Every Move You Make by Jane New


Tracy’s world had come to an end.

She lay on the queen-sized bed in her apartment in the basement of Philip’s house and remembered the first time she’d visited this room. James—darling James, who was now very happily fulfilling the copious needs of a famous actress—had removed her shoes, and massaged her feet and legs before giving her a delightful orgasm.

And then he’d told Philip all about it.

How did Philip bring everyone in his world under his spell? He was charming, handsome, intelligent—and unable to walk. Yet everyone around him felt the full force of his strong personality and boundless sexuality.

She was going to have to resign from her job. She was no match for Jasmine’s exotic beauty and vibrant personality, and Philip obviously preferred Jasmine in his bed these days. Tracy was well aware she was a fairly ordinary, middle-aged woman who just happened to like men, and sex, a great deal. Philip could, and had, done a lot better than her.

She stood up and wearily stripped off her clothes. A soak in a deep, hot bath would bring everything into perspective and give her time to plan. As she opened the wardrobe door to find her bathrobe, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror inside the door. Not overly tall, boobs probably too big, belly and thighs a little too full, but her hair was still its natural warm shade of brown with little gray in it. She wasn’t too bad for her age, she supposed, but no way was she a world-class beauty either.

Half an hour later, perfumed water had worked its restful magic.

Tracy wasn’t going down without a fight.


* * * * *


“Good morning, Mr. Browne!” She flung open the bedroom curtains to let in soft autumn sunshine.

“You’re very cheerful today, Mrs. Jones,” answered Philip. He smiled up at her from his huge bed.

As usual in the mornings, Tracy helped him out of bed and into his wheelchair. The upper half of his body was immensely strong, as he insisted on using a mechanical wheelchair and not a motorised one. Once in the bathroom, he would easily move from the chair to a bench in the shower.

She made Philip’s bed and tidied his bedroom, then waited until she heard the water running.

“Mr. Browne!” she called.

“Mrs. Jones?”

“I was just wondering...”

“Yes, Mrs. Jones?”

“Do you need any assistance?”


Close Window


  Copyright © 2010 | Cobblestone Press, LLC™