Siren's Garter: Issue One August 2016

  SIREN’S GARTER

  Issue One August 2016

  Featuring the novella:

  NEVER MARRY THE FEMME FATALE

  by

  Miriam F. Martin

  Hermit Muse Publishing

  Copyright Information

  SIREN’S GARTER

  Issue One August 2016

  Smashwords Edition

  All Original Content

  Copyright © 2016: David Anthony Brown

  Published by: Hermit Muse Publishing

  Cover image by: Fabio Bernardi/Dreamstime

  Cover design by: D. Brown/Hermit Muse Publishing

  “The Girl Behind the Counter” previously published under the pen-name D. B. Mallory

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  This book contains erotic content, and is intended for adults over the age of 18.

  Contents

  NOVELLA

  Never Marry the Femme Fatale

  Elsie Turner wants to be married to the man of her dreams. But being a career covert spy doesn’t help. Nor does it help when her life goes sideways on the day before her wedding, while standing naked on the edge of a cliff.

  Her fiancee, Kevin Kincaid, has no idea what he’s in for when he answers a knock on the bridal suite door. Bad enough he keeps his own secrets from Elsie.

  Too many secrets can either destroy a relationship, or raise the heat to unbearable levels.

  QUICKIE CONFESSIONALS

  The Girl Upstairs

  What Happens in the Library

  The Uke Club

  Gone Fishing

  The Door to Door Pitch

  SHORT STORIES

  Creatures of Habit

  Tom wakes up every morning to Katie’s piano music. Predictable as Sunday morning. But one day while making breakfast, he discovers something missing.

  And he can’t put his finger on that missing something.

  His beautiful wife makes it a habit to please him, but Tom wonders if she’s holding back a secret.

  ***

  Gone to the Dogs

  Kacy spends her afternoons staring out her front window, watching the Josh the cute neighbor guy walk his pug. But as the summer heats up, she decides to put on her bikini and do a little gardening in her front yard.

  Not the normal method to pick up guys, but Kacy has to do what she has to do. Josh has no choice in the matter.

  The night isn’t over yet.

  ***

  The Glowing Satisfaction of Pancakes

  Kyle wakes up early every morning. Karen doesn’t. On the weekend, their different schedules make activities difficult. But maybe the smell of fresh breakfast could entice Karen out of bed. At least that’s his plan.

  But breakfast doesn’t end with just pancakes. Satisfying Karen takes so much more.

  ***

  After Hours on the Full Moon

  All sorts of men drink at the Squatter’s Dive bar, and Cheryl gets to meet all of them. Being a bartender has that perk, and having a little bit of cleavage helps with the tips.

  But the cutest guys are never single, and the one at the end of the bar seems to be no exception. He’s well dressed, handsome, and waiting for a date.

  Pete isn’t entirely sure his date will show up. But would he go for a bartender with exotic tattoos on both arms?

  ***

  The Girl Behind the Counter

  The Quickie Mart is Jason’s first stop on his way to work, and on his way home. But not because he likes the snacks or sodas. Now if he could figure out how to talk to Miranda, the girl behind the counter, he might get lucky. Or so he thinks.

  When Miranda needs a ride home one night, Jason decides to push his luck.

  Unwinding from a long day at work has never been more fun.

  QUICKIE CONFESSIONALS

  The Girl Upstairs

  My downstairs neighbor is hot. Smoking, hot. Tall, dark black hair, baby smooth skin. Ryan is his name. He does the yard work for our landlord. Once a week I wake up to the smell of fresh cut grass, and I hear the clip-clip-clip of him trimming the bushes directly below my dinette window.

  The aroma of fresh Arabian coffee mixes with the fresh grassy scent. I open the yellow lacy dinette window curtains and look out below at him. I’m wearing a lacy black bra and white Brazilian cut panties. He’s got on a pair of khaki shorts and tennis shoes. I hope he can see me.

  So I tap on the window. Innocently, of course. Tap-tap. Ryan looks up, and nearly drops the trimmers. He fumbles for a bit, makes a nice recovery by catching the trimmers in one hand, and waves at me. I wave back, an impish grin flushing my cheeks. For an awkward moment too long, we stare at each other as if for the first time. Ryan looks away first, face and neck red from the sun, and he goes back to trimming the bushes.

  I get an idea.

  I slip on my cutest pair of wedge sandals and my nearly see-through pink bathing robe, and I go downstairs with a full bottle of ice water.

  “Hey neighbor,” I say, offering him the water. “You look like you need a drink.”

  “I do,” he says, and drinks the water in one long gulp. I take the opportunity to check out his chiseled abs, and the way sweat drips down his skin.

  “More where that came from,” I say. It’s a struggle to avert my eyes from his beltline. I manage, for a second or two, but he’s hard, and he’s not exactly hiding it.

  Ryan grins wolfishly, as if he knows exactly what’s going on in my brain. The bulge gets bigger, fuller. I want to reach out and tap it. That’s exactly what I do. He doesn’t flinch, or smack my hand away.

  “Maybe,” I say, “you should get your ass upstairs before you embarrass me.”

  “Embarrass you how? Like this?” Ryan undoes his pants and whips it out, he’s not even wearing boxers. His cock is bigger than most of my toys, with a fat mushroom head and a thick shaft that bends upward. The ball sack is equally huge.

  I push him against the apartment building, in between the bushes. Luckily, there’s a little ledge for him to sit on. I slip off my panties, let them drop to my ankles. What am I doing? Fucking this near stranger in the garden between buildings? Letting him see my trimmed bush like this?

  Mine is trimmed down to a cute little landing strip. Ryan is fast to touch me, and slips a finger inside while his thumb rolls across my clit. I lean in and kiss him. Tongue action follows.

  My heart races. Soon I’m working up a sweat in the sweltering heat. Ryan is hot and grimy beneath my fingers. Before I know it, I’m straddling that monster cock and grinding it with my hips.

  Ryan makes cute panting noises. He’s trying to be quiet, to not draw attention from anyone who happens to be passing by.

  Deep down somewhere, maybe in my pussy, I know what a dumb idea this is. But I’m too busy squealing in delight as the orgasm hits.

  My pussy squirts, watering his cock and balls. I squeeze a fistful of his hair and rotate his head as I kiss him hard to squelch my scream.

  Ryan responds by grabbing my ass in both hands and pulling me closer.

  He allows me a moment to bask. I push away first, and collect my panties from under the bush. Ryan zips up his shorts, but he’s still hard.

  “Come by tonight,” I pat him on the crotch gently. “And I’ll finish the job.”

  “I’ll bring dinner,” he says, and winks.

  One last quick kiss before I head back upstairs. Ryan might have a long day of work ahe
ad of him, but he has a long night of fucking after that.

  I hope he’s well rested.

  What Happens in the Library

  In my last semester of college, I was an emotional wreck. My boyfriend since freshman year dumped me for a cougar. The trip to Paris I’d been planning for a year had fallen through. And I’d been rejected from all ten PhD programs I’d applied to. Life sucked, and I wasn’t sure why I even bothered anymore. Time got filled with Irish mint ice cream, intense boot camp style workouts, and late night studying at the college library.

  Constant 24/7 menstrual cycle described my mood pretty well. I was a psycho bitch, with a big “fuck off asshole” sign on my forehead. I alienated my friends. My grades were slipping like sand through my fingers. And I hadn’t gotten laid in more than a year. Crabby was just the beginning.

  All that changed one late Thursday night, on the third floor of the library. Near finals week, they kept the library open past midnight for the book freaks like me to write our term papers. I was writing three at the same time, and they were all due next Monday. Earlier, I had worked out and hadn’t bothered showering after, and smelled like I’d been trapped in a sauna with ten fat men and a stick of cool gel deodorant.

  I still wore my workout clothes. A pink sports bra and green shorts, and a soft black, cotton jacket.

  I had intentionally sat near the printer, so I could print off some research data on hard copy and look at it while I typed my papers. The printer roared to life right before I hit the “send” button. Great, so I’d wait in line.

  Next I know, a really cute guy with long brown hair and glasses shows up to check the printer. He wore corduroy pants and a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s collecting the paper being spit out, shuffling it into neat piles, tapping his fingers on the machine while he waits. And I’m checking him out, despite my bad attitude.

  As if a fog had lifted, and revealed what I’d been missing the whole time. I’d forgotten what it was like to check out guys. And he was checking me out, with quick sidelong glances.

  Despite my worst intentions, the “fuck off asshole” sign fell down, and I dropped my guard. I smiled at the guy. Miracle of miracles, he smiled back and introduced himself as Gary. Small pleasantries ensued. Then I shove my foot in mouth.

  “You gonna be much longer, Gary?” I said, right as the paper jammed in the printer. Go figure.

  “Shucks,” he said. “Only one more page to go.” He tried to open the tray, but only made a lot of noise and fuss.

  “You can’t just whip it out,” I said, standing up. I pushed my body into his. Gary didn’t budge, I rubbed one of my boobs against his arm. I hoped he took the hint. If only I smelled better.

  He stepped out of the way, goofy grin on his face and a teepee in his pants. I undid the paper jam and sat back down, staring at him. The printer kept spitting out page after page.

  “Thought you said only one more.”

  “More like one hundred. Sorry.”

  “What I am supposed to do while I wait for the longest book report to print?”

  “See the empty private study room? With the ‘do not disturb’ sign.” Gary pointed to one of the private rooms twenty paces away. “It’s empty.”

  “Let’s go study!” I said, trying and failing to hide the excitement in my voice. I can hardly believe what was happened when I led him by the hand.

  I slammed the door shut and pushed him against the wall, surprising him and taking his breath away. I ripped my jacket off, and he pulled my ponytail. After a minute of making out, I undid his belt and pants and was on my knees. Gary was well blessed, an inch bigger than my ex, with a nice thick arch. I swallowed him entirely, hungry for what I denied myself for too long.

  Right at the edge, I looked up at him, feigning innocence with quick eye blinks. Gary pulled me from my knees by the hair, shoving me roughly on the table. He pulled my shorts and panties to my ankles, and held my legs high over my head. Helpless, I waited for him to enter.

  He did, one inch at a time.

  All the way in, he pumped my pussy for all I was worth, until I was creamy and gushing all over his cock. He came inside me soon after, his hot seed filling me.

  We had sex near constantly the whole weekend. I don’t know how I did it, but I got A’s on all my papers. After college, instead of going to grad school like I planned, I took an internship in the same city Gary lived.

  A summer of fucking him was worth being turned away from my dreams.

  The Uke Club

  I belong to a ukulele club that meets every Tuesday night to jam at a local coffee shop. There’s maybe fifteen of us regulars, and we’ve been doing this for over a year. Most of us play soprano, some like me also have baritones, and a couple oddballs will bring in alto or tenor ukes now and then. Julia is the only one to play alto every week.

  We always sit next to each other on the shaggy green couch, with our soprano ukes in the cases at our feet. For an hour or two every week, I get to rub elbows with the most beautiful brunette uke player in town.

  I often wondered what it’d like to rub other parts of her body. One night, I got to find out.

  Julia had been particularly flirty the entire session. Slapping me on the thigh when I said something off-beat, which is often. She traded jokes with me, sat a little closer than normal, and stared at me a lot.

  Truth was, we’d been flirting for a long time, but I never thought she was single.

  “I broke up with my boyfriend,” she told me as we packed up our ukes.

  “Oh?” I said, not entirely sure how to proceed with this.

  “We didn’t even get rough makeup sex afterwards,” she continued. “I was disappointed.”

  “Ouch. Maybe I can help you with that?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Your place or mine?” I was half joking, ready to back up if she was just teasing me.

  Julia gave me her address and phone number. I drove as slow as I could, giving her as much time as possible to freshen up. But I didn’t want her to worry that I had cold feet.

  “I was afraid you had cold feet,” she said after I entered her apartment. Her studio was a ukulele mecca. One whole wall was filled with ukes of all shapes and sizes. Another wall had photographs of her playing gigs at various places. A third wall was entirely blank except for the nails sticking out of the drywall.

  “That used to have photos of my ex,” Julia pointed to the blank wall.

  I nodded, said appropriate things, drank tasty black coffee with her on her couch. Truth, I don’t remember exactly what happened. All of it was just a lovely, euphoric blur. I knew right then that Julia was the woman of my dreams. And she was all mine.

  I pulled her close in my arms, and kissed her. To my pleasure, she kissed me back. One thing led to another. I grabbed her breast. She ran her fingers through my hair. I massaged the small of her back. She unzipped my pants.

  It was as if somebody turned up the thermostat to a hundred degrees. Our warm bodies tangled together, meshing as if we were one. I slipped a finger up her skirt, and plucked her clitoris like a ukulele string. Eyes closed tight, she humped my finger, moaning softly in my ear.

  Fully hard and aroused beyond control, I pushed her off me. Julia stammered, uncertainty in her eyes. Uncertainty was replaced with ecstasy when I turned her around and bent her over the couch’s arm.

  I rammed my cock inside her, pumping her gentle at first. Only when Julia begged for more did I pick up speed, my balls slapping against her. Not jackhammer fast yet, but I found a nice andante rhythm that kept her moaning and whimpering. Julia pushed her backside against me, grinding and rotating around my cock. I spanked her on both cheeks and grabbed her hips, forcing her to be still.

  And then her whole body shook and quivered as if she had convulsions. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I gave her my everything. A fast, allegro pumping.

  Julia screamed out loud. It was as if somebody poured hot water on my balls as she came, the
sensation driving me insane. Her juice dripped on the carpet in fat, noisy drops, making a big puddle.

  I pulled out, my cock dripping wet from her come. And then I blew my load all over her back.

  I let her rest facedown on the couch while I went to the bathroom to find towels. I cleaned her back gently. Julia kissed me, thanking me over and over.

  “It’s not midnight yet,” I said.

  She only smiled, and led me to the bedroom.

  Months later, we still jam with the uke club, and my photos take up the once blank wall.

  Gone Fishing

  On Saturday, at four in the morning, I put on my blue swim trunks to go fishing. I don’t mean the fun kind of fishing that involves hooks and sinkers. There was a rather expensive flat-screen TV in the deep end of the swimming pool. Just part of the job of operating a hotel.

  The minty toothpaste taste was still fresh in my mouth and mixed with black coffee. I barely felt awake yet, maybe because I’d been up all night auditing. But I wasn’t the only one at the pool.

  A buxom black haired lady in a tiny green bikini sat in one of the white lounge chairs, soaking up the predawn night air. I had checked her in last night. She’d arrived dressed in casual clothes that left much to the imagination. She’d been flirty with me during check-in. I blinked twice to make sure it was the same lady.