Pearls: Pearls make the perfect anniversary gift... wherever you wear them... like a negligee, it's all about who's removing them. And how. (BDSM)
The Green Man: A woman. A car. A lonely road... sometimes when things go crash in the night there's more at work than just the weather. (Paranormal, Dark Fantasy)
Jasmine: Be careful what you say to a writer. Especially a mystery writer -- particularly if she happens to have been your childhood sweetheart -- and the woman you dumped two decades ago. Sometimes revenge is a dish best served cold. There's always room for another twist in Jasmine's plots... (Bisexual)
Women Know: Jamie's Turkish lover has asked that she follow his cultures' traditions. But a bikini wax is more than she's willing to have done in her local salon. A visit to his sister seems in order. Her lover assures her "Our women know what to do." And he's right... (Ménage; Bisexual)
Publisher's Note: Vintage Madeleine Oh -- Four stories from long ago revisited.Excerpt:
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2010 Madeleine Oh
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
When Robert speaks, in his slow, deep, "I've got a surprise for you" voice, he gets my undivided attention. Chicken with Holy Basil can't compete.
This was our wedding anniversary and I expected a surprise. But what? A bright, red butt plug with a green ribbon around the base? A pale-as-the-inside-of-an-oyster shell vibrating egg? Quilted purple silk restraints? That had covered Christmas and Easter and my birthday.
Our first wedding anniversary could be anything.
He set a black, velvet jeweler's box on the table. Had Robert turned conventional? Buying me a string of pearls or perhaps an add a bead necklace? Possible, but highly improbable.
He nudged the box closer to my wine glass. "Open it."
I had it opened just enough to glimpse the white satin lining in the lid when our waiter reappeared. All he wanted was reassurance our meal was perfect but I almost slammed the lid on my finger. Maybe it was matinee length pearls, but you can't be too cautious in public. Not when you're married to Robert Kelly.
Checking to make sure no solicitous waiter or maitre d' loitered, I snapped open the velvet lid. It was pearls, all right, but I'd never wear these to the opera -- I hoped.
Nestling against the velvet padding and almost reflected in the gleaming satin lining of the lid were six large pearls, strung on a fine twisted cord, one end sporting a polished metal ring, plenty big enough for hooking and tugging with a strong middle finger.
I did an involuntary Kegel exercise imagining how they'd feel pushed one by one up my asshole. Knowing how the butt plug stretched and stimulated as Robert pulled it out, my stomach churned jasmine rice and holy basil imagining six round beads exiting my tight opening one by painful one.
I was so wet thinking about it, I was scared I'd leave a damp patch on the upholstered seat. Wearing no panties didn't help in the least. I should be used to that by now, but I wasn't. I never crossed the street without thinking about my mother's warnings in case I got run over.
Sitting in the Thai Pavilion, smelling my own arousal while Robert smiled promises at me across the pink linen table cloth, I wanted to shove back my chair, grab my husband's hand and drag him home to bed. But Robert ordered mango mousse, which I ate one tiny bronze spoonful at a time and never tasted a thing.
By the time he'd sipped the last of his decaffeinated espresso and finished signing the credit card slip, I could feel myself soaking through my skirt and I was panting as I settled on the soft leather upholstery of Richard's Mercedes. Only a ten minute drive, fifteen max, even if every light was against us, and we'd be home.
I was ready and willing for whatever Robert had in mind, even six gleaming pearls up my asshole.
What Robert had in mind was having me strip in the garage. I half-expected him to fuck me over the hood of the car, but no, while I was stepping out of my shoes and getting ready to roll my lace-top stockings down, he grabbed me by the waist and tossed me over his shoulder. My head was hanging halfway down his back, face rubbing against his Tussore silk jacket, while he held my ankles in one hand and stroked my butt with the other. I was tempted to wriggle and complain, but with my ass literally under his hand I decided against it. That part of me was going to get enough attention tonight, no point in getting it reddened as well. Besides, I was more worried about one of the neighbors seeing as Robert carried me across the breezeway into the house.
Once inside, Robert eased me down his body. Every inch, from my shins and knees to my boobs and my face, rubbed the warm, rough surface of his jacket as he lowered me until my feet touched the cool, tiled kitchen floor.
"Happy anniversary," he said and kissed me.