Blue Mascara- by Melissa Keir
I wiped the back of my hands over my stinging face, then glanced down at my now blue hands and sighed. “I’ll never wear blue mascara again. Stupid Kathy. Why did you suggest it? The whole thing was your fault.”
With a huff, I sat on the stone bench next to Kathy. The cold seeped into my dark and wet ripped jeans. Replaying the events over in my mind, my chest ached. Tonight had been my first date with Tyler. We’d met last week and had agreed to meet at Spanky’s ballroom. I pulled the hem of my shirt up and wiped at my throbbing face.
Since my mom wouldn’t let me date until I was eighteen, we’d told her I was staying at Kathy’s house. We had Kathy’s mom drop us off. Tyler was supposed to take us home. The evening had been planned to a “T”. But plans have a way of changing.
I stood and grabbed the shovel laying on the ground. Bent back over the hole, I continued to dig as blue tears tracked down my cheeks. My breath labored with each pitch of the dirt. Do cracked ribs feel this way? I wondered.
“This looks deep enough, don’t you think Kathy?” I dragged the limp body over toward the hole, dumped it in. Bending down, I brushed the hair from Kathy’s now sagging and bloodied face. “That’ll teach you. Tyler’s mine.” I screamed as the first load of dirt fell into the hole.
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New York Magic by Donna Steele
Zoe looked at herself in the mirror. Chip had done his magic again. Everyone in the back row would be able to see her emotion. The difference this time was the makeup matched her mood.
Mac was gone.
At least she had never uttered the words “I love you” even though it was true. She had that much self-preservation.
She’d spotted him outside the theater at her last gig. He’d had a date and had been very tolerate of the fan-girl the woman had become when Stu walked out. But their eyes had met and she’d seen his amused tolerance of his date. He’d been back the next night, alone, and approached her.
“I’m not a stalker, and I don’t know how to do this, but would you have a cup of coffee with me?”
She hadn’t been able to hide her grin. He was not her type. She usually went out with theater people, men who were built like dancers, and usually were. Mac was more the bouncer/biker type to look at. Those arms, that chest looked intimidating. But he had been gentle, tender with her.
And now he was gone. The favor he’d come to the big city to do over. He hadn’t seemed intimidated by New York, but admitted that being from North Carolina had not prepared him for the pace here.
New York was where she had to work if she was going to make a living in theater. Not that he’d asked her to go . . .
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Devastating Compromise by Winfield Strock
I wanted to be a model. They offered to help. Liars; they saw a naïve woman, eager to make an artistic impact. What could go wrong, I asked myself. A famous photographer and his wife invited me to their lakeside cabin amongst the mountains. Impressed with my work, he thought poor photography held me back. He vowed to free the art inside me.
At his first overture I gasped. Panicked, I froze. I had to play along. Didn’t I? It’s part of the profession he said, how photographers and models transcend mere pictures and create real art. Desperate for success I relented. When his wife caught us, I thought I’d be thrown out, saved by jealousy. But she eagerly joined in.
I didn’t pretend to enjoy it; my second mistake. He called me immature, and she labeled me a prude. Our work and their molestation continued. The peaceful, secluded home in the mountains became a prison the instant I offered the slightest hesitation.
They won’t do that again, I made sure. Hell, they won’t do anything ever again except feed the worms. Now what? My outrage erected a different cage to waste within, haunted by their abuses forever. What can I salvage from this? If not myself, maybe my testimonial can save someone from a similar twisted trick. My original dream died with those monsters but I can still make an impact. I’ll write a letter, shoot it into the aether, and pray others heed the warning my life became.
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Lovers, By Lisa Drummond
“Well, so much for this mascara. It’s nothing but crap,” Jeannie mumbled as she stared at herself in the mirror.
Over the past weeks she’d tried different ones, only to be disappointed, like today.
“At least this one makes it look like I’ve been crying uncontrollable at the loss of him,” she said to her reflection.
“I think this is the one,” a sensual voice said coming into the bathroom.
Jeannie leaned back onto Joy as her new lover cupped her ass in her hands then slipped a finger between her legs teasing the wetness of her pussy.
An uncontrolled moan of pleasure slipped from Jeannie’s lips as she opened for the coming penetration into her.
“Yes, maybe you’re right. It’s time to put our plan into action,” Jeannie replied as she felt Joy’s finger slip into her.
She knew Joy had been urging her into getting rid of Steve since he didn’t like screwing one woman while sucking out the other. This had been a disappointment to her as she loved having sex with both but Joy more.
After all, wasn’t it true a woman only knows how to make love to another woman, she thought.
“Come—”
“Give me a few more strokes and I will,” Jeannie whispered before sliding her finger into Joy.
Jeannie never saw Joy move her other hand holding a knife quickly move up and slice her throat.
Stepping back Joy turned to Steve, dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth.
I wiped the back of my hands over my stinging face, then glanced down at my now blue hands and sighed. “I’ll never wear blue mascara again. Stupid Kathy. Why did you suggest it? The whole thing was your fault.”
With a huff, I sat on the stone bench next to Kathy. The cold seeped into my dark and wet ripped jeans. Replaying the events over in my mind, my chest ached. Tonight had been my first date with Tyler. We’d met last week and had agreed to meet at Spanky’s ballroom. I pulled the hem of my shirt up and wiped at my throbbing face.
Since my mom wouldn’t let me date until I was eighteen, we’d told her I was staying at Kathy’s house. We had Kathy’s mom drop us off. Tyler was supposed to take us home. The evening had been planned to a “T”. But plans have a way of changing.
I stood and grabbed the shovel laying on the ground. Bent back over the hole, I continued to dig as blue tears tracked down my cheeks. My breath labored with each pitch of the dirt. Do cracked ribs feel this way? I wondered.
“This looks deep enough, don’t you think Kathy?” I dragged the limp body over toward the hole, dumped it in. Bending down, I brushed the hair from Kathy’s now sagging and bloodied face. “That’ll teach you. Tyler’s mine.” I screamed as the first load of dirt fell into the hole.
Follow Melissa
New York Magic by Donna Steele
Zoe looked at herself in the mirror. Chip had done his magic again. Everyone in the back row would be able to see her emotion. The difference this time was the makeup matched her mood.
Mac was gone.
At least she had never uttered the words “I love you” even though it was true. She had that much self-preservation.
She’d spotted him outside the theater at her last gig. He’d had a date and had been very tolerate of the fan-girl the woman had become when Stu walked out. But their eyes had met and she’d seen his amused tolerance of his date. He’d been back the next night, alone, and approached her.
“I’m not a stalker, and I don’t know how to do this, but would you have a cup of coffee with me?”
She hadn’t been able to hide her grin. He was not her type. She usually went out with theater people, men who were built like dancers, and usually were. Mac was more the bouncer/biker type to look at. Those arms, that chest looked intimidating. But he had been gentle, tender with her.
And now he was gone. The favor he’d come to the big city to do over. He hadn’t seemed intimidated by New York, but admitted that being from North Carolina had not prepared him for the pace here.
New York was where she had to work if she was going to make a living in theater. Not that he’d asked her to go . . .
Follow Donna
Devastating Compromise by Winfield Strock
I wanted to be a model. They offered to help. Liars; they saw a naïve woman, eager to make an artistic impact. What could go wrong, I asked myself. A famous photographer and his wife invited me to their lakeside cabin amongst the mountains. Impressed with my work, he thought poor photography held me back. He vowed to free the art inside me.
At his first overture I gasped. Panicked, I froze. I had to play along. Didn’t I? It’s part of the profession he said, how photographers and models transcend mere pictures and create real art. Desperate for success I relented. When his wife caught us, I thought I’d be thrown out, saved by jealousy. But she eagerly joined in.
I didn’t pretend to enjoy it; my second mistake. He called me immature, and she labeled me a prude. Our work and their molestation continued. The peaceful, secluded home in the mountains became a prison the instant I offered the slightest hesitation.
They won’t do that again, I made sure. Hell, they won’t do anything ever again except feed the worms. Now what? My outrage erected a different cage to waste within, haunted by their abuses forever. What can I salvage from this? If not myself, maybe my testimonial can save someone from a similar twisted trick. My original dream died with those monsters but I can still make an impact. I’ll write a letter, shoot it into the aether, and pray others heed the warning my life became.
Follow Winfield
Lovers, By Lisa Drummond
“Well, so much for this mascara. It’s nothing but crap,” Jeannie mumbled as she stared at herself in the mirror.
Over the past weeks she’d tried different ones, only to be disappointed, like today.
“At least this one makes it look like I’ve been crying uncontrollable at the loss of him,” she said to her reflection.
“I think this is the one,” a sensual voice said coming into the bathroom.
Jeannie leaned back onto Joy as her new lover cupped her ass in her hands then slipped a finger between her legs teasing the wetness of her pussy.
An uncontrolled moan of pleasure slipped from Jeannie’s lips as she opened for the coming penetration into her.
“Yes, maybe you’re right. It’s time to put our plan into action,” Jeannie replied as she felt Joy’s finger slip into her.
She knew Joy had been urging her into getting rid of Steve since he didn’t like screwing one woman while sucking out the other. This had been a disappointment to her as she loved having sex with both but Joy more.
After all, wasn’t it true a woman only knows how to make love to another woman, she thought.
“Come—”
“Give me a few more strokes and I will,” Jeannie whispered before sliding her finger into Joy.
Jeannie never saw Joy move her other hand holding a knife quickly move up and slice her throat.
Stepping back Joy turned to Steve, dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth.
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