Jazzed – ebook



Jazzed by Jo-Anne Wiley

Dance, deceit and destruction… pure Wiley!
The Russians go berserk.
The dancers of the ‘American Dance Demon’ have breasts. The Russians only know The Bolshoi where the girls look painfully like little boys.
The identical dancers of the Demon are the prime of Broadway’s best. Each is a perfect thirty-six “C’…not that there’s a bra to be found anywhere on stage. Each girl is a sultry, green-eyed brunette, same age, six-foot, identical build.
When General Chenkov starts cheering, the enthusiasm is contagious. The dancers faltered mid-step. They shyly came forward, so the men in the first rows are treated to a naughty peek under short hemlines. Excited nipples protrude through silk. The dancer’s don’t know it yet, but their European tour has just been sidelined. Chenkov has their passports and he wants these women ” which becomes evident during the very next performance.
Following her solo number, Andrea advances to the edge of the stage to accept the accolades. But instead of a curtsy, she fumbles her buttons. Her costume floats down and she stands naked before three-thousand admirers. All of them military. Andrea gives them a moment before she reaches for her Danskin and exits the stage, clutching the silk to her flailing breasts. and ducked around her startled Stage Manager.
“What the hell?” Chay, Stage Manager questions the Wardrobe Mistress as she follows Andrea into the dressing-room. “What’s going on?”
“Just trying to get my passport back,” Andrea says bitterly.
“Yes. And I understand you’re having dinner with him.”
“Yes,” Chay admits.
“Play along. Give him what he wants and you’ll get your passport; be free to leave.”
“No. I couldn’t. Not that way.”
“Trust me, Chay. It’s the only way.”
A non-consensual story, including sexual conniving, stalking, obsessive control, violence, revenge

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American dancers trapped in Moscow and a sex fiend holds their passports. Now each dancer must decide for herself what she is prepared to do… to gain her ticket home.


Author’s Note:

Taz is back!

I keep receiving e-mails for Tzivia Azaria; my reoccurring character transplanted from the Israeli Defense Force. Readers wanted to know more about the gutsy, belligerent scrapper with the weird knife who landed herself in New York City with the help of the CIA and makes her first appearance in my book, TOMCAT.

I’ve had this photo of Taz pinned to my wall for a couple of years and now share it with you.

Taz had a brief appearance in MEAT-LOCKER, but really shines in my current book, JAZZED, where she shares the stage with Artistic Director, Chay Ramorazz and Company Manager, Jill Spencer. As a de facto Tour Coordinator, Taz travels to Russia with The American Dance Demon for the purpose of assassinating a renegade general who wants to drag the United States into a European war.

And look for Taz next year in VICTIM No.7


An excerpt from JAZZED:

Taz wandered through the performance hall and looked up at his private box. It was empty. Backstage she found Chay at work on her performance schedule. “Have you seen General Chenkov?”

Chay gave Taz a tired smile. “Sure. He’s in the dressing room, watching the girls change into their costumes.”

Taz shot Chay a look. It was one of the only times that Taz had expressed surprise. “He does that?”

“Yeah. Last night he wandered in after the show and watched them shower. The girls complained of course, but he brings along a couple of his cohorts, armed with guns.”

“I need to see him.”

Chay shrugged, resignation showing in her face. “He’ll be by in a few minutes, once the girls are dressed.”

“I’ll stack boxes,” Taz said.


Chenkov sat in a corner of the dressing room and watched the girls squirm. He loved it; watching them hide behind each other as they pulled off brassieres and struggled into their dance outfits. He knew he could order them to line up, stand before him, shivering and naked. But this was more fun. And hell, he intended to have them all, one or two at a time, eventually.

Georgette had been great. He recalled how she whimpered and writhed, bravely dealing with her humiliation and distress. Then Joyce: He’d never had a lesbian before; loved rubbing her nose in it. Oh, and the priceless look on Chay’s face when she was told she was about to be undressed in front of his men. Yes. He intended to have all the girls. One way or another. God, he loved Americans.

He was making his way backstage, toward the performance hall when his eyes locked on Taz. She was standing just behind Chay’s desk, watching him, her expression blank. Chenkov studied her face: The narrow look, the high cheekbones and close-set eyes. She met his gaze and didn’t falter, didn’t look away. The black sheep, he thought. So unafraid…

Taz turned, and bending, she picked up a box from the floor.

He watched her ass. The muscle seemed to roll under the tightly stretched denim and the snug fit did little to hide the clench of her thighs. She had great legs, long and supple, and the calves bulged, sheathed in soft leather, tightly laced. Her black boots were arched on four-inch heels. The woman hefted the box, bending and stretching. And then he saw her large hands. The fingers were almost masculine, the nails trimmed short and buffed. He thought of those strong fingers wrapped around an agreeable spot behind his zipper and a shimmer traveled up his spine.

She would be next, he decided. His little black lamb, come home to the manger.

“I would like to meet with you. After the performance.”

Taz straightened; looked down into his face. “You were watching me.”

“Yes. Couldn’t be helped. You have an amazing body.”

“Just flesh and muscle, like anyone’s…”

“No. Not like anyone’s.” And he reached out and clasped a hand below her hip. She was solid beneath his grasp. Rock hard but vibrant. “You will meet with me?”

Taz nodded. “Rex won’t mind?”

“Rex has left the City.”

“Then your apartment, and your bed, will be empty.”

Chenkov felt staggered. He had never met a woman so forward. And all because he held her passport. Chenkov gathered himself. “Empty and cold,” he said.

“I’ll be at the stage door, after. It’s dark there. Don’t keep me waiting.” Taz turned and bending, she stacked another box. Chenkov held his breath.


Taz knew she had made a mistake as soon as she got into his car. He had two body guards with him; one in front, another in back. And his new driver looked capable as well. Three against one. She didn’t like the odds but there was no choice but to slide in next to Chenkov. He slipped a hand up between her legs. Taz didn’t flinch; her eyes were locked on the man who sat across from her.

There was an immediate understanding between the two of them. They recognized each other for what they were; each sensed the professional protocol. The winner and the loser. The man was a trained killer and if it wasn’t for Chenkov lusting after her body, she would already be dead.

“Hard to have an intimate conversation,” she said to Chenkov.

“That would suggest you have some intimate secret to share.”

“You like a woman with secrets?”

He grabbed her by the pubis. “I like women with long legs, lusty cunts and tight hard asses.”

Maybe if she could get him alone she would have a chance.“Your apartment then…”


They made the short drive to the government building and parked out front. Taz and Chenkov slid out of the rear seat and all three men followed. They crowded onto the elevator together and rode up to the fifth floor where Chenkov kept his living quarters overlooking Red Square. Two of the bodyguards positioned themselves in the hall outside while the third entered the apartment and locked the door from inside. Chenkov was being very careful and that confirmed what Taz had feared most: He suspected her. Suspected her involvement in the deaths of his driver and his whore. Worse, she had lost the element of surprise and it served her right for being so damned cocky.

“Vodka?” Chenkov was pouring from a crystal decanter.

“Water will be fine. I don’t indulge.”

Chenkov gave her a puzzled look. He didn’t trust anyone who didn’t drink. “Maybe it is time you started. Vodka can help get you through an unpleasant situation.”

“If you find me unpleasant why did you bring me home?”

Chenkov slipped into a chair and looked up at her. “Because. Of all the glamorous women in the Dance Demon, you stand out. I know Bobby enjoys beautiful women; takes pride in surrounding himself with willing bodies. So why did he hire you? You must be very good… at something.”

“Bobby didn’t hire me. Jill did.”

Chenkov sipped vodka and pondered her breasts for a moment. “Someone hired you, my dear. And I don’t think it was Jill or Bobby.”

Taz felt a sense of dread entwine her throat. He was closing-in on the truth and she was alone in his apartment with no escape.

“Take off your clothes,” he said smoothly, caressing the words with his tongue. “I want to see you naked.”

Taz had to work at keeping her hands unclenched, her shoulders loose. She steadied herself and looked toward the guard standing by the door, her hopes all but dashed. “With him; standing there?”

“Don’t be so God damned particular. Show me your cunt. I want to see all of it.”

Taz nodded, slumped into a chair across from his and began picking at the laces of her knee high boots. “I see what you mean, now.”


“Yes.” Taz stood and began unbuttoning her shirt. “About the vodka.”

She shuffled off the black denim and stood bare-breasted; her tiny tits like black rose-thorns against the olive skin. Her stretchy jeans fit like leggings. She unzipped and wiggled them down over slender hips. She didn’t prefer underpants and the light came up in Chenkov’s eyes when the thick mat of dark curls appeared above the open zipper.

She turned to one side and forced the denim down, finally pulling her feet free. She shook her jeans out and placed them on the chair next to her shirt. Naked, with empty hands draped at her sides, she turned to him. “Well?”

Chenkov felt himself waver. Of all the women he had ever lusted after, Taz was special. Not beautiful, not even close, but still: There was a raw look about her; a cold belligerent woman that begged to be forced to her knees. To be dominated. To be held down and ravaged. He wanted to feel her struggle. Hoped she would fight. Wanted to fuck her without mercy. Wanted to hurt her. “Come closer. I need to feel you.”

She took a step forward and turned her head with the cautious movement of a cornered snake. The light caught her face and for the first time, Chenkov saw the reflection in yellow eyes. He had never noticed before and a chill ran through his bones. How could he have missed it? Her eyes widened and flashed. He suddenly felt uncertain and inadequate.

Chenkov fought to maintain his advantage. She’s a mere woman, he scolded himself. Have some balls. He lifted a hand and took her by the hip. “Who are you?”

“I am Tour Coordinator for The American Dance Demon. Nothing more, except perhaps in your overheated imagination. I would like to get dressed now. Please, have your driver take me to my hotel.”

Chenkov went stoney inside. He reached up between her legs, took hold of the left lip of her vagina and, stretching it out, he pulled her a step closer. “I don’t believe you,” he sneered.

Taz caught the sliver of light, flaring momentarily like the burst of a match, but quickly lost it in a welter of tears. She threw her head back, moist eyes clenched against the pain that forged a fiery path up into her loins. Terrified, she looked down, fearing the worse.

But the labia was still attached. He had pierced her instead; with the shiny blade of a clasp knife. She could see the point protruding through the vaginal lip. He held her, skewered, and Taz fought the urge to pull away. Chenkov smiled. A trickle of blood formed and he watched it jog between the folds, dripping from the turn of her thigh and thrumming on his rug.

An arm came up around her neck and she realized the bodyguard had stepped in behind. The choke hold effectively cut off her breath. To struggle would only bring painful results.

“Get her over the table.” The knife pulled smoothly from her crotch to be replaced by the pistol that Chenkov pulled from his belt. He took precise aim at her forehead. “And get the others.”

Taz was pulled across the table until her head was tilted back. She watched Chenkov step forward and undo the buttons at the front of his trousers. His cock butted against her cheek. Taz closed her eyes and opened her mouth. There was no use in struggling. He swiftly stepped forward and forced his way into her throat. Taz gagged and wrestled with her stomach.

All three bodyguards took a turn with her before Chenkov positioned himself between her legs and mounted her vagina. Taz rolled her head to one side and covered her eyes with a forearm. She had no other choice but to wait for him to finish.

He groaned lightly, leaving behind a cold smear of semen across her leg. Taz gasped when she felt him take up the right whorl of her vagina between thumb and fingers; knew it wasn’t finished.        “No!” She tried to struggle up. But hands held her to the table and she wasn’t able to turn from the burning slide of the knife. “No,” she cried out.

Chenkov was twisting her vagina. The burn increased and she heard the mechanical snap.

Chenkov stood back. “There,” he said, satisfied, “that should hold her.”

The men pulled Taz from the table; stood her up. She was painfully aware of the weight between her legs, the wobble. She looked down at herself. He had fed the shank of a padlock through the knife-holes in the vaginal lips and snapped it closed.

“Take her to the Holding Cells,” Chenkov instructed his guards,”and tell the jailer to keep the lock in place. If the men want her, they’ll have to use her… in the ass.


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