Alice - black & white

My mother spent a lot of time amusing herself. When I was younger, I had no idea what she meant. All I knew was that when she needed time to amuse herself, she’d retreat to the quiet confines of her bedroom and lock the door behind her.

Some mornings it’s there when I wake. Other days it needs a trigger. A scent. A subtle glance. An unexpected visual delight. Today, I only needed you. And today you were not available so I had to amuse myself.

A little preparation goes a long way. Like the tall glass mug on the bedside table next to me, filled to almost full with not quite boiling water. Like another item, also made of glass. One with delicate swirls of color circling the smooth rounded dome of one end and a dark circular ring on the other. One that’s turned like a fine piece of art from the lathe of an artisan and studded with small ruby beads along its length.

Final preparations. Locking the door, vibrations of my childhood ringing around me. Pulling the blackout shades. Lowering the lights. Putting the stereo on quietly in the background. Swaying to the music and beginning to imagine you here with me. Eyes closed as my hands trace the buttons on my sweater, the metal buckle of my belt. Fingers undoing each button until the sweater rests lightly on my shoulders, open in front. A quick shrug and backward arch of my back, arms outstretched behind me, sends the soft wooly material gliding off my arms, allowing me to pretend it was your hands that slid it from my body.

Hips still swaying, eyes still closed so I can picture you in my mind, my hands moving to my hips, sliding down between my still-clad thighs, just a quick tease, before loosening my belt and undoing the button, the zipper, on my favorite pair of jeans.

It’s cold in my room. My fingers are cold. My nipples are hard against the lacy cups of my bra. It’s time to change locations. Get comfortable. Get warmed up.

Climbing onto the bed on all fours, I make my final preparations. The soft tinkle of glass on glass sends a shiver through me as my favorite piece of intimate art slides into the waiting glass of hot water. I’m shivering from cold and excitement when I slip under my thick covers, hands feeling even icier than before.

Curling under the blankets in the fetal position, I press my hands together as though in prayer and tuck them between the tight seam of my thighs, searching for elusive warmth. What I find instead is the insistent throbbing between my legs. Hands still, I begin with small movements of my hips, arching my lower back, pushing my ass away from my body as my chilled fingers warm. The seam of my jeans pulls taut against hard knot of desire between my legs with the slightest, most delicious pressure.

One hand pulls away, finding the undone buckle of my belt, tracing the cold circular piece of steel. The quiet chink of metal on metal sends another shiver through me. Hips moving a little faster now, pushing my ass a little farther back, increasing the pressure of my jeans between my legs as the air under my covers heats up.

Cold air slips under the edges of my blankets when I roll onto my back. Bending my knees raises a tent under the covers. Thinking of you again now that I’m warm enough to enjoy myself. Fingers of one hand rest on my lower belly before gathering the material of my top out of my waistband. Flat palm running along the taut muscles of my belly, feeling the smooth hot skin underneath my fingertips, imagining your hand on my skin.

2073 A.D.

Ada awoke alone in her bed, a headache pounding at her temples. The headaches were getting worse and the public health clinic offered little help. She dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Avoiding the cracked, discolored mirror, she typed her water ration code into the keypad mounted next to the stall and twisted the dials.

The ancient pipes let out a creaking groan before spitting icy brackish water from the shower head. She stripped, shivering as she stepped under the water. It smelled faintly of sulfur and something unmentionable. The only benefit of the three-minute shower allotment lay in the fact that the unpleasant experience was over quickly.

Ada toweled off and climbed back into her bed, savoring the lingering warmth for as long as she dared. She was still shivering though not as much when the clock told her it was time to put on her uniform and leave for work.

Out on the street, she made her way through the throngs of people migrating to work. The clean, shiny facades of the housing units she passed hid their shabby, run-down interiors. Fresh paint, litter-free thoroughfares, and artificial landscaping couldn’t hide the choking grey fog of pollution that blanketed Alb Byon. Some people wore cheap paper face masks but most of the people she passed, including herself, simply endured the stifling, toxic air.

The residential sector gave way to nondescript industrial zones populated by immaculate, windowless towers. Ada trudged to her building and submitted to the full body scan. The interior was just as devoid of warmth and personal expression as the rest of the sector. Everyone wore the same drab uniform identifying him or her as citizens of the city. The only distinguishing marks were the shiny metal insignia pinned to their collars.

Her status as a Level 4 Nexus specialist granted her access to the ground floor of the building. The lower your status, the higher up in the tower you had to work and the more dehumanizing the surroundings. Level 4’s had the dubious luxury of lighting that mimicked sunlight and an easy escape from the building in case of attack.

Ada wound her way through the maze of stations and took her seat inside the tiny booth. The LCD walls of her station sat grey and inert, waiting for her input. She logged in, enduring another invasive scan. After clearing security, the display hummed to life. Ada fitted her interface into place on her head and braced herself for the connection. A brief electrical current zapped her neurons when the probe entered the port at the base of her skull.

“Good morning, Ada,” the electronic voice in her head said.

“Good morning,” she thought.

“Do you pledge to be an upstanding citizen of Alb Byon promoting peace and harmony among our people?”

“Yes. Alb Byon is utopia.”

“Do you believe the government is fair and just?”

“Yes. The Mindors provide for all my needs and wants. They are the one true brotherhood of humanity.”

“Stand by for the day’s updates and your assignment.”

Ada braced herself for the invasive download from the central government server. For most, it was a pleasant experience. For Ada, it was a shocking wave of alien electrical current. The databanks imbedded in all citizens of Alb Byon at birth programmed the population to accept and obey the directives downloaded into their minds by the Mindors, Ada included. All that had changed five years ago when Fareed had forced himself into her life.

# # #

2068 A.D.

Ada made her way down the deserted sidewalk, her pace brisk. Stinging rain poured from the dark sky, the acidic drops burning her eyes. She swiped dirty water from her face and pulled her hood farther out trying to protect her exposed skin.

Work had run four hours overtime but Ada didn’t mind. She was happy to do it plus it was a Friday. Her work was important. It made her part of the majestic city and guaranteed her safety and comfort. The only thing that made her uneasy was being out on the streets after evening residential hours. Unless you had special permissions granted by the central server, everyone was required to be inside their assigned housing unit between the hours between 18:00 and 06:00.

The quiet beep issuing from the GPS security towers every 100 feet confirmed to the server that Ada was on her way home and had permission to be out after hours. Halfway to her home unit, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Dread pricked between her shoulder blades. Though she was unaccustomed to any negative feelings, the feeling that someone was watching her had become a constant companion over the last four weeks. It was starting to really creep her out but she had no idea what to do about it.

Ada slowed her pace hoping to catch the sound of footsteps but it was impossible to hear anything over the pounding rain. She glanced in the mirrored surfaces of the buildings she passed trying to see behind her. Rivulets of rain distorted the images into a crazy fun house kaleidoscope. Worried that her curfew pass would expire before she arrived home, Ada began to run.

She arrived at her building out of breath and near panic. Twice she punched in the wrong code, which sent her into near hysterics. A third mistake would bring instant trouble in the form of armed sentinels. Ada forced herself to step back and take deep breaths. The last thing she needed was a security breach on her record.

Her hands balled into tight fists, Ada closed her eyes and concentrated on calming down. One breath. Two. The panic began to recede. A third breath was all she dared. Her time was almost up and she still had to gain access to her building and type her code into the keypad of her apartment to let the server know she was home.

She was about to open her eyes when strong arms cinched around her. A hand pressed against her mouth muffling her startled scream.

“Shhh. Please don’t scream again. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ada struggled against whoever held her. The arm around her chest tightened.

“Please don’t. I need you, Ada.” read more »

Note from Alice: I wrote this piece a year and a half ago on a whim for my writer’s group. The response was overwhelmingly positive and included the push to turn the short story into a full length novel. I love the premise and I love the characters so I dove in, not realizing just what I was signing myself up for. Nazi Germany has long held my fascination and I liked the idea of telling a story from a strong female lead. The research that has gone into what has become ‘Small Victory’ is mind boggling. For every minute I spend writing, there are five minutes spent on research, most of which never appears in the story. I have 50,000 words (most of them good) with another 50,000 to go. I’m reposting this piece because it was originally written in present tense and the novel is in past tense. My hope is that this scene has not lost its impact in translation from present to past. I would very much appreciate your thoughts as a reader on whether it still works. Leave comments here or email me if you’d like to chime in. Thanks so much! ~Alice

My heart raced the moment I set foot inside the room. My mission was to infiltrate the hostile place where my duty lay, to suck its secrets from between the fanatic lips of its mercenaries. And the penalty for failure was death. I was afraid; there is always fear. But I would have been a liar if I didn’t admit that I was also terribly excited.

The sweet pungent smell of burning opium and Turkish tobacco filled the dim room. The men were all wolfish grins and glittering eyes, predatory. It was what I expected and it wasn’t. I wanted the false security of a secret nightclub. Instead, I found myself in a ransacked apartment that rang with the vibrations of Judah. A place stolen from its peaceful inhabitants for the pleasure of Aryans.

And pleasure was the main course of the night. A break from the horrors these men bestowed on their fellow humans in the name of nationalism. It was altered reality, a place where sex and violence collided to produce some alien form of nirvana for those who believed that the two extremes could coexist, mesh, and cancel each other out.

I had my work cut out for me. My target, Erich Kleist, sat on the far side of the living room, a woman draped seductively across his lap. But she was no match for me. Her black curls and dark flashing eyes spoke of her Gypsy heritage.

An officer tried for my attention as I strode across the room. Ignoring him, I moved to stand before my duty.

“A drink perhaps to rinse the dirt from your throat, Herr Kleist, dirt left there by this one,” I said, the rising gorge of my betrayal to my murdered lover’s heritage shoved aside.

I watched him release the Gypsy woman’s nipple from his mouth to meet my gaze. She lay across his lap, the ribbons of her blouse stretched open to reveal the dark beauty of her naked breasts.

“And what if dirt was my preference tonight?” His hand moved like a mass of serpents beneath the Gypsy’s glittering skirts.

“Than I shall think you are a traitor to our Führer,” I answered, holding the exquisite crystal glass out to him.

The woman’s skirts lay still when he removed his hand from under them to accept the vodka I’d offered. I smelled the earthen scent of the Gypsy’s cunt on his fingers.

“Traitor? Traitor you call me? I could have you exterminated for words such as those.” His eyes were hot and cold, uncurling the worm of fear at the base of my spine.

Herr Kleist was one of the few targets I’d engaged who truly scared me. I looked away from his handsome face, finding instead the Gypsy woman’s whose hatred for me shone in her glazed obsidian eyes. They were no better than the eyes mine had sought refuge from.

“If dirt is where your passion lies than I am no one to tell you different, Herr Kleist. I am only offering a bit of salvation.” The sip of vodka from my own glass was a sip of courage, smooth and warm within my throat.

“Salvation comes in many forms and no two are the same.” He set his glass aside untouched, unwilling to trust me.

I watched him draw the Gypsy’s skirts up over her hips, revealing the black curly thatch between her thighs. Her moans of pleasure sent shivers down my spine to clash with the fear. I couldn’t take my eyes from the sight of his pale slender fingers sliding through the dark forest of her pubic hair.

“Mon Dieu… voir les anges,” the Gypsy woman cried.

“Dirty or clean, there is more than one road to salvation, Herr Kleist. Good evening to you.” My glass found my lips, the sting of the vodka echoing the fire he’d ignited between my thighs.

I left him to his Gypsy, searching for a secondary target. For though he did not take the bait so quickly, there were other men who had a measure of what I sought and I was free to engage them at will. There would be other opportunities to lure Herr Kleist and his secrets to my bed.

In Stefan, a young officer of lower rank than Herr Kleist, I found a suitable substitute. He sat apart casting occasional glances down the hallway.

“Why do you sit here alone, Stefan? Is there no one who catches your eye tonight?”

“I have no interest in dark women.”

“I’m hardly a dark woman.”

His eyes appraised me before he spoke. “No, you are certainly not a dark woman.”

He cast another glance down the hallway before turning back to me. Stefan reached out, running his fingertips along the outside of my thigh.

“Does this mean I’ve caught your eye?” The way he touched me told me his answer even before he spoke.

“You are very beautiful, Katrin.” His fingers fell away when he rose from his chair.

He rested his hands on my hips. Suspicion lay heavy behind his eyes when he looked into mine.

“Am I your second choice tonight?” he asked glancing in Herr Kleist’s direction.

“Hardly. If you are referring to Herr Kleist you are mistaken about my interest in him. I have no love for the Gypsies either and was merely telling him so.” The lie rolled off my lips almost as easy as the kiss I offered him.

Stefan’s hesitation to return my kiss made me want him all the more. My hand found the hard ridge of his cock between us, drawing a quiet groan from him. A few strokes through his uniform trousers were all it took to convince him of my sincerity. His mouth turned fevered against mine.

“Come to the bedroom with me, Katrin.”

It’s that time of the year! The Erotica Readers & Writers Association has just posted The Best of ERWA 2009! So many good, naughty reads.

And the best part? I’m pleased to say that two of my stories were chosen this year! Slick 50 was chosen for the Best Erotic Fiction section and Simon Says was chosen for the Best Kinky Erotica section!

What are you waiting for? Go give them ALL a read!

Erotic Fiction
Straight erotica

Queer Fiction
Lesbian/Gay/Bisexual

Kinky Erotica
Provocative erotica

The Softer Side
Sensual fiction

Quickies
Erotica in 1200 words

Flashers
Erotica in 200 words

Poetry
Erotic poems

Thank you, ERWA! You’re the best in quality erotica, hands down.