Victoria Blisse Collection

Victoria Blisse

Description

This collection of four short stories from award-winning erotic author Victoria Blisse has a mix of themes and is sure to suit all tastes! The stories include: Scentsual: A femdom story set in the seaside town of Scarborough... Kelly is dominant and has a heightened sense of smell, so many of her memories, thoughts and feelings revolve around scents. She meets Rob on a trip to Scarborough and seduces him; their lust is instant but is Rob the submissive man Kelly really needs to fall in love with?... Reluctant Muse: Carrie is a shy student who works in a fast food joint to make ends meet. Her boss is a bully and she meets Jamie when he stands up for her. She's got terrible self esteem problems, but Jamie is an artist and wants to paint her naked. He's also a dominant and he wants to play with her submissive side. Can Carrie overcome her fears and the ghosts of her past to fully give in to Jamie? Till the End: Susan falls instantly in lust with a young student she employs to be one of the till staff at the supermarket where she is head of personnel. She is obsessed by him, but twice his age and convinced he could never be interested in her - that is, until the Works Christmas party proves differently... Masquerading Hearts: Laura is out for revenge on her cheating boyfriend Jack, but no matter how many men she beds, she can't get him out of her mind. A foursome with Jack in the mix might just be what she needs to get over him, but will it work?... These short stories have been put together in this fantastic anthology, and have been specially formatted for today's e-readers by House of Erotica.

Sujets

• Erotic literature

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 31 janvier 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781849893350
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page

THE VICTORIA BLISSE COLLECTION


by
Victoria Blisse


Publisher Information

The Victoria Blisse Collection published in 2011 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Victoria Blisse

Cover image courtesy of wegle

The right of Victoria Blisse to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.





Masquerading Hearts

It doesn’t matter that I don’t know his name; I’ll not be calling him again. I’m just going to ride this cock till I’m satisfied. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know the colour of his eyes, because I’m not interested in staring into them. I just want his hardness slamming into my soft, willing cunt. It doesn’t matter who he is. All that matters is revenge: revenge on Jack.
Jack said he loved me. Jack said I meant the world to him. Jack said I was his soul mate. I believed him. I thought he was the one, you know, the one in the romance novels. Actually, our eyes did meet across a crowded ballroom. It was the office party one Christmas. We’d broken some sales record or other so they pushed the boat out, hired the swankiest room in the town hall and we had a ball, an actual masquerade ball.
I was in an old, Marie Antoinette get-up: a glorious scarlet ball gown with this very delicate black embroidery around the low décolletage and enough volume in the skirt to deafen a metal head. I felt somewhat like the Michelin man, with big balloon sleeves over my less than delicate arms and skirts that ballooned out like inflated airbags that draped to the floor making me resemble a hovercraft.
I was standing in a corner, cradling a half-glass of warm rum and Coke and thinking about the buffet when, for some reason I still can’t grasp, I looked up. I looked into the brightest, most intense gaze I had ever experienced, and I was instantly smitten. My heart leapt - literally leapt - in my chest, and my nipples tightened as my pussy throbbed. Our eyes stayed locked as he walked towards me. He walked over, and I took nothing else in but the intensity of his stare, the soft sweep of his cheek bones, and the sensual wave of his lips.
He took me by the hand, and it was as if an electric circuit had been completed. I was charged up, my body prickling with arousal. He never spoke, just led me to the dance floor. We waltzed, spun, and reeled and, without a word as one song melted away into another, his lips touched mine.
In fact, we didn’t talk to each other very much at all on our first meeting. He slipped a card into my hand as he left with his friends, and on it was scrawled his name and phone number. I felt like such a wanton hussy as I realised I’d been with a nameless man with whom I’d never even made polite conversation. It excited me.
I should have known it was too good to be true.
“Are you okay?” he gasps, and I’m shaken from my reverie. I look down at his screwed up grimace of a face and nod. I pull my most porn-like pout and growl, “Yes, oh yes.” For a split second, he looks as if he’s not convinced. Then I clench my cunt and his eyes close as a moan spills from his lips, and I know he has forgotten all doubt and is overwhelmed by lust once more.
He yells loudly as he comes. I cannot quite make out what he says, but it sounds like “Jane!” which isn’t my name. Oh well, at least he’s not going to get hung up on this fuck either.
“Where’s my bra?” I ask as I climb off his sticky cock.
“What are you doing?” he asks, looking confused.
“I’m getting dressed and going home. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Oh.” He pouts as I gather my clothes and put them on. I turn to say goodbye once I pick up my lone shoe from the landing, but he is snoring already. I shut the door quietly behind me and walk.
“Would you like to get some air?” Jack had asked me after what seemed like the hundredth waltz.
“Sure, that’d be nice.” I’d smiled back, taking the opportunity to catch my breath. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it as he almost dragged me out of the ball room, down the crowded hallway filled with couples making out, and through the door into the cold night air.
I had not even a second to gather my thoughts; his lips plastered themselves to mine the moment we got away from the doorway. My back thudded against the cold wall, the prickly bricks pressing into the flesh of my back that was showing through my dress. His hands slipped up and down my waist, emphasizing the concave curve between my breasts and hips, tracing over the tightened bodice of the corset that was keeping all my convex curves from spilling out and spoiling my hourglass figure.
His lips were heavenly hot, transporting me to levels of rapture I’d never before experienced. He kissed me. That sentence is so woefully inadequate yet paradoxically spot on. I felt like his lips were caressing me all over. My flesh tingled and zinged with arousal, and I just wanted to fuck. I’ve never been promiscuous; I’ve never had the chance. Straight laced parents and cruel name-calling through school persuaded me I was not sexy. It took a few years at university and a night filled with stolen snogs for a drunken dare to show me that men did actually find my curves attractive. It took a year-long relationship with an old friend to show me I was a sexual being and a second of a hot kiss with a stranger to make me wet and wanton.
“Oh, fuck,” he’d gasped, as our lips parted for breath. “You’re sublime.” He continued to kiss me from my lips to my cheeks then he slipped sensually south down the long slope of my neck. As he sucked upon the ripe flesh of my cleavage, I knew I should protest but I couldn’t. I even helped him haul my breasts up and out of the low cut top so he could feast upon their flesh. He nibbled my nipples as they hung outside my clothing. I should have been worried about my work colleagues copping a look at me with my tits out, but I wasn’t. All that was on my mind was fucking him.
I reached out with my hands as soon as I remembered I had them and slipped them down over his waist to his taut buttocks. Those old fashioned tight pants give real opportunity to grope a man. My squeeze elicited a deep rumbling growl from between his puckered lips. “Yes, I want to feel your arse,” he whispered in my ear then pulled me forward.
“What are you doing?” I giggled.
“Copping a feel.” He replied, standing behind me and pushing me over one of the concrete bollards blocking cars from parking down this dark alley.
My hands cupped the hard, cold post as my upper body fell forward, my tits hanging and swinging in the bitter cold air. I heard the rustle then felt the lifting of my skirt and underskirts. At that moment, I regretted wearing my big knickers but it did not seem to deter him in any way. I remember the coldness hitting my buttocks seconds before the flat of his hand did. I was shocked and turned on by the impromptu and brief spanking I received.
“Dirty girl,” he whispered, dipping a finger into my pooling honey, “that turned you on.”
“Fuck me.” I hissed desperately. It was the signal he’d been waiting for. It was the consent he needed and as the nasty phrase dropped from my lips, he slipped his exposed cock between my buttocks.
Even now, as I walk away from another unsatisfying drunken fuck, I get wet remembering that first fuck. Yes, it was short but, hell, it was sweet. Jack hammered into me hard and fast, and I needed no other stimulation to come. My senses were in overdrive, and feeling him using me in such a deliciously naughty way in such a public place was just orgasmic. It set a precedent, and I’d lost track of the number of times we’d fucked or played around in public or semi-public since.
Fucking bastard left me three months ago. Well, correction: I threw his sorry arse out three months ago after I saw him with that blonde bimbo. She was barely legal and barely clothed when I found them fucking behind the White Lion. I’d found his mobile phone on the coffee table and decided to take it over to him, as I knew he was out with the lads and he’d need it to call a cab later in the evening. I’d heard his voice as I walked up to the pub’s door and so went round the back to investigate.
I stood still and watched for a good few minutes before spinning on my heel, throwing his phone to the floor in disgust and striding determinedly home. He’d not moved in officially, but I had some clothes of his in my wardrobe, his toothbrush in my bathroom, and some of his CDs in my collection. I bundled up the lot in a black plastic bag and dumped it on the front doorstep with a note stuck to it.
It’s over, you cheating bastard .
Then, I cried. I cried and I cried. I cried as he thumped on the door begging my forgiveness. I cried when I woke the next morning, alone. I cried when I found the note pressed through my letter box. Then, I got angry.
I’m so sorry. Laura, I love you, I didn’t even know her. I need to explain what happened to you. It’s not what it seems. Please, give me another chance.
So he was fucking a stranger and that was meant to make it all better? I’d been a bloody stranger when he’d fucked me, and we’d been going out for six months when I discovered his indiscretion. It had been an intense six months, too. He said he loved me on