- Paperback: 108 pages
- Publisher: Lulu.com (4 May 2005)
- Language English
- ISBN-10: 1411627946
- ISBN-13: 978-1411627949
- Product Dimensions: 22.9 x 15.2 x 0.7 cm
- Amazon Bestsellers Rank: 4,446,731 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
Rough Copy
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Product Description
Product Description
When beautiful, leggy, submissive Lisa wakes up in a new cloned body, she understands that participating in her Master's futuristic cloning project was a barefoot step too far. He has forsaken her, sold her as a licensed piece of property to be duplicated and used. And that's just the beginning of her troubles, because the cloned Lisa has no independent existence, no legal identity, none of the protections that safeguarded her original. Which means that the Alphas -- the consortium that now owns her -- can treat her exactly as they wish. But even the Alphas aren't as bad as one of their clients: the sadistic, rapacious Tobias H. Periwinkle. And when Periwinkle raises the cash he needs to buy his very own whipping girl, it seems that Lisa's only hope is the lover she abandoned without even saying goodbye.
Excerpted from Rough Copy: The Story of a Bootlegged Slave Girl by Han Thorn. Copyright © 2005. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Jessica had never done body time before. She wasn’t sure how the idea worked, or if it worked at all. All she knew was what Ian had told her: that both of their minds would be housed inside the flesh of the couple they were hiring, and that they would be free to do whatever they liked with one another during that time.
Ian and Jessica together again, just as they’d been a year before, honeymooning in Paris, blissfully romantic and helplessly in love. It would be as if the climbing accident had never happened, as if Jessica’s hated wheelchair had never existed.
So what if it cost so much that they could only do it once a year? As Ian had told her when he surprised her with the clinic reservations, that’s what anniversaries were for.
She willed herself to sink deeper into the couch and stretched out her hand. Next to her, Ian reached back. Their fingers entwined like the wires and electrodes that shrouded their skulls, and then they were elsewhere.
Ian didn’t look anything like his usual self, of course. Jessica glanced in the hotel mirror. She didn’t look like herself, either.
No, they both looked amazingly, miraculously different. Ian was a total hunk, and Jessica – well, she was the way she still imagined herself: gorgeous and slender and agile, and able to walk. Which was a miracle in more ways than one, she realized, because on her feet were the highest heels she’d ever seen, heels that would have put her at risk of a sprained ankle or worse, even when she was fully fit.
The body she was wearing seemed to know how to move freely in them, though.
She turned to her unfamiliar, beloved husband. "Where shall we start?" Even her voice sounded sexier: low, seductive, thrilling.
Ian smiled. His eyes flicked sideways, to the ice bucket and the foil-wrapped magnum it held, then returned instantly as if he didn’t want to waste a single moment that might be spent devouring her. "With a glass of champagne?"
"Sounds good to me." She went to the window, patted the bed. This was like a dream. She could stand, walk around the room in these amazing shoes, look out of the window if she chose, go to kiss her husband without waiting for him to make the first move, without being ashamed of the helpless, treacherous thing that her body had become. "How long have we got?"
"Long enough," he said. "Don’t think about the ending. Think about the moment."
Ian and Jessica together again, just as they’d been a year before, honeymooning in Paris, blissfully romantic and helplessly in love. It would be as if the climbing accident had never happened, as if Jessica’s hated wheelchair had never existed.
So what if it cost so much that they could only do it once a year? As Ian had told her when he surprised her with the clinic reservations, that’s what anniversaries were for.
She willed herself to sink deeper into the couch and stretched out her hand. Next to her, Ian reached back. Their fingers entwined like the wires and electrodes that shrouded their skulls, and then they were elsewhere.
Ian didn’t look anything like his usual self, of course. Jessica glanced in the hotel mirror. She didn’t look like herself, either.
No, they both looked amazingly, miraculously different. Ian was a total hunk, and Jessica – well, she was the way she still imagined herself: gorgeous and slender and agile, and able to walk. Which was a miracle in more ways than one, she realized, because on her feet were the highest heels she’d ever seen, heels that would have put her at risk of a sprained ankle or worse, even when she was fully fit.
The body she was wearing seemed to know how to move freely in them, though.
She turned to her unfamiliar, beloved husband. "Where shall we start?" Even her voice sounded sexier: low, seductive, thrilling.
Ian smiled. His eyes flicked sideways, to the ice bucket and the foil-wrapped magnum it held, then returned instantly as if he didn’t want to waste a single moment that might be spent devouring her. "With a glass of champagne?"
"Sounds good to me." She went to the window, patted the bed. This was like a dream. She could stand, walk around the room in these amazing shoes, look out of the window if she chose, go to kiss her husband without waiting for him to make the first move, without being ashamed of the helpless, treacherous thing that her body had become. "How long have we got?"
"Long enough," he said. "Don’t think about the ending. Think about the moment."
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