Dalia Lance
Jan 22, 2016 | 1st pages, Erotica
Chapter One
It's All About Me
I think that it is best to start this story with an overview of the lead character.
That would be me, Randi Michaels.
My parents thought I was going to be a boy due to a misread sonogram. I was to be named Randal after my grandfather. When I arrived with no man parts, and my parents hadn't even considered a girl name, they shortened Randal and threw an ‘i' at the end.
It’s important that you know first and foremost that, in present day, I am not a model. The only thing about me that resembles a model-like quality is that I am six feet tall. I have been this height since I was twelve, which lent itself to an interesting middle and high school experience.
There isn't a single thing wrong with a person being happy with who they are and how they look. I am proud of how I look and have no shame in flaunting it.
Confidence is a million times more important than appearance. If you spend your time thinking that you are not good enough, then that is how you will be perceived. So, my advice – realize that you are amazing and make sure everyone you meet knows it.
In the spirit of full disclosure, here are a few more of the details about what I see when I look in the mirror; I am well-endowed in the breast department, I have curves, and what I am told is an “Anna Nicole Smith Ass”, which one of my closest friends chooses to point out to me whenever he can.
Although I wear the same size, twelve, as she did at the peak of her modeling career, I regret to tell you that I think he was speaking of her more plump years. You have to love your friends. I know I do.
DJ Prewer
Jan 13, 2016 | 1st pages, Erotica
It’s not every day I get summoned to the principal’s office. Actually I have never been summoned at all; I usually just stop by whenever I need too…discreetly of course. But that has more to do with who the Principal is, rather than with school business.
Today there is a burst pipe somewhere under the school’s ancient foundations, and the water has to be shut off while repairs take place – no water means no school. With all the students gone, as well as most of the staff, the school is practically empty. I walk into Marco’s office to find him seated behind his large desk. Sunlight flows through the arched leadlight windows, bathing him in glorious technicolour. With his feet up, eyes closed, muscular body reclining along his black leather chair, dwarfing it, he looks relaxed.
Just looking at his desk makes me blush brightly. I’ve lost count how many times I have been splayed across it, as Marco fucks me from behind. He almost looks angelic. A mistake many people have made over the years. Underneath the outer calm and friendliness, is the calculated control of a man who spent many years as an elite soldier. Damn, this man turns me on. He opens his eyes and holds me with an unreadable stare. “Hey angel, what’s up? I hear you have been very crabby today.”
Boy! A few terse words to an inept colleague and I’m hauled in to the principal’s office like a naughty child. Flashback to my own high school years. “Seriously? If Janet could actually do the job she was hired to do, I wouldn’t get so crabby. That woman has as much inspiration as a deflated balloon. It’s no wonder her students fall asleep!” I huff childishly, as I slump down into one of the two chairs situated in front of his desk.
Hearing Marco’s throaty chuckle rumble through his chest, ends my tangent and relief washes over me. Obviously I’m not in that much trouble. He moves around his desk to stand in front of me, and casually leans back with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
His pelvis is now level with my eyes. He’s playing dirty. The smile that breaches his mouth tells me he knows it too. I draw my eyes slowly up over his body, smiling as I take in the bulge forming in the front of his pants, and up to his face and register the concern in his eyes.
“What’s really going on Skye?”
My new found relief quickly deserts me. A quiet groan escapes my throat, as I am once again weighed down with the guilt I have been feeling ever since I decided to end my relationship with my boyfriend, a few weeks ago.
“I thought Ryan was the one, you know? I thought he accepted my need to be sexual. My need to explore and find what it is that I want…and need, sexually. And he was, well, up until he turned in to a possessive jerk. How did I get that so wrong?”
“I don’t think you got it wrong. I think he changed his mind, or maybe he was that way all along, and pretended not to be just to get close to you. At this point in your life, you are not after a white picket fence, or babies, and it’s obvious to everyone who knows you. And you certainly made it clear to him from the start.”
“I did, didn’t I? I just feel guilty, and a little sad, that’s all. Maybe I want something I can never have.”
“Never feel guilty for who you are, angel. Too many people live their lives suppressing their sexual desires and die thinking coulda, woulda, shoulda. That’s not who you are. When you figure out what you want, what it is you need sexually, there will be a man waiting for you. But there’s no hurry.”
Emily Kendricks
Jan 8, 2016 | 1st pages, Erotica
Prologue
“Mom, Seth hit me!” “I did not!”
“You did!”
“Boys, if you don’t settle down, I’m going to turn this car around and take you back home.”
Emma glanced in the rear view mirror at her two sons. “And then you’ll have to sit in your bedrooms until your father gets home.”
“But he won’t be home until Friday,” Justin moaned.
“Exactly.” The boys immediately sat back, clutched their hands in their laps, and stared straight ahead as they had been told to do too many times to count.
Emma slowed the car for a stop sign, glancing into the rear view mirror with a stern, warning look one last time before jabbing the power button on the radio. Exchange one noise for another.
Her thoughts were a million miles away. As a popular pop song infused the car with its deep bass beat, she found herself thinking about recent trips she had made to the Pilot Point Spa and Resort. Or the Ranch, as it was called by its customers. She knew she should feel guilty, especially in light of the places those trips had taken her, both metaphorically as well as literally, but somehow the guilt lessened the more often she went. Was that how it was when he cheated on her?
She had known about Steve’s infidelity for what felt like forever, and yet, it seemed to color everything she did. Even now, as she went about her normal, Tuesday afternoon routine, she found herself wondering what he was doing while attending this software convention in New Mexico. Was he sharing his bed with a woman? Was she prettier than Emma? Did she do things Steve had never asked Emma to do? It drove her crazy, her mind spinning in circles as she thought about it.
Maybe that was why she didn’t feel so guilty about the time she’d spent at the spa. Or elsewhere. Emma eased the car around a corner, the park where the boys’ soccer practice was about to be held just two blocks ahead. She eased to a stop at a red light. The pop song had ended and the monotonous voice of a newscaster was talking about the state senate campaigns, an upcoming carnival, and other, trivial things she didn’t want to think about right now. Emma reached over to change the station when she heard a familiar name.
“…found dead today inside his Pilot Point home of what appears to be a suicide. Thomas Morgan was only twenty-five.”
The color drained from Emma’s face. She could feel it, feel the tingle of her nerves reacting to the sudden lack of blood flow. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, her foot pressing so hard on the brake that she was nearly standing. She stared at the radio as though she could see the newscaster’s face, as though she could somehow convince him that what he had just said was a lie. Tommy could not be dead. Not her Tommy.
Anna Lores
Dec 30, 2015 | 1st pages, Erotica
Chapter One
From the driver’s seat of her compact car, Ava Black stared at the tattoo and piercing shop bordering the seedy section of Compass, Illinois, wondering whether to take a leap of faith and go inside or to stay in the safety of her car and chicken out.
“Just go in and do it, Ava,” Jenna Ashby, Ava’s best friend, encouraged her over the phone.
Ava clenched her cell phone in her hand as her heart pounded in her chest. “I’m nervous.”
“You’ll finally get an orgasm. Buy a vibrator, too. I know it’s on your list. You can make happen what that bastard never could.”
Ava blushed. “You were supposed to be here with me. I wish you didn’t have to take this job.” She needed a little pep talk after the day she’d had.
“I know, but it’s more than a job, Ava. I’m following my heart. I still believe in true love.” Jenna sighed the way she always did when she was daydreaming about Harry. “Listen, this is my last piece of advice. Under no circumstances unload on anyone like you did on that waitress today. You’re better than that.”
Jenna unfortunately witnessed the embarrassing moment at lunch. “I think I scarred her for life.” Ava slouched in the car, her heart beat slowing to a natural, slow rhythm. Jenna laughed.
“You definitely scarred her for life. Heck, you scarred me and I’ve heard and seen it all. I’ve got to go. No one is going to know you did it. So, do it. Get out of your car and start the real Horse List. The Brazilian wax doesn’t really count since I was the one that added it to your list. Take control of your body, of your life, Ava.” “I’m getting out of the car now.”
Ava had wanted to do it since she’d first heard whispers about Jackie Granger getting one in high school on her eighteenth
birthday. She’d picked up the little black notepad that had kept her secret Horse List since she was a teen and drew a line through the tenth item on her list–clit piercing.
E.G. Patrick
Dec 17, 2015 | 1st pages, Erotica
The tick-tock of the mini grandfather clock hanging over the electric fireplace reminds me to watch my time. It’s a cold Monday morning in March. I put on a little foundation, mascara, blush and lip gloss as I get ready for work. I want to look professional and confident. I use a hair clip to hold back the sides of my medium length brunette hair so it’s not hanging in my face. This is not my usual ponytail, and the half up half down look isn’t bad. Staring into the mirror I actually think I look pretty for a moment, which is not a regular thing either.
Today is the third meeting of the due diligence process for the merger of two banks. My firm is representing the smaller bank in this merger,Berkley’s. The plan is to meet my boss, Paul Anders, at the Paramount Hotel in Toronto’s midtown at 8:30 for a meeting with the lawyers from Laurier and Stone who are representing the larger bank, E&B Dominion. This is a big deal for me, having just been hired as Paul’s paralegal.
Pulling on an A-line, knee length, navy skirt, white blouse and a blazer I am getting closer to readiness. One quick look in the full-length mirror on the back of the door suggests the reflection staring back is that of a professional. This reminds me of what my mother used to say: “First impressions can be lasting impressions.”
Ready to go, I make my way down the stairs to exit my apartment. I step out onto the street to walk the two blocks to the train. I’ve forgotten my hat, but I am not going to turn back as the transit steps are in view. It’s rush hour, so there are lots of other commuters around me. The sound of the coming train causes the crowd and me to move a little faster. There are rows of people on the platform. Looking up at the clock it’s only 7:30. Even though I have to stop off at the office first to pick up some paperwork I have plenty of time, so I let the crowded train leave while I wait for the next one.
The train begins to pull out and I move closer to the front of the platform, not wanting to get stuck in the flurry of the crowd. As expected I’ll be standing, which I don’t mind since it’s only five stops. I run different scenarios of how the meeting may go through my mind. In no time my stop is announced. As I get closer to the office I see banners overhead advertising The French Royals, an exhibit that is coming in May to the museum. That might be interesting, I think to myself as I walk up two sets of wide steps.
As I had been a history major, I know the show would be right up my alley. Standing at the top of the steps, I look up at the gray sky wondering if the sun will come out today. I run inside and grab the files from Paul’s desk where we left them after our final review on Friday evening. I wave to Molly, the receptionist, as I leave.
Back on the street I pull my scarf tighter around my neck, wishing I had gone back for my hat. I see the Paramount ahead and walk towards one of the revolving doors of the hotel. Checking once more to make sure the files are all in my bag before I go in, I blindly take a step forward and hear a bang. My laptop bag has hit the corner of the revolving door, causing it to come to a sudden halt. I look up, startled, and realize there is a man stuck between the glass panels. I see him staring right at me. His piercing dark blue eyes are not happy. I immediately step back and apologize profusely, as he is now free to exit and hear me, “I’m so sorry, I hope you are okay! I should have been watching where I was going.”
The man, with the air of a prince, looks down at me and I realize how tall he is. His almost black hair is short and layered. He is impeccably dressed and has his coat draped over his arm. I want to tell him, “Its cold outside, put on your coat,” but I don’t. He has a majestic way of reprimanding me without any words, no smile or laugh at the incident, as most others might offer after my genuine apology.
Instead, I get a cool glare. I step aside so that the regal man can leave, and as he does I smile up at him. He stares down at me without any change in his expression. My gaze follows him as he walks down the hotel steps toward a sedan where a driver holds open his door. As he is about to step into the car, I catch him glancing back up at me. Our eyes meet for just a brief moment. I quickly avert mine and turn around to enter the building. I’d better move it or I’ll be late to meet Paul.
Harvey Jones
Dec 8, 2015 | 1st pages, Erotica, Featured, Romance
As the lift ascended, the two occupants looked at their reflections in the mirror. The older woman, Macy, was at least 55. She was a very full-busted size 22 with immaculate hair, nails, make-up, and the confidence to make anyone tremble with a smile from the scarlet lips full of promises. As for her outfit — that was another story.
The younger woman was her junior by 20 years and had lost ong blond hair, grey eyes with strikingly bold make-up, and a sleek well-toned body. She was wearing an outfit which totally blew her mind. The chain attached to the black studded collar twitched to make her stand tall.
Macy leaned over and whispered quietly. ‘Head up Chantelle, be proud; you were made for this!’ With that, the lift door opened…
