Other Books by Jess C Scott
EYELEASH: A BLOG NOVEL
(teenage memoir)
4:PLAY
(erotic short story collection)
PORCELAIN
(portfolio of written + illustrative work)
THE INTERN
(upcoming “Sins07”series / Fall 2010)
THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE
(upcoming cyberpunk/urban fantasy series / Fall 2010)
BLACK VELVET
Published by Jess C Scott, Smashwords Edition
Text copyright © 2009-2010 by Jess C Scott.
Cover art copyright © blueyedrican @
http://www.flickr.com/people/sirmightymac/
All rights reserved.
1. Fiction/Erotica
2. Fiction/Short Stories
3. Fiction/Romance/Adult
Summary: Two friends yield to their animal instincts, in a straight-up, gratuitous public encounter.
BONUS / Story #2 (BDSM): A short story of a certain proposal/proposition, by a global superstar, to one lucky fan.
4:Play book site:
http://www.missfey.blogspot.com
Notes:
These stories features in 4:Play (Jess’s multiple-genre-crossing short story collection, of the same title).
An excerpt of ‘Black Velvet’ was originally published on Bare Back Magazine, and Blink Fiction.
. . . CONTENTS . . .
[1: After Dark]
I had nothing to do. Tawnya (my roommate) was out, and there were the same old re-runs on TV. So I picked up a pen, and started scribbling in a blank notebook.
I paused for a few moments. I thought of what I’d normally be doing. Then I decided to write it out instead, as a self-indulgent little short story.
Title: Smooth
By Alyson Urban
It’s one of those nights. Closed the curtains and locked my room door from the start. Now I’m bringing the lights down a little lower.
This is how I like it. Never mind what I’ve been “brought up on” and everything else – what the boyfriend would think, what friends would think.
I look at myself in the mirror. I love having a big mirror. I like the undivided attention.
The gear, the get-up? Nothing too fancy – no leather, feather boas, spikes or handcuffs for me. I saw a couple chained to each other by the wrist with a set of cuffs once. They were making out on the street at night.
I’m standing in a simple white camisole. The only other item I have on is a ruffled leopard thong.
I start thinking of what it’d be like if the boyfriend were here.
“Hello, foxy,” he’d greet me in a low, smooth voice.
He’d be standing behind, holding my hand, the other circled around my waist.
He would lean in to nudge the loose strands of hair off the back of my neck so he could place the side of his face on the exposed area of skin there. He’d start kissing, exploring round the neck and gradually going up to the ears. Maybe take a few photos on his digital camera.
He is a good partner, who cares for me, loves me, and is sensible. He can be trusted.
I push all my thoughts aside and snap back to where I was: he’d be here, his hands over my milky-white breasts, the tips of his fingers instead of mine, working the nipples, now becoming erect. I see them, hard and prominent against the thin silken fabric.
The first wave hits me, quick as a lightning bolt.
Things...start to spin, a little. What if this wasn’t actually my room? Where would I be? Who would I be?
I’d be...an exotic dancer...the hot sexy starlet of my own show. Or I’d be a waitress at some sleaze joint, a bar hostess a kinky call girl at a local convention, whatever. Cash would roll in by the minute with every strut.
Politicians, rock stars, businessmen, rich men, men: they’d be all around – smoking betting drinking laughing good touching romping fingering up a girl’s butt pouring some booze and licking it off another’s tits.
Legs shoulder-width apart, hip thrust out to one side with a slut’s inviting look and pretty pout.
It feels good.
I slide one hand across the tabletop. I rip the small plastic mirror hanging off the wall and position it to get a better view and angle of things.
I turn to the side, then turn around and look back at the reflection in the mirrors.
I eye the contours of my body down - the sharp curve of the breasts, the slight arch at the small of the back, the tight butt, the slender slant of the thighs, toned calves tapering off at the ankles.
So I’d slide in across the table, and this big shot tycoon of a business guy would reach under and waste no time caressing me. He’s in a three-piece suit and shirt and tie. With a Cuban cigar or cigarettes that may or may not be his I don’t know.
“Is this how you like it?” he’d say.