Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Slave for resale, plus a new bundle

Hello everyone. My obligations besides writing have been slow, so I've been working on making up for some lost time. Here's the latest story:


And an excerpt:
I was drying off with the bathroom door open when I heard the door’s lock click open. I scrambled out of the bathroom and onto my knees in front of the bed, hair still slick with moisture, body freshly scrubbed. I smelled of soap and shampoo instead of the stale interior of Ronnie’s sedan.
The door swung open and I realized belatedly that anyone else in the hallway was going to get an eyeful. It was too late to move without looking ridiculous though, and a part of me wanted to show off anyway. For just a moment, I fantasized about what Ronnie could make me do if the hotel had room service, the sort of special tip he could make me offer.
I shook it off and wondered if those impulses had been there before my brainwashing, if a part of me had always been so slutty, or if it was another change inserted seamlessly into my personality by some faceless technician.
Either way, it was only Ronnie, a plastic bag of takeout in hand. He raised an eyebrow at my pose, and nudged the door shut behind him without taking his eyes off of me. As it clicked locked again, he asked, “I take it you’re feeling back to normal, then? All your memories right where you left them?”
“Yes Sir,” I watched as he set the bag down and slipped out of his shoes, then said, “Everything is very clear now. Everything that matters, anyway.”
He peeled off his own shirt and asked, “What minor details aren’t?”
“What you’re going to do with me after our little road trip,” I looked at his feet instead of his face as I asked, “I take it that you didn’t steal me for yourself?”
“Not so much, no,” Ronnie chuckled softly and replied, “But that’s for the best. I think you can do better than seeing every convenience store in the Continental United States. Besides which, you won’t remember me in another day or two. Trust me,” he unbuttoned the fly on his jeans, “Some things are better in small doses.”
He seemed amused by the notion, more than anything else.
As he dropped his pants around his ankles, I asked, “So where am I going to end up?”
 Per the usual, it's already available on Smashwords, and will soon be cleared on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.


I've also decided to put this in a bundle with two other recent stories:



In addition to Secondhand Slave, his bundle contains A Tough Act To Swallow and A Hard Bargain Driven. As with my other new release, it's already available on Smashwords, and I expect it to clear Amazon and Barnes & Noble at about the same time.

Thanks for reading, and I hope to have more stories done in the very near future! :)

xoxoxo
- Jessie

Saturday, July 18, 2015

A Hard Bargain Driven

Here's a look at my latest offering:


And an excerpt of the text:
“Oh,” the doctor glanced at my hand, “The ring will need to come off too.”
I looked down at my wedding ring, white gold with a two carat diamond. I knew that I should care about letting it out of my sight. For the past five years, I’d worn it almost nonstop, and never had it out of arm’s reach. Beyond that, it had cost about six grand altogether - Greg had had a very good year, before he proposed to me. It was tasteful, it was lovely. Objectively, her request should have been a big deal. 
All the same, trying to be concerned was like leaning on empty space. I just couldn’t muster the slightest dismay. After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped it off and dropped it in the bin, atop my sweaty nightie, and said, “Right.”
I didn’t bother to ask if I’d see it again. It was part of my old life.
The doctor smiled at me and said, “That’s very good compliance.” She offered Nathan a sidelong glance and asked, “Did she really get this far on just two months of conditioning? I mean, I know you’re good, but that’s very impressive.”
“Conditioning? Like… we’re talking about my hair, right?” I blinked in confusion. I felt a strange tingling sensation at the word. Despite the question I was pretty sure that they weren’t talking about my hair care.
“Actually,” Nathan said, “It was only six weeks. Tina here is a complete natural, one of the best subjects I’ve ever encountered on an assignment.” He smiled at me and said, “We’re just talking about how receptive your mind is to hypnotic programming. What can you tell the good doctor about your experience with hypnosis, Tina?”
‹Receptive.›
‹Hypnotic programming.›
“I have no experience with hypnosis, Sir.” The words fell out of my mouth, completely automatic. Hearing them made me feel muddled though. On the one hand, I knew what I said was true: I had never been closer to a hypnotist than watching a stage show on TV. On the other hand, I had the intense sensation that I’d forgotten something important, the sort of feeling I might get if I left the oven on, or left my keys at work. The more I tried to focus on it, the more slippery it felt.
It's already available on Smashwords, and will soon be posted to both Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Hope you like it, and are enjoying your summers. :)

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. :)

xoxoxo
- Jessie




Monday, May 18, 2015

May update

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



Excerpt:
“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?”
‹Trained.›
‹Squirm.›
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!

xoxo
- 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. :)

xoxo
- 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.›
‹Fog.›
‹Wet.›
‹Slippery.›
‹Irresistible.›
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! :)