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Confessions by K D GraceConfession is good for the soul, but Hail Marys and Our Fathers arent nearly enough to gain absolution when Jilly confesses to an unsuspecting priest that confession makes her come. Hes having a great time, but he does have a small problem. Both his hands are bandaged after an injury, he needs to visit the Gents, and the woman friend he came with has disappeared. Gorgeous Marie offers to help. She tells him shes a doctor and used to performing intimate services, but things get rather more intimate than either of them originally planned.

Retail Seduction by Tabitha RayneSelena is out shopping when she is overcome by the urge to have an orgasm and she escapes into a changing room with a black silk scarf.

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Later, at home, she tells her husband, Jim, that she stole the scarf and he ties her up with it and spanks her soundly. Kazar grinned, then scuttled over to an inch-high instrument panel and peered out of a BB-sized porthole, pressing a button to correct the trajectory of the flying saucer.

The sudden speed sent Joe flying. Kazar shut down the drive and apologized, as Joe climbed angrily to his feet. You guys can go crawl back into your black hole and pull it in after He brushed splinters off his dirty Hard-On Wood Products t-shirt and finger-combed his scruffy beard. Kazar glanced at a data screen the size of a pinkie toenail. Kazar twitched its limbs as if in a shrug. He avoided her eyes. Then he slithered into an opening at the bottom of the instrument panel, like a silverfish oozing 46 under a refrigerator, leaving Joe and Jenny all alone together.

Joe hardened like an eight-foot length of green spruce in a fired kiln, the lumber visible in his tight jeans his universal response. He blessed the satellite dish back home, the space age technology that allowed him to watch all the shows and movies from which his best-of-the-best dream girl had been fashioned. Jenny glided towards him, her tanned, toned body rippling and jiggling in all the right places.


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He tore off his t-shirt and flung it aside, unlaced and kicked off his steel-capped boots, unbuckled and unzipped his faded blue jeans and shoved them down and off. His cock pressed urgently into her flat belly, a sticky wetness already staining his underwear. She gazed up into his gaping, brown eyes and kissed him. He hungrily devoured her soft, moist, Angelina Jolie-like lips, and she gripped the sides of his Jockeys and yanked down. He pressed his bony, lanky body against her soft and cushiony one, his lips against her lips again, his sweaty hands rummaging around for her impossibly upright breasts and finding them.

She slid a Gene Simmons tongue into his mouth and moaned like she meant it, Joe not-so-dry-humping her stomach. He fumbled between his legs and grabbed hold of his cock and zipped its mushroomed hood right over her slit and into her Britney Spears bellybutton. She took his cock in her hand and pressed its boiled-up head into her juicy cunt, grabbed onto his pale buttocks and slammed him home. His thick cock sawed back and forth inside her with an oiled ease, faster and faster, until he was pounding her pussy with an animal intensity. Her Elvira-like fingernails bit into him, and he tilted his head back and howled at the moon, white-hot spenn launching from his balls and into her silky pink space.

He collapsed on top of her, gasping for air, bathed in the sweat of his efforts his first bath in quite some time. She jumped up onto all-fours and wiggled her bold, bronze bum at him. He responded like a bear to honey, possessing that rare ability of almost instant sexual recovery and semen rejuvenation. He reared up on his knees and trundled in 48 behind her, steering his still-hard cock into her puckered, Nina Hartley asshole. His pole slid inside her like greased doweling, plunging right to the hairline.

Then he gripped her Shakira hips and started banging away. And only a minute or so after penetrating that taut, gripping bottom, watching those split-peach cheeks shudder resplendently as he smacked them repeatedly with his body, Joe went supernova a second time, shooting for the stars all over again.

He toppled over on top of his out-of-this-world lover, sliding right off her sweat-dappled skin and landing with a thu nk on the platform. Fuck me more! She encircled his shaft with her Palmolive fingers and sealed her lips around his cap and sucked like a black hole. They had hot star sex in every position imaginable, every Joe-brain-inspired orifice offered and explored. He leaked semen like his pick-up leaked oil. Until at last, when he was as spent as a white dwarf, Kazar reappeared. It squeaked at the woman to wake up the depleted, dozing woodsman, and she squirted milk into his face a la slut number four in Breastpumpers III, rousing Joe back to consciousness.

Joe rolled off the platfonn and hit the floor pleading. No man can. For to impregnate the one we call Jenny, much of your Earthly seed was required. Kazar grinned. And thanks to you, Jenny can now give birth to another universe, just as she did fifteen billion of your years ago.

She sat cross-legged on the centre stone, watching me calmly. She was naked; but that was the least surprising thing about her. Though small and slim, she had a luscious figure, flared hips and conical breasts with sprawling aureoles. And her delicate complexion was of pale purple. Her face was weirdly beautiful, long and thin with a snub-nose and full crimson lips, and her slanted eyes were golden.

And from her shoulders sprouted huge filigree wings. There are standing stones the length and breadth of Britain and beyond, many of them arranged in circles. No route is ever straight in the hills, but this one had twisted and wound more than most. Now, on the last stretch, the little track that might have been made by walkers, or might have been made by sheep, had wrapped itself round and round the hillside, spiralling in like a maze. Even though in no real state to appreciate the sight, the circle had impressed me. A dozen worn pillars, erect and proud in an irregular ring, leaning like rotten teeth with a warm breeze playing through the gaps.

Inside the ring, the grass looked lusher than on the hilltop around. In the centre, a large flat stone was barely discernible above the waving green blades all around. Once I was within, all sound had seemed shut out, even the wind. I sat up abruptly. She smiled. At least, it seemed like a smile, though her features were so strange that it was hard to be sure.

To part of my sight, they were still stones, worn and lichen-covered; but they were also men, two or three times my own height and covered in shaggy hair. Their eyes were all fixed on the woman who spoke to me, and each had an erection as long as my forearm. Instead, it seemed to come from a wonderful place, where music and sex were one. The question seemed absurd, but less absurd than what I was seeing with my own eyes.

But she laughed aloud, like bells in the wind. I was speaking to a naked purple woman with wings, in the middle of standing 53 stones that were also giants. In what way was it reasonable to doubt who she was? I was still sitting half up, leaning on my elbows. Before I could move further, I felt a slithering at my ankles. I glanced down, almost expecting to see snakes crawling all over me, but the grass was visibly growing around my feet, twining quickly and expertly to tie me down. In panic, I tried to pull my feet back; but, for all the apparent fragility of the grass, I was trapped by solid bonds.

Trying to sit up, I realized that there was more slithering where my arms rested, and they too were held tightly. Quickly and expertly, the grass wound up and around me, pulling me back to lie supine, winding itself around chest and waist and thighs. Her strange face took on a surprised expression. I was vaguely familiar with the usual fairy-stories, of course, and I had half-memories of old ballads that seemed to deal with the subject a little more seriously.

How much of it was true? Could I use the old tales as a guide? Her expression grew more unmistakably puzzled, and her head moved from side to side, almost like an animal searching for a scent. I still lay helpless in the bonds of the grass, but now I was naked. The skin of her hand seemed to be both there and not there. It felt like cool velvet, with only the slightest of chafing to mark its passing; but it seemed to pass right through the organ as well, feeling it from the inside.

She was very close to me, her purple skin sending a tingle through the air between us. I could see a sheen all over her, like and unlike sweat. It glittered golden in the sunlight, and smelled like rhododendrons after rain. My mind was divided, like her voice and the stones. Part of it was watching and questioning, feeling scared. I enjoyed sex; and the Faery Queen, strange as she might be, was certainly desirable. But I was used to feeling at least partly in control; and now the 55 helplessness of my position felt like vertigo, sending me spinning and tumbling into chaos.

At the same time, though, my consciousness was crackling between her body and mine, and that cloyingly sweet smell seemed to have got into my blood.

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I could feel myself careering through my veins, waking the sleeping cells of a form that was more like light than flesh. Her cool, barely-tangible lips explored every part of me, caressing with warm, musky breath that soaked into the pores of my skin. Her mouth lingered deliciously on my inner thighs and my nipples and the side of my neck and my own mouth. A jag of light flashed across my eyes. I could see the stone-circle, the Faery Queen looming over me with her lips to mine and her hand caressing my now responding penis; and I could see a crossroads, with a narrow, unmade track climbing a steep hill to one side, a broad main road rolling gently downhill to the other, and a seductively winding country lane straight ahead, hung over with apple-blossom and lined by dog-roses, forget-me-nots and hawthorn.

A sensation shot through my penis and deep into my belly, something like lightning and something like solid ice. I could feel her pulling the foreskin back over the head, a sweet little tongue-tip flickering at the slit. But I couldn 7 concentrate, because I was standing at the crossroads too.

The Faery Queen stood beside me, and I saw now that she was small, her head barely reaching my shoulder. This is the way we must go. A shuddering passed all the way through my body, and I strained against my bonds, powerless to do anything else. It was like being tickled; but from within, deep inside my veins and my organs, deeper even than that.

As though that mouth, damp and insistent, were kissing the inside of my soul. At the fullest plunge, her tongue tickled my balls and her teeth delicately combed through the tangled curls of my pubic hair. Then she would pull slowly back, her tongue-tip playing all the way up my undershaft, her lips following with a light, silky rasp, until she was teasing the head again. But the Faery Queen was like no other woman. The aroma was like that from her pores, the lushness of the bloom that seduces the bee, but so wanton that my head spun with the scent.

And she tasted sweet, like honey not sugar, with the delicate perfume of wildflowers. My tongue strained, without conscious effort, to drink in all it could of that heady liquor. Deprived of sight and intoxicated by smell and taste, I found I was seeing the crossroads more clearly. Glancing to left and right, I felt no temptation to take the other roads. I briefly turned my head and saw that the road behind led, a very short distance away, to the stone circle where I lay naked, the Faery Queen astraddle my face and sucking on me.

From somewhere in the air around me, a voice that might have been mine was singing a verse of an ancient ballad I remembered hearing once: And see ye not yon bonny road That winds around the fernie brae? That is the Road to fair Elfland, Where thou and I this night maun gae. There was a hollow need in my guts, and a pounding in my chest, and a need in my mind; and I set off with her along the winding country lane. The moment I touched it, I felt her back arch and her mouth clamp tightly over my shaft for an instant, before she resumed her rhythm, and guessed that she had felt the icy lightning that she sent through my body.

I played for a while with the wonderful little thing, feeling it grow swollen and proud at the insistence of my tongue-tip, before I went exploring between her tightly- pursed lips, driven by a hunger to be inside her. I found the way in, by the sweet juices seeping from it, but it was hardly there. Her filigree wings spread to catch the warm wind that blew her rainbow hair out behind; and the same wind played deliciously in my own hair and on my naked skin.

The ground beneath my bare feet was springy grass now, 59 not warm tarmac, and I could feel the grass-roots growing slowly through my soles and up through my bloodstream to my heart. I was feeling surprisingly good, after running so far, but felt I needed a rest. By the time a circle can come back on itself, time has passed. So the new circle begins from a different point. Her golden slanted eyes gazed down at me. I longed to sit up, take her in my arms and lay her down. I longed to lie over her and take her roughly, feeling her delicate body helpless as I thrust into it.

But the 60 grass bonds still held me tightly, and it was as much as I could do to raise my head. With a sigh, the Faery Queen straddled my crotch, holding her wet, pink slit just over the object of its desire. But it opened to accommodate the shaft, springing back to grasp it so tightly that I gasped, as the insistence of my surging blood fought with the velvet grip around it.

I stopped walking abruptly. Her brilliant hair floated around her in ways that seemed to have little to do with her motion. Her pointy breasts were firmly aimed at me, their nipples, crimson against purple skin, erect and impossibly long. We whirled faster; and she was screaming, as she rose and fell on me, her flow-scent sweat dripping from her face and her breasts and her belly and her thighs, to merge shamelessly with the musky sweat of my passion.

We were whirling so fast that I could no longer see anything but her, as the land spun around us, and the wind was roaring in my head and on my skin, and my body was indistinguishable from hers or from the land we danced in; and she reared up, her body liquid and shaking, her wings spread convulsively, as she sucked me right into herself and I poured spurt after spurt deep into her body. I looked slowly around, as my head stopped its ecstatic spinning. It didn 7 just seem natural to be like that, it would have seemed unnatural to be any other way.

She didn 7 look, but I guessed that she knew what was there anyway. The countryside around me glowed along every edge, gold and silver and a rainbow of colours.

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AH the familiar objects, trees and grass, bushes and flowers, seemed both themselves and something totally other at the same time. And there were people everywhere. Some were like the creature in my arms, winged and delicately coloured; others seemed to be beings out of myth, satyrs and nymphs, dwarves and giants. All were sexually engaged, in couple, threes or more, and in all combinations of male and female; though not all seemed restricted to the sexes I knew. I wasn 7 sure whether her voice sounded annoyed or amused. Can you show me back?

There are others who show the way back. But the Faery Queen laughed again. But remember: seven years each time. One was covered in silver fur, a long tail swishing behind, the other had hair offoliage and flowers for breasts. I still intended to get home, one day. But Fd have fun doing it. He pushed back his dusty, ten-gallon cowboy hat and shaded his brow, squinting stinging sweat out of his blazing blue eyes as he gazed down at the ramshackle collection of wood frame buildings and homes that were Dike City, Kansas.

Married men were being left wifeless, families daughterless, single men ecstatic by the depraved goings-on at the sprawling whorehouse. By hypnosis or potion, or some other means unknown, Chesty would transform the modest little ladies of the prairies into sex-craved she-devils that no one man could ever hope to satisfy.

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Johnson had been hired by the town council, twelve married men good and true, to put a stop to it - to tame Chesty and lift the gate on her ever-expanding corral of lust-addled women, to reunite families torn asunder by all- consuming carnality. There were a hundred and twenty-five such notches in all. Johnson kicked a glowing ember back into the campfire, then squatted down and tilted a tin cup of hot, black coffee up to his thick, sensuous lips, taking a good, long draught. Good signs, all.

The sex-hardened gang quickly jumped to their feet and shucked their buckskin like it was crawling with fire ants. Then they paired off, started getting down and dirty with each other. Johnson studied their technique, mindful of any flaws that could get a man bucked, a woman chucked. Her magnificent, blue-veined mams were enough to tempt even a not-so-straight-shooter to bury his spunk-gun in between her soft mountains and lighten his load, frost her flesh-cones.

He tucked his own purple-knobbed fuck-stick back into his trousers, saving his juice for the personal challenge that lay ahead - a high-poon showdown with the dangerous, money and man-lusting proprietress of Boob Hill, Chesty Laflemme. Come the crack of dawn, Johnson rose up on his hind legs and stretched, felt his manhood to ensure it was in working order, and then roused the rest of his posse. The plan was simple: take on all comers, cum on all takers - hands-on demonstrate to the horny, horn-swoggled women of Boob Hill that one man could, indeed, satisfy one woman, and then return the satiated gals to their rightful families.

The group of well-hung twat-tamers and their busty cock wranglers mounted up, cantered off the high ground and down towards Dike City, rocking sensuously back and forth in their polished leather saddles. The gang dismounted, and with the torpedo-titted women covering their broad backs, the thick-membered men trod the dirty, grey planks of the sagging wooden sidewalk, resolutely striding past shuttered storefronts and up the hill to the din of iniquity that had laid claim to so many normally monogamous women.

They crossed a long, marble entrance hall, climbed a spiralling, red-carpeted staircase, and then trundled down an upstairs corridor. Johnson fanned his men and women out in front of him, and they burst open doors and leaped into chambers framed in chiffon and doused in perfume, taking the slumbering, all-too-temporarily satiated women of the house of ill-repute unawares. Johnson, meanwhile, moseyed off further down the hall, in search of even breastier babes to stamp with his brand.

Johnson could tell it was she, both from the fact that her striking face matched the Wanted poster he carried on his person, and the fact that, even though her body was completely submerged in the soapy water, her Sierra Nevada-like breasts still peeked their pink tips out of the suds. Her sun- bleached, blonde hair was piled atop her head like a stook of ripened wheat, with a blood-red rose stuck in its midst, thorns and all. Chesty blushed, looked down, up, at her tremendous, sud-sprinkled titties. He stood before the dripping, over-endowed frontier goddess, the both of them as naked as Adam and Eve save for the ten-gallon hat and size-fourteen pair of boots Johnson was wearing.

And then he rushed her. Chesty toppled the tub over on its side and spilled out of the bathwater, was on her bare feet in the blink of a third eye, brandishing a steely eighteen-inch dildo in her clenched right fist. Johnson slid to a stop on the slickened floor and held up his hands. Johnson scrambled backwards, slipped, and crashed to the floor. And when Chesty finally let out a soft sigh of surrender, Johnson knew he was hitting his mark. He released her anns and grabbed up her overhanging jugs, fondled and squeezed her sodden, stunning breastworks.

Steaming justice had been served. The Johnson posse disbanded shortly after the 72 graphic action at Boob Hill, the Wild West, it was clear to see, becoming a whole lot less wild. Well, they bought a spread due south of Dike City and hung up their guns, hers in a bra, his in a clean pair of hand-spun drawers, for hire no longer. After all, it was common knowledge in the town where I lived that Mrs Simmons was always looking for maids, cleaners and other staff to help run her massive hilltop mansion. But then again, I suppose that the best kept secret is one that everyone knows about but that nobody ever mentions, meaning that I probably just happened to apply for the job a few weeks before the rumours filtered down to my level.

Even if I had been aware of the gossip however, I probably would have laughed it off as an exaggerated joke. A tall, slim and beautiful blonde in her early forties, Janet Simmons had married for money at the age of seventeen and been widowed at the age of twenty-six, inheriting a hilltop mansion, two yachts and a fleet of cars which, as a telling statement of things to come, she immediately painted bright baby pink.

Every item of clothing, every pair of stilettos, every lipstick, and every bottle of nail varnish, everything that she owned was either white or baby pink. But while anyone else would have been considered insane, since she was a millionaire who was desperate to spend every penny of her fortune, Mrs Simmons was merely eccentric and we were all more than happy to help her achieve her goals. It was common knowledge that, if you wanted to work for Mrs Simmons, it really helped your application if you happened to fit her mental image of a perfect living doll.

And so in my naivety, thinking that it was nothing more than a harmless role-playing fantasy, on the day of my interview I dolled myself up with bright pink blusher, lipstick and nail varnish, wore my skimpiest and sexiest white T shirt, pink mini-skirt and strappy white stilettos. Please follow me. And despite being completely strapless, it still managed to present her gorgeous cleavage for the whole world to see, while at the same time leaving her delectable back and shoulders on display.

Her skirt too, such as it was, was as short and skimpy as anyone could ever have gotten away with, puffed up with layer upon layer of lacy white petticoats that left even more of her legs, rump and pussy on display. I think that this was my first real moment of doubt and panic. What if she was a total pervert?

Sprawling decadently across her plush pink velvet sofa as she sipped her champagne and nibbled her Belgian chocolates, it was fully five minutes before Mrs Simmons even acknowledged my existence. And since I was still too busy trying to figure out if I should be trying to impress her or running for my life, I just stood there like a mindless mannequin and smiled like a good little doll. Mrs Simmons wanted all of her staff to be as patient as a saint, willing to stand seductive and motionless for hours on end without ever breathing a single word.

And so when the woman did finally stand to greet me, she was very pleased indeed. Yes, very nice indeed.

Every fibre in my body was screaming at me to turn around and run back to the car as fast as I possibly could. But as Mrs Simmons leaned forward to give me a long, loving kiss on the lips, even though I wanted to stop her, I quickly realized that I was behaving more obediently than ever before. It was as if my body was on auto-pilot. And while I wanted to shout at the woman to leave me alone, when I opened my mouth to yell at her, I heard myself say something completely different.

But instead, I actually heard myself whimper with frustration when the groping stopped. But as she revealed her smooth naked pussy, petting my head as if I was one of her pets as she lovingly guided my lips towards her slit, there was nothing I could do to stop myself as I felt my mouth begin to water with eager anticipation and my pussy became just as wet. I was even frigging the crotch of my white cotton panties so hard that I was actually starting to enjoy it. No matter what it was that Mrs Simmons had done to turn me into an obedient lesbian puppet, she now had undeniable proof that it had worked perfectly.

Once again it seemed that while I was glad to see the end of my humiliation, my body was still as eager as ever. Mrs Simmons did ask me to stand back up before her maids arrived, of course, and I obeyed at once like a good little toy. Hello Janet. Having stood me up and dried me off with towels so fluffy that they actually made me giggle, Mary and Janet then gently applied soft white talcum powder all over my body with huge fluffy powder puffs before wrapping me up in a soft pink bath robe and sitting me down to receive my full makeover.

As the sexy Asian maid expertly removed the varnish from my toenails and gave me the most relaxing pedicure of my life, Janet did the same to my lingers and Mary washed and styled my hair. And I must say that once Mary had removed my make-up, moisturised my skin and made my face up once again, I was absolutely astonished by the result. And five minutes later, I was gasping with delight as I felt the soft silk and satin uniform and stockings gently caress my skin. I was a maid, I was a dolly, and I was also one of the girls. And when Mrs Simmons came to praise my hard work and offered to reward me with a nice long lick of her pussy, I was so homy and eager to please her that I literally fell down onto my knees and hungrily worshipped her gorgeous slit.

Please let me be your maid for ever! After all. Next was the throbbing. Though he was lying stiffly on his back, limbs pulled taut, he felt as if he were riding a roller-coaster, his head reeling. When his eyes fluttered open, a blur of shapes and colours stung his corneas, and it took several minutes before his vision sharpened enough to distinguish objects. His eyes darted around the room. When he saw the Double Indemnity poster, there was a spark in his brain. An apartment. Her apartment. But what was her name? He combed his memory, struggling to put the pieces of the evening together.

He had gone to the Rumba Room - that much he remembered. The music had been loud, the walls were pulsating. Then he had spotted her. She was sipping an apple martini at the bar, her raven hair seizing the light like obsidian, shining from across the room. They glittered like diamonds, her eyes, and he was startled to find them 85 an electric shade of violet, so intense that he faltered backward.

She had skin pale as milk, a striking contrast to the full, berry-coloured lips that curved into a knowing smile. Her dress was black as the shadows surrounding her, wrapping around her like a velvet serpent. She was of another era, her look too ethereal to be a Miami native. European, perhaps? Before he could think he felt his feet carrying him toward her, parting the throngs of tanned dancers and making his way to the smiling beauty. When he stood before her, a hint of her perfume curled around his nostrils, a scent surprisingly sweet, like ripe fruit.

Adam Belmont. She set down the drink. He compelled his mouth to move, to form words, to stop stuttering like an idiot. She rose from her seat, bridging the gap between them. Her eyes burned into his, letting him know that there was only one answer she would deem acceptable.

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He could smell the sweetness of her breath; such an unusually tart scent. It made him think of strawberries, apples, juicy plums. He could practically taste her. Her slender fingers curled around his palm, towing him gently toward the door. He followed like a puppy. As the door slammed shut behind them and they moved silently through the night, the music became a dull thump in the distance. The massive palm trees lining the streets were lit 87 with strands of flickering lights, making shadows stretch and curl around them.

Adam had been at a loss of words before, but he now found himself petrified as the woman pointed to a building several blocks away. He turned his head to look at her and was surprised to find that her expression was blissful, as if being outside in the darkness soothed her from the inside out. Actually, it was only when the silver wisps of clouds spread like a spider web across the moon and the stars struggled to be heard in the bleakness of the midnight sky that she felt truly at peace. But to Adam she merely appeared to be relieved to be out of the stifling, sweat- drenched club. Vines of bright red flowers hugged the building from every angle, springing from the lush garden surrounding the apartments.

A little slice of paradise on an otherwise unremarkable street. She led him up a flight of stairs, twisted her key into the lock, and flicked on the lights. Her apartment glistened with intellect and refinement. Paintings of exotic settings, stacks of leather-bound books, and intricately carved furniture that looked as if it had been plucked right from the rococo period. After surveying her elegant apartment, his fascination with the woman had doubled.

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Evelyn breezed behind him, glided to the kitchen, and fetched two glasses, which she promptly filled with a ruby liquid from an unmarked bottle. My favourite, actually. Her eyes were glowing amethyst, burning with insistence. I opened it because, well She licked up the moisture with her tongue, slowly, methodically, moaning with pleasure as the taste of it flooded her mouth.

Her eyes locked on his. He felt himself sigh, surprised by its richness. The woman sat beside him, flashing him an encouraging smile. His eyes fell to the Double Indemnity poster near the mantle, framed in an ornate gold casing. Scared me to death. The thought of someone actually planning to murder their spouse He felt his nerves deserting him, but forced himself to smile and meet her gaze.

Why me? There were tons of good-looking guys in that place, but you were smiling at me. They emanate their personality from the outside in. I could tell you were a good guy He braced himself to feel the softness of cotton panties - perhaps a satin thong. Instead his fingertips glided across her. His breath was sucked sharply to the back of his throat.

I would never want you to think that I was only interested in.. Adam could feel the throbbing, the dizziness swirling through his head. They both cried out, she in pleasure, he in shock. Adam felt her wetness smothering his finger and the room started to spin. His eyes rolled upward, the lashes fluttering slightly. He felt his body swaying. A long, low moan fell from his lips. He could smell her sweetness; it flooded his nostrils and soothed his senses as his stomach heaved and twisted. He felt her run a tender hand through his hair as his eyes slumped shut.

His vision was sharpening. Winding around his body. Digging into his flesh. What was he lying against? It was hard, a cold slab. Scattered around the living room were clusters of candles, their glow stinging his eyes and doubling his dizziness. He felt his stomach churning, thought he might throw up. Breathing deeply, he gritted his teeth and rode out the wave of nausea.

Her voice pricked his ears, floating out from the shadows. I drugged you, Adam. The violet of her eyes pierced through the darkness, making him shudder. Adam compelled himself to speak, but managed only a low, gurgling noise. She moved fluidly through the darkness, like a panther, her features illuminated as the moonlight fell across her face.

She stared down at him. Her expression was unreadable. Finally she knelt beside his rigid body, and he could see that her eyes were soft. I meant what I said earlier. You have a genuine goodness about you. He felt his throat swelling, and this time when he tried to speak he managed to choke out words. She noted his problem. He let out a terrified squeak as the large flames 93 lapped at the ceiling, overwhelming the room in a searing glow.

You want to hear my explanation, correct? Struggling would be futile, he knew. He returned his gaze to her and tried to make sense of what he had just seen. The major stuff, anyway. The story of creation? Here is how humanity came to be He designed a secluded garden for Adam to live in, but as the days passed Adam found his existence tedious without companionship. He became so distraught by the loneliness that one day he climbed a willow tree and wrapped a long vine around his neck.

As he was about to hang himself, God spoke to him. Because this paradise is empty without companionship. Then the both of us would sit, bored, passing our days in the same manner. She will fill your days with pleasure, and attend to your every desire. He was about to ask what this tale had to do with their present situation, but she continued. Adam was delighted by her, awed by her beauty, bewitched by her body. God told them both that paradise was theirs, but they must never eat from the golden apple tree by the lake. If they did, they would be banished from the garden for ever.

They agreed, and were left to their own devices. Eve was shy and overwhelmed by her strange existence, and she turned to Adam for reassurance. He wrapped his hand round her hair and pulled her to the ground. She screamed and fought wildly, but he took her cruelly, mounting her in the mud. You will serve me however I see fit, and if ever you object, I will punish you until you recognize your place. Where on earth had she heard this story? He may not have been a church regular, but he knew the story of creation.

In the night Eve cried quietly, cursing her wretched existence. Then one day while Adam napped in the afternoon sunlight, she went on a walk down by the lake, down by the golden apple tree. Through the tall grass came a serpent, slithering up her leg, circling her waist, until it draped across her shoulders and its tongue tickled her ear. Comic erotic odyssey. Translated from the Swedish. Adult Pulp Erotica.

Erotic saga. Trick or Treat? Jacket by Michael Bell. Price on front flap has been blacked out with marker pen. Jacket by Joe Partridge. Jacket by Peter Williams. Book has a Dealer stamp on the front pastedown, and a mild uniform page browning. Jacket has slight edgewear and some rubbing. A scan of the jacket is available on request. Erotic do-it-yerself adventure. Book has only slight ding on the spine head. Jacket shows signs of mild rubbing. Jacket by Barbara Walton. Scan on request. Translated by James Hogarth. Size: 34cm x 26cm. Minor wear to boards. Minor foxing and soiling.

From the collection of Dr. Gary Simes, book-plate pasted down. Shipped Weight: 2 kilos. This is a heavy book and may involve extra shipping charges to some countries. Very Good Condition Price: Boards have no wear, rubbing or soiling. Dust jacket has superficial rubbing. Edges of dust jacket have light bumping. Pages are clean and unmarked and in excellent condition. Reveals how sensual touch can be applied for a variety of benefits including enhanced sexuality, pregnancy relief, and reduced stress, and explains how the sensual massage can contribute to more satisfatory relationships.

Quantity Available: 1. Inventory No: Fine Price: Collection of erotic steampunk short stories. Foreword by Meljean Brook. First Edition. Signed by Author. Deluxe edition, signed by author and photograpgher. This is a publisher copy, marked "sample", ex the sequence. Superb presentation copy. From boutique Western Australian publisher. This is the first Australian edition.

Size: A4 x mm approx. Text body is clean, and free from previous owner annotation, underlining and highlighting. Binding is tight, covers and spine fully intact. All edges clean, neat and free of foxing. Shipped Weight: kilos. Category: Erotica; Australia; Photography. ISBN: Pictures of this item not already displayed here available upon request.

This book is extra heavy, and may involve extra shipping charges to some countries. As New Price: Three erotic romance novellas. Size: 29cm x 23cm. Minor rubbing and wear to board edges. Foxing to top edge, very minor foxing elsewhere. Dust Jacket worn at edges, small chips and tears.

Dust Jacket price-clipped. Minor soiling to jacket. Shipped Weight: 1. ISBN: x. Illustrator: Eliot Elisofon.


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  • Size: 28cm x 20cm. Book is in Good condition, by which we mean it has moderate to heavy marks of age and is well worn from handling, but is still intact and good for reading. Moderate creasing and wear to cover. Previous bookseller sticker. Previous owner's signature in ink.