I Love It: 10 Intense Stories to Keep the Passion Alive (Shameless Book Bundles 6)

by Saffron Daughter

  The drive across town took about forty minutes, and they were silent through most of it. Jack was afraid of saying something stupid to ruin the mood, and Janice, sensing his indecision, didn't push him for conversation. But when he pulled into her driveway and turned off the truck, he stared at her inquiringly.

  "Thanks for an incredible night, Jack."

  "It was good for me, too."

  She touched his face. "You're the best lover I've ever had."

  "You want to get married?"

  She stared at him narrowly. "I hope that was a joke."

  "It was a joke." But his stare was pointed. "Please tell me what's going on here --because I'm going to have a hard time walking away like nothing happened."

  "After all we shared, do you honestly think I'd let you?" She shook her head. "Last night definitely did not go as planned."

  "And why's that?"

  "I was looking for a night of unbridled passion with a man I really like, but it's turned into something more." Janice paused, her expression serious. "I don't know if I love you, Jack, but I do have some very deep feelings that I'd like to explore -- if you want to. We just need to take it slow."

  Jack felt his heart pound rapidly.

  "Janice, I don't know if I can handle just being your fuck buddy."

  "And I don't want that, either, you big dummy." She paused. "I do have one request."

  "What's that?"

  "That we don't advertise whatever this is at work."

  Janey had wanted the same thing, and that gave Jack a moment's pause for concern. He'd always felt that by doing so, Janey had been keeping her options open in case somebody better came along. And eventually, that had proven to be the case.

  Jack sighed.

  "You know, when you called, I hoped it was leading to something, but I didn't dare believe it."

  "Believe it. Now, kiss me."

  Heart beating hard, Jack leaned across the seat and kissed her gently on the lips.

  "You call that a kiss, white boy?"

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply. Janice moaned softly as his tongue touched hers. She took his hand and placed it on her breast. Jack stroked her nipple and felt it harden immediately beneath his touch. Janice moaned again.

  "Jesus," he breathed when the kiss broke apart. "I better get out of here."

  "You got someplace better to be?" she said.

  "No, I just thought --"

  "That's another big problem you have, Jack. You're always thinking too much. Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow." She grabbed both of his ears and touched their heads together. "Now, I need a man to help me feed my fish. Are you game?"

  "Yes," he croaked, breathing hard.

  "And I'm hungry, too, in case you're interested."

  Smiling, Jack grabbed her ears and continued holding their heads together.

  "And just what're you hungry for, baby?"

  Janice smiled and pecked him on the lips. "We'll cook something up."

  "Are you sure you have the time for a seven-course meal?"

  Janice giggled. "All the time in the world."

  Jack followed her up to the front door, watching her caramel-colored bottom twitch beneath her denim skirt.

  ###

  About the Author

  Maxine Clematis

  Maxine enjoys penning erotic liaisons -- the sexier the better. Some are romantically inclined and some are just simply red-hot. She leaves it up to the reader to make the choice. Whatever your inclinations, rest assured that you won't be disappointed. Visit sinonsilkpublishing.com for much, much more!

  Also from Maxine Clematis

  Primal Instinct (Jack and Janice Book 2): Jack and Janice are spending a long weekend at a Lake Michigan resort. They've been a couple for a few months, now, but they continue to explore passions and desires that keep the relationship cranking at a high-octane pitch.

  This weekend, however, they discover each other in an entirely new way, one that leads Janice to ask her man if he's willing to take things further. Jack and Janice are back with a vengeance!

  Save

  Me – Scarlett Skyes

  “NOOOOO!!!!” the answer exploded from his mouth as he jolted awake. The dream was always the same, the dream was going nowhere. The words still echoed in his mind, clear as a bell, not like the details from dreams you only have a single time:

  “It’s your fault.”

  He had woken up with a denial, but he knew it was true.

  Harland Bristow glanced at the glowing display showing the time then shuffled to his en suite, where the lights turned on automatically, having sensed his movements. The lights were at a mercifully low level, because nobody wants to be blinded at 5 o’clock in the morning, as the commercials for the home automation systems always dutifully reminded him. As the lights slowly increased intensity, he examined what they revealed in the mirror. He was only 30, but he appeared to be carrying the weight of a hard life in his once-bright blue eyes. And he looked so tired, but that was understandable given that he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over two years.

  Looking at his body he hardly recognised himself from before, from what he regarded as his previous life. After months of being on and off sedatives of one kind or another, he had discovered that he could attain a natural sleep if he completely and utterly exhausted himself physically every single day. Sure the sleep was shitty, fragmented and plagued by nightmares but it was better than the drugs. Harland feared that the drugs were making him forget things, and he needed to remember everything, no matter how painful it was. The dead deserved that much.

  At first he had been a member of a gym, but as the bills from doctors and therapists mounted, and his inability to concentrate on his job resulted in his unemployment, his workouts had become a lot more basic. He ran for hours every day. Ran and thought, thought and ran. When he wasn’t running he was lifting rocks, or buckets of rocks, or concrete blocks. Whatever he could find, and as much as he could handle.

  Sometime after he lost the house and moved into this free state-owned apartment and was forced on to the welfare diet, this new body had arrived. The old one was totally run of the mill, but the new one had biceps that strained at sleeves, pectorals that looked chiselled, and abs that you could actually count from across the room. Harland supposed that at one time he would have been pleasantly surprised by this, but now it just made it that much harder to truly exhaust himself.

  The sad eyes in the mirror stared out at him from under a defiantly messy hairstyle. When he was properly awake it settled down into a short-back-and-sides, but for now it was every man for himself as far as his individual hairs were concerned. His jet black hair had always been worn in this style, but the occasional speckle of silver was a new addition since the previous winter. Some men may have considered it a signal to begin an early mid-life crisis and buy a sports car. Harland took it as a signal for the beginning of the end. He was too tired to start again and so started the process.

  “You fucked up so bad.” He advised his doppleganger in the mirror. No denials now. “Today’s the day.”

  *****

  Sitting at the kitchen table, Harland tucked into a hearty meal of (he glanced at the packet) “Welfare Meal 1, Day 5.” It tasted like wet sawdust, but if he warmed it up then it tasted like warm wet sawdust. He didn’t care. Making the appropriate selections on his iLive device, he requested his mail.

  The state required him to be available for at least 5 verified job interviews every week if he was to continue living in the free apartment and eating the free food. In today’s mail was a selection of 10 to choose from. They were all basically the same job, packaged up behind a different title for different companies. “Sanitation Automaton Technician” aka “Clean the robots that clean the toilets”. “Bio-matter Removal Engineer” aka “Clean the robots that clean the toilets”. “Mobile Fecal Manager” aka “Clean the robots that clean the toilets in a number of different suburbs or towns.” You can make mac
hines to clean pretty much anything. And you can make machines to clean those machines, but sooner or later some poor bastard has get down on his hands and knees and deal with it. We’ve come a long way, but the more things change, the more they stay the same he thought.

  Harland thought back to his desk and corner office from that past life and sighed. Scanning down the list he looked for the only reason he was checking the post now rather than later. His breath caught in his throat, it had arrived.

  From: applications@ses.govt.usna Subject: Application Status: Approved

  Mr. Bristow,

  Thank you for your patience, as you can appreciate this is a busy time of year for us. Your application number SL393L-S99JP has been approved. Your appointment has been scheduled for the 18th of May at 15:30. For further information, please read the attached files, or visit our site at sww.ses.govt.usna.

  Regards,

  Susan Knebsworth

  State Euthanasia Services.

  Sitting in silence for a moment, he pictured a small candle being snuffed out. Reading the email again, he glanced at the “iLive” logo on his device and suddenly laughed. The laugh carried no humour though, it was a laugh that wouldn’t have been out of place in a haunted house.

  Out of habit he selected the “Next” option to read another mail, but as it loaded he realised he wouldn’t need to look at any of the interview requests ever again. The next mail wasn’t an interview request, it was something else entirely.

  From: notifications@aft.ent.usna Subject: AFT Lottery: You’ve Won!

  Hi Harland,

  It is with great pleasure that we are contacting you today! You have been selected to participate in the next season of ABOUT FUCKING TIME!

  As you are no doubt aware, participation is not compulsory, but your spot in this year’s show is not transferrable. If you do not wish to take part, then you need do nothing. If you DO wish to take part, then you will need to confirm by following the instructions below. Filming of the preliminary rounds will be commencing 13th of February. For those that make it to the finals, filming will take part over the course of the week commencing 7th of May. We hope to hear from you!

  The mail continued with the aforementioned instructions, but Harland’s thoughts drifted. To win a spot on a show like About Fucking Time was a dream for every man, and many women, in the country. Surely a more contrasting pair of mails was never received side by side. To win the competition would be unlikely, but even to be a part of it assured the participant of the most incredible time of his or her life.

  So the question was, do nothing and let somebody else have a good time... or go out with a bang?

  *****

  Time travel was hands down the most staggering achievement of modern times. Other areas of research had progressed at what seemed like an ever decreasing rate over the past 50 years or so. This fact was best summed up in a news item that had been broadcast several years previous. In it a lone protester had been marching back and forth in front of the security gates of some mansion. The giant sign the protester was carrying, which caused him great difficulties every time it caught the wind, stated “Brian Schmidt can fuck Marilyn Monroe, but where is my flying car?” As the police hauled him away, the reporter finished his story by noting that the protester wasn’t even in front of the right house, multi-billionaire Mr. Schmidt had moved out months previously.

  The technology had progressed at a blinding pace, from an accidental side effect just barely noticed in an experiment to precise science in only a few decades. Perhaps this was because of how it captured the imagination of absolutely everybody from governments to private companies to individuals. At great cost, but with complete success, a payload of anything up to several tons could now be sent anywhere in space-time and brought back.

  At first, the dangers seemed immense, “messing with the time stream” and “creating paradoxes” had been a popular plot device in many works of science fiction for a long while now. However, it soon became apparent that when sending anything back in time it did indeed go to the past of your own universe but a new universe immediately “spawned” just due to the foreign object being there, leaving the original universe (and the present as observed by the scientists) completely unchanged. Bringing the payload back involved not just sending it forward in time, but sending it back to its point of entry in the past and then back to its home universe. These experiments led to the conclusion that every universe that could exist, did exist. Every time somebody made a decision to do one thing when they could have done another, a new universe split off from the old and travelled its own path. Every time a quark zigged when it could have zagged the same thing happened. One article in a popular science magazine reported it by showing the number 100 to the power of 100, which was also to the power of 100, which was also to the power of 100, etc. This number stretched from the bottom left to the top right of the page to accommodate all the super-script numbers. The title was “This is how many universes spawned from ours in the first second after the big bang.” It was mind boggling.

  There were still a couple unknowns in the process, which were perplexing but did not affect the fundamental functionality of the time-travel process. The first was that you could send anything you wanted though time and space, but the only things you could bring back were the things you sent through in the first place. This dashed the hopes of the more pirate-minded individuals in the population, who were looking to pillage the infinite resources of the infinite universes. Others argued that it was probably for the best, as if we could do it then others with bigger guns could probably do it too. The second unknown was that it seemed impossible to send any payload to any time after that first accident that revealed the reality of time travel to us. There was lots of speculation about these curiosities, but no hard facts yet.

  Once the technology had been proven safe it was time to cash in on it. Those that owned the technology became extraordinarily wealthy as they charged all and sundry extortionate amounts to use it. At first this was limited to academic areas. Historians settled long-standing debates, scientific experiments that had failed in the past and not been repeated due to the cost and difficulty of setting them up were observed over and over again. Through this, other areas of research experienced a vast increase in understanding.

  Seeking other revenue streams, wealthy individuals were approached, and the industry of time travel tourism was born. Travellers soon realised that for most intents and purposes they were above the law in the past. Usually at the worst they would have to sit in a jail cell for a few days until their designated time to return to the present came, and they returned none the worse for wear. It was also trivial to manufacture the currencies of the past in essentially limitless quantities. With this mindset and these resources, travellers regularly lived like horny emperors for the durations of their visits. Usually they paid for any sexual partners that could be bought, and tried their best with any that couldn’t. Many stepped over the line and laws were brought into effect to protect those in the past that could never report the crimes of travellers back in the present. It became compulsory for every visit to the past to be recorded in super high definition. Those who killed and raped in the past were dealt with very harshly, as were those who attempted to falsify any record of their travels.

  Richard Long was one of those wealthy individuals who were pioneers of time travel tourism. He had fucked his way through several harems worth of beautiful women before he realised that even he would need a way to fund his addiction to this form of sex tourism. Richard had made his billions in the entertainment industry, chiefly in the creating of concepts and producing of hit reality shows. The world’s passion for such shows had been increasing for decades. With broadcasting standards getting ever more lenient, there were always opportunities opening up for new shows to push the boundaries.

  At the moment he came to this realisation his two greatest successes were in their seventh and eighteenth seasons respectively. His show “Wife Swap” bor
rowed its title from an old show with a similar premise but in his new version the couples actually fucked, often with hilarious results. “Pornstar House” put 10 random people per season in a house with 10 porn stars, to see who could last the longest without being seduced and fucked while they completed a number of challenges each day. He had a million ideas, and the public lapped them all up. The advertising and sponsorship dollars had seemed endless until the huge expense of time travel started making inroads into his bank balance.

  Necessity is the mother of invention, as they say, and Richard knew that he couldn’t rest on his past successes if he wanted to keep on travelling back in time. It didn’t take long before he realised he could combine his new passion with his old and his idea for a new show called “About Fucking Time” was born.

  Now entering its third season, the show had almost taken on a life of its own. It was such a phenomenal success, that Richard would never need to worry about money for anything ever again, even if he wanted to buy a medium sized country. One of the keys to its success was the lottery system. Everybody in the country was automatically given one entry per season, and people could purchase extra entries as well. This brought the possibility of time travel to those that could never possibly afford it before, which made the show of interest to a huge range of demographics.

  The prizes associated with the show didn’t hurt either of course. There were great prizes for performing well in the preliminary rounds, but everybody wanted the 10 million dollars and one free time-travel trip to a destination of their choosing that would be bestowed upon the eventual winner.

  *****

  Harland lay on a huge bed in a hotel suite he would never have been able to afford, watching the “ABOUT FUCKING TIME: Season 3, the 1900s” introduction show that he had been filmed for, and which had just finished editing in time to be broadcast this evening.

  As the show drew to a close, the panel of experts were discussing each of the 5 participants’ chances to win this season. They seemed to think that it was a two horse race. Their favourite was a man named Dexter “Donk” McClean, a huge muscle-bound hulk who had proudly spoken of how he always bought as many extra tickets for entry on the show as he could afford. He also claimed to be able to fuck for hours on end. The young reporter who had been tasked with interviewing him looked like she could vouch for that, given how tired she looked, and the fact that she was walking funny. The second favourite was a relative rarity on the show, a woman in her mid-20s by the name of Lisa Weekes. An absolutely gorgeous full-lipped blonde, you would have called them blowjob lips but she claimed to have never been with a man. In her interview she talked of how she converted hundreds of women to lesbianism while going through university. Supposedly her male counterparts there had been pretty enthusiastic at first, but grew to hate her as she turned it into her art and passion. Lisa was confident she stood as good a chance as anybody to win.