Jack Horner

Jack Horner

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Tags

Summary

Jack Horner, is a new set of episodic novella's I am writing, following the adventures of a late twenties, tough but vulnerable, female spy who calls herself Jack just to fit into the male dominated world she works in. Of course, working around so many men, she gets a lot of opportunity to satisfy her thirst for action, both in and out of the bedroom. These are my approximately 750 word opening paragraphs, introducing Jack immediately prior to her first mission. I'm aiming for a mix of action, humour and lots of sexy scenes - Tom Clancey and Janet Evanovic get together and do erotica if I could provide an analogy. I need to get a feel for whether this intro makes you want to read more, so I'd really love some feedback on this just to gauge whether this hits the spot. Do not expect huge erotic content here - it's just a hint of what is to come! Please leave some feedback, even if it is a single word - love, like or hate - and if you want more, let me know. If you like what you read, you might want to jump on Amazon and grab a 99c copy of my just released novel 'Black As Kink' by copying this link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01I3Z6LEW

Tags

Summary

Jack Horner, is a new set of episodic novella's I am writing, following the adventures of a late twenties, tough but vulnerable, female spy who calls herself Jack just to fit into the male dominated world she works in. Of course, working around so many men, she gets a lot of opportunity to satisfy her thirst for action, both in and out of the bedroom.

These are my approximately 750 word opening paragraphs, introducing Jack immediately prior to her first mission. I'm aiming for a mix of action, humour and lots of sexy scenes - Tom Clancey and Janet Evanovic get together and do erotica if I could provide an analogy.

I need to get a feel for whether this intro makes you want to read more, so I'd really love some feedback on this just to gauge whether this hits the spot. Do not expect huge erotic content here - it's just a hint of what is to come! Please leave some feedback, even if it is a single word - love, like or hate - and if you want more, let me know.

If you like what you read, you might want to jump on Amazon and grab a 99c copy of my just released novel 'Black As Kink' by copying this link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01I3Z6LEW

Chapter1 (v.1) - The One & Only

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: July 27, 2016

Reads: 508

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: July 27, 2016

A A A

A A A

There are dream jobs, bad jobs, top jobs, and odd jobs; but there aren’t too many that come with the perks mine does.

The pay is good, not that I can afford my own island or anything, and I get to travel the world, visiting dozens of cities, meeting a lot of interesting people; and by people I mean men. But I’d have to say the thing I like most is the astonishing amounts of scream out loud, hotel bed banging, embarrassing stains on the sheets, consenting primal sex I get to have with some of them. Okay. A lot of them.

For instance, I recently found myself draped naked over the buff torso of a very user-friendly, not to mention, finger-lickingly hansom young US Marines Captain. So insatiable for each other, we’d left a trail of destruction from his apartment door to the king sized bed as we screwed against just about every item of furniture along the route. And all this on company time. Yes, that’s right. I get paid to be on the job while I’m on the job. There are certainly worse vocations out there than the one that fills my pay packet.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here. Just who is this globe hopping romp bunny, you ask? Well, the name on my passport is Jacqueline, but if you’re going to work in the male dominated world I do, it’s best to have a name that sounds like it comes with a complimentary set of testicles. I’m Major Jack Horner and I’m not just some ordinary Army Major. I am a highly trained British Intelligence agent.

Don’t ever let them tell you spying is all James Bond or Jason Bourne like, although the thought of shagging Matt Damon appeals greatly. I’ve been in Iraq, Afghanistan, a couple of other unpronounceable-stans, and a slew of conflict zones the public don’t know are conflict zones. My collection of souvenir tea towels and snow globe fridge magnets describes a busy itinerary of all the best wars and political incidents of recent times. Never one to shy away from a bit of adventure, I’ve gate-crashed black tie affairs, even some diplomats having an affair, crashed through glass ceilings, actually crashed a helicopter, had a bullet graze my temple and stopped shrapnel from a roadside bomb with my backside.

Aside from the aforementioned perks, my job has meant a pretty busy life over the years. I’ve trained with the British SAS. Worked with the US Marine Corps. Learned hand to hand combat with the Israeli Mossad and I’m no slouch with explosives, off the shelf or improvised. A nifty shot with a gun, I can shoot the nipples off a gnat at 900 metres. And yes, okay, I did crash a helicopter once, but it had just taken a hit from rocket propelled grenade. Most of the time though, I do return them in the same condition they are borrowed in.

So, given all my expertise and experience you’d think I’d be a girl in popular demand, right? Well not exactly. Since transferring to the Secret Service, rather than deploy me in the field, I’ve been loaned out by Her Majesty’s Government, and am presently in the pay of the CIA. And what exciting things do they have me doing? They have me doing research and photo-copying documents. Me! Photo-copying!

Admittedly, yes, my job can sometimes be a little boring, but at least there is all the travel with the added bonus of a ready supply of testosterone fuelled servicemen to coax into bed each night. Now just to set the record straight here, I’m no whore. I’m not some loose harlot, either. I am somewhat rather hypersexual though, and my needs are great. What can I say? I have an addiction for the oxytocin kick one gets from multiple orgasms.

That, and if I’m being perfectly honest, after being ruined by the one and only true love in my life, I just can’t find the right man to make me submit to anything much more than a little frantic horizontal refreshment. Or vertical for that matter.

*

I’d spent a rather dull day locked in an equally dull room, deep inside the Pentagon in Washington. I know all the movies and TV shows make this building look all exciting and glamourous, but when you’re stuck inside it just photocopying and writing notes about some improvised surface to air missile, it’s about as boring as a pacifist’s pistol.

Although not the most thrilling work, the engineer (or maybe it was the pyromaniac), in me was impressed at the ingenuity of the insurgents who had designed it. Well I was impressed, until I read a follow up report that said they had fired it at a US Special Ops Black Hawk helicopter while pointing it in the wrong direction, destroying several of their own vehicles and taking out half a dozen of their jihadist friends.

The one thing that made my day pass more easily was the eye candy assigned to me. Eyeballing me across the room, was the gorgeous US Marine Captain whose job it was to watch over me. And when I say watch over me, what I really mean is observe, and not in a voyeuristic way. I know everyone thinks we are on the same side, America and Great Britain, and we are; when it suits the Americans. Captain Joe Miller was purely there to spy on what I was doing and I was there to spy on him, only I found his rather prominent nipples pushing through his starched olive drab shirt a little too distracting.

It wasn’t my work he was watching, definitely not. I realised we were both spying on the same things, as his eyes were firmly locked on my very full tits. In many servicewomen’s opinion, British Army uniforms on ladies really aren’t the most flattering of garments. Like an angler fish baiting for prey, I removed my jacket to ensure my one size too small Army issue shirt, subtly displayed my trim physic and alluring curves more favourably.

I knew I’d hooked Captain America within an hour of feeling his stare undressing me that morning. The rules say I shouldn’t even contemplate fucking a lower pay grade than mine but I consider myself a bit of a rank cougar, after all every girl wants a younger stud to pleasure them. All day I’d spent thinking about what I’d do to him. Wondering how good he would be. Imagining whether his girth would measure up to the size of his broad shoulders. I needn’t have worried.

We’d barely pushed the apartment door closed and I was ripping open the bright silver buttons of the blue dress tunic he’d worn that evening. Taking in his deep blue eyes which match his uniform, I knew what I wanted and I was going to get there fast. Through my many conquests, I’d learned plenty about sex but I also understood the men that gave it out and it appeared to me they came in three categories.

Submissives have a complete sense of passivity about them, unable to make a decision and yearning for their woman to be in full control. Get a room full of these guys together and you haven’t got a hope in hell of getting a decision out of them. These are men who seem to get off on the humiliation of a woman leading and ordering them around. I’ve seen plenty of this type, many in the ranks under my control, usually looking like they’re about to cum on the spot when I ask them to cock their weapons. These are not the type of men I crave.

As GI Joe allowed me to rip open his pants and run my sharp nails down the shaft of his already firm dick, I already knew he was in the second category. He was a Hedonist. The type of guy who goes on holiday to Ibiza with one thing on his mind; sex. Well maybe two things on his mind; beer and sex. They are happy to lead if they sense a submissive or shy woman in their arms but when they have someone like me, who knows what she wants and will eat them alive, they act differently. These men can sit back and enjoy the ride or take control; switching from fuck bunny to leading man and back again at the bat of my bright green eyes.

I pushed him up against a table making his knees buckle slightly and his waist drop low enough for me to slide onto his solid cock. Broad shoulders, huge upper arms and girth which totally consumed me, I was so turned on by my American heart-throb he slipped into me with ease, making me gasp a little at the thrill.

But it’s the Dominant man who gets to me every time. The man who knows exactly what a woman wants and never lets his assertive façade down, leveraging his relentless control over someone who revels in complying with his every order and receiving whatever punishment is being dished out. Whether she’s totally submissive or slightly more in control of herself like me, the right Dominant knows how to regulate every emotion she feels while he prepares her, then subjects her to his performance. This is the sort of man I inexorably seek, but they are so rare, and I’ve only met one who’s ever fully fulfilled me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m far from some passive girl who is going to pow-wow to the whims of just any man. Hell, I can chew through them better your average dominatrix; but the right Dominant just sends me into free fall. If I had to put it in another way, once you’ve experienced the right Dom, you have been completely ruined, never to be able to fully appreciate anyone but a skilled man like that ever again. That’s what happened with me.

I was never particularly into sex until I was twenty-four. I used to have sex of course. I came sometimes, sometimes not; I could take it or leave it and fake it where necessary; and frequently did. But after meeting and being turned by a beautifully controlling French Commandant named Gaius Collette, I’ve never been the same.

I was like submissive Semtex putty in his hands and he made me explode like no other man has since. I allowed him to do things to me and I did things for him, I’d never even dreamt of doing before, and I loved it. I still love him for it. On completely different career paths, in completely different countries; it was never going to last. In the short time we tried to keep things together, his dereliction of me would be everlasting. I’ve never been able to find anyone who truly satisfies me since, although I will admit I’ve come close a few times, but I always seem to screw it up.

I still dream of Gaius, usually with my index finger frantically poised on my clit.

*

With the exception of letting me do all the work, my Marine Captain wasn’t half bad. By the time I’d fucked him on the hallway table, then on a dining chair, then resting against the back of the couch; before we’d even got to the bedroom I’d already driven myself to put several wet patches across his apartment upholstery, thanks in the main to his more than satisfying cock size and extremely deep thrusts. When we finally collapsed on his king sized bed, his dominance was beginning to kick into gear and he started driving events. After quickly firing his war chest into me, which felt delightful by the way, rather than just roll over he continued to pile on more pleasure. Pulling me down the bed by hooking his arms under my knees, his broad shoulders forced my legs wide, allowing him to pay close attention to my clit.

As firm and wide as his cock had been, his tongue was just the same. Playing his consistent tempo over my swollen nub, he brought me to orgasm as if he was performing some rhythmical Marine tongue marching drill. Whatever he was doing, his military precision was right on target. No sooner had I achieved orgasm number four, my mobile went off.

“Ignore it Hot Lips,” Yankee Doodle Captain said. He may have been a hunk who scored a well-deserved eight and a half out of ten on my Horner Orgasmic Thrill or HOT scale as my gossiping girl friends call it, but to my English ear his oral skills sadly lacked, with his choice of cheap pet name inspiring me to do the complete opposite of ‘ignore’.

“Horner,” I answered belligerently, still recovering with a slight pant. Being a single career girl with no close family, I only have colleagues and a very select group of friends. There was only going to be one person who’d phone me at this time.

“North here.” My Commander’s voice broke up slightly over the trans-Atlantic connection. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to pack. I’ve got a car coming for you, Jack.”

Randall North’s instruction threw me. I’d never been pulled off a job so quickly before. Surely he hadn’t already worked out I’d been screwing around with my Marine watchman.

“What’s going on?” I fished for an answer.

“You’ll be briefed on arrival. It’s a simple job but we are finally putting you into the field.” The short conversation ended. Randall North was a man of few words but lots of action.


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