Mr Remarkable Read online

  MR REMARKABLE

  An erotic novel

  JJ Monroe

  Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2013

  ISBN 9781909624641

  Copyright © JJ Monroe 2013

  The right of JJ Monroe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  Contents

  Chapter One – Missy Misdemeanour

  Chapter Two – Mile High

  Chapter Three – Mr Remarkable

  Chapter Four – Close Encounters of the Sexual Kind

  Chapter Five – Secrets

  Chapter Six – Night Moves

  Chapter Seven – Dog with a Bone

  Chapter Eight – The Proposition

  Chapter One – Missy Misdemeanour

  Blog entry: 9.15 p.m.

  In the beginning there was the chicken and the egg, but who came first is a mystery. Thinking about another mystery, am I horny now because I’m wearing the sexy black lingerie or was I horny before? It is a dilemma. It’s probably the most important dilemma of my life because without the sexy black lingerie Missy Misdemeanour would never have existed and without her this story would have remained floating around cyberspace without substance or a real identity and that would have been a shame. Perhaps, dear reader, we need a history lesson. We need to go back to the beginning. We need to go back to the beginnings of my beautiful creation and, like all good stories that happen in my life, sex is at the very core. So, if you will allow me to indulge you, let me take you back to the start.

  Charlie the editor is frowning. When Charlie frowns it is never a good sign. It can only mean one thing: he hates my story. My stories are like my children; insulting them is like insulting me.

  ‘You hate it?’

  ‘It’s perfectly average,’ replies Charlie, sitting back on his chair and holding his hands up.

  ‘That’s a truly awful thing to say to a writer,’ I say, standing in his office wondering if this is it.

  ‘It’s the truth, Izzy. It’s well written, you have a nice, readable style …’

  ‘Please, stop! You’re killing me.’

  ‘Am I?’ replies Charlie. ‘I was thinking the exact opposite, Izzy. I give you this opportunity and this is the best you can offer me?’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ I ask. ‘These personal shoppers are being harassed. These rich guys walk in and throw money at you and you’re just supposed to open your legs and say “thank you, sir”? I don’t think so?’

  ‘But he isn’t having sex with you, is he?’ questions Charlie. ‘We all know sex sells but there isn’t any in your article.’

  ‘That’s because I’m not a prostitute!’ I declare. ‘I’m a writer. I have principles.’

  ‘That’s great,’ he says. ‘But principles don’t sell. It’s OK. You did your best, but clearly you’re not up to it.’

  ‘I’m not up to sleeping with random strangers? Are you really asking me to do that?’

  ‘Belle de Jour, Confessions of a Working Girl, Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl; you think these girls were faking it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The public wants to read about this because they are dirty voyeurs. They dream of doing the stuff these girls have done, but they don’t have the bottle to do it. Now, what if there was a blog about a girl willing to undertake sex-tinged adventures. Don’t you think that would sell?’ Charlie gives me a look.

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m deadly serious,’ he replies. ‘Newsprint is a dying art form. The internet is taking over. Bloggers are the new superstars, so my question is are you prepared to hitch your wagon to blogging? Do you have the stones to put yourself out there and do the things your readers can only dream of doing?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘OK, then,’ says Charlie. ‘At least you’re honest. I can probably find you a spot in obituaries.’

  There before me my journalism career is unravelling. It’s happening right before my eyes, so what is it that I want? Do I want safety in obituaries and a life of crushing dullness or do I want to take a walk on the wild side? I take a breath and hold it, feel it sizzle and expand in my lungs, see a shooting star explode through my brain. Hitch my wagon to a shooting star or play it safe? Do I have the stones? Do I really have the stones?

  ‘Give me one more chance,’ I say quietly, so quietly that I’m not even sure Charlie has heard me. But then a sly grin crosses his face.

  ‘Twenty-four hours to rewrite the story. If I like it I’ll launch you as a blogger, but you’d better blow my mind, Izzy!’ he says. ‘And think up a pseudonym that’s a little bit wicked,’ he continues. ‘Make it something sexy and dangerous!’

  Sexy and dangerous; that’s what personal shopping should be about. So here we are again, back to my original question. Am I horny now because I’m wearing the sexy black lingerie or was I horny before?

  This cubicle is tiny. There really isn’t room to swing a cat, let alone play with my pussy, though Handsome Man clearly has other ideas and is willing to work within the confines of this too-tiny space. Currently he has his right hand on my right breast, cupping it through the fabric of the lace as he presses up against me observing my figure in the full-length mirror. Like an adult game of chess this is his opening move, possibly risky since he doesn’t yet know if I’m good to go, or just a wicked tease. This has been building for an hour now, gentle flirting giving way to unsubtle overtures and now his hand on my breast. I can duck and run, scream sexual harassment and blow all chances of my own blog, or …

  I am an attractive woman. I keep myself in shape through rigorous exercise (and not the right kind either!). Men like me. I see it in their eyes, the way they pay attention when I enter the room, so why don’t I push it? There is a whole world of adventure waiting for me out there. I have the winning ticket. All I have to do is use it. All you have to do is use it, girl!

  His left hand moves, resting itself innocently on the curve of my hip. His wedding band reflects in the light in the cubicle off the mirror.

  Do I really have the stones? Does he? Well, what are you going to do about it?

  I grind back into the expensive fabric of his suit trousers, pressing my satin-clad butt cheeks into his crotch. He reacts instantly, his cock hard and willing, pressing against my flesh. Arching my back, I turn my head and reach up with my left arm as his right hand squeezes my breast. Finding his face, I draw it closer. Our lips touch as the temperature starts to rise. My heart is beating out a crazy rhythm and I have to close my ears to the voice inside screaming, “You’re doing it! You’re really doing it!”

  His tongue starts to go to work but this angle really isn’t working for me, and seeing as I’m starting to feel all hot and flustered now I really don’t want to waste this opportunity. It’s been a while. Who am I kidding? It’s been for ever. I turn around, disengaging, and now who has the power? Backing him up against the wall, I seek out those lips burying my tongue deep into his mouth, and now we start to find a workable rhythm. His wicked fingers peel away my panties and start to delve deep inside me. It’s such a delicious shock that my breath catches in my mouth and my eyes light up. The trousers prove to be no obstacle at all and
his boxer shorts put up minimal resistance. I hustle him down and spread his legs so that I can spread mine, squatting over him, and the raw passion in his eyes is turning me on and on. This is not romance. Flowers and candles aren’t welcome here. This is sex in its basest glory. I slide down onto his cock, feel my lips part and expand and envelop him as I push down and take him whole. Gasping as the pleasure fires up my every nerve ending, I’m a girl on a mission. Ride him, cowgirl!

  I’ve already told you it’s been a while. Maybe I’m a little over-enthusiastic? It’s never been a problem before, but I’ve never fucked a random stranger in a shop cubicle before. The walls are flimsy. There’s no soundproofing at all. I didn’t think, but you don’t generally when you’re getting your game on.

  ‘I don’t know who’s in there but if you don’t stop this minute then I’m calling the police!’ calls the irate shop manager.

  Stay or go? It’s a dilemma. He’s about ready to explode inside me and I’m burning up. Handsome Man grips my buttocks and thrusts hard into my sex, igniting a chain reaction. He grunts and comes hard inside me. It seems childish to stop now, not that I can anyway. I feel the contractions, feel my pussy close around him, and know that all I can do is hang on. I vaguely hear the shop manager but there is some lunatic drowning her out with her orgasmic screams.

  ‘I think I’ll take the lingerie,’ says Handsome Man, grinning at me.

  ‘You’d better,’ I reply.

  ‘I think we’d better make a quick exit before someone arrest us for lewd and lascivious behaviour,’ he says.

  ‘If it’s a first offence won’t they downgrade it to a misdemeanour?’ I ask.

  And then an idea pops into my head and my new secret identity is born – welcome to the crazy world of Missy Misdemeanour!

  Chapter Two – Mile High

  Blog entry: 6.32 p.m.

  So here I stand on the edge of a great new adventure, dear reader. We’ve all dreamed about it, haven’t we? The thought of joining the Mile High Club, though probably not so much when you’re stuck back in cattle class with the person in front’s seat two inches from your nose, but this is it. I stand before you like the gladiators standing before Caesar about to perform the salute and I salute you, dear friends. I, who represent the curious and the interested, am about to begin my brave new adventure, and with any luck I’ll be reporting back in just a few short hours with a wicked story to tell, so wish me luck and good hunting. Until we meet again, this is Missy Misdemeanour signing off!

  Watching the little icon inform me that my latest blog has updated it hits me. Now I have to put my money where my mouth is. You can only fake it for so long. Sooner or later you have to step up, so the real question is am I ready to step up?

  The face in the mirror wrinkles her nose, cute as it is, and observes me through oceanic blue eyes. I can’t deny that I have been blessed with kind skin and good bone structure and the hair helps. I know the debate rages on in the media over who has more fun, blondes or brunettes – well, I’ve had my fun and I can’t complain. Actually, I can and I will. These looks have been a blessing and a curse. Too many jerks think they can push their luck and dazzle with their loathsome lines, but at least they are obvious and easy to detach. Far harder are the earnest ones who get under your skin and then detonate their lies at close quarters, leaving you to suffer the fall-out. It’s really not pleasant.

  I finish pinning my hair in place and add a touch of lipstick; cherry red just to get the boys going. Checking my appearance, the girls are looking perky and should arouse the relevant interest levels – but who am I really kidding? I bluff and flatter to deceive but, deep down, I have always been a good girl at heart. I may have the looks but I just don’t have the killer instinct. This is an assignment too far. This may very well be the end of Missy Misdemeanour, my slutty alter ego and the source of income these last four years. What started out as a brilliant marketing ploy to chase after the stories that no one else could now feels like a noose around my neck and little by little the lies pull it tighter. One day there will be nothing left. These lies will have choked the very life out of me.

  Get a grip, girlie! You still have it, so be strong and be happy and, most of all, get the job done! Picking up the sky blue hat, I reach for the little case, take one last look at my alter ego who, I note, is smiling back at me, and depart the private bathroom of the business lounge.

  His tongue burns my skin. I feel it melt and sizzle as he brands me with the roughness of his kiss and the fires are lit deep inside me. This is what I have been yearning for all this time. My body is screaming out to him as the space between us disintegrates. His body is hard like granite, reassuring as he presses me up against the cubicle wall, his lips imprinting their scent down my neck, reaching my ear, and I gasp as my sex begins to ache for his touch. My brain is sparking and, like a fish starved of oxygen, I clamp myself to him, my lips seeking out his, desperate to feel them hot and hard against mine. My cool, calm exterior has been washed away and now I am his, a love-starved sex junkie, and he is my drug. It has only been seven hours. It is not supposed to happen like this. I need to take control, but …

  The stewardess’s skirt offers futile resistance to his determined fingers. His kisses are an addiction now, long and lingering, short and intense. I just can’t get enough of them, but still this is spiralling dangerously out of control and then the thought hits me straight between the eyes like a clanging bell. Your readers expect! Do not disappoint! If this is to be your last assignment then go out with all guns blazing.

  ‘Fuck it!’

  ‘Sorry?’ He breaks off from his latest cross-border attack to look me straight in the eye, and what beautiful eyes he has. Big and brown, they remind me of looking into pools of chocolate, so warm and inviting, and I’m drifting away all over again. Who is this boy and where has he been hiding all my life? The black tee clings pleasingly to his torso and clearly here is a man who takes care of himself.

  ‘Not you,’ I reply, holding his gaze.

  He smiles, his cheekbones chiselled by the gods themselves high up on Mount Olympus, his brown crew cut spiky and inviting, and then a thought drifts through my psyche and I blush. Who is this filthy wench invading my thoughts?

  ‘You know talking to yourself is often considered the first sign of madness,’ he whispers.

  ‘I know,’ I agree, his low voice like melting honey. ‘But at least it means I’m never alone.’

  ‘That’s another way of looking at it,’ he agrees with a smile and there is a definite glint of mischief right there in those beautiful brown eyes. This is dangerous. I’m losing it. My defences have been breached. I’m lying out there for the taking and I don’t have the will to defend these barricades any longer. I close my eyes and accept his willing lips, hungry for more.

  As his tongue teases and torments I feel his palm sliding up beneath my skirt, edging higher still, brushing my skin, hot to the touch, and my crotch is crying out for his touch now. Thank God for Victoria’s Secret as he reaches my tiny little triangle of pubic hair. The shivers are like a tsunami rushing through me. It has been such a long time since any man touched me down there.

  His finger slips between the folds of my sex. Glorious, sensational feelings shoot through me. How could I have forgotten just how amazing this can be? It is criminal how much I want this. Nothing else matters. The world can end. The universe can implode. I just don’t care. All I can feel is right here and right now and it’s just so fucking awesome. This is Ground Control to Major Tom. We have serious fucking lift off! There is no way I can ever let him go now. But then it occurs to me that I don’t want this, not here in this tiny cubicle a mile up in the sky. I want roses and candles; I want linen sheets and the sound of the ocean outside of my window; I want the fairy tale and a king-sized bed on which to be thoroughly ravished by my new Prince Charming. This is what I want. This is what I need.

  Oh Jesus! I don’t think I can hold out any longer. This boy is truly a magician. Harr
y Potter has nothing on him. I close my eyes and sigh and wonder if the whole of the airline has got the message yet?

  Another finger slips into my silky folds and the boy starts to find his rhythm. He is about to strike gold and it is mind-blowing. I fight the urge to scream out. Why shouldn’t the whole world know about it? This is the most newsworthy story of the decade. I am about to get me some! His tongue seeks mine out, his kisses harder and deeper, the urgency of passion building with each delicious touch. A long, lingering, sumptuous kiss; a kiss to lock away in the deepest recesses of my mind to savour on a rainy day, before his fingers are on the move again, reaching around, locating the zip on the back of my skirt.

  For a moment he is distracted as his fingers try to work the zip and I could take charge. I could stop him and regain some control. I could sit tight and thwart his ambition, but where would be the fun in that? This is no time for morals. I’m hot and I’m wet and I’m seriously turned on and nothing is going to get in my way of scratching this burning itch that’s threatening to reduce me to a quivering wreck. I need this. Boy, do I really need this. But then again, he’s still wearing his Levis.

  ‘I think it’s my turn,’ I whisper, passion and desire drawing me ever closer to the abyss.

  ‘You’ll get no argument from me,’ he replies, stealing another kiss as my fingers start to work his belt loose before turning my attention to the buttons. Hermione Granger would be suitably impressed. The briefest of looks and they pop themselves open one by one. The denim is reassuringly rough, firm to the touch, and as I drag it away my eyes light upon a pair of figure-hugging, white Calvin Klein shorts concealing a bulge of majestic proportions. Jackpot!

  The burning of my loins is almost too great to bear. Images flash into my head, each one more pornographic than the last, involving Mr Remarkable and an airline cubicle toilet. I delve into his shorts, keen to play with the beast, but Mr Remarkable has other plans for me. The zip gives. He shrugs my skirt down my thighs as if it wasn’t there before lifting me gamely onto the sink, spreading my thighs wide. My tiny little thong doesn’t stand a chance against such masterful aggression. He peels it away as he bends towards me. I shiver at the glorious anticipation of what he is about to do and suck my breath in hard as his errant tongue glides against my glistening pussy, hot and rough and blissful to the touch. He invades without mercy, licking hungrily at my sex, and with every wicked flick my nipples grow harder and harder, my whole body now aching for release. This is pure pleasure, this is better than any drug. This is what I have been searching for my whole life. Suddenly I am alive again!