Subject X

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00005]






Two PhD candidates in human sexuality are collecting data for their dissertations. They hoped to recruit ordinary coeds as study participants. They should have been more careful.

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Read on for an excerpt.

“Tell us what you see—please.”

“I can’t really see his penis or much of it. The part that’s not in the woman’s mouth is pretty thick. I could only guess that it’s long as well, based on her expression. She looks …stuffed. I think she’s taken him as deep as she can. The other two men, I’m not sure what to make of them. They might be into each other or they might be into her. It’s hard to tell. They’re facing the girl, but they’re staring at each other’s erections while they jerk off. The men are very attractive: tall, well built and well groomed. They could be twins, actually—except for their cocks.”

“Why’s that?”

“Um …Okay, I get it—I think. I bet you have a whole stack of photos for me to scrutinize and label. You’re after my perception of what’s big, what’s small, what’s desirable and what’s repulsive. You’re collecting a bunch of subjective impressions, hoping to dispel the labels or erase the benchmarks that define attractiveness and ugliness. But you don’t even know me. What qualifies me to be part of your representative sample?”

“I’m very impressed, Amy. You’re quite sharp. However, you’re far off the track in this case.” Jeremy paused for a few seconds before continuing, “You’re reading too much into what we’re doing here. It’s a simple survey about sex, sexual habits and sexual proclivities—that’s all. We’re not trying to change the world’s standards. We simply want to help categorize them and better understand them. You’ll answer our questions, sometimes with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ sometimes, if you would, with as much detail as you can provide.”

“What’s with the photograph?”

“We want to be assured that you’re comfortable verbalizing your thoughts. Approximations aren’t a lot of help to us. Anyway, I think we’re good. Let’s keep this moving.”

“You mean because you heard me say ‘cock.’ So I passed the test?”

“We want you to be able to communicate your responses using precise language, yes. And no more photographs for you to detail. I promise.” Jeremy searched through his notes, as if he’d lost his place.

“One of the men—the one with the Prince Albert piercing—has just finished ejaculating. Some of his come has landed on the woman’s ass. Some of it’s dripping down her thigh. I think I understand her expression better now. She wants to collect a dollop of jizz with her finger and have a taste. Yeah, I can tell she wants to spit that monster prick out of her mouth and suck the other guy’s salty cream from her finger. What do you think?” Amy nodded at Brooke.

Brooke lowered her gaze to the computer tablet that was slipping across her tightly crossed legs like a wet bar of soap. “This isn’t about me, Amy. Thank you for that interpretation, though. We’re going to move on with the survey now.”

Amy folded her hands together and let them fall to her lap. She hadn’t realized there would be a test she’d have to pass before advancing to Brooke and Jeremy’s precious survey questions. She wanted the hundred bucks; but, geez, it was only a hundred bucks. She decided that one more outburst of pretentiousness from either of them and she was out of there. She had better things to do with her Friday than spell out a porn scene to a couple of tightly wound, pompous grad students. Screw the money. And screw Dylan. It was his fault she was in such a testy mood anyway.



Try Me On

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00003]







Try Me On portrays the humorous, sexy and eye opening adventures of a smart, yet naïve young man who takes a management position with a young women’s clothing retailer.

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Read on for an excerpt.

A string of young women leaned against the broad checkout counter clutching their precious bargains. Jack Timmons monitored the early-evening activity from his vaguely obscured post on the sales floor amidst three round racks of clearance blouses and a t-stand loaded with gaudy, yet for some reason very popular, sundresses. He was beaming.

With each peep of his store’s money-gobbling cash registers, Jack’s annual bonus would fatten a little. The thirty-year-old manager looked forward to collecting, and then wasting, his five-figure, end-of-year, atta-boy reward, but that didn’t account for his joyous mood; he was shallower than that. He owed his conspicuously smug grin to the thinly veiled mass of curvy, firm butts pivoting just feet from his position.

The line of foot shuffling, nubile shoppers patiently awaited their turn to pay, while carefully curated, wallet-lubricating background music spilled from well-hidden speakers. The huddle of alluring asses bobbed and danced as if encouraged by more than the muted tunes. These tantalizing babes pawed through their purses for credit cards, loose bills, or, just as likely, pieces of strawberry-kiwi bubble gum. Each one of the fledgling beauties was more delicious than the next. And, fortunately for Jack, they all loved to shop at J. Annie’s, the hottest discount fashion store in Phoenix.

“Jack?” Julie Wendelsohn, the store’s assistant manager, had been flitting and twirling around her disconcertingly focused boss for a minute, hoping he’d notice.

“What? Oh, hey Julie. Looks like another great day, huh? Corporate will be pleased.”

“Yeah. I hope they’re as pleased as you seem to be. Listen, I want to talk to you about Joel. I’ve had a number of comments from the girls about him hanging around the fitting room curtains. Kind of creeps them out. I was hoping you could deal with this?”

“Joel’s our stock supervisor, Julie. How’s he supposed to keep the store merchandised if he’s not allowed on the sales floor?” Although Joel was a bit awkward, and sometimes a little slow on the uptake, Jack appreciated his diligence and saw no reason to come down hard on the indefatigable young worker. Besides, he was the only other male store employee. As much as Jack enjoyed sloshing about in a sea of females, he liked having another guy around who he could share the inevitable anecdotes, or marvel at the concept of community fitting rooms with. “Maybe I’ll remind him to focus only on the racks outside the fitting rooms.”

Julie rolled her eyes then tromped back to her office to finish working on the weekly staff schedule. Jack remained glued to his post, or box seat, as he liked to think of it, shifting his scrutiny toward his retreating assistant manager. Without Julie’s help he’d be a hopeless square peg, lost in a job he should never have qualified for. She had the fashion knowledge he lacked. He had a strong retail management background – in sporting goods, not women’s apparel. A year ago, Jack might have fallaciously proclaimed Dolce & Gabbana his favorite brand of gelato in an overhasty attempt to impress. But Julie would bail him out, time after time. He didn’t understand why she came to his rescue so often, but he appreciated it, and he appreciated her.

Jack’s gaze remained tacked to Julie’s swinging, narrow hips as she navigated the crammed aisles on her way to the office. Since the day they met, the day Jack was ceremoniously shepherded into the store by Mike Allen, the district manager, and introduced as the new store manager, Jack had wanted to touch her, play with her…take her for a test drive. But there were rules against such things. Corporate had little tolerance for hanky-panky between a store manager and his or her assistant. Jack was certain that buttoned-down Julie had zero tolerance.

Still, she was a twenty-six year old petite cutie with short blonde hair, modest, firm tits, and a shapely, compact ass. And Jack was a single guy who found each of those attributes irresistible. If only she wasn’t such a goody two-shoes, he thought.

 It’s not that Jack was interested in a serious relationship. He’d already been down that alley, taken that bait. His bruises were still fading beneath his unguarded skin, an ex-girlfriend having delivered the impolite blow, or, more accurately, unleashing, a year earlier.


The Top Drawer







The Top Drawer is a contemporary erotic romance novella about a focused grad student/part-time menswear salesgirl struggling to deny the attentions and temptations offered by two very sexy men.

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Read on for an excerpt.

The usual flurry of Friday morning business—chilled-out guys shopping for casual, weekend clothes, and stressed-out guys shopping for dressy, I-wish-I- didn’t-have-to-go-to-that-damn-dinner-party suits—never quite materialized. To an hourly sales person, a dearth of business like that might provide a welcome break, a time to breathe. But it was hard for Madison to relax when business was off. Working on straight commission, the dry spells would gnaw at her nerves, as if all her hopes and dreams were on the line.

Every few minutes Madison would glance at her watch, wishing time would stand still. She had yet to meet with a customer, and soon the store would be crowded with greedy, commissioned sales staff. If business didn’t pick up before the closing shift arrived at noon, her day could be a total bust—or, more accurately, a partial bust; Madison had at least banked some juicy, lurid images, thanks to Alex, his vivid imagination, and her sponge-like ability to retain such things. She looked forward to summoning them up during alone time, later.

Sure enough, just as Madison had envisioned, the closing crew came marching in, one behind the other—not one minute early, not one minute late. Madison found the procession uncanny, and eerie. James, the store’s assistant manager/sales lead entered first, followed by Ariana then Adam. The energy level of the store seemed to surge as the modestly dimensioned sales floor filled.

It took less than a minute for Ariana to happen by Wyatt and start flirting with him. Her clockwork pattern of superficial, sycophantic behavior never failed to amuse Madison. Ariana’s playful come-ons to Wyatt had become nothing more than a broken record of stale, tedious theatrical productions. She was such a good actress though, that Madison would sometimes imagine the two of them together, and smile at the thought. Ariana had nothing in common with Wyatt beyond their business relationship; where Wyatt was pretentious and dramatic, Ariana was brassy and shameless.

Both Wyatt and Ariana were attractive, yet their looks were not at all complementary. Wyatt’s appeal stemmed from his unchallenging, straightforward features: thick, short dark hair combed decisively across his evenly shaped head, authoritative brown eyes, sincere smile, and a slender, passable body—one mimosa away from decidedly doable. Ariana on the other hand was conspicuously complex, a hard to define dervish of a girl in her mid-twenties who refused to project a consistent façade. Her only predictable features were a pair of espresso- shaded lustful eyes, and a balanced set of fully blossomed breasts that floated high on her chest, as if freshly charged with helium. Madison wasn’t envious of Ariana’s boobs. They were, however, a constant reminder that hers were nothing beyond average.

“Hey, Madison, whatcha looking at?” Adam startled his coworker, whose arms abruptly jerked as if they belonged to a cheap marionette. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Madison turned toward Adam and gave him a cursory once over. “Don’t worry about it, Adam. I was just in another world for a minute.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Sure. It’s been really slow this morning. My mind tends to drift when it’s left in idle for too long. I’m fine.”

“Good. I mean, not about the lack of business. That’s never a good thing. But, I’m glad you’re fine. So, have any big plans for the weekend?”

“Yeah, huge plans. After work I go straight to my night class. Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll catch a few hours of sleep before I get to wake up and come back to work.”

“What about tomorrow night?”

“I’m sure I’ll fall asleep on the couch while deliberating what to microwave for dinner. What’s with all the questions, anyway?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering. Alright, since it’s so slow I’m going to head to the stockroom—see what’s new.”

As Adam walked away, Madison realized she’d just treated a good-natured associate to a thick slice of unnecessary whininess, or, more truthfully, bitchiness. She’d been sticking her foot in her mouth a lot lately, saying the wrong things, coming across the wrong way. She blamed her life, or lack of one, for these occasional bursts of unintentional harshness.

Madison’s eyes followed Adam’s slender frame as he strolled at a steady pace toward the stockroom. A diverting fog of fresh sandalwood and spice lingered in his wake, and she took a step forward to breathe in more. A sudden, overwhelming desire for something, anything between her legs hit her hard and fast.

It might have been the horniness Madison had closeted earlier in the day rearing its’ edgy little head. It might have been the scent of Adam—the scent of… sex, which triggered this flood of carnal desire. Or maybe it was just Adam. Maybe he turned her on more than she cared to admit. Whatever it was, the abrupt, aching hunger between her thighs was potent, and intense.

Madison continued to watch him as he walked from her, all six feet of underfed, adorable man, and wondered what combination of things were making her feel this way. She would not—could not—allow herself to fall for Adam, or any man for that matter. Not now. Besides, Madison reminded herself, he was taken. And if he were really the good man, the sweet man he portrayed when they were together, he wouldn’t be such a flirt. What if Madison had told him she had nothing to do over the weekend? Would he have asked her out? Definitely not a
cool move, Madison thought. Not that she was interested anyway.

In Anyone Else’s Shoes


In Anyone Else’s Shoes, M. L. Joslyn’s first erotic novella, reveals the sexy story of a cupcake-loving shoe store manager ready for some new high-heeled adventures.

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Read on for an excerpt.

A wedge of moonlight landed in dashes atop the acid-etched, concrete floor of Untamed Soles, a trendy ladies’ shoe store on Scottsdale Road. With a large brass key, Emma locked the heavy front door behind Jan and Rachel, her hardest working part-timers, and then paced purposely to her office, scraping past freshly neatened steel-pipe display racks and a maze of black leather couches.

Mismatched pairs of slingbacks, and clipboards choked with redundant sales forms, clogged her tiny workspace at the back of the store. A single swivel chair and metal desk hogged most of the room. The top of the desk was exceptionally organised, like the rest of the store, and supported just five items: a telephone, legal pad, can of Diet Coke, a half-eaten red velvet cupcake, and a small, porcelain, heart shaped bowl crowded with business cards. Twenty minutes of paperwork, and I should be out of here, she thought. The phone warbled its urgent cry and Emma reached for it, knocking over her freshly opened soda.

‘Emma Green, manager, how may I help you?’

‘Hi Em-Em! Why aren’t you out of there yet?’

‘Alyssa, damn you! I just spilled my soda everywhere. Thanks. Not.’

‘I know you very well, Em. I’m guessing that isn’t the first thing you’ve spilled today.’

She was right, but Emma wasn’t about to divulge her first-rate chicken salad on a third-rate paper plate story. ‘Very funny, Alyssa. Why are you calling now anyway? Aren’t you anxious to get out of your store and into the arms of one of your stud muffin boy toys?’

‘I left my store 20 minutes ago, hon. What takes you so long? Oh, that’s right – everything has to be perfectly arranged and merchandised before you’ll set your poor employees free for the night.’

‘Maybe that’s why my store tends to look, you know, much better than yours. And I’m certain my work ethic has nothing to do with why my numbers are consistently higher than “Miss Alyssa’s Sorry I Can’t Find the Mate” shoe shack. And don’t start with the “your location is so much better than mine” routine.’

‘Oh, my dear, dear Em-Em. Aah. We have got to get you laid. And, by the way, we both manage Untamed Soles. They’re identical stores. The only possible reason my store’s sales aren’t as bonus-worthy as yours is that you have the primo spot, and that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Do you always have to sigh when you mention my personal life, Alyssa? I’m fine. I’ve always been fine. In fact, I’m crazy good. Now, cut it out.’

‘Now, that could be why your sales are superior to mine. You are an excellent bullshitter, Emma Green! C’mon, let me set you up with someone. They’ll be hot – I promise. You have got to get over that jerk, Ty.’

Emma was over Ty. At least, that’s what she’d tell herself when she bumped into him in their shared apartment. They had split up amicably a month ago, but he was never around, and they agreed it made no sense for them to break their lease. Two separate bedrooms, one separated couple. And besides, they were somehow able to maintain a semblance of a friendship, which included all the friendship perks – when he was around.

‘How many guys do you know, anyway?’ Emma asked derisively. ‘Do you keep a couple dozen neatly folded in your dresser?’

‘Yes! And that’s just my dresser!’