Chocolate Dreams! Another Excerpt from Finger Lickin' Good

So I try a little nibble at her bud and she writhes and thrashes some more and if it wasn’t for the fact that she makes no effort to stop me, I’d think she was in agony, but no, I guess it must be some kind of ecstasy instead and by now she’s beating the bed like she’s a professional wrestler going for three falls and a submission, only I’m not in the mood to give any quarter and I keep at it and keep at it until she makes a hissing sound, like she’s about to explode and when I come up for air I can see she’s really red in the face and her eyes are open and a bit wild and vague like she doesn’t know where she is and I think, ‘Right. Now it must be my turn,’ so I kneel over her and tempt her with my prick, just tapping it lightly against her mouth, which is half open anyway, but she looks so shagged out, even though no actual shagging has taken place, if you get my drift, that I take pity on her and settle down beside her and just suck her left tit for a while ’til she gets her breath back, and blow me if she doesn’t say  -  still panting a bit from all the previous effort on my part - ‘I could go a Mars bar right now,’ and I think, ‘Yeah, right, I’ll just nip over to the all-night garage and pick you one up, love,’ but instead I say, ‘I’ve got something here you can chew on if you’re hungry,’ and I show her my dick.
 ‘We’ll have to get some of that spready chocolate stuff, so’s I can smear it all over you then lick it off,’ she says, and I’m like all agog at the thought of that ’cos it sounds a jolly good idea to me.

Read on:
The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories - Amazon UK
The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories - Amazon USA

I love Stiletto Heels...

I love stiletto heels. I’ve got a hundred pairs. I’ve got them in shiny black patent, I’ve got them in silver, I’ve got them in scarlet. I’ve got them in leopardskin and lizardskin and zebra print. I’ve got them in velvet, satin, suede and leather. If you’ve seen a particular style in the shops, the chances are I have the exact same pair at home.
    I like my stilettos to be sharp and pointy and high. I love the way they make me walk - the way they make my luscious hips wiggle as I teeter along the street. I love the way they make my buttocks tense inside my tight skirt, the muscles hard as tennis balls. I love the way they make my legs look long and slender, my calves firm and rounded, my thighs taut and sculptural.
    I love the little imprints the heels make in bare floorboards, the way they stab through old linoleum like a cock deflowering a virgin. I love the way they get caught in the gutter forcing me to wait to be rescued by some passing hunk. That’s happened to me before - more than once.
   The last time it happened I was wearing my newest red patent pair - the ones with the spiralling band that curled around my ankles to keep them in place.

Read on:
The Stiletto Heel USA
The Stiletto Heel UK

Extract from The Love Machine

A small lift took us up unnumbered floors - two perhaps? three? four? I felt cramped, crushed between the two large men, who stared silently over my head. Sweat began to gather in my armpits. When the lift stopped and the door slid open, the first man gripped my elbow and escorted me out. The reception area was quietly carpeted, hushed, elegant. A young woman sat at a curving desk which carved the room in two. Miss K, I presumed. She wore a blonde wig piled high on her head and winged diamante glasses. Her lips were scarlet; her nails blood-red. She did not smile.
     ‘Delivery for Doctor J,’ said one of the men.
     The woman picked up a white telephone and murmured something into it. The oppressive silence of the room seemed to thicken as she listened to the response, the receiver pressed against her ear. My entire body was now damp with perspiration. Surreptitiously, I rubbed my stocking soles against my legs. The soft carpet would show the imprints of my feet, I felt sure.
     The woman turned her back on us - my captors and I - and looked at a flickering computer. She tapped something into it and said over her shoulder, as though in afterthought, ‘The Doctor will see you now.’ Without granting us the courtesy of a further glance, she raised a red talon and pointed to a door which, until then, I had not noticed. Set flush into the wall, it was almost invisible. I held my breath as it slid silently back to reveal an elderly man waiting on the other side.
     At last, I stood face to face with the diabolic Dr J.
     There could be no mistaking him: the white coat, the gold-rimmed spectacles, the fob watch. He was a walking cliché - wild professorial hair, eyes gleaming with an enthusiasm just this side of madness, fingernails well scrubbed. I had heard all the rumours, all the stories. The man who stood before me could be no one else.    

From: THE LOVE MACHINE
Read the rest at The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories - UK      
or  The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories - USA

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