MicroFiction Madness
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Edo Nights
Original, unrelated, stand-alone fiction-bursts (in less than 140 characters each) of sex, blood and death, set in Feudal Japan.
Poison grips my heart as explosion bursts from my loins. Whore-assassin shadow-smiles atop me. In the deep night heat, ravens cackle.
Walk in the shadows that run deep in blood and the only light to be seen, is the moonlight glint from thy enemy's blade-strike.
Sweltering August heat. The sing-song of cicadas. The sway of the ocean. Piked, bloating corpses basking lazily under the summer sun.
Darkness falls. Shadows move among the silk. Sheath. Dagger. Fright-gasp. Vicious stabbing. Blood. Moans. Fallen bodies. Virgin-assassin.
Lotus flower of holy conviction; spreads its petals for the godhead.
==*==
百目鬼 (Domeki)
Tina Domeki anchored her long, well-muscled legs with each step as she unleashed shotgun love on the hordes of flesh-eaters before her.
Moaning louder than a whorehouse on a Friday evening in Lost Vegas, the vacuous holes in their faces worked the combat-infected air.
Gobs of their tepid, fetid flesh hung from her hair, creating a webwork bridal veil of brain-muncher synapses.
Spurts of blood punished her face relentlessly, blinding her momentarily like ill-aimed jizz from an overanxious lover.
Three. Four. Five symphonic rages deafened the room. She would to need a moment to reload before long. Best make breathing space now.
Tina scanned the room... BINGO! The corner yielded a perfectly placed barrel of highly explosive toxic waste. Life was lickalicious.
She whirled on it just as another foul pack of virgin-hungry deadheads approached with the tenacity of a horny prom date.
BLAM! Consciously she let the ass-stomping kickback of the shotgun carry her backward; hopefully to safety.
FHOOM! The barrel climaxed in a neon-orange cloud that gobbled up the horde as it belched through the small warehouse.
Tina arched her back and twisted to the right allowing her to maneuver out of the danger, yet ride the heated shockwave that proceeded it.
In turn it whipped her short skirt over her full hips, exposing cameltoe in sultry white satin relief.
There was a warm, wet splurch and tickle between her legs as she landed ass-over-tea-kettle.
Quick investigation revealed a crusty, jagged, bone-protruding finger, monkeying with her love button. Startled, Tina eek-flicked it away.
It sproinged off a dusty pail into a nearby fire where it throbbed in agony until it gave a satisfying pop and was no more.
"You little prick!" she snarled. Slotting more shells, Tina stood and readied herself. “That’s my job.”
==*==
Sammie Versus The Tentacle Rape
The rubber-spongy tentacles whipped out with spank-ferocity, tearing away at Sammie’s clothes bit by bit, revealing supple, dark olive skin.
The monster's appetite for Sammie’s succulent flesh had not been sated by their last encounter many long months ago. Time for seconds!
Sammie though, was out for revenge—seafood-style. Casual grope was one thing, non-consensual tentacle sex was another league under the sea.
Ol' One-Eye's virgin cherry-popping days were at an end. She’d waited long for this blue-moon evening—the only nights it rose to rape.