Short Story: Marionette

This story is a little more explicit that usual. If you’re offended by adult situations, please do not read.


I woke up in someone’s arms and at first it didn’t register to question this. I remained blissful in that hazy area somewhere between consciousness and sleep, where dreams and reality meld, where the inner child is sated as the mind is allowed to wander down avenues long abandoned.

I remained there for what felt like an eternity, or maybe only a few stolen moments, before I became aware of his presence, and how he shouldn’t have been there. My eyes opened with a start before I closed them in a silent prayer. “Please, don’t let it be him,” I beseeched my silent God. I slowly turned to face him, hoping to find myself in bed with a complete stranger, as odd as that might sound. Instead, I looked into the contented face of my sleeping ex-husband.

“Shit,” I groaned. Greg began to stir as soon as I uttered a sound.

“Good morning, beautiful!” He greeted me sleepily with his crooked, mega-watt smile. “You were amazing last night.”

“Get out,” I hissed, pulling the covers up to hide my nakedness from him. He no longer had any rights to see me, to have me as his own. He gave that up when he left to be with her.

“Oh, it’s like that?” He grinned. “Right, I’ll just be going. Do you want me to pretend that this wasn’t your idea?”

I froze. What was he talking about? Thought the previous night was a blur, I doubted I was the one to have initiated anything with him. I never did. He was a highly skilled manipulator who knew how to pull people’s stings and get them to do what he wanted without ever being the one to initiate anything himself. I knew his game, and I refused to be strung further into whatever web he was trying to weave.

When I didn’t respond, he shrugged and got out of bed. In spite of myself, I couldn’t help admiring the way he looked as he walked across the room, completely naked. He kept in shape, every muscle defined so that he looked like some god of old, without going overboard and looking like some juiced up freak. Vanity motivated him to wax all hair off his body, and his sun-kissed skin was perfectly tanned.

I hated him. Next to him, what was I? Some aging scorned suburban housewife? My breasts were beginning to sag, and my tan had faded along with the pain of our divorce. I still worked out some, but not with the same intensity I did while married to him. My husband didn’t care about some trophy wife. With that thought, I bolted upright. Where was my husband?

Greg’s smile broadened as he read my mind. “Don’t worry about Mark,” he assured me. “He’s sleeping in the guest room. It was his idea, you know, for me to sleep with you. He almost begged me to take you. He watched and he thanked me for the honor of sleeping with his wife.”

“You son, of, a, bitch!” I yelled, hitting him between every word. I forgot my modesty and I let my covers fall and I ran to him. “You sick, twisted, mother, fucker!”

He laughed. In spite of my anger, I couldn’t help but feel the gravitational pull of his personality. He was evil, I had no doubt, but the thought of making love to another man while my husband sat watching turned me on more than I ever thought possible. I was surprised, but I didn’t care. He need to go.

Instead, I pulled him towards me and pressed our naked bodies into an embrace. I began to kiss him hungrily, wanting to devour his vitality. I missed his energy, his raw, primal sexuality as he made me feel like some otherworldly goddess. I knew better than to let him back in, but I was powerless to resist him, and he knew it.

I fell to my knees and began to kiss his manhood. It had been too long since I had felt him. I suppose I had last night, but it was lost in a haze. I began to please Greg when we were interrupted by my husband walking in on us. He looked shocked, his place usurped by the man who had wronged me years ago. I didn’t care. Let my sissy of a husband look on. He rarely satisfied me the way Greg could.

Mark stood in silent horror, until someone else came into the room, Greg’s wife. “Oh, look like’s hubby’s busy with your wifey,” she purred. “Why don’t you come back and let me take care of you?”

It became clear to me, that this is what the sadistic bastard wanted. He had always begged me to sleep with his friends, to agree to an open marriage, to become a swinger. I had refused, morally disgusted by his perverse desires. Now, he had finally succeeded in divorce what he never accomplished during our marriage. He had manipulated me into become an adulterer, and I knew he had won.

The pain was intermingled with delight, and I lost myself to his desires.

“So?” he interrupted as he caressed my cheek. “Are we going to stop now?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Do with me as you will. Greg will enjoy being our bitch.”

And with that, the invisible strings that I had thought I had cut so many years ago revealed themselves, and I accepted that I was nothing more that a puppet in his practiced hands, and I loved him all the more, cursing my own weakness. I hope that bitch enjoyed my husband. I was never letting hers go.

Short Stories

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Previous story – Breaking Free

Book Review: Quarter Past Midnight

quarterImagine a life where every debauchery you desire is available to you, safely and discreetly, for a fee. Oral sex by women young enough to be your granddaughter? No problem. Love life feeling a little stale and you want to spice things up outside the marriage? It’s all yours, if you desire, and no one need know of our predilections. Your reputation safe.

This is the world C.J. Asher brings to life in his novel, Quarter Past Midnight. Kate is a young woman in between jobs, who as a last resort begins to work as a dancer at Silhouettes, a popular Philadelphia gentleman’s club. Not quite earning enough to cover her expenses, she desperately spends her free time looking for a full-time job in the accounting field. That all changes with a recommendation from her boss.

She is introduced to Gretchen, a reclusive entrepreneur, who caters to her client’s baser needs. Gretchen operates a lingerie shop for wealthy clientele who might other wise not wish to be seen entering a sexual-oriented business. Behind the scenes, she realizes the elite’s fantasies, creating any scenario her customers require.

She hires Kate as an assistant, first to inventory lingerie, but soon introduces her to the seedier, and decidedly illegal, aspect of her business. When an unexpected tragedy happens, Kate is caught between leaving the life behind or becoming further entangled in the business. She can walk away or accept the risk, and the potentially lucrative rewards thereof. But first she has to decide, and then convince a reluctant clientele to accept her. As stake is a potential fortune and her life is at risk should she fail.

Quarter Past Midnight is an intriguing read. It deals with human sexuality, and the currency that sex elicits from able. Sex sells, and the idea that people often profit from the sale of fantasies makes most people uncomfortable. But it’s available, from adult book stores, to strippers and gentleman’s clubs, to the proliferation of adult sites on the web, sex is big business. Too often it’s a business fraught with legal and personal risks.

That’s why I like the idea of a ringmaster such as Gretchen, who pulls together elaborate fantasies for her clients. There’s intrigue as to whether Kate can learn the business and manage to keep it running. There’s also a question of motives from the other players involved, from Gretchen, Alan the accountant, and Gretchen’s’ sister.

I found the story to be entertaining and suspenseful. The sex scenes added enough spice to the book without becoming gratuitous. The protagonist’s journey from a rookie dancer trying to find some semblance of control to a woman willing to risk all for the opportunity to become her own woman was enthralling.

All in all, it is a great read and I give it a solid four star rating.

List of Book Reviews
Next review –  The Dreamt Child
Previous Review – 41: A Portrait of My Father

The link between books, STD’s and really bad jokes

Here’s a news story out of WPXI Pittsburgh.

Herpes virus found on library copies of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’

If you haven’t read the news story, please do so. I’ll wait.

Are you done? Great! After reading the article, all sorts of horrible jokes came to mind. Instead of my usual post, I decided to post those jokes. Read at your own risk. I’ve never been described as a comedic genius. You’ve been warned.

Here are my jokes about reading library copies of Fifty Shades of Grey

Fifty Shades of Grey

Fifty Shades of Grey (Photo credit: ellebnere)

  1. The only book I know of that wearing a hand condoms (rubber gloves) is recommended. Actual condoms may not be a bad idea, either. Practice safe reading.
  2. It’s not only that book, but think about all the other people who have been with that book. That’s how many extended partners you’ve been with.
  3. That book has gotten around more than my ex’s. (I warned you that they weren’t funny. They’re also tactless and bitter.)
  4. Try explaining to your husband of wife that you got herpes from reading a book. “Yeah, right! Skank!”
  5. When you go get tested, and they ask how many partners you had, you put x (where x = the number of sexual partners you’ve had) + Fifty Shades of Grey.
  6. The CDC is debating whether or not to quarantine libraries that have FSoG in their inventory.
  7. Book burning is no longer an option. It must be treated as Hazardous Material (HazMat).
  8. Have you opened up the book and gotten a whiff of the smell of a good book, and something else that you can’t quite figure out? Now you know. And now you want to take a bath. With bleach.
  9. When you borrow FSoG from the library, it comes with a free prescription for Valtrex.
  10. That damned book is getting more action than I am. That’s not a joke. It’s just sad. But it’s also a little bit funny.
  11. I need to read the book, but I need a virgin copy. Pun indeed intended.
  12. If you discuss this book in a book club, could that be considered an orgy?

I think it’s safe to say that I will not become a comedy writer anytime soon. The only thing I can be sure is that I amused myself. I guess that means you all are on your own.