Hey, this is my first actual post on the forums here, thought I'd share this. I wrote this story for my creative writing class and it was well received. I wanted to make a fun, sexy thriller story based on some stuff I wrote years ago.
Here's a preview of the first few pages. You can read the whole story/leave comments on it here:
http://ryu-gi.deviantart.com/art/The-Secretary-680128218
SPAIN, APRIL 2013.
The ancient cobblestone streets of old Seville were alive with the somber yet extravagant nighttime Semana Santa parade, the floats and robed paraders lit by hundreds of candles held aloft by a multitude of the city’s citizens. The flickering flames revealed a dense crowd lining the streets in celebration, packed so tightly that no one could reach out an arm in any direction without having to mutter a quick ‘Lo Siento’. The annual ritualistic procession marked the coming of the Paschal Triduum, the final days of the Lenten season leading up to Easter Sunday.
The air was thick with drumming, chanting, cheering, and falling pink and red flower petals thrown by the faithful, who began to cheer as La Borriquita passed. The float, elaborately decorated with statues, filigreed metal, and an entire flower shop’s full of flora, depicted Jesus Christ arriving on the back of a donkey to a hero’s welcome at the gates of Jerusalem. The two-ton decorative platform was carried on the shoulders of ten Costaleros, deeply devoted men who considered this backbreaking endeavor an honorable labor of love for their God. A priest, his voice magnified and slightly distorted by the megaphone in his hand, led a prayer in Latin. In the distance, the voice of a Flamenco singer, overtaken with passion, let out a long cry, his note waving and lingering, in awe of the spectacle before him.
Above the parade, a more secular kind of passion was erupting in a luxurious Baroque-styled hotel suite with pale green patterned walls and embellished with gold trim.
“AAH!” cried a young woman, her cries like shots of fire into the night, “AH YES, YES…!”
Her body arched, as her lacy black and crimson silk basque was bathed in the cool, pale moonlight shining through the suite’s open balcony window. The girl fell onto the tangled sheets of the large king-size plush bed, her slender body glistening, and her breaths deep. Her face was beaming with satisfaction behind long, straight blonde hair, which hung disheveled in front of it. At the foot of the bed, a man stood, letting out a deep sigh of content and wiping the sweat from his scruffy face.
“Well, then,” he said in a gravely drawl evocative of the American South, reaching down to draw his Armani trousers back up, “I’m certainly glad I went out for that nightcap.”
After taking a moment to collect herself, the girl pulled her body up and brushed the hair from her face to the side, revealing her bright cerulean eyes and perfect triangular jawline.
“You’re pretty good,” she said, through an Australian accent, crossing her legs clad in thigh-high lacy stockings, “I haven’t had a tumble that nice in a while, Mister…err…hmmm…”
She started cracking up, as though only now realizing just how bold she’d been, jumping into bed with a strange man in a foreign country before she even knew his name. The man, tall but on the lean side, finished buttoning up his pants before grabbing one of the hotel’s complimentary bathrobes from a nearby coat rack and brushing his short crew-cut brown hair back with his other hand.
“Well…for the sake of your security, and my own, I’d prefer not to reveal my name,” he said, shoving his arms into the plush olive-colored bathrobe.
“Ooh, mysterious!” the girl giggled, moving into a sitting position on the bed, “You must be a pretty important guy then. Can’t say I’ve ever had a naughty with a bigshot before. Let’s be real, though; the post-coitus talk’s gonna get pretty awkward unless I can call you something.”
“Fine then,” he chuckled, “just call me ‘Mister X’ for now.”
“Alright then…Mister Eggs,” She snorted.
“Wait, no,” Mr. X said, squinting in confusion and waving his hands, taken aback, “I said ‘X’, as in the letter X, not eggs.”
“Okay, this might be the wine you brought from that Tapas bar we met in talking, but I like the name ‘Eggs’ better.”
“Oh, shut up,” X smiled. He moved through the double doorway beyond the bed, over to the spacious sitting room adorned with antique furniture. There was a gorgeous, satiny maroon cocktail dress which had previously been occupied by the girl sitting in the next room not long ago lying draped over one of the couches. Mr. X picked it up to find a gigantic tear from neckline to skirt through it.
“Oh…damn…I uh…” X stammered, looking back to the bedroom. The girl was picking up a pair of silver-rimmed glasses with oval lenses off the bed stand. She then brushed back the remaining hair strands from her face and put the glasses on, looking up to see her torn clothing.
“Shit,” the girl swore, her eyes widening, her arms falling in dismay, “I just bought that dress.”
“I guess we should have turned it down a notch, eh? It uh…looks expensive,” said X, “any chance I can repay the favor and buy you a new one?”
The girl only looked down, shook her head, and chuckled.
“Eh, she’ll be right. I’ll get myself a new one in the Mercado tomorrow.”
“Seriously? This thing looks like it set you back at least a couple K, and I’m talking an American thousand at least.”
“Oh, trust me, mate, it’s nothing,” the girl waved it off like it was about as bothersome as a coffeehouse latte with a misspelled name scribbled on it, “That number’s like a drop in the bucket to me.”
“Hah! Well, looks like you’re doing pretty well yourself if you can just get fancy-ass dresses whenever you please, miss…uh…”
It suddenly struck X that he didn’t know the girl’s name, either. He couldn’t help but smile at the odd complexities of modern hookup culture.
“I’m Claire,” said the girl, flicking her hair back, “Nice to meet you…Eggs.”
“Don’t start that again.”
“Oh come on, it’s funny and you know it.”
“It’s not,” X said, crossing his arms.
“It so is.”
“I can ask room service to have you removed, you know.”
Claire cracked up again. Part of Mr. X was happy he got to hear that laugh again, even if it was mocking him.
“Seriously, though,” continued X, “what the hell do you even do for a living anyway?”
Claire dismounted the bed from the side and strode over to X, her hips swaying proactively, a wordless, teasing grin across her face. She moved around the couch, past the coffee table to the twin couch across from it before sitting down and stretching her body out upon the furniture like a model waiting for an artist to immortalize her on canvas.
“I’m a secretary,” said Claire with a wink.
Once again, you can read the whole story/leave comments on it here:
http://ryu-gi.deviantart.com/art/The-Secretary-680128218
Last edited May 12, 2017 at 07:24AM EDT
