Nov 152016
 

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1. What shoes would  you like  to fill today?

Today my goal was to be: mommy, girlfriend, boss, and the biggest shoes to fill were to be active. So far I’m doing okay, maybe a bit weak on the girlfriend.

 
2. What is the next big dollar purchase you are planning to make?

A house, and soon.
3. You have $100,000 to spend on friends. How would you spend it?

Paying off bills so we’re all a bit more relaxed. Or buying property for a commune, because I want everyone close.
4. You have $5,000 to spend on your significant  other. How would  you spend it?

Same as friends, help him pay off some bills. And a cruise.
5. What is your favorite waste of time ?

Blogging, which is why I can do it for so many years with regularity

Bonus: Tell us about the most mischievous thing you did as a kid.

I was always picking on my younger sisters, I think that’s what being the eldest is all about. 

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How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Mar 022015
 

Karen knew it was a sin, and yet to slip on the gorgeous vibrant color on her otherwise bland person seemed so deliciously decadent. She knew it was appropriate to stay hidden with lack of color, life, and she had the serviceable black pair of shoes in front of her, and yet the moment she slid her toes into the red pair, the warm fabric caressed the bottom of her feet, encased feet in utter comfort.

She tried hard to be the woman that was expected of her, but in this one regard, she had such a love of red shoes – had since she received her first pair when she was so young and poor that just available fabric for shoes was made by a kindly woman. Those beloved shoes that first protected her otherwise bare feet were later thrown in a fire and she remembered the salty taste of tears as she despondently watched them burn.

Karen stood up, brushing away that memory as she brushed away the tears as a young one, and patted down her skirts, watching the shoes disappear under their weight. She smiled, happy in her secret, and took a joyous step. Her feet seemed lighter, and she felt like skipping, like dancing, but that wasn’t at all appropriate, so she bowed her head and grabbed her collection basket.

As she passed by the small church and graveyard, she thought she heard a sound. She looked up and saw nothing, then chided herself because the dead have better things to do. As she entered the forest, she looked behind her again, and seeing nothing and no one, she picked up her skirts and sped up, laughing with the freedom of movement. Once she reached a clearing of soft grass, she began to dance, luxuriating in the movement of her otherwise stiff body. She hummed a tune and danced until she was breathless and then felt like stopping…only her feet kept moving.

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Little-Red-Shoes-137836266

Concerned at this strange feeling of not controlling her own feet, Karen sat down and yet her feet continued to move. She leaned forward and tried to stop them with her hands, to no avail. They kicked at her hands, stubbing a few fingers, and continued their frantic movements – for it was no easy dance at this point.

She managed to stand despite the bobbing and jumping of her feet, and moved uneasily towards town again, her feet still doing a demonic jig. She wondered who she could go to for this problem, and unfortunately had the entire day to decide, as that was how long it took her wayward feet to reach the edges of town. By that point, she was terrified, and believed she was being punished for not being obedient enough, plain enough, Christian enough, a proper woman enough.  Her feet were bleeding in her already blood-red shoes, and the times she tried to yank or peel off the shoes made her hands bruised and sore. She was hungry, sweaty, and breathless. She was ready to die if the shoes didn’t come off.

She went to the executioner’s house; he was a bit isolated and unlike due to his profession, but he had always been kind to her. She knocked on the door and heard a gruff voice tell her to go away and knocked anyway, pleading for him to kill her or at least cut off her feet. “I am cursed,” she quietly wailed into the wooden door.

He opened the door and stood looking down at her petite form, the contrast of him so obvious; he was burly, large in form and broad shoulders, with wild curly black hair that touched his shoulders – the same length of his dark, bushy beard. He stroked that beard as he stared at her, seemingly unsurprised to see a woman weaving unsteadily in front of her. “Now this proves interesting,” he said in his gruff voice.

“Please.”

“Come in,” he moved aside and the feet seemed to welcome the opportunity to dance across his threshold. She tripped across the room with its sparse furnishings and tripped right into his bed, her body sitting awkwardly on it and her feet happily bouncing upon the floor still. “My axe isn’t quivering for your head, lovely, nor do I wish to depart those beautiful feet from those beautiful legs. But I can help, for a price-“

“Name it, it is yours!” she interrupted him, and then looked down, embarrassed at her lack of manners.

“You. All of you, your body, your will, your love. Mine forever,” his gaze was steady upon her sweaty face, but he looked at her as if she was the most beautiful treasure, as if she wasn’t some cursed woman.

She had to look down again in embarrassment, his gaze unnerved her. Her feet ached, her heart ached, and she thought that if she must die, she would die more content in embrace than lonely and what was sure to be stumpy and gory limbs. She nodded her consent.

“Stop,” he commanded, and she almost laughed aloud that she couldn’t – why didn’t he see and understand her predicament? But her feet stilled immediately. She snapped her mouth shut, and watched his hands. “Let’s see what we have here,” and he gestured both arms out wide. She thought he was going to grab at the shoes, but instead the shoes raced to opposite sides of the edge of the bed, and she was suddenly spread apart, her body tilted back to hold her up on elbows to support the suddenness of the movement. “Yes, lovely,” he muttered, and kneeled down to slide calloused hands down the inside of her thighs. “We need to get you some colorful attire. I will not have my woman hidden. You are a jewel to be shown with pride.”

Karen was surprised by the words, she was surprised at how gentle his caress was, she shocked at the shoes that obeyed him and she yearned to do so as well; she shivered and became excited at his touch.

His hands went to one leg, stroked down her calf, circled her ankle, and slid off a shoe. Instantly her foot felt the cold rush of air, and she saw the battered and bloody blisters and cuts on her foot. He gripped the arch and while keeping her gaze, slowly lowered his face towards her foot. His beard’s bristles brushed across the sore skin, and oddly she felt as if it tickled but how could anything feel good as a tickle when it was bleeding so?  He opened his mouth, and she felt horror that he was going to kiss her bloody, messy foot. His mouth, his lips opened and sucked in her biggest toe, his tongue caressing up and down, around. His mouth was warm, wet, comforting, and she felt little shockwaves of pleasure headed between her legs and making her stomach squirm. She wanted her other toes in his mouth, she wanted to see him open as wide as he could, she was curious if he could get all of her digits in there and to feel his tongue slide up in between each one. And still his gaze watched her, a slight smile coming to his sensual mouth, and she felt herself blushing, wondering if she should stop him, wondering if he knew what she was thinking.

She was wanton, but she didn’t care. She didn’t notice the pain from her feet had subsided, the fear diminish; Karen only felt her desire pool and her fantasy of his tongue sliding in to taste it.

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 10:34 am
Oct 132014
 

The ball was to be their last. It was bittersweet.

The dress had so many layers to it, a perfect analogy to how Nicole felt. So much to hide covered in such pretty packaging. She was grateful for the matching burgundy mask, with its sparkling jewels accenting her sparkling tears. She felt stifled it both contraptions and she was done being stifled.

Christophe was to meet her here. She paused at the top of the grand staircase and looked into the hall, feeling flustered at such a daunting task as finding him amongst the crowd below with so much to hide. She snapped open her fan and waved it, hot and overwhelmed. She placed a gloved hand on Henry’s arm, looked up at him and smiled with veiled enthusiasm.

“Shall we?” he gestured to the stairs and slowly led her down into the depths. She tottered on too tight shoes, shoes not even revealed through the pompous fluff yet impractical nonetheless. She shook with too tight strung nerves, and yet Henry seemed oblivious to it all. He was always so composed, her companion. She took her hand back when they reached a more solid foundation, aimlessly moved about the room and made false pleasantries.

A mutual friend asked for a dance, and once again she fought not to stumble, feeling unbalanced. His lips moved, and while she couldn’t see his face, he would still have been like every other man in the room, every man but Christophe.

Out of the corner of her eye as she was being spun around, she thought she saw someone gaze at her intently. She almost missed a step, gripped her partner’s shoulder more tightly than normal. The man grinned at her. She scanned the room, as if nonchalantly, her heart beat capriciously.

And there he was, lopsided grin, ice blue eyes barely visible beneath a black veiled mask, matching dark hair softly curling at the edges of his mask. Her fingers itched.

“Excuse me, I need some air,” she mumbled and without even looking at her dance partner, disengaged and walked off of the dance floor, thoughtlessly drifting among the dancers towards a side of the room, trying to keep her roaming eyes focused on the porch behind. The crowd seemed to cease to exist, and the starry night beckoned her view from the open doors. She stepped out lightly, fresh, warm air soothed her skin and she decided to stroll through the gardens after pausing just a telling moment.

She smelled the earth, the roses and the bushes. She breathed in the sky. She daydreamed of a moment and stopped in the moonlit shadow of a tree. She heard a rustle in the darkness and felt a hand on her shoulder.

Nicole spun around, placed her arms around Christophe. It was so dark that she missed the magnificence of his eyes. Arms were placed around her and she leaned up to kiss him.

How badly she wanted his kisses, his love. Newly awakened passion surged through her and she softly whispered his name while running her hands inside of his jacket.

Arms gripped her upper arms and pushed her into the light. She wanted to see him too and looked up expectantly, only it wasn’t who she was expecting.

“Louis!” her mouth made a moue after the name, unbidden. Henry’s brother.

“And who were you expecting? Who is this Christophe?” his distaste was obvious, even through is mask. He looked nothing like Christophe, not nearly as tall, though just as wide. She cursed her daydreams into creating an illusion of a different man. She said nothing. He gripped one arm hard and shook her, her pile of curls precariously shifting on her head.  “I saw you disappear in the garden and when I approached you, you threw yourself at me!”

“No, you touched me unwarranted.” Her thoughts raced, her blood pounded. “Why did you disturb my peace? Why did you come after me?” She only had one weapon against him, and suddenly everything became apparent. She threw herself at his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him.

He clamped his lips together for just a moment, and then parted them. She felt relieved and tried not to sigh. He stepped back into the shadows of the tree.

The last ball I attended

The last ball I attended and someone I did not arrive with

“The price of your silence,” she stated as she gripped his jacket and began pulling it off. Dark, she pretended it was Christophe as his mouth slanted over hers in a possessive and demanding kiss.

Nicole wondered where Christophe was, if he had followed her as she passed him the room towards the outside, if he had seen Henry’s brother follow her and retreated, or if he was watching her even now. She prayed he wasn’t watching her even now. Men didn’t comprehend the reasons behind a woman’s actions.

And please, she implored silently, let him not see and feel the need to rescue her. That would be far more explaining than she felt capable of.

And in her current situation, Nicole felt quite capable, all of the sudden.

A Darker Flame Badge - S

 Posted by at 11:27 am
Oct 092014
 
Fire Down Below

Fetmano Alejo’s midsummer stunt Midsummer 2010

Bruce didn’t scream, even though he could feel what he was positive the melting of his shoes, the lick of the fiery tongues from the flame. He was also positive that his penis, that excited member that his lover had just wrapped lips and sucked while caressed the balls before the transfer, was going into hiding so much that no one would be able to see it if anyone was around.

Bruce must’ve been dropped in the wrong place. His lover was so confident of the scene. “Haven’t you seen the old movies of the heathen savages?” he asked of Bruce when the idea was first broached. “I love those movies. They circle a big bonfire naked and screaming.”

Bruce wasn’t screaming at the moment. He also wasn’t circling. He’d worn sneakers – didn’t want to hurt his sensitive feet, prepared himself to be hard and proud and strong, drop to the ground in a perfect crouch, and begin the chant and scuffle around the flames. His lover felt this would be the perfect scene to reflect the movies he loved so much.

Bruce loved him and agreed to the scene.

His feet hit the exact center of the fire, the glowing yellow, orange, and red coals instantly up his legs. He thought he saw his lover, couldn’t even call out for the pain and the blankness overtaking him.

He thought he heard, “sacrifice to the gods,” over the unknown howling, not realizing the noise was coming from his own parched body.

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

Key Words: Shoes

Flash Fiction Friday

Banned Words: Socks

Word Limit: 238 words

Bonus Words: Get +10 words for each adjective used that means “hot” but isn’t “hot”

 Posted by at 7:18 am
Jul 212014
 

Once upon a time, a bratty, accident prone rope Bunny met a Rigger who could tie her up in knots. The Bunny and the Rigger spent many blissful hours entwined together, although only one of them was actually bound. One day, the rope Bunny found herself in the tragic position of having a shoulder injury from a car accident. This injury saddened and frustrated Bunny because how then was her magical Rigger supposed to tie her? she could barely do her own bra hooks. Prolonged bondage would now be impossible with the Bunny’s shoulder behind her back.

 

“Fear not my gimp Bunny!” Rigger consoled, “for there is many way in which we can still have our fun.” The Rigger’s eyes lit up with that special light of creativity and a hint of devious delight that so turned Bunny (the Gimp) on. The Rigger caressed the rope held between his fingers as he gazed at her in a faraway manner. The light of inspiration changed his face and the Gimp became hopeful. Having stood naked while he was in contemplation, Gimp was growing impatient. She brushed her thighs with her fingertips as Rigger slid the first strand of rope around her neck.

 

The Gimp found herself wrapped much like a mummy, with her wrists tied to the opposite arm. It was ingenious, and quite a comfortable way around the problem. Gimp became the Bunny again as ties such as these allowed her to still enjoy feeling the rope tight against skin, another layer of pleasure as the Rigger brought every nerve in her body to life with his playful hands, his ardent mouth, his wonderful sex.

 

Some months later, while poor Gimp was still in physical therapy for her tragic injury, an evil pair of stilettos brought her lower still. Crashing to the ground on a foot with an old injury, Gimp once again found herself in the ER, then she found herself on crutches and in yet more bandages.

 

“I swear you’re doing this on purpose, to test me little Gimp” the slight twitch of his mouth showed that Rigger was teasing as Gimp lit up in a blush. Suddenly they not only had her right shoulder to contend with, they now too had her left foot. The Rigger tsked as the Gimp shifted her stance in guilt and nervousness. The ankle was out – the Rigger couldn’t go near it. The arms couldn’t go behind the back… but there was an additional problem….

 

You see Gimp was also a brat, a clever, flexible brat who had advanced training in bondage escape due to having two older sisters. The Rigger was not so naive to assume that the Gimp Bunny wouldn’t escape her bonds during her convalescence. After all, it was a bit of cat and mouse between them, trying to outsmart the other.

 

Using Gimp’s injuries against her while still ensuring safe play, Rigger tied Gimp’s wrists to her calves, steering clear of her ankles by having the ropes above the danger zone. Securing the calves to thighs, and the neck to the whole ensemble, left the gimp looking somewhat as a trussed up rolly polly. A gleeful smile played upon the victorious mouth of the Rigger as the Gimp require assistance to even roll over. The smile was suddenly mirrored on Gimp’s face as Rigger slid inside of her waiting warmth. Her body ready for the pleasure and the pain THEY chose to create, not that which was created by the Gimp’s injuries.

The Gimp Bunny, rolled onto the side with the uninjured shoulder, couldn’t help but to moan in release as Rigger brought wave after wave of pleasure as he drove into her with increasing adore, knowing that he could now use her as he would; she was completely at his mercy and in his control.

 

*The prompt for this week, which was not participated in, was the Last Tree Standing. See others unique take on this…

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 9:09 am
Jun 272014
 

Key Words:  Parting, Station 

Word Limit:  200 
Forbidden Words:   Discreet, Forbidden, Tryst
Extra Credit:  Name the train and the destination

Parting was painful at the station. Very painful.

Then again, she expected no different. After hours in the train mingling and socializing, she felt the pinch from her heels and just wanted to take them off. But he had a thing for heels. Couldn’t take his eyes off them as she sashayed her way through the quiet aisle.

She sat down across from him, made sure to flash just a little as she crossed her legs. He was pretending to read the newspaper; she wasn’t amused. She kicked his foot. He looked up disdainfully, she couldn’t help but smile, and then set down his paper unhurriedly.

“Can I help you?” he questioned.

She leaned forward a little, pushedthe advantage by showing cleavage, and looked directly at him. “Yes. I obtain the fifteen phone numbers, took me forever. Not to mention all the men who leered – a few women too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, everyone is just anxious to be with you; however,” his voice dipped a little lower as he also leaned forward, “I am only one who gets to fuck you.”

She felt her cunt clench, the clips he placed on her lips, at boarding before walking away with an order, tugged painfully amidst her moisture and need.

 

**Feeling slightly rebellious and bratty, I added the two key words in the first sentence and got it over with. I perhaps need to be punished with all the feeling of satisfaction of easy that was. And I went ten words over.

Want to participate? Follow the link. 

 Posted by at 7:44 am