Well Damn-Sexy is Back

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With these little black panties out-of-the-way, he was going to bend her over and lap every little morsel of goodness from the sweet spot between her thighs. And that was just the beginning of what was going to be the most delicious little evening….

 

Stay tuned to find out how kinky our tattooed lovers will get….

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What’s Happening Lately…

Well ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to announce that Shot Gun Honey plastered Burn’t Skin n’ What Not on it’s fantastic website. I’m particularly proud of this work ash_honey_logos it seems to be leading towards a book of completely horrific yet humorous stories as told by the very same psychotic serial killer.

This particular piece of Flash Fiction has a very sick and twisted note to it, so if you are at all squeamish– just kidding. Don’t be a p-wussy and click on it anyway.

Burnt Skin n’ What Not~ By Brookelynn Berry

Stollen Moment-Flash Fiction

The night was cool as they stepped out of the building after the meeting. Sam was in front of her making his way to his car, Lynn sped up, hoping to catch him. Was it terrible that all she wanted was the feel the endorphins just being near him created? Maybe, but who cared.

Did he purposefully park in front of her? She hopped so. Caught up now, she opened her car door, not really intending to get in, and said, “Hey, it’s going to be great working together again.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good that you’re helping out.” He replied, stepping away from his car .

It worked. They began to talk. He moved closer. She stepped away from the open door. And as the conversation began to flow. They began to laugh and joke. When he realized he would be there for a while, he lit up a smoke. Did he know the effect it had on her when he smiled, when his eyes lit up when he laughed? She hoped he did. There had always been something, between them, underlining their friendship, underlining the camaraderie.

Quite unexpectedly she found herself saying, “It’s sexy, this new look you’re sporting, with the longer hair, and two days growth” She fell quiet. That hadn’t been meant to be said aloud.

There was a palpable silence between them. It worried her. The last thing she wanted was to wreck the friendship they had. He took the last drag of his cigarette, flicked it away and stepped even closer.

“You think so?” he said and advanced again.

“I do” In fact she was surprised the ladies weren’t falling at his feet.

Now there was but a foot between them, she could smell the earthiness of the cigarette. And began to study his lips wondering if they would taste as she had imagined them. The air was still. The night was silent.

“How sexy?” he asked, a wicked little grin spread across his lips.

“Very” she replied.

In the moment their lips met, there was a tentativeness to it.

He took her shoulders and led her backwards until her back was against the car. It was then his hands moved down and cupped her ass and then slowly made their way up her curves. In response her body quivered and pulsed. Urgency built within and she took more greedily, letting her own hands roam at will.

It was sublime, how his hips pressed against her, his obvious attraction, arousal and need chased away any doubt she had in her mind.

She felt his phone go off in his pocket.
He stepped away. Took his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. Reading the text he’d just received. The look on his face said it all. She needed no more explanation. They both had responsibilities, and reasons why what they’d just done should never have happened.

“You gotta go” she said, before he had a chance to apologize.

“Sorry” He said, putting his hands in his pocket. “This was…”, they kissed again, “Very nice,” another quick kiss. “until next time.” He said.

She watched him get in the car and drive away. “Until next time.” She whispered to herself.

Silence- Flash Fiction

Silence

Missy sat each of her hands cuffed to the cold wooden arms of the chair, and a wide strand of duct tape placed over her mouth. Just to make a point she twisted and turned her wrists to cause as much ruckus and noise as possible.

“Silence!” her so-called hero spoke through his gritted teeth. “If you weren’t so bloody noisy I wouldn’t have to tie you up in the first place!”

Sergeant Johnathan Burns stood eerily still and peered out the window which was covered in horrid gingham curtains. His strong frame braced for action, ears perked as he listened.

“No one is out there,” Missy mumbled through the tape.

Sgt Burns turned, scowled and hissed, “You don’t know that. It’s my job to keep you safe until the trial.”

It was enough to keep her still, but not enough to keep her anger from boiling. There was no need to cuff her to the chair and put stinking tape over her mouth. Simple manners would have been sufficient.

Burns made his way around the cottage, scanning the grounds around the cottage through the windows and checking each door lock. His gun was drawn. It concerned her.

After some time, and considerable silence, the noticeable stress left Burns broad shoulders. Eventually he holstered his gun and walked towards her.

“Sorry about that, but it’s not my fault that you couldn’t keep quiet” Burns took a key chain from the pocket of his worn out jeans and unlocked each of the handcuffs. She stood, feeling the vulnerability of the situation, which caused her temper to flare.

“I’m going to take off the tape now, it might sting a little” With a flick of his fingers, the edge of the tape came loose, and one quick pull took off the first layer of Missy’s skin.

“Owww you son of a bitch!” Missy cried out, slapping Burns right across the face leaving a red mark on his cheek.

“That’s for handcuffing me to the bloody chair, and taking off my skin with that damn tape!” She yelled. Even madder because he hadn’t even flinched.

“Listen L-i-t-t-l-e M-i-s-s-y, I don’t care if I have to tie you up everyday but Sunday. As long as I do my part in keeping you safe and ready to testify at that trial.” He stood, taunting her to try something more.

Oh he made ever bit of her blood boil. Missy curled up her fists. “We are in the middle the of mosquito infested wilderness with absolutely nothing and no one for more than two hundred miles.”

“You don’t know that” He countered, “Someone could very well leak the safe house location. So I will do what I have to do to maintain a safe environment, ?”

Missy stepped closer and growled, “I will not be handled.”

Burns stepped in as well, “Yes, you will.”

In an instant her hand went up again, but Burns was ready this time, catching her wrist mid-swing. Frozen in that pose Missy searched his eyes. He glared back, nostrils flared. Anger flashed across his vibrant blue eyes, a flicker of indecision and then a brief glimmer of heat followed by lust. Jesus, she wondered if anyone had ever told him how expressive his eyes were. He’d be an awful poker player.

They were mere inches apart.

How long had her chest been heaving? She wondered. 

Missy stepped into him, tilted her chin up. The heat from his breath warmed the air between them. His scent was a mixture of fresh soap, the outdoors, and the cleaner he’d used early as he polished his gun. It was unsettling.

Burns extinguished the space between them, leaned in and kissed her with utter abandon. Slowly he let go of her wrist, she took the opportunity to rake her hand through his soft hair. His hands began roam all over her body and she wondered whether they would even make to the bedroom.

Abruptly Burns stepped away. “We can’t do this, I’m putting you in danger,” his eyes displayed considerable worry.

Deflated and unsteady on her feet she couldn’t decide if Burns was more infuriating or intoxicating.

“I know you believe that, but no one is going to come looking for me. I am just an office administrator for an accountant, testifying in tax evasion. It’s not like I worked for the mob.” She smiled. Sure he understood. But Burns eyes spoke of a different reality.

“The mob?” she asked. She didn’t need him to answer, the look on his face said it all.

“Shit,” Missy sat down in the chair. “If I’d known that I would never have agreed to any of this. I am literally a walking and talking target,” the gravity of the situation was daunting.

“I’m going to do a perimeter walk, please go up to the loft and bring up the ladder” He placed his hand on hers, “I thought you knew. I’m sorry.”

She did what she was told, there was nothing more to do. After taking up the ladder, and laying it down on the floor of the loft Missy looked at the books on the little shelf beside the bed. Nothing appealed to her, but she took one out anyway. Leafing through the pages, she listened quietly, but heard nothing.

Sometime later, Missy awoke, she must have dosed out while she waited for Burns and half read the book. She sat up, scooted to the edge of the bed. Listening, she could tell Burns was not back from the perimeter check. How long had she been asleep? The clock on the night stand now flashed, had it been doing that before she wondered.

She placed the ladder back and went down the steps carefully. If only they’d hidden her in a five-star hotel or resort, she wouldn’t have to go outside to an outhouse to pee. Without a second thought she opened the front door of the cottage and walked the fifty yards to the outhouse, when she opened the door though, she screamed, stumbled over her feet and fell back.

There sat Burns, slumped over with a single gun shot in the middle of his forehead.

“Finally, she emerges from her hide-away.” A tall man she had never seen before stepped out from behind the small wooden structure, dressed in city finery, a leather jacket, fancy jeans and pointed loafers. In his hand is a large gun, suited with a silencer.

“I had no idea who the case was against, I’m sorry, I promise I won’t testify…” Missy stuttered.

“You’re right about that Little Missy, you won’t be testifying this time” Leather coat man raised the gun. Missy registered the funny sound a gun makes with a silencer attached, and then she saw only darkness. 

The End 

Shattered- Flash Fiction.

Shattered-Flash Fiction

Shuffling into the kitchen with her house coat and slippers still on, Bethany filled and turned on the kettle. She stood mindlessly rubbing her eyes sleepily until she felt awake enough to gather their mugs, a couple of tea bags and some milk.

Once the kettle had boiled she began her tea making ritual. Dropping the tea bag in first, she poured the boiling water over, added some milk and stirred the mixture together. Then squeezed the bag against the side of each mug leaching out all of the heavenly caffeinated liquid she could before dumping the tea bag in the compost and dropping the spoon with a clatter in the sink.

By-passing the use of the proper teapot was most certainly causing her grandmother to stir in her grave, but then, Bethany always did consider herself a rebel.

She’d been staring down at her cold tea when the clambering sounds of her husband coming down the stairs made her look up. In his hand he carried two large suitcases.

“I guess I shouldn’t I expect you for dinner?” She asked, noting that her voice still sounded groggy and tried. “I didn’t know you had a business trip, where to?” She asked, taking a sip of her cold tea.

“I’m leaving.” He replied.

“Well, of course you are.” She chuckled at her own wit.

“No, Bethany, I’m leaving you.” He corrected. “And our marriage, and this home.”

“Oh…” She was dumbfounded.

Bethany recalled the night before, their romantic dinner, the love-making. They’d been fighting and off for far too long, sure. But…this? She’d thought it had been re-conciliatory sex. Now she saw it for what it really was, consolation or goodbye sex.

She took a sip of the reached and bitter tea, still processing this new bit of information.

Her husband stared at her for a time.

“It’s Sheila, isn’t it?” She asked. This new secretary he hired always wore sexy high-heeled boots and skin-tight pencil skirts. She dressed like a tart.

“Sheila? Good God no,” he paused, “let’s not do this okay? It won’t change anything.”

“No, we’re doing this. Right now. Right here. I need to know.” Her anger struck out like a venomous snake.

She waited.

His silence tasted bitter.

“For fuck’s sake, who is it Thomas?” She stood up from the table and began spewing out names of every possible women they knew. It was horrific behaviour and utterly cliché, but she couldn’t help it.

“Stop it, just stop it,” he cried out in defence. “It’s Johnathan, Okay? It’s Johnathan”

It was Johnathan. Figures. There was no way she could compete with a man. Bethany’s legs were wobbly, she had to sit down.

“I’m so sorry. I truly am.” There was a sadness in his eyes. “I never really meant for this to happen” He stepped forward, thought better of it and turned away.

Bethany silently watched her husband open the door, suitcases in hand and leave, closing the door behind him. There wasn’t anything else to say.

She picked up his mug from the table hurled it across the room, it hit the floor and shattered into tiny pieces, just as she had shattered into pieces.

There were no tears. And no anger. Just a silent void, that Bethany knew would remain for a while. After a time, she collected a towel, broom and dust pan and swept the tiny pieces of the broken cup.

Cleaning the floor after her angry outburst, Bethany realized something she hadn’t thought about before. She was a coffee person after all.

The End

Hey there lovely people in the big wide world of the web. Can you please comment and let me know if you like this one? I am unsure of the ending. This particular story has been sitting in a dusty folder on my Mac for a while. Much appreciated! 

Luv, 

Brooke