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Jade in thigh-high boots

The text said she had to see him. Now. He drove the coast route, tyres squealing, taking the curves way too fast.

That’s what she’d told hDangerous curves roadim the first time.

“Slow down, kid. My curves are the scenic route kind.”

She’d slashed with her whip, millimetres from his cock. Bowing his head, he’d kissed her boots, begging for forgiveness. Jade.

From then on, he was hers.

What will be her pleasure tonight, he wondered. Last time it was candlewax. Dripped hot on his nipples. Take-away noodles forgotten beside him, he strokes his keyring, a miniature jade riding crop.

“To remind you to jump, like an obedient stallion, when I want you,” she’d teased, dangling it cool against his testicles.

Her tiger-clawed fingernails had inscribed welts in his back, her sex flowing like the Mississippi by the time she’d finished taunting him, and allowed him to fuck her.  Jade …

Finally at her doorstep. Mouth dry with anticipation, his tongue felt wound in wool as he announced his arrival over the intercom.

“Your stallion is here, Mistress,” he rasped.

Once inside and up two floors, her heady jasmine fragrance seemed to permeate the corridor.

Jade was no champagne and roses girl – her steely sexuality and penchant for tight leather didn’t make her “meet-Mother” material. Before he can knock, the door snaps open.

“Ah, my stallion ….”

Black leather bodice, red thigh-high boots, slick jet-black bob – all her dangerous surfaces gleaming like oil on bitumen. She was one hell of a wild ride. The usual scent of burning frankincense wafted out of the doorway. He wondered if the priest living opposite thought her pious. He’d be wrong.

She’s crunching cubes from her gin-on-ice like they’re cashew nuts. Strangely, he feels jealousy for their intimacy with her mouth, her tongue.


And she is stalking with feline stealth towards the bedroom. He has no choice but to follow.

“Shut the door.”

Jade moves towards him, and suddenly there is only the velvet shimmer of her violently red lips close to his, and her grey-flint eyes piercing into him, delving into the shadows and crevices of his latent desires.

For another night, he is utterly, totally, hers.

© Adrea Kore, 2013

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(First published in Dirty Little Numbers by Go Deeper press, 2013)