The Wrong Smith Girl

Writing Dirty Books
1

An emotional tale about Jack and Maggie and how they broke up, but still had to spend the weekend with her parents. Also how sisters can look a lot alike, but be completely different.

Excerpt:

“You got a tattoo on your back, too?”

She nodded, still facing her body away from him, but looking at him from over her shoulder.

He moved in and put his hands on her waist. She froze. He touched the edges of her thin shirt.

“Can I see?”

She swallowed and nodded. Their eyes met. Curiosity, lust.He pulled up her shirt slowly and saw that there were two jet black f-hole, like the ones on a violin or cello. It was a lot of ink, a lot of time. He touched the edge of it and he could feel raised scarred skin.

Her back was smooth and her ass curved out from just below his hand.

“Wow. You got all this done in the last year?”

She moved forward, pulling her shirt out of his grip.“Yeah. I was dating a tattoo artist for a while.”

He took her hand and looked at the tattoo on her wrist.

“Did they hurt?”

She smile.

“That’s the best part.”
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Additional Information

Publisher
Writing Dirty Books
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Published on
Mar 16, 2017
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Pages
14
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ISBN
9781508069300
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Features
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Language
English
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Genres
Fiction / Erotica / General
Fiction / Romance / Erotica
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Content Protection
This content is DRM protected.
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Read Aloud
Available on Android devices
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The Valet is the tale of a dedicated butler doing his best to attend to the needs of his employer's female guest.

From The Valet:

She looked over the uneaten fruit and pastries and sighed.

"A man like that certainly does leave a lot of leftovers," she said, a little sadly, pouring herself some more champagne and considered her place.

"No need to worry, miss, nothing will go to waste," I said pouring the orange juice into a plastic jug for later. She laughed at this, her charm was visceral.

"He doesn't mind you taking the leftovers?" she asked, the question lingering in the air whether she meant the food or other things.

"I assure you, he often insists, miss" I said, gathering her glass and her coffee cup, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat of her body.

"Does he ever let you finish what he's started?" she said, her voice lower. I straightened.

"You'll have to ask Mr Leinhardt about that, miss, I'm not really at liberty to talk about the goings on of the house," and there was nothing in my voice. I squashed all feeling and simply busied myself with the cleaning up of breakfast and memorizing every blushing inch of her body.

"What if he told you to-" she reached down and grabbed my crotch. I coughed a bit, mostly for her benefit. It's unfair to have such a ravishing woman think she has no effect on a man. Even a man who is adept at swallowing his own desires.

"I'm afraid, as I said, you'll have to take that up with Mr Leinhardt, miss. The particulars of my responsibilities are indeed up to him. And if I might, miss, my name is Howards."
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