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Begging Ivory

By M. Christian


From an acclaimed author of erotic fiction comes two tales of titillating suspense.

Begging Ivory: An antique object not only brings pleasure to it new owner, but assists in freeing her from an abusive relationship.

Thicker Than Ink: Some tattoos are beautiful, others intricate and ornate. Still others provoke a variety of emotions - arousal, ecstasy, even a desire for revenge.



When she saw it, Paula knew she had to have it. At first she almost didn’t—see it or have it, that is. High on the shelves in the dusty, dim back of Ajae Imports, in a battered wooden box, it was easy to miss. It was only because Paula had already carted off a good percentage of Ajae’s stock of rattan, dark woods, masks, and woven baskets that she even noticed it. Her gaze had to climb higher and higher on the rickety steel shelves for something new, something she hadn’t seen a thousand times before, or owned one of.

It was so high that it was almost lost in the shadowy rafters over the loading dock, obscured by clouds of monoxide fumes from Ajae’s one barely running moving van.

Luckily, being a good customer brought perks—like being able to wander in the totally unsafe and precarious warehouse and being able to ask one of Ajae’s huge ebony employees to “please” bring it down so she might see it.

The box was old, the greens and grays of mildew and water damage decorating one side—the map of a mad continent. It was strapped with two tight bands of thick leather, which instantly reminded Paula of Henry’s belt and so brought a hard scowl to her face. “Stu”—his name, evidently, on his jumpsuit in greasy-encrusted letters—watched, stern and unmoving, as she tied to undo the straps. She didn’t really know why she had to get the damned box open, but suspected in a more logical part of her mind that it mostly had to do with the straps too-resembling Henry’s belt—it was as if he stood between her and what was inside. She couldn’t normally shove him aside and get what she wanted, but she could at least, now, then, get inside that damned box.

“Stu” watched as she tugged at the thick leather bands, his face carved from coal. Pausing to wipe her face, she smiled up at him. Released from his cool stance, he reached into a back pocket, brought out a utility knife and deftly slit the bands.

Taking a beat of her mysteriously hammering heart to smile up at him again, she started working at the inner box. First, ancient excelsior, feeling and smelling like dead worms, and then ... it.

Then, there—she saw it she knew she just had to have it.

Seeing her fondling it with her slightly quivering hands, “Stu” smiled, showing immaculate teeth, as polished and ivory as the object, and said, “Quite handsome, ma’am. Do ja want that to go—or are you goin’ ta eat it here?”