Thursday, July 9, 2009

LINES, a Story

I rubbed my shiny genie lamp mid-May and who should pop out in a fragrant wisp but my inspiration, Alison Tyler, with another 250-word story contest I'm hallucinating was originally called "All About Ink." At any rate, it was being held in honor of that particular liquid because Alison had just launched a blog dedicated to tattoos.

She led us to the diving boards: "Do with ink what you will. Tattoo you? Sure. Dip a quill pen in it? Fine," she cooed. And so, peering down into the deep dark possibility pool, I jumped...

© 2009 by EllaRegina

Eve had beautiful lines. She enjoyed showing them off. Mornings she visited each reporter's desk, loaded tray slung around neck—the office version of cigarette and candy girls pacing movie aisles at intermission, hawking their wares.

Eve was a filler girl. Her tray held ink bottles, dangerously-pointed unmolested nibs, typewriter ribbon spools, sharpened pencils, even packs of Lucky Strikes. She filled my inkwell just so—bending over the desk, behind slightly perked upward like a bunnytail, ample breasts oscillating above my writing pad. I could smell the perfumed handkerchief wedged between those glorious pendulums, see the minute rose tattoo anchoring Eve's nape to heart-stopping body. I had to have her.

I followed Eve to the supply closet. Her posterior twisted with her gait—angling right-left like windshield wipers—stocking seams running heels-skyward, directionals to Eve's fine rump. Always straight, those lines, perfect as the rest of her.

She locked the door behind us. A chair stood amid the supplies—I sat. Eve dove across my thighs, facedown, her lines' destination wiggling hello.

"Spank me."

My hand lifted and descended, slapping tweed.


I struck more forcefully.

"I need to feel it," she said, unzipping her skirt, slipping it floorward, leaving a view: pink satin tap-pants, garter belt ribbons securing stockings, unwavering seam lines.

I spanked repeatedly, producing high-decibel squeals.

"They might hear us, Eve. Quiet, or I'll have to fill your mouth with that handkerchief."

In my increased enthusiasm I rolled down underpants, garter belt, stockings, exposing porcelain skin—heels to mid-thigh tattooed with straight brown lines.

Copyright 2009 EllaRegina. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without prior written permission from the author.


Jeremy Edwards said...


Her posterior twisted with her gait—angling right-left like windshield wipers—stocking seams running heels-skyward, directionals to Eve's fine rump.


Inka Dinka Doo!!

EllaRegina said...

Tee-hee! Thanka Thanka You, Jeremy.

Nikki Magennis said...

Lovely lines, ER!

EllaRegina said...

Thank you, Nikki. The feeling is mutual!

Elise said...

I really enjoyed this story the first time around, but the second time around was even better!

Emerald said...

What a delightful take on "ink," ER. I loved the line Jeremy quoted too. Thank you for sharing!

EllaRegina said...

Thank you so much, Elise!

Hey, Emerald City! Thank you for reading!

P.S. Haven said...

Ah, dammit, Jeremy took the part I was going to quote! Love that description, the windshield wipers. That's definitely one of those, "Fuck! Why didn't I think of that?!?" lines.
Great story, ER!

EllaRegina said...

Gee, thanks, Haven! Yeah, it's a LINE-y line. ;-) So glad you liked the story!

Jeremy Edwards said...

Damn—sorry, Haven! Tell you what ... if it's okay with ER, how about we share the quotation? You take the top half, I'll take the bottom.

EllaRegina said...

Heh! Ok by me!