Lusty Lee Prequel to Log 5

By Jason Pinaster

GREAT DEAL: This and all the other 31 Lusty Lee stories are now in one low-priced volume: Lusty Lee: The Entire Logs.

This box set contains the first five Lusty Lee logs along with the just-published prequel to the serial plus free sample chapters from Connie’s Crop and Alien Vacation.

Prequel: Lee prepares a celebratory dinner for her lover and business partner--and celebratory after-dinner sex.
Log 1 sees Lee travel to Montreal where her undercover assignment leads her to a zipless fuck.
Log 2 follows Lee into a swinger’s club where she becomes the meat in the sandwich.
Log 3 requires Lee to attend a male strip club and dominate a muscular man of the law.
Log 4 tasks Eric to go undercover at an escort agency where he fulfills his fantasy of making love to a nursing mother.
Log 5 sends Lee into a leather BDSM club where she switches from dominatrix to submissive.

GREAT DEAL: This and all the other 31 Lusty Lee stories are now in one low-priced volume: Lusty Lee: The Entire Logs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Pinaster
• Release date: Sep 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370887941

Jason Pinaster

If you would like to be on my mailing list, please click on the box at the very bottom of the column under my photo. You will receive prompt notification of my new publications and special offers.I have heard say that the first obligation of a writer is to entertain. If so, the first obligation of a writer of erotica is to arouse and I hope you feel that I have succeeded.I believe that story sets the scene. A story lets the reader start to care for the characters in it. And if the reader cares about the characters, it is easier for him or her to identify with their arousal, to let that arousal tingle the reader’s own skin.Christopher Carter is a lawyer who’s into BDSM and other hijinks, most of them sexual. His stories feature a little fun, lots of sex, a little adventure, and Carter's special brand of justice. Lusty Lee was a private investigator whose nemesis forced her to pursue him through a new kink in each episode. The Mistress Megan stories take her through her development as a dominatrix during which she must satisfy their every fetish.While my current focus is on stories featuring (in order of frequency) erotic combat, wet and messy, action-adventure and tickling, I’m open to anything which turns me (and hopefully you) on. I dabble in sex games and BDSM. I have published two novellas set in Hedonism II, the notorious Jamaican resort and even one featuring a sentient sex robot.At present, I’m developing a Patreon page showcasing erotic combat vignettes: www.patreon.com/JasonPinasterPlease feel free to contact me at [e-mail] And don’t forget to click on the box at the very bottom of the column under my photo. Cheers!

Book preview

Lusty Lee Box Set Logs 1 - 5 by Jason Pinaster Copyright 2016

Table of Contents

Copyright Notice: Copyright by Jason Pinaster 2016; all rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction; the characters are not you.

Cover Notes and Credits

Prequel Lusty Lee Log #00

The Case, Lusty Lee Log #1

Swinging, Lusty Lee Log #2

Strip Club, Lusty Lee Log #3

The Escort, Lusty Lee Log #4

Leather, Lusty Lee Log #5

Hedonism, Lusty Lee Log #6

Back Notes: About Jason Pinaster, other books and stories by the author.

Copyright 2016 by Jason Pinaster. Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Please leave a review. Thank you for your support.

Fiction: This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely and entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. In short: this story is not about you, anyone you know, or about the acts or omissions of anyone living or dead.

Cover credits: The lady in the colorful bikini is Maganda of DropTopGal Mang 25 on Flickr and her images were used either pursuant to a Creative Commons licence or by direct, not to mention generous, permission. All photoshoping was done by me.

Prequel Lusty Lee’s Log Minus-One

I was in the kitchen fixing dinner. And as usual when I was engaged in my second-most favorite activity, I was fantasizing about my favorite activity—sex.

Dinner was going to be a small roasted chicken with broccoli florets, bok choi, and a low carb squash nestled around it. All the carbs—carbohydrates—were going to be in the desert: Black Forest Cake. I inserted a meat thermometer into the chicken. One can never be too careful in the kitchen. It read 180 degrees Fahrenheit. I added the vegetables around the bird. They would be overcooked, but that’s how Pete liked them. In half an hour, bites of chicken, vegetables and chicken juice would be masticating inside our mouths!

Pete was Peter. Peter Peter Pumpkin-eater. Actually Peter Henge. Pete was my partner in everything that mattered: sex, work, and love. Not always in that order, but tonight definitely in that order.

Tonight the sex would be celebrating my success with the latest variant on the lo-carb/high protein diet which had seen me rapidly drop my weight eighty pounds down to an almost scrawny 110 pounds. If not scrawny, a hundred and ten pounds on a five-foot-five-inch frame was certainly skinny!

Work would be dispatched over dinner. Peter and I ran a small private investigation agency. That’s how I had met him. He had run a background check on my friend’s fiancé, saving her from all manner of grief. I’d helped a bit and he’d been impressed. Three months later he had taken me on as a partner. Six months after that, a larger apartment opened up in my building and I had scooped it up and persuaded Pete to move in with me.

We had been together for two years now. Good fun, good sex, good food. We were hardly ever apart, except for this past week. Peter had been working on something mysterious, dodging my calls, so when I had finally persuaded him to come home for dinner, I’d decided it should be something special.

My plan was to decompress Pete over dinner, let him talk out the hassles of the day. Over dessert, I’d tell him about how I’d tracked down Georgina Crawford, the absconding debtor who’d been evading us for weeks. He’d be sooo happy with me!

I looked at myself in the mirror. As always, my long, ever so subtly curly, brown hair framed my face in a flattering way. But now that I’d lost weight, my cheekbones formed a counterpoint to my sparkling blue eyes instead of merely surrounding them. And my cheeks no longer pressed my eyes half shut. I smiled and watched my face actually change shape. Spectacular!

Puffed up around my neck, I was wearing a heavy frock and over that, a cooking apron, both extending down almost down to my knees. Decidedly unsexy. But this was all that Peter would see until I brought out the Black Forest Cake. I’d serve him the first piece, let him get the first bite into his mouth. Then I would step out of my outer clothes wearing nothing but a skimpy blue bikini. Peter would want to skip dessert, but I’d make him eat every bite!

Peter was nothing special to look at and he liked it that way. Said being able to blend in made surveillance easier. But if you looked at him carefully, he was hard to forget. Black hair, always cut an inch high. Which made him six-foot-two in total. Brown eyes, soft if he wanted, but penetrating when the situation called for penetrating. Like when he wanted my body! Dressed up, he was an ordinary dude. But underneath, he was all muscle, hard, wiry, well-defined muscle. Manly masterly muscle. He had a scar on his left chest, above his nipple that he’d tried to cover up with a tattoo of a Roman soldier pulling his sword from his scabbard. The scar was right beneath the sword and depending how Peter turned or flexed his muscles, it looked like an oversized cock. His actual cock wasn’t quite the size of a sword, but it was more than ample! It was almost a crime when he covered his body up with a suit and tie.

But today, he would not be wearing a suit. Today he was working. When Peter was on an investigation, he liked to wear a black leather jacket. Usually he wore deodorant and dress casual underneath, but today he was undercover, posing as deliveryman for the restaurant trade. Today he’d have only T-shirt and jeans under his jacket. Tonight he’d come home smelling only of himself, with an undercurrent of fancy food, beer and wine wrapped up in leather. I took a deep breath through my nose, imagining what he’d smell like. Heavenly!

He would come in the door and we’d kiss passionately. He’d be wound up tight, like he always was after a day on the job, his muscles in tight knots. I’d rub up against the rough fabric of his jeans, feeling him all the way through the thin fabric of my bikini. Feeling him against my breasts, against my nipples, feeling him against my pussy. Feeling him lift me right off the floor and twirl me around in a tight spiral!

The leather of his jacket would be soft, sensual, arousing to my touch. I’d peel it back an inch and be hit with his intoxicating aromas, his manly musk. I’d hold onto his jacket with all my might because the heat between my hips would drain all the strength from my knees.

I would want him then and there. He’d want me then and there. And if I wasn’t careful, he’d take me, then and there!

But the fragrance of roast chicken and vegetables would beckon us with even more force and we’d sit down to eat, each morsel, each syllable swirling around other even more physical desires.

I was in love with Peter, his strength, his tenderness. I’d first realized I was in love with him when he’d told me how good the steak had tasted. I’d burned it badly and it was tougher than the leather in his jacket. But he chewed each bite. He’d smiled as he’d chewed. Here was a man who would be blind to all my sins. A man who would laugh at all my mistakes, as if they were some cosmic joke meant for our amusement. A man who would ignore my faults. No that wasn’t right. A man who would love all my faults, every last one.

After the main course had been finished, we would lean back and smile silently at each other. Then he’d begin to slowly stir.

Ready for dessert, I’d ask.

He’d nod and lean back in his chair.

I’d stand and remove my cooking apron. This would provoke only the slightest of slight interest because the frock underneath was frumpy to say the least, and even more chaste.

Whatever happens, you have to stay in your chair, I’d tell him.

’Whatever’ is too broad. Shouldn’t there be exceptions?

I’d shake my head, a mixture of stern and eight-year old. Promise.

But—

Promise.

He’d sigh and nod his head.

Promise! Say it!

He’d sigh again. Promise.

I would grab the frock by my hips, then raise it up to my knee, then slowly each inch, watching his eyes go wider and wider, wondering when there might be another piece of clothing under the frock. I’d stop just short of my bikini bottom and move the frock back and forth, teasing. I’d lift it half and inch too high and he’d catch a glimpse of the bright blue swimsuit.

Then I’d drop the frock back down. I’d like to say that I would be able to keep this tease going on forever, but by this point I’d be so hot under my bikini bottom that I’d lift the frock up and over my head in one smooth motion. I’d slowly fold the frock up and place it on a chair, turning just enough that he’d think he was going to catch a glimpse of my butt, but not turning so much that he’d actually succeed.

I’d bend down so that he’d see my full round breasts. Guess what’s for dessert? I’d ask, moving closer so that he’d be able to reach up and grab me. But dancing away when he tried.

Ice cream, he’d guess.

I’d shake my head, rotating my hips ‘round ‘n ‘round.

Cheese cake?

I’d shake my head again, thrusting my hips forward suggestively, feeling the bikini’s fabric rubbing against me.

Angel food cake?

I’d shake my head and stand completely still. Do I look like an angel to you?

Devil’s food cake?

I’d grab a breast in each hand and gently squeeze. It would feel so good. Then I’d pretend to remember him and shake my head. Close, but no. Guess again.

Crème brulé?

I’d shake my head, hands on my hips, rocking my pelvis back and forth. Devils food cake was closer.

Rice pudding?

No! At this point I would know that he knew that it was Black Forest cake and that he was just playing. I had never served him rice pudding, or even seen him choose it at the buffet. I would turn my butt towards him and slap it in disdain.

If he didn’t guess again, I would turn back towards him, hands on my hips, but standing still.

Is it… he would begin and I’d let my right hand slide down the front of my bikini. Is it…, he’d start again and I’d press a finger against the front of my bikini. Is it… and I’d rub my finger up and down feeling a tingling inside, wanting more, but not giving in. Is it black… I’d pause, but if he didn’t continue, I would pull by bikini into the crack between my vulva folds.

There’s only one black dessert. I’d hold the bikini tight, then slowly start to let it slide down, looser.

Black Forest cake!

I’d nod, flash my tits out from under my bikini, slowly adjust them back into place, watch him start to lift himself up from his chair, then scamper back into the kitchen.

Cake in its box, plates, knife and forks all on the table. Peter would reach to cut the cake, but I’d motion his hand away. The knife would slide through layers of black and white, pausing as it encountered cherries. Peter would dig into the dessert, his mind momentarily distracted from sex. Hopefully only momentarily!

Instead of starting to cut a piece for myself, I would fish out two half cherries and work them down under my bikini top, on top of my nipples. They’d be cold and wet and sexy and my nipples would harden underneath the cherries, making the cherries even more prominent. Peter would look at my boobs, torn between the cake in front of him and the two cherries on the other side of the table. I’d fish the cherries out and make a show of eating them. Peter would watch, his eyes transfixed on the two wet points at the center of my bikini top.

I’d eat my piece of cake, satisfied that there was a bulge growing inside Peter’s pants.

Peter would finish first. I’d rush to catch up, but he’d have had a head start and I would have cut myself too large a piece. He would swallow his last bite. I would still have two more bites to go. He would smile an evil smile. I would swallow and cut my last piece in half. He’d be behind me as soon as I’d be able to get it in my mouth. I would be trying to swallow but two strong hands would be gently grabbing my breasts, gently squeezing and releasing. I would try to eat, but his hands on my breasts would feel so wonderful, especially where my bikini was still wet from the cherries.

My fork would return to my plate and I’d shut my eyes.

Then Peter would lift my hands up and pull me towards the living room. He’d try to lead me to the sofa, but I’d turn tables on him at the last minute and land on top of him. Leather balling up in my hands, the sight of his stubble, the taste of chocolate and whipped cream still in my mouth, the sound of my body rubbing against him and the couch creaking beneath us. But most of all, the intoxicating smells of his sweat and arousal would almost make me come then and there!

His lips would suck me into him, then his tongue would press inside my mouth. My pussy would press against him as hard as she could, wishing she was the one being invaded, instead of just my mouth.

I shut my eyes and saw it as if it had already happened.

I was all his now, tricking him beneath me on the sofa had been the last act of will I’d be capable of tonight. His hands grasped my buttocks and mashed me cruelly against him. If I hadn’t still been wearing my bikini bottom he would have drawn blood. As it was, it sent shivers of delight