It’s not much fun giving a blow job,” Taryn remarks over the noisy gush of heat hitting my hair. “AlthoughI think every lesbian feels that way, don’t you?”“Only if they can speak from experience,” I reply, wincing as Taryn continues to torture my tresses. Taryn winces, too—for an entirely different reason. “And I seri- ously doubt that the judges are going to inquire about my sex life, oral or otherwise, during the interview.”“Agreed.” She puts down the blow-dryer and picks up a hairbrush. “A better question would be: why did you get involved in beauty pageants?”I smirk. The answer is out of the question. I got involved in beauty pageants because I wanted to meet girls. I could care less about the sash or the cash or the crown that glitters like a dinner plate in an advertisementfor dishwashing soap. That doesn’t mean I don’t take pageantry seriously. It just means that I’m not in it to win it.I used to think pageants were sideshows, populated with aspiring anchorwomen who
Ten more minutes, I thought, glancing around the carnival. Ten minutes and then I can get out of this nightmare and go for a drink. I hauled one of the milk cartons up in front of me, and began stacking the plastic rings from the Ring Toss. This was the last year I’d volunteered for the games. Next year, I’ll sell tickets or something that doesn’t involve snotty kids screaming because they didn’t win a plastic frog. The sky was several shades of amber in the wake of the setting sun. I loved summer. And despite the disaster of this year’s Ring Toss, I always looked forward to the annual Shriners Carnival. I always volunteered. The money went toward revitalizing the parks and play- grounds in the area, places I used to go to when I was a child. Every year held surprises, from the old friends who came back for the night, to the local celebrities who turned up in support. Last year, we had an Emmy Award winner perform an impromptu concert. This year, my surprise was the very reason I ne
Let me tie you up?” he asked me, holding up the ropes so I could see them. At first I couldn’t take my eyes off them; they were slim and white and gorgeous. They were looped over one another and tied off beautifully in lengths with colored ends, so he could keep the lengths separate. I must have stared at those ropes in his hand for half a minute before I brought my eyes back to his and saw the wicked joy in them. Peter’s smile broadened to a grin. His blue eyes brightened. He knew he had me. He was fully dressed, and I was naked—very, very naked. I’d just gotten out of the shower, and I’d been thinking about him in there—thinking about what we might do when I got out of the shower and Peter took me to bed. I was already very turned on. He could see everything he wanted to see, I real- ized—in exquisite detail never before revealed. I’d just shaved, so he could see my sex. He could see the hot flush of arousal through my breasts and my face, see the stiffening of my nipples that
There’s an indeterminate span of time between asleep and awake. Those bleary moments, waves of thought washing over us as we struggle to gain or lose conscious- ness. Where dreams blur with reality, taking on aspectsand influence from each other.The shriek of an alarm clock is translated into the cries of some prehistoric flying creature chasing us through Elysian Fields. The scent of bacon spurs a vivid scenario of gorging ourselves on anything and every- thing within sight.The slow, rhythmic thrusts of a cock between swollen labia elicits dreams of multiple members in multiple orifices.This is how I awaken; gradually, with the dawning realization that at least one turgid member from myreveries is truly flesh and blood. Sliding between my thighs from behind as I lie on my side, body curled into the blankets surrounding me. A hand, presumably accompanying the penis in its adventures, is trailing feather soft over the curve of my breasts, fingers occa- sionally tweaking my nip
I have about an hour to kill before I can go back to Eva. Walking this town from end to end would take all of ten minutes. I pause at the wine-tasting room, but there are too many tourists inside. Besides I’ll have to make the usual inane chitchat with one of the hospi- tality staff. “Is this your first visit to the Wine Country?” she’ll say, chipper as a Girl Scout. “Actually, my wife and I come up from San Francisco a few times a year, but not for the wine. We like to play our kinky Dom-sub sex game in your local country inn. Would you care to join us tonight?” I smile as I continue on down the street. If only it were that easy. Of course, bringing back another woman might be pushing Eva a little too far. This time. I pass a quaint tavern—everything is quaint here— and peek inside. Dim lighting, a few customers perched at the bar. Perfect. I take a table in a shadowy corner and order a glass of Frank Family Cabernet. You can’t get that by the glass in the city. The wine is deli
OPPOSITES ATTRACTSenior Vice President, Lana Holt stomped angrily past the cubicles of her nosy employees, ignoring their probing stares and low snickers. They could barely contain their joy. The Ice Bitch was finally gone. Theythought she didn’t know what they whispered behind her back, but shedid. She knew everything the close to one hundred employees she supervised said about her. They thought she was a sad, lonely, pathetic frigid bitch. And maybe they were right.She’d worked for the Renault International Hotel Corporation ever since she’d graduated from college. And over the past twenty years, she’d steadily climbed the corporate ladder, sacrificing everything toachieve one goal—to become CEO of the largest hotel chain in the world.She had always remained professional and distant from her employees, running her division with cool efficiency and precision. The marketing division was undoubtedly the most productive
Matthew Renault flopped down in the plush leather cushions of his office chair and blew out a long breath.How could his grandfather do this to Lana—to him even? He ran an angry hand through his close cropped, jet black hair, disheveling it into wild spikes. When Tom retired, his grandfather assured him that Lana would be promoted to CEO. So it had been a shock to him when his name had been announced instead.Right after Lana stormed out, he’d pulled Gerard Renault aside for an explanation.“What was that about? You told me Ms. Holt was going to be promoted,” he’d accused.His grandfather had shrugged his stocky shoulders and the lines of his face had deepened when he’d spoken. He at least he had the decencyto appear remorseful. “I wanted to promote her, but the Board refused tosupport her bid for CEO. They were really uncomfortable with having someone from outside the family in the position again. I had no ch
“That’s impossible. It has to be here,” Lana cried as her fingersskimmed across the keyboard of her office computer, her eyes frantic. After several long minutes she finally stopped and whipped her chair around, nearly throwing Matthew off balance, who’d been leaning against it to peer over her shoulder.“I don’t know what happened. When I left Thursday it was here. I promise you.”“It was your account, Lana. If you don’t have it then no one else does,” Matthew said coolly.For several moments she just stared at him with blinking eyes, not really knowing what to say or do. She was at a complete loss. When she’d cleaned out her desk two days ago she had been sure to leave all company files on her computer or on disks in her office. It was companypolicy. Once an employee ended his or her relationship with Renault, they were obligated by law to leave all materials pertaining to Renaultacc