Friday, May 10, 2013

Flash Friday: Flashes of Quick Fiction

The length of The Fall episodes should be evidence that I often have a hard time keeping a short story short. I like embellishing on the scrap of an idea. Seeing it develop into a thousand more words with little effort.

To challenge myself, I've decided to write a short, flash fiction story of 500 words or less. It was a struggle but it's pared down to 500 words exactly. Let me know what you think!


I was told never to travel down this road at night. Moving to a new town is hard. The streets are unfamiliar. One leads to the next like they do; beautiful homes quickly give way to boarded-up, empty dwellings, crumbled stores to empty lots. Trash marks the descent. At a certain point, an area stops caring, and the decline is obvious.

Footsteps shadow mine. A quick glance over my shoulder. The lone figure behind me crosses under the ray of a streetlamp. His red hoodie covers him. His face is invisible to me. The scuff of a shoe to my left. Before I can blink, another man slams into me shoving me into the space between two brick buildings.

I let loose a scream.

“Quiet, bitch. Shut up before you get hurt. Don't you know this neighborhood is bad news for women like you?”

Of course. And I hadn't listened. I scream again before a hand claps over my mouth. Hands paw at my coat. Buttons pop, and the men rip it from my body. Up close, their faces are only visible in quick flashes. Bared teeth, evil smiles. Their sneering faces match the violence of their hands.

My beautiful, new dress in tatters as hands grope and pinch; pull, yank and rip to expose the important bits of my body. The air chills me. It's a wonder I can feel it when their hands never leave my skin.

One red hoodie and one gray hoodie dip in and suck a nipple into savage mouths. Sucking sounds accompany my screams. Each has an arm gripped tightly with bruising fingers.

Shoved into the bricks, my breasts mash into the roughness, scraping painfully. I struggle relentlessly never letting up on my struggles or my screams. No one hears.

This location is chosen for a reason.

My panties are tugged down my thighs and left there. The dress lifts to expose my ass. The material so snug that it stays there while a finger thrusts inside my pussy, then another and another. The same hand or a combination of two hands, I am unable to discern. It hardly matters.

A hand in my hair tugs me away from the wall and bends me over a barrel.

“Spread those thighs, whore.” Stinging slaps to my ass accompanies commands. “Lift that ass, bitch.”

My screams, struggles renew. There is no submissive here to follow directions. Fingers dig into my inner thighs and spread me. Bruises will be visible there for days later.

Over my screams, the sound of a zipper. Material presses to my ass and thighs just before a jarring, slamming jab, and I am filled.

Red hoodie stands in front, shoves himself at my lips. Filling me at both ends. My body finally thrums with arousal. What I'd been waiting for. All these walks to the area I'd been forbidden to venture. Master knew I would defy him. He brushes the hood from his face and smiles down at me.

2 comments:

  1. Having a constraint like that always makes things very difficult, but also can trigger some great works.
    This one has such evocative imagery and brings you along for the ride. Well done.

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    Replies
    1. Thanks. It really was fun to challenge myself with something shorter. I'm always fascinated by flash challenges on other blogs. I want to enter, but I don't think they'd appreciate my non-consent take on a flash fiction story.

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