Sexy Little Numbers

Today UK peoples can buy Sexy Little Numbers, an incendiary device full of fierce fiction by the likes of: Kristina Lloyd; Charlotte Stein; Rachel Kramer Bussel ; Portia Da Costa ; EllaRegina ; Janine Ashbless ; Dianne Dawson ; Sadie Wolf ; Shayla Kersten ; Madelynne Ellis ; Carrie Williams ; Jamaica Layne ; Kay Jaybee ; Kristina Wright ; K D Grace ; Heather Towne ; Shada Royce and Delilah Devlin.

And me! My story is called The Number and in it I shoehorn about half a dozen of my favourite fantasy scenarios into one 6K piece of fiction. I hope some of them might be your favourite fantasy scenarios too. The outgoing editor at Black Lace liked it so much he thought I could use it as the springboard for a novel. Alas, it seems that that will now never be.

But here is an excerpt for you:

‘Nothing will happen that you don’t want,’ confirmed Master in her other ear. ‘We are taking you on a journey into your own needs and desires.’

‘We are going to pleasure you.’

‘And punish you.’

‘Punish you with pleasure.’

‘Pleasure you with punishment.’

‘Because that is what you want.’

‘Because that is what you need.’

The words were sufficient to quieten the nagging doubts that had prevented Charlotte’s full immersion into the experience. A weight lifted; she rolled her head back on the seat and breathed a heavy sigh.

The hands were moving inexorably higher, underneath her skirt. Another hand cupped her right breast while mouths pressed against her neck on the other side. Fingers arrived at her outer lips, prising them apart then dipping into the waters with a luscious slicking sound.

‘Well, well, something tells us our Charlotte is enjoying herself.’ Sir’s voice, just above her shoulder.

‘Did you ever doubt it?’

Two sets of fingers delved the velvet depths of Charlotte’s most intimate places, while mouths breathed warm air across her swollen nipples, then flicked the tips with their tongues.

‘When we get to the hotel, Charlotte, we are going to make you come, over and over and over again,’ Master informed her, half-eating her ear as he poured his voice down it.

‘Until you can’t walk.’

‘Or talk.’

‘Or think.’

‘Or move.’

One finger, two fingers, three fingers, more, scissoring inside her, scattered across her clit, pushing, poking, pressing, arousing every one of her nerve endings all at once. Her thighs spread wider and wider, until they were hooked over forearms, the skirt having now ridden irrevocably around her waist, no further thought given to the cabdriver. Every part of her body under sensual attack, defences stripped down, surrender ignored by the marauding hands and mouths and tongues and teeth. Charlotte felt herself to be no more than one gigantic pulsing organism; every pore in her body shot sparks down to her clitoris, which seemed enormous now, and rapacious in its need.

Twenty fingers worked at her core while two sets of lips caressed her breasts; she was pushed back in the seat with her legs forming a wide V in the air above her; one calf held firm while the triumphant digits invaded further and further across her borders, pillaging her most intimate parts.

When she came, writhing on fingers that thrust down and down while others circled her swollen clitoris, she kicked so hard that a shoe fell off and clattered to the floor of the cab.

One tongue then two plunged into her mouth before it had finished its broken keen of defeat. They drew back, the fingers leaving with them to remove her blindfold with a flourish, so that Charlotte lay, legs limp and loosely spread, skirt around waist, shirt wide open and bra cups down to reveal sorely reddened nipples, hair wild and eyes glazed, in a post-orgasmic slump.

‘I think you needed that,’ proclaimed Master. ‘Don’t you think she needed that?’

‘She needed that,’ confirmed Sir with a nod.