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SPINNING AROUND (Incest Story.05)

red rose

Spinning Around ($2.99)

BUY: Smashwords (multiple formats)

Title = Mature Audience

DESCRIPTION:

48-year-old Deryk Wolf’s not-so-little girl shows her appreciation for his support of her passion for fashion.

Spinning Around features in the short story collection, Incestiable.

LENGTH: 7,200 words

* * *

REVIEW (on Incestiable):

"This is a nice sampling of Jess C Scott's incest erotica. There's a fair amount of variety within the erotic incest genre. [Ms. Scott] can weave a vivid tale of lust and love, bringing together lovers for casual sex or eternal devotion."
-- Traction_Bob / B&N Review

"I am sorry to hear about the red tape with the major retailers. It’s probably safe to say that incest (including consensual), is hitting too close to home for many, so let’s not even acknowledge this topic: it’s too real. Anyway, thank you for everything you do and have stood/stand up for. (Gotta run, wife is calling for me!) LOL Sincerely, A Female Reader/Customer PS: My Dad is an awesome kisser! ;-) And….."
-- E-mail from a female reader/customer / Jess's reply here

"Greetings, I've downloaded Crunk and Spinning Around from Google Play. After reading those two books I visited your website. I'm also a Virgo and a fan of the song Savage Garden - I Want You. Keep up the good work and I'll be keeping an eye out for your provocative writing."
-- Folk/Bluegrass Fan, USA (June 2012 / email)

* * *

MEDIA MENTIONS:

Q&A with Jess on Incest

* * *

EXCERPT:

[ Sunday, 10:56 a.m. ]

The room was slowly spinning around, when Deryk Wolf opened his eyes. A couple of moments, before he remembered where he was—a couple of moments, before he felt a slight sting on the surface across his knuckles.

Hollywood Slots Hotel & Casino.

Meeting Aimee later in the day.

Surface cuts, back of the hands, from the asphalt last night, 12am cold and in the public carpark. The cuts would make nice scars.


The 48-year-old didn’t feel like he was approaching fifty. It was supposed to make one feel older, wearier, with doctors’ warnings about the risks of developing heart disease coming at full speed.

Deryk had ridden into NYC on his red-and-black midsize Monster Ducati bike, checked into Hollywood Slots, where one of the cocktail waitresses had had her eye on him all night long, as he went around the different slot machines on the casino floor.

“Amy,” said her nametag. She sure looked like Aimee, with the chocolate brown hair and caramel highlights, about the same age and height as Deryk’s 21-year-old only daughter. He had to look twice, to make sure it wasn’t Aimee at her second job. The cocktail waitress had killer tits that were busting out of her tight, white top. If she could, she’d be showing off her perky ass and matching tight pussy too.

Deryk was in New York to show his support for Aimee—she’d made it through the auditions for Fashion Icon, where would-be designers would compete for the chance to showcase their collection at NY Fashion Week, with the first place winner walking away with $100,000 to use as seed money to start their own fashion line.

Aimee Wolf, she always said she’d call it. Just like Deryk Wolf Photography.

He walked into the casino to gamble away the images in his mind. Everything seemed to happen in that past week. It seemed like he hadn’t been living all this while, only existing in a bubble he didn’t even know he was trapped in.

* * *

[ 3 Days Earlier ]

Deryk had gone into Aimee’s room to borrow her PC, since the other PC’s printer had run out of ink, and he had an invoice to print out.

He thought of her everyday while she was at NYC. The house seemed rather quiet without Aimee around. A little less vibrant, missing the energy and life she carried around with her.

Deryk snuck a peek at her blue Pilates floor mat, feeling the blood rush to his groin. The items were always so strategically placed—surely Aimee was aware? The mat before the full-length mirror—lacy underwear, in shades of hot pink, white, and black—always either in a clump nearby, or neatly hanging at the edge of the tabletop, like she’d just washed them and put them out to dry.


* * *

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