Debt

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  He started, sensing a presence behind him.
  “There aren’t many people who can sneak up on me,” he reflected.
  “I didn’t,” the form replied, quietly. “I’ve followed you for a long time; since your very beginning, in fact. And, waited patiently.”
  “I was a good man… once,” he whispered, as realization dawned. “After I was broken, it just became too painful to care.”
  “Life is often that way,” the figure offered. “But, I am not here to judge; only to collect the debt each man must pay.”
  Examining his own body on the ground, he nodded; then turned to follow.

The Devil and the Darkness

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For M.

  Michelle had a boyfriend she loved. But – from time to time – she needed to see Brian. He wasn’t a friend with benefits… not exactly. Brian was, she thought, the Devil. Somehow, he knew her darkest desires. Often, she felt shame at the disgusting things he made her do – acts she would never reveal to another living soul. Then, she’d admit to herself that he never forced her to do anything, and that she enjoyed the way he made her cum over and over. She’d feel the warm tingle between her legs and pick up her phone to call him again.

Confessions

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Every eye in the hall turned to seek the source of the explosion of laughter filling the air. Their attention focused on the most beautiful woman in the room – suddenly the most beautiful woman in the world – clinging tightly to his right arm. Her smile, and the slowly fading giggles she struggled to control, ignited a fire in his soul, and proved that she was the right one for him.
  Just moments before, she’d leaned close and whispered, “I’m not wearing panties tonight.”
  He’d carefully considered this confession for a second, gazed into her eyes, and said, “Neither am I.”

Revelation

By Bud Koenemund

  He slouched on a park bench as heavy flakes of snow fell. Forcing his eyes open, he tried to watch them descend through the muted, yellow illumination of gaslights lining the walkway before him. The agony in his chest, however, made it difficult to focus on anything beyond taking the next breath.
  Blood trickled over his stomach in thin rivulets, soaking his shirt and pants. It dripped to the concrete below and quickly froze. Hearing movement behind him, he tried to turn, but a lightning bolt of pain ripped through his upper body.
  “Is that you, Yuri?” he asked the darkness.
  “Da,” a voice answered.
  “I figured it out,” he said. “Just too late.”
  “Always trust your gut,” Yuri said. “This is what you Americans say, is it not?”
  “I’ll remember that next time,” he said, with a laugh that devolved into a choking cough.
  “For you, my friend, I fear there will be no next time,” Yuri replied, taking a seat on the bench opposite his.
  He nodded, but remained silent for nearly a minute.
  “How did you find me?” he asked, finally.
  “This is your favorite place,” Yuri answered.
  His head lifted drunkenly.
  “How do you know that?” he asked.
  “Matthew,” Yuri clucked, “give me some credit, please.”
  He drooped at the sound of his real name.
  “We’ve learned much about you over the years,” Yuri assured him.
  Yuri stood and slowly approached him.
  “Perhaps it is fitting our little game ends here,” Yuri said, removing a pistol from his coat.
  Matt thought of the girl he’d kissed, right here on this bench – the first real kiss for both of them. Her face materialized in his mind: her curly red hair; striking blue eyes. He’d loved her, and told her so. She’d requited the sentiment. It was love before either truly knew what love is.
  “Goodbye…” Yuri began.
  Matt didn’t hear the shot. But, the thud of a large caliber bullet striking a human body, and the sickening sound of the air being forced out of Yuri’s lungs, was unmistakable. For a moment, a confused look twisted Yuri’s face. He staggered backward, his arms went limp, and he crumpled to the ground.
  “Goodbye, Yuri,” Matt wheezed.
  “You are a fool,” a female voice said.
  “I’ve never been accused of being very smart,” he said.
  “Letting him shoot you, though?” she mused.
  “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” he joked.
  The woman stepped out of the shadows.
  “Hello, Lyla,” Matt groaned.
  “You Americans…” she said, “always so foolishly heroic.”
  “That’s us,” he agreed.
  “Hmmm… at least you helped us uncover the traitor,” she admitted.
  “You’re welcome,” he said.
  “You should get to the hospital before you bleed out,” Lyla advised.
  Three men joined them in the light. Without a word, they retrieved Yuri’s gun; then lifted his body and carried it away. Lyla followed them into the gloom.
  “Oh, no; don’t worry,” Matt called out; struggling to stand. “I can make it on my own.”

Fever Dream

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Joining the club:
a mile high; watching you
squirm in ecstasy.

The Sundress

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Sunlight spilled through the windows – the open blinds creating geometric patterns on the floor. She leaned back, lounging on a hardwood chair. Legs spread. The folds of her cotton sundress piled between her thighs. It played tricks on his eyes. Perhaps it was the heat… or his drink.
  She traced the top of her tumbler with a forefinger as ice cubes clinked. Droplets formed by condensation crept downward, dripping onto her leg – wetting the flesh just above her knee.
  He watched as she swirled the brown liquid, then drank it down. She stared at him for a moment then smiled.

Spaghetti

By Bud Koenemund

  The question hung in the air long enough for him to know her answer would be a lie.
  “No,” Amy said, finally.
  The right corner of his mouth curved up, just a millimeter.
  “Never?” he challenged. “Not even all the times you two went on vacation together, and got drunk every night?”
  More silence. He waited.
  “Well…” she began. “Once, in Cabo – we were both buzzed – I woke up during the night, and May was between my legs, eating me out.”
  “What did you do?” he asked.
  “What do you mean?” she returned.
  “Did you tell her to stop?” he pressed.
  “N… no,” she admitted.
  “Then you liked it?” he observed.
  “No,” she objected, a little too vehemently.
  “Then, why didn’t you stop her?” he charged.
  Her gaze fell to the floor.
  “Because, I wanted to cum,” she whispered.
  “So, you liked it,” he stated.
  “I mean… in the moment,” she allowed. “Yes.”
  He tried to reply, but she interrupted.
  “I’m straight,” she blurted. “I would never do that sober.”
  “What you do drunk is what your subconscious wants,” he countered.
  She didn’t protest. A soft knock drew their attention to the door. A moment later, May entered the room.

My Turn

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Just 10 minutes before, she’d come back from the Ladies Room, and discreetly dropped her green lace panties into his lap. Stuffing them in his jacket pocket, he escorted her from the restaurant, and scanned the street for the nearest place to push her up against a wall. A dimly lit alley provided the illusion of privacy. Hands and tongues probed, roughly; their breath became ragged, and flesh glowed in the warm air. She gasped as his fingers slid inside her. His lips, moving downward to kiss her neck, curved in a wicked smile.
  “My turn to tease,” he whispered.

What I Miss

 By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Last night, I dreamt about you. Nothing momentous, or erotic; just an ordinary scene that faded quickly when I woke to the sadness of your absence, and the knowledge that I can’t even send you a “Good morning, Beautiful” text to enjoy the smile that – once upon a time – would have spread across your face when you realized I’m thinking about you. And, often, you’d send back a “blushing emoji,” because you don’t believe you’re beautiful. But, I’d say it every day – because it’s true – and I had hoped to make you understand it.
  That’s what I miss the most.

Control

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  “I’m in control this time,” she cooed, pushing him into a chair.
  Her hands, clad in elbow-length, black satin opera gloves, slid off his shoulders as she knelt between his legs.
  “Are you?” he countered.
  “Mmmm, hmmm,” she murmured.
  He reached out to touch her, but she swatted his hand.
  “Be good, or I’ll stop,” she ordered.
  “You know what happens when you tease me,” he warned.
  She dragged her fingers across his stomach, and clawed his inner thighs. He let out a low growl. She knew she didn’t have long before he’d take over… just as she wanted.

Consent

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  “Why don’t you touch me?” she asked, once the elevator door closed and they were alone.
  “Excuse me,” he returned.
  “Every other man here touches me as they walk past,” she said. “My back; or my shoulders; as they move around me.”
  For several moments, he remained silent.
  “I would never put my hands on you without your consent,” he said, finally.
  “And, if I gave you my consent?” she asked, stepping toward him.
  “Then, I would put my hand on your cheek, tilt your head up, and kiss you,” he whispered, staring into her eyes.
  The door slid open.

Undiscovered Country

By Bud Koenemund

A 100-Word Story

For Lindsay

  They took their time; fingertips drifting across torrid flesh, lingering on bare curves and angles, as if mapping an undiscovered country. Senses swimming in the mad current of erotic overload; fools struggling to comprehend everything at once: tongues exploring skin, savoring the sweet saltiness; chests rising and falling as ragged breathing quickened; fingers tearing at the sheets; scents intoxicating, and the growing crescendo of lustful pleas and moans enchanting their ears. Laboring to maintain control, trying to hold back, even as their bodies screamed for more. Both now submissive and dominant; surrendering to each other; she his and he hers.

Desire

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Music thunders as we stumble through the back door – clearly marked “No Exit” – finding a dimly lit alley. Surrounded by millions, we two alone exist in this momentary solitude. Mouths mash together; tongues dance; limbs entangle; fingers tear at clothing, fumbling with enclosures.

  “Do it,” you cry; consent, plea, and command all at once.

  Eyes locked on mine, you spin to face the wall; tugging the fabric of your dress, bunching it at your waist. Pounding bass pulsates through our bodies. Flesh and souls merge; moans echo in the darkness. Trembling; plunging steadily deeper, as desire transforms two into one.

Saved

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

Inspired by “The Salvation of Mosul” by Joshua Hammer, Smithsonian magazine, October 2017

  I used to visit the museum, before all this. The purge… The war… I hated this painting; the dull colors, the awkward gaze, the lazy brushstrokes. Sometimes, I’d stare at it for an hour, wondering what people see in it. Other times, I’d avoid the hall where it hung.

  But, when they started closing libraries, and burning books, I knew it wouldn’t be long before they came for everything else. I had to save it… The art… Whatever I could… Even as flames destroyed the building. I rescued this.

  Someday, I’ll give it back. Maybe it will help people remember.

Stand

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Even as the fighting ended, peace still seemed like an ethereal dream; something that would slip through your fingers like cigarette smoke. The silence was surreal. The sound of gunfire and explosions, aircraft and dying men faded, replaced by…nothing; not even wind blowing across a wrecked landscape.

  Five minutes ago, they'd been at war – now they weren't. They’d run hunched over; sat huddled in bunkers; crouched in foxholes; ducked, crawled, and dove.

  For the first time he could remember, he stood up; stretching to his full height. He'd been a soldier all his adult life.

  “Now what?” he asked.

Moonlight Muse

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 word story

For Lindsay

  Swaying hips hypnotized him as he followed her along the beach. Leaving behind dying embers, they entered shadow. She tasted of salt, sweat, and Coppertone, and while his tongue stumbled over the stubble of sand clinging to warm skin he swore he’d never known sweeter.

  Her emerald eyes glimmered in silver moonlight, and fingers danced over flesh; taking pleasure in giving the same. Mouths stole breath from one another; surrendering to passion even as they realized the coming day would dissolve the promises spilling from their lips in the dark.

  After, they lay, entangled, whispering drowsy endearments to the stars.

Want

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 word story

For Lindsay

  I want to push you against the wall, and mash my mouth against yours; kissing you until we’re both gasping for breath. I want to pull your hair, leaning your head back, exposing your delicate neck to my lips. I want your legs wrapped around me as I carry you to bed. I want to tear the clothes from your body as we fumble toward ecstasy. I want to stare into your eyes, and clutch your throat, as we fuck – not making love – each other into delirium until we collapse; sweaty and exhausted; our limbs entangled, as we whisper endearments.

A Fire Once Incandescent

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 word story

For Lindsay

  Rain pelted the umbrella spread above them. The droplets – furious and unrelenting – splattered against the black nylon, then joined in silver rivulets that ran over the edge to seek the ground. The couple, soaked from the knees down, huddled close as gusts of wind whipped along the gray concrete canyon, threatening their fragile shelter.

  Reaching the entrance of her building, they hesitated for a few moments, neither wanting to let go; each lamenting the drowning of a fire once incandescent. Recognizing her, the doorman fumbled his way into the maelstrom, extending his own umbrella, too late, as she ran past.

San Diego

By Bud Koenemund

A 100-word story

  After San Diego, the President went a little crazy. It was understandable. Maybe even expected. And, on some level, forgivable. His parents lived – had lived – near the Navy base. Friends and advisors tried to bring some solace by assuring him it had ended quickly for them. But, he knew they’d never really be sure about that.

  A dozen terrorist organizations claimed responsibility. The CIA narrowed it down to one group – with, they said, 73 percent certainty. With a three in four chance of being right, 20 B-2 bombers lifted off from Whiteman AFB in Missouri, and disappeared into the night.

After

By Bud Koenemund

A 100-word story

(TRIGGER WARNING: This story includes domestic/sexual abuse.)

  He always apologized after; “I’m sorry” dripping off his tongue as he gently cradled her in his arms; fingers gliding over her damp skin; caressing as if healing. The names he’d called her dissolving in the dark.

  In the morning, he’d be tender; kissing her; saying “I love you” before leaving for work, and his shame would burn off like fog in the sunshine. Showering washed away the smell of him, the taste, the…residue. This time, the pain, her bruises – already ugly yellow-brown – would fade forever. She watched his car turn the corner before she dared to breathe.