Writing Prompt – We Need You Again

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It all started with a writing prompt: The phone rings. The voice on the other end says, “We need you again,” then hangs up.

I just started writing, with no clear idea of where it would go or what, exactly, I wanted to write about. I haven’t finished whatever it’s going to be, but one day later, this is what I have so far. Have a read through, and then in the comments tell me where you think it should go from here. Be imaginative! Let’s have some fun with this. 🙂


The phone app rings on my wrist. The voice on the other end says, “We need you again,” then disconnects.

Groggy with sleep, I drag myself out of bed, glancing at the face of my smartcuff that reads 09:48. Seriously? Don’t they know I’m not a morning person? I glare at the softly glowing screen of the device and slumber off to the bathroom of my tiny apartment to splash some water on my face and wake up. After taking care of the first essentials, I then stumble into the kitchenette, lights turning on as I enter.

“Alexa, coffee,” I grumble into the air, and the machine starts heating up in its wall cubby.

“Good morning, Kate. Please allow one minute for the water to reach optimal temperature.  Shall I prepare a Kovashi breakfast bar for you?”

The disembodied voice, so perfect in its intonation, obviously intended to be comforting, only serves to further darken my mood.

“Just the coffee.”

I know I should eat something, but another soulless, even if perfectly nutritious, processed protein bar is entirely unappetizing. My tastes run more toward eggs and toast, but my credit limit runs more toward Food Bar, Basic. What I wouldn’t give for some orange juice, real orange juice, not some flavored water generated out of Kovashi’s genetic engineering labs, but since the blight of ’47 that has been out of reach for all but the wealthiest citizens.

While I drink my coffee and hide the tiredness in my eyes with the lightest amount of shadow I can get away with, I ponder what it could be this time. It has been four months since my last job, and my credit is close to running out, as Alexa reminds me each time she orders restock for the kitchenette. Last time they wanted me to escort some businessman to a fancy dinner, keeping an eye out for any trouble, but the only trouble was when the client wanted more than a socially acceptable bodyguard after I’d seen him back to his hotel. I’m pretty sure the bruise I left him with is responsible for my recent lack of work.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in a form-fitting grey one-piece, hair pulled back into a ponytail and the lightest amount of shadow to hide the tiredness in my eyes, I step out onto the platform of my residential building. A misty drizzle fills the air, and heat rises from the ground level, far, far below me. Across the void rises another apartment block, orange and grey, windows for those lucky enough to afford a view unit facing over the traffic lanes. Every twenty stories a bus platform extends, and on many of them I see other citizens awaiting their rides. Between our buildings a steady stream of buses and aircabs rushes by, with the occasional privately-owned vehicle for those lucky or silly enough to own one, while in the center the billboards drift along, lighting up the building face with their flashing colors and soothing voices exhorting us to buy the latest fashions, or tempting us with impossible excursions to islands that probably don’t exist. The city is not a quiet place, but then, where is?

 

The trip from my outer neighborhood to Westlake Center takes almost an hour, as the airbus stops frequently where citizens await on their platforms. Fortunately, it’s nearly a direct shot, and once I reach the downtown core I’m able to descend a few levels below the bus route and find pedestrian walkways that bridge the gap between commercial buildings. I jostle through the crowd, office workers on their lunch breaks and shoppers eying jewelry and electronic gizmos behind thick plate-glass displays, and make my way to the bank of elevators that will whisk me away from the commercial levels.

“Present authorization,” says the not-so-comforting voice of the control panel — no Alexa here — and I wave my smartcuff in front of the flashing sensor pad. A moment later the door opens, then closes behind me, and the elevator ascends rapidly, and I feel the pressure change in my ears, swallowing reflexively to clear them.

I step out into the lobby, and the impossibly beautiful and expensively enhanced receptionist smiles brightly at me.

“Welcome back, Ms Conyers. They’re expecting you in the conference room. I believe you know the way.”

I thank her with a smile of my own — Anita annoys me, but there’s no reason to antagonize her — and walk past. When I enter the conference room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, I pause for a moment to once again gaze upon the sea of buildings leading off as far as the eye can see, far above the constant advertising bombarding the lower levels. A discreet cough reminds me that I’m not here to admire the million-dollar view.

Three suits, two men and a woman, stand at the far side of the large glass and steel table that dominates the room. One of the men I know: Hugo Dresling, my boss, or at least he is whenever I’m on a job for Dresling Personal Services. Hugo’s not a bad guy, but he’s mercenarial at heart, and I’m not completely convinced that all of the personal services rendered through his company are strictly legal. Being an ex-cop — don’t ask, it didn’t work out well — my specialty is client protection, glorified bodyguard, and because I clean up well they like to use me for discreet social situations. Really I think they pick me more to look good at the client’s side at dinners, parties, and meetings than for any actual protection I could provide. Oh well, since getting fired from the force — I told you not to ask, didn’t I? — I can’t be too picky about where my jobs come from these days.

The other two I don’t know. I presume they’re the client. The man is about my age, maybe even younger, late twenties to early thirties I’d say, and he smiles as I walk in. Dark hair, neatly styled, his suit cut to impress. The woman, on the other hand, is closer to Hugo’s age, perhaps in her mid forties, though the only reason I think so is the confidant way she holds herself, the expression on her face that says I’m in charge here. Her hair is severely pulled back into a tight bun, and her makeup is no-nonsense, perfectly applied so that one could be forgiven for not realizing she’s wearing any. I’m immediately self-conscious of my own very rapid preparation this morning, and from the woman’s expression, she can tell. From the flawless complexions and perfectly apportioned features on both of them, I’m pretty sure they’ve spared little expense on upgrades.

“Kate, welcome, come in,” says Hugo. “Allow me to introduce Fiona and Lloyd Devereaux.”

“Ms Devereaux,” I greet her. “Mr Devereaux.” Her grip as we shake is firm, and she holds my hand for a moment longer than strictly customary. I have the sense she is appraising me somehow, and of course, why not? They are presumably here to hire my services, after all. I wonder about their relationship as we all sit down.

Bored Space Girl


❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Thank you, darlings! I look forward to hearing your ideas. And, Happy Thanksgiving!

The Grind

nightclub silhouetteI know you’ve been waiting with baited breath to find out what happens next to Olivia and Ashley after their orientation, right? You’ll recall they were invited to stay for a social mixer and dance, and of course the deeply attractive Nicholas will be there. Will Nicholas notice Olivia in more than a passing manner, or will her rival Vera capture his attention? Find out, and follow them into The Grind.

Or, start at the beginning with Switch.

Safewords and Spankings

[Yet another excerpt from my work-in-progress novel, Switch. If you haven’t read the previous excerpts, you can find them at https://lacewinter.com/category/novels/switch/. In this scene, Nicholas has just delivered Olivia’s first-ever erotic spanking, and while it thoroughly aroused her (and hurt like hell), it left her confused about her feelings with regard to submission. This gives her an idea, but things never seem to work out quite the way Olivia plans.]

 

“Maybe you should have a safeword,” I said.

“Oh, really? And why is that?”

“Because just maybe I might want to tie you down instead, and spank your bottom. After all, I think you’ve been a very naughty Dom.”

Nicholas laughed. “Naughty? How have I been naughty?”

“Well, to use your own metaphor, you may steer the car and hit the accelerator, but only I have the brake pedal. Well, I’m not the one who put the brakes on just now; that was you. I was ready to press on, but you are the one who slowed things down. So, it seems to me that your foot strayed over the line onto my pedal, and therefore you were out of bounds and deserve a spanking.”

He truly looked amused. I don’t think he took me seriously. Of course, I’m not sure that I was being serious, I was just riffing on his own line, but now that we’d gone there, why not? I tapped his chest with my forefinger.

“So, big boy, what’s it going to be? Will you bend over that bench like a good boy and take the punishment you deserve, or do I need to restrain you?”

“And if I decide not to cooperate, little girl, just how are you going to bend me to your will?”

I took his hand and pulled it between my legs, placing his palm against the heat emanating again through my panties.

“You want this, don’t you?”

A fire gleamed in his eyes, and he didn’t pull his hand away.

“Well, if you harbor any hopes of getting that reward, and make no mistake, it will be a reward, then you had best be a good boy and do as you’re told.”

I couldn’t quite believe my audacity. Did I actually just do that? I sat there, holding his palm against my sex, staring him down, daring him. My heart was beating a hundred times a minute with nervousness and excitement, and I felt something hot pooling down low in my belly. I might have been blushing and sweating a little, because I was pretty sure he could feel the dampness that I just knew had to be soaking through my panties. I didn’t back down, however.

The amusement and fire in his eyes gave way to uncertainty, and then curiosity. He didn’t answer right away, he just sat there, looking me in the eye. He didn’t move his fingers, he just kept his palm still against me, and the heat between us grew nearly unbearable. If he didn’t break soon, then I would.

He broke.

He took a deep breath before speaking, opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, then finally spoke.

“You make a highly convincing argument, little sub, but I am only going along with this because it pleases me to do so, and because it pleases me to please you.”

He stood up, holding me so I didn’t dump onto the floor, then releasing me. I stared up at him with a confidence in my gaze that I didn’t yet feel in my heart.

“What’s your safeword?” I asked him.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m going to need a safeword, do you?”

“You just delivered a fine-sounding lecture about how a submissive retains the ultimate power, but only because he has a safeword. You’re the submissive now, and I’m your Domme, even if only for a few minutes. Do you really wish me to have that much absolute power over you? Because if so, I’m fine with that, but don’t come crying to me when you can’t handle what I dish out.”

His eyes danced with amusement. Of course he thought he was just humoring me.

“Very well. My safeword is obstinate, as in you’re an obstinate little sub who seems to like getting her own way.”

I smiled and followed him back over to the bench where, minutes earlier, he had me tied down and wondering what on earth had gotten into me. He kneeled and bent over the horse, looking just a little uncertain about it once he was in that position. Admittedly, being a big guy, he looked a little funny like that, but I thoroughly enjoyed the sight. I patted his ass affectionately, noticing how firm it felt through his blue jeans.

“Hmm, I think these are going to need to come off. After all, fair is only fair.”

His head whipped around, looking over his shoulder at me. “Oh no, I don’t think so. Don’t you think this is enough?”

“You have a safeword if you don’t like it. Otherwise, boy, I’m calling the shots.”

He scowled, thinking about it, then after a moment reaching to unbuckle his belt.

“Ah-ah. Keep your hands on the bench in front of you, unless you want me to tie them. I’ll take care of that.”

He pulled his hand away, leaning fully over the bench. I stood close behind him, leaning over him so I could get my arms around his hips, and took the belt buckle in my hands. As I undid it, and unbuttoned the fly of his 501s, I was hyper-aware of the closeness of his incredibly sexy ass to my hips. I think I even unconsciously pressed against him a bit. Well, maybe not all that unconsciously. I needed to get this lust under control if I wanted to do this right.

Very carefully I avoided touching him more than I needed to as I slid the jeans over his hips and down around his knees. Well, it seemed our oh-so-dominant Nicholas liked to go commando. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I took a deep breath, feeling almost a little light-headed, looking at that bared male vision before me. No flabbiness on this man, that was for sure. His glutes and quads bespoke a man who either spent much time in the gym, or a lot of time on his feet, using his legs. I bit my bottom lip and reminded myself of my task.

I stood up and knelt one knee on the bench beside Nicholas, leaning down to speak into his ear with one hand on his back.

“Are you ready, not-so-little sub?”

He hung his head, took a deep breath, then replied. “Yes, Mistress.”

Ooh, I liked the sound of that. A little thrill ran through me when he said that. Deeply satisfied, I ran my hand down his back, caressing him, until I felt his shirt end and his bare skin lay under my palm. I pulled his shirt-tail up out of the way, letting it bunch up around his waist, and following the cue from when our positions had been reversed, rubbed his right cheek in a circular motion, preparing him.

“How many spanks do you think you deserve, my sub?”

“As many as Mistress deems appropriate.”

“Good boy.”

I spanked him.

He barely flinched, but oh wow, my palm stung. I ignored the pain, rubbed his cheek, and then spanked the left one. Again, I really felt that in my hand, while he hardly seemed to notice. I didn’t even see much redness on his bottom, just the barest impression. I gave him two more swats, one to each cheek, in fairly quick succession, and then I had to stop.

My hand was on fire. Something was not right in this scenario.

I stood there a minute, shaking out my wrist, until I noticed him looking over his shoulder back at me, a gleam of laughter in his eye.

“Is something wrong, Mistress? Have we begun yet?”