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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Enslaved to Eros part 1 of 1 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
ENSLAVED TO EROS
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
Can you be too much in love? I suppose you can be, though I
wouldn’t have believed it, at the time.
In the fall of my 8th grade year, I got a job at a flower
shop. I loved the scents of the flowers. I liked arranging them. And
I enjoyed meeting the people who came in to buy them.
But most of all, which was my undoing, I liked the man who
owned the flower shop.
Don’t laugh. He had lots of money. He owned lots of different
properties. The flower shop was just one of them. It didn’t bespeak
anything about his masculinity. If anything, less masculinity in him
would have been preferable. If nothing else, it would have made him
safer.
As it was, he was a tall, gallant man, with a slightly brutish
air, from his days as a professional football player. His name was
Rob. He’d made lots of money playing pro football, and was apparently
quite famous, though being a girl, and quite young, I knew nothing of
his career, save what he told me. But he didn’t brag about it, as other
men might. It was over and done, he had his trophies. Now instead of a
uniform, he wore expensive suits. He was a businessman.
Usually, Rob didn’t visit the store. Instead, his wife came.
She supervised me. But she did it with an extremely light hand. She
respected me. I admired her for that. I was only 13, but she trusted
me to treat the customers well, and count up all the money. Which I
did, quite professionally, although I lost ten dollars once.
That’s how it started. We were discussing the ten dollars, and
I was quite sorry, and wanted to do something for her, because, you
know, it had been my responsibility, and I’d lost it. She had dark
hair, long hair, which reminded me a lot of Bridget. And she had long
eyelashes, and eyes that seemed to drill right into me, even though she
was loath to accuse me of anything. She was very kind to me. But there
was sort of a tension between us, despite her kindness, for I wanted to
do well by her, and in my job, because it was my first.
“Well, Bambi,” she said. Her name was Jane. She stroked the
stem of a rose that I’d been arranging with other flowers. Her finger
nipped a thorn on the rose’s long stem and began to bleed.
“Oh!” I cried. “I’m sorry! Let me get you a kleenex,” I
said.
“No, it’s alright,” Jane replied. She put her finger to her
mouth and sucked upon it. I fetched a kleenex from a box under the
store’s front counter. I handed it to her.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked. She placed her fingertip
into the kleenex.
“There are boys who like me,” I answered.
Jane tossed back her long hair. She looked at me with those
burning, direct eyes of hers. “That’s not what I asked,” she said. I
felt a shiver run through me. “Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked
again.
“I-- I know a guy named Nick,” I said. “But he’s a lot older.
And I had a crush on a guy named Jim, but...” My voice trailed away. I
hadn’t seen Jim since the cave. I’d kissed him goodbye, almost
diffidently, expecting to see him again, and yet fearful, a little, of
where it might lead if I did. Now he was off, busy being a Navy SEAL
someplace, probably overseas, and I missed him.
“This Nick,” Jane said. “Do you like him?”
I gulped. ‘Not as much as your husband,’ I wanted to answer.
She waited for my reply. I said nothing.
“Do you like Rob, my husband?” Jane asked finally. Her eyes,
like deep dark blue pools, seemed to want to engulf me.
“Y- Yes,” I confessed. “Oh!” I cried. I put my face in my
hands. “Yes,” I said. I felt guilty about losing the ten dollars and
perhaps this was my way of making up for it. “Yes, I don’t like him,
though,” I added. “I love him.” I looked at her. “You should have
children by him,” I said. And the implied threat, I think, was that, if
she didn’t, I was more than ready to.
“How curious,” Jane said. She gave me a sly smile. “You love
my husband, and I love you.” She saw me flinch. I could see she was
waiting to be rejected, but I said nothing. “Your personality is
pleasant,” she added, after a tension-filled pause. But its your body I
crave. You have such nice breasts,” Jane said, frankly. “And such a
sweet bottom. How round it is! How saucily you seem to proffer it,
when you bend to pick flowers from the pots on the lowest shelves.” She
paused again, waiting for me to storm at her, to insult her, but out of
love for her husband, if nothing else, I didn’t. “And how sweetly you
offer it when you bend over when my husband is visiting the store,” she
added.
I placed my hands on my hips. Not authoritatively, but rather
as one taking possession of something. I felt the denim of my jeans.
Her words had seemed to almost strip them off me, leaving me standing
before her with a bare fanny.
“What-- what do you wish to do with my bottom, if you were to,
to have your way with it?” I asked. I gulped. I felt ridiculous asking
such a question and yet, yet it had to be asked, I thought. One woman
to another.
Jane plucked the long-stemmed rose from the vase it had been
sitting in. She took the kleenex from her finger and let it carelessly
drop to the floor. She waved the rose through the air. Its stem was
springy.
“I should,” Jane paused. “I should discipline you, for taking
such an interest in my husband.” Her long eyelashes fluttered
nervously.
I heard myself swallow. “I think you’d almost like me to have
your husband, so you could... have me,” I answered boldly.
Jane put the stem of the rose to her lips. She was careful to
avoid its thorns. She sucked upon it. The thin green stem crossed
between her lips like a gag.
“Yes,” she said at last. Her breath came hot over the stem,
which remained tightly pressed to her lips. “Yes, I might,” she said.
Suddenly she ripped the stem from her mouth and tossed back her hair.
“How silly!” she exclaimed. “It would be, of course, quite illegal.
And abusive,” she said.
“Yes,” I nodded. I felt her eyes peer deep into my soul.
“Invite your friend Nick to come along,” she said. “Is he
handsome?”
“Yes,” I breathed. We were almost beyond words, I felt,
communicating more by looks and minute gestures. Invite Nick to
come...?
“To a party, of course,” Jane said. She gave her hair another
toss. It was long, rich, glossy. “This weekend, perhaps?”
“Not--” I paused. My mind, with difficulty, thought of other
things besides the peering of her eyes and the magnificence of her
husband. “Not this weekend,” I said. “But next weekend, the weekend
following, you know, my parents will be away.”
Jane broke her gaze with me. She turned. Her long rope of
hair caressed her back. She had a slim back, a slim body, save for her
breasts, which were substantial. She was very beautiful. She might
have been a fashion model, if she’d been blessed with less cleavage.
“Next weekend, then,” Jane said. She spoke over her shoulder to me,
toyed with a flower arrangement, with her fingers. It was a new
arrangement that I’d just put together and I saw that her fingers,
aimless and careless, not thinking, were dishevelling it. Yet I didn’t
mind.
“I may or I may not, depending,” I said. I felt resistance in
my voice.
Jane turned to me. She let go of my carefully arranged
flowers. “You may or may not, but you won’t. You like my husband too
much,” Jane said.
I felt myself nod. “Yes,” I agreed.
Promptly at seven o’clock, on a windy Friday night, I knocked
on their door. I huddled against Nick to keep warm. I wasn’t wearing
much. A miniskirt, a slinky pair of panties, and, under my soft, thin
sweater, no bra, so my nipples might show themselves the minute I became
excited. In fact, thanks to the cold, they were standing up already. I
blushed. I wished I’d worn a bra, but it was too late now. We were
here.
Jane answered the door.
THE END ? (hopefully she’ll write more - h.j.)
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