The Ailla's Emissary

Published by: eXtasy Books

ISBN :978-1-4874-0828-2

Page :193

Word Count :82996

Publication Date :2016-11-11

Heat Level :

Available Formats : The Ailla's Emissary (epub) , The Ailla's Emissary (mobi) , The Ailla's Emissary (pdf) , The Ailla's Emissary (prc)

Category : Erotic Romance , LGBTQIA+ Romance

Product Code: 978-1-4874-0828-2

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Kristi couldn’t imagine her mother’s life, but destiny has no imagination.

Kristi Chandler comes of age, leaving her adoptive family in search of her birthmother. Ignoring Brett Harper, who recognized her by the beauty of her inherited offset gaze, Kristi finds her identity accidentally after the horrific murder of her best friend.

Suddenly thrust into the role of heiress to a fortune, Kristi learns her mother was far more than a beautiful socialite. She was the lead sister—the Ailla of Club Etienne, a well-networked organization of those who share in the delight of sexuality—believers in the Gift of the Sacred Feminine—the everyday goddess that walks among us.

Aided by Etienne’s most cherished members, Kristi tries to assimilate, but finds herself overwhelmed. But running only leads her to destiny when she meets Shelly O’Hare, who had been trying to carry on the work of her aunt—a club of similar doctrine.

Shelly’s sisterly advice leads Kristi back to Brett—to love foretold by her mother’s prophesy. Her mothers’ life was unimaginable, but destiny has no imagination.

Kristi Vendanno pulled into the shady driveway of a small bungalow-style house in Chepachet, Rhode Island. She waited in her car, hoping the homeowner would call off the barking dog. When it was obvious he would not, she gathered the nerve to step out. The door of the old car creaked and thumped as she opened it. To Kristi’s relief, the dog stopped barking and wagged its tail as it waddled up, looking to be petted. She took another deep breath, wondering if there was a better approach than the one she was taking.

The old wooden outside screen door sprang closed behind Kristi. She crossed the flaking green porch floor and pushed the unlit doorbell button, unsure if it would work. Just before she pressed again, the door opened.

Albert Rose—a pudgy, balding state worker in his very late fifties, stood wearing only a pair of dirty old shorts. He leered into Kristi’s eyes, then dropped his gaze down her petite frame. She shuddered with anxiety as he gaped at her skirt and bare legs, down to her sandaled feet. Looking back up again, he said, “Thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

“I said I would,” replied Kristi, stepping in and scanning the area briefly. “Your price is high. Is what you have worth it?”

“That is one sweet little European accent you have,” was his only reply.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is what you have worth my effort?”

“How the hell should I know?” he blurted back. “I don’t know what you need. They order a file sealed and it goes into a box and gets stuffed onto a shelf. You can take a look and I’ll burn it when you’re done. On the million to one anyone ever asks for it, it’s missing... big whoop.”

“You mean I can’t take it with me?” asked Kristi, setting her purse down and adjusting its position for seemingly no reason at all.

“Shit no... I could lose my job. It’s why I structure my payment schedule like I do.” He chuckled, shaking the sealed envelope as he sat in a rocking recliner. Leaning forward, he asked, “Where’s that cute accent from? You sound Italian, but you look like a little Viking doll.”

“Where do you think I’m from?”

“Um... Federal Hill?”

“You need to get out of Rhode Island more. We have a deal to finish.”

“My wife gets home in two hours, so the quicker you get to work, the more time you have to look. But you gotta be outta here by three-thirty. Now take that sweet golden hair outta that ponytail... that’ll get me goin quicker.”

Kristi frowned and knelt in front of him, pulling his shorts and briefs over his pudgy thighs. His less than impressive manhood was already at full attention.

He boasted, “I took a stiffie pill three hours ago. Like I said... thought you weren’t coming.”

Kristi grasped the mediocre meat and glanced up at him as her mouth approached it.

Albert suddenly gave a look of wonder asking, “Anyone ever tell you, your eyes...”

“Don’t say it. I know about my eyes.” With that, she opened wide and dropped over his unimposing phallus. He let out a long moan as her hair washed over his belly. He wailed in desperate delight as she began lolling her tongue across his run-of-the-mill bulb. Stroking his length, Kristi laid his shaft-head on her tongue and opened her mouth to offer him a view inside it. Looking into her eyes, he whimpered as he ran his fingers through her hair, then groaned out, “Oh yeah.”

Kristi bobbed down over most of his length and sucked. Although she was there on a quid-pro-quo basis, Kristi saw no reason to give any less than a stellar performance. His delight in her abilities might prove helpful in some future appropriation. As she bobbed down again, he moaned out, “Let me in that little honey pot of yours and I’ll find your mother myself.”

Stopping momentarily, Kristi answered in an Italian accent, “Find her first, then call me.”

“So it’s a deal?”

Her only answer was to wrap her lips around his pudgy pole and drop over his tubby pelvis. The pitch of his groans increased and his thighs trembled as she bobbed faster. As he drew in a quick breath, she stopped, lolling her tongue onto the underside of his aching head and tickling his launch button.

With a yelp, he detonated a surprisingly rich salvo of warm broth, followed by smaller but hardy spurts. His offering basted her tongue in grateful successions of semen—somewhat less salty than the younger men she was used to. But what he lacked in testosterone, he made up for in enthusiasm, wiggling his legs and bouncing on his toes as his bursts fell off to unproductive pulses.

Kristi released his half-hard phallus and purposely dribbled a stream from the corner of her mouth. She swallowed with a gulp, hoping to enhance his visual experience and assure her end of the bargain was filled. As she grabbed a napkin from her purse, he offered a bottle of water and slid a manila envelope onto the coffee table.

After a quick sip, Kristi cut the seal with a sharp nail file. From out of the envelope fell an owner’s manual to a lawnmower.

“You set me up!” she snarled. “You chubby little snake! I’m telling your wife!”

“Gotcha there too, kiddo,” he replied smugly. “She left a year ago.”

Kristi grabbed her purse and pulled a small flashlight off the buckle asking, “If you’re so fucking smart, how come you didn’t think I might be filming us?”

He replied nervously, “Even if that is a camera, you’re on it too.”

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The Ailla's Emissary

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