The one tacking me was of course Miss Cuntling – I don’t know why I even bother mentioning this explicitly. Soon I was tall on my hooves and ready for my harness with the high-collared leather yoke. For the ensemble an upgrade in form of a new crotch strap was available. Kandrin made sure I saw her fitting it. Replacing the simple belt was a length of braided leather, partly split like its predecessor. Somehow, in my capacity of deputy kit manager, my first thought was that the interwoven design would be difficult to clean. Those worries were quickly pushed aside by the prospect of multiple sharp leather edges working between my legs. Continue reading
The sudden change of the operator’s tone and hectic noises in the background, soundtracked by unintelligible voices going back and forth, told her that she’d guessed correctly.
“Yes, can you― would you please wait a sec…?”
Another period of time went by, its duration slightly embarrassing for an organisation with a four letter acronym.
Then a second man addressed Denise, and with far more composure.
“Good morning, Ms Carlisle. My name is John Wollny. Please tell me how I may help you.”
“Who are you, exactly?”
“I support the dialogue between parties in situations like this.”
“Then please support my dialogue with the Housekeeper.” Continue reading
Today is my fifth anniversary on Word Press – reason enough to take a stroll down Nostalgia Street. (Actually, the anniversary was yesterday, but one has to consider the… uhm… the leap year, right, the leap year – or just learn how to read the bloody calendar!)
It had never been my intention to create a blog as such, but I still landed at WP because of its popularity and its “low-threshold-ness”. What I had in mind was to create a base camp for my stories, from where they could travel the vastness of the Internet. Continue reading
Denise kept standing for a few moments after Gabriel’s car had turned into the main street. Finally she gave in to the undeniable truth that she had to play along in the voice-owner’s mean little scheme.
She slung the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and got into gear, stumbling occasionally on the poorly maintained back alley tarmac. The main street came closer and would lead her directly to the city centre, if Denise chose so. She did by turning right, as mandated. On smarting feet and with an empty stomach she followed the avenue, which was living up with traffic. Continue reading
Actually, this is the 101st post I’ve created on this site. The 100th was The Writer, kind of fitting. Now, 100 posts in almost five years doesn’t sound much, but the overwhelming majority of them are short stories or story chapters, a fact which puts the numbers in perspective.
And I already know how to celebrate this milestone — with post no. 102, of course!