Helpless

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Her heart raced as he tightened the steel handcuffs on her wrists. His fingertips brushed over bare flesh, tracing upward along her spine. Leaning back against the wall, he pulled her to him, and wrapped his strong arms around her. Her eyes went wide as his left hand clutched her throat, cutting off her breath. She was helpless, though not at all afraid of being so… not with him. For several moments, his right hand rested between her breasts, feeling her heartbeat; then drifted downward, across her stomach. He kissed the back of her neck as she melted into him.

A Poet of No Words

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Leaning against the edge of his desk, she spread her legs invitingly. Their eyes locked as his hands drifted upward, sliding under the hem of her little black dress. Finding the waistband of her panties, he dragged them downward; until the lace stretched between her knees.
  “What do you think?” she asked, watching his gaze fall.
  “Incredible,” he murmured.
  “That’s it?” she teased. “No poetry now? A sonnet, perhaps?”
  He struggled to find words in the maelstrom wracking his brain.
  “Tell me,” she cooed.
  “When I see you like this,” he confessed, kissing her flesh, “I can’t think about words.”

You

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  “Whatcha thinkin’ about,” she asked.
  “You,” he said, quietly.
  “Me?” she returned. “What about me?”
  “About kissing you,” he admitted.
  “Well, then,” she mused, “why don’t you?”
  “Because I wanted it to be perfect,” he said. “Not rushed.”
  She stared at him, silently contemplating his words.
  “But,” he continued, “I just realized that any place you are; any time we’re together, is perfect. And, I don’t want to waste it. Life is too short to not let you know how I feel.”
  “So,” she offered, “show me.”
  His hand came up to cup her warm cheek as he leaned closer.

Two Haiku for a Girl with Green Eyes

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

I

My words, which delight,

take their birth in your eyes; thus

you spark your own joy.

II

Is't lust or madness -

blind chance or fate - that my words

dwell in your green eyes?