Saturday, June 27, 2015

A little summer voyeurism...

Here's my latest offering:

Here's a brief excerpt:
I stared out the window of a small classroom on campus. My mind was on my vivid dreams, rather than Russian literature. It was my last class of the day, and all I really wanted to do was go home.
At this rate, I was going to run my apartment building out of cold water.
“And that,” Professor Martin said, “Is all the time we have for Nikolai Gogol’s wandering nose today.”
That got a giggle from some of the class, but I just flipped my notebook shut and slid it into my bag, not a single note actually taken today. I rose and headed out of the classroom, a couple of steps behind everyone else.
“Miss Baker?” the professor asked, “Is everything all right? I noticed that you seemed… distracted.”
That was certainly an understatement.
I blushed and turned to the professor. He was only maybe ten years older than me and with his easy smile and casual dress, he wouldn’t have looked out of place sitting at a desk with the class, rather than behind the podium giving the lecture. Between that and his enthusiasm for teaching, I figured this was probably his first rodeo. I replied, “Um, great. Just haven’t been sleeping well. You know how it is. Nerves about graduation.”
And the way my chronic inability to get laid is now actually driving me insane, I managed not to add.
“Well, I remember what that was like,” he gathered up his own materials, putting them in his briefcase, and said, “If you ever need to talk, you know where my office is.” He paused and asked, “You do know where my office is, right? I know you’ve never needed an extension or anything before.”
I smiled and said, “I’m sure I can figure it out if I need to. Thanks, Professor.”
“Happy to,” he said, smiling back.
I stepped out into the hallway and headed out of the building. My campus was only a short walk from home. The whole neighborhood was residential, and mostly student housing by default. 
The sky above was bright and clear, perfect blue. Normally I would’ve been tempted to grab some lunch and eat it at the park, but all I could think about today was how long it would be until 9 PM, when the neighbors would inevitably be at the window again.
It's already available at Smashwords Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Thanks for reading, and hope your summer is hot. :)

- Jessie

Monday, May 18, 2015

May update

I've just submitted another book to my usual vendors:

“April, May and June?” I asked, floundering a little, “Really?”
Ryan chuckled, “Oh, those aren’t their real names, those are the months I picked them up. Easier to remember.” He leaned in close, peering at me like I was a malfunctioning toaster and asked, “Danny, I thought she was broken in? You’ve had her for weeks.”
‹Broken in.›
That term was deeply familiar. I had no idea where I’d heard it before, but I knew it was close. I started to take a step back, deeply uncomfortable with the whole thing now. Daniel stopped me, putting his hand on the back of my neck in that familiar and comforting way that he had. I stopped cold, feeling a wave of relaxation wash over me.
“Susan has needed her brain for school,” Daniel said, “So I couldn’t go too hard on it. That’s very true, isn’t it, babe?”
‹Needed her brain.›
Listening to him talk about my brain like it was his made me drip. Not knowing why made it even worse. I nearly moaned, “Uh huh.” 
I didn’t sound much like I was acing my classes at college.
“Still,” Ryan said, “She could probably use something to take the edge off. We should dose her and leave her with May until the food’s cooked. And you should’ve mentioned, Danny-boy. I wouldn’t have put on such a show if I’d realized she wasn’t ready yet.”
‹Dose her.›
They were going to drug me, and all I could do was stand there, cheeks burning. I couldn’t even ask what they were giving me or why. Though I would never admit it aloud, the helplessness felt wonderful.
Daniel protested, “You know established acquisitions are a little harder to sell than maids and secretaries and au pairs and crap. Besides,” he steered me toward the kitchen, hand still on the back of my neck, “It’s fun to watch partially trained girls squirm, isn’t it?”
The more Daniel talked, the less I understood. My head grew foggier with every passing moment, and I was clumsy enough that I felt like I was going to trip over my own feet. I very nearly ran right into the blonde girl, and realized I couldn’t remember which month she was supposed to be. 
My panties were soaked by the time we reached the fridge. 

It's up on Smashwords already, and will be on Amazon and Nook very soon.

Thanks for reading, and hope you are all having a wonderful summer!

- Jessie

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Belated Christmas story

Life has been busy enough that getting new books out has been difficult. That said, I did finally finish the one I started around Christmas:

The official excerpt is:
“Sara,” Doctor Muller’s voice was close, sending a tingle of pleasure down my spine, “Wake up.”
‹Wake up.›
The good doctor’s voice echoed in my brain again, snapping me to awareness. I blinked rapidly, aware of a cool, smooth surface beneath my body. I was sitting in something like a hospital bed or dentist’s chair, and the room around me looked like a medical examination room of some kind. There were computer displays behind the doctor, and the seat I was in had a large apparatus over me, with lenses and lights.
There was a younger man beside me. He looked like Eric, from my dream about being sponge bathed. He was at the end of the chair, unstrapping my ankles from black leather restraints.
It seemed like there might be something wrong with that, but I felt too good to care. Instead of addressing it directly, I replied, “Good morning, Sir. What’s going on?”
As I asked, Eric finished with my legs and headed for a nearby workstation, typing away at the computer without a backward glance.
The doctor stepped beside me, tablet in hand and explained, “We’re continuing your treatment, Sara. Do you remember us talking about that?”
I nodded and said, “Yes, Sir. I had a brain… something in my brain that made me have problems.” I smiled and added, “You took it out.”
He smiled back and said, “That’s exactly right. Good girl.” He tapped the tablet, then asked, “Do you remember what unpleasant side effect that caused?”
‹Good girl.›
I shivered in pleasure at his praise, then replied eagerly, “It made me have trouble remembering things.”
That should’ve bothered me, but all I really wanted was for him to call me a good girl again.
Muller nodded and said, “That’s right.” He patted the machine over my head and said, “Because of the operation, we had to put a special chip in your brain. It’s like a pacemaker, but for your thinking. It syncs with this larger device,” he patted the machine over my head, “And the pair stimulate your brain.”
I must apologize for the slower pace I've been publishing at, but I'm still here, and still working on stories as much as I can. I really love posting them.

This story is presently available at Smashwords, and coming soon to the others.

Thanks for reading! :)

Saturday, November 22, 2014

A Tough Act to Swallow now out

Hey, my very patient fans. Sorry about the hiatus - rough summer that turned into a rough autumn, no need to go into details. On the up side, I finished a new story late last night, and my editor vetted it this morning, so without further ado, my latest title:

It's the same one referenced in my last blog post. Here's the promotional excerpt:

The sound of snapping fingers jolted me to awareness. I felt dazed, like I’d woken from a nap… one where I’d been dreaming about something very good. My eyes and mouth were bone dry, and it felt like every drop of moisture I’d lost there had ended up right between my legs. My stiff nipples rubbed against my blouse, every breath making it feel like someone was rubbing them. My cheeks burned as I rose to consciousness.
Then I opened my eyes, and saw that I was on stage, and my blush deepened furiously. An audience of dozens of people were watching me. I struggled to remember what had happened. The last thing I’d known, I had gone out with my friends Jenny and Carol to see a hypnosis act for our girl’s night out. It had been Jenny’s birthday wish, of course.
Jenny had been eccentric for as long as I’d known her. Every birthday was an exercise in crazy. When she was seven, she’d made her favorite Barbie into a punk rocker with food coloring. Last year, it had been horse riding lessons, and the year before that, a trip to Ecuador for reasons that still eluded me. This year, she just happened to want a stranger inside her head, and I’d come along on a lark.
I just didn’t understand how I’d ended up on stage too. The last thing I remembered was sitting down to watch the show. Right now, the stage hypnotist had his back to us, facing the crowd, and I realized I didn’t even remember what he looked like.
For a brief moment, I considered making my escape: there was a fire exit beyond the stage, and my purse was on the ground beside me. All I had to do was get up and make a dash for it. The only trouble was that my whole body felt leaden. Exhausted. I couldn’t budge a whole finger, much less stand and move.
The hypnotist asked the audience, “Now that we have our volunteers, you’d like to hear from them, wouldn’t you?”
The audience cheered, but I hardly heard them. It felt as though they were very far away. All that mattered was his voice: it was magic, sending little thrills up and down my spine. The notion of fleeing evaporated like the morning dew, and I stared at him with renewed appreciation.
Thanks for waiting for me. I'm already at work on the next one. I've missed being here very much.

It's already available on Smashwords. Per the usual, I'll offer more links to purchase as soon as it clears my various vendors. :)

- Jessie

Friday, August 29, 2014

Teaser for a new story

I'm still alive and writing. Sorry about the hiatus. Here's the prelude to a new story I'm working on, (you're seeing it before my editor). I'll get it out as fast I can - life has been distracting, lately:

Peter Owens had the sort of voice I could listen to for hours, even if all he was doing was reading the phone book. It was deep, smooth and confident, no matter what subject he chose. That was why there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation when he asked, “George, when’s the last time Nikki here sucked your dick?”
I should have jumped. A small part of me wanted to, but it was easier to just sit quietly on the couch. My brain was sort of foggy, as though I’d had a lot more wine than I remembered drinking with dinner.
My husband George looked similarly mellow. His expression was slack, his big brown eyes glassy and unfocused. He blinked in sleepy confusion and asked dully, “Huh, Pete?”
“Nikki,” Peter nodded at me and explained patiently, “I want to know the last time this hot piece of ass got on her knees and took your cock in her mouth. And,” he leaned forward and added firmly, “You want to tell me that.”
‹Hot piece of ass.›
I quivered at the description, feeling my cheeks flush. Peter knew better than to talk about me like that, much less to my husband, but it didn’t matter: I wanted him to go on.
George didn’t seem to mind either, although he was usually pretty protective of me. He shifted slightly in his big, comfy chair and said, with a small frown, “Nikki doesn’t suck cock, Pete.”
My cheeks burned at his admission. I couldn’t believe George was telling someone, even such a close friend, something so intimate about our love life.
Peter turned to me. His own wine glass was half full, and still in his hand. He made eye contact, his crystal blue eyes meeting mine as he asked, “Why won’t you suck your poor husband’s cock, Nikki?”
It took every ounce of willpower to keep my mouth shut. I bit my lip and offered him a tiny, apologetic shake of my head. I wanted to actually say something, but I knew that if I opened my mouth, I’d just answer him.
Peter leaned forward and said firmly, “You want to tell me every intimate detail. We’re such old friends.”
‹Tell me every intimate detail.›
‹Old friends.›
A thrill ran down my spine, and I shuddered. He was right, of course. Maybe the wine really had affected my brain: I’d forgotten what good friends we were, and how much I wanted to talk to him about my sex life.
My blush deepened, but I opened my mouth and said, “… it’s dirty…” I sounded half asleep. More than that, my voice sounded small, far younger than normal.
“What,” Peter sounded amused, “George doesn’t shower? I’ll admit I don’t want to check that closely, but he smells fine to me.” He added, voice going all firm again, “Explain yourself.”
‹Explain yourself.›
That didn’t feel like conversation. It felt like Peter was ordering me to speak. The thought made feel tingly and moist. I answered dreamily, “… no, blowjobs… are slutty… dirty…”
Stringing together a sentence was so hard, on nights like these.
Peter turned to George and asked him, “Is that what Nikki told you, Georgie?”
My husband nodded slowly and agreed, “… uh huh…” His voice sounded as sleepy as mine, now.
“How do you feel about that?” Peter asked gently, “Don’t you wish your hot little wife would get on her knees and blow you, George?”
“… yuh huh…” George agreed dully.
‹Hot little wife.›
“I want you to picture that,” Peter continued, “Nikki here, right on the rug. Picture her looking up, holding eye contact as her lips wrap right around your shaft. You can picture that in your mind, can’t you?”
George’s answer was obvious at a glance: his nice gray slacks were tented with an erection. Still, he breathed eagerly, “… yessss…”
‹Picture that in your mind.›
I squirmed in my seat a bit, listening to them talk about me like I wasn’t even there. It was making me wet a lot faster than just the orders and praise.
If Peter noticed my reaction, he didn’t comment on it.Instead, he kept his focus on my husband as he said, “I can help you with that, George. Nikki and I are old friends. I bet I can make her see how wrong she is. You would really love that, wouldn’t you, George?”
My husband nodded, faster this time, and agreed eagerly, “Yesss…”
“In fact, George,” Peter continued, “You really want to watch. The idea of having someone teach your wife to suck dick is the hottest thing you can think of. Try thinking of something hotter. You can’t, can you George?”
George shook his head and moaned, “… nuh-uh…”
“That’s good,” Peter said, “I’ll tell you what: you have my permission to whip it out, while Nikki and I are working. Go right ahead and jerk off, if you get too turned on. That’s really nice of me. Thank me, George.”
‹Teach your wife to suck dick.›
‹Whip it out.›
Peter’s words were meant for my husband, but they still bounced around in my brain, wiping away anything else on my mind. My heart pounded in my chest, even though my body felt sluggish and heavy, and I could feel moisture trickling down the insides of my thighs.
Watching George’s reaction didn’t help at all. He fumbled with his fly, fingers clumsy and useless. Even as he worked to unbutton his fly, he said dreamily, “… thanks, Pete…”
That was jarring enough that I found my voice. I managed to whisper, “What… are… you… doing?”
Peter rose and stepped toward me. He was already a head taller than I was, so he towered over me while I was sitting down. He looked down at me, smiled indulgently, and said, “Poor girl. You’re having such a hard time thinking. It’s like your head is full of fog, thick as pea soup. It’s wet and slippery and irresistible. The harder you try to fight it, the thicker it gets.”
‹Hard time thinking.›
The words seemed to fill my head. I tried to remember what we’d even been talking about, but I couldn’t focus. All I could hear were Peter’s words, echoing in my brain over and over. I wondered hazily if he was talking about me: I was certainly wet and slippery. I opened my mouth to say so, but all I could muster was a soft little groan.
Peter reached down and stroked my hair affectionately, the way he might pet a cat or dog. He said, “Really, all your pretty head has room for are my words. You can think of nothing else. You don’t mind, though. It feels good.”
‹Think of nothing else.›
‹Feels good.›
That was certainly true. I stared forward, taking in absolutely nothing that I saw. All that really mattered was that Peter’s wonderful words were filling my brain. I favored him with a big, vacant smile and leaned into his touch.
“Now, I’m your oldest, dearest friend,” Peter assured me, “Repeat that back for me.”
“… now,” I parroted softly, “… oldest… dearest… friend…”
“But there’s more than that between us,” Peter continued confidently, “We were lovers once, and that was the most intense sexual experience you ever had in your life.” His fingers drifted to my cheek, brushing against my bare skin as he finished, “That’s very true, isn’t it, Nikki?”
“… uh huh,” I agreed, suddenly keenly aware of how close Peter was, and how stiff he looked beneath his slacks. I stared fixedly as he unzipped.
I'm looking forward to wrapping that and getting it published for you. Hope all of you are doing well! :)

Wednesday, May 7, 2014


I'm offering a couple bundles of previously published stories, in case anybody wants to catch some reruns at a reduced price:

This has all three of the Conditioned to Serve titles. So far, it's up on Smashwords.

This one features Camera Shy, ReGifted and Hack Her. This one's available on Smashwords right now too.

I'll get a new story back out ASAP, and in the meantime, thanks for reading. :)

Friday, April 25, 2014

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Here's the latest:

And a brief sample:

The boardwalk was bustling with activity: countless men and women in skimpy outfits, blowing off steam on a glorious Saturday afternoon. It was mid-June, and the weather was absolutely perfect. Even the most clueless mind-blind could sense the excitement, overhear it in the raucous laughter and carefree conversations all around. The scent of it was in the air, as sure as suntan lotion and sweat.
Of course, I could feel it more keenly, whether I wanted to or not. Even with my barriers firmly in place, I could feel the psychic presence of the throng all around me. The pressure was constant and intense, little whispers and snippets of emotion leaking through. Really, it felt more like I was beneath the ocean than beside it. Unfinished snippets of pop jingles bubbled all around me like foam, while sexual tension seethed all around me like the undertow. I could pick out the odd stray thought even through the shield. Right now, a man was staring fixedly at my bikini-clad ass from across the way.
So that’s why I almost missed it when the hot dog vendor repeated himself, “That’ll be eight dollars, miss.”
‹Dumb bitch is probably high. Nice tits though.›
The irritation and frank appraisal did a better job of catching my attention than his nasal voice.
I didn’t let my own annoyance show. Instead I slapped on a big, toothy grin and replied, “Oh, sorry. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” Then I reached into my purse and slipped a one dollar bill out of my billfold. As I did it, I let my barriers slip.
The boardwalk lit up like the Vegas strip. Everyone glowed with their own special inner light, like little stars… You know, if the stars were obsessed with sex, fueled by beer and made you frustrated instead of warm. Being someplace so crowded, it was almost blinding.
Of course, the noise was the point. Moreover, amid the chaos, nobody could hear my abilities. I extended a thin tendril of my own light into the scrawny hot dog vendor’s head, shimmering icy blue and focused on a single suggestion:
«This is twenty dollars.»
The illusion was about more than words, or the command to believe. As I offered the bill, I focused on the image of a crisp, clean twenty laid over it. I could almost see it too. Being able to fool yourself was the first step in being a good Pusher. Inflexible minds didn’t last long.
The others liked to emphasize that.
The vendor took the dollar, and gave me twelve back. He said, “Good day,” only thinking, ‹Moron.›
“You too,” I smiled sweetly as I tucked away the ‘change’ and picked up my lunch.
As I turned away, his frustration with me segued into the beginnings of a vibrant but improbable scenario involving his cock and my ass, so I swiftly raised my barriers again. The first rule of reading minds was knowing when to shut it all out. Even controlling them was less important than that.
Maybe ten minutes later, I found a spot on a bench and ate my lunch, wondering what the day would bring.

It's available on Smashwords and Amazon. I'll update for Nook ASAP.

Hope you all enjoy it, and thanks for reading. :)