Flash Fiction Friday - Wordplay

McClaren held the stock still against his shoulder, his breathing even, hand caressing the places where imperceptible indentations had formed from habit. The barrel directed his eye, the bulge of the suppressor almost obscene. He stared at his target, who was momentarily distracted by the display. McClaren allowed himself a moment of appreciation for the shapely flesh, then exhaled slowly, squeezing the trigger, the muffled ejaculation making the target wilt, tumescence turned flaccid. A shudder ran through the assassin as he caught the model’s eye. She licked her lips. He hardened instantly, and, stepping over the corpse, ignored the professional part of his mind which thought of escape routes and time tables. He was inside her when they came for him, and he no longer cared.

---

He examined me, then the picture, then me again. It was only stock; still, the model had looked sufficiently like me to fool an amateur. He wasn’t one of those.

"Your vulva is bigger, your nipples smaller," he said finally, having decided. It was simultaneously thrilling and degrading to be eyed like a slab of meat, compared to a photo which should never have been blown up. "I paid for that one. Where is she?"

I thought of all the excuses I could make, but I knew, deep down, that none of them would satisfy him. So perhaps I had to satisfy him. "I’m sorry for any deception," I said finally, pitching my tone low and pleading, knowing his type. "But perhaps you could try me and see."

---

This week I decided to play with the phrase rather than the picture, and wound up playing a bit with the picture too. It's one I found on my jaunts through the Internet, but I should mention that my modus operandi as far as FFF pictures are concerned is to gather some together, upload them all, and let PB root through them for gold. So I had no more idea of what the picture this week would be than anyone else. I can't really take any credit for it; PB is the master selector.

"Stock still" is a phrase which immediately brought to mind stock photography, and having decided to twist the phrase once, it seemed only reasonable to do one which didn't involve any punctuation trickery. "Stock" also brings to mind guns. I won't claim to be an expert in firearms, but while I suppose "butt" might be a more appropriate double entendre, "stock" was the word I was given.

I should also mention that the first one was never intended to end like that, but as the assassin put down his target he caught her eye, and, well, I couldn't stop the music. I hope it was worth it for him. I don't know whether they were in cahoots and just got carried away or whether she was totally clueless as to his intentions but was as turned on by violence as he was. I just wanted to write something Sam Peckinpah-ish. Not really, and the sexualization of violence has never appealed to me, but I took it for a test drive.

Speaking of test drives, even though PB is away on business, Flash Fiction Friday marches on, and you could take it for a test drive right now. But who wants to test when you can buy. Go ahead, take the plunge, buy the Maserati, write a FFF piece and submit it. We'll love it, I'm sure.