Erotica Harem

Hmm, interesting chapter. Something about her writing what she did with her boss in the story was a bit, I don’t know. I mean, her boss is a dick and here she is with her character in the story giving his character pleasure. As I mention below I would have been thinking torture and slow death. I know this goes with the themes in her writing so I can’t fault you there. I think I would have punished the man and went on to try the experiment on my lover. That’s just me. Otherwise this was well written and clean. I’ll be back for more, I have to find out what happens between her and the editor fellow. Please remember this is only my opinion.

Dragon

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Jessica shifted the strap of her laptop bag to her other shoulder and opened the door to Pickerel Underwriters, Incorporated. Kellie, the multi-talented woman who served as the company receptionist, Mr. Pickerel’s personal secretary, and the presumed source of diverse sounds that janitors reported hearing after hours, sat at her desk reading a Cosmopolitan magazine.

Jessica waved as she passed the desk. “Did your boyfriend call back?”

The receptionist brushed a lock of frizzy blond hair away from her face and scrunched her nose at Jessica. “No. He’s a jerk. I’m glad to be rid of him.” She blew a bubble and popped it before picking up her magazine and burying her nose in it again.

“Uh, Kellie, if Mr. Pickerel sees you chomping bubble gum, he’ll blow a gasket.”

“Mr. Pickerel can kiss my butt.” Her eyes went wide and she glanced over both shoulders. “Oops,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“His door is closed. Anyhow, I’m glad to hear you’re rid of that boyfriend. Who needs a male-type jerk in their life?”

“Yeah, right. Not me.”

Jessica strolled to her bare-walled cubicle and collapsed into the cheap swivel chair behind the desk. The last hour had seen a stack of new customer messages pile up on the in-box.

“Hey, Jess.” Dan’s outdoorsy-tanned head, topped with an unruly mess of blond curls, popped around the corner. “Got a sec?”

“For you, ten. Maybe fifteen if you make me smile.”

He breezed into the room and sat on a corner of her desk.

She let her gaze linger a moment on his narrow, muscular butt before planting four fingers on it and pushing him off. “Desks are not for sitting,” she said.

“Neither are those bicycle seats that ram themselves up your crack, but people sit on them anyway.”

“No smile yet, Dan. I’m busy. What do you want?”

“Hey, I’m driving up to the Adirondacks this weekend to go mountain climbing . No tools or nothing. No vertical cliffs. Just a lot of walking up steep hills . And a cool night in a tent. You interested?”

“No.”

“Really? You already have plans for the weekend?”

“Yes.”

“With a guy?”

“No.”

“With a girl?”

“No.”

“With a vibrator?”

“Get a life.”

“You got a boyfriend yet?”

“No.”

“You still a virgin?”

“None of your business. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

“Okay. Sure.” He walked around the side of her desk and leaned over, giving her a whiff of the cologne he wore every day, a heady pine scent that reminded her of ancient, magical forests. For one second she saw him as a woodsman, standing beside his cabin door, axe in hand. He could do it, too, she thought, letting her mind ponder the image.

He bent over to whisper in her ear. “Come on, Jess, tell the truth. When’s the last time you had something that doesn’t run on batteries between your lovely legs?”

She pushed him away, hoping he hadn’t heard the chuckle that escaped her mouth before she could stop it . “Get out of here. You’re such a pervert.” She put her hands on his hips and shoved him toward the door.

“Oh Jess, why do you lead me on so?”

She grabbed a piece of scrap paper, crushed it into a ball, and threw it at his face. “Dan, go! I’m busy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted and disappeared.

She picked up a pencil and tapped it on her desktop.

The office intercom buzzed. “Jessica?”

“Yeah, Kellie. What’s up?”

“Mr. Pickerel wants to see you. Now.”

She sighed as she stood and dragged herself out of her chair, down the hall past Kellie’s desk, and to the heavy oak door with a brass nameplate displaying ‘Ivor Pickerel, President’ embossed in black. It swung open at her touch.

“Ah, Jessica, you’re here.”

No shit, Sherlock, she thought, acknowledging his greeting with a dip of her head.

“How’s my favorite credit analyst?”

“Busy.”

“Good, good. That’s what I like to hear. Hey, good job on cleaning up the Carmichael thing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Come on, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

Oh no, here it comes, she thought, pulling up a chair. His long, thin face, the perfect match for an almost anorexic body, gave no hint of what he had in mind.

“In fact, you did such a great job, I’ve got a couple other messes for you to handle.” He pushed two thick file folders across his desk.

After thumbing through them, she nodded. “Fine. About two or three days each. I can have them done by late next week.”

“Well...” He clasped his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair. “There’s a problem. I need these by Monday morning. I hate to do this to you, but I think you’ve got to take them home to work on over the weekend.”

Her mouth went dry. “Uh, sir. I have plans for the weekend.”

“Really? What?”

“Excuse me? Mr. Pickerel, I have a life.”

“Oh, I know, I know. But please understand, you also have a job. Quite a decent job, if I’m not mistaken. A lot of people would love to have your job, if you get my drift.”

She tucked the folders under her arm and stood.

“Oh, now Jessica, don’t get all huffy. I think there’ll be a nice little bonus in it for you if those are on my desk Monday morning. Trust me, I’ll make it worthwhile to you.”

She glared at him. “You will, will you? Then how about this? Let me leave now, forget the work on my desk, and get a start on this stuff.”

He stroked his jaw a few times before nodding. “Sure, Jessica, sure. You do that.”

She stormed down the hall, threw the work in her briefcase, and skipped the elevator, instead running down twelve flights of stairs. The weather was perfect, seventy degrees with a light breeze and no humidity. The thought of spending the day cooped up in her apartment with a pile of paperwork was appalling. She made it as far as the subway station before turning around and jogging to the park. Her favorite bench was empty, so she sat down, pulled out her notebook computer, and fired up WordPerfect. New File; name: Pickerel.

**********************************************


Jessica, Duchess of Camden, paced inthe turret of Castle Pentamore, pausing only to pluck an occasional grape from the basket she had brought up with her. With every turn around the perimeter, she scanned the horizon. Hours passed before the red and gold colors she sought appeared at the forest edge. She shaded her eyes with her hands, squinting against the late afternoon sun, and then flew down the stone steps two at a time, descending in a spiral to the main level.

“Pickerel!” she shouted.

Running footsteps echoed in the stone halls, and in a moment her door burst open.

“Yes, Lady?”

“Lord Ararmond has arrived. Please inform him that I desire his company in my chamber before dinner.”

“Um, yes ma’am. After that, may I take my leave? You may recall that I requested the afternoon off so that I might tend to my garden. It waxes mightily with weeds.”

“Fie on your weeds! They’ll be there tomorrow. After you deliver my message, you are to return to my chamber. I have tasks for you.”

He hung his head and mumbled, “Yes, my Lady.”

She watched him trot across the castle yard toward the royal stables where Aramond would be tending to his horse. Her lover had been gone for weeks, and the thought of his return set her heart to pounding.

The skinny little man soon returned, puffing and red in the face. “Lord Aramond replies that he will be delighted to attend you in your chamber before dinner.”

“Thank you, Pickerel. Now go to the kitchen and fetch hot water for my bath.”

“My Lady? That will be four trips at least, perhaps six. I have worked since sunrise and I grow fatigued. Perhaps you could summon...”

“Pickerel!”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“You were a starving peasant before I took you as my servant. Is that a life to which you would return?

“No, my Lady. I will bring hot water.”

She let down her hair and brushed it while she awaited the filling of her tub. Her ivory-handled brush floated through waves of golden hair that fell to her waist. When it was brushed to a shine, she tied it up and held it with pins carved from the ribs of exotic beasts imported from afar.

“That is four buckets,” the servant panted. “Will that be sufficient?”

She studied the tub. “No, I think not. Two more will do nicely.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Oh, Pickerel?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be angry. I promise that I’ll have a special treat for you when your work is complete.”

A wan smile raised his lips. “Thank you, my Lady.”

She removed her countless layers of clothes and climbed into the tub. “Will you wash my back?” she said, fixing a soft smile on the startled servant when he had poured in the final bucket.

“If you wish.” He took the sponge she offered, dipped it in the warm water, and ran it down her back.

“Mmm... Very nice.” She leaned forward, resting her head and arms on the front of the tub.

He squeezed out the water to replace it with fresh, and rubbed it in circles behind her shoulders, down to the middle of her back, and finally as low as he could reach, making wide, circular sweeps, splashing fresh warm water onto her body with each pass.

“I might request this again,” she purred as she leaned back, clasping her hands behind her neck and turning her head up to the ceiling. “Now the front.”

He dipped the sponge between her legs, squeezed it, and slid it up her stomach to her breasts, first looping around them, and then lifting them so he could rub their undersides. Finally, he filled the sponge, placed it over a nipple, and slowly pressed, squeezing the water out in a stream that ran down her ribs and into the tub. When he’d done the same to the other, she patted his hand. “I chose a talented servant, I see.”

He passed her a towel when she stood, and he made to leave.

“No, not yet.” She dried, and pointed to four small bottles lined up above the divan. “Please, take the one marked lavender, and the artist’s brush,” she said as she reclined. “Under my breasts,” she commanded, lifting them.

When he had painted their undersides, she called for the lilac. “A circle on my stomach, if you please.”

He dipped the brush in the vial and traced a ring around her navel.

“And violet for my lovely hair.”

He tipped the essence, letting three drops fall into her tuft of blond curls, and dispersed it evenly from top to bottom with light strokes of his palm.

She smirked. “Aramond loves them all, but his favorite is rose, the one I save for last.” She lifted her legs and used her fingers to spread her nether lips. “Just a dab. He enjoys the smell, but abhors the taste.”

He placed his finger over the top of the bottle and tilted it, and after replacing the stopper, brushed his fingertip in a tiny circle around the rim of the pink opening between her inner lips.

“Are you finished with me?” he asked when she stood.

“Ah, there yet remains your treat for being such a fine servant.”

His eyes grew wide. “My lady!”

She chuckled. “No, Pickerel, that would be too much. However, I do wish to use you for a test subject, a test that I suspect you will enjoy. You see, a certain lady of the court informs me that there is a special thing I can do for my love. I doubt that it is possible, but she claims it is, and instructed me in the proper technique. May I try my skill on you?”

“Of course, Lady.”

“Good.” She untied his britches and lowered them. His member was straight, with a vein on its side pulsing in time to his racing heart. She’d seen enough of such things in her life that this was nothing special, though a faint, annoying moisture gathered between her legs.

“Sit,” She commanded, lowering herself to her knees in front of the divan. She licked circles around his tip before taking it into her mouth and drawing it deep.

“You pass the test well, my Lady,” he breathed.

“The test? Pickerel, what I am doing is everyday play. My friend says that the key is to look up as high as possible.

His head turned to the ceiling.

“No, not you,” she laughed. She tilted her head back and pushed down, driving his shaft deeper into her mouth. Gagging, she snapped her head away. “I’m sorry. I’ll try again.”

This time she moved more slowly, keeping her head back as far as she could and lowering herself slowly over his rigid shaft. She reached her goal when her lips touched his pubic bone. She could scarcely believe it, the whole length in her mouth. She drew her head away and lowered it again. I have one nit pick here. How can she tilt her head back if he’s sitting? He’d have to be up higher than she is.

“My Lady!” He cried, putting his hands on her shoulders.

She set up a rhythm, slowly but steadily raising and lowering her head. He suddenly clenched her shoulders and gasped. Warmth erupted in her mouth, and she swallowed vigorously, massaging him with her tongue. When his pulsations ended, she eased her lips away, letting them close over the tip before sitting up straight.

“Well?” She cocked her head to the side. “Do you think he’ll enjoy my newfound skill?”

He nodded, still breathing hard. “My Lady, I have never...”

“Neither have I. Lord Aramond will receive a special surprise this evening. Of course, I’ll have to deliver his surprise before dinner, so that after dinner he will have recovered and be ready to satisfy my own needs.”

She helped him off the bed and fastened his britches. “You may go now and weed your garden. I must dress and await my beloved.” just a comment. I don’t think this is something I’d be writing if this man was my boss. I’d be thinking more along the lines of torture and slow death. LOL

*********************************************


Jessica snapped shut the lid of her laptop and glared. “You!”

“Excuse me?” The man seated next to her put down his book.

“You were here on my lunch break. You’re the editor of some literary magazine.”

“The Little River Review. I love this park and come here often. I love it even more, now that we share it.”

Her face burned, and sweat ran down her forehead. “Did you read over my shoulder?”

“Dear me, I would never be so impolite. I saw you writing again, and decided to chance another plea for you to submit your work. In the absence of that, I thought perhaps you would at least accept my card and give me a call if the mood moved you.” He took a business card from his breast pocket and handed it to her. “Have you reconsidered? We need new authors.”

She shook her head. “You would never publish what I write.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Trust me, I know.”

He watched a lone gull fly across the sky, and then turn and swoop down on the pond, skimming the surface before heading back to the sea. “Oh, I see. It’s that kind of writing.”

“What kind?”

“You know, that kind.”

“No, I don’t know!”

He leaned in and whispered . “Dirty.”

Her jaw dropped. “Sex is not dirty!”

“I hear it is when it’s done right.” He grinned at her and winked, though his ears turned pink.

“You tricked me!”

“I think you wanted to be tricked. Who have you shown your work to?”

“Nobody.”

“Not even your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Maybe that’s why you write about it instead of doing it.”

She inhaled sharply. “You are impudent!”

“Would you like me to leave?”

She picked up her laptop and drummed her fingers on it. I don’t think she sat it down. Maybe just have her tap her fingers on it. He wasn’t exactly cute, with light skin that saw little of the outdoors, a long, thin, face, and hair that reminded her of a picture of Albert Einstein she’d seen years ago. But his sky-blue eyes twinkled with mirth, and they had a depth that gave her a spell of dizziness when she stared into them. She shook her head. “No. Please stay. It’s a public park.”

“It’s almost dinner time. I’m buying. Where would you like to go?”

“Um...” Without thinking, she opened her laptop and closed it again. “Whatever. Italian?”

“I know just the place. It’s ten blocks. Walk?”

“Sure.” She tucked her computer in its case and slung it over her shoulder while he took her briefcase. “How do I know you’re for real.”

He held out his hand. “Touch me.”

“I mean, not just out for, you know.”

“You want references?”

“Yeah. Can I talk to your ex wife?”

“No ex wife. No wife, either. I’ve never been married.”

“Really? Me either. Seems weird to make it to thirty-something without the big M, but there it is. Why aren’t you married?” She touched his hand. “Oh, sorry. That’s too personal.”

“No, it’s not. I guess I’m just shy.”

“You weren’t shy about sitting down next to me.”

“That was business. Little River Review, remember?”

“What about taking me to dinner?”

“Still business. I hope you’ll show me your writing. I have connections. We might be able to do something to get you published.”

“Dream on.”

********************************************************


She drained the last swallow of musty dry wine from her glass and pushed it away. “Thank you,” she said. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

He nodded. “Same here. May I sit beside you?” Without waiting for an answer, he stood up, walked around the booth, and slid onto her cushion, signaling the waiter at the same time. “Two more glasses, please.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “I shouldn’t.”

“It’ll make it easier for you to show me what you’ve written.” He reached over her lap and picked up her computer.

“No way!”

“Please?”

“I’ll blush!”

“So what? It’s too dark to see in here.” He opened the lid and set it down, straddling their legs.

She gulped and opened the first file, pulling the lid halfway down when the waiter delivered their wine.

He slid the computer fully onto his lap and read the entire story, beginning to end, without a comment. When he was done, he turned to her with an amazed expression on his face. “That’s excellent,” he said. “More, please.” He shoved the computer back to her, and retrieved it after she opened the next file.

One by one, he read through all five stories that she’d written. When he finished, he closed it and reached for his wallet. “You’ve had enough wine?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Me too. Let’s walk.”

They headed uptown at a leisurely stroll, enjoying the warm evening air.

“I noticed two common threads in all of your stories.”

“Really? What?”

“The heroine is a passionate, strong woman. She knows what she wants, and she goes for it. No holds barred, no fear.”

She pondered that. “It’s true. I don’t know why. It sort of happened that way. What’s the other thread.”

He stopped and took her hand, facing her. “She never gets what she wants, at least not in the story. It’s right there, tantalizingly close, just around the corner. But she never quite reaches it, because you stop writing before you let her have it.”

She pinched her lips together, licking them. “You’re right, aren’t you?” She let go of his hand and clutched the back of her head, twisting her hair into knots. She finally let it go and took his hand once more. “Dammit, I never saw that. It went right over me. How symbolic.”

“Symbolic? Truly?”

She nodded and stepped forward to rest her chin on his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against his. “I think it’s time to write a different story, one that goes a little further, isn’t it?”

“That would be nice. Can I help?”

“Yes.” She nibbled his earlobe. “Your place or mine?”