For Her Sins Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  For Her Sins

  James Crow

  FOR HER SINS copyright © 2017 James Crow

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at [email protected]

  Cover design: Southern Stiles Design

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/356331234748001/

  Formatting: Leigh Stone of Irish Ink

  https://www.facebook.com/IrishInkBelfast

  First published 2017

  ~ for Kirsty ~

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Thank You . . .

  About the Author

  Preface

  When you believe your greatest wish could never come true because your ass is too big, your confidence low, and even the world’s most flexible contortionists couldn’t pull off your filthy fantasy, you need to be careful what you wish for – especially when the Devil himself hears your bidding.

  Chapter One

  Whispers… whispers, telling me to wake up.

  Kirsty… wake up now, Kirsty …a man’s voice.

  Darkness fades to gray. Gray fades to sunlight probing at my eyelids. No, not sunlight. I open my eyes to bright lights above me, and despite the mask over my nose and mouth, I can smell disinfectant. Everything feels a little hazy, but I know I’m in a hospital bed. When I try to move my arms, they connect with the rails on the sides of the bed. I go to move my legs, but…

  I can’t feel them.

  Panic freezes my heart. I look down to see a white sheet covering my spread legs. I can see my feet – in stirrups. They’re definitely my feet – I painted my nails alternate green and red. I try to wiggle my toes but they don’t move.

  Someone coughs, murmurs something. There’s someone down there between my legs. Then comes a response to the murmur – a female talking to a male – nurse and doctor, I guess.

  I wonder if I’m pregnant. I wonder if I’ve been in an accident. I wonder what the hell is going on.

  I take the mask from my face and speak up. ‘Hello?’

  There comes a male grunt in reply and the doc stands up, rising beyond the sheet like a magician through a trapdoor. He tugs the surgical mask from his face. He’s sweaty, looks pained, tired.

  ‘You’re back with us, Miss Adams.’

  ‘Am I all right?’ I ask.

  He lets out a sigh at that, just as nursey rises beyond the sheet; a skinny hot redhead. Great, just what I need between my chunky thighs. Not.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ the doc says. He holds up a nasty looking speculum. ‘But I’m going to need a bigger tool for the job. I’ll be right back.’ And with that he stalks off.

  ‘Wait! I can’t feel my–’

  But he’s gone.

  ‘Your legs,’ nursey says. ‘don’t worry, honey. We had to numb you. Everything’ll be just fine.’

  ‘What happened to me?’

  She smiles at me, a knowing smile. I notice her hand is hidden behind the sheet. I have the weirdest feeling that she’s touching me up. I feel my face burning.

  ‘Maybe, now that you’re awake, you can tell us what happened,’ she says.

  I shake my head, grab the mask and cover my face with it, breathe in the heady gas and air.

  Nursey raises her pretty eyebrows at me in question.

  What did happen? I don’t know. I tell her that I can’t remember a thing.

  ‘Never mind,’ she says, ‘I need to get some fresh swabs. Won’t be long.’

  She disappears below the sheet. When she bobs back up again, she’s holding a plastic tub piled high with bloody swabs. She hears my gasp and looks my way.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ I almost scream.

  She gives me an embarrassed smile, then her eyes flick away to the floor.

  ‘Please tell me.’

  ‘Kirsty,’ she says and my heart is in my mouth, ‘I’m only here to assist. The doctor will be back shortly, he’ll…’ she glances at my spread legs, ‘fill you in, I’m sure.’

  ‘But… how did I get here?’ She could tell me that at least.

  ‘Paramedics brought you in. You were pretty darn delirious.’

  I ask her if the paramedics said anything. Ask her if I said anything. She thinks for a moment. ‘Yeah, you did say something, just before we put you under. You said you’d had the craziest day of your life, and that you’d… how did you say… hit the freaking jackpot.’

  ‘And that was it?’

  ‘That was it.’

  She glances once more between my legs, smiles a smile that looks too much like a smirk for my liking, and then she’s gone. The door of the little room swings shut and I’m left alone with my legs spread wide and a whole load of unanswered questions.

  I lie back, staring at the white sheet covering my raised legs, trying to remember. Something. Anything. And then it clicks… it’s the white sheet. Of course it is. It all started with a white sheet.

  I’m in the kitchen at home, with the white sheet over my head. Two eyeholes and a hole for my mouth and once again I’m transformed into a terrifying ghost. NOT.

  I could despair. I do freaking despair. Jocelyn and Michelle are due any minute for our Sunday morning catch-up, where we get to show off our costumes for the Halloween party. Last year, Jocelyn was a crazy vamp, and Michelle was the bride of Chucky. They both looked gorgeous, of course. And I was the sheet, as Michelle has grown to call me. She laughs every time, and I get why, but that doesn’t help with me feeling like a frump. I’m too short. My ass is too fat. And I’ve been playing the sheet every year since I can remember.

  I raise my arms to the mirror and give a few unconvincing whooooos and wahhhhhhs.

  The girls arrive and I sit at the island, still with the sheet over my head, as Jocelyn and Michelle bring out their costumes and start getting undressed. That’s another thing I could never do; get undressed like that, in front of people, even my best friends.

  Jocelyn wriggles out of her leggings and pulls her top off. And Michelle has discarded her jumper and is pushing down her jeans. In just their underwear, they giggle as they pull their costumes from their bags.

  I’m so envious. They both look so gorgeous.

  Jocelyn whips her bra off, dons a neon-green corset and Michelle nips it in tight for her. Jocelyn’s already generous tits now look enormous as they bulge at the material. I tell her she’s showing nipple.

  ‘Maybe I’ll leave them on show,’ she says, shaking those tits with a shimmy.

  She adds a flowing black skirt, puts her hands on her hips, and declares that she’s a filthy whore.

  ‘You look beautiful, babe,’ I tell her.

  Michelle has the complete Dorothy getup. Blue gingham dress, little white ankle socks with frills. She ties her hair into pigtails, tucks a toy dog under her arm and slips
her slender feet into ruby shoes that have way too-high heels to be called slippers.

  I sigh under the sanctuary of my white sheet. ‘You look gorgeous too, babe.’

  Jocelyn tells me I should buy a tutu and be a fairy. I tell her my ass is too big for anywhere freaking near fairy-like.

  Michelle’s suggestion that a Jabba the Hutt costume might work wonders, leaves me speechless. She apologizes. But still.

  ‘You both look totally hot as fuck,’ I tell them.

  My besties kiss me and hug me before they leave. Michelle assures me there’s nothing wrong with the sheet. ‘You’re a legend,’ she tells me.

  I laugh along with them until the front door clicks shut. But I’m fuming. Probably more with myself than anything else. Same old shit, different day – or year, in my case.

  Anyways, I pull the sheet off and drop it on the floor and resort to doing what I usually do when I’m feeling low, push my pants down and lean against the island while my fingers get to work. I close my eyes and Lucifer himself – AKA the extremely lickable Tom Ellis – is on his knees, whispering sweet nothings with his lips against my clit. I groan, I moan, then I actually shriek when the front door swings open and Michelle marches back in.

  I slam my hands flat to the island and freeze. She doesn’t seem to notice my horrified blushing face. She’s waving a piece of paper – a flyer – she slaps it down on the island and shoves it over to me.

  ‘Would you look at that,’ she says, ‘it was tucked under the wiper on your car.’

  For Her Sins

  Fancy dress costumes and magic tricks.

  Tired of being the same old ghost?

  And there’s a cartoon picture of someone with a white sheet over their head and their arms raised and a speech bubble proclaiming WHOOOOOOOOOO and WAHHHHHHHHH.

  We can transform you!

  It’s unreal. It’s surreal. That damn ghost could be me.

  ‘Fucking spooky huh?’ Michelle says.

  ‘Yeah,’ I agree, and I can’t quite believe the coupon printed alongside.

  $50 DISCOUNT – TODAY ONLY!

  ‘Are you okay?’ Michelle asks. ‘You look a bit… hot.’

  I’m suddenly aware of my own wetness on my thighs, aware that my pants are halfway down and I’m sure my face is close to combusting. I tell her I’m fine. She tells me we should go, now, to get me transformed.

  I tell her I’ve got plans right now, that I’ll think about it. Thankfully she believes me, tells me she’ll catch me later. And then she’s gone.

  I head to the shower, and while Tom finishes what he started, I can’t get that cartoon ghost out of my mind.

  Chapter Two

  It doesn’t feel right as I get dressed in my stretchy jeans and a thick jumper. As I push my feet into my sneakers, I know that I’m heading to the mall, but it’s like I’m on autopilot, my feet two steps ahead of my thoughts as I snatch up the flyer along with my car keys.

  It doesn’t feel right as I count not one but six dust devils kicking the autumn leaves into spinning vortexes in the fields as they pass me by.

  And it feels incredibly not right when a herd – yes, a herd – if that’s what you call it – of black cats bound across the road, making me brake hard and hurl a few cuss words their way. Holy crap! There were easily twenty or more of the slimy little shits.

  And it doesn’t feel right as I pull into the mall’s parking lot to find dozens of crows scattered about the place – on posts, on car roofs, on the ground – all looking at me.

  Doesn’t feel right that they don’t even flinch when I slam the car door shut.

  Doesn’t feel right that thunder rumbles and the heavens open and I have to make a run for it.

  And it doesn’t feel right at all as I’m walking through the mall and see a man on a stepladder hanging big pumpkin decorations.

  The only way past is to walk under the legs of the ladder.

  But I don’t. I take the escalator to the first level instead, firmly believing doing so has prevented a catastrophe. Yet, when I’m walking past the spot where the man is hanging pumpkins below, I get the fright of my life when I hear him shriek, hear the clatter of ladders and the crash and tinkle of what I assume are shattering pumpkin decs.

  And it doesn’t feel right at all when I descend the next escalator and come face to face with the shop I’ve been heading to. Doesn’t feel right because I could swear that only last week there was a perfume shop there.

  For Her Sins

  The door is open. Wide open. Through the windows I can see many displays of costumes, but there doesn’t seem to be any shoppers in there.

  I glance at the flyer in my hand.

  We can transform you!

  $50 DISCOUNT – TODAY ONLY!

  I step right on in there, and the feeling of surreal disquiet continues when the man sitting behind the counter looks up. He’s dark. He’s handsome. Black suit. Black shirt, open at the neck. A few days’ stubble. Piercing dark eyes. He could be Tom Ellis’ twin. I swallow away my dry mouth.

  ‘Perfect!’ he declares.

  I glance over my shoulder, thinking he must be addressing someone else, but no, he’s looking directly at me.

  ‘You’re here to be transformed,’ he says, glancing at the flyer in my hand.

  My smile is a nervous one. I tell him I’m just looking, and stroll casually through shelves and rails all stuffed with various costumes.

  I feel his eyes on me. I also feel the heat between my legs. It’s been a while since I got laid. The alleyway outside of Club 66 knows my ass well. Only it’s never been a tall, dark and handsome. I tend to get the short, fair and average types. A good match for me, I suppose.

  ‘I think this is the one,’ says Mr. Handsome. He taps a finger on a package on the counter – a costume of some sort. ‘This will be your transformation.’

  It feels as if my feet have left the floor and I’m gliding over to the counter.

  The package turns out to be a Harley Quinn costume – a gray Daddy’s lil Monster tee and blue and red hotpants that my ass would surely burst apart. The price tag says – you guessed it: $50

  Another nervous laugh and I tell him it’s not for me.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he says, ‘trust me, it’s perfect for your sweet ass.’

  Did he really just say that? I stutter something and stammer something else and suddenly I know that he knows he’s made me wet.

  His sexy smirk. His hot glistening eyes.

  He reaches across the counter and takes the coupon from my grasp, then pushes the package towards me.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly,’ I tell him, feeling so cheap at not parting with a dime.

  He dips below the counter and comes back up holding a plastic baseball bat. ‘On the house,’ he says, ‘to complete the look.’

  I want to tell him that the costume isn’t really my style. I mean, those hotpants. I can’t even.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly,’ I tell him again.

  ‘Oh, I insist,’ he says.

  I need to get out of here. ‘Then I must owe you something. Let me pay.’

  He waves the coupon at me. ‘You paid already.’

  I glance around. Maybe I can buy something else.

  ‘You don’t need anything else,’ he says, as though he knows what I’m thinking. ‘Do you have a dime?’

  ‘A dime?’ I reach into my pocket. ‘Sure do.’

  ‘Good,’ he says, ‘make a wish on your way out and we’re all square.’

  I look over my shoulder to where he indicates and I’m taken aback by the wishing well that’s in the middle of the shop floor. A circular construction of plastic bricks with a bucket on a rope suspended on a rail over it. Mr. J’s Wishing Well it says on the bucket. I’m pretty damn certain that well wasn’t there before.

  I look back to Mr. Handsome. ‘A dime for a wish?’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  He nods. ‘Sure I’m sure.’ He picks up the pac
kage and I take it from him.

  I want to give it back. Along with the plastic bat. I want to get out of here because I’m so damn hot. I want to try the costume on while he watches. I want him to touch me. I want to get home and into the shower. I want to run and I want to stay. I want to do all those things at once.

  ‘Well, thanks,’ I say and head for the door.

  I flick the dime into the well, where it joins a shitload of other dimes shining through the water. And I make my silent wish. A wish for a fantasy I’ve had since I turned eighteen. A wish that makes me grin and squirm at the same time. A wish that will never ever come true.

  I’m two steps from leaving the shop when a gust of wind comes from nowhere and the door slams shut in my face. I’m sure I scream. I spin around to see Mr. Handsome grinning like a loon. ‘I knew it,’ he says.

  ‘Knew what?’ I ask, thinking that I’m being set up. This is gonna be one of those hidden camera TV shows. I’ve been wound up, somehow. And something else is going to happen. I just know it.

  ‘Brace yourself,’ Mr. Handsome tells me.

  Yep, I knew it. The floor beneath my feet starts to vibrate. There’s a deep rumbling all around me. Costumes on rails are shaking. Hangers rattling. Even the walls seem to be trembling.

  Earthquake!

  Fuck!

  But when I glance through the windows, the passers-by don’t seem to be experiencing the same thing.

  When I look back to Mr. Handsome, he’s holding an open umbrella above his head.

  Well that’s bad luck, I think to myself, but soon wish I had one myself as the water from the wishing well erupts like a geyser – along with a zillion dimes.

  Yep, it rains dimes all around me. And I’m soaked and battered by the time the shower eventually stops, along with the trembling and the shaking.