A Stroke of Peach and Other Stories


Mixed-Theme Erotica


This sexy collection from House of Erotica brings together six erotic stories of passion and naughty sex by four of House of Erotica’s top-selling authors!

Don’t miss out on this exclusive anthology of sexy short tales. The stories include A Stroke of Peach by Lucy Felthouse, Conference Connection by Scarlett Knight, Aleisha by Carla Croft and Secret in the Open by Rigel Madsong.

Word count: 10,267


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Eleanor had always been a sucker for stationery, since before she even knew how to spell the word. So when she got a part-time job at her local stationery store, it was a dream come true. As well as being able to stack shelves full of sticky notes and sparkly stickers, she got staff discount, too!

The discount came in very handy, as Eleanor was a mature (she was only 30, but they classed it as mature, much to her chagrin) art student and every penny was vital.

A couple of months into her employment, Eleanor was excited to finally discover what lay behind the mysterious door next to the staff room – another store room! The main one on the ground floor was where their deliveries were dropped off and stored, and for the most part it was big enough to hold everything. But as she flung open the door to the upstairs warehouse, Eleanor could understand why it was used as infrequently as possible. After all, who wants to lug boxes of stock up two flights of stairs?

The place was virtually abandoned. And yet, when Eleanor stepped inside, she felt like a child in a sweet shop. There were boxes dotted around the room, which had clearly been brought up here and forgotten about. Well, not any more.

She’d been given orders to find out what was in the upstairs warehouse, get it price stickered and put out on the shop floor. Her boss’ comment had been “Well, it’s not putting any money in the till from up there, is it?”

She rubbed her hands together and grinned. There was nothing she liked more than a project. And stationery, of course. So now she’d been presented with a task that encompassed both, she was one happy woman.

She set to work, opening boxes and discovering what goodies lay within. There were lots of odds and ends – single envelopes, lonely tubes of glitter, torn packets of crepe paper; but they could go onto the clearance shelf. Someone would buy them. In fact, if Eleanor allowed herself to admit it, she’d probably buy some of it for herself. She smiled ruefully. At least she was a sucker for collecting stuff she could actually use – imagine if she’d been a fan of porcelain dolls or garden gnomes! What would be the point?

Eleanor worked away, moving boxes closer to the door so she’d know which ones she’d already checked, and what was still to be uncovered.

As she opened yet another box, she was hit by the unmistakeable scent of strawberries. Frowning, she tugged back the flaps and quickly spotted the culprit. A scented gel pen had burst, its fragrance released for all the world to smell.

Shoving the broken pen into the corner of the box, Eleanor then retrieved a plastic packet holding more of the smelly pens. She could see a space where the escaped strawberry implement had come from. Flipping it open, she yanked out all of the pens and held them in one hand, dropping the packaging back into the box.

Then, one by one, she tugged off the lids of the pens and gave them a sniff, guessing at the scent, before replacing the lids and checking the labels to see if she was right. She was so engrossed in her mission that she didn’t hear the footsteps clumping up the two flights of stairs. Nor did she hear the footsteps crossing the landing, stepping over the threshold of the door she had wedged open, and approaching her. The first Eleanor knew was when a deep voice right behind her said, “Whatchya doin’?”

Letting out a squeal, Eleanor spun round and ended up swiping the pen in her hand right across her assailant’s cheek. Of course, the newcomer wasn’t an assailant at all, but Eleanor’s colleague, Jimmy.

“What the- ” Jimmy said, raising his hand to his face and smudging the line of ink striped across it, “is that… peach?”

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