eXcessively pleasurable fiction
from the sweet to the forbidden
eXcessica
erotic
horror
Length: Short Story
Heat Level: eXcess 3
Price: $2.99
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Warnings: This title contains graphic language and sex.
Anne-Mette’s looks, intelligence and willpower meant she was the doyenne of Esbjerg society. As she prepares for the Annual Reunion Dinner she’s troubled by half-hidden memories of someone – whose name she can’t quite recall. Why does the thought of this person fill her with dread, and at the same time a deep, carnal desire? What is his purpose in attending the Reunion? What does he want of her?
EXCERPT:
The dressing gown dropped from her shoulders, pooling unnoticed on the floor as her left hand touched the butterfly hair ornament and traced how the coastline of her coiffure drew an observer’s gaze irresistibly through the smooth contours of her shoulders and down, down, across the swelling mound of her breasts. She shuddered as she felt the faintest tremor of desire flare. Her hand moved towards the skin stretched tight over her stomach, began circling rhythmically towards her navel. The tiniest tip of her tongue appeared pinkly, glistening with moisture, and ran around her naturally full, dark lips as her breathing quickened. Both her hands were now caressing different areas of her torso and abdomen as her imagination briefly took advantage of the rational centres of her brain, postponing the boring nature of the practical refinements still to be added to her makeup before she could show herself in public.
Her right eye flickered open, followed reluctantly by the left, and both hands ceased movement as she caught herself wantonly enjoying the touch of her fingertips. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as she slowly, reluctantly, stopped and leaned closer to the glass before her, reaching for the first of the brushes and makeup materials spread across the surface of the table beneath the mirror. If she was going to have some semblance of control left in her fingers while completing the fine details of her evening makeup, she had to pull back from the brink of the final plunge into sensual pleasure now, before she lost control of herself.
She became aware of a small patch of dampness on the plush padded surface of the stool between her thighs, which would certainly become less comfortable and somewhat sticky if she allowed herself to continue. She forced herself to breathe deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth, repeating the mantra until she sensed that her heart rate had steadied enough and she could trust herself to pick up an eyebrow pencil or a makeup brush.
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