Too Exciting

Prologue

"I have so defeated you," Lily said, smiling the innocent-but-wicked smile that always got to me, showing me how young my conqueror was. She had kissed me and looked so lovingly into my eyes before gently pushing me off the cliff.

"What do you mean?" I asked, unable to help sounding uncertain and nervous, even to myself. I was still falling.

Even as I softened inside her, she leaned down until her breath could be felt on my ear and spoke very quietly, though in their effect she could have been shouting her words directly into my soul through a megaphone. With odd unpredictable pauses between some of her words she continued,

"My naughty ... little girl parts have just completely ... conquered that strong cock of yours and now you'll never be able ... to fuck me with it. The thought of me is just too exciting for you. The moment you enter my sweet ... velvet pussy the thrill is just too much and ... oops. It's just wonderful".

All this was said without a hint of malice and followed by a gentle kiss on the lobe of my ear. I was still falling.

"But that's nonsense," I spluttered, almost stammering, my voice unconvincing even in my own ears.

"I'm sure it'll be fine next time. It was just an accident." I was trying to sound more certain.

Inside I was not so sure. That wicked letter she had written a few days before was a hex. Mischievous phrases from it had been floating through my mind, surfacing at the oddest times - when I caught the scent of her perfume or when I sank into her vast brown eyes.

"We will just have to see won't we?" was her teasing response.

"I will let you have another try in a week from now, but I think we both know what will happen. And then, well ... then you will have lost it for keeps and you will just have to service me with your tongue.

"So, 'no pressure', as they say".

With that, while I tried and failed to come up with an answer, she giggled and then gave me a loving kiss on my lips. And I continued to fall, and I am still falling now as I write this, and maybe I will never know how it feels to be on solid ground again.

Hi, I 'm Lily and I've hijacked this book -- and Nick's life by the look of things. He really is a bit clueless. I've been stealing this file off his computer every day as he writes it and he has no idea.

Anyway, Nick didn't start with the bit you've just read. I took it from further in and put it at the start as a 'hook', and I really liked the bit about falling. Quite poetic; and exactly the effect I was looking for.

Oh and by the way my full name is actually Lilith Mackenzie, which is quite a funny thing for a full-blown god-botherer, which is what m y mother has become, to call me, but I s'pose she was just getting started then, both with the religion stuff and having babies. It could have been Jezebel; that would work for me as well.

And Nick is Nick Carver. Yep, that Nick Carver. The writer. Of course you haven't actually read any of his books, they are a bit heavy and there isn't much in the way of sex. Until this one; but then he isn't planning on publishing this, though I might have other ideas. He's really quite cute though; and even better, he doesn't realise it.

So any bits in italics are mine, and I added the bit at the start of each chapter. So far he hasn't written that much but this could be fun, and look at it like this, at least you'll have a much better idea than he does about what is really going on, but then he can be amazingly naïve for such a bright guy. At nineteen (and a bit) I am a lot older than him in some ways, and he's thirty!

Chapter 1

In which our hero makes an offer -- and perhaps a mistake

It started with a call from Sarah. We met when we did some work together for a charity that helped rescue kids from the streets. As a writer I have flexible working hours and I had been writing publicity material for them on a voluntary basis, while Sarah was a psychotherapist and counsellor who tried to find a path back into normal life for the youngsters.

Sarah was one of those intriguing but unsettling women who give you the impression that she can read you easily, especially if you are a man. Of course that fits with the stereotype of the psychotherapist, but this is part of her and I think it would be even without that training. She has a way of holding her head preternaturally still, which in some way reminds me of a predator waiting to strike. It has the effect of making you take extra care in what you say.

I have to admit that I find Sarah rather attractive, disturbingly so, although it's hard to describe why. I get the odd impression that it is almost as if she has decided to be attractive; as though it were a matter of will.

She has absolutely black hair, I've no idea whether natural or dyed, worn in a bob, and dark brown eyes that seem larger than average, although I've no idea if they really are or are just made to look that way through artful make-up. She wears glossy red lipstick that I find distracting on her and when we meet my gaze at times seems to alternate between her somewhat mesmeric eyes and her voluptuous mouth, and she is evidently aware of this.

I had interviewed Sarah a couple of times before to help write articles and found her interesting to talk to, although the last time we had talked before the life-changing phone call, over lunch at a nearby pizzeria, she had learned more from me than I did from her. She never lets slip anything she did not intend to tell me, and while the interview was supposed to focus on her professional life, and I am not one to probe, not being a journalist, even so I realised on departing that I knew nothing about her private life, not even such basics as whether she was married, or had children. And I had no idea how old she was. She could be anywhere between thirty and fifty, but she frequently makes me feel young and inexperienced even though she could easily be the same age as me.

On the other hand she can exhaust you by listening to you, extracting more than you ever meant to say and also guessing much of what you leave unsaid.

For reasons that afterwards were not quite clear to me I actually volunteered to offer a room in my house to one of her charges, although I did add that I would prefer not to start with a psychopath or a drug addict. She made a casual comment that stuck with me, saying that maybe I needed someone to shake up my cosy world, as I seemed to have it all a little too much under control, although she said it with a laugh that made it easy to pass off as a joke.

A peculiar aspect of the meeting was that I could not account for how late I got home. As far as I could recall the conversation could not have lasted for more than an hour and a half, and yet by the time I got in the door it was beginning to get dark, leaving at least an hour unaccounted for.

Oddly, when I try to recall the details of middle of the conversation, much of it is rather foggy. I can remember the last part, with my uncharacteristic offer, so much against my approach of not getting involved, but before that I can only recall odd phrases, making little sense and lacking context; phrases of the type 'you may find that listening to my voice ...' and 'you have a choice as to whether you do this immediately or in a few days' time'.

What was that all about? Perhaps the wine was stronger than I'm used to. Whatever the reason I had an obscure sense that something vital changed in the course of what was, after all, a very ordinary meeting.

Maybe it just bugs me not being able to recall the detail of the conversation as a writer. I rely on a stock of remembered words, striking but natural phrases with the cadences of real life, to make dialogue in my work credible.

In a way you can't blame him, after all how many wicked sexy hypnotists can he have met? Of course I tried telling her all this mesmerism is overkill; a little bit of suggestion normally does the job - but that's Sarah for you.

When Sarah called me a couple of weeks later, I have to admit I was at first worried that she had taken me up on the offer, but she quickly reassured me that in fact she wanted to find a place for her niece who was studying at university nearby and had been let down at the last moment with her accommodation.

I was so relieved that I wasn't being asked to put up a social case that I was rather hasty in agreeing and did not really ask any of the questions you normally would if agreeing to let someone stay in your house. I had the oddest impression that she was silently laughing at me, even though I couldn't say why. When she then told me to watch out for her niece I started to tell her, even feeling a bit annoyed, that she would be safe with me.

"Oh, I am sure of that," she cut in, with a little chuckle, before adding, "I meant it the other way round".

But she did not expand on that and I somehow did not wish to invite further mockery by asking.

Well thank you, Sarah. But then again it's true; I'm not safe, as poor sweet Nick is beginning to find out.