Agent Provocateur: Confessions: A Collection of Erotic Fiction

by Agent Provocateur

Overview

Chosen for their escapism, indulgence and pursuit of the erotic, these stories explore the sensual and sexual yearnings of a woman who is sexy, provocative, and strong-minded---even if she keeps it under cover. In typical Agent Provocateur style, sex is brought out of the bedroom and paraded brazenly in front of us in a way that we cannot avoid it---nor do we want to. Themes explored range from "Ritual" a portrayal of illicit passion, through "Afraid of the Dark", a tale of strange erotic experiences in a dark room with a willing onlooker, to an unexpected threesome in New York in "The Lecture", to a frank confession of sex in a crowded bar in "Control". A heady blend of fantasy and reality they are chosen for their literary merit and their erotic content---and most importantly---for their ability to turn on men and women.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781429981200
Publisher:	St. Martin's Publishing Group
Publication date:	12/26/2007
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	144
File size:	158 KB

About the Author

AGENT PROVOCATEUR was founded by Joseph Corre, offspring of fashion's most radical couple Malcolm McClaren and Vivienne Westwood, and his wife and business partner Serena Rees. They opened their first London Agent Provocateur shop in 1994. A media sensation from the start they consistently set out to shake up the establishment and have garnered wide-spread media attention for their message of liberated sexuality and the brand.

AGENT PROVOCATEUR was founded by Joseph Corre, offspring of fashion’s radical couple Malcolm McClaren and Vivienne Westwood, and his wife and business partner Serena Rees. They opened their first London Agent Provocateur shop in 1994. A media sensation from the start, they consistently set out to shake up the establishment and grab attention to their brand and message of liberated sexuality.

Read an Excerpt

Agent Provocateur Confessions

A Collection of Erotic Fiction

---

By St. Martin's Press

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2006 Anova Books Company Ltd.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-8120-0

---

CHAPTER 1

RITUAL

I broke the heel because I was rushing. Shit. Doesn't matter, they're not my favourites. I wouldn't waste those on work. And of course wearing them wouldn't be ... well, conducive to those day-today office tasks. In any case, I should know better than to rush. I should know by now that half of it is the anticipation. Yours and mine. The time you've spent, sewing your fantasies into my mind, telling me every detail of how I should ...

I mustn't get ahead of myself. Finally, I'm home. I can start.

But first I need to catch my breath – even the sound of the door shutting makes my breathing get shallow and my heartbeat stutter. I'll let it take over just for a minute, the tiny prickles of excitement all over my skin, under my clothes, as it begins. Only a minute though, then I have to get that control back. It's all about the control. If anything you've shown me that.

I take off my coat. It crumples in a heap on the floor next to the door, which I'm still leaning against, one foot on tiptoes, the other solid, remaining arched inside its still-intact heel. Time to move. My back is arched so that it's just my shoulders against the door, my pelvis thrust in towards the room. I feel like you're pulling me towards you with one large hand, firm against the small of my back. Okay, I won't resist. I push with my shoulders and spring away. Towards you.

Now one, then the other, off come the shoes. They're dangling from the tips of two fingers as I pad along, switching on the lamp in the living room. The wood floor is strangely warm and alive under my feet, the way wood can be sometimes. Everything is alive. I'm hungry, but I bypass the kitchen and head towards the bedroom, unbuttoning the jacket of my suit as I go, then reaching around to unzip my skirt. I start quickly, but then I can almost see you, watching me, slow motion, shaking your head. Naughty girl. Not so fast. I stop in the centre of the room and do it slowly. Properly. I take the zip between my fingers and inch it down. The fabric clings to me, but gradually unfurls from around my waist, down past my hips, and falls to the floor. Then the jacket, shrugged with that same deliberation off my shoulders, the silken lining skimming my bare arms, and it joins my skirt. I step out from among the pile of clothes. Free – almost. Just the ... intimates. You'd be smiling right now, you said. I can almost see you.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the long, brass-edged mirror in the corner. Something in my memory of what you described makes me stride towards it, so close I can almost see my breath against the glass. Facing my reflection, I undo the clasp and my bra slackens. The straps scuttle down my arms and now it's on the floor too, my breasts swinging ever so slightly with the momentum. The weight of them, unrestrained, it feels good, and the combination of the air against them and the thoughts inside my head makes my nipples go hard. They just skim ever so lightly against their mirror images. I can hear your voice, the low whisper, you telling me every move I should make. I start to feel that dampness in my panties. I'm dirty. Time for a bath.

* * *

I light the candle first, the one you gave me. I pick it up to move it to the edge of the bath and the feel of it smooth, wide, solid inside my hand, reminds me of you – of how I think you might feel. What I wouldn't give to know ... I find my lips part slightly at the thought, but I quickly bite them; rein myself in. I can't start to enjoy myself too much, too soon. And besides, thats not what we are about. Instead, the smoke from the match still spiralling around me I bend over – yes, from the waist – and push the plug into the hole at the bottom of the bath. My shadow dances against the tiled wall in time with the candle flame, and the roundness of my bottom is accentuated in the dark silhouette. I can almost feel your eyes on me.

I twist the taps and soon water starts to flow and steam starts to envelop me. As the tub fills and the water settles, I pour in a generous quantity of bath oil and watch the beads mingle and settle gently on top of the water. I trace my finger in amongst them, creating tiny ripples across the surface. Then I slowly hook my fingers into the sides of my panties and unfurl them down the length of my legs until they are a curled pile of soft white cotton around my ankles. I flick them away with my feet and luxuriate in at last being totally naked with your words swirling inside my mind. I step into the tub, sit down into it and enjoy the sting of hot water against my bottom. I lay my body down into the length of the bath so that my head rests against the edge and my toes tickle the chain leading down to the plug. The water is just shallow enough that my breasts bob out of it, slick with the bath oil. I sway from side to side, letting the water tickle against my still-hard nipples, then duck my head under the water to wet my hair. When I resurface, little droplets begin to trace their way from the strands of my hair down my shoulders and chest, and melt into the warm water.

I don't use a sponge, nothing, just my hands. I start from my toes, working my fingers between each one; they slip in easily with the oily water. I start to work my fingertips down the centres of the soles of my feet, then smooth the palm of my hands over each heel. And then up, down and around my lower calves, one then the other, lifting each of them out of the water and towards me. I have to concentrate not to focus too much on the sensation of the water lapping against my pussy, which spreads open ever so slightly whenever I raise a leg out of the tub. Instead, I allow my fingers to trace small circles at the backs of my knees for a moment, and for a split second it almost feels like your fingers instead of mine. I close my eyes as my hands begin to slip their way up the insides of my thighs. I can't stop myself from spreading my legs open, each foot pressed against the sides of the tub. My hands almost reach the top and so I slow down, I mustn't – I'm inching my fingertips gradually, so slowly upwards, towards ...

No. That's not what you said should happen now. Not yet. I know that. Still, I have to use all my strength to pull my hands around to the outside of my hips. In one long, languid movement I sweep my palms into the dip at either side of my waist, my fingertips tickle along my stomach, flit into the indentation of my belly button, and then I take each of my breasts into my hands, squeezing just for a moment, pushing each upwards as my hands continue their journey, up over my chest to my neck, over my chin which is pointed upwards towards the sky, my head tilted far back, the tips of my fingers brush over my eyelids, squeezed shut, and up, over the top of my head to nothing. I drop them with a sudden splash back into the water at either side of me, and open my eyes with a start.

After a moment, I pull my knees in towards me and rise up out of the water and stand, dripping wet. I catch a glance of myself again, my reflection fuzzy in the condensation of the bathroom mirror. My breasts swollen and peaked with unceasingly hard nipples, rising and falling exaggeratedly with each laboured, steam-filled breath. Again I feel your eyes on me, though you're not here. I look exactly as you said I would, every time. Beautiful. I step out of the bath on to the soft dry mat, soaking it with the water running off my body. To keep my skin moist I take a handful of the bath oil, droplets sneaking in between my fingers, and rub it over my body. My skin shimmering, I walk out of the bathroom without bothering to dry myself, enjoying the sudden cool of the air as the water evaporates.

* * *

I put the shoes on first. I have to get used to them, the heel comes to a point so sharp it takes me a moment to find my balance. But the minute I put them on, the feeling of desire is so strong that a small sigh escapes from my lips. The tilt of my walk is different, my bottom becomes taut and my hips sway from side to side with each step. Next, I go to the drawer, right at the back, and pull them out, the ones you gave me. The panties are black, the silken panels at the front matching the shine in the leather of the stilettoes. You don't like thongs, but the portion which stretches over my bottom is sheer, giving a glimpse of flesh and allowing the roundness to peek out at the top of my thighs. Barely a minute passes before once again I feel that dampness settle between my legs. The bra is sheer too, black lace, and cut low so that the darkness around my nipples shows ever so slightly out from the top of the fabric. I pull the straps tight, and each of my breasts stands to attention. Once again, I turn and stride over to the mirror, my reflection striding in turn towards me.

My hair is still damp, and I comb it back off my face. My eyes are your eyes, they follow every movement of my body in the mirror, drinking in every curve as though the reflection was that of a stranger. I want so badly to rush, to finish, I need to get to you, but I won't allow myself to disappoint you – to disappoint us. I take a breath and very deliberately remove the lid from the tube of lipstick, twisting the bottom until the red stick emerges from its casing. Carefully following the lines of my lips, I smooth the colour on thick and dark. And of course, like you said, no other makeup or adornments – just the perfume. I tilt the bottle, stoppered with my finger, and dab a touch of the fragrance just underneath each ear, a drop on each wrist, and lastly I lift my bra and allow a dot under each breast, their warmth stimulating the scent.

Now is always the only part that's not right. If I could just leave like this, dressed as I am now, then it would be exactly as you described. But I can't. So I stride back over to the door and pick my coat up off the floor. I slip it on over my barely-covered skin, belting it tight around my waist, but leaving the top buttons undone so that it falls open ever so slightly. There. I pick up my keys and unlatch the door, pausing for a moment to make sure my hair is smoothed down, take a deep breath, straighten my back and step out into the hallway.

* * *

These shoes won't let me walk too fast, but even so I'm careful not to quicken my pace. It's as though I'm walking towards a fire, closer with every step, I can feel the heat spread across my body. After what feels like an eternity, I've finally walked the few blocks and I'm standing outside your door. I press the doorbell and rest a hand in each pocket, tilt my hip to the side and raise my chin. I can see your shadow loom towards the door through the glass, backlit from the muted light behind you. You observe my silhouette for a moment before you open the door. But I know it's right.

'You're early.'

'No I'm not.'

You smile, and step back as I brush past you and inside. You close the door behind me and turn around to face me, an amused smile still playing at your lips. I don't look at you, I just let you watch me as I walk towards your bedroom. You catch up with me, follow so close behind me I can feel your breath against my neck. But your body never makes contact with mine of course. I stand next to the bed. It's dark in here, only the streetlamp outside provides any kind of illumination. You abruptly turn on the overhead light and lean against the doorframe, arms folded.

'Were you a good girl?'

'Yes.'

'Show me.'

Your eyes are locked on to mine, but I don't move. Not yet. I'm supposed to wait. I stand, legs apart, my fingers twisting and untwisting the loose ends of the belt on my coat. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the picture frame lying face down on the bedside table. For a fraction of a second, I hesitate. You speak again.

'I don't believe you. Show me.'

I pull at each end of the belt and the knot pops undone. I let the coat fall open, and you stand up straight, away from the doorframe, and unfold your arms. Your eyes won't let me go, I'm held inside your gaze. I flick the coat off my shoulders and without turning around, I sit down on the edge of the bed and cross one leg slowly over the other, and I stretch out my arms behind me, leaning back. You take two steps towards the bed, until you are only inches from where I'm sitting. You stand over me, look down at me, and the pressure of your eyes forces me to lie back on the bed. I uncross my legs and rest each stiletto-heeled foot against the floor. The angle of my feet, with the heels so high, forces me to arch my back slightly, forcing my breasts up towards you. I rest my hands on my stomach for a moment, and then gradually inch my fingertips towards the edge of my panties. I slip them underneath, and run them along the seams down and under my hips which I lift languidly off the bed, my thigh muscles tensing with the movement. I edge the fabric down over the curve of my bottom, and the material folds itself down at the front, over my pubic bone. They stretch in between my thighs and I push them down until they fall over past my knees and to the floor. I remove one heeled foot, making sure to leave them draped around the other ankle. I spread my legs wider. You don't move and your control is more than I can bear. You don't, you never even try, to touch me. Just your eyes on me. All over me. Aren't you ever afraid that one day I just won't ...? No. This is a part of me now. I can't not.

I exhale a long, warm breath and reach both hands behind me to unhook the bra. My nipples are straining against the sheer material. I whip my arms out from under me and shrug out of the bra, which I drop to the floor at the side of the bed. I try not to think about the familiar reading glasses folded neatly at the bedside. Instead, I turn back to you, my stomach rising and falling in deep waves as I lie naked under your gaze.

'Mmmm hmmmm.'

Your voice is low, your jaw is clenching, but you don't move. Not even a fraction. I reach my hand down in between my legs, it's as though your eyes force it there. The minute my fingertips touch my pussy, feel its wetness, I sigh just at the relief of the touch. Finally the touch. I skim along the outside of my opening from bottom to top then back down, until I can't take it anymore, and slip two fingers slowly inside. I let out a groan and tilt my head back, pull my fingers out and back in again slowly slowly, your eyes on me constantly, you're breathing hard but you never move. I move the other hand up, over my breasts, squeezing each nipple tight in between my fingers.

I start to raise my hips off the bed with each movement of my fingers inside my pussy, my mouth open and a small groan following every belaboured breath. I trace my other hand down from my breasts, over my stomach and down to my clit. I slick my wetness over it and start to work small circles around it, all the while the fingers of my other hand are stroking slowly in and out of me and all the while you don't move, but I can feel you, I can feel the heat coming off your body down onto me and your eyes are all over me, my hips are arching towards you then grinding into the soft mattress, again and again uncontrollably, my fingers slip around and around my clit and endlessly into and out of my soaking wet pussy, and I lift my head towards you and stare straight into your eyes as I climax, I cry out, my pussy clenching in around my fingers in slippery waves. I allow them to rest inside me for a moment as I fall back onto the bed, breathless. Your voice breaks the silence.

'Good girl.'

You take a step backwards and I sit up again at the edge of the bed. You're smiling that amused smile.

'Coward.'

I stand up and take a step towards you, close some of the gap between us. For a second you look almost afraid. The smell of sex mingles with my perfume. You breathe me in for a second, your eyes almost closed. Then back to that control.

'You love it. Don't pretend you don't.'

'You don't see anything wrong with this?'

'I don't touch you.'

'I noticed.'

'It's best this way.'

I let out a small laugh, reach down and pull on my coat. I stuff my bra and panties into the pockets and start to walk away.

'I wonder if she'd see it that way.'

'Then let's stop.'

You say this up close, your voice low and warm right against my ear. Just like you did the night when she bustled away to the kitchen with our dishes after the dinner party. Just like you did at her birthday as she unwrapped the present so lovingly chosen by me, the faithful best friend. Just as you did at your five-year-anniversary party. Every time, a little bit more of the fantasy, close up in my ear, slipping through into my brain. That was the part of you I had in me.

So I can't say anything. You walk behind me towards the door.

* * *

I'm home again. Leaning against the door. The light on my answering machine is flashing, one new message. I hit play. It's you.

'Are you thinking about me yet ...?'

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Agent Provocateur Confessions by St. Martin's Press. Copyright © 2006 Anova Books Company Ltd.. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---

Table of Contents

Contents

PREFACE Joseph Corré and Serena Rees,
RITUAL Sareeta Domingo,
AFRAID OF THE DARK Angelina Jackson,
GRAMMAR LESSON Sharon Black,
OUR MUTUAL SATISFACTION Vita Rosen,
THE LECTURE S.W. Burgess,
CONTROL Miss Daisy,
BELLADONNA Rosa Barham,
YOUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS Brett Goldstein,
THE SECRET Nicole Mayo,