Delicious,” John said. “But we have a poker game to get to.”

    “Of course,” said Gabi. She gave us crystal clear directions to Hap’s.

    As we were leaving the house, John tried again to calm Luci’s fears. “We know we are just passing through, Luci. And we know that Hazel meant a lot to you and certainly to Gabi. If we find anything worthwhile, we’ll make sure your husband knows.”

    As we drove to Hap’s it occurred to me that playing poker required money.

    “I have a couple of bucks,” I said.

    “Well,” said John, “between the two of us, we have…a couple of bucks. If I do play and stumble on a good hand, I won’t have enough moolah to cover myself with confidence.”

    “Then I guess we won’t be playing.”

    “Maybe something besides cards,” said John. “A different game of chance.”

    Hap Granger’s house was a fair size. In most cities, it would be a humble abode. Here, it was a minor palace.

    He graciously welcomed us in.

    “We’re in the parlour. Come in. Bourbon or beer?”

    He hugged our respective waists and ushered us along.

    “Gentleman, a couple of passenger pigeons waiting to be plucked.”

    Granger introduced his pals.

    “You’ve met Jack Squires.” Squires looked constipated.

    “Next to Jack is our fine Mayor and even finer Coroner, Hollis Shelby.” Shelby stood up, bowed like he was at a cotillion, said, “Gentleman, welcome to our fair city.”

    We nodded.

    “Finally, and we are lucky to have him tonight, hometown war hero and State Senator, Roscoe Tyrell.”

    Tyrell was, quite simply, a beautiful man. Beautiful but lifeless. His eyes gave him away. He had stared horror in the eye and not been fazed. I’d met his type at Anzio. Most soldiers just follow orders. A pathetic few writhe and shake and whimper. Tyrell’s breed: They embrace the slaughter.

    He shot us a stiff, toothy look.

    “Grab your poison,” Hap said viperously. “Let’s play some poker.”

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Desperate

    The desperation was the same. It ached in him, a wound that didn’t heal. He needed Sade more than…he needed the night to survive.

    She’d been a mass and maze of conflicting emotions the first time he’d seen her. Sinjen remembered everything. All heat and motion, driving him to frenzied want so that he’d burned to possess her, to cover her with his body, take her and spur them both toward release.

    But he’d wanted more. Even then, watching her stalk across the barren floor of his prison, he’d wanted more, wanted all. He stripped her, stripped himself then gripped her hands, jerking her arms over her head, and she arched, pressing her hips to his.

    “Inside me.” Her eyes turned unfocused, emerald shimmering with forest shadows. “I want you inside me. Now.” She shifted her legs, thighs cradling his hips. “Hard. Fast. I want to cover myself with you.”

    “Wait.” He knew what she would feel like now, the hot, silken heat of her. He knew where they would take each other.

    She freed one hand, brushed it down his side toward his cock. His control was a thin, taut thread. He captured her errant hand, drew it above her head and cuffed her wrists with one hand. If she touched him now, his hard-won control would snap.

    With her restrained, he could touch her. By all the gods, he had to touch her—the need living fire in his blood. He wanted to watch her, to feel her body writhe and shake from the assault of pleasure. He skimmed her damp skin with his free hand. A moan trembled on the tip of her tongue, tipped over, swelled to a hoarse cry as he plunged clever fingers into her.

    He watched those eyes as sharp as bottle glass go blind, reveled in the hammering of her heart, the throb of her pulse in the wrists he held. She sobbed her release, her body bowed before melting like candle wax beneath a flame.

    Again. His mouth came down on hers, frantic. Fierce. Yes, that sharp emotion in his chest was fierce. He wanted her. Again and again and again.

    Then her arms were free and banded around him, and her hips arched, her long legs circling him. He was inside her and, as she’d demanded, he took her. Hard. Fast. Relentlessly.

    Some part of her brain could still reason, could still make sense of the sensations raging through her, through him. Sade smiled, knowing that he’d gone over, gone to the place he so often sent her—that place beyond civilized, way past reason, where there was only need. His. Hers. Control was impossible here and pleasure drowned thought, deluging both mind and body with sensation.

    Her body quivered, soared toward that last cliff, and she heard it. His breath hitched as if a lancing pain tore through him. Wrapping around him she gave herself to him. “Now,” she challenged, leaping and pulling him with her.
    ****
    499 words (that went somewhere I wasn’t expecting, but are a continuation of yesterday’s #ThursdayThreads over on Siobhan’s site.)
    @SilverJames_

    Liked by 4 people

  3. 494 words
    @jujitsuelf

    Homecoming

    Although many years had passed ere I walked this way, my feet found the path through the swamp with their old swiftness.

    I barely knew what I did, wounded and bleeding as I was, the great gash in my side not even two days old. Fever pricked at my brow, I felt the madness building behind my eyes and swatted it away as a man shoos a fly from his food. There was no time for illness, I needed to see clearly. The lady would be there, I was sure of it. I needed her to be there.

    My stumbling steps brought me to solid land and I could have fallen to my knees and kissed the very earth. So long it had been since I stood upon the island of my birth, so many lonely years. I’d changed from a frightened boy into a frightened man during those years, outwardly I’d learned of soldiering and wenching and other such manly arts yet never had my heart stopped yearning for the place of my early childhood.

    The ground was fragrant, welcoming. The apple trees that lined the path to the lady’s house were blossoming and their petals brushed my face. Even the blue of the sky was softer here, not the jarring harsh blue of the real world but gentle and caressing, soothing to my aching head.

    Ah, there was my goal. Standing right where I’d left it, the lady’s house. I stumbled and fell at the door, my hand sliding down the wall and leaving a great dirty red line. Was that my blood? Fancy that.

    The door opened and a grey gown swished into view. She always wore grey, somehow it enhanced her beauty rather than dulling it, but perhaps that was my childish memories deceiving me, for do not all children think their mothers beautiful?

    I grabbed at the gown, whimpering with pain and relief.

    The fabric was twitched out of my fingers before I left stains on the pristine grey. I blinked and wondered how it was I felt my heart break all over again when it had been broken since the day I left this holy place.

    “Mother,” I whispered, peering up at the dim face above me. “Help me? I am wounded and I know not how to mend the hurt.”

    “You should know, for I taught you,” my mother replied. “I do not treat soldiers here. This place is not for warfare. Seek your aid elsewhere.”

    “Mother,” I croaked, almost in tears. “You bade me go and cover myself with glory the last time I was here. That was over ten years ago, have I not found glory enough?”

    The door closed in my face but I heard her say softly, “You found no glory, my son. You’re a lecherous coward and I want no part of you.”

    Her footsteps echoed away into the stillness of the morning. I laid my head on the doorstep and wept.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Assholian Guys

    “So what did you really want me to come out with you today?” Toby didn’t look up, but she experienced the trepidation only found in victims of the Spanish Inquisition with his question.

    She took a deep breath. “I wanted to let you know I offered the petty officer a place to stay for the weekend.”

    Toby’s gaze snapped to her face. “Are you insane, Zamora?”

    “Jury’s still out.” She grimaced and rubbed the condensation ring from her mug on the table. “I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t be surprised.”

    “You mean so I wouldn’t be surprised when your body ends up in a ditch somewhere with bullet holes in it?” He scowled.

    “Come on, Toby. He’s a U.S. Navy SEAL. An unsung hero.”

    “Doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous or a nice guy.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “Look, you weren’t there when he first came into the shop. He was a playboy, a guy looking to get laid, and he remembered you from somewhere, so figured he could hook up with you.”

    “You’re right, I didn’t see him when he came in, but I did talk to him this morning.” She smiled at the waitress who brought her pancakes and the check. “Thanks.” Zamora spread the raspberries and cream around the cakes. “He was genuinely contrite and in need of help. You remember where I was when I first started out?”

    Toby grimaced and nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

    “If it hadn’t been for the kindness of others when I needed help, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

    “Yeah, but a Navy SEAL? These guys are professional killers, and you’re inviting one into your home.” He shook his head. “You might as well put out a sign out that says ‘cover me with raw meat and let the sharks have at me.’ While that’s very Lady Gaga, it’s not conducive to a long life.”

    “Well, at least I don’t writhe and shake like Lady Gaga. And no one should be subjected to my singing.”

    He sighed. “Seriously. Why did you offer it to him?”

    “Because he needed it, and right now he has no one else.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Please, Toby. I just wanted you to know so you were aware. I have a feeling about him.”

    Toby scanned her expression, questioning her veracity without using words. Damn, I bet he’d be an asset to the interrogation teams. She resisted the urge to squirm as she dug into her meal. I know I’m right, though. Something tells me the SEAL needs my help.

    “Okay. I think you’re crazier than a shithouse rat, but okay.”

    Relief cascaded through her. “Thanks, Toby.”

    “Hey.” Toby laid a hand on her arm and waited for her to meet his gaze. “If you need anything or backup or an excuse to leave, text me. I’m a great foil for assholian guys. And trust me, SEALs can be big assholes.”

    495 #WIP500 words
    @SiobhanMuir

    Liked by 2 people

  5. “Come closer,” Grandfather says.

    He retches as I step up to his wheelchair, bathed in shadows and a thick layer of sweet smoke. He insisted I burn all the braids of grass. I obey, as all good grandsons do. His frail hand stretches out against the chains. There’s a loud clink as his fingers splay.

    I look him over. Chains and rope wrap around his bony torso, his thin arms and legs. His head leans back over the top of the chair, his long white hair spills onto the dusty floor.

    “I’m here,” I say.

    “Your grandma did this,” he says, and laughs. It’s a tired laugh, but underlying that is his wickedness that I almost admire. I know his cruel thoughts were only exacerbated by the chains. I guess it serves him right.

    “You called me,” I said, “What do you want?” I walk around him, just to make sure he cannot move.

    “It’s time,” he says dramatically, “It’s your time. I’m not gonna last, Yazh.” The way he says Yazh. It sounds almost filthy.

    “We all know that,” I say.

    He coughs again and spreads his mouth into smile. “It’s your time to keep up the tradition.”

    I keep my eyes on him. “I only came to watch you writhe and shake.”

    His body strains to be free. I can almost feel the vile anger boiling in his heart.

    “You are a terrible grandson!” he shouts. “I should have left you in that pit.”

    Instinctively I reach up and touch the only braid I have. The other side of my head is a bald scar where nothing grew anymore. Bad memories resurface. Yes, he did save me, but I owe him nothing.

    But. I had been curious for years. I still am.

    “Over there,” he says, his free finger jabbing into the air.

    I look over to his disheveled bed. In a pile atop his pillow is his treasure. His love. His everything.

    “Go on,” he says.

    I hate how he reads me. I walk over and take the fur from his bed. It’s light, warm and inviting. Without thinking, I cover myself with the coyote skin, in the same manner as I saw him do it. I had seen him perform the ritual many, many times. I pat my shoulders, my stomach, forehead, my groin and down to my knees. Then, I stop.

    “Go on,” he repeats. “Finish it.”

    I calmly walk over, the coyote face covers my face. I grip the wheelchair handles and kick off the brakes.

    “No yet,” I say as I begin to push. The chains rattle and the rope creaks as he struggles to break free. I push him toward the open door, toward the singing and the burning pyre. “I want everyone to get a good look at you first.”

    He spits at me, curses fly from his withered lips. His eyes. They are almost black. I wonder if mine will be as black as his one day.

    @jasonlefthand
    497 words

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Pingback: #FlashMobWrites Week 1×31 : S.O.B. | My Soul's Tears

  7. Bobby shook his head, “Damn fool.” Tom was at it again, pulling all nighters at the club, then working all day. “What’s he do, sleep 20 minutes a night? He’s killing himself.”

    Tom’s wife of four years left him one day. Tom went to work, and when he came home she was gone. Took the dog with her. Left him the house, three bedrooms, two baths, and a hell of a kitchen Tom never set foot in.

    The son of a bitch sat in his house, and cried his eyes out. “I loved her! I gave her everything! And now she’s gone!”

    Bobby brought him a six-pack one Saturday, “We need to cheer you up.” After the two of them drained all six cans, they decided to go to a club. “We’ll watch the women writhe and shake their hips and boobs, and enjoy the eye candy.” And they had. They’d watched, and talked about how those tiny bits of fabric managed to stay put on those knockers. And how that skirt never came up high enough to show what was underneath it.

    Bobby hauled that sick puppy Tom home that night, dumped him in that big old house, then drove home, and passed out.

    Tom told him he went back to the club Sunday night, found a girl, and she showed him what was under that tiny skirt. He raided that club two, three times a week. Son of a bitch was sleeping with three different girls on different nights. And always, they danced ‘till the club threw them out.

    “Damn fool.” Tom poured another shot of barrel aged gin, turned it up and downed it. “He don’t know what he’s doing. Killing himself, ‘cause that bitch left him.” He stared at the black TV screen. It was well past eleven, and he had to work the next day. “I should crash soon.” He huffed, “Yeah, right. I have to work.”

    Work was hell, he knew that. Every day, he turned the car off in the parking lot at work, and his head started to ache. “Place is killing me.” He stared at his reflection on the TV screen. “Owns me, don’t it?” The job. The money. The paycheck. Bobby had things he wanted to do, places he wanted to go, things he wanted to own. All of it took money. “Suck it up, buttercup. Do your job.”

    “Tom ain’t the only damn fool killing himself, is he?” Bobby poured one more shot of gin. He watched is swirl in the shot glass, studied the way the light reflected off it, enjoyed its aroma. He chugged it down, put the bottle back in the cabinet, with the shot glass upside down on top.

    As he headed toward bed, he paused, and stared at his reflection in the TV screen once more. “He’s a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land…” His voice trailed off as he wandered down the hall to his bed.

    494 Words
    @LurchMunster

    Liked by 2 people

  8. The interstate had turned into a parking lot. Humidity hung thick in the air, coating cars, ambulances, and emergency personnel. Blue, white, and red lights reflected off green metal signs suspended over the usually bustling road. Sweat dripped down my back as the fire department peeled a car open.

    Car doors fell to the ground with a pop. Fire fighters swarmed the car, giant-clawed machines working the roof off. I bounced from foot to foot, ready to spring into action. A fire fighter crouched in the back seat, hands holding the patient’s neck stable. One writhe and shake from the car or the patient and that person might never walk again.

    Finally, the roof was off. I forced myself to stay back, as fire fighters put hydraulic sticks on either side of the car and the dash lifted up. I ran a backboard over, then stood back while the fire fighters slid it under the patient. When she was free, I directed them toward the stretcher. The second she was down, my partner snapped a c-collar around her neck. Two orange foam blocks cradled the sides of her head.

    “Thanks guys,” I said. I hit the button on the stretcher that raised it to the height of the ambulance. We rolled her in and I hopped in the back. “My name’s Jacoby. You’re going to Creighton University Medical Center. Where’s your pain?”

    “Got another one,” a voice called.

    Another team of emergency responders had a backboard suspended between them. I squeezed around the stretcher and helped guide it in. I strapped the board onto the side bench.

    “Go!” I shouted as soon as the doors were shut. My partner Hollister hit the siren. “Sir, my name is Jacoby. You’re going to Creighton University Medical Center. Where’s your pain?”

    Once we’d been directed out of the scene, Hollister sped down the interstate. I started IVs on each patient, communicating to base my preferred dosage of pain medication. Corrected dosages were relayed and I carefully bolused each one. We pulled into the ambulance garage in record time. I popped the doors open and a team from the ER reached in and grabbed the stretcher.

    “We’ve got two patients,” I said.

    I unbuckled the backboard as two ER nurses stepped into the back. We handed the board out and I rattled off report. Our manager ran up to us with a new stretcher.

    “Head back! They need more ambulances. Choppers are heading back soon, too.”

    I secured the new stretcher, then hopped in front with Hollister. As we pulled out of the ambulance garage, I caught sight of one of our choppers, Creighton One, coming in to land. My husband was on as flight nurse today, so the patients were in good hands. Hollister hit the siren and blew onto the street, heading back to the interstate. With luck, no one would die today.

    @Aightball
    481 words

    Liked by 2 people

  9. “Look at those lights. Aren’t they beautiful?”

    Bridget looked over at the woman who was standing with her on the open deck of the restaurant. She would assume that the woman was talking about the stars , some of which did look like bright lights. It was a bit further out from the city so that the light pollution didn’t cause the stars to bleed out too much. “Yes, they are very pretty.” She had spent a lot of time looking up at the things that she had lost sight of when she had been blind. It was so easy to overwhelm with all there was to see and identify with.

    She leaned on the railing. She didn’t have anyone waiting for her so she was enjoying a simple glass of wine and things looking normal before heading back to the hotel.

    “Well, well. I’d like to cover myself in chocolate and have that silver fox lick it off.”

    She paused in taking a drink, looked to the woman and followed her gaze to the ‘silver fox’ in question. There was a man in a fitted suit, sitting down next to a woman. Salt and pepper hair was neatly combed back. What the other woman didn’t see was that the couple had some brilliant aura that was surrounding them. Brighter than the stars that were shining.

    “Seems like he’s got someone to offer that too.” Bridget took a sip of her drink and gave a small shrug to the woman. “Better luck next time?”

    “I’m sure I could manage to get away from her.” The woman adjusted her dress and the fake boobs barely contained within.

    “I’m not sure that’s a bright idea. It seems like they are on a date. Or maybe they are married.”

    “Married men love me.” The women purred, pursing her lips before sauntering over.

    Bridget shook her head and turned away. This was one thing she didn’t need to watch. Some women thought way too highly of themselves. She liked the stargazing much better than the people watching, especially when it came to the freakiness that came with the eyes she had.

    357 WIP words
    @solimond

    Liked by 2 people

  10. “Look if you wanna writhe and shake and piss and moan, take a seat.” I waved to the silent pews. Carved reliefs of angels watched over the sanctuary. “This is the place to have a little confab about the state of your soul. Before you decide to try and save mine.”

    “Do you even have a soul?” The Countess’ upper lip shivered, almost—but not quite—a snarl. “If you do, it must be a blackened, shriveled mockery of decency. You do not belong here.”

    Her words scored a hit, mean and low though they were.

    “I know that,” I said. “I’m only here for one reason. Powerful and congenial as you might be, Baroness, that reason isn’t you.”

    She hissed.

    “Countess. I am a Countess.”

    “I’m sure you’re very happy about that.” I leaned in, just enough to still have room to jump back if she decided to choke me or something. “But I honestly don’t give a shit.”

    I took her incoherent growling mutter as my cue to get out of there. Before she recovered her composure, I bolted closer to the mourners.

    Gods above, but I really wished her worship wasn’t so fucking right about me not belonging here. Carlisle should have come. Or, Gail. Yeah. Definitely Gail. She ran the Irides. The target didn’t get much bigger in our organization.

    And what the hell was I supposed to do if another hematophage rolled up? How did I keep these people from becoming a grief buffet?

    “The White protect us.”

    The words were habit more than expectation. But the energy of the room shivered in response. A golden glow started along the western wall. The aura coalesced into a woman, easily eight feet tall or more, clothed in chain mail. I didn’t recognize the coat of arms emblazoned on her surcoat, but I recognized her.

    Her purpose, anyway.

    “Thank you,” I whispered.

    The Guardian smiled wryly and nodded a greeting. With a sigh of near relief, I returned the gesture.

    “We’ve almost got a fighting chance now.”

    @caramichaels
    340 WIP words

    Liked by 1 person

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