Keywords: Peek/Peak (must use both)
Word Length: 200 (exactly 200 or spankings will be issued)
Forbidden words: Chipotle, Asparagus, & Chilly
Bonus Words: if you write two versions, you can make them 250 words each.
This weeks' prompt from Advizor is a bit nipply! Please head over to his blog and read the other crazy folks' submissions!
Title – Extra Credit
Word Count – Exactly 250 Words (extra 50 due to second version, below)
This was not what she expected. When the professor asked her to model for his art appreciation classes, she agreed because she needed the extra credit. Sure, she had modeled nude before. She had no problems with others seeing and admiring her body, but this went further than a classic repose on a fainting couch. She was gagged, blind-folded, and tied to a cushioned bench in front of a sweeping desert landscape. A large divider separated most of her body from the eager eyes of the students, but strategic cut-outs gave them a peek of her delectable valleys and curves.
The students were instructed to choose a view and write a comparison of textures: her trimmed mound versus a rolling tumbleweed; her pert breast, peppered with goosebumps from the AC and silhouetted against a jagged mountain peak; or the tumble of her ebony hair highlighting a crashing waterfall.
She shivered as she felt the appraising eyes of the students. Male or female, she knew they looked at her, stared even, and she could do nothing. She sighed in relief when they finally filed out of the room. As the door closed behind the last student, she felt warm hand trail up her bound legs and stroke her pussy. An involuntary moan escaped as he teased her clit; she arched her hips when his fingers slid in deep.
“The next class isn't for another hour and a half.” The professor’s warm breath teased her nipple. “Whatever shall we do until then?”
Title – Gift Wrapped
Word Count – Exactly 250 Words (extra 50 due to second version, above)
This was one of the days that made him hate his job. On his desk was a shoebox, lined with a plastic bag, and wrapped in Christmas paper. Fucking Christmas paper! The sick bastard even included a cheery gift tag bearing his name and precinct, and a delicate red bow. It wasn't the box that made his stomach churn and his jaw clench; it was the “gift” inside: a skillfully carved woman’s breast and a postcard of some desert mountain peak enclosed in a zippered bag.
The back of the card contained a message for the detective and the family in a neat, precise hand. “Peek into her past; rummage through her life. She was not as she appeared; I am not what you think.” A woman’s handwriting, if he dared to hazard a guess. He would have to send it to forensics to be certain. It mocked the precinct in more ways than one, for they had focused on male suspects in the girl’s abduction, but had found little of her life beyond five years ago. He slammed his fist onto the desk with a growl. He fucking hated putting the victim on trial in order to find the perp.
Eight days later, the cadaver dogs hit on the scent and led them to the victim’s mutilated corpse. More than just the one breast had been removed. Beside her remains lay an older woman. Her mother, dead by her own hand and clutching the photographs of her daughter’s victims.