18+ warning for sexual content

Mirror Voice Throne 

Genevieve strode through the hall on her way to the throne room. The king was having company today, and he demanded that the throne be sparkling. Genevieve swore that he was the most concieted man that she had ever met. She had come to work for him a few years ago after a falling on rough times and had since come to regret it. When the previous king had died and Tristan had taken his place his first action as the new king was to have the throne room remodelled. He had had mirrors set all along the walls, including one made of polished silver that ran the entire length of the wall opposite the throne. Mirrors adorned even the ceiling, and the floor was a highly polished marble. "Oh, well," Genevieve sighed to herself as she threw open the double doors leading to the throne room, resigned to give up the next few hours of her life.

"Why don't you come and have a sit on my throne, my queen?" inquired a theatric voice as she entered. At first Genevieve panicked, nearly dropping her bucket of soapy water, but she quickly recovered and offered a mock curtsy to Marcus, who was sitting on the throne. Marcus was her young beau and chef in training at the castle. In addition, he was always looking for mischief and the smirk on his face showed that this time would be no different. She set her bucket on the ground, leaning her broom up against the wall.

"But of course, milord," she said airily, making a jab at the breathy tones of the swooning court ladies who were forever seeking the kings affections. She moved up to the throne and cinched her skirt up to her waist and straddled Marcus playfully. He leaned forward to peck her on the lips and she pulled back. Marcus so loved it when she played hard to get. He ran his hands over her thighs, which he knew were ticklish, until she rocked with stifled giggles. "Shhhh!" he admonished. She grabbed his wrists and pulled them close to her, letting his hands brush against her breasts.

Suddenly she was upon him, kissing him deeply, licking his cheek, biting his ear. Her fingers tangling in his unkempt brown hair. Marcus stared in wonderment. The blushing maid had completely vanished, and in her place was a pale succubus, nearly literally sucking out his livelihood. "Maybe milord's crown jewels need a polish?" she whispered suggestively, nipping his earlobe as her hands toyed with the strings of his breeches. He felt his stomach jump a bit, as he always did when he found himself in Genevieve's hands. She could be a cruel mistress at times, but for now she seemed to be going easy on him. Her hands kneaded his testes expertly, by no means gently, but not too hard, either. He gulped.

"Perhaps the royal scepter could use a little, ahem, attention?" he suggested, averting his eyes slightly. How soon the tables turn with this one, he thought.

Genevieve smiled and licked her lips. "Perhaps I'll put a spit shine on it?" she laughed, revealing her teeth in a way that made Marcus nervous.

"Okay, princess but just not too ha-" too late. She had already maneuvered herself off of him and onto the floor between his legs, ripping off his breeches in one smooth motion. She was in a feisty mood today, and she had work to do, so with one quick swipe of her tongue up his shaft, she took his whole length into her mouth and started bobbing her head up and down.

Marcus moaned, biting his lip. Genevieve bit down, not hard, but enough to warn him to silence. After a time of this she grew tired of his mewlings, and besides, she wanted some pleasure for herself. She stood and let her pants drop to the floor, hitching her skirt back up to her hips. "Lay back and think of England," she she panted before taking him into her.

She sat facing away from him so she could see the action from a million different angles, each one in a mirror of various size. She rolled up her shirt, admiring the way her breasts moved in time with her body, though always with a seconds delay. Marcus was moaning more loudly now, though she didn't care to shut him up. She knew he wouldn't last long now. She reached down to find his hands and placed them on her breasts, letting him tweak her nipples in time with her downward thrusts.

"I-I'm," Marcus groaned.

Suddenly the pair could here voices from outside the chamber. Marcus froze as Genevieve pushed herself up and off of him.

"So I said, I said to them, why don't we just hang them all?" The voice of the king. The court ladies tittered. The double doors swung open as if in slow motion.

"Unh! Unh! Ahhhh!" Marcus moaned. He couldn't help himself, and he emptied his seed all over the seat of the throne. Both parties stopped and stared, shocked into silence...

I cheated and gave myself 30 minutes and it's still rushed. As I said to the person who runs this blog "A good sex scene, like good sex, takes at least an hour to achieve."

Escaping the Wealthy Peppers?... no, not really..

Escape
Wealthy

Pepper

The soiree was in full flower by the time Autumn arrived, the carriage pulling up to the columned facade of The Barrens with the clacking of iron wheels on cobblestone. A footman quietly extended the horseless carriage's built-in step and helped her to the ground; she paused to take in the estate's facade, festooned with bunting and bouquets in a rare display of cheer. Two or three other ladies and gentlemen made their way inside before she followed, not bothering to wait for the steward to announce her presence as she skirted the others in line, glancing around for her betrothed. She found her sister first, clinging to the arm of a gentleman as wealthy as he was bored, stopping to greet them both before asking if either had seen the scion of the house. Neither had, and she politely took her leave before a frown made its escape from her limited range of publicly suitable expressions. A familiar shadow suddenly caught her attention and she pursued it, even as the object of her affection stole a shaker of pepper from a servant's tray, inhaling a little and hoping the resulting sneezing fit would be enough to feign illness...

Here goes:

Monkey, Tutu, Cucumber. 

It was a dreary day at Happily Ever Laughter Laboratories, but then, it always was. The laboratory was started by a rich eccentric with too much time on his hands and an obsession with fairy tales that ran beyond unhealthy right into the realm of wicked witch. His name was Barnabus Brigsby, and it was his vision to make fairy tales a reality. The lab techs, who the Barnabus called his happy little elves, had been slowly working their way up the food chain for about a year. So far they had spliced, transplanted, injected, and, in one unfortunate case, inside-outed a small yet oh so cheery collection of animals. The first success story was the mice, who were now the lifeblood of the Happy Farm Sweat Shop where they made prom dresses. These were then sold at great profit, insuring that the lab continued about its sordid business. Second the singing birds. They were like obsessive compulsive parrots in that they mimicked any song that they heard sung. These were also sold by the laboratories and generally found homes doing lip-syncing work for teen pop idols. If you think that this sounds like a bad life, you have clearly never visited Happily Ever Laughter.
Today's unfortunate test subject was Chippy, the chimp. She was overdue for her weekly "Imaginarium (TM)" injection and was starting to get a bit fidgety. Imaginarium (TM) was created to bring out the fairy tale potential in any creature, and lab techs were interested to see what long-term effects it would draw out of the monkey, a creature not normally found in fairy tales. About thirty minutes after the injection, Chippy began to feel... odd. She was thinking, really thinking, for the first time in her short primate life. She thought about what she wanted to be when she grew up, which is something that chimps rarely think of (and when they do it generally involves a certain amount of parasite eating, something that was completely absent from Chippy's mind). She wanted to be... a fairy godmother. She wanted to have a wand and help unfortunate children. This drive was so strong that she could think of nothing else, and the next time a lab tech happened by to open her cage to check her vital signs she swung out of the cage, dashing madly for the nearest door. Her animal instincts guided her through the laboratory (accompanied everywhere she went by the shrieks of the lab techs) and to a room that one of the lab techs referred to as "Oh god she's headed for the Happy Farm!"
Once inside the sweat shop she stopped. Arrayed before her were the gaudiest of the gaudy; dresses in reds, pinks, blues, and oranges (sometimes all at once). No time, no time, she thought. The lab techs were coming for her. She grabbed a promising looking tutu in something of a rainbow-gone-horribly-wrong shade and threw it on. Must keep moving.
The next door she passed through found her in the Department of Vegetable-based Transportation, where vegetables of all shapes and sizes waited to be exposed to Imaginarium (TM) at which point they would transform into slowly rotting carriages. A fairy godmother needs a magic wand, she knew. She grabbed a cucumber off the nearest counter and fled, returning only to stuff a few bananas into her tutu. Finally she saw daylight. She had found the greenhouse. She smashed through one of the windows without a second thought and vanished into the urban jungle, intent on finding some children to take under her wing (victims, as they were later known on the news).

Another Thought

I'd forgotten to mention something when I'd created this blog.
You are not limited to writing with this exercise! If you are more of an artist, feel free to draw, paint, or sculpt. If you're a musician, composing a melody or lyrics is fine, as well.
Only rules are 1) be creative and 2) challenge yourself.

Three sets of three

Challenge accepted....;^.^
Here are my responses to the first three sets of prompts: caveat lector.

• Monkey, Tutu, Cucumber.

The first rock bounded off the window without incident. The second left a hairline crack that ran down the fractured pane with an audible cracking sound, and the third ruptured the window entirely, leaving fragments scattered across the floor. A loose segment of glass hovered for a moment before falling to the floor in its own little shower of remnants; the screaming could be heard faintly through the shattered window as the room's inhabitants fled toward the door, more objects hurtling through the broken panes behind them. Lola's tutu skirt rustles as she runs, catching itself on the door handle and tearing its already shredded texture with a long, jagged mark. The bottle of cucumber lotion falls to the floor and rolls beneath her feet; she bends to scoop it up and hurls it blindly behind her, catching the first of the monkeys crawling through the window and sending it hurtling back toward the trees. Its fellows howl even louder, collecting their fallen comrade and bearing it through the window as more projectiles follow..

• Mirror, Voice, Throne.

Above all he hated his annual dance before the empty throne; each courtier would be forced to participate, showing their mobility and grace, unable to see their judge or understand the criteria by which they would be categorized, but only aware of its final result--some dragged off to ignominy while others found their writhings elevated them to the heights of society. It was the randomness of it that bothered him the most, he mused while waiting his turn, the ungainly puffin before him executing a pirouette on one clawed foot before turning the movement into a belly spin, wings flapping in artful measure. It finally came to its feet, bowing before the vacant dais, and for a moment Alestair saw a strange reflection in the ice that lined the cavern's roof, a hint of movement in the mirror-like surface. Tilting his head, he peered closer with a squawk; the disembodied voice that echoed through the room startled him as those behind him nudged him forward into the empty, expectant space that served as a dance-floor. “Nextttt!”

• Crisis, Fleet, Iron.

She shook her head as she began the long march belowdecks from the bridge; since the elevators were apparently disabled as well, the narrow stairwells were the only passage to the lower levels of the craft. At least the slight antigravity effect on her boots was still functional, she thought as she trod down the brushed aluminum steps...-lots- of brushed aluminum steps. The message had said something about a crisis --when -wasn't- there a crisis down there?, she mused with a wry smile-- but since there were no klaxons deafening the rest of the crew as she descended, it either wasn't -that- serious, or everyone was already dead. Lt. Allison wasn't certain which option was actually worse.

All the other ships in Galactic Fleet seemed to pride themselves on at least some semblance of order, a thought gleefully eschewed by the crew of X-039...and the main reason she had chosen the craft as her newest assignment in the first place. Not that she wanted to instill some form of discipline; she had left her dominatrix persona back at the academy, along with her iron-heeled boots, in favor of the freedoms of open space and the unavoidable madness that seemed to infect those who roamed it. The smell of frosting assailed her nostrils as she reached C Deck, and she stifled a chuckle as she replaced her amused expression with the sternest one she could muster, slamming the button to open the galley door; it whined open to reveal walls liberally decorated with neatly sliced sections of bundt cake.

Incidentally, this is an awesome idea, and I greatly look forward to seeing others' takes on these words... ^.^

Sets of Three

Here's the current word list. If anyone ends up reaching the last set, I'll add more!

monkey

tutu

cucumber

mirror

voice

throne

crisis

fleet

iron

escape

wealthy

pepper

wisdom

anchor

cherry

Champaign

brass

president

roses

hobby

arch

trade

policeman

paw

padlock

verse

end

cook

software

lane

salt

stretcher

king

guitar

satellite

revenge

This is just the beginning

Back in the middle of last November, my friends were participating in NaNoWriMo. I wasn't writing anything, myself, but I wanted to help. I remembered that back in my senior year of High School I had a wonderful English teacher who had all of us participate in this creative exercise almost every day. Her exercise involved one word, given at random, that we had to spend five minutes writing about. It could be about the word itself, or a story that is inspired by that word.

I wanted to give this to my friends as something to do when they reached a mental block. Sometimes writing about something completely random will help get things turning again- as well as get some mental frustrations down on paper- before moving on to your official project. My version is a bit more complicated, however.

I use a random word generator found on the internet to create sets of three words, and offer a time limit of twenty minutes. It may seem at times that three random words would have absolutely nothing in common, but it's up to a writer to find a way to make them fit into a page's worth of words.

If you want to try this out, feel free! My list of words will follow in the next post. I'd also be delighted to have it posted here- just let me know and I'll either post it myself or add you as an author. Tags will be the word sets used.