Wesley and the Sex Zombies
Portia Da Costa
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Portia Da Costa.
This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With exception of quotes used in reviews, this story may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
Please be aware that this story contains sensual content that is only suitable for adult readers who are comfortable with frank language and descriptions of erotic scenarios
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*** *** ***
WESLEY AND THE SEX ZOMBIES
It was nearly midnight and Wesley Greensward was a disappointed man. He wasn't where he wanted to be, or doing what he wanted to be doing, and this grungy motorway services' café was the ideal place to feel sorry for oneself. Fate had taken two mean and spiteful swipes at him today and he felt thoroughly entitled to be miserable.
Swipe Number One: at ultra-short notice his firm had seconded him to their dreary northern outpost. A massive computer catastrophe had required the immediate presence of the company's top software wizard -- yours truly, Wesley Greensward. Remote diagnostics had been deemed impractical, hence the mile-burning overnight journey when he'd been looking forward to a weekend of consolidating his precarious sexual relationship with Lindy.
Oh God, he was getting aroused even now, in this horrid place, as he thought of their last -- and first -- night together. The degree of her "experience" had been an almighty shock to him, but who was he to argue with a woman who could suck his penis like a lollipop and still manage to grin gleefully at the same time? She had made him feel totally helpless but in an odd sort of way, he had liked it; especially when she was gulping down his semen.
Unfortunately though, Lindy was fickle, and had a whole stable of admirers. Even now, she would probably be sucking the fortunate cock of Wesley's immediate rival, an obnoxious martial arts expert who worked in the office next to his.
But the second swipe was the one that had hurt the most.
He had received a phone call this morning from his best friend Ethan, saying that the "grand project" was off. The fantasy magazine they'd always dreamed of publishing together. In the scrapper before it was even launched. Now, no-one would read Wesley's weird but cherished stories -- or head-hunt his literary talents for bigger and better things.
There was a woman behind it, of course.
Ethan had been full of her. "Serena this", "Serena that", and lots of sighs and gasps down the phone. Instead of the magazine, he was going to devote himself solely to drawing his lady love.
Wesley's first reaction had been acute genital jealousy -- because his instincts for that sort of thing had told him that Ethan's ragged breathing and disjointed speech had a lot to do with the lip smacking pleasures that Wesley himself had rarely enjoyed before Lindy.
His second reaction was a bitter sense of being let down. He and Ethan had been mates, and the magazine something of a holy quest, and now -- suddenly -- a case of overactive hormones had snatched everything clean away. The worst of it was he couldn't really feel angry with Ethan.
Bloody hell, I would probably have done the same thing myself!
Glumly, he doodled in a pile of spilt sugar. Then, as even his sugary pattern went wrong, Wesley suddenly smelt a rather pungent and overpowering perfume. Twitching his nostrils, he looked up to locate its source, and saw approaching him what was probably the most gorgeous and unusual apparition ever to grace the Woolley Edge Services Cafeteria. He blinked furiously. Making a royal progress amongst the tables was a creature as tall and voluptuous as she was bizarre: a quintessentially female vision of night-dark eyes, creamy white skin, scarlet lips, and hair colored the very precise bloody-purple of a glass of Beaujolais Nouveau. Her breasts were high and deliciously pointed, her waist was narrow and her legs were supernaturally long. Quite a lot of their smooth, pale length could be seen too, because the mystery woman was clad in what could only be described as designer rags; a soft filmy frock all slashed and cut in a selection of provocative places. Beside her was a being appeared to be her slave -- a disturbingly pretty young man with a platinum blond buzz-cut and an equally eccentric taste in clothes.
Wesley was bewitched. He gaped at the fantastic couple, and then silently laughed at himself. They were just a pair of cleaner than usual New-Age travelers after all. Nobody else in the cafeteria even seemed to have noticed them.
"Follow me, Maxi my sweet. I've found us a table," the woman said, drawing long, green painted fingernails across her young friend's chest, then extending a slender arm, covered in tie-dyed silken cobwebs, to indicate where he should sit. The sound of her soft, husky voice sent tingles through Wesley's every nerve end and made his half-hard cock leap with sexual hunger.
Gliding forward like a supermodel, the dazzling woman made her way to a seat close by, and as she passed she turned and fixed him with a glance so sharp and hot he almost came in his pants there and then. A fascinating play of emotions danced across her powerful yet finely formed features: hauteur, sexual interest, and -- to Wesley's utter surprise -- a trace of what could almost have been relief. As he fought a battle for control of his senses, she turned away towards her compliant young partner.
She likes me!
Wesley felt punch-drunk. It was an effort of will not swivel round and stare open mouthed at her.
"She likes me," he whispered aloud as sweat trickled down inside his shirt and his penis surged up in his jeans. It felt like a rigid, aching pole; a painful tribute to her beauty. He sighed and stared fixedly at the coffee-smeared table before him, seeing nothing but a heavenly, curvaceous body, lush, violently-colored hair, and the pale oval face of a hard-times Renaissance angel. Dark, smoky eyes seemed to reach out and caress him, focusing fierce rays of pleasure on his cock. If he hadn't been sitting in a roomful of people, he would've unzipped himself in an instant and stroked his flesh until he climaxed in her honor.
As a distraction, he took out his shorthand pad and pen. This morning, after Ethan's shitty news, he had sworn he would never write another word; but now his head was full of them. Full of descriptions of shabby but imperious temptresses with wine-colored hair and eyes that could sear a man's soul, not to mention what they did to his anatomy.
On this thought, he wriggled in his seat. "God, I bet she's hotter than hell in bed!" he muttered, then began to write it all down as fast as was humanly possible.
*** *** ***
As she took her seat at her crud-littered table the object of Wesley's adoration shivered, and for a reason that would have rather surprised him. He was, in fact, completely mistaken about her. Luciferia Jones was very, very cold stuff indeed.
Body heat was a luxury that neither she and nor her travelling companion, Maximillian Tesoro, could afford right now. Hot coffee, the usual warmer-upper in such circumstances, was no good to them either, but even so Luciferia bade Maxi fetch some. Appearances meant everything at the moment.
"And please, try not to frighten anybody in the process!" she whispered, and then felt instant remorse for her snappishness. Maxi was doing a damn good job even though he was in just as much a mess as she was. Sighing, she watched her half-dead lover drift his elegant way towards the serving counter.
It was getting so difficult to maintain the illusion now -- even with their consummate skills. If they didn't find a sorcerer soon their facade would quickly start to crumble -- quite literally.
Pushing away that nasty thought, she glanced across to where the young man was sitting at his scribbling. If only she could be sure it was him. But she felt so cold, so tired; and it was dangerously taxing to do a mind-probe when her reserves were getting so low. What was more, her present enervated state meant her ability to influence him was negligible.
"They're odd again, Lucie."
Maxi's soft, airy voice made her jump.
"Shit!" she said wearily, looking up into his beautiful, but increasingly mutable face, "It's getting so difficult to hold the patterns. I should've made us less pretty, shouldn't I?"
"But you look delightful with one green eye and one brown!"
"Yes, maybe so, sweetheart, but fairly soon it's going to be something more noticeable. Something that's going to upset people." She picked idly at the tattered sleeve of what had recently been a chic Sonia Rykiel dress, "Clothes aren't a problem. People seem to wear any old thing nowadays, but I somehow don't think they'll be able to handle the sight of your nose dropping off!"
"Don't say that!" Maxi grinned ghoulishly, "You know it makes my flesh crawl."
"Maxi! Please!" she replied, torn between admonishing him for his tasteless humor and loving him for trying to cheer her up.
Dear sweet Maxi. He was a treasure, one of her most brilliantly designed re-animates. His face was exquisite and his body superb -- for the time being -- and he had a cock between his legs like the branch of a lusty young tree! He was the lover to end all lovers, and what was more he had a gentle, caring personality to match. They had to solve their dilemma for his sake; it would be a crime to watch such a work of art decompose.
Something which was what would happen quite soon if they didn't find themselves a sorcerer.
*** *** ***
Wesley was scribbling furiously. He had never had a story gel so quickly, and it was going so well that he had almost forgotten his erection. Well, almost forgotten it.
The story was a mood piece -- his specialty -- a simple evocation of the events and impressions of his journey. A lonely traveler had been thrown together with the undead -- in the form of a pair of infernal but beautiful lovers based on the rag'n'bone couple he had just seen. In reality, they would probably be tickled pink to know that a complete stranger was writing a story about them, and for a moment Wesley considered using it as a chat-up line. It was such a damn shame that she was already "taken".
Oh God, what about a threesome? A real, sexual menage a trois? He directed the notion to his story. Yes! The lovers were the two corners of a triangle in a relentless search for a third. Yes yes yes! The solitary writer was the missing element but he didn't know it. He had the same power that they did, but it was latent, undiscovered.
His red pen raced across the page. He could hardly wait to get home and get all this onto disk. If only he didn't have to go up North.
He glanced around quickly, half expecting the weird and wonderful travelers to be gone. To his relief they were still there, sitting just behind him: their two pale faces close together and the fatigue of some desperate worry written heavy on their fabulous features.
*** *** ***
"But we always knew this might happen," said Maxi philosophically.
Luciferia smiled. She had originally patterned her paramour magician as a frivolous, pleasure-loving creature, but right now, he was proving to be astoundingly sensible and mature.
Mature? That was a bitter twist! They were both well past their "sell by" date now, and soon it would start to show. She felt a flash of cold anger at their fate. "If Serena Black wasn't dead already, I'd kill her!" she muttered darkly, "We had a nice thing going there, the three of us, but I might've known it wouldn't suit her. She never could bear to share."
"I liked that arrangement too!" Maxi smirked, and then flicked his hand absently over their coffee cups. The murky fluid promptly disappeared.
"You would, you randy bugger! It was the best triad of all from your point of view: one male and two highly libidinous females. Non-stop pussy. And don't do that! We're low enough on power as it is!" Maxi steepled his errant fingers to preclude any further tricks. "It was a bit tiring though, sometimes," he observed innocently.
"That, Maxi, is because you're such a lazy creature! How can it be tiring when you lie back and let the woman ride you? It's no wonder you've got more power left than I have. I've used up all mine pleasuring you!"
She had done it again. Lost her temper with the sweetest, kindest familiar she had ever resurrected. "I'm sorry, Maxi darling, I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just we've never been this close to the edge before and I'm getting really, really frightened."
"Don't worry, Lucie old thing, something'll turn up. We'll work it out." He stroked the softening skin of her long white hand.
"I hope so," said Luciferia mournfully, feeling the effort of promoting their illusion, "Because it won't be much fun when our eyeballs fall out and the flesh starts sliding off our bones. It'll mean the end of our sex life, of course."
"What?" Maxi's fingers tightening fingers sank deep into her fast-degrading flesh.
"Steady on!" She prized off his claw-like grip and tried to smooth away the marks. "Think about it Maxi. Work it out before your brain dissolves."
"Bloody hellfire! No bonking! I'll die!"
"You can't, you idiot! But something much worse will happen if we don't get lucky soon." She wanted to go easy on him, but things were getting too dire. "If there are no nice, firm, pulsing, throbbing bits to do the nice, firm, pulsing and throbbing, I'm afraid we'll have a boring old time of it. All I hope is that Serena's having as much trouble as we are!"
She was just about to smash her fist on the table in anger, but stopped sharply. Better not do things like that now. Without benefit of a sorcerer's regenerative powers, a fit of pique could snap her hand clean off. She could continue casting the patterns for a while yet; and this, combined with Maxi's magic machinations, would present an image of life. But without a sorcerer to renew them, their hours were numbered. Why in Asmodeus' name had the best sorceress they had ever trined with gone and jiggered off to live with a mortal?
Maxi, who she had sensed in her mind trying to comfort her, suddenly switched his communication back to verbal, "Yeah, I wonder how she's getting on with her human?"
"Not very well, probably," said Luciferia with some satisfaction. Their impetuous erstwhile friend had made it as difficult for herself as she had for them. "She's got to convert him more or less immediately, then they've got to find a third too."
"I wonder which he is?" said Maxi musingly.
"Probably an illusionist if he draws... but it's no concern of ours. If we don't latch onto our sorcerer soon, my darling, we're done for!"
"Or another sorceress," said Maxi hopefully.
"Nope, it's a sorcerer. And I've an inkling I just may have spotted him!"
"Have you? Where? Where? Let's get him!"
"Hold your horses. I can't just walk up to this guy and beg him to stop me decomposing, can I? Get real, Maxi!"
"What's real about being an animated corpse?" Maxi queried pleasantly; and Luciferia was forced to laugh, in spite of the fact that her jaw suddenly didn't seem to want to work properly any more.
"Okay then, Smartass, let's make a plan."
*** *** ***
Wesley's initial enthusiasm was waning. It wasn't that he was bored with the story, it was just that it wouldn't seem to go the way he had planned.
His first idea had been for the zombie couple to be evil: black-hearted fiends from Hell with designs on his naive but well-meaning hero. The dénouement would be for Mr. Good and True to vanquish the demons and send them back to oblivion.
Unfortunately, his zombies wouldn't toe the line. They kept turning out "nice". Kind. Caring. They had taken control of his story and now he couldn't do a thing with it!
Loneliness was the problem, he realized. His friendships were always getting taken from him. He'd lost Ethan to the mysterious Serena and he had probably lost Lindy too. Consequently, he was subconsciously making his characters into his friends. And his lovers. Even if it did mean demonic pacts and carnal congress with the living dead.
So, if he was stuck with the plot, how about finding a title? That sometimes helped.
He tried out "Midnight Hour", "The Road to Hell", and "Three of a Kind", but none of these really caught his imagination. He might as well call it something stupid like "Wesley and the Sex-Zombies" and be done with it. Shit, he would be giving it one of those clichéd "and it was all a dream" endings next. Perhaps his raggedy travelling queen could inspire him? He decided to risk another peek; but when he turned around, the outlandish couple had gone and a mind numbingly ordinary family group had replaced them at the table they'd occupied.
Wesley felt more bitter disappointment. Even his two "sex-zombies" had let him down now, just like everyone else.
Why hadn't he had the guts to approach them? He could have given them a lift somewhere. They would probably have turned out to be deadly boring after all that fantasizing, but at least it would have been better than being alone.
*** *** ***
In an alley, tucked away behind the kitchens, bold Luciferia Jones had now lost most of her confidence -- and virtually all of her beauty. Her perfect bone structure was still very much in evidence though; and frighteningly so, because now a good deal of it was actually visible. Big, sad tears rolled over what was left of her cheeks, and she cringed like an animal from the light, desperate to hide her sorry state from the eyes of her beloved fellow traveler.
"I never believed it would get this far, Maxi," she sobbed, "Please don't look at me! I'm not all that nice any more."
"Hush, Lucie. It's all right," he whispered, turning her ravaged face towards him. He looked at her without a trace of revulsion or horror, and Lucie felt wave after wave of consolation being pushed across the mind-link that joined them. "It doesn't matter to me what you look like. I love you."
"Even when all that's left of me is just a bag of slimy bones?"
"I'll love you for all eternity, Luciferia my queen," he replied gravely, "I'll still love you when we're both nothing more than sentient dust!"
"Oh Maxi, I love you too!" mumbled Luciferia, tangling the words in the ruins of her mouth. Aching with feeling, she laid her finger-bones against her lover's cheek. A cheek that was green-hued and vaguely slippery now, she observed sadly. Maxi had more power left than she did, but even he was on his way out now. His lips were freezing as he laid them reverently on her smudgy eyes, her bare white cheekbones and the blurred toothy space where her own shapely lips should have been.
"Cheer up, Lucie, let's be together just one more time... then blow all our reserves on this sorcerer." She felt the grinding of his bones as he pressed himself against her, and then something harder and more insistent than bone, poking at her soft, sagging belly.
"I doubt if we'll get close enough now," she gasped as he whipped up the rags of her skirt, "He'll run a mile as soon as he sets eyes on us. Never mind letting us... Oh, Maxi!" She whimpered with pleasure as he entered her, plunging his long, cool shaft into her yielding mushiness with a stroke that was deep, sweet and true, "Never mind letting us touch him!"
"But you said you'd got through to him," persisted Maxi, his thin hips pumping her so hard and fast that she rattled.
"Oh God, yes! Maxi!" she groaned, both answering and coming simultaneously as her last shred of muscle tone embraced him, "But I'd hoped we might still be presentable to look at."
"We're not so bad," the jerking Maxi panted, showing a hot flash of rapture in the darkness of his void-cold eyes.
"Oh Sweetheart, bless you, but even you don't look like death warmed up any more. And as for me..." She let her face, a study in disintegration, speak for itself.
"We've nothing to lose!" said Maximillian, his voice firm, his body less so, and his icicle penis now soft, "We might as well give it a whirl."
"You're right, my darling, we'll try," Luciferia replied, a tiny flame of hope alight in her shivering terror. She must try, she decided, she must! If only for her beloved Maxi's sake...
*** *** ***
"Goddamnit to hell!"
A figure leapt out of the bushes and Wesley jammed on the brakes. He had been trundling his battered old Ford along the poorly lit slipway and it took him several seconds to recognize who it was he had nearly killed: the slim, crew-cut youth from the cafeteria.
"What the fuck are you playing at?" Wesley bellowed, more in shock than in anger. "You could've been k-" The word itself died in his mouth as he caught sight of the young man's face.
The unwitting hero of his story had looked pale in the cafe but now looked positively terminal. So much so that Wesley felt his own face blanch.
"Good evening, my name is Maximillian Tesoro," the ghoul said politely, "I wonder if you could give my associate and me a lift?"
Wesley's mouth opened and shut several times before words were able to materialize. "Er... um... yes... I suppose so," he stuttered. "Where is she?"
"Just here," answered the young man with what Wesley supposed was meant to be a grin. Quite frankly this "Maximillian" gave him the creeps; and while he knew what he should do was jam his foot on the accelerator and get away like a bat out of hell, a strange, narcotic lethargy made it easier to comply than resist.
A female silhouette appeared out of the darkness, a woman whose long, reddish hair streamed out wildly in the breeze, whipping free of the voluminous, shredded scarf that shrouded her face and her neck.
"It's OK, Lucie my love," Maxi cried out, "Wesley will take us. Everything's going to be all right!"
"Hang on a minute!" snapped Wesley, regaining some of his wits, "Who is she? And how the hell do you know my name?"
"My name is Luciferia Jones," said a seductive but strangely garbled voice, and the odd couple got into the car -- Maximillian in the back, and Luciferia in the seat beside Wesley, "and if I told you how we knew you, you mosht shertainly wouldn't believe ush."
"Er... I wouldn't move off just yet," said Maximillian quietly as Wesley returned his attention to the road and reached down to release the handbrake.
"Look here, you two!" He was getting pretty fed up of being told what to do, "What's your game? I..." He heard the soft swish of fabric unwinding, and turned towards...
"Oh God... OhGodohGodohGod..."
Luciferia's face was still had an eye-catching pallor, but now it was the pure shimmering white of fleshless bone. Her eyes and lips were still dark and compelling: but her eyes were now transformed into a staring pair of bloodshot, lidless orbs and a ragged, broken maw where her kissable red mouth had once been.
Wesley was frozen. Completely. Suddenly writing witty little stories about zombies just didn't seem such a clever thing to do.
"Wha... wha... what do you want with me?"
"We'd like you to join us," Maxi said amiably, glancing at Luciferia for a prompting nod. Wesley got the impression the creature that had once been a woman was the one who usually did the talking, but now her mouth wasn't up to the job. "We need you, Wesley Greensward, and we believe that you need us. But we can't prove it to you right at this moment."
"Yeth... ash you can shee, we're not at our besht," bubbled Luciferia, grinning abominably as foaming green spittle trickled out over her crumpled lips and down onto the bone of her chin. She shook her head and one eyeball wobbled dangerously in its socket. "Ish no good, Maxi, you'll haveta tell him." She held out a claw to her companion, who passed her a tattered handkerchief to wipe up the slime from her face. Or what remained of it.
"Wesley, you have the power to complete our triad. We two are only a part of three and we can't exist much longer without our sorcerer. You are that sorcerer. You must agree to join us."
"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm a computer programmer not some kind of wizard! You people are mad!" Nervously, he took off his glasses and polished them: partly as a reflex action, partly to try and convince himself that his eyes were playing silly buggers with him. "I'm dreaming, that's what it is! I'm tired, I'm under stress and all those horror stories are screwing up my head!"
"This is no dream, Wesley," insisted Maxi, "You must help us. You'll come to no harm. Quite the reverse. Things will be so much better for you with us. You'll never be lonely again because we'll always be here with you. And when we're firing on all cylinders, we can do you more good than you could possibly imagine. All your dreams can come true, Wesley. All the nice ones.'
A warm, sensuous glow seemed to filter through the chill in the car. What a relief it would be to have friends that would never leave him. Somebody -- or something -- who would never let him down. OK, so Luciferia wasn't a pretty sight and Maximillian was getting more and more decrepit as every second passed, but at least they seemed to like him. There was an indefinable honesty about them and -- in spite of their revolting appearance -- a macabre and almost primordial attractiveness. Hard as it was to believe, Luciferia Jones and Maximillian Tesoro were definitely his kind of people.
Ethan's betrayal and the company's callous attitude and all the publishers who had poured scorn on his stories; all these things seemed a million miles away now. The only reality was the peculiar but kindly couple who were decomposing with alarming rapidity over his brand new grey plush seat covers.
"Pleashe?" appealed Luciferia, a tear forming in the cavernous socket that held the festering remains of her eye.
"What do I have to do?" Wesley whispered, adrift on a joyous, inevitable wave.
"Let me kish you..." Trailing runny, shredding skin, her fingers settled softly on his groin.
Wesley stomach flopped rebelliously. Oh God! Oh no! He couldn't let this thing suck his cock! His head reeled, befuddled by the stench of bad flesh, and the idea of his penis engulfed in a well of necrotic corruption.
"Pleashe help me, Weshley..." The horror that had formerly been beauty sobbed piteously.
Wesley nodded in resignation, and with a feeling that at long, long last he was coming home, he lay back in his seat and closed his eyes.
Bones clicked and rattled as fingers fumbled quickly at his clothing. An icy, gelid mist seemed to waft across his penis, and then he was drawn in and enclosed, his shaft suddenly stiff and alive in a spongy, satin-lined cavern that seemed to shift and melt around him. His hips bucked as the slithering stub of her tongue found his keenest and most sensitive place. He moaned incoherently and felt Maximillian's bony fingers soothe his cheek -- and then, in a blaze of incandescent sweetness, he felt his seed, his soul, and his very life come pumping forth joyfully from his loins to fill up Luciferia's cold, dead mouth.
*** *** ***
It was nearly mid-day and Wesley Greensward woke up as a very happy man. His memories were fuzzy, but he did have a distinct recollection that last night he had enjoyed adventurous sex in a score of new positions with not one, but two enthusiastic partners. His body should have ached and been sore, but instead he felt absolutely wonderful.
And he felt even better at the sound of something heavy and papery dropping through the letterbox downstairs.
The post!
He stretched luxuriously and debated whether he should climb out of his cozy bed to fetch it; or just languish in the soft, erotic heat and play with his newly-hardened cock. Hearing nimble footsteps racing down the stairs, he relaxed back amongst passion rumpled sheets and succumbed to a renewed rush of pleasure.
"It's here, you guys!" cried a gleeful voice.
As if in response -- although its occupant could not have heard the shout -- the shower in the next room ceased its relentless downpour.
Clad in nothing but his smooth, gleaming skin, Maxi bounded into the room carrying a magazine that he had torn from its wrappings -- a most prestigious and literary journal. Throwing himself down on the bed, he first punched Wesley playfully on the chest, and then reached down casually to fondle his now impressive erection. "Success, old friend," he murmured, running his fingers over both Wesley's rearing flesh and the magazine's high-gloss pages, "and only the beginning!"
"Here, boys, let me see!" said a creamy, husky and utterly female voice. In seconds, Luciferia, fresh and glowing from her shower, had sidled across to the bed. She too wore only her perfect, unblemished body, and as she draped it, slim and exotic, across those of both of her lovers, she took a sound, lively cock in each hand.
Wesley kissed his beautiful mistress, stroked Maxi's velvety scalp affectionately, and then opened the magazine and turned straight to a prize-winning story. "Are we sitting comfortably, people?" He paused half a second for effect -- then began to read, in voice full of triumph and ceremony.
"'Wesley and the Sex Zombies' by W. L. M. Greensward. It was nearly midnight and Wesley was a disappointed man...'"
###
About the Author
Portia Da Costa is a best-selling British author of romance, erotic romance and erotica, who's been published since the dinosaurs roamed. Well, since the early 1990s. She loves writing about sexy, likeable people in steamy, scandalous situations, and has penned novels, novellas and novelettes for Spice Briefs, Black Lace, Samhain Publishing and a bunch of other houses, plus a zillion stories for magazines and anthologies. Best known for writing contemporary settings, she's also now launched herself back in time to write Victorian erotic romance for Harlequin Spice.
When Portia isn't writing she's usually being creatively lazy, rather like her beloved cats but unlike her long suffering, hard working husband.
Connect with Portia Online
Twitter: http://twitter.com/PortiaDaCosta
Website: http://www.portiadacosta.com
Blog: http://wendyportia.blogspot.com
Erotic romance from Portia Da Costa
THE EFFICIENCY EXPERT
an erotic short story
Still stinging from a stringent management review at her workplace, office girl Susie encounters the very last man she wants to meet when she hits her favorite bar to relax and unwind. Gorgeous Noah Stevens is the ruthless company troubleshooter who's been making her life hell for the past three weeks, but after hours, he soon proves that his dedication to "efficiency" can work wonders in the bedroom.
Excerpt
Oh no, he's here. The efficiency expert. He's in my favorite bar on my favorite stool, just when I thought we'd got rid of him.
I'm supposed to be here celebrating. The company's efficiency review is finally over, and I've kept my job by the skin of my teeth. I thought that hyena of a consultant or troubleshooter or whatever the hell he is would be long gone by now, and good riddance. But what do I find? He's still here and drinking in the very place where I'm about to toast his departure.
Noah Stevens, that self-same efficiency troubleshooter stroke corporate carnivore. The very monster everybody's so glad to see the back of, even if he is unbearably cute and sexy in his stern, almost machine-like sort of way.
He doesn't look stern tonight though. Or even remotely mechanical. In fact he looks as weary as hell, almost shattered somehow, as if he's been punched in the gut by fate. Could this be a pang of unexpected sympathy I'm feeling? Work wise, he's been beyond a nightmare, but somehow with shoulders slumped, his blond hair a bit ruffled, and a slightly rubbed-out look about his eyes, not to mention what looks like a quadruple vodka in front of him, he looks strangely vulnerable. Kind of tender and touchable. Definitely in need of a hug.
Shall I run for it? Get discreetly out of here, and join the festivities with the other survivors? I'm tempted, but something about the line of his body intrigues and stirs me. I must admit, I have a few types, and as a Mr. Sharp Suit Corporate, he's not really one of them. And yet, even though he's made my life a hell of uncertainty these past few weeks, I do -- reluctantly -- fancy him something rotten.
He turns from the bar and makes my decision for me.
"Hi, Susie. Are you drinking?" He taps the stool next to the one where I usually sit, "Have one on me. I think I owe you one, if not three or four."
Well, ain't that the truth!
Visit http://www.portiadacosta.com/passion.html for more information
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Also from Portia Da Costa
- for Walk on the Wild Side Books
GLINT
an erotic short story
While enjoying a lazy day at the beach, sexy holidaymakers Suzy and Gavin see a sudden glint of light flash from the headland overlooking their patch of sand, and realize that somebody's watching them through a pair of binoculars! Far from being alarmed, hedonistic Suzy finds the forbidden scrutiny deliciously exciting, and turned on by her own latent exhibitionism, she and Gavin decide to put on a titillating performance… and really give the distant voyeur something to watch!
Excerpt
He's quite a hunk, my Gavin. Tall, big-built, and yet almost beautiful despite his size, with his sexy boyish face, those seductive eyes, and his crisp, dark hair. When he not obsessed with football, he's really quite a catch. Caring. Attentive. Thoughtful. As well as being intelligent, well informed and lots of fun.
Yeah, you up in the cottage. Take a look at me in my tiny bikini and at my fabulous boyfriend with his smashing body and his great big cock inside his swim trunks.
The more I think about this, the hotter I get, and not just from the sun. Kneeling down on the rug, I snag my bottle of high protection sun lotion and spin off the top. I slop far more than I need into the palms of my hands and then begin to smooth it slowly and luxuriantly over my face, my shoulders and my arms.
I close my eyes and imagine the person up in the cottage watching me, eyes wide open. Whoever they are, they're watching with longing as I caress myself or maybe as Gavin wakes up and starts to help me slather on the sun lotion. As he gets bolder, and slips off my bra top, there's a sigh of approval from the watcher.
It's all so real to me that I suddenly realize I'm wet inside my bikini bottoms and my nipples are standing out like little wine corks and rubbing the inside of the bra cups of my top.
"Oh, to hell with it! I'm going topless."
The towel flies off again. "What about the bloke in the cottage up there?"
The football is forgotten. Or it's half time or something. To my surprise, Gavin's switched off the radio.
"Fuck him! If there is a him." I unclip my top and fling it away across our beach rug.
"You'd better get some lotion on those," announces Gavin cheerfully, coming up on his knees and reaching for the sun lotion bottle, "Don't want to burn your gorgeous titties, do we?"
As he straightens again, I notice something else has come up too.
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