I asked my readers on another site to challenge me to write. I gave them several options, this one gave me 10 words that I had to use in order in a short story. I tried to go for erotica, but they didn't all end up that way. The 10 words were: leather, wrist, ankle, tight, sting, ache, red, wet, deep, and again. It would have been easy to make those into a short piece of erotica, but I chose to push my limits and go a different route...
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Amy pulled the leather miniskirt up over her hips, rotated it around her body until it was straight, and then zipped it snugly up the side. She smoothed what little there was of the skirt over her thighs and stared critically at herself in the mirror. It showed a lot more leg than she was comfortable with; if she bent too far over, she would probably give someone a view of her panties. She almost took it back off, but remembered that this was the look she intended.
It was not her, though, and she felt ridiculous in this outfit. She held up the tiny top that Lauren had given her to go with the skirt, a little red camisole. It wouldn’t even cover her stomach and was designed to show far more cleavage than a discriminating woman would dare. She didn’t dress like this; it just wasn’t her. She was the reserved one, buttoned-down, proper. She dressed modestly, rarely showing any more skin than would be revealed by a t-shirt and jeans. Usually she wore long-sleeved shirts right to her wrist, and if she ever wore a skirt it came all the way to her ankles.
She shook her head, reminding herself that she had a very specific goal in mind, and the outfit was just the first step in what she needed to do. This was part of the plan she had set in motion. Last night she had stayed up late at Lauren’s apartment, the two of them first dreaming up, and then detailing every step of her plan. It was perfect, but now that she was trying to implement it, she was having second thoughts.
Perhaps her judgment had been compromised by the two joints she had smoked with Lauren while they plotted. She remembered the tight feeling in her chest as she tried to hold the smoke in her lungs, the coughing fit that followed her first toke. That was out of character, too.
Everything she was doing lately was uncharacteristic for her. She pulled the cami on and gazed at her reflection again. She looked like a slut. There was no way she could do this. Getting even was not this important. The sting of his words would fade; the ache in her heart would diminish. He was an ass, but she would hurt herself as much as she hurt him if she carried through with this plan.
It had all made sense last night in the red haze of anger, venting and ranting with her best friend, cheeks wet with tears. Did it still make sense the next day? Somewhere in her mind, behind the timid part of her that allowed herself to be walked on like a door mat, it did make sense, at least a little. She gazed at the ground. She had promised herself she wouldn’t back out of this. Se had promised herself she’d get even with that lying bastard.
She pulled the ribbon out of her hair and shook her head, letting her hair fall onto her shoulders in those long, loose curls. It looked good, without even doing anything to it. How often did that happen?Normally she had to fuss over it for a half hour or just throw it up in a ponytail. She usually opted for the ponytail. Maybe it was a sign that she was doing the right thing; the goddess of good hair days was smiling upon her.
Amy stepped into the bathroom and began to apply makeup, something she also rarely bothered with. She put on eyeliner, eye shadow and mascara, practically painted it on, heavier than she ever had before, making the ice blue of her eyes stand out that much more within the dark lines surrounding them. A generous application of lipstick in a color called currant, far deeper than her normal shade, and she was as ready as she’d ever be.
She dabbed a spot of perfume on each wrist and stepped into the ridiculously high heels Lauren had helped her pick out, strapping them around each ankle. Five inches was too much heel for her. She reminded herself to stop being negative. She had a plan, and was going to carry it out. She focused on her agenda, and stepped back in front of the full length mirror one more time for a final appraisal.
The woman staring back at her was someone else. That woman was a predator, not the timid grade school teacher that stood here in this room. Amazing how some makeup and a different outfit could make her look like an entirely different person. She looked into her own eyes again, and was startled by what she saw there. Hunger. Desire. Vengeance.
She was doing the right thing. She left without looking back to seek her revenge.
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Short Story / Flash Fiction
Short Story / Literary Fiction
Short Story / Non-Fiction
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