Erotica Harem

Title of Book: Dangerous Relations

Chapter #: Chapter 3

Author: Mck (Carol)

My comments are meant in the spirit of helping us all become better as artists; never meant to discourage or demean anyone. Use what you like and toss the rest!) !!


Setting : Kenna and Bette returning home from their trip to Paris; most of this chapter was featuring Kenna’s home, er, bathtub. . Also, Brad (memory). I felt the airport and Kenna’s home were well described, including the sights and smells of the aromatic bath. I enjoyed the setting very much.


Characters: Kenna and Bette. Keena is covered in the majority of the chapter. I think here, we learn more about Kenna, her loneliness and devotion to her dead husband. She was clearly in love with the man – no one has ever satisfied her, but she occasionally thinks about; Brad. He dates other women, is not tired down, but something about him awakens feelings in her.

Referencing: I felt all was appropriate here.


Plot: Kenna and Better return from their trip to Paris. Kenna returns home, lonely, and thinking of her deceased husband. She soaks in a tub, using her “toys” to experience the love-making once shared with her love, but then, Brad’s image breaks through and she forces herself to discontinue. Clearly, she’s not ready to move on.

Grammar: Again, very good. Those nasty commas got you in this chapter. I made some other suggestions, including mis-spelled word corrections. Use what you like and toss the rest.


General: I enjoyed the chapter. I think it worked well to advance the plot and set us up for what is to come with the conflicted feelings Kenna has for her deceased husband, yet she’s desperately lonely – and perhaps, this will “blind” her as she enters new relationships. I felt the masturbation scene was graphic, but appropriate and I didn’t cringe once! Actually found it quite educating, being a gay male myself. I felt you handled the scene well, clearly in your element here. Great job again!

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Chapter Three

Chapter Three


When Kenna and Bette's 767 (this almost suggests Kenna?Bette own the 767) touched down at La Guardia in New York, (comma) it rained hard. From there, they caught an American Airline's flight that took them non-stop to DFW (do most people know this is Dallas-Forth Worth airport?) . They claimed their baggage and trekked to a short-stay (dash) parking lot where they loaded their luggage into the backend of Bette's red Blazer. Bette drove them the rest the way to Tyler. For a while, they discussed the art they saw and photographs they took (snapped?).

"This weather's crazy."

"Is the whole world raining?"

"I believe so." Kenna brought a travel brochure from her purse and slipped it into the side pocket of her carry on bag, vowing to not forget to throw it away when she got home.

"I'm so glad I took this year off at school," Bette said, (comma) as she merged into traffic a half mile from the terminal. "I needed that trip. With Jack's death and all, I was down. Thanks for putting up with me."

"I guess I needed to get away too." It touched Kenna's heart that Bette apologized for her kookiness.

They neared the University of Texas campus. Bette sniffed and caught Kenna's attention by saying, "I think he's nice. Looks good too."

The more Kenna thought about her words, (comma) the more puzzled she became. She scrunched her face and looked her way for a moment. How odd of her to say that. The conversation about him had died a long time ago. Kenna blinked and swiveled her head and gazed at Bette's profile. "What made you bring him up? We weren't even discussing him." She looked back out the passenger window and rolled her eyes.

"It was quiet. I thought I'd liven things up." Bette smirked then shrugged. Her hands rose from the steering wheel for a second or two. "So?"

"Jeez, did you ever!" she said, the moment they turned south and were within six miles of their cul de sac. Bushes and trees undulated in the wind, like holy rollers in church.

Bette pressed the brake pedal and sighed while waiting for the truck ahead to move. Two men hopped down, grasped garbage cans and shook the contents into the back end of a truck. They tossed the cans onto the yard and hopped back on to the back of the truck.

"Why can't they just set them down in place where they were?" asked in her infamously bitchy and unique way.

Kenna shrugged. "I dunno. They like 'em to roll out in the street on windy days, I guess."

"They enjoy pissing off the homeowners," she said, and stepped on the accelerator when the truck moved forward." (space) It's like their revenge for stinky garbage."

A minute later, as they traveled down a highway, rain vigorously beaded on the windshield, and Bette turned the windshield wipers and defrost on and up a notch. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bitch."

"It's all right. No biggie. You always get so close to the truth." The snark.

"There's a neighborhood cocktail party next Friday night. Did you hear about it?"

"Yeah."

"I guess everyone's going to get together and welcome the new people in the cul de sac."

"Friday night, eh?" asked Kenna.

"Are you going?"

"I may."

A rustic sign read Hickory Creek Subdivision. Bette hung a right into the tree-ridden neighborhood. Seven ranch-style houses lined the road. Bette pulled the Blazer into Kenna's driveway and up to within a foot of the two-door garage of the beige three-bedroom ranch-style home. Bette shut off the engine, pressed a button under the dash and the back window rose. They stepped out into the icy rain and closed the doors behind them. After walking to the back of the vehicle, Bette opened the door below the glass so that Kenna could get her luggage out and carry it to the front door. She raised a hand and started up the walk.

"Bye. Thanks, Bette."

"See you tomorrow. I guess we can start walking off some of the Pair-ee cuisine?"

"Guess so. Give me a call before you go. We may have to take umbrellas."

"God, I hope not. Had a good time!"

"Me too."

"Bye."

* * *

A little before six that evening, in the warmth of her three-bedroom home, Kenna padded across the soft, deep rose carpeting of her living room. She carried an armful of laundry that she'd accumulated during her trip. In the utility room, she stood in front of her washing machine and stuffed the slacks and shirts into the washer, turned the knob and poured a capful of Tide into the hot, gushing stream. The clean scent filled her nostrils.

Thinking she'd finish the gigantic wash the next day, she padded a few feet into the bathroom and adjusted the crystal knobs so that medium-hot bath water filled the tub. From the shelf she she lifted a tall, plastic bottle of aquamarine bath oil, flipped open the cap and squirted it into the swirling water until rich bubbles rose. Leaning in front of the sink, she opened the door below, located and brought out three green, aromatic candles that a visiting cousin had givien (given) her for her birthday three years earlier. Once she lit them and scattered them about the room, she turned on some moody, meditation flute music. (excellent visual!)

With the lights dimmed, she undressed and touched her toe to the water to test the temperature. She stepped in and slid down into the luxurious water until it rose to her neck. She put ear phones in her ears and closed her eyes, (comma) enjoying the light music. Her body relaxed, her weariness soothed.

Her eyes opened. Did I hear something ringing? She sat up a little, her upper body rose from the sudsy water. In her curiosity, the skin between her brows rumpled. "Surely it wasn't the phone," she muttered and slid back down in the healing, warm liquid. The machine will get it if someone called. She lay back and tried to push the negativities and disappointments out of her mind. They just kept returning.

Most people would say, "Just what problems could a widow woman who had a nice bank account and a paid for off house have?"

Actually, she didn't have "problems" per se. Kenna had recollections. Loving memories of her life with her husband, Jim. Her love propelled his image through her mind like like a glider in the sky. If Jim was a bird, he'd be an eagle soaring high, so regal. She recalled the best of her good times with him and how heartbreaking it had been to watch his gradual decline after he'd been diagnosed (passive) with cancer of the brain. She ached, remembering the head pain he suffered. After the cancer had spread, his chiseled, aristocratic good looks deteriorated to a gaunt, starving look. Dear God. Why did you take him from me?

She raised her hands and let water drip off her fingers onto her throat. The rivulets slid down her heavy breasts and taut nipples as she remembered the sultry night he shaved her pussy. The whole time he dragged the razor across her skin, he touched her clitoris. Upon completion, her body ached for him. She was ready for him to take her right then and there.

How long had it been since she had a worthy man's lips, like Jim's, to suckle her deep rose nipples? She ran the flats of her hands down her curves. According to the mirror in her bedroom, she still looked sexy without clothes. Her own body felt so slick when she poured scented bath oil in her water. She closed her eyes to the ivory bathroom with its gold chrome accessories and washed herself, (comma) enjoying the feel of her arms, thighs and belly. While washing her pussy, she slipped three fingers inside. It feels so good. Mm-hmmm.

She reached for her ducky stimulator and attached it to her labia. Reaching, she pulled the waterproof, hot pink vibrator from under a stack of wash cloths. When she inserted the buzzing wonder, it worked with the ducky toy to bring her strong pangs of arousal. They quivered her clitoris until her breath caught and she cried out as if in agonizing pain. So much she wanted her love Jim to be with her that very moment. Arousal racked her body until she wanted, no she needed, (comma) more. Everything around her turned fuzzy and her breathing rate increased as she began arching to the source of her pleasure.

Her pussy spasmed and squeezed the thick length that repeatedly intruded and abandoned her. She loved it so much. How would it feel to have a man fucking her in the ass and the vibrator fucking her pussy? Kenna fantasized that she felt her husband's thrusts and how good it felt when he bit her nipple to increase the pleasure. His naughty, clever tongue lashed the delicate tissue with the tip, so hot and flicking.

"Mm, baby do it."

She reached down with her other hand, removed the ducky from her labia and fingered herself, toying with her swollen lips while she stroked her cunt with the wondrous wand. The vinyl toy worked utter magic under water. The merciless assault continued; she savored the feel of her own aroused flesh. "Yesssss."

Whimpering, she imagined how indecent she must look that moment, carrying out a lascivious barrage on her own pink pussy. Need hammered and blood coursed through her veins. Mindlessly, as the flutes twittered in her ears, she sought the end of her quest. I'm going to cum!

Dizzy in her desire, she licked her lips and moaned in her blissful turmoil. Impaled, she envisioned straddling his accommodating loins, pushing her lubricated pussy down on his hardened, {b (comma) pleasure-giving (I’m not sure – but I think I would “hypen” these words) rod. Pretending it was Jim who pleasured her, she felt her boobs bounce and dance for him. She fantasized that Jim cupped the dark areloas surrounded the jiggling ends. Like a cowgirl riding a freaking, (comma) bucking bronco, she rode him hard. Such obscene behavior. Desperately, (comma) like a mindless animal caught up in lust, her own identity lost, she sought (no comma) the ultimate, pulsating explosion of emotion. Lewd tremors and sensation promised to unleash in her body like a volcano filled with molten lava. I'm so ready to cum. Faster, she rode him. Her pussy spasmed and her breath rasped from her lungs.

Then Brad, another face from her past, with his dark blonde head of hair and dark hazel eyes, entered her mind. At first, she struggled to keep him from breaking her concentration. "Damn him." Her need turned cold, like ice water began running in her veins; her lust fell flat and couldn't be revived. Why does his memory pop up at inopportune moments to torment me? All movement stopped. She refused to masturbate when she saw his face. Staying unsatisfied and unspent, she visualized and heard his cruel laughter. He'd ruined her private moment.

An [b}elongated, (You might consider eliminating one of the adjectives) frustrated sigh left her lips. She pulled the vibrator from her slit and cleaned it with soapy water, vowing to put it back on its base later. As long as he invaded her fantasies, (comma) an orgasm just wouldn't happen.

At one time, when would near, {c:blue) (I’m not understanding this phrase?) her body ached in need for what he could do; she willingly took him into her bed and body. Now, she cursed with all the vehemence of a scorned demon all lingering thoughts of him. Why does he continue invading my thoughts and life? I've broken up with him for Christ sakes! And the breakup happened over two months ago!

Brad, a prescription drug salesman, strayed with other women when they went out together. The man had several intimate relationships with women from several neighboring towns all going on at the same time. It's such a small world, she thought wryly as she put away the ducky and vibrating cock. A friend of a friend of a friend phoned her one day with the news. The jerk wined, dined, and sweet talked beautiful, black women. The nervy bastard left them all high and dry; plunging some into depression. A real heartbreaker. All had financially secure lives and had better than average looks. Most were well-endowed. Did the sicko do it just for sport? It'll be a frigid day in Hell before Brad steps foot on my property again. The damned bastard. Between clenched teeth, she had screamed at him, "You get the Hell out of here, (comma) cheater!"

After soaking for fifteen minutes, and coming out of her unwanted reverie, Kenna put her sex toys away, stood up and drained the tub. Holding a fluffy towel that smelled of fabric softener, (comma) she stepped out onto the knobby rug. She swabbed her mocha slender, still sexually destitute body. With the towel wrapped around her mid-section, her breasts bare, she padded barefoot to the bedroom closet, opened the door and slipped on a pink floral gown and pink terry robe. At her waist, (comma) she tied the belt. Sitting on the edge of the bed, (comma) she shoved her feet into pink Isotoner (capitalized) slip-ons. She'd put on panties later. Kenna went into the office and searched the book cases for an erotic romance novel to read.

The phone rang. She glanced at the LED read out on the dresser that read in red neon letters--8:45 PM.(period) Who would be calling now? On her side, she plopped onto the soft tufted bedspread, reached over the night stand and plucked the handset off the base. She brought it to her ear. "Hello?" she asked looking at the curving white lamp nearby.

"Sorry to bother you. It's late, I know." An awkward, long pause followed. "But, well, anyway, I saw that your lights were still on," a masculine, deep and familiar voice said. "I need to talk to you. If it's too late---"

She twirled a wet lock of hair around her index finger. "No. I was still up."

"Someone said you just returned from Paris."

"Yes, I did. Had a great time too."

"This is Blake. If it's a bad time, (comma) I'll--"

"Blake?" She had a pretty good idea which Blake talked on the other end of the line and was pleased he called.

"From across the street."

It's him! "Oh yes. Hi Blake. Sure."


Jon


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