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The Wrong House (Crimson Rose)


The Wrong House by Crimson Rose

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After days of torrential rain, both literal and at work, Marie Gifford comes home to find several boxes sitting on her front porch. The only problem is, she hadn't ordered anything. How could she with the risk of job loss looming overhead?
Boxes open. Eyes widen in disbelief at what lies within. A phone call is made that changes Marie's life forever. Something is awoken in the twenty-eight year old realtor. Something hidden away all these years, but lurking ever closer to the surface. Will she embrace this new self? Or will she suppress it as she had done for her entire life?

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 01 / 2016

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 24610

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Strong - Classed as: Consensual -    Bondage/BDSM Fetishes, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Word  RTF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Current all-time sales ranking: #1721


Excerpt..

I pulled into my driveway and stared at my house. The red brick ranch beckoned to me. The warmth of the fireplace within whispered my name. Sounds inviting, right? Yes. The answer I was going for there was yes. The only problem was my garage door was still broken and I had to walk, or more preferable run, through the small river that had formed in my driveway while it continued to rain heavily. I hate the rain. I took a few deep breaths to prepare for the drenching I was about to receive and opened the car door with a sigh.
Twelve steps through ankle deep water and the torrential downpour from above, and I was soaked to the bone. Sitting in the corner of the porch, pressed against the wall out of rain's way was a stack of four plain cardboard boxes. I eyed them suspiciously. I didn't order anything, I thought to myself. With the way things were at work I might not be ordering anything for a very long time. If the housing market didn't start moving soon I'd be out of a job. I'd even stooped to wearing shorter skirts and looser tops that I conveniently forgot to button up all the way. I got a lot of smiles and stares, and more than a few advances, but no damn sales.
I looked at the address label on the top box. Marie Gifford 1918 Trudo Street. That was me. But for the life of me I couldn't remember ordering anything. I opened the screen door and used the piston thingy to keep it opened. Next was the front door and I was nearly bowled over by Timber – my three year old black and white Husky. He ran to the edge of the porch, took one look and walked back into the house. Yeah, he hates the rain just as much as I do.
I carried the boxes into the house and shut the doors. I was tempted to open them up to see what I had won, but I realized I was wearing wet clothes and couldn't afford to get sick. I also wasn't feeling in the cleaning mood, so I stripped out of my grey skirt and jacket and let them fall to the floor. My white blouse was next, followed by my light blue thong. I wasn't wearing a bra. I had three showings at three of my most expensive properties and I was really hoping for a sale. How was I to know two of them were women old enough to be my grandmother and the third a gay man?
I dried my feet on the rug and then went through the living room, down the short hall, and into my bedroom. Timber followed close behind me. Twice he rubbed against my bare leg, his soft fur felt nice but his force was nearly enough to knock me over. "Just a minute," I said giving him a rub on the head. "Momma's got to get dressed and then I'll get you some food. He seemed to understand what I was saying and jumped up and sat in the center of my bed looking at me and the door.
I pulled on a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt and went to the kitchen to get Timber his dinner. My own stomach started to growl and Timber's ears perked up and his head went from side to side in search of the other dog he knew was now in the house. I gave him another rub between the ears and got busy making us both dinner.
With Timber and my appetite sated, I finally returned to the living room and my mysterious gifts. I examined the smallest box. It was perhaps a foot cubed and weighted ten pounds or so. I double checked to make sure it was my name on the address. It was. The sender was a company called DF Productions out of Rome Wisconsin. I sliced through the clear tape with my long thumbnail and pulled the flaps back. I moved some packing peanuts out of the way and stared, mouth agape, at the contents of box one.
"What in the hell?" I said more to myself than anyone. Inside the box were half a dozen dildos and butt plugs big enough to seal the Hoover Dam. I set the box down and opened another. This one was twice as long as it was tall and pieces/parts slid around with. I was almost afraid to open it but I did. There were three metal rods about eighteen inches long and a round metal disk with three threaded holes on one side and two holes through the center. Also inside the box were two long, fat dildos and a slip of paper for instructions.
How to assemble your NEW dildo seat. The top of the paper said. "Dildo seat?" I said giving Timber a raised eyebrow. "What in the hell is a dildo seat?" The instructions were fairly simple and straightforward. I screwed the metal rods – which turned out to be the legs of the thing, into place and pushed the dildos through the center holes. I didn't notice it at the time, but the dildos were actually shaped slightly different than a normal one. They were very realistic looking, but at the base they got a lot fatter and had a slit around it about an inch from the bottom. With a little force they locked into place and the dildo seat was complete. I set it off to the side and opened box number three.
Box number three contained several long gloves, stockings, and garter belts in a dozen colors and all made of latex. Box four contained gags, cuffs, paddles, and a wide assortment of other items used for punishment of one sort or another. I put everything back in the boxes with the exception of the dildo seat that was still put together. I found an invoice with a telephone number on it and dialed. There was definitely a mistake somewhere. I like the few toys that I own and use on occasion, but this stuff was certainly not mine and someone was bound to be missing it.
"Thank you for calling DF Productions," said a sweet sounding female voice on the other end of the call. "My name is Helena, how may I help you today?"
"Um, yeah, so I think I just got some packages meant for someone else and would like to know what to do with them," I said to Helena.
"Alright, I can help you take care of that. And what is your name sweetie?"
"My name is Marie Gifford," I replied.
"Ok, Marie, do you have an invoice for the packages?"
"I do."
"Great. In the top right corner there should be an invoice number. Could you read that off for me please?"
"Ok, its, DF9072-15443," I read off the string of letters and numbers.
"Give me one moment here. Ah, there we go. OK, I have here seven dildos, five butt plugs, a dozen sets of submissive clothing, a dildo seat…" She rattled off every item on the invoice. It matched what I had seen and what was also printed on the invoice I held in my nervously shaking hand. "According to our records those items were shipped on April 17th and were addressed to Marie Gifford at 1918 Trudo Street. Wait, didn't you say your name was Marie Gifford?"
"It is, but this is definitely not my stuff. I've never heard of your company and am afraid of about half these items."
"Did you remove anything from the boxes?"
"The dildo seat, why?"
"Did you assemble it?"
"Yes."
"Did you use it?"
"Um, no. It's not my stuff. Why would I use it?"
"Damn, it would make my job a whole lot easier if you had. Getting RMA numbers and all of that are a pain around here. "I know this is forward, but would you mind giving it a quick go? Our policy is, if you use it, it's yours."


Excerpt..

I pulled into my driveway and stared at my house. The red brick ranch beckoned to me. The warmth of the fireplace within whispered my name.
Sounds inviting, right? Yes. The answer I was going for there was yes. The only problem was my garage door was still broken and I had to
walk, or more preferable run, through the small river that had formed in my driveway while it continued to rain heavily. I hate the rain. I
took a few deep breaths to prepare for the drenching I was about to receive and opened the car door with a sigh.

Twelve steps through ankle deep water and the torrential downpour from above, and I was soaked to the bone. Sitting in the corner of the
porch, pressed against the wall out of rain's way was a stack of four plain cardboard boxes. I eyed them suspiciously. I didn't order
anything, I thought to myself. With the way things were at work I might not be ordering anything for a very long time. If the housing market
didn't start moving soon I'd be out of a job. I'd even stooped to wearing shorter skirts and looser tops that I conveniently forgot to
button up all the way. I got a lot of smiles and stares, and more than a few advances, but no damn sales.

I looked at the address label on the top box. Marie Gifford 1918 Trudo Street. That was me. But for the life of me I couldn't remember
ordering anything. I opened the screen door and used the piston thingy to keep it opened. Next was the front door and I was nearly bowled
over by Timber – my three year old black and white Husky. He ran to the edge of the porch, took one look and walked back into the house.
Yeah, he hates the rain just as much as I do.

I carried the boxes into the house and shut the doors. I was tempted to open them up to see what I had won, but I realized I was wearing wet
clothes and couldn't afford to get sick. I also wasn't feeling in the cleaning mood, so I stripped out of my grey skirt and jacket and let
them fall to the floor. My white blouse was next, followed by my light blue thong. I wasn't wearing a bra. I had three showings at three of
my most expensive properties and I was really hoping for a sale. How was I to know two of them were women old enough to be my grandmother
and the third a gay man?

I dried my feet on the rug and then went through the living room, down the short hall, and into my bedroom. Timber followed close behind me.
Twice he rubbed against my bare leg, his soft fur felt nice but his force was nearly enough to knock me over. "Just a minute," I said giving
him a rub on the head. "Momma's got to get dressed and then I'll get you some food. He seemed to understand what I was saying and jumped up
and sat in the center of my bed looking at me and the door.

I pulled on a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt and went to the kitchen to get Timber his dinner. My own stomach started to growl and
Timber's ears perked up and his head went from side to side in search of the other dog he knew was now in the house. I gave him another rub
between the ears and got busy making us both dinner.

With Timber and my appetite sated, I finally returned to the living room and my mysterious gifts. I examined the smallest box. It was
perhaps a foot cubed and weighted ten pounds or so. I double checked to make sure it was my name on the address. It was. The sender was a
company called DF Productions out of Rome Wisconsin. I sliced through the clear tape with my long thumbnail and pulled the flaps back. I
moved some packing peanuts out of the way and stared, mouth agape, at the contents of box one.

"What in the hell?" I said more to myself than anyone. Inside the box were half a dozen dildos and butt plugs big enough to seal the Hoover
Dam. I set the box down and opened another. This one was twice as long as it was tall and pieces/parts slid around with. I was almost afraid
to open it but I did. There were three metal rods about eighteen inches long and a round metal disk with three threaded holes on one side
and two holes through the center. Also inside the box were two long, fat dildos and a slip of paper for instructions.

How to assemble your NEW dildo seat. The top of the paper said. "Dildo seat?" I said giving Timber a raised eyebrow. "What in the hell is a
dildo seat?" The instructions were fairly simple and straightforward. I screwed the metal rods – which turned out to be the legs of the
thing, into place and pushed the dildos through the center holes. I didn't notice it at the time, but the dildos were actually shaped
slightly different than a normal one. They were very realistic looking, but at the base they got a lot fatter and had a slit around it about
an inch from the bottom. With a little force they locked into place and the dildo seat was complete. I set it off to the side and opened box
number three.

Box number three contained several long gloves, stockings, and garter belts in a dozen colors and all made of latex. Box four contained
gags, cuffs, paddles, and a wide assortment of other items used for punishment of one sort or another. I put everything back in the boxes
with the exception of the dildo seat that was still put together. I found an invoice with a telephone number on it and dialed. There was
definitely a mistake somewhere. I like the few toys that I own and use on occasion, but this stuff was certainly not mine and someone was
bound to be missing it.

"Thank you for calling DF Productions," said a sweet sounding female voice on the other end of the call. "My name is Helena, how may I help
you today?"

"Um, yeah, so I think I just got some packages meant for someone else and would like to know what to do with them," I said to Helena.

"Alright, I can help you take care of that. And what is your name sweetie?"

"My name is Marie Gifford," I replied.

"Ok, Marie, do you have an invoice for the packages?"

"I do."

"Great. In the top right corner there should be an invoice number. Could you read that off for me please?"

"Ok, its, DF9072-15443," I read off the string of letters and numbers.

"Give me one moment here. Ah, there we go. OK, I have here seven dildos, five butt plugs, a dozen sets of submissive clothing, a dildo
seat…" She rattled off every item on the invoice. It matched what I had seen and what was also printed on the invoice I held in my nervously
shaking hand. "According to our records those items were shipped on April 17th and were addressed to Marie Gifford at 1918 Trudo Street.
Wait, didn't you say your name was Marie Gifford?"

"It is, but this is definitely not my stuff. I've never heard of your company and am afraid of about half these items."

"Did you remove anything from the boxes?"

"The dildo seat, why?"

"Did you assemble it?"

"Yes."

"Did you use it?"

"Um, no. It's not my stuff. Why would I use it?"

"Damn, it would make my job a whole lot easier if you had. Getting RMA numbers and all of that are a pain around here. "I know this is
forward, but would you mind giving it a quick go? Our policy is, if you use it, it's yours."


Excerpt..

I pulled into my driveway and stared at my house. The red brick ranch beckoned to me. The warmth of the fireplace within whispered my name.

Sounds inviting, right? Yes. The answer I was going for there was yes. The only problem was my garage door was still broken and I had to

walk, or more preferable run, through the small river that had formed in my driveway while it continued to rain heavily. I hate the rain. I

took a few deep breaths to prepare for the drenching I was about to receive and opened the car door with a sigh.


Twelve steps through ankle deep water and the torrential downpour from above, and I was soaked to the bone. Sitting in the corner of the

porch, pressed against the wall out of rain's way was a stack of four plain cardboard boxes. I eyed them suspiciously. I didn't order

anything, I thought to myself. With the way things were at work I might not be ordering anything for a very long time. If the housing market

didn't start moving soon I'd be out of a job. I'd even stooped to wearing shorter skirts and looser tops that I conveniently forgot to

button up all the way. I got a lot of smiles and stares, and more than a few advances, but no damn sales.


I looked at the address label on the top box. Marie Gifford 1918 Trudo Street. That was me. But for the life of me I couldn't remember

ordering anything. I opened the screen door and used the piston thingy to keep it opened. Next was the front door and I was nearly bowled

over by Timber – my three year old black and white Husky. He ran to the edge of the porch, took one look and walked back into the house.

Yeah, he hates the rain just as much as I do.


I carried the boxes into the house and shut the doors. I was tempted to open them up to see what I had won, but I realized I was wearing wet

clothes and couldn't afford to get sick. I also wasn't feeling in the cleaning mood, so I stripped out of my grey skirt and jacket and let

them fall to the floor. My white blouse was next, followed by my light blue thong. I wasn't wearing a bra. I had three showings at three of

my most expensive properties and I was really hoping for a sale. How was I to know two of them were women old enough to be my grandmother

and the third a gay man?


I dried my feet on the rug and then went through the living room, down the short hall, and into my bedroom. Timber followed close behind me.

Twice he rubbed against my bare leg, his soft fur felt nice but his force was nearly enough to knock me over. "Just a minute," I said giving

him a rub on the head. "Momma's got to get dressed and then I'll get you some food. He seemed to understand what I was saying and jumped up

and sat in the center of my bed looking at me and the door.


I pulled on a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt and went to the kitchen to get Timber his dinner. My own stomach started to growl and

Timber's ears perked up and his head went from side to side in search of the other dog he knew was now in the house. I gave him another rub

between the ears and got busy making us both dinner.


With Timber and my appetite sated, I finally returned to the living room and my mysterious gifts. I examined the smallest box. It was

perhaps a foot cubed and weighted ten pounds or so. I double checked to make sure it was my name on the address. It was. The sender was a

company called DF Productions out of Rome Wisconsin. I sliced through the clear tape with my long thumbnail and pulled the flaps back. I

moved some packing peanuts out of the way and stared, mouth agape, at the contents of box one.


"What in the hell?" I said more to myself than anyone. Inside the box were half a dozen dildos and butt plugs big enough to seal the Hoover

Dam. I set the box down and opened another. This one was twice as long as it was tall and pieces/parts slid around with. I was almost afraid

to open it but I did. There were three metal rods about eighteen inches long and a round metal disk with three threaded holes on one side

and two holes through the center. Also inside the box were two long, fat dildos and a slip of paper for instructions.


How to assemble your NEW dildo seat. The top of the paper said. "Dildo seat?" I said giving Timber a raised eyebrow. "What in the hell is a

dildo seat?" The instructions were fairly simple and straightforward. I screwed the metal rods – which turned out to be the legs of the

thing, into place and pushed the dildos through the center holes. I didn't notice it at the time, but the dildos were actually shaped

slightly different than a normal one. They were very realistic looking, but at the base they got a lot fatter and had a slit around it about

an inch from the bottom. With a little force they locked into place and the dildo seat was complete. I set it off to the side and opened box

number three.


Box number three contained several long gloves, stockings, and garter belts in a dozen colors and all made of latex. Box four contained

gags, cuffs, paddles, and a wide assortment of other items used for punishment of one sort or another. I put everything back in the boxes

with the exception of the dildo seat that was still put together. I found an invoice with a telephone number on it and dialed. There was

definitely a mistake somewhere. I like the few toys that I own and use on occasion, but this stuff was certainly not mine and someone was

bound to be missing it.


"Thank you for calling DF Productions," said a sweet sounding female voice on the other end of the call. "My name is Helena, how may I help

you today?"


"Um, yeah, so I think I just got some packages meant for someone else and would like to know what to do with them," I said to Helena.


"Alright, I can help you take care of that. And what is your name sweetie?"


"My name is Marie Gifford," I replied.


"Ok, Marie, do you have an invoice for the packages?"


"I do."


"Great. In the top right corner there should be an invoice number. Could you read that off for me please?"


"Ok, its, DF9072-15443," I read off the string of letters and numbers.


"Give me one moment here. Ah, there we go. OK, I have here seven dildos, five butt plugs, a dozen sets of submissive clothing, a dildo

seat…" She rattled off every item on the invoice. It matched what I had seen and what was also printed on the invoice I held in my nervously

shaking hand. "According to our records those items were shipped on April 17th and were addressed to Marie Gifford at 1918 Trudo Street.

Wait, didn't you say your name was Marie Gifford?"


"It is, but this is definitely not my stuff. I've never heard of your company and am afraid of about half these items."


"Did you remove anything from the boxes?"


"The dildo seat, why?"


"Did you assemble it?"


"Yes."


"Did you use it?"


"Um, no. It's not my stuff. Why would I use it?"


"Damn, it would make my job a whole lot easier if you had. Getting RMA numbers and all of that are a pain around here. "I know this is

forward, but would you mind giving it a quick go? Our policy is, if you use it, it's yours."



Keywords - click on word to search for more titles

domination  submission  bdsm  gang bang  voyeurism  exhibitionism  domination farm  fisting  humiliation  

Best Selling Books This Year By Crimson Rose

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Best Selling Books This Year By Crimson Rose

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Author Information

Crimson Rose is an erotica writer dedicated to the principle that erotic fiction can be red-hot raunchy while also being written with intelligence, elegance and style.

When asked about the subject matter of her stories she had this to say:

"I sometimes deal with strange and taboo subject matter, but my stories are never dark and my characters are never victims (though some of them may pretend otherwise). My characters always enjoy and exult in their sexuality, engaging in their various unusual and illicit acts with unapologetic joy and a zest for life."

 

Website:
http://www.crimsonroseerotica.com

Contact Crimson Rose


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 Contact Us    Terms and Conditions    Protection Policy    Privacy Policy    Refund Policy

This Site Owned By Fiction4All - Copyright Ó 2015


 Authors Suite

 Publishers Suite   

Affiliate Program

Contact Us

Terms and Conditions

Protection Policy

Privacy Policy

Refund Policy

This Site Owned By Fiction4All - Copyright Ó 2015