Click on image to enlarge.
by Max Ibach
Description: Kellie Cromwell, a vivacious widow, lives alone in Lovescape--an underground bunker named by her late husband--which is situated on Black Bear Island off the Texas Gulf Coast. Kellie's only companions are two horses, a cow, a dog, and a wild ocelot. The Gulf furnishes fish, and a large garden supplies her with vegetables. A handsome grocer from Discovery Bay tends to her deeply felt need for sensual satisfaction, when he delivers supplies twice a month. Kellie's life seems complete, until Marine Major "Storm" Stoner washes up on her beach. Two career Marine officers--Storm and his Black Ops partner, Snake--must secure and hold Kellie's bunker and its communications equipment, so as to prevent the facility from being taken over by the members of a terrorist cell who, unknown to Kellie, have infiltrated Black Bear Island. The terrorists must acquire Kellie's bunker and its communication gear before they can successfully attack America with nuclear weapons. Enter the Storm/Snake Black Ops team with a destructive force of two. As with most military operations, things do not go exactly as planned. Kellie does not trust Major Stoner from the moment she finds him, seemingly incapacitated, lying on her beach. His story seems fabricated, so she locks him in a holding cell in her bunker. On the pretext of washing salt from his garments, she has him disrobe. The physical traits displayed by her captive completely captivate the Widow Cromwell. The holding cell becomes a bondage boudoir. Kellie's first torrid romp occurs with her captive sitting on a folding chair with his arms cuffed behind him through the cell bars. Sexual exploits steamier than a tropical rain forest ensue. The lusty relationship generates heat serious enough to contribute to global warming. When the proper time arrives, Storm leaves the bunker, prepared to fulfill his mission. Before the team can accomplish its assignment, the terrorists attack. In the battle that follows--one in which Kellie participates out of dire necessity--all three of the principal figures end up wounded. Reinforcements arrive, and the now ample force wrests three nuclear weapons from the terrorists. The hero and heroine, each sure now of loving the other, must overcome new obstacles on their road to permanent happiness.
eBook Publisher: Double Dragon Publishing/Carnal Desires Publishing, 2009 Carnal Desires Publishing
eBookwise Release Date: March 2009
3 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [337 KB]
Reading time: 205-287 min.
I pray for convenient amnesia, but another particularly erotic dream pilfers my mind like a moral meteorite. Clothes lay strewn about, and his tongue stroked my below while I screamed dirty words at the top of my lungs. The mental connection was so incredibly hot, but the intoxicating spike of arousal ebbed before I came awake. What should I do now? Anyone who knows is invited to send along the answer. A mental plea for sexual glory has again fallen short of total pleasure.
From our beginning, we've lived the delicate dance of slow-burning sex. When my dream falls short of gratification, the way it did last night, I'm forced to call Guthrie, so he can come and grant me absolution. The usual dream features the handsomely crafted tall grocer with the crippling handshake. An arsenal of power usually allows me to ride his cock the way I did last night, but last night ended too soon. Now that it's time again, I will my hands to make the call. Guthrie answers on the third ring. I proceed to lure him to my island. The charismatic voice I've chosen for the occasion registers as a loud whisper. A whisper seems to maximize our personal chemistry. For an instant I am a sex kitten burning at the seams.
"Is that you, mattress master?" I ask in my urgent whisper.
"Yo, lady K," he sighs. "Is this going to be an obscene phone call?"
"Of course it is, you dream despot. Here I am wearing a skirt the size of a dinner napkin with no panties, and you aren't even breathing hard."
"Will I be expected to grip the sheets, beg, plead, and scream?" he asks.
"Certainly," I coo into the instrument. "All of those things lie in your future. What are you going do about my predicament, G man?"
"Take a boat ride before I suffer brain damage," he answers. "In the future, passion pit, you should guard against whipping yourself into such a lather without having a man at your disposal."
"How do you know I don't have a man here?" I tease. "I've already worked my way through an entire boatload of Coast Guardsmen, and they haven't even taken the edge off. Which brings us to the subject of this call. I suffered only part of a vaginal ignition before dawn," I rasp. "Can you come and linger over my body and make me combust entirely?"
"Have you still got that chair with the padded arms and low back?" he asks as his mind attunes to what lies ahead for him.
"Are you referring to the one you used to strain my vocal cords the last time you were here?" I offer in a voice that concludes in a whimper.
"See, you remember the chair and the part you played," he states accusingly. "Like an idiot, I thought you were comatose when I tucked you in before leaving. Now I know you were faking, so I wouldn't make further advances."
"I was merely allowing you to escape without physical injury," I conclude.
His voice drops to a murmur, as though someone might be listening to him at the other end. I sense that his hand is cupping the mouthpiece. "Is this gonna be a new confessional, or the same old every-two-week maintenance run?" he teases.
"You know what it's going to be, your hotness. It's the hot hook-up you can never allow yourself to bypass," I answer in the low seductive voice I know he loves. "As we speak, I'm holding the handcuffs you will wear while I flatter you with oral attention. I can tell by your breathing that you remember the handcuffs and the last mammoth turn-on they gave you. Poor darling, you could barely walk when you departed in the AM."
"I didn't think you noticed," he mocks. "Are you gonna beg a little, or is this your best effort?"
"Just think of what you'll be missing, tall man," I purr into the phone, "unless you hurry about the business of getting here."
He comes right back with, "You consider our times together to be merely fun-fests, while I think of them as fusion-inducing sexathons leading to marriage."
"Pleasure is whatever you make of it, horny man," I remark with a delicate little chuckle at the end. "Come out, and we'll play house all night."
"Don't undergo premature hysteria before I get there," he advises. "I've got a couple of sexy new visuals for you," he details as his voices changes. "They're the kinds that offer all sorts of spicy options for your consideration."
"Are we speaking of the enhanced model?" I ask. "Or do I get to work for it, for a change?"
"It'll be the thick ornament that generates serious sparks for you every time you see it," he retorts.
"Oh, that one?" I mutter. "I can hear the skin tightening as we speak."
He has fallen into my trap. Guthrie is remembering our last time together. My final comment offers, "When you begin panting the way you are, it makes you sound desperate, you poor soul. Perhaps you should load up and go boating. You'll have to stay the night for me to accomplish everything I have in mind. I suggest you consider all the erotic orders you'll have to obey."
"I'll leave in half an hour," he answers, with what seems urgent motivation in his voice. "When I cast off, I'll be thinking of all the wet friction you intend to provide."
"While you're driving that slug of a boat," I counter, "I'll be sitting here with an internal blaze going--one designed to conquer you."
"Will this trip require complete surrender?" he murmurs with a slight quiver to his voice, "or will I be granted gentle trespass?"
"Who mentioned gentle?" I mouth in a sincere voice. "Come and find out for yourself, and bring the basic grocery list."
There is the gentle nibble of sexual crisis in his voice when he manages, "Okay, love dove. Bye-bye."
I know that from this minute forward he'll think of nothing but what awaits him at the boathouse dock. I'll instill major lust at the dock when he arrives. There will be a long lusty make-out session in the bunker featuring mischievous pleasures before we roll apart to sleep the sleep of the exhausted.
We'll both develop hot hands in the middle of the night, so we have to do it all over again. I sigh as I consider that the memory has to last two weeks before we get it on again--unless, of course, I make another call. With Guthrie on the way, I feel like going skinny-dipping in the bay. If I'm lucky, I can catch a couple of reds for dinner before he gets here. * * * *