Eight Double Drabbles Plus 1

A "drabble", I'm told, is a story of precisely a hundred words. I went on a binge one fall and ripped through eight 200-word stories, then managed to fit a vignette into just a hundred words.

All stories (c) 2020 Rajah Dodger

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Phyllis laughed, a hearty and throaty sound that brightened the small apartment. "Come see this, Herman!" Her husband left the TV detective to solve a murder alone, and came over to look past her shoulder. The computer screen showed a nondescript collection of email subjects and sidebar advertisements.

"What am I looking at?" He nibbled at her earlobe, and she slapped his face -- but not seriously. Instead she clicked on an email.

"It's this one that says "Make it bigger and longer, Phyllis!" Indeed, now the computer screen was occupied by a graphic and dubiously colored phallus, pulsing and vibrating in 3-D in ways that shouldn't have been possible. "I know it's got my name on it, but I really think it's more for you."

Herman's grunt was noncommittal as he rocked his crotch against his wife's back. "There ought to be an unsubscribe button for these." He pointed at the screen, but Phyllis took his hand and put it onto her breast. She squeezed, and he felt that sensation deep inside his cock while his hips flexed.

Her voice flowed like honey. "There's only one button you're going to push, dear. Until later when you read my mail again."

/ END /

Dead Kevin Society

MUHHH-RIEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Cheryl's voice ripped through the house, and Marie quickly locked the front door and ran toward the kitchen. "What is it, Cheryl? You sounded like - EWWWWWW!"

Kevin, Cheryl's brother and their deadbeat housemate, was lying on their kitchen table, mother-naked and chalky white, thick grey globs splattered over his stomach and chest. His hand was still -- ewww. And Cheryl was leaning against the table, knuckles white, blouse open, staring at Kevin and panting.

"Cheryl? What's going on?" The scent in the kitchen was harsh, fruity, peculiar. It seemed to seep into Marie's pores. Was it coming from Kevin's cock? Fuck, she was staring at her BFF's brother's cock and her panties were wet. "Cheryl, do something about your brother! He's breathing, so he's your problem."

Cheryl turned toward Marie, full-nippled breasts swinging. "Oh, but Marie, I couldn't possibly. That would be too weird." Hands deftly removed Marie's clothing and helped her up onto the kitchen table. Fingers played until Marie was writhing, panting and dripping. Cheryl purred at her ear, "But *you* can help. I know you want to help, don't you."

It wasn't a question. Marie cried as she urgently mounted Kevin and started bouncing on him.

/ END /

Getting a New Pet

Sheldon waited at the front door, looking nervously up and down the street. When the door opened, the brunette inside looked him over thoroughly before asking, "Remove your shoes and socks, please. There's a shoe rack inside."

Inside, he found the decorative shoe rack and wriggled his toes in the plush carpet. It tickled. His hostess continued, "Have a seat and relax, Sheldon, I'll have the puppies in shortly. Would you like a drink? You seem a little tight." She didn't wait for a response, but handed him a glass.

He didn't recognize the taste, but it was definitely alcoholic and relaxing. "It's my first time looking for a pet -- are they difficult to train?" His words fell off when two busty naked women, a blonde and a redhead, bounded into the room on all fours, bouncing excitedly. Sheldon's slacks were suddenly too tight, and the blonde climbed into his lap.

"Awww, Sunshine likes you. Do you have something she can play with?" His head was spinning, his cock quickly extracted and milked by a talented throat. The voice at his ear was amused. "Who's a good boy? Whoooo's a good boy?" She tickled under Sheldon's chin as he came.

/ END /

Across the Street

A glass ashtray shattered the living room window before decapitating a lawn gnome in the front yard. The front door opened and out came an elegant gentleman, his face marred by two roughly parallel lines dripping red. "The bitch is impossible!" he spat, remote-clicking his Lexus to start its engine before driving off.

Something, thought Bess, is definitely wrong. She had never met the woman in that house, but over the road and through the open door she went. "Hello there? I'm your neighbor across the street -- do you need help?" There were noises coming from the living room, so she headed that direction.

Inside was a naked woman half the size of the leather couch, roughly pumping fingers into herself. The scent of raw sex was so thick Bess could taste it, could feel it dripping sticky inside her own clothes.

"GOTTA CUMMM! THE BASTARD LEFT ME HIGH AND DRY!" The need in the woman's voice was tangible; Bess was no lesbian but something pulled her to kneel where the scent was strongest, wrapping around her. She needed to lick, needed to taste the woman cumming. Her neighbor opened glistening thighs wide to welcome Bess into her new home.

/ END /

Showtime!

"Who's a Good Girl," Corinne called out, and the older woman froze in place, nipples engorging, a smear of goo slowly crawling down between her thighs.

Corinne's friend Lucy set her glass down. "That's a fun trigger. You only use verbal phrases on her?"

Corinne had invited Lucy to view her first real "acquisition" -- Corinne's supervisor from work. "Yes, there wasn't any reason to do anything complicated. I'll have to go freshen up; lift your skirt and she'll demonstrate. Service time, Pet!" The older woman unfroze and crawled toward Lucy's panties.

When Corinne returned, she saw her manager was tied into a chair, blindfolded and earmuffed. "Lucy, what-" A strong hand forced a wet cloth over her mouth and nose, and the room spun into darkness. When her eyes opened, she was naked and tied into another chair, thighs open and shaking as her pet's tongue found her best spots. Corinne called out "Quiet Time!" but her boss kept licking.

Lucy murmured into Corinne's ear. "She can't hear you, dear. She must have an excellent tongue -- I do believe you're about to come." Corinne bucked and panted as the first orgasm hit. "I prefer physical sensations to train My pets."

/ END /

High-Stake Showdown

Tripp closed the manila folder. The "investment broker" was a Fed, and that meant they'd connected Tripp with the missing women. Damn. Still, even a Fed could be handled with the right setup.

"Frank Castle" showed promptly at eight and quickly dropped the pretense of business, showing pictures of two of Tripp's acquisitions. "Get these back, and you'll get a say in where we put you. Hey, would you turn down that music?" The Fed didn't like "Relax". Too bad.

Tripp in turn offered his entire server and data in exchange for protection from his partners. He even let the Fed come watch as he put his three passwords into the swirling blurred screen saver.

Between the vivid on-screen porn and the hypno tracks turned up to eleven, the guy never had a chance. Confident Fed to bottom cocksucker in one easy lesson. Damn, Tripp thought, this guy had natural talent. Tripp came into his mouth, then again...

Tripp awoke naked, tied, and drooling for cock. The Fed, carrying Tripp's computer, laughed. "Next time you try to turn someone gay, make sure they aren't already that way. Hey, if you're good enough, maybe your partners will keep you around. Bye!"

/ END /

A Really Big Show

"POGO? Where IS that boy?"

Marjorie frowned at her husband. "You know Bradley hates that nickname, dear. He's probably with his college friends over at the Coolidge place, watching those old TV shows they collect."

Chris Robbins grabbed his jacket. "Let him quit bouncing from one thing to another, then. We'll have a serious conversation tonight after dinner." He drove quickly to the house where Stacy Coolidge, Brad's girlfriend, lived. Sure enough, twenty-odd college seniors were raptly watching a musical group perform while iridescent bubbles floated around the screen. What was the attraction, anyway? Chris sat down, frowning, trying to focus through the jittering bubbles, while one by one the young men and women took their leave quietly and politely.

He barely noticed when Stacy's mother sat down next to him, having almost deciphered the half-visible words painted by the moving bubbles. "I'll help you," she whispered into Chris's ear, while removing his belt.

"It says," and Chris's voice came in unison with hers, "Respect Your Peers, but Obey Your Elders." Chris turned his head and gazed into the eyes of the older woman as she lifted her skirt. He lowered his face and extended his tongue.

"Oh, Wonderful, Wonderful."

/ END /

Obbligato

A mournful cello line played from behind the closed door; he always forgot to try and identify it by the time he got home after his session. He forgot a lot, nowadays...

Helen watched the man's face lose definition as he slumped. "What did you do this week," she asked.

Of course he didn't recall, couldn't recall, wouldn't recall. That was characteristic of his fugue state. But as the music repeated itself, his hands removed his clothing until he stretched out nude.

Her colleague had described Winthrop as a "hard case", but that gentleman certainly had not watched her patient stroke his cock into glorious erection. Helen put down her clipboard, and began to remove her own clothing.

The key was the music file from Paul's phone. At their second session she had seen Winthrop listen to his phone and watched his intelligence visibly dissolve. Helen transferred the file off his phone; he would respond to only this music, and only on the cello.

Helen shuddered as she mounted him. Eventually she would find a way to integrate him with life following his wife's death. That was her business, and her obligation.

But not now. Oh god, definitely not now.

/ END /

And, the actual 100-word story. Non-erotic, but no apology coming for that.

Stress Release

The hypnotist's fingers pressed circles around my temples, around and around and around. "Keep your eyes on the chart," he said. That got more difficult the more I slumped in the chair, and as the letters on the chart kept moving.

Circles inside circles inside circles, my head feeling thick, and the chart more and more blurry - should it be like that - but the thought dissolved. His voice droned on, my eyelids drooping. "Eyes on the chart," and I struggled to focus...

Then the chart burst into flames.

I guess superheroes need other ways to deal with stress.

/ END /