Category Archives: Microfictions

Halloween Microfiction: Haunting Touches by Greer Thompson

“Haunting Touches”
by Greer Thompson

 

Sometimes you’ve got to get creative to solve a ghost problem.

I’ve been just trying to live with it for a few months after moving into this “fixer upper” my criminal of a real-estate agent sold me on. “Oh it has so much character,” she said. I’d barely gotten my futon set up in the one upstairs bedroom with openable windows when the haunting started. Plates flying across the room and shit. It was crazy! And, fuck it, I like my plates. Those girls from the bar that ran home? Whatever, it wasn’t personal and my vibrator can cover. But those plates were special! They had Winnie the Pooh on them! So, dammit, I was going to solve this bitch once and for all.

I checked out every half-related book from the library and raided the local Barnes and Noble’s metaphysical section, grabbing anything that wasn’t only about aliens who abduct farmers and help them express their most repressed desires. I started with the basics. A Ouija board let me talk to her the last few months. It is a her, after all, and she’s not much of a bitch at all. Sweet girl, goes by Ellie. I introduced myself, but she kept getting confused. Thinking it was 1927, maybe ’28 at the latest. She insisted she hadn’t broken anything of mine. I wasn’t sure what to do.

Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: Haunting Touches by Greer Thompson

Halloween Microfiction: Manipulation by Trisha J. Wooldridge

Editor’s Note: We here at Circlet Press want everyone to be able to enjoy our stories. In that spirit, please be advised that the following story deals with the subject of suicide in a detailed fashion. However, if you can muster the strength to read it, I do highly recommend that you do so as this story is truly unique and beautiful in its own way. Thank you.

“Manipulation”
by Trisha J. Wooldridge

 

The bathtub and suds were just for effect.
Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: Manipulation by Trisha J. Wooldridge

Halloween Microfiction: Ruined by Jean Roberta

“Ruined”
by Jean Roberta

 

“Too bad there’s no sex in those old books you teach.” My friend Woody was trying to provoke me. It was her way of flirting.

I had taught a dreaded, required composition class at the technical school where she taught Industrial Arts until I landed the job I really wanted, teaching English lit at the university. Woody knew as much about literature as I knew about carpentry, but we always found something to talk about over coffee.

“There is,” I told her.  “You just have to look for it.”  We were alone in my office.

“You got a favorite scene?” Her blue eyes sparkled.
Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: Ruined by Jean Roberta

Halloween Microfiction: A Contract Until Dawn by Sita Bethel

“A Contract Until Dawn”
by Sita Bethel

“What’s your name, daemon?”

The demon ignored his summoner, staring at the sigils on the floor, scanning the rust colored markings for errors or weak points. The room looked unremarkable, barrels of apples and squash stashed in the corners, round, fat pumpkins beside them, the typical fall harvest. So many would-be necromancers and wizards tried to summon a demon during the last night of October.

A soft chuckle brought his gold eyes back up to face the wizard who’d pulled him into the physical world. He looked delicate, fresh glass still cooling from a blower’s wand. His long, black ponytail slung over his right shoulder and the gray eyes flashed in dim, wavering light of a dozen tallow candles.

Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: A Contract Until Dawn by Sita Bethel

Halloween Microfiction: Din-Din by Sommer Marsden

“Din-Din”
by Sommer Marsden

“Take off your pants, Din-Din,” she says.

I laugh. “How did Daniel become Din-Din?”

She shrugs. “It’s cute. And doesn’t it mean dinner sometimes? Maybe it’s because I like to eat you,” Felicia purrs. She drops to her knees and works my belt since I have yet to do it.

Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: Din-Din by Sommer Marsden

Halloween Microfiction: Touring Moreau by Cat Voleur

“Touring Moreau”
by Cat Voleur

“What are you doing?”  The question came from a surprised Delilah as she was ushered into one of the Moreau Manor’s spare bedrooms by her girlfriend, Genevieve. “We’re going to lose the tour group.”

Gen locked the door behind them and turned to her partner with that wicked grin of hers. “Forget about the group.”

“This tour was your idea. You wanted to hear firsthand what they were saying about the place. Besides, what if someone notices we’re gone?”

“Delilah,” Gen’s fingers deftly worked to undo the buttons of her blouse one by one as she stepped forward, slowly closing the gap between them. Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: Touring Moreau by Cat Voleur

Halloween Microfiction: Heaven Sent by Jordan Castillo Price

“Heaven Sent”
by Jordan Castillo Price

The Midwest is full of huge gaps where things once thrived, until the Interstate landed…somewhere else. Wild Bill and I found this house between cornfields in the middle of Iowa. “Watch out for busted needles, Mikey,” Bill had warned me. “This was a squatter’s paradise. Once.”

Only one bedroom had miraculously survived the warp and rot that took the rest of the house. It was before dusk when I woke there, squeezed in a little kid’s bed. I pried myself out from between Bill and the wall and scratched my stubble. I needed a shave, which wasn’t gonna happen. No electricity, no water. I fingered sleep and old eyeliner from the corner of my eye, pulled a strand of hair out of my mouth, and blinked. Cowboy sheets. What more could we want?

Wild Bill was still fast asleep. He tells me that what you see in the movies, about vampires being dead while the sun is high, is all a load of crap. He says he’s just a very deep sleeper.

I pressed my ear to his chest and listened to the slow, deep thrum of his heart. No, not dead. Just sleeping for all he was worth. Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: Heaven Sent by Jordan Castillo Price

Halloween Microfiction: And Then No More of Thee and Me by Vinnie Tesla

And Then No More of Thee and Me
by Vinnie Tesla

The door to his bedroom was ajar, but, maddeningly, not quite wide enough for her to pass through. Pushing herself through solid objects was still hard work, though she was getting better at it. The feeling of the heavy wood composite sliding inside her was intensely, indefinably uncomfortable, as if her entire body was one complaining funny bone. At one point she was seized with panic that she would be stuck there, unable to muster the strength to pull herself off in either direction.

Eventually, though, she made it inside the room. It looked just as she remembered. The pile of dirty clothes in one corner and the massive wooden dresser were vague, familiar shapes in the dark. A streetlight by the open window illuminated his nude, sleeping body. His torso looked pale; his cock lolled, a little swollen, against one bent thigh. Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: And Then No More of Thee and Me by Vinnie Tesla

Microfiction: Alive by Andrea Trask

The way stasis is supposed to work, as we had always been led to understand it, is that we are in something akin to sleep – suspended animation, a stillness of our bodies and probably of our minds as well, preserving us across the long maddening reaches of the dark until the ship’s nearly interminable journey, finally, terminated.

Somehow, it had not quite worked out that way. We could be kept asleep, certainly, the clever machines exercising our limbs with deft electrical impulses enlivening our muscles to prevent the otherwise inevitable atrophy. But while our minds built their own playgrounds, recombining books, movies, memories into imagined new worlds, our bodies continued to age. It became, eventually, quite clear that we were not the passengers who would arrive at our long-awaited destination. Yet someone had to get there; we couldn’t fill a new world from the contents of an intergalactic sarcophagus.

The clever machines discovered the aging of our cells, and woke us. We discussed the problem, long and hard, until the eventual solution was suggested, discussed, rehashed, and eventually accepted among us all. Most of us returned to sleep, while the programmers constructed new instructions for the machines, providing them the solution they had found.

Fairness, it was agreed, could be found only in letting some choices be made for us. The programmers returned to sleep, perchance to dream.

Our playgrounds became bordellos. Under the gentle attention of the clever machines, electronic impulses enlivened our muscles anew. The most delicious of our fantasies, and those careful, calculated touches, elicited heat in our skin, hormones in our bloodstreams. In pairs and in quads, the machines drew open our pods, relinquishing us into a sort of half-sleep, sliding us into each others’ arms.

In our minds there were silk sheets and candles, cold manacles and hot, sharp lashes. There were slow caresses in the salted afternoon sunlight of the beach, in the half-lit perfumed air of a basement bedroom, leaning up against the wall of an apartment building stairwell. A thousand different kisses pressed lips to lips, lips to cheek, lips to neck, lips to shoulder, lips to nipples, lips to the inner curve of the elbow, lips to cockhead, lips to clit, lips to the valley of the knee, lips to the hip, lips to the scar, lips tiptoeing up the spine.

Half-emerged from our pods, our lips pursed against the air, kissing the future splayed out before us.

In our minds, our lover came to us; linen pants cupped his balls, a knit sweater slipped from her shoulder, his skirt blew up playfully as he walked the fence like a tightrope, her leggings showed nothing and hinted at everything, he teasingly eased his briefs down over one hip, she ran one hand across her lace bra-cupped breast and the other down between stocking-clung legs. We licked his jaw, we drew her head to our bosom, his cock ground against our own through rapidly shedding clothing.

Still glistening with the nutrient-rich waters of stasis, our hips quivered, setting up little ripples that sloshed against the pod walls.

In our minds we fucked. In our minds we made love. In our minds we submitted, we dominated, we surged and fell between the bodies of both our lovers at once, our hands were busy at the crux of our thighs watching our lover climax. We cried out, and we came, and came, and came.

We came, and the clever machines directed semen toward eggs, one and two at a time, and slid us away into our pods. Stasis did not work as we expected; it was beyond our wildest dreams.

Andrea Trask socializes widely in the intertubes under the name Bliss Morgan and, as the Duchess of her digital demesne, the borders of Blisstopia are always open. A writer in a variety of genres, editor of both fiction and academic works, and burgeoning audio narrator, you’d think that she wouldn’t also have time for knitting, weaving, and other fiber arts. Then again, maybe your mind is as open to possibilities as hers. Find some of her work on Amazon at http://amzn.to/1So5VNe – her blog with occasional updates and perfume reviews at www.callmebliss.com – and the woman herself at https://plus.google.com/+BlissMorgan from whence all other social media attachments can be deduced.

Microfiction: Excerpt from “Becoming Alice” by Jean Roberta

The Knave opened up a portable throne and placed a cushion on the seat. “I must gird my loins,” said the Queen. She removed her skirt and stood in a pair of pantalettes, with a harness around her hips. Set into the harness was a slender godemiche or dildo made of bone but covered in white silk, embroidered with the royal monogram.

“Come here, maiden Alice,” commanded the queen.

“Yes, your Majesty?” asked Alice. She was not sure what was expected of her, but her self-consciousness had formed itself into a burning in her cunny, which now felt as moist as a mouth that expects to be fed.

“Would you like to sit facing me, or back-to-front?”

Alice was now standing quite close to the Queen, whose features were more handsome than delicate, and whose whole demeanor unnerved Alice, despite her desire to be deflowered and honored for it.

“Back-to-front, if it please Your Majesty,” she answered.

“You please me greatly, my dear,” said the Queen, smiling so broadly that she looked almost amiable. She wrapped her arms around Alice’s backside and pulled her forward until Alice was standing between the Queen’s knees. The Queen then held Alice’s left breast and lifted it while bending down to bestow a long, sucking kiss on its hard little nubbin. She then switched sides to give its twin the same treatment.

“I could spend the whole day kissing you, Alice,” she said, “but we have more serious business to attend to. You must sit on my lap and lower yourself onto my love-spear until you are fully seated like a general in the saddle. It will hurt you a little the first time, but once the deed is done, you will be glad for it.”

Alice climbed onto the Queen’s lap, and found that even the royal thighs were hard under their thin covering. Nervously, Alice reached back and positioned the godemiche so that it barely penetrated her lower lips. As the Queen held her arms to steady her, Alice began a slow backward descent.

“Go, Alice!” shouted one of the men in livery.

“Be brave, Alice!” urged the Knave.

“Open yourself for me, darling!” added the Mad Hatter.

“Courage, dear!” said Dinah the cat, the throbbing rhythm of a heartbeat faintly audible in her voice.

The group of onlookers began clapping in rhythm as Alice lowered herself, inch by inch, onto the very solid object that forged a path where none had gone before. “Oh!” she said, feeling a burning tear deep inside her. Luckily, the fluid she had produced earlier helped pave the way.

“Becoming Alice” appears in The Princess and the Outlaw: Tales from the Torrid Past (Lethe) and The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 13 (Running Press).

Jean Roberta teaches English and creative writing in a Canadian university, and writes in several genres. Her fantasy erotica includes “Taste” in Best Erotic Fantasy and Science Fiction, “Smoke” in Best Fantastic Erotica, and “The Way to a Man’s Heart” in Like a Sword, all from Circlet. Her bisexual pirate saga, The Flight of the Black Swan: A Bawdy Novella (Lethe) is available in several formats, including audiobook. She blogs here: www.ohgetagrip.blogspot.com and here: www.erotica-readers.blogspot.com.  More here: www.JeanRoberta.com