The Unprotected Trance Series

  The Unprotected Trance Series

  Unprotected Trance

  Nadia Nightside

  Published by Midnight Publishing, 2015.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE UNPROTECTED TRANCE SERIES

  First edition. May 6, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 Nadia Nightside.

  Written by Nadia Nightside.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Unprotected Trance Series

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

  Your opinion influences other readers and matters quite a bit to me! If you enjoyed this sexy story, please leave a review on Amazon and let others know what you thought. I want to write what you love!

  Further Reading: Revenge on his Hot Assistants

  About the Author

  Subscribe to the Nadia Nightside New Release Newsletter for a private link to THREE completely free stories—including one NOVELLA-LENGTH erotic tale—available ONLY for subscribers! Not only that, but you'll also receive exclusive access to regular special offers and discounts! It's free, it's instant, and you get hot, free stuff!

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  * * * * *

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

  * * * * *

  Owning My Co-Worker

  She knelt before me, her mouth coated with my seed. Only moments before, I had filled up her fertile pussy with a heavy, ball-draining load, gushing hard right on her g-spot. We came together, but only I came out of the haze afterward. Only I was able to stand up on my own power and survey what had been unleashed in the world.

  The young beauty, her clothes in strips and rags after she and I both had torn them to pieces in our furious lovemaking, waited to hear my voice with every atom of her being. Before, she barely gave me the time of day. Everything I said was now to her like the breaking of star matter in the beginning of the universe—it made up every other thought that she would ever have afterward.

  She trembled in wait, needing to hear me. Her body swaying with pleasure. Her eyes blank. My seed dripped down her thighs, no doubt having left quite an impact in the unprotected womb of her gorgeously fertile body.

  She was mine. Now, and forever. And I could shape everything about her from now on with just a few words.

  “You love fucking me,” I said.

  Her response was automatic, but vibrated with pleasure and warmth. “I love fucking you.”

  Even just a few days before, if I had told her that, she would have laughed and called me stupid or insane.

  There is a great power within me. I can’t explain its origins or its nature. All I know is the truth of it, and its taken me a long time to even come to terms with that much.

  So it’s going to sound weird, what I’m about to tell you. Crazy, even. But it’s the honest truth:

  My sperm puts women into hypnotic trances.

  * * * * *

  It started off simply enough. I was on a ladder near the back of East Side Pages, stacking books at about the middle of the day. That was of the main functions of my employment at that time, though I have since grown in status. Anyway, it was the history section, heavy books—and unwieldy, too. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but outside of craft books, it’s books on history that seem to have the strangest shapes. Many of them tend to be akin to well-worded picture books.

  My co-worker, Mallory, walked by. Leggy, brunette, and busty, a force of pure lust brought into this world, or so it often seemed, specifically created to arouse my senses. Every day, she came into work in outfits that openly encouraged my eyes upon her. Tiny skirts that danced around her sexy hips, tall socks gluing my eyes to her long legs, cheerful flirty tops that showed the incredible expanse of her tanned, bountiful chest.

  That day was no different. Her outfit was tight and tiny, sporting probably the smallest sweater I had ever seen her wear and a skirt that hugged her ass like a reunited lover. That skirt exemplified how I would have hugged her ass, if I had the chance.

  And so, high above her on the ladder, as I stacked book after book back into the shelves, I could not help but admire her bubbly ass, downright sculpted by that tiny red skirt, as she arranged the magazines one stack over.

  I’m not sure exactly what happened next. I think I overreached, or perhaps Gerald, our resident cat, pushed my ladder off its balance. But in any case, there was an enormous tumble and crush. Books flew everywhere, and the ceiling and floor groaned in a collective face-palm at my stupid awkwardness. The air filled with dust, and I ended up on the floor covered in books.

  I was fine, but the stacks had all tumbled forward like dominoes, and half the store was completely in ruins. For a few moments, I wanted desperately to press rewind, like so often we do in crisis. The brain makes you believe that if you just want it bad enough, that time can turn backward.

  “Holy—” Mallory, quick to act, rushed to pull me from the wreckage. “Are you okay, Victor?”

  I nodded. Even despite the circumstances, and the substantial bruises I had on my rear and hip, I could not stop myself from admiring the perfect view of Mallory’s cleavage as she attended me. Her necklace bopped against my face, a metal rendition of a robot’s sword and shield from some anime she loved.

  Standing up all the way, I leaned on Mallory for support. My leg felt tricky and old, and I stretched it slowly.

  Years before, I thought maybe I could be an athlete, and made it onto the high school football team. Four months later, and I was nursing a torn ACL. My knee has never quite been the same.

  The front door rang. Through a swirl of blond hair, I saw the unmistakably beautiful form of our boss, Dawn. She was back from grabbing us a few sandwiches down the street. “I heard a crash. What—oh god.”

  She dropped the sandwiches on the counter and rushed to where I was still stretching my leg, and Mallory was still providing an incredible close-up of her cleavage.

  Dawn was gorgeous as well. A confirmed lesbian and constant voice in the local papers and city blogs, eloquently putting forward feminist positions on every topic from pay equality to adoption rights, she was the type of woman that men had crushes on when they wanted to punish themselves. I had no suc
h desire. I think I was the only man she had ever hired, and the only reason I was hired was because of my graduate degree in literature. And even that was because my thesis had focused on examining post-Victorian literature from a specifically third-wave feminist lens. I still think she had her doubts about me, that I was just waiting to demean and debase her in the most horribly public way.

  Gotta say, I was tempted to daydream about her debasement at times. Dawn was a beautiful person, but the last few months of employment had been less than stellar. The first month was great—everybody was happy and positive. I had started dating Audrey, another clerk, right away, and got a few odd looks, but it wasn’t so bad. And then, sales started to fall hard, Audrey left our relationship in limbo by running out of the country, and the whole situation all had gone to hell.

  “You two,” said Dawn holding her face in her hands, “really need to fix this. Right away.”

  “I know, boss,” said Mallory. “I’m sorry. I think it was Gerald, he was—”

  “Oh god, Gerald!” I hopped into action, furiously looking through the wreckage. “Is he all right? I haven’t seen him. Did he—?”

  For several moments, we were all of us consumed with tearing through the books and looking for our mascot. Gerald was a happy, fat gray tabby. He liked to sit on the chairs we had posted throughout the store, mimicking a giant furry pillow. Then, when a customer inevitably nearly sat on him, he would snuggle into their lap and hold them hostage with his deep, rhythmic purrs.

  Maybe it was just from working with only women for four months, but I’d come to be able to read vibes pretty easily. We searched frantically, and I could tell Dawn’s stress levels were reaching their absolute limit.

  “Here he is,” I said finally. He was in the corner of the shop, well outside the arena of disaster, already napping once more on a chair.

  Dawn squeezed my shoulder firmly. “Good. Okay. That’s good. And you’re okay? Your leg?”

  I complained about my knee from time to time. Or rather, I had to sit from time to time, and cited my knee as the reason. I tried not to whine.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thank you. It’s all fine.”

  “Mallory?” Dawn asked. “You’re okay, too?”

  She nodded. “I banged my wrist a little, but it’s all okay.”

  Dawn let out a breath. “I was going to drop off these sandwiches, and then I had a meeting downtown.” She picked up a book from a pile that had been created in the mess, and then set it down again. Her eyes were wide. “I can’t...this needs to be fixed, guys.”

  “We can close up,” I said. “And you can make the meeting. We’ll have it all ready for you tomorrow.”

  “Close up.” She shook her head. “When we need sales right now. Where’s Lori?”

  “She called in,” said Mallory.

  “That’s the third time this week.” Dawn shifted, restless. “And it’s Wednesday.”

  Mallory shrugged. “She knows you won’t fire her.”

  Sighing profusely, Dawn collapsed down onto the counter, her hands clambering over the register. She was worn out. Today wasn’t going to be the turn-around day that she needed for a good mood, and I—purely by accident—had just plunged her even deeper than ever.

  And then, straightening her shoulders, she stood up with fierce determination in her face. Her golden curls framed the heart-shape of her face. She looked beautiful.

  “Okay. I’ve got to go talk with these assholes at the bank. Do what Mallory says,” Dawn said to me, “and fix all this shit as much as you can, okay? This is the worst time for this. God. I’ve got an entire day, no, week of un-cancellable errands and meetings. Goddammit.” She took another breath, calming herself. “Call Lori and see if she’ll come in, okay?”

  She grabbed her purse and left. The bell above the door rang, innocuous as ever, but if you were a pessimist, you might start to wonder exactly how many rings the bell had left in it.

  Once upon a time, East Side Books was a staple of the downtown center. Homegrown authors would make it a staple of their toured book signings. All the hipsters would slide in as they perused the local record shops and comic book stores. Sometimes there would even be a local band playing in the basement for a cool, small, intimate show. But the city had pushed the store’s growth down.

  All the seasonal festivals were pushed out into county, citing better parking and cheaper rates as the reason for the shift. The record store was under new management that discouraged vintage buyers from browsing, and the comic book shop folded—selling half of its unsellable stock to East Side Pages in the process. All this, on top of the general decline of the American book store, meant that the store was increasingly in trouble. There were ways to save it, and I thought I knew a few, but Dawn only wanted to listen to Dawn’s advice, even as she took money from every philanthropist donor still willing to listen to her spiel.

  Audrey, my ex, was the daughter of one such donor. I earned a lot of negative points with the staff when I started dating her, though I didn’t know it at the time. She represented the new order, and I had unknowingly allied myself with it.

  There were only four of us working at the shop now. Dawn, Mallory, Lori, and myself. This was down from a staff of ten when I had started. They had either moved to better-paying jobs or just plain moved away. Those of us who were left were all full time, and Dawn could barely afford us. I think she had stopped allotting herself a salary, all in the hopes of riding the storm into calmer waters.

  Unless something huge happened soon, no such calm waters existed. Little did I know that the huge happening was contained within me.

  * * * * *

  Five hours later, Mallory and I were still working, and Lori hadn’t come in. She was too sick—in other words, hungover—to make it. It was just as well. In the state she was in, she would have just slowed us down.

  Working in tandem with Mallory, the mess lessened methodically, if not quickly. Mallory had moved from city to city every year of her life until two years ago, when she settled in to Alder City and this shop. So, she knew how to pack, and had learned plenty about the organization of space. Following her lead, we were almost done by the time the evening came around.

  We leaned against the counter, looking over our arrangement. At my lead, Mallory and I had taken it upon ourselves to re-organize the shop a bit. We now had a small shelf at the front with our favorite books, right alongside another small shelf of best sellers. I thought it might help to group the unheard-of classics with all the major hits of the day. I didn’t know if it would work or not; I mostly just knew that we hadn’t tried it. Like I said, Dawn was pretty resistant to new ideas. To be honest, with everything on her mind, I didn't think she would notice much.

  The store now looked mostly how it should. There was a path back down to the basement where we kept all the used books and graphic novels. The records in the back were no longer in danger of being squashed by a series of precariously-pushed pillars layered over with DVDs and blu-rays. The children’s, history, non-fiction, and self-help sections had all been properly straightened. Luckily for us, the adult fiction—more than half of the store—was relatively untouched by the disaster, outside of being covered over with a wave of dust from the outpouring of so many untouched pages.

  The majority of the cleaning up and straightening out of the store was due to Mallory’s know-how.

  When we started moving everything around, she changed into her workout clothes—tight, tiny gym shorts and a flimsy tank-top that gave me an even better view of her cleavage than the last outfit. Her shiny, smooth skin was covered over with sweat, and her long dark hair was done up in a voluminous ponytail that stretched halfway down her back.

  “You really were on top of this,” I said to her, tapping her arm. “Thanks for taking the lead.”

  “Yeah, of course.” She shrugged. “I’m glad all those years of moving furniture back and forth finally produced something worthwhile.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say finally.
I mean, all that moving brought you to work here with me, and I think that’s pretty good.”

  I was trying to be straightforward; I liked working with Mallory. She was hard-working and smart. But, from the look on her face, I could tell the sentiment bordered on the saccharine.

  What happened next, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to explain. She reached behind the counter—giving me a long view of the excellently crafted butt-cleavage that she sported in those tiny spandex shorts. She turned and righted herself, no doubt noticing my sidelong glance at her particulars, and gave me a flirty grin.

  “Hey,” she said, pulling a tall bottle of bourbon out from a brown paper bag. “Wanna get drunk and fool around?”

  I stuttered, not quite knowing how to answer.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She leaned over the counter again, grabbing a couple of paper cups. “Not the most glamorous of settings, but I’m a cheap date.”

  “...great,” I coughed. “Super.”

  She poured me out an entire cup full of bourbon. It was cheap stuff, and the taste was wicked and hard in my mouth. She, of course, swallowed her own with no problem, and then immediately poured me another cup. The taste had barely left my mouth, strong warmth flooding down through my head and into my legs, when she guided the cup up to my lips again, bidding me to drink. I coughed and sputtered a bit, sitting down on the floor, but I swallowed it all.

  She slid down next to me, sliding her legs against mine. I didn’t know how this had all started to happen, but I didn’t much care. Mallory was gorgeous and she was hitting on me, and that was completely fine by me.

  As soon as that last shot of bourbon had settled, she refilled my cup again, but with less than before. This time, though, she did not coerce any drinking.

  “I don’t think it’s possible to have an honest conversation without at least two shots of good liquor in both parties,” she said, by way of explaining. “I hope that’s all right.”