Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Extraordinary and secret desires drive the characters in these explicit and daring stories of sensual punishment, kinky power games, and fetish play.
Penny loses at cards and her forfeit is to become the slave of Edmund and his friends for a day...
When Jessie can’t pay her bill in a restaurant, the owner devises a unique payment plan...
Annabel’s reputation as an ice maiden only thaws when a daring barman dares to light her fuse...
BUY NOW FROM MISCHIEF BOOKS
CONTENTS INCLUDE STEAMING STARING CONTESTS FROM
Rachel Kramer Bussel
and Chrissie Bentley... and here's an excerpt from my contribution to the collection, the strange things that happen WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT
Without appearing (I hoped) to be staring, I snuck another look over at him. I’d put him around my age, so sort-of-somewhere mid-thirties. His hair peeked dark from beneath his hat, his boots were clean though they’d not been cleaned. He might be wearing a tie. Hard to tell; his chin kept his neckline in shadow. But he didn’t loom too shabby, and he certainly didn’t look the type who’d be groping strange women on a Rocky Mountain train ride. Oh, and other thing. I’d swear he was sitting a little bit closer than the last time I looked, as though every time we went through a tunnel, he’d inch himself just a little bit closer.
A knuckle grazed my panties, grazed my pussy through the cloth, and I fought back the yelp by biting down on my lip. Lost in thought, I’d lost my bearings, and the next tunnel had crept up even stealthier than he did. I cursed myself quietly; I’d resolved not to make a sound, and so far I’d more or less kept that up. But I’d also resolved not to move, yet my legs had still parted as his hand slipped between them; welcoming, maybe, curious, yes. I wanted to know how far this would go. I wanted to know how far I could go.
The knuckle lingered, light enough that I could almost shut my mind to its presence, firm enough that it would be able to feel the wetness and warmth that was embracing my pussy. I held my breath, not trusting myself to exhale as I waited to see what he would do next, and I was concentrating so hard on one thing that I didn’t even notice something else. That his hand had moved away, he had moved away, and we were back into daylight with me sat there frozen, a tooth still pinning my bottom lip down and my legs still parted wide.
And he was maybe a little bit closer.
I wondered if I should speak? Nothing incriminating, nothing accusing, just a few friendly words to pass the time. But I couldn’t trust my voice to stay steady, and didn’t believe I could keep my words light. Besides, I didn’t want to break the spell, that heart stopping moment when the hunter sights prey, because I hadn’t yet decided who was who.
I looked out of the window at the landscape flashing by, placing it on the map that my memory sketched out. One of the big ones was coming up, one of the tunnels that drove straight through a peak, with a halt in the middle for the maintenance crews. A boyfriend and I once got off the train there, intending to explore the heart of the mountain. We wound up scaring ourselves silly with every ghost story that we’d ever heard, and didn’t move from the platform until the next train arrived, eight long, cold and miserable hours later.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 12:23 AM