She held the ashes in her hand, a small fragment of the life she’d thought mattered more than it did. A child cried at her feet. A man with a furrowed brow stood behind her, his shaking palms resting on her shoulders. Wind blew the scent of smoke down the valley and out to the ocean. And the manic scream of sirens grew louder as they approached. All their worldly possessions burned, the swirling flames hungrily consuming and sneering back at her. But she smiled down at the crying child. Everything that mattered was here beside her. Touching her. Breathing.   Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow…

“Now you really are my lucky seven.” Brow furrowed, stealing my tenuous after-glow, “I thought you said I was your first?” He offered a backpedaling smile that implicated him and dismissed me. “Oh come on, you knew that wasn’t true.” I had. And in that moment, I dismissed myself, too. I pushed the lie aside, slipped into the tiny trailer bathtub, and washed away the scent of 16-year-old sex: a mix of fear, hope, expectation, and disappointment. He held me as I traced the cracks in the tile with my toe and stared at the 7-shaped scar on my ankle.   This is another autobiographical tale. The full story can…

Before I opened my eyes, I already knew something was wrong. The smell was off. A black, heavy feeling, like a bowling ball on my stomach, held me to the bed. The wrong man snored quietly next to me. My ex’s best friend. It all rushed back. The beer. The too-fast drive into the woods to shake off the break-up. But, why had he offered that? A rancid taste in my mouth. He stirred. Saying nothing, we dressed, drank coffee, and left the apartment. The dead cat in the grass outside summed up just how I felt at that moment.   So this one is actually autobiographical. I really did…

(Image source: istock.com)   “You want this, don’t you?” Reaching into her cleavage, she pulled out a hint of wire. Winking, she continued, “Touch me, Mr. President. I don’t mind.” They’re trying to trap you. A warning in blue ink on a napkin next to her half-empty Manhattan. “I’m a married man.” “When has that ever stopped you?” “Just about every time.” “Just about?” “Not gonna lie, I’ve been tempted. Katherine knows all about my…missteps. I’ve nothing to hide.” Reaching across the table, he took the mic into his palm, dropped it into her drink, and kissed her. “Thanks, doll. I owe you.”   Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge…

(Image Creator: Sami Sert | Credit: Getty Images)   “Do not mistake any of this for kindness, my dear.” He hands her a glass. “I simply want to be the one who breaks you.” Night after night, she looks up at him, takes his offering, and prays for escape. Her wide eyes mist, bare skin trembling. Naked, on her knees, ankles bound with thick deck rope, she sips the wine, hoping he’ll provide enough to dull her senses. Setting the bottle down, he turns toward the open porthole, inhaling the salt air like a man with nothing to lose. She hurls the bottle before he can even exhale. Bullseye. I’ve been off the challenge for…

“I am sooooo sorry! I assumed it was a euphemism!” “No. It was not a euphemism. We’re really looking for an ‘erection engineer’. And you should have worked past the title to the description before you put your name in the running.” “I’ve already contact HR. I guess I’ll have to call them back and let them know it was my mistake, sir.” “That would probably be a good idea.” Her hand firmly gripped the base of his hard, exposed cock. She’d engineered that perfectly. But, then…she was a very, very good wife. Interview role-plays were some of his favorite.   Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow the…