Thursday, January 15, 2015

#ThursThreads - Tying Tales Together - Week 151

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. It's Thursday today so get your flash ready to celebrate and write a #flashfiction thread! Welcome to Week 151 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. If you're able to join us, we're here. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook. Need the rules? Read on.

Here's how it works:
  • The prompt is a line from the previous week's winning tale.
  • The prompt can appear ANYWHERE in your story and is included in your word count.
Rules to the Game:
  • This is a Flash Fiction challenge, which means your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 250.
  • Incorporate the prompt anywhere into your story (included in your word count).
  • Post your story in the comments section of this post
  • Include your word count (or be excluded from judging)
  • Include your Twitter handle or email (so we know how to find you)
  • The challenge is open 7 AM to 8 PM Mountain Time
  • The winner will be announced on Friday, depending on how early the judge gets up.
How it benefits you:
  • You get a nifty cool badge to display on your blog or site (because we're all about promotion - you know you are!)
  • You get instant recognition of your writing prowess on this blog!
  • Your writing colleagues shall announce and proclaim your greatness on Facebook, Twitter, and Google Plus

Our Judge for Week 151:

College English professor, daydreamer, and Urban Fantasy author, Margo Bond Collins.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

"You’re supposed to wear it.”

All stories written herein are the property (both intellectual and physical) of the authors. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck!


  1. She handed me the bag, “A gift, for you.”

    “Thank you.”

    “You’re supposed to wear it.”

    I looked in the bag. A tiny sliver of fabric was inside. “What the heck is it? A flag?”

    “No, silly. It’s a thong.”

    “A what?”

    “Thong underwear.” She laughed, “You wear it like regular underwear.”

    I stared at the sliver of material. “How do you wear this?”

    She grabbed it, held it up to me, “This is the front.”

    “Oh.” I took the material, examined it. “That means this goes up my ass, right?”


    “Now. Why am I supposed to wear this?”

    Oh, the evil grin she wore. “Because it’s sexy. And I want to see you in it.” She poked my shoulder, “And you did say you want to better understand what women go through in life.”

    I stared at the tiny sliver of fabric. “Women wear these…Thong things?”

    “Yeah. All the time. It’s how we get no panty lines on our butts.” She patted her butt cheeks. “See?”

    “But…” Wearing a strip of cloth in your butt crack all day couldn’t be any fun. And that cloth sure as hell would have… An air all it’s own…

    “No buts.” She giggled. “Go put that sucker on, and when you get home tonight, you can show it off to me.”

    I wandered to the bathroom to do as she’d wished. “Some things, perhaps, are just not worth understanding.”

    237 Words


  2. "You’re supposed to wear it.”

    It was a shame that Keith couldn't be with us on Christmas morning but he had to spend time with his elderly mother. I thought my own Ma was happier with it being just the two of us. We sat by the tree with our mugs of tea, looking at the wrapped presents. I couldn't take my eyes off the tiny one in extravagant paper which Keith had left the night before. He wasn't allowed to stay over. Maybe when I'd left school...?
    Dutifully I opened Ma's first and gave the expected gasps, gushes and squeals. She burst into tears, as she always did at being given anything at all. A real product of war-time childhood, she was.
    Finally I snatched the tiny package my soul craved. The little ticket said “You're supposed to wear it for me”
    My heart sank. He wouldn't! Would he?
    “Go on! Open it!” Ma was all agog.
    “How about another cup of tea?” I ventured.
    “In a minute. Open your pressie!”
    As I'd feared, a fragment of red satin edged with black lace fell out on my lap. With immense presence of mind I burst out laughing and put the split-crotch panties on my head.
    “A fancy-dress rugby-scrum cap!” I announced triumphantly.
    “How very original.”
    Mother wouldn't have dreamed what they were having seen my ears poking out of the leg holes.
    Words 238

  3. Ending on a High Note.

    The girl held the bodice up by a strap. It was a lacy number, black and sheer. Her face told him everything.

    “You’re supposed to wear it,” Shiloh said, hiding his smile.

    She held it against her body. It contrasted nicely with her white t-shirt. Shiloh wondered if her skin was just as white. Red-heads were usually pale.

    “Nothing with a zipper?” She plucked at the thin ribbon-like ties crisscrossing up the back of the bodice.

    “No, sorry.”

    She sighed and looked up at him, her bright green eyes watery. She wasn’t on the verge of tears—must just be nerves.

    “It’s alright, Sivi.” He cupped her chin and rubbed a thumb along the smooth line of her jaw. A flush crept into her cheeks, accentuating the spray of freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose.

    “Will they like me?” She whispered

    “They will love you, darling.” Shiloh smiled and helped her off the sofa, tugging at her t-shirt. She already wore the matching skirt, if it could be called that.

    He helped lace up the bodice, careful to pull it tight enough so that the mounds of her small breasts pushed up prettily above the cups.

    Lastly he knelt by her stocking-covered thighs and lifted up the skirt. The gun was strapped securely, and was already charged. No warming up to give her away at the last minute.

    “Kill as many as you can. And when they take you and change you, I’ll take care of it, darling.”

    250 words

  4. My good friend, Nigel; who lived in the next apartment walked in my kitchen. He handed me a bag from an adult store.
    “You’re supposed to wear it,” Nigel said.
    “Wear this?”
    “Think of it as armor. Don’t be so modest. The man would have to be dead, not to appreciate your assets in these.”
    “Thanks, Nigel.”
    Nigel then said goodbye and left.
    I put on my new red dress the flimsy underwear underneath, a pair of stockings held up by garters and invited Trevor in for coffee. When he excused himself to go to the bathroom I took a big breath and stripped to my underwear and stockings. Coming back into the room he looked shocked exclaiming, “I’m sorry, Clarrisa I thought you knew. I’m gay,”
    Mortified I ran to the bathroom; when I came out he was gone. Putting my dress I called Nigel. Hearing his voice I cried. Nigel came flying over took me in his arms and one thing led to another. I woke up the next morning in Nigel’s arms.
    “Are you sorry?” Nigel asked.
    “No,” I answered.
    “Neither am I. I love you.”
    “Then why did you push me into Trevor’s arms?”
    “I knew he was gay.”
    “I love you too, Nigel. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”
    “You were blinded by my light,” Nigel joked.
    “Yes, that’s it,” I agreed.
    Trevor married the love of his love Anthony and I married Nigel. We’re all celebrating our tenth anniversary this year.
    250 words

  5. Waking up, the first thing I felt was an arm—draped possessively on my stomach with one hand lying on my breast.

    A slow smile spread on my lips as I remembered how I got here.

    The arm moved a little, tightening its hold on me.

    As if I’m going anywhere! I laughed softly at the ridiculous thought.

    “What’s that for?” a voice slightly husky from sleep asked in my ear.

    I turned in his arms and looked at him.

    With his hair standing in disarray from my tugging on it the night before and his eyes looking at me with so much love, he was the most handsome man in the world ... in my world.

    I placed a hand on his cheek, pulling his face to mine for a kiss. “The laugh was because I’m happy.”

    He smiled hearing my answer. “And the kiss?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

    “For making me the happiest girl in the world.”

    He laughed and brought my hand to his lips. He kissed my knuckles and then the ring sitting on my left hand. “This is so sexy.”

    His whisper made me smile. “Why?” I asked coyly.

    “Because it tells every fucker who dares to look at you that you’re mine,” he replied seriously.

    “I love that I get to wear it.”

    He looked into my eyes at my admission and said, “You’re supposed to wear it, love. Only you. Always you.”

    “Always,” I promised my husband before rolling over him.

    Word Count: 250
    Twitter Handle: @TwiAddictAnne

  6. “What’s this?” Nick inquired, holding the small plastic bottle aloft so that light shone through and around it. “Styrofoam?”

    “It’s a clown nose,” Camila replied after a pause. “You’re supposed to wear it.”

    “But you hate clowns,” he reminded her with an angled look. “Why do you carry this with you?”

    She plucked it from his fingers and let it fall into the front pocket of her white coat. “I don’t hate clowns. I’m afraid of them. There’s a difference.”

    With a tender expression, he gently cupped her cheek in one hand. “Coulrophobia. I looked it up.”

    With some effort, she kept her eyes on his face as she leaned into his hand. “You did?” She blushed and would have stepped away.

    He stopped her by the simple expedient of shifting his grip to the back of her neck. She relished the pressure of his fingers against her skin, even if she was uncomfortable discussing the topic. His blue eyes were the color of the sun over the desert in the morning; his skin tanned and smelling like soap and man. How could she be so comfortable discussing her fears with him?

    “It’s a significant issue in your life, Camila,” he murmured, moving closer to her and feathering his hands through her hair. “So it’s significant to me, too.”

    Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. “Oh.”

    “You don’t have philemaphobia, do you?”

    With a smile she shook her head. “What’s that?”

    “Fear of kissing.”

    “Not at all.”

    = = =
    Word count: 250
    Sandi Layne

  7. “I’m feeling fine, princess. Better with you against me.”

    She stilled in his arms and he enjoyed her warmth and surprise. “Did you just say ‘better’?”

    “Yes. Between you and the cloak, it’s much better.” And she’s softer than she looks.

    “But you’re supposed to wear it, not me.” When he took a breath to say something, she added, “Thank you. It’s much warmer sharing.”
    “Just sleep. I’ll keep the fire going so it stays warm in here.”

    Maia nodded against his chest, snuggling deeper inside the cloak. “All right. Wake me in few hours and I’ll keep the fire going while you sleep.”

    “Very well.” He had no intention of waking her, especially when she smelled so sweet. And she’s quiet. The snide remark didn’t seem to fit with the woman on his chest and he shoved it away. She'd proven herself to be a good traveling companion. He refused to admit he liked her. That’s a betrayal of Aiden, and my brother’s been betrayed enough.

    The old anger roiled in his gut, but he found it difficult to reconcile the fury that drove him with the woman in his arms. Maia sighed and shifted a little, rubbing her cheek against the cloth on his chest. For a brief moment he wished they wore nothing between them and he could feel the softness of her skin on his chest.

    He let the fantasy develop until another portion of his body took notice and threatened to expose him.

    248 ineligible #WIP500 words

  8. Silver & Gold

    Sweat glistened across silvery skin, the classic t-shirt from an age gone by proclaimed, “Another Brick in the Wall.” White hair fell across his left eye, and he raised handcuffed hands to push the tangled mess from view before his roughed and dirtied fingers, scuffed from last night’s brawl, lifted the thin sheet of paper from the smooth table. On it, in profile, two women supported a crown with delicate hands, faces toward one another, robes open, flowing down and away.

    His gray eyes lifted to the woman leaning toward him. “What is this?” He asked, in a voice still hoarse from the deep sleep of overindulgence.

    A smirk crossed from one smooth golden cheek to the other, pulling the corners of her bright red lips up toward amber tempest eyes. Her metallic flaxen hair glowed in the dimly lit room, and she delayed her answer long enough to shift in the metal seat, leaning forward to adjust the lacing on her boots and enjoying the downward play of his eyes across her. White inked birds fluttered above her left breast. “You’re supposed to wear it.”

    His eyes snapped up. “What?”

    Her hand crossed the table, reaching toward his chest. He leaned back, but his bindings limited him. “Here,” she purred, when her hand stopped above his heart, his muscles twitching beneath her fingers. “It’s your permanent badge.” She lifted her palm, dragging her fingertips down the thin material of his shirt. “You belong to me.”

    249 words

  9. "Are you freaking kidding me?!" Saedeen shouted. "We still had 8 months 1 week and 3 days until trial date!"

    Annette withered replying "I'm sorry Saedeen, it just came by courier from the high court". Handing over a blue piece of paper reflecting the following:

    It has been brought to the attention of the high court and reputed that Mr. Samuel R. Wetherstein shall stand trial hence 3 days post receipt of this statement.

    Saedeen shook her head. What could possibly have caused the courts to change the date so dramatically? She whirled across the room at warp speed her fingers flew on the amber opening transmission with Ms. Spetzel.

    "Ms. Spetzel? Saedeen here from the prosecuting office for the high court, I need you to come immediately to my office as the court date has been bumped up to Monday". After pausing for a moment Saedeen said "But I must prep you". She blanched and set the amber down.

    Monday morning 7:43 a.m. as Saedeen walked into the courthouse she slid a large nose ring with two large pieces of chain attached to it.

    Ms. Spetzel gasped "What am I to do with this, and why would you hand this hideous thing to me? This is what you put on slaves!"

    "You're suppose to wear it." Saedeen replied flatly "Whenever a layman appears in high court they must reflect that they are lower than the counsel". As Saedeen slipped one of her own on and she was again humiliated.

    250 words

  10. A beautiful green velvet Christmas dress with a red ribbon running around the waist and fluffy white cuffs on the sleeves and skirt dangled from a hanger. My five year old daughter's face dipped into a frown, her blue eyes narrowing as she wrinkled her nose.


    I blinked. "It's your Christmas dress; you're supposed to wear it."

    "No. I'm not wearing a dress."

    She crossed her arms and plopped her non-existent butt onto her bed, nose in the air.

    "We're going to be late for Christmas service if we don't get going."

    "I thought you didn't like God." Her sing-song tone grated on my nerves; observant little thing.

    "I don't believe in him, no. But your dad likes it when the whole family joins him at church for Christmas. Now, put the dress on."

    She shook her head.

    I went into the hallway and hollered downstairs. "Jacoby?"


    "Cancel Santa!"

    Cilla screamed, tears streaking down her face. "You can't do that!"

    "I can if you don't get into that dress by the count of three. 1—"

    Crying, she pulled the dress on. I braided red and green ribbon into her hair, helped her into her tights and boots and then we went downstairs.

    "Santa still on?" my husband asked, handing me my dress coat. He grabbed a tissue and wiped Cilla's face.

    "For this year."

    We walked outside, poor Cilla yanking and tugging on her dress and dress coat. I felt for her, but some traditions were non-negotiable.

    250 words

  11. The black and white contraption lay on the counter. Michael eyed it, contemplating its use, and turned his gaze toward Gerald.

    Mike cocked an eyebrow, picked it up, testing the electricity. He stretched it out, letting it snap back. Too fast, and it smacked him in the face. Rubbing his cheek, he said, “Flexible.”

    “Mmmmhmmmm,” Gerald replied.

    From the fruit bowl, Mike nabbed a tangerine and loaded it onto the cup on one end. He pulled back and lobbed it at his lover.

    One-handed, Gerald caught it. “Thanks. Good throw. Nope. Try again.”

    Feeling silly now, he wrapped it over his head, sliding his chin into the plastic holder. The straps tightened around the backs of his ears.

    Gerald’s face flushed red, and he barreled over, uncontrolled laughter spilling forth from his plump lips. Heaving, he caught his breath and wiped tears from his cheeks.

    “Close. You’re supposed to wear it. But not on that head.”

    Instead, his gaze dropped lower. Much lower. Mike covered his junk with his hands.

    “You gotta be kidding!”

    “Protective wear, when you go running. So all the family jewels don’t go bouncing around.”

    After crossing the kitchen, Gerald took the undies and held it by the waist. “See, Calvin Klein goes in the back, and the cup,” he trailed his hand over Mike’s package, “protects this baby.”

    “But, where’s the back?”

    “That’s the beauty of it. The butt’s cutout. And I want to see you in it. Now.”

    244 words

  12. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to see you next week. :)


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