Four Ways to Pleasure

By Susan Hart

Addicted to The Vibrating Chair is a bout a woman looking for some new furniture but finding a chair that seems to satisfy her every need, instead. Hooking Up with Enrique - A woman about to graduate from college decides to brush up on her Spanish conversational skills with the hunky college tutor, but she gets far more than the simple hookup she really wanted, and ends up helping him, both with his students, and in the bedroom Hot Enough to Melt the Ice, is an erotic story about the love/hate relationship between two charismatic ice skaters, almost good enough for the Olympics; if they can only keep their libidos and tempers under control. Hot Sex at The Divorce Party Before Anyone Else Gets There, is all about a young woman who attends a party at her friend’s house, arrives early, and immediately gets it on with a young, divorced man who has arrived first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Hart
• Release date: Jan 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463374108

Susan Hart

I was born in England, but have lived in Southern California for many years. I m now retired and live in the Pacific NW in a little seaside city amongst the giant redwoods and wonderful harbor, almost at the Oregon border. My husband and I have one cat, called Midnight and she is featured in two of my latest Sci-Fi short stories. I love Science Fiction, animals, and trying to help others. I publish under Doreen Milstead as well as my own name. My photo was taken right before the coronation of QE II in the UK.

Book preview

Four Ways to Pleasure

By

Susan Hart

Copyright 2020 Susan Hart

Table of Contents

Addicted to The Vibrating Chair

Hooking Up with Enrique

Hot Enough to Melt the Ice

Hot Sex at the Divorce Party

Note: All characters are over 18.

Addicted to The Vibrating Chair

Synopsis: Addicted to The Vibrating Chair is a bout a woman looking for some new furniture but finding a chair that seems to satisfy her every need, instead.

Amelia walked in to the furniture store looking for a new bedroom set. Her old one was dilapidated, beat up from too many moves, and she had a tax return burning a hole in her pocket. A new bedroom set would brighten up her master suite and maybe, just maybe, bring back that magic that she and Todd had let slip in the bedroom.

It was nobody’s fault. After three years of living together, they knew all of each other’s tricks. A new bedroom set would, just maybe, inspire them to take their lovemaking to new places, so a new bedroom set was what she was looking for.

Instead, she found The Chair.

The furniture store she’d entered that day was about the sixth or seventh she’d tried. Amelia had very specific tastes in furniture — as in modern only — and this town leaned a little too close to traditional. She was seriously considering just chucking out her old bedroom set to the curb and just functioning on a mattress and box spring directly on the floor, managing hers and Todd’s clothes in artful piles.

Minimal, right? That was extremely modern.

However, here, toward the end of her journey to find the new bedroom set that would reinvigorate her relationship, Amelia instead found The Chair.

She’d dodged around pushy salespeople, hidden from one who’d maniacally followed her around the store, brandishing photocopies of a list of percentages Amelia could take off the actual price of the furniture if she simply agreed to a reasonable finance plan with no interest until three years from now.

She had ducked around other couples hemming and hawing over the pros and cons of fabric versus leather, sleeper sofa versus regular type, which style would survive their toddler or teen best, and so on. She’d eschewed massive four-poster beds, grape leaves engrained all the way up. She’d endured sleigh beds that looked like something out of a Christmas movie with all the scrollwork and embellishments.

She’d escaped headboards that doubled as curio cabinets, footboards that doubled as storage units, and claw-footed frames that made her want to vomit. She had been about to give up on finding what she wanted, furniture shopping in general, the continuance of her relationship, the value of her life.

Then, she found The Chair.

The Chair came in red, brown, and black, and, at a cool price of $4,000, promised utter relaxation in her own home.

Amelia had to be honest with herself. At first, she had been very skeptical about The Chair. First, utter relaxation was a superlative that very few things had a right to claim. To Amelia, utter relaxation was drooling, sleepy bliss, not worrying about anything but inhaling and exhaling, not being followed around by crazy salespeople desperate for a commission.

She put on her sunglasses, sat down in the red model, and that was all she wrote.

The Chair was soft, buttery leather with open boots for her feet and calves, little cubby holes for her arms and hands, and a headrest that curved to accommodate her. There was a small display with a bunch of buttons that she didn’t understand, so she simply pressed the one marked DEMO.

Instantly, The Chair buzzed to life, a countdown ticker telling her that she was about to enjoy fifteen minutes of whatever it wanted her to enjoy.

The Chair began with her calves, caressing them with its special brand of catch and release, constricting around her aching muscles and releasing. At the same time, rollers pressed against the bottoms of her feet. She could feel them even through the bottom of her sandals. Just when she thought she was getting used to the leg treatment, The Chair saw fit to switch it up to hands and arms, pressing her palms as if it were a friend clucking in commiseration with her, as in, oh, poor thing. You’ll find that bed set soon, and that will solve all of your relationship woes.

Amelia knew that she probably had far more serious issues to fix with Todd than that of replacing a battered bedroom set, but she could only do one thing at a time.

As a set of rollers danced over her back at the same time as the seat compressed against her thighs, Amelia began to realize that the one thing she needed to be doing right now was enjoying herself.

Let go, finding that utter relaxation that had been promised her.

As soon as she gave herself over, curious things started to happen to her. The rollers and pressings and vibrations stopped being relaxing and started being titillating. Her nipples hardened beneath her shirt, and goose bumps rose along her arms and legs. Then, all of a sudden, a persistent pulsing began in the seat, exactly where her legs met.

Jesus. That felt really, really good.

Amelia could feel herself getting wet, recognized and understood the signs and symptoms of what was happening, and tried to shift her weight away from the pulse. She couldn’t let that happen. She was in public — in the middle of a furniture store, no less.

But the more she tried to wriggle away from the stimulating buzzing in the seat of the chair, the more she came in contact with it. Amelia looked around, tried to ascertain if there was anyone who might be watching her, but she found her concerns melting away about as fast as the pressure between her thighs was building.

Fuck it. She was about to have an orgasm in public in the middle of the day. Who was she to question a good thing?

Amelia let herself go, clamped her lips together and tried to stay quiet about it, but the orgasm just wouldn’t quit. It rolled throughout her entire body, shattering her,