Fantasies R Us Read online

  FANTASIES R US

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, December 2004

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  1337 Commerce Drive, #13

  Stow, OH 44224

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0073-0

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  FANTASIES R US © 2004 ROXI ROMANO

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Briana St. James.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Warning:

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Fantasies R Us has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Fantasies R Us

  Roxi Romano

  Dedication

  To Jenny and Lori for your unwavering support, for the all-night brainstorming sessions and for giving me Jayne and Michael’s story.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  TARZAN: Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc.

  Chapter One

  “Fantasies R Us, the ultimate sexual experience designed by you and for you. Nothing too tame or kinky. How may I help you?” chimed the receptionist into her headset mouthpiece. Outside the circle of the acrylic reception desk, Jayne Applegate shuffled from foot to foot as she waited for the fantasy facilitator the receptionist had beckoned before taking this latest call.

  And the sooner the fantasy facilitator got out here, the better. Jayne was feeling quite out of place in her below-the-knee skirt and buttoned-to-the-throat blouse next to a receptionist whose thigh-high leather skirt and bared midriff were clearly visible through the clear desk. The woman’s platform shoes had to have at least four-inch soles.

  Jayne shifted in her sensible flats, the choice of librarians who still worked the old libraries full of paper and ink books and ladders one had to climb to reach the tomes on the uppermost shelves. Maybe if she worked in the cyber-book section where she spent her day seated at a desk she could have handled platform shoes, too.

  Who was she kidding? She had the weakest ankles this side of the universe. She’d once broken an ankle falling off her clogs and they had only a one-inch sole.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” the receptionist said, her collagen-inflated lips flexing a smile at Jayne. “I’m sure Fantasy Facilitator Ninety-Nine is on her way.”

  Jayne opened her mouth to thank the receptionist, who was clearly far younger than her own twenty-nine-and-three-quarters years. But a light flashed on the floating, acrylic switchboard and the receptionist touched it with one flaming pink-painted fingernail and went into her greeting.

  Jayne turned from the receptionist who rivaled fifties screen legend Marilyn Monroe for sheer shapeliness, to the poster-sized plasma screens depicting “happy” customers in various fantasy scenarios, to a glassed-in case displaying an abbreviated history of the dildo. What was she doing here? She was the epitome of the plain-Jane. She had to be insane to even consider a vacation with Fantasies R Us, let alone show up at their booking offices.

  Jayne glanced at the glass door that led back outside to reality, a reality where proper librarian types sipped tea from bone china cups and underwear wasn’t edible. Maybe if she backed slowly toward that door, no one would notice her leaving.

  She snorted. She could stomp out that door and no one would notice. Story of her life. People just didn’t notice her. Plain Jayne with a Y. That was the only out of the ordinary thing about her, that Y.

  “The ultimate sexual experience designed by you and for you,” sang the receptionist as she answered yet another call.

  Jayne eyed the blonde bombshell. She’d bet no one ever forgot her. She’d bet that barely-out-of-her-teens girl had experienced more in one afternoon of sex play than she had in her nearly thirty years.

  Which had been the point of giving herself this birthday present. The ultimate sexual fantasy. That’s what Fantasies R Us promised. Problem was she didn’t know what the ultimate sexual fantasy was. Plain Jayne Applegate was still a virgin.

  She closed her eyes tight against the shame of that fact. The fantasy facilitator was bound to ask about her sexual experience level and she’d have to confess she was just too plain to catch the notice of any man…like the fantasy facilitator wouldn’t be able to see that on her own.

  Or his.

  Jayne groaned. How humiliating would it be to have to admit her feeble level of sexual experience to a male facilitator?

  She wheeled for the exit. This was no place for virgins, at least not nearly thirty-year-old virgins.

  The plasma screen nearest the door flashed the image of a naked woman in the arms of a naked Adonis type as she proclaimed, “I lost my virginity to my fantasy lover. You can, too.”

  “Easy for Miss-Glowing-Skin-and-Silky-Hair to say,” Jayne grumbled under her breath as she reached for the pressure pad door opener.

  “I’m not as young as you think,” the woman in the image whispered.

  Jayne froze, hand extended. Had that picture just talked to her?

  She looked into the face of the deflowered virgin. The woman winked and Jayne noticed the fine crow’s feet at the outer corners of the faded blue eyes. This place was just too weird for her.

  Jayne pressed the pressure pad door opener. There was a hum, but the door didn’t budge. She pressed the pad again. Still nothing. She punched it.

  “Is that thing acting up again?” said a stunning brunette as she stepped up beside Jayne.

  Jayne gave the skintight body-suited perfect form a head to toe glance and muttered, “Swell.”

  Jayne was thinking about how doomed she was when there were so many women with perfect bodies available to men. The body apparently took her comment in a different way as she offered through a warm smile, “I’ll have the receptionist notify maintenance.”

  “Can’t you just open the door for me?”

  The brunette laughed. “Heavens, no. I’m just a hologram.”

  Jayne gave Miss Perfect-Body a closer look. The sunlight slanting in through the clear doors fell across the brunette’s image casting a slight transparency through which Jayne spotted a trio of hovering golf ball-sized orbs. Though, where golf balls had dimples, these balls had lenses, several of them. The woman was indeed a hologram and no hologram was going to be able to open any door let alone a jammed one for her.

  “Maybe the receptionist could—” she started only to be stopped by a shake
of the brunette’s head and her chimed “Hologram.”

  Jayne glanced at the acrylic-encircled receptionist with the mammoth breasts. “Of course. The perfect fantasy staff for a company in the fantasy business.”

  “It also ensures the ultimate in confidentiality for our clients.” The brunette smiled warmly at her. “I’m Fantasy Facilitator Ninety-Nine. I believe we have an appointment.”

  “Oh.” Jayne started to raise her hand to shake hands, belatedly remembering Fantasy Facilitator Ninety-Nine was a hologram and there was no substance to shake.

  She dropped her hand and curled her fingers around the handle of her purse, not sure what else to do.

  Fantasy Facilitator Ninety-Nine looked at the pocketbook. “Aah. Genuine vinyl. Weren’t those fashionable in the seventies?”

  “Th-they were available as late as the turn of the century,” Jayne stammered. “I-I like vintage clothes.”

  “How fun. Many of our clients enjoy fantasies set in historical times. Might the late nineteen hundreds or early two thousands be a time period you’re interested in?”

  “I, ah.” Jayne grimaced at the holographic Fantasy Facilitator Ninety-Nine. “I’m not so sure I’m ready for this. If you could just get someone from maintenance to open the door.”

  “Of course.” The fantasy facilitator raised her hand in the receptionist’s direction and snapped her fingers complete with synchronized snapping sound. “Number Thirty, please summon maintenance to the front door.”

  There was that bothersome number again, thirty. What was there about nearing age thirty that had put her into a dither over her virginity? The fact that all her female cousins except weird Wendy were married or in committed relationships? The hot tales of steamy sex the birthday club gals shared at their monthly chocolate-gorging get-togethers?

  The fear that if she didn’t use it soon, it would dry up and wither shut?

  “Wouldn’t you like to join me in my programming area until maintenance comes?” the facilitator asked.

  “I-I’m sure they’ll be along shortly, right?”

  Fantasy Facilitator Ninety-Nine sighed. “In an organization such as Fantasies R Us that relies heavily on technology, maintenance is in constant demand. I’m afraid a mere door is rather low on the priority list.”

  “But this is the front door to a business. It’s necessary for it to work properly if you’re to operate.”

  “It never fails to open inward,” the facilitator said brightly. “And getting the client inside is the important part.”

  Jayne gaped at the holographic facilitator, a healthy dose of apprehension regarding Fantasies R Us’ sales techniques raising the hairs at the back of her neck. “But what if there’s a fire.”

  “Holograms don’t burn.”

  “But I’m not a hologram.”

  “Oh. You’re concerned about the clients.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “We have emergency exits all over the building. There’s one out of my office.”

  “Great. I’ll just leave through your office.”

  The fantasy facilitator smiled and crooked a finger at Jayne. “Just follow me.”

  But once in the office, Jayne was faced with half a dozen unmarked doors. “Which one is it?”

  Fantasy Facilitator Ninety-Nine tipped her head this way and that. “To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure.”

  “What do you mean, you aren’t sure?” Jayne demanded, slapping the pressure openers on each door without anything happening.

  “I’m not programmed to know those things.”

  Jayne wheeled toward the fantasy facilitator who stood behind the lone chair anchored in the middle of the room. “But you said there was an emergency exit through your office.”

  “Yes. And should an emergency arise, the proper door will open automatically and you will be guided from the building.”

  “This is an emergency.”

  “It doesn’t appear to be an emergency.”

  “I want out and I want out now!”

  “I have not been programmed to handle this situation. I do, however, know that an exit door will open after my presentation.”

  “After your presentation?” Jayne snorted. “I should have known. This is just some sort of high-pressure sales gimmick.”

  “I don’t know about high-pressure,” the fantasy facilitator said in her evenly moderated voice. “But I have judged my clients to enjoy the pressure, whatever its level, by the time we’re through.”

  “Enjoy it? You’ve got to be kidding. You people are quacks.”

  “I am not people, Ms. Applegate.”

  “Of course not,” Jayne sighed, resigning herself to doing what she must to get out of this loony bin. “You’re a hologram. Get on with your presentation.”

  Ninety-Nine smiled widely. “Wonderful choice.”

  “Like I had any,” Jayne muttered.

  “Please take a seat,” the facilitator said, motioning to the leather chair in the center of the room that resembled some minimalist’s idea of a recliner.

  Jayne climbed into the chair. The most incredibly soft leather she’d ever encountered cradled her from head to toe. She hugged her purse to her chest. She might have to put up with a cushy chair and a sales pitch in order to get out of this place, but she didn’t have to hand over a penny of her hard-earned vacation money to these crooks.

  “Have you an idea what sort of fantasy you’d like, Ms. Applegate?”

  “Just the standard,” Jayne muttered, hoping that would get her the quickest pitch.

  Instantly, the walls shaded to mauve, a fireplace with crackling logs appeared, chubby cherubs floated through the air with harps in hands and a draped, heart-shaped bed all but popped into her lap.

  “This of course is a hologram version of our standard boudoir. It comes in any color you prefer should pinks or reds not be to your liking. It comes complete with a Jacuzzi big enough for two, mirrored ceiling and vibrating bed.”

  On cue, the bed began to shimmy, its satin heart-shaped pillows jumping and bumping against each other.

  “F-fine,” Jayne stammered through her teeth, though she was really thinking tacky.

  “Aaah, a hit already,” the facilitator said proudly. “Then we can move onto Mr. Right.” She leaned over Jayne’s shoulder and her holographic cheek hummed close to Jayne’s. “Here’s my favorite part.”

  Straightening, Facilitator Ninety-Nine did the finger snap thing again and three of the golf ball-sized projectors dropped from a ceiling. For the first time, Jayne noticed the ceiling was dotted with the things. She had no time to contemplate just how many there were as tall, dark and handsome materialized before her. At least Jayne assumed many if not most women would find Mr. Slicked-Back-Hair in the designer suit appealing. She found him…oily.

  “Care to sample the goods?” the fantasy facilitator asked.

  “I—”

  Before she could get out another syllable, Mr. Oily was stripped to his leopard-skin thong.

  “Yikes,” Jayne gasped, staring at the mighty pouch bobbing at her elbow. She wasn’t ready for this.

  And neither, apparently was he, as he strode past her. Didn’t that take all, even a hologram ignored her.

  No. Wait. What was that? It felt like fingers kneading her shoulders.

  Oh, yes. Delicious…and quite relaxing.

  She sank into the chair. The fingers moved down her spine. Arms closed against her sides. A mouth nibbled at her neck.

  She groaned.

  Something hard and insistent butted against her backside. Instinctively, she spread her legs and that hard, hot, rod slid up between the folds of her—

  Abruptly the caressing stopped. Jayne gasped and blinked. Ninety-Nine smiled down on her.

  “Shall I sign you up for our standard fantasy #1, The Love Nest?”

  Jayne blinked again. “H-how did he do that? That feely stuff? I-I thought holograms didn’t have substance.”

  “We don’t.”

&nb
sp; “B-but, I felt him.” She nodded toward Mr. Oily-Leopard-Skin-Thong who now lounged on the heart-shaped bed blowing kisses at her.

  Ninety-Nine’s smile softened. “What you felt was the chair, Ms. Applegate. It’s specially designed to work in conjunction with our holographic presentations.”

  Jayne wiggled an itchy behind against the seat of the chair. “Maybe I should buy a chair like this. Forget the fantasy.”

  Ninety-Nine’s smile turned gentle. “You don’t want a chair when the real thing will be so much better.”

  “The real thing?” Jayne gulped and nodded at the holographic hunk on the holographic heart-shaped bed. “You mean there’s a real version of him?”

  “In a sense. We use cyborgs for the actual fantasy. Again, this ensures absolute privacy for our clients. No embarrassing run-ins with a lover in the street after some wild orgy. No blackmail possibilities. No messy attachments. Just perfect sex.”

  Perfect sex would be nice. But…

  No attachments.

  What if a woman wanted attachments?

  Like that was in the cards for a plain-Jane like her. The dang chair she now sat in had touched her more intimately than any man ever had and she was nearly thirty.

  A fantasy looked like the only way plain Jayne Applegate was going to know love…at least in the biblical sense.

  “Okay,” Jayne said.

  “You’ll take the standard fantasy #1 The Love Nest?”

  “Okay, I’ll do the fantasy…but not The Love Nest.”

  “Aha,” exhaled Ninety-Nine. “I had a hunch you weren’t the standard Love Nest type.” The holographic fantasy facilitator tapped her chin with a long, slender finger for several seconds then shook that finger in the air at Jayne. “Vintage clothing. You’d like something from the past.”

  Images of bloody Vikings, sweaty gladiators and hairy Neanderthals flashed behind Jayne’s eyes, and she murmured, “Not too far back.”