Dubious Dystopia – My New 3 Book Series

Want hot forced submissions? BDSM? Public Humiliation?  If the answer to this is YES! YES! and YES!  than you may enjoy my new 3 short three book series Dubious Dystopia

Here is short excerpt from The Takings – Book One of the Dubious Dystopia series:

The walls of the room began to change color, and lightened until they began to clear. I had heard stories that there were moving picture shows in the dome but I had never imagined they were real. But as I watched, all around me, the walls seemed to be changing and brightening into a picture, a moving picture. It was a giant arena, full of people, so many people all in one place and in the middle of the arena was a figure. I could just about make out that it was a girl, maybe around my age, though she was wearing a beautiful white dress and her hair was brushed and combed to fall in ringlets around her face. I was so captivated by the spectacle that I forgot where I was.

The walls began to move closer to her, closer until I could see her face and I realized that she looked frightened, and I began to wonder why? What was she doing there?

Suddenly the screens darkened and then cleared again to show a completely different scene. At first I couldn’t make out what was happening. Then with horror, I realized what it was. A girl was in the middle of a dark forest. She was naked, kneeling, holding her arms around her, shivering. Behind her the trees appeared to move. It was a strange, unnatural movement that stirred a deep cold fear in me.

The movements intensified and then an icy jagged fear passed through me as I saw shapes emerge from the darkness, horrific, ugly, shapes; enormous creatures, taller than a man, covered in thick hair, with red eyes and fangs and drooling mouths. The girl squealed and at the same time I felt a tingling throughout my body. I didn’t realize what was happening at first. There was a prickly, warm sensation at my breasts, and between my legs and as I struggled, the sensation began to grow stronger, until it was almost painful, like stinging nettles were being pressed against my most sensitive parts.

I looked up at the screen and squealed instinctively at what I saw, though I made no sound. The girl was surrounded by the creatures and she was totally helpless. I stared, wide-eyed, hoping that she would escape and as I stared, I realized with horror that in the shadows of the crowd of beasts, there was more movement. The prickly stinging was now starting to pulse and causing me to whimper into my gag, and a little trail of saliva was trickling down my chest, between my breasts. It was cold in that room, but I felt a deep heat radiating from me, as though my skin were burning.

The picture on the screen had changed again. The girl was on her knees. She had something in her mouth. I couldn’t make out what it was but then…I gasped and closed my eyes, but the screen was so bright and vivid and the sensations from the pads attached to my body were so hot and throbbed so much that I couldn’t keep my eyes closed for long and when I opened them I saw what they were doing. The monsters were making her take their…their…things into her mouth. It was horrible! It was so filthy and wrong! It was dirty and terrible and yet I couldn’t stop watching as the frail girl, naked on her knees, tried her best to take those monstrous cocks into her mouth.

But they wouldn’t let her rest, as soon as she pulled away from one, another was thrust into her mouth and she was soon drooling onto the forest floor. I glanced down and saw that I was drooling too, my chin was wet with my saliva as the gag held my mouth open. And I felt dampness somewhere else too, between my legs as the pulsing, throbbing pad between my legs began to send shudders and thrills of pleasure right through me, making me convulse every few seconds, pulling my wrists and ankles against my bonds, taut with the sensation.

The screen changed again, only this time the girl and the beasts had moved. Now they were in the arena. Thousands upon thousands of people were roaring. As the screens closed in on her, surrounded by the beasts, I saw what they were doing. They had her held in mid hair between them and one was stuffing itself into her mouth, while others fought and scrambled to push themselves into her naked pussy, making her whole body shake and shiver.

Want more?  Buy the entire 3 book series HERE!

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Summer Giveaway: 8 FREE BOOKS + BONUS MATERIAL!

Captured_Book_OneVOTN

Captured: Book One Of Vixen Of The Norse

These are dangerous times for English folk living on the Northumbrian coast, as tales of violent men from across the seas spread throughout the country.

Aedra is a high-spirited youth who enjoys the chance to escape the protection of her parents, but the young girl is soon to learn a harsh lesson at the hands of vile strangers.

Will she survive or will she succumb to the cruelty of the Norsemen?

THECAGE1

The Cage: Book One Of Groupie

Katy is desperate to make her mark as a music journalist, and when she gets her chance, she lets rip in an album review.

Little does she know that her next assignment will be to interview the band, and that in the music industry, what goes around comes around.

Abducted_One

Abducted: Book One Of The Mating Games

Luna never wanted to go into space. But life can play tricks on you sometimes.

Struggling for a living, working two jobs and living in a run-down apartment in a rough part of the city, her life is stuck in a rut.

Then, one night, something strange happens to Luna, an unexpected encounter that will set in motion an extraordinary adventure and change her life for ever.

OVERFLOWING

Experimentally Overflowing

Kelly is a struggling, beautiful young artist trapped in the deadbeat town of Twin Falls, Minnesota.

When an opportunity to swipe some fast cash comes along in the form of testing a new hormone drug, she doesn’t stop twice to think about the implications of a hormone-induced rack will mean in the experiment room. 

HEFOLLOWS

He Follows + A Hotwife Valentine

Martin and Karen are a typical suburban couple, living a comfortable if passionless marriage, life, troubled only by the fact that Martin has a big secret that is weighing him down with guilt, but a chance encounter with a mysterious man is about to change all that. In the course of one extraordinary day, Martin follows the mysterious man as he visits the houses of several married women throughout town.

But what happens when Martin follows the mysterious man to his own house?

Martin is about to learn a great deal about himself, his marriage, and what it takes to be a man.

XMASPRESENT

Blacked Wives: Big Black Christmas Present

Sarah loves her husband, Mike, but as the heat fades from their marriage, she turns to her innermost fantasies, exploring her enduring lust for an interracial encounter.

One day, Mike surprises her with a proposition, a proposition that will make her dreams come true. Will she remain the faithful, frustrated wife, or will she take the plunge and face her desires?

SWINGING

My Swinging Confession

Helen and Jack have an idyllic marriage. They live in a beautiful house in a pleasant part of town and everything between them is perfect. Well, almost perfect.

There is one secret, one dark fantasy that Helen thought would never come true, until they meet a couple who push their boundaries and turn desire into reality.

Bimbo_Amnesia

Bimbo Amnesia

Simon is a middle-aged nobody, stuck in the same boring job for fifteen years. So when Helena, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, asks him on a date, he thinks he is the luckiest guy in the world.

But Simon’s life is about to get a lot more complicated when Helena brings her daughter Hannah to live with them.

How lucky can one guy get? Simon is about to find out.

3 New Bundles – Primal Submission, Girl On Girl & Bimbofied

PRIMAL_SUBMISSION

Primal Submission: 30 Books Of Dubious Consent

30 books, 695 pages, & over 90,000 words of ALPHA MALES TAKING WHAT THEY WANT, WHENEVER THEY WANT!

This 30 book bundle includes:

Teaching Her A Lesson: Taken By My Students

Blackmailed By My Husband’s Brother

The Hitman’s Sex Doll

Taken By The Tribe

Initiation: A Dubious Foursome

Tormented: I’ve Been Watching You

Tormented: The Woodland Ordeal

Tormented: The Box

His Debt My Innocence: Daddy’s Debt

His Debt My Innocence: Ganged By The Guests

His Debt My Innocence: Mr. Benutti’s Pet

Vixen Of The Norse: Captured

Vixen Of The Norse: Taking The Entire Horde

Vixen Of The Norse: Becoming She-Wolf

Naked Symphony: An Artist’s Forced Submission

Tormented Into Consent

Won’t Take No For An Answer: Rest Stop Submission

Trailer Park Submission: Submitting To Rednecks

My Body Betrays Me: Taken By My Son’s Friends

Reluctant Mormon: Blackmailed Into Sin

Forceful Neighbor

Punish The MILF

The Shoplifter

Rocked: Owned By Rockstars

Deep Woods: Owned By Woodsmen

Dirty Hostage

Home Invasion I: Submitting To Convicts

Home Invasion II: Submitting To Convicts

Humiliation Games I

Humiliation Games II

 

GIRLONGIRL

Girl On Girl: 22 Books Of Forced Lesbian Submissions

22 books, 527 pages, & over 65,000 words of HOT DUBIOUS GIRL ON GIRL ACTION!

This 22 book bundle includes:

Lesbots: Experiment Gone Wrong

Lesbots: Dominating Mika

Lesbots: Breaking Mika

Groupie: The Cage

Groupie: Kitty Kat

Groupie: The Exhibitionist

Roller Derby Ravishment

Showing Her Who’s Boss

Her Pleasure Slave

The Queen’s Concubine

Coach Kennedy

Full Body Search

Trailer Park Girl

Scared Unstraight

Punished By Mommy

Rocked

Train Her

Lesbian Mafia

Special Delivery For Ms. Bell

The Art Model

The Nympho Nun

The Hypnotist

 

BIMBOFIED

Bimbofied: An Eight Book Bimbo Bundle

What if you had the power to transform any woman you desire into a insatiable bimbo eager to please?

What if you could become the alpha male that women go crazy for?

This 8 book bundle includes:

The Bimbo Wormhole

Bimbofying The Brat

Bimbo Amnesia

The Bimbo Mantra: Yoga Girls

The Bimbo Mantra: Lap Dance

The Bimbo Mantra: High School Reunion

Bimbo To Bookworm

Nagging Wife To Bimbo

Hucow Hostel

Excerpt from Hucow Hostel:

My name is Annie. I live…well, that doesn’t matter for now, and truthfully, I am not sure I could tell you exactly where I live. It’s hot, I know that, and I’m very content, which I definitely wasn’t before my little ‘adventure’. And finding contentment in life; isn’t that what we’re all after? Of course, the exact circumstances in which you find contentment may surprise you.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. My story starts in upstate New York a few months ago. I was a college graduate, but a Degree in Ancient Languages doesn’t exactly unlock a lucrative career. So I eked out a living, staying in a crummy apartment, doing a bit of translation here and there and working as a waitress. Being a waitress is just as crappy as you think it would be. The hours are long, the pay is lousy, and in my case, the uniform – short skirt and skimpy top – is not exactly suitable attire for a tiring working day, and it seemed to encourage the patrons at the bar to think it was okay to pat my ass or squeeze my breasts.

That was bad enough, but the constant innuendo was worse. You see, I’ve always been particularly blessed, or I guess you could say cursed, in the chest department. I was one of the first girls at school to start showing and at first I was treated like a freak, then I became the school joke, and it has continued ever since. I mean, yes, I have big breasts, but I’ve seen women with bigger, and it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be respected.

I’ve never really understood why men find round, heavy breasts so arousing. If they had to spend a day or two hauling them around, or an eight hour back-breaking shift, tottering on high heels, trying not to fall over while skirting around groping customers, they’d probably change their mind! Though maybe not. The attraction to big breasts does seem to be hard-wired into some – most – men.

One day, I got back to my apartment at two in the morning and I was tired, aching and sore from all the pinching and groping. I was pretty sick of my job and the city and the peeling paint in my bedroom and the constant noise of the street and in a moment of recklessness, of the kind I don’t usually indulge in, I made a fateful decision, went online, bought a plane ticket to Paris and emailed my boss at the bar to say I was quitting.

It probably sounds a bit more dramatic than it actually was. The thing is I speak French, German and can get by in Italian and Spanish, so I wouldn’t have any trouble speaking to the locals. And I’d been to Europe several times before. My parents took me to Paris, Rome and Berlin when I was young, and I spent the last summer before college traveling around there on my own. I’m kind of shy by nature, but there’s something about being in a different country, and particularly a different continent, that brings out my confidence. I’m far from a party animal, but talking with foreigners in their own language feels different, it enables me to become a different person. Although I wasn’t aware when I booked that flight just how different I was going to end up!

*  *  *  *

The flight to Paris was uneventful and after a few hours wandering around that beautiful city, I booked a sleeper train to Milan. From Milan, I hitch-hiked across Italy, and after a few days of staying in hotels and hostels, I reached Slovenia. The last driver, a freight hauler who was heading down to Dubrovnik, left me with a wave on a gorgeous, remote hillside, overlooking a picturesque valley with just a few houses and farms.

I wandered down into the village through stunning meadows. It was spring then, so the fields and pastures were alive with birds and butterflies, and the air was so pure and clean, it felt as though I was becoming healthier with every breath!

Still, by the time I reached the village, I was pretty tired and starting to think about where I could stay for the night. The people in the village were friendly, and spoke Italian, and one man, a farmer, pointed me up the hill towards an old converted barn, using the Italian word for ‘hostel’. I thanked him, although I was a little disconcerted by his leering smile, but I put it down, once again, to my ample chest, and perhaps, to the very tight shorts I was wearing, that probably showed more of my pale thighs than the farmer was used to seeing.

The converted barn was beautiful and surrounded with all kinds of flowers and neatly trimmed bushes. It looked like the kind of place you see on boxes of Swiss chocolates or tourist brochures. As soon as I walked into the foyer, I was greeted by a jolly-looking man, who strolled over and clapped me on the back, as though I was a long-lost friend.

His name was Sebastian, and although he had a German accent, he seemed delighted when he found out that I spoke English. He told me that he and his wife Heike ran this place as a hostel for tourists passing through. Heike soon appeared, and though she was a little intimidating – tall, with her golden hair tied into a severe ponytail – she managed to smile, while Sebastian babbled on about the facilities and the other people who were staying there.

They gave me a guided tour of the place, which included a huge living area, an equally enormous dining room, and some beautifully decorated bedrooms. There were two beds in each, but that was still better than the usual hostel arrangement of sleeping in a giant hall with twenty or so others. The beds looked so inviting, I just wanted to crash right there and then, but Herr Sebastian insisted on introducing me to another American girl.

Her name was Hannah. She was from Chicago, and was taking a year off after college. I liked her immediately. She was warm, friendly, and I couldn’t help noticing that her breasts were even bigger than mind. Herr Sebastian had certainly noticed!

Hannah took me to the canteen area to get some food, and told me all about how Heike really ran the show, and Herr Sebastian was totally under her spell.

We grabbed some delicious sandwiches and a glass of milk each from a special dispenser and took a table. As I ate, Hannah told me all about her college, her home in Illinois, the boyfriend who had dumped her in Rome, and her plan to open a magazine when she got back to the US. I mostly let her talk, in between mouthfuls, and sips of the delicious milk. It was like no milk I had ever tasted before – sweet and nourishing and utterly lovely. I ended up having a second glass, before fatigue caught up with me. Hannah sensed that I was starting to drift off, so with a laugh and a smile, she showed me to her room and helped me stow my stuff in the closet. Seconds later, I collapsed onto the comfortable bed and allowed sleep to take me over completely.

Continue Reading…

Daddy?!

Excerpt from Daddy?!:

Hey, how are you? I’m Samantha, or Sam, if you like. My mother says when I was a girl, I used to insist that I was a boy and that everyone should call me Sam. I got the impression as I was growing up that she was worried I was going to turn out to be a lesbian or a transgender person or something like that. I think she was ‘relieved’ when I turned out to be a tall, sexy, confident young woman, with a healthy appetite in men. But given what has happened recently, maybe she might wish I was a lesbian after all. She would certainly have less to worry about!

But I’ll get into that soon. As it happens, I do remember being kind of boyish. But that changed, almost overnight, about the age of 15, when I looked in the mirror and saw a gorgeous young woman staring back at me. It was quite a revelation. I mean, I’d always assumed I was ugly – that’s what our society gets young girls thinking – if you’re not a princess, you’re ugly. I knew I wasn’t a princess because I liked baseball and rude jokes and climbing trees.

Yet when I looked in that mirror, I realized that, actually, I was pretty. More than pretty. I was hot. I had options. And I didn’t waste any time exploring them.

I kind of went off the rails at that time. I had boyfriends, I went to parties, I tried drugs; nothing heavy, and they didn’t stick, fortunately. I had a fantastic time. I also blew any chance I had of going to college. So at the age of eighteen, my mom had that conversation with me: the one about getting a job. I preferred that one to the conversation about finding a good husband or the talk that ended with her recommending I start acting more ‘ladylike’ whatever the fuck that was.

So I did what she asked. I got a job. I got a job as a stripper at Angels, a club in the city. I told her I was a waitress, which she thought was bad enough. I remember her look, when I told her I was waitressing. For about the one-thousandth time in my life, she gave me that disappointed look. It was that look, more than anything else, that made me determined to see the job through.

Next evening I caught a cab into the city and my career as a stripper began. If I had been the good little girl my mom wanted me to be, I would have been shocked at what I saw there. It was kind of strange to see so many men cheering and lusting after half-naked women, but the way I rationalized things, it wasn’t so different from a normal night out, only this time the desperate men had to pay a lot more for the privilege of spending time with us.

The money was good too, even if the hours were a bit crazy. On a few Sundays I was just getting back to our house, walking in half-asleep, wearing a long jacket and not much else, just as my mom was heading out to church. I was usually too tired to listen to her lectures, and just crashed on my bed. I wasn’t worried that she would find out. For one thing, my mom kept herself to herself. We didn’t have a wide circle of family or friends. And for another, I wore a wig, a red one, while I was dancing, and went by the name of Cassie.

The dancing was easy. I mean, I’ve been dancing and performing since I was young: ballet, tap dancing, cheerleading. Once I got past the initial nerves, I felt free and natural up on stage, and I picked up some tips from the other girls. I was only a stage dancer to begin with. Roxie, who ran the club, asked me several times if I was ready to do private dances, but I always said no. That was where the real money was made though, so eventually I gave in.

I wasn’t planning to, but I had just come off stage, when Helen grabbed me and told me that some guy wanted a private dance. I told her I was too tired, but then she said he had been pretty insistent, and that he was kind of cute for an older guy.

An older guy. Older guys are my weakness. I have never been with an older guy, in fact, for all my partying, I’m still kind of inexperienced and one of the reasons is I’ve yet to find the right guy. That right guy is probably in his fifties, fit, tanned, looks after himself, and maybe has a touch of grey in his hair, but a big smile, and a strong body. He is wise, and kind, and tough. And for the first time in my life, I had finally met someone who fitted exactly that description.

Helen pointed him out to me as we peeped round the stage door. I almost melted right there. I could feel my whole body tingling as I looked at him.

“Okay. Yes. Yes, I’ll do it,” I said

“Great,” said Helen. “Go tell him.”

I looked at her desperately, and she smiled, tapped me on the shoulder and told me that I looked hot and there was nothing to worry about.

That’s not how I felt as I stepped out of the door and headed over to him. Putting on my sweetest smile, I tried not to show how nervous I was.

“Would…would you like a private dance?”

He smiled back, a wide, generous, wonderful smile and I nearly melted all over again.

“Sure. I would be delighted,” he replied, in a gravely, sexy voice. Still a little shaky, I led the way to the private booths. I was wearing a little plaid skirt and a white crop top and I could sense him checking out my ass as I walked, but that didn’t gross me out. In fact it turned me on a hell of a lot, so much so that I gave an extra little wiggle as I walked, just for him.

He took a seat and loosened his tie as I closed the door behind us. The booth was kind of small, but it was big enough for me to perform in, and the intimacy was kind of hot.

“What’s your name?” he asked

“Cassie,” I replied, starting to sway to the music.

“Why don’t you show me your real hair, Cassie,” he said. I hesitated and then I thought, hell, why not. So I took off my red wig and shook out my blonde hair.

“Stunning!” he said, then smiled. I smiled back and the chemistry between us was instant. I put on my very best show for him. I started by stripping slowly, untying my cropped top, slipping out of my skirt, all the time turning, showing him every part of me. I could tell that he was getting into it, his lips were slightly parted, and he was clearly getting stiff. Throwing off my top I lifted up my leg and planted my foot on the arm of his chair. Then I straddled him, feeling his bulge against me. I was so close, he must have felt my heat, my dampness. If he’d grabbed me right then I would have let him fuck me. But he didn’t of course, he was a perfect gentleman.

Later I asked the other girls if it was normal to get turned on doing a private dance, at least, the first time. Helen laughed and Donna said that had never, ever happened. That didn’t help. I wandered out of the club and into my bed that night as though I had met the man I was meant to be with and fallen in love. It was foolish, I kept telling myself, but I couldn’t help it.

The man showed up three more times. Every dance I did for him was as hot as the last one. The third time we were practically fucking in his lap. The dance overran by ten minutes and I was so lost in it that I didn’t realize until security started banging on the door, asking if I was okay.

I finished early that night and wandered home in a daze. I knew how I was feeling was crazy. I mean, I didn’t even know his name. But I was lost in love or lust or passion; I didn’t know what to call it, all I knew was that I wanted him, wanted him more than anyone.

Continue Reading…

Caught & Taught: Lessons From Daddy

Excerpt From Caught & Taught: Lessons From Daddy:

I love being in the car with Cam. He rests one hand on my knee, the other firmly on the steering wheel, winding his dark blue truck through the neighborhood we’ve grown up in. It always takes me back, seeing how big his hands are splayed across my leg. He’s the starting wide receiver for the football team so I guess it makes sense, but still.

I bounce my leg absentmindedly to the music blaring from his stereo, and his hand tightens around my leg. I feel a little jolt as he does, even though I’m wearing jeans. My body is always hyper-sensitive whenever he’s around me, even after six weeks. Of course, it’s even more so right now because of what we talked about last night…

Jules, Cam had whispered, pulling back from me and holding my face gently in his hands. “Jules, I love you.”

It felt exactly how I’d heard it would feel—the swooping in my stomach, the softening of the glow of lamplight streaming into the car from the empty parking lot we’d stopped to make out in. Goosebumps erupted on my arms and I felt his eyes blaze with honesty and a little fear.

“I…love you too,” I whispered, never taking my hazel eyes from his big brown ones.

He pulled me closer to him, his mouth moving urgently against mine. One hand slipped down my loose blouse and I felt my breath catch as he worked the clasp of my bra off with one hand before moving to cup my full B cup, caressing it softly. I closed my eyes in bliss and I felt the blouse being slipped over my head, my bra straps falling away from my shoulders in a whisper of Victoria’s Secret lace. He kissed me with an intensity that was almost painful, his mouth hard on mine and his arms wrapped around me across the car’s console. The gear stick dug uncomfortably into my stomach as he pulled me towards him, and suddenly I felt his hand ghost downward, slowly, but not hesitantly, and slip inside the waistband of my jeans. I sucked in a breath and he paused, looking intently into my face. I knew what he wanted and he knew I knew, but nevertheless I froze with indecision. Reluctantly, he pulled back from me, and in the cooling air I felt my firm, round, tits tighten.

“It’s just…it would be my first time,” I said, my voice low. My voice came out a little husky; we’d been kissing for a long time and I could feel the words struggling past my lips, slightly swollen in a post-make out pout. Cam smiled kindly; I could see the wheels in his non-virgin head turning. I remember I held my breath—I knew what he was supposed to say, but did he?

“We can wait as long as you need,” he said, leaning towards me and giving me a soft, sweet kiss. He reached down and picked up my bra, my inside-out blouse. “We can also do it somewhere more special if you’d like.”

My face split into the biggest, most ridiculous grin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so relieved. “Special would be nice.” He pushed my long, thick caramel-brown hair out of my face and kissed me again.

“A special night for a special girl, then.”

Cam pulled into my driveway, the friendly little ranch house I grew up in twinkly with lights from the family room and front porch. He put the car in park and leaned over.

“So…my parents are going to be at a friend’s house tomorrow night. Do you want to come over then?” His eyes sparked like a fresh-lit piece of firewood, and I knew he didn’t just mean for a movie and cuddles. I felt my eyes slide away, but took a deep breath.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” my voice came out even, if a little high-pitched. He smiled a slow, lazy smile, that didn’t really conceal the excitement in his voice.

“Awesome,” he leaned over and gave me a big kiss, with tongue. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

I got out of the car and waved as he backed out and pulled away, then turned and walked slowly into the house.

Tomorrow.

“Hello, Jenny,” Christian, my stepdad, called out as I came in.

“Hey,” I said absently, heading for the stairs.

“How was your day?” Christian isn’t really good at taking  hints. I stopped, taking the second from when Christian looked over from the couch to quickly adjust my blouse. I could only hope my bra straps were in their proper place.

“Fine. We learned about Cleopatra in history.” I’ve learned that if you give adults a specific about your day when they launch the “how was your day” question, they’re more likely to let you slink out of the conversation. It’s not that I don’t like Christian or enjoy talking to him, but he’s disconcertingly handsome and not someone I want to be talking to while thinking about Cam. They both have these intense brown eyes that linger uncomfortably on yours while you’re talking, which is great when you want to feel like everything you’re saying is important but not so much when you’re seeing your boyfriend in the face of your mom’s second husband. Speaking of.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Working late tonight at the hairdresser. Someone came in with a DIY ohmbray fail or something.”

“You mean Ombre?”

“Is that where you make your head look like there’s two different colors for no reason?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Then yeah, that.”

“Uh huh,” I eye the staircase, and Christian gives an exaggerated, but good-natured sigh. “Go on, interrogation over.” I feel my dimples flash even as I turn away, and there’s a weird ripple in the room as Christian pretends not to watch me leave the room.

I’m passing by the office on my way to my room when I pause, struck by a thought. Of course. This whole thing at Cam’s house tomorrow night doesn’t have to be nearly as scary as it seems right now. I can hear the T.V. show going downstairs and know it’s safe for now, so I go into the office and close the door quietly behind me before going to the computer on the desk. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know enough to open an “incognito” window and make sure Adblock is working before I proceed. But then, how to proceed? The Google box sits in front of me, expectant. Shyly, I push the buttons. P-O-R-N. Pause. Add a word at the beginning. G-O-O-D. ENTER.

Instantly, the screen is awash in “good porn.” The number of sites is nearly as overwhelming as the absurdity of the titles. “Threesome does 69 minutes of 69”—what?? I scroll slowly, feeling weirdly dirty, but in the way a naughty child who’s been playing outside and ignoring his mother’s calls to come in more so than a child who’s lost control and fallen into the dirt. I click a safer-looking video, if that makes any sense, and immediately a blaring moan fills the room. Shit. I scramble for the volume, wrench the dial sideways. The noise only lasted a second but even so I’m spooked, moving quickly to the door and easing it open to make sure Christian hasn’t heard anything. No noise from downstairs, and the T.V. is still on. All good signs. I close the door again and go back to the computer, fascinated. Slowly, I ease the volume up until it’s just barely audible. There’s not much in the way of a script. A totally average-looking guy dressed up like a mailman rings a doorbell, and a totally overdressed woman who I’m assuming is the “Mom” in “Mom gets railed by the postmaster” answers the door in a sheer, black lace dress that she’s literally bursting out of. I’m pretty sure it was an accident when her one breast pops out less than two seconds into her “conversation” with the mail guy about what she could possibly spend her whole day doing (ha-ha).

Once I get over the fakeness of it all, I start to pay attention. The noises, his hand, her bodies curves and arches. It all seems like a grand masquerade, with the woman in the center of it all. I start to feel a weird pit forming in my stomach and instinctively clench my abs against it. Guilt, maybe? But then I start to feel warm down between my legs, and suddenly, even though everything in my school’s sex-ed class has tried to tell me sex isn’t fun and there’s nothing appealing about it, I feel myself getting wet. I think it was when the young girl showed up and pushed the older woman away from her man. “Shelly Takes Control” or something. Whoever Shelly was, she was awesome. Almost unconsciously, my hand drifted to my own waistband. I unzipped myself and nervously poked a finger into the soft down that I kept neatly trimmed. I kind of wiggled it around a little, feeling it getting wet from myself, but then the buzz started to fade and I stopped, confused. Whenever the girls in the clips touched themselves, or when their partner was touching them, they went crazy, moaning and breathing heavy and even screaming a little. Maybe…I shimmied my jeans down a little to give myself better access, and gave myself an experimental stroke a little further down. Then a couple more. Nothing, nothing, maybe a little—suddenly, it was like a bolt a fire seared across my belly, making my abs clench and my breath catch in a whoosh. OH. The feeling was addictive, my finger explored again, earnestly, and it was a few moments but then once again, that fiery whoosh swept through me. My finger was soaked, and for the first time I understood what Cam’s nasty teammates said when they leered at the easy girls in school and said they thought they smelled them coming.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Shit shit shit. I froze, my brain launching into overdrive at all the things I needed to do, that were impossible to do, in the next five seconds. Closetheinternetwindowpullupyourpantswipeyourfingerdon’tlooklikeyouwerejustwatchingpornforfortyfiveminutes.

I’m utterly paralyzed as Christian opens the door, frozen with my hand still between my legs, my silky blue panties pushed aside by my own impatient hand, jeans caught partway down my legs, one hand crept up to my breast at some point, and I know my hair is a mess from rocking against myself for so long. He, too, freezes, and for a moment we just look at one another.

Continue Reading…

The Bimbo Mantra Series

Excerpt from Yoga Girls (Book One) of The Bimbo Mantra Series:

You know how it is fashionable now to be a geek? Geeks are all over the media. It seems like everyone is pretending that they were into Dungeons and Dragons when they were young, or that they can be a geek just because they once bought a comic.

Well the reality is a little different. Most people, it seems, didn’t get the message. Maybe if you’re a multi-millionaire geek, or a geek who just happens to have model looks, you might be in luck. But for the rest of us, life as a geek is the same as it ever was. We still get bullied, mocked and rejected, no matter how fashionable mock-geek glasses or science might be in the media.

My name is Jonas, and yes, I’m a geek. But I’m a rare kind of geek. I’m a geek who managed to turn the tables. No, I didn’t turn violent. I’m a geek, not a psychopath. The assumption that every shy, lonely, insecure young man is a tragedy waiting to happen is another layer of insult. Isn’t it enough that we get treated as outcasts already, without having people think we could go on a murder spree at any moment?

So how did I do it? Have you ever heard the expression that the best revenge in life is living well? It’s kind of true. At least, it has been for me.

My path to revenge started a few months ago. I was ten years out of high school, five years out of college, and living in a crappy apartment in the worst part of town. I had a post-grad qualification in Ancient History, a ton of debt, a crappy job at a chicken shack, and ten rejection letters, one from each of the Museums and Historical Associations in the state.

Things were not supposed to turn out like this. The idea that got me through high school was that ultimately I was on the right path.

Sure, I was humiliated on a regular basis throughout my education. There was the time when Brandi recorded me asking her out, changed the pitch of my voice, and put it online. Then there was the day that Helena pretended she wanted to make out with me, tricked me into removing my pants, and then ran off with them, leaving me to run half-naked through the school. Oh, and the final crowning glory of my prom night, when my miracle date Katie ditched me in the first five minutes and apparently spent most of the night making out with Carl behind the Sports Hall.

But no matter how bad things got, I always clung to the idea that one day, I was going to be a professor. I was going to have a huge house, an adoring family, a series of bestselling books, and above all, I was going to have respect. But when the reality dawned on me that Ancient History doesn’t really pay that well, it was like the final, biggest wedgie of them all.

So for a time, I kind of gave up. I stopped researching my book on Ancient Egyptian texts and spent my days being mocked and bullied by the other workers at the chicken place, and my nights playing various repetitive online games, that offered temporary respite from reality, but never the promise of actually improving my situation.

On the day that the tectonic plates of my life began to shift, I had suffered yet another crushing humiliation in nearly three decades of crushing humiliations. Caron, the feisty, least bullying of my colleagues, had suggested, half-joking, that I go to her yoga class. She seemed a bit shocked when I said I’d like to. I was a bit shocked myself. I thought for sure that she would turn it into another joke at my expense. But instead she shrugged and said it was okay.

With hindsight, I ought to have spotted that a shrug is hardly a ringing endorsement. But in my defense, I had a low threshold for these things, and anything short of abuse or mockery felt like a warm invitation to friendship.

So the next day, I walked the seven blocks to the building where Caron’s friend Hannah holds a yoga class on the third floor. My palms were clammy and I may even have been shaking a little by the time I found the right place, but I was determined to go through with it. Closing my eyes, I opened the door and stepped inside.

Immediately, I was struck with horror. The whole room was full of lycra-clad women, all bending forwards with their legs wide open, and all somehow turning to look at me over their shoulders. As I gazed out across the sea of butts, I caught the eye of Hannah, a tall, broad-shouldered woman with the biggest breasts I had ever seen. She raised one manicured fingernail towards the door.

“Get out of here. This is not a place for perverts. It’s a woman only class.”

I stammered, hesitated, and then did as I was told. As I gave a last glance across the room, I saw Caron, who caught my eye, then quickly looked away.

Well that was it, as far as I was concerned. I was an outcast, a loser, a nobody, and it was time I faced up to it. So I went wherever I go when I need solace; the public library.

I wandered through the rows of shelves, inhaling the unique perfume of dust and furniture polish that always hangs so richly in the air in that place. All the time, I was replaying the events of the afternoon over and over, reliving my humiliation repeatedly. I was so engrossed in punishing myself that I didn’t notice I had wandered past the No Entry sign that had been erected in front of the oldest part of the library, which was being refurbished.

I didn’t notice where I was until I nearly walked into an old set of shelves. Starting, I put out my hand and it came to rest on a tatty piece of parchment. I picked it up. The parchment was covered in a strange set of symbols, which I hadn’t seen before. The closer I looked at it, though, the more the symbols appeared to me to represent women. There were lots of women, all tangled together, and one symbol standing to the side, with a strange protrusion, that I took to be a man. Without stopping to think, I stuffed the page into my pocked and headed back to my apartment.

I spent the rest of the day trying to decipher it. But the symbols eluded all translations. They weren’t Latin or Greek, Egyptian, Hebrew or Sanskrit. They definitely appeared to relate to some kind of orgy, maybe some kind of charm or mantra, I wasn’t sure.

It was way after midnight before I finally gave up, but as I fell on my bed, reciting various possible interpretations of the symbols, I suddenly felt a burst of energy, like a bolt of electricity had been shot through me. At the same time, my apartment was flooded with golden light.

Heart beating, I muttered the words again. The same thing happened. It was incredible. Had I finally found an ancient mantra that was real? And what was the effect of it? What did it do?

I was too tired to put it into practice that night, but by the time I woke up the following morning, a plan had formed in my head. I knew exactly what I was going to do.

*  *  *  *

I walked the seven blocks in a mood of grim determination, mingled with mild terror. Returning to the scene of my humiliation was definitely not my normal practice. But if this mantra worked, if it really worked, then it could, maybe, possibly, help me get some of my dignity back.

But as I climbed the stairs, I began to have second thoughts. Was I really about to go into that roomful of women? What if I couldn’t remember the words? What if they didn’t work? All of these thoughts were realistic and sensible, and usually it takes far less rational thoughts than those to persuade me to avoid a situation. But this time was different. From somewhere, somehow, I had found the courage to face my fear, to stride into battle, like a warrior mage with a spell upgrade.

I stood in front of the door. This was it. I opened it and stepped inside.

The room was nearly empty. Nearly. Over on the far side of the room, were three women. Caron was one of them, Hannah was the other and the third was, a tall, gorgeous Latina woman, who was the first to look at me.

“What is it, Jenni?” asked Hannah. Jenni nodded at the door and frowned. Hannah looked over and her face was thunderous.

“I told you yesterday, pervert, this is not a place for you.” She strode across the empty room, heading right for me. Hurriedly, I muttered the words. Nothing happened. I repeated them, louder and suddenly the room was bathed in bright golden light that flared up and then faded away.

Hannah was standing right in front of me. She looked dazed, as though she had stood up too quickly or had a flash back or something. Then she looked at me and smiled. Her lips were open and she ran her tongue along her teeth, without ever taking her eyes off me.

It had worked!

Hannah walked towards me, very slowly, until she was standing so, so close. I felt her hand on my chest and then her other hand sliding down, over my shirt, pressing against my body, and down, down towards my pants which were already bulging.

Still stunned, I watched as she slowly dropped to her knees, resting her palms on my thighs, and nuzzled my bulge with her lips. It was the most incredible sensation I had ever experienced. Over her shoulder I could see Jenny and Caron. Both were looking over at us and as I gazed, feeling the release of pressure caused by Hannah opening my pants, I saw Jenni slowly slip out of her costume, revealing her slender waist and incredible pert breasts. Caron was also stripping and it felt so wrong to stare at her, the woman who I worked with every day, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she peeled out of the skin-tight top she was wearing.

I was gazing, enraptured by her breasts, when I felt a cold breeze on my cock and I realized that Hannah had freed me. As I looked down I saw her lips close around my swollen member and I gasped as I felt her mouth on me, hot and wet.

Continue Reading…

3 NEW BUNDLES – (Forced Submissions, Lesbians, & Monsters)

3 new bundles, 24 books, and over 570 pages.

Forced To Come: A Dubious Consent 10 Book Bundle

FORCEDTOCOME

A sadistic billionaire playboy, a ruthless mafia boss, hordes of rugged vikings, and a gang of perverted intruders.

Get ready to be taken against your will by alphas that don’t take no for an answer.

This bundles contains:

Tormented: I’ve Been Watching You

Tormented: The Woodland Ordeal

Tormented: The Box

His Debt My Innocence: Daddy’s Debt

His Debt My Innocence: Ganged By The Guests

His Debt My Innocence: Mr. Benutti’s Pet

Vixen Of The Norse: Captured

Vixen Of The Norse: Taking The Entire Horde

Vixen Of The Norse: Becoming She-Wolf

Naked Symphony: An Artist’s Forced Submission

Read This Bundle!

 

Reluctant Lesbians: 7 Books Of Forced Lesbian Submissions

ReluctantLesbos

An all female rock band, lesbian robots, and roller derby girls.

Thought you were straight?

You won’t be after these rough and dominant ladies get their hands on you.

This bundle contains:

Groupie: The Cage

Groupie: Kitty Kat

Groupie: The Exhibtionist

Lesbots: Experiment Gone Wrong

Lesbots: Dominating Mika

Lesbots: Breaking Mika

Roller Derby Ravishment

Read This Bundle!

 

Alice In Wonderland: 7 Books Of Tentacles, Aliens, Ogres & More

ALICEINMONSTERLAND

Ready to get weird?

Check out this 7 book bundle of HOT MONSTER ACTION!

This bundle contains:

Lustica: Ganged By Trolls

Lustica: The Mating Ritual

Lustica: The Swamp Creatures

The Mating Games: Abducted

The Mating Games: The Cell

The Mating Games: Probed

Where The Wild Things Ravish

Read This Bundle!

Naked Symphony: An Artist’s Forced Submission

an excerpt from Naked Symphony:

My name is Maddy de Shade. That’s not my real name, it’s a kind of stage name; well more of a professional name. I’m not an actor, I’m working at a higher level than that. I’m an artist; a performance artist, to be precise, and I’m very good.

Of course, there is some crossover between acting and performing art, and in recent months I’ve found that all kinds of audiences value the acting component of my craft. But I’ll get to that later. Don’t worry, I promise you’ll enjoy it.

I trained as an artist and spent a year after college trying to sell my oils. No-one was interested. I got two local exhibitions, both at schools downtown, and they didn’t lead anywhere. My colours at that time were mainly reds and oranges and all the neo-Fauvists were shifting into blues and greens. Why couldn’t I just shift colours? Well that’s not how art works. Blue and green didn’t fit my motivation.

One day a friend invited me to see a performance artist. Like you, I didn’t think much of performance art and I wasn’t expecting to be impressed. The performance was short. A girl with shaved hair and tattoos came out onto the stage in a silk robe. She stripped naked, then she squatted over a bucket and pretended to pee, while Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony was played at ear-splitting volume. Then she wandered off stage to rapturous applause.

It maybe doesn’t sound that impressive on paper, but, well you had to be there. Something about the sheer primal nature of her squatting there, her primitive tattoos, yet this incredibly sophisticated music. Were we supposed to be shocked, aroused or uplifted? It was an overwhelming rush of contrary emotions and impressions. And I knew then that this was the kind of art that I wanted to do. Plus I looked a lot better naked than she did.

Turns out I am a natural at performance art. At first, I was unsure what aspect of my talent to expose. And then my friend Kat, who graduated at the same time as I did, said I should use my body because that’s the first thing people notice about me. I think I kind of sighed at the time. What she meant was that was the first thing she had noticed about me, and has been noticing it ever since. She’s always finding ways to mention my perfectly round breasts, my cute ass, my long legs, my lips, my silky hair. It’s flattering, of course, but then I don’t swing that way, at least, I didn’t think I did.

I was lucky that my career as a performance artist got off to a big start. My very first piece got some major attention in the art community. It was called, ‘Object’. I borrowed a perspex box that my friend Alexia had used for her ‘Touchy Feely’ installation and had it suspended from the ceiling of the room next to my studio. I stripped off and had Kat lock me inside and then invited visitors to squirt bottles of paint at me through the holes in the walls of the box.

It was amazing, an incredible sensation. Everyone who came to see it was struck by the power of the art, and by the way that the smooth pain lingered over every curve and sleek surface of my body dripping onto the floor of the box. Kat couldn’t take her eyes off it and some viewers even lay down underneath the box to get a better look.

It was so popular that a local gallery agreed to stage it and I had an extended run naked in the box. Sitting there for hours at a time was a bit tricky, but I do a lot of yoga so I’m pretty flexible and seeing the pleasure it gave the visitors was such a buzz that I didn’t notice my numb butt or the paint trickling into every orifice.

Well, ‘Object’ got me noticed, but I had to keep the momentum going. The problem was what to do next? Then one morning I caught Kat looking at porn on her laptop and the solution came to me. I was going to give people so much porn that they would be overwhelmed. At least, figuratively, not literally. I sent Kat out with $1000 to buy up every sex toy she could find and then I borrowed a larger Perspex box that Tina had used for her ‘Butt Muncher’ display. I filled the box with dildos and then tipped on two bottles of lube, stripped naked and climbed inside. I called it, ‘Sea of Men’ which I thought was quite witty and playful.

That performance was picked up by a bigger gallery and every morning and afternoon for two weeks, I performed ‘Sea of Men’. It was lots of fun. Being naked and lubed up and squashed in by dildos can lead to some ‘intense’ moments. There were times when I didn’t dare move in case one of the bigger toys split me in half. On a couple of occasions, I got pretty wet and forgot myself. Fortunately no-one seemed to notice as the lube was glistening on my skin, making me look, according to the review on the local arts site, ‘like a sex eel’. I took it as a compliment.

Unfortunately, by this time, the morality police had caught up. There was an online petition, and a complaint to the gallery and even a disapproving feature on a local news channel. This is great news for any artist, but it did mean that at my next exhibition, at the State Gallery, there was a small group of protestors outside and a news crew.

This time I had gone for a more interactive experiment, drawing on the success of Object. I had an even larger Perspex box built and inside it I lay on the floor, naked. Next to me, I had Kat, not naked (she refused). Visitors were invited to push one word suggestions on pieces of paper through a slot in the box and Kat was obliged to write the word on me. She got pretty embarrassed at first, but by the end of the first day, my body was covered in her incredibly neat, painstaking script. The word ‘whore’ appeared to be the most popular, followed by ‘slut’ and ‘sex’ but I wasn’t keeping count. I called the piece, ‘Raw’.

The performance was a big success and led to a phone interview with the leading art magazine, Art Smash. Inevitably they wanted to know what was next for Maddy de Shade. I told them that I wasn’t yet sure, but that I was determined to be more daring, perhaps to reach out beyond the narrow confines of a gallery, maybe to do something online.

It’s probably fair to say that I was a bit arrogant by that stage. But then arrogance often goes hand in hand with genius. And after all, at the age of 22, I was hot stuff, a big hit, and being talked about in art circles as one of the top twenty next big things. I guess I started to feel invulnerable. Of course, no-one, no matter how successful, is invulnerable.

It started one morning, a week or two after the last performance of Raw. I headed to my studio early, keen to get started on the design for an even bigger Perspex box. As I reached the door, I noticed that it was already open. There was no sign of force being used, so I assumed that Kat had used her key. Inside, I clattered up the steps to the big studio space where I kept all my canvases, drawings and wine and immediately stopped.

Three men were standing in the centre of the room. All three were well-built, I noticed that immediately, as though they were bodyguards, or sports people. All were wearing identical black jeans and black polo neck sweaters. Two wore black masks, but the third, who had a wide-jawed, easy on the eye kind of face, wore no mask and was smiling at me.

“Miss de Shade, I presume,” he said.

“Yeah, What the fuck do you want?”

Continue Reading…

Where The Wild Things Ravish

Excerpt from Where The Wild Things Ravish:

Hi, I’m Lucinda, and I’m kind of slutty. Oh don’t look so shocked, you know you were thinking it. I mean, just look at the way I’m dressed. What kind of a girl goes out for a coffee dressed in a tiny tiny black mini-skirt, a white t-shirt that is three sizes too small, no bra and the world’s most obvious thong? I think you know, don’t you.

I wasn’t always kind of slutty. In fact, for most of my teens I was kind of bratty. I was the classic spoilt little rich girl. Daddy does something to do with stocks or bonds or something dull like that and he makes so much money that Mommy can’t even spend it quick enough so it piles up in the bank and just grows. We have a big house, although I can’t really say ‘we’ anymore since they kicked me out after the Halloween party, but I still spend a lot of time there, when I’m not being hosted by one of Daddy’s rich friends.

High school kind of sucked, if I’m honest. I’m not that much of a genius and I have too much money so I wasn’t very popular and after a few times of being treated like a brat before people got to know me, I decided that I should just behave that way anyway, since that was what the other kids were expecting. So I did. I was a complete mean girl. I played cruel tricks on people, I made fun of the ugly kids, and I flirted. Oh boy did I flirt!

There wasn’t anyone I wouldn’t flirt with it. It was like I was using a magical power. It only dawned on me gradually that I was hot. I didn’t really care about how I looked until one day one of the girls told me I was pretty. I got home and looked at myself and tried on a few clothes and I realized that yes, I was kind of pretty.

From that day on, I flirted. I flirted with teachers, I flirted with students, I flirted with the coach driver, with shop assistants, even with my Dad’s business friends. I got really really good at it too. I learned how to give at least ten different kinds of flirty looks from the ‘I Am Really Into You’ to the ‘Wanna Come To Bed?’ I could drop my pencil or my eraser and bend at just the right angle that the guy would see almost all of my thigh and just a hint of thong, but no more, and my favorite move was to stand just a little too close and lightly tough a guy’s arm.

Just to be clear, flirting was all I wanted to do. The idea of a guy getting his hands on me just didn’t appeal to me. Sure I had a few boyfriends, but nothing serious and when they tried to get physical, I was focused more on waiting till it was over than anything else.

No, flirting was my thing. I loved the power it gave me. I loved watching guys blush and shift their stance and try to pretend that their erections were not really erections. I loved the fact that if I wore a certain skirt and walked into one of the local stores at the busiest time of day, everyone, even the women, would stop and stare at me.

I guess flirting was my hobby. It would have been my job too, if I could have figured out a way to get paid for it. I didn’t have a job after dropping out of college. It wasn’t a great college anyway, I never went to any of the classes. That’s the trouble with having a millionaire Daddy: there’s no incentive to learn anything. I mean why flog myself to death learning how to be a lawyer or an accountant or a dentist when my Daddy just gives me money every month. Oh sure, you say you’d want to work anyway, that it’s a pride thing, but I doubt it.

Anyway, flirting was my thing. That, and sleeping and clothes shopping. My favorite time though was when Daddy arranged parties for business associates, work contacts and so on. He would fill up our house with all these men and women who I only saw every few weeks and they got so used to me flirting that I think I was the main attraction. Every party there seemed to be more middle-aged men and fewer middle-aged women, which suited me.

In fact, I started to think of them as my audience, as my crowd, my fans. And if you have fans, you have to give them what they want. In fact, you have to try to keep upping the ante and finding new ways to keep them hooked. So at each party, my outfits got more and more outrageous, as did my flirting, and every time, on the morning after, Mommy and Daddy would sit me down and give me the Good Girl speech and I would play along and pretend and tell them I had just been experimenting, and they would eat it up.

Well last Halloween, I finally went too far. Literally, as it turned out! My parents had given me warnings in the weeks leading up to the party about what I wasn’t supposed to wear. No hot-pants, no lingerie, no mini-skirts, no mini-dresses, no maid costumes, no nurse’s outfits, no slutty Santa dresses and definitely no leather. Getting around their restrictions and yet still finding a hot outfit was a challenge. But I’m a cute young girl with a lot of time on her hands and a platinum credit card, so I managed it.

The party was well underway by the time I’d finished dressing. I’d told my parents that I didn’t really feel like attending and that I would be staying in my room, and they seemed to be extremely content with this. Little did they know what I was planning.

As I zipped up my black PVC catwoman costume, I smiled at myself in the full-length mirror. I had done it again. The costume was incredibly tight. Skin-tight didn’t really describe it. It clung to my breasts, made my pert little butt look even more amazing than usual and wrapped my long smooth legs so tightly it looked like a second skin. Yeah, I looked good.

The moment when you make a big entrance is always special. I love that sensation when conversations die down and all the people there look at you, even the ones who are pretending that they aren’t looking at you; usually married guys. I like those guys especially.

I slinked down the stairs, grinning from ear to ear, did a little twirl, then started to mingle. I wandered here and there, joining in whichever conversation I wanted to, helping myself to snacks and taking a sip out of this or that champagne flute before handing it back to some stunned-looking middle-aged businessman. I flirted like I’d never flirted before, standing a little too close, giving people all of my smoldering looks, and even inventing a new one that I was thinking of calling, Spank Me I’ve Been Bad.

But this time, surprisingly, I went too far. I was getting so carried away that I forgot my one rule; not to do the bending over trick. Why wasn’t I allowing myself to do that and grant everyone an eye-opening view of my peachy ass? Because my costume was crotchless.

In my defense, I didn’t know that when I bought it, and it was far too sexy to return. Besides, I told myself, as long as I didn’t bend down, no-one would really notice.

As I reached the floor to pick up the invisible earring I was pretending to pick up, I suddenly remembered. I felt a little breeze against my pussy. And then I heard someone saying my name in a tone that sent shivers of dread through me.

“Lucinda!”

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