Warning - This is a short story of circa two thousand words.
Extract:
I’ve been watching you Dahlia, looking down from the tiered seating housing scores of students just like you, eagerly noting Mrs Bond’s imparted wisdom, but you haven’t noticed me, you’re too wrapped up in the drama unfolding stage front.
You look to your right, the stairs alongside the aisle disappear behind you, leading to a number of doors; one or two occasionally opening quietly, admitting a latecomer but nobody leaves, none dare exit Mrs Bond’s lectures prematurely.
It’s not just her intellect, her dulcet tones, gravitas and charisma; it’s the whole damn package, isn’t it?
Barely glancing at her notes, her clear delivery reaches you verbatim via the lapel mic pinned to her severe navy blue suit.
You try concentrating on her sonorous words.
It’s a given that Mrs Bond won’t remove her jacket, she’ll wear it even on the hottest days, admittedly unbuttoned, permitting a glimpse of her blouse, a prim nod to femininity. The soft fabric intimate beneath her harsh business attire and you visualise rolling the sheer cloth between your fingertips.
Adults only: Content is sexually explicit and is unsuitable for readers under the age of 18.
www.secretnarrative.com
www.eroticaexpress.com
Language
English
Pages
15
Format
Kindle Edition
Release
February 21, 2012
Dahlia and the Velvet Vice (Erotica Express: Swift Sexy Shorts)
Warning - This is a short story of circa two thousand words.
Extract:
I’ve been watching you Dahlia, looking down from the tiered seating housing scores of students just like you, eagerly noting Mrs Bond’s imparted wisdom, but you haven’t noticed me, you’re too wrapped up in the drama unfolding stage front.
You look to your right, the stairs alongside the aisle disappear behind you, leading to a number of doors; one or two occasionally opening quietly, admitting a latecomer but nobody leaves, none dare exit Mrs Bond’s lectures prematurely.
It’s not just her intellect, her dulcet tones, gravitas and charisma; it’s the whole damn package, isn’t it?
Barely glancing at her notes, her clear delivery reaches you verbatim via the lapel mic pinned to her severe navy blue suit.
You try concentrating on her sonorous words.
It’s a given that Mrs Bond won’t remove her jacket, she’ll wear it even on the hottest days, admittedly unbuttoned, permitting a glimpse of her blouse, a prim nod to femininity. The soft fabric intimate beneath her harsh business attire and you visualise rolling the sheer cloth between your fingertips.
Adults only: Content is sexually explicit and is unsuitable for readers under the age of 18.