Poll

Which is the best story - [lines written alternately by the teams online]

1
2 (10.5%)
2
14 (73.7%)
3
3 (15.8%)

Total Members Voted: 16

Voting closed: October 06, 2011, 04:25:36 PM

Author Topic: Bonus Event Stories - Vote Now  (Read 984 times)

Offline 510bhan

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Bonus Event Stories - Vote Now
« on: October 05, 2011, 03:55:37 PM »
BONUS EVENT STORIES - one vote only for your favourite

#1
Keith stood there looking at the message light blinking bright red. Though his brain knew something was suppose to happen, Deb still hadn't given him the hint. She tried, but no matter what, she couldn't slice through those moments of time.

"It's a shame really I didn't marry that other fellow your mother mentioned," she mumbled.

Keith glared at her, then back to the blinking light wondering if he should let her hear what was about to unfold. Nah, let her stew away in her dreams of a better life, soon I'll have the last laugh, or the remains of the bank account at least!

She hesitated, then said, "Did you and your, uh, friend, have a chance to preview that commercial we shot the other day?"

Keith nodded vaguely into the mirror, admiring the way the sun's reflection blocked her lips, like she wasn't even speaking at all.

Deb loved the way he tried to pretend like he was listening when she new damn well he wasn't. Even during their wedding, when his eyes looked half closed, she knew heard every word with those ears of his. I mean, how could he not, they're huge and still growing! But he loved her despite her tendency to flutter wind from her nether regions upon occasion.

She knew he was a good man but she was tired of fighting against his sinking libido.

Keith knew the message light was still blinking, and that she was thinking about shrinkage again, due to the way she held on to her cigarette limply between two fingers so the ashes built into a bent curve, probably thinking 'How fitting'.

She thought back to their honeymoon ignoring the cigarette that was about to singe her hair. The heart-shaped bed, the mirrors, how the oils made everything so much more fun to grab onto things. Her utter shock when he said to her, "Hey Babe, how about we make a business out of this?"

Of course shock turned to joy when the money came pouring in . . . this being before the internet got into it. Deb remembered when he made her feel like a million bucks but now Keith was too busy looking at all of the  eye candy on the big bad web to take notice of her.

Keith often wondered where Deb went when that 'glazed-look' clouded over her eyes, especially when driving, or staring at him.

She could hardly wait for him to see the commercial and the surprise she had planned for him.

"Press the damn message button, will you!"

Her anticipation was palatable.

As he pressed and they listened to her voice telling him to turn on the television at 8 p.m. because there was something important coming on.

She thought, this will drive him so crazy, there is no way he'll dump me all of that money for his internet friend.

As Keith watched the commercial with puppy-dog tears, (the real big kind) and as they hugged each other, apologising and saying silly bunny-sayings, he moved the shattered remains of their piggy bank under the couch, and tried to remember where the glue had been put.

Deb looked into his eyes and said, "I hoped you 'd love it so much it would make you your frisky old self again."

'The Black Mamba' sort of scared Keith to be honest, and those cats with nine tails gave his libido a fright.

Keith could always be counted on to catch the Frisbee between his teeth so Deb, knowing he'd be completely thrown off by the freak show, teased him outside and threw that Frisbee as far as she could.

He finally caught it on a Blocked site of all places, where he lives in squalor catching dirty vices and selling Friz-bees on E-bay . . . lessons learnt.





#2
Portia's Dream

Temptation teased Portia, but she remained admanant and muttered, I'm not going under the knife, there has to be something better than Botox. While she preened herself in the mirror, frowning at the crows feet and the lines around her mouth, she cursed her plastic surgeon.

Her stilettoes clicked across the tiles as she left the Ladies room in the Paramour, past a sea of young models, to join Robert, owner of the hotel and potential husband if she played her cards right. He was chatting to one of the cocktail waitresses, a pretty blonde with a big chest and a tiny skirt, and she knew she had to break that up, right away. Robert spent more and more time ogling younger women, which perturbed Portia who saw herself as a rather good-looking 'cougar', and she determined to do something about it.

Her esthetician had told her of this new, very experimental treatment that, for the right  ďincentiveĒ she might be able to get her into, and she didn't care how much it cost. Intrigued, and not at all frightened by an experimental procedure, Portia wondered if she could get her sugar daddy to pay for the 'treatment' and imagined how her life might improve if only she looked younger. Maybe she would pay for the first one and if it did as promised, she reasoned, he would be more than happy to shell out the money for the pleasure of having a beautiful "younger" woman with all the experience and technique only an older woman could had acquired.

Portia skipped from the office with great hope, inspected her hands as a measure of how effective the treatment might be and set off to the boutiques in Knightsbridge in preparation for a whole new wardrobe -- on Robert's card of course.

When she awoke the next morning Portia stared at her hands, then raced to the mirror to look at her face; the results of the new treatment were so spectacular after just one dose that she couldnít wait to get more.

At the club, Portia smiled her unlined face and gloried at heads turning in reaction, as she entered the room dressed in a figure-hugging sheath clinging to her taut young body.

A week into her treatments the research assistant left the bottle of what Portia was already calling her 'miracle elixir' within her reach and she had no qualms about pocketing the bottle and quickly leaving the clinic.

Each day, Portia noted her fantastic regression, checked out 'hot and happening' events on the social calendar and demanded Robert keep up with her increasing demands. To say Robert was pleased by her new appearance was an understatement, she looked 27 again, and as he became more and more generous with his money, she became more and more generous in pleasing him.

She flaunted her new appearance with the callousness of youth, treating the boutique owners and club proprietors with haughty disdain every time she flicked back her mane of chestnut hair and looked down her nose at them when they didn't remark on her beauty. Her energy was through the roof, but Robert didnít seem to enjoy going out every night and dancing until the wee hours, so she found some new, younger friends, who liked what she liked and who could keep up with her. Portia continued with the same dose of elixir as she had when she was fifty-five, but the thrill of the younger set waned easily as she sought the company of younger and younger groups to fit in with.

Portia looked 17 now and couldnít be happier with her appearance, but found she had less and less time to spend with Robert who seemed to grow grumpier, and older by the day. Ecstasy turned to despair with the realisation she could not stop the process and when she saw Robert entertaining Mercedes Billingham at the Paramour, she slumped back in her taxi seat and told the driver to take her back home.

Finally Robert told her he felt like a pedophile when he was with her, and the breakup was a total sea change, setting her adrift and confused. She needed ID to be able to enter any of the 'in' places now, and as Portia looked in the mirror, assessing her pre-pubsecent body, tears trickled down her face.

This was all going so badly, and the worst part was that now she looked 12 and no one was paying any attention to her; not at all what she had expected. Her curves had disappeared and shopping for clothes, which used to be such a joy, became a chore when ubiquitous jeans and T-shirts seemed the only appropriate thing to wear.

Portia thought she had hit rock bottom when Robert phoned to invite her to his wedding with Mercedes and asked her to be their flower girl! Portia shrugged her shoulders and resigned herself to the offer, as at least she would have an opportunity to dress up and draw admiring looks once more.

In the brief time between the fittings for her dress and the day of the wedding, Portia had shrunk 4 more inches and was down 3 dress sizes. Clutching her posy of cream roses, Portia stood back from the altar while Mercedes, elegant and statuesque -- even at fifty-six -- exchanged vows with Robert who beamed at his bride.

Portia sat at the kids table during the reception, her dress now hanging 12 inches past her legs which weren't long enough to reach the floor from the chair anymore, and wept. Her thoughts gave her no comfort as she stood, shrinking before the guests at the reception, her dress hanging off her, knowing that the end was all that was left for her.




#3
If truth be known Leonora was something of a prude. It's not that she didnít enjoy rough sex, but she always felt as if someone was watching her. Bruce, her husband, being a bit of a dinosaur, preferred sessions of more sedate sex. But even that was now behind them (so to speak), since the accident they'd had to make do with whist.

Of course, though Bruce could no longer satisfy her, and having a poor knowledge of aces and trumping, the thrill of a good hand was wasted on Leonora. She poured herself another G and T and glared at him.

'I'm a young woman, vigorous and frustrated and I need something more than you're offering.'

He reached into his jacket pocket and curled his hand around the revolver's grip, but said nothing.

'I've been thinking of taking a lover; someone who can give me more than a foursome with you, toothless Ted and smegma Sam at cards every night.'

Bruce had had enough: he pulled out his weapon, pointed it at Leonora's heart and pulled the trigger. Her face registered shock before she burst out laughing. He pulled again and this time the hammer found a loaded chamber. But the delay gave Leonora the time she needed to dodge the speeding bullet. Unfortunately she tripped over the cat and fell face first into the blazing open fire. The cat yowled, ran out of the way as Bruce dived after his wife, desperate to put out the flames which had started to engulf her.

He grabbed the soda syphon and leaped over the coffee table. He turned her over and squirted what he thought was water into her face. But it was too late, she was dead, fried to a crisp and smelling faintly of hog roast.

Bruce sat back on his heels, despair etched into every line of his face. The carpet was ruined! And was that his stomach rumbling with hunger? Well waste not, want not, he thought as he pulled off a piece of Leonora crackling and shoved it in his mouth. The bitch had been so busy going on about her laaady needs she hadn't bothered to cook dinner.

If her roasted face was anything to go by, her rump would be delicious. And he never could resist a bit of breast. He realised he was becoming aroused for the first time in years; chewing noisily he looked down at the body and began to unfasten his trousers.

Offline ma100

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Re: Bonus Event Stories - Vote Now
« Reply #1 on: October 05, 2011, 04:38:29 PM »
Please vote guys a vital 2 points hang in the balance for this. >:D

Offline 510bhan

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Re: Bonus Event Stories - Vote Now
« Reply #2 on: October 06, 2011, 04:30:48 PM »
Poll is now closed