Being in the college Erotic Writing
club , I'd managed to write quite a few stories that had won
some acclaim. My first story, 'Teacher Dominates Student' had even
won a school prize, with the dean of my literature department
praising it for its hardcore action and realism, although I had
wondered how he knew it was realistic unless he'd had some personal
experience.
As a senior, I'd also heard about my
fair share of sexual experiences from others, although I myself was
still a pure virgin, as pure as the driven snow. It was no barrier
to me writing erotic fiction however, and I always made sure to
include the most detailed blow-by-blow scenes in my stories,
exactly as they were recounted to me. Sometimes I had to do further
research though, which often led to confusion. In particular there
was the time that Sybil, the well known and respected college slut,
had told me about one of her sexual experiences with Ross, the
college track star,
“It was so big he almost split me in half.”
She had said, as I was taking notes furiously,
“Did you have to go to hospital afterward?”
I'd asked, being genuinely concerned.
“Huh?” She'd replied, looking at me
perplexed.
I'd found this kind of thing was common; I'd
ask for further details from the people I was interviewing and
they'd look at me dumbfounded. At first I put it down to stupidity
on their part, but later I realized they couldn't understand the
inner workings of a writer's mind, or why we needed the most
intricate of details in order to add depth to our stories.
“Oh Elle, could you do me a big favor?” Asked
Sarah coming up to my desk as I was tapping away at my computer.
Sarah usually wrote under the pen name 'Rachael Rimjob' and was
looking flustered, she had several erotic stories on the go at one
time and was trying to finish them all off, but was finding it hard
going, what with her local church group meeting more often than
most, taking up much of her free time.
“I'm supposed to go and interview a well
known billionaire BDSM expert this afternoon, but I just can't fit
it in.” Sarah cooed.
“BDSM expert? Well, I suppose I could go for
you instead, I'm, working on a BDSM story myself, so it might help
my own research.” I told her, trying to be helpful, but wondering
if I'd ever now manage to get my erotic short 'Oh Doctor! Don't
Bone Me!' finished.
“It would really be a help.” Confessed Sarah,
“The book I'm working on now is just too big and hard.”
I knew how she felt, the big and hard ones
sometimes brought tears to my eyes, so I usually tried to cram them
in at night-time when I felt much more relaxed and able to work on
their full length.
“What time is the interview?” I asked Sarah,
while toying with a pen around my lips.
“Two pm.” She told me, as she walked out of
the door.
“Two pm! Holy fuck!” I exclaimed, “I'd better
get going then.”
I knew the BDSM expert Sarah had been talking
about, everyone in our city of Gothom knew him. He'd been on the
local and national news, talking about BDSM and how as a lifestyle
choice it was far healthier than taking drugs, physically and
psychologically. Oprah had even fast-tracked his book, 'The BDSM
Diaries', for her book club. And now I was actually going to meet
him.
Mr. Grey, of the hugely successful Grey Candy
Group, had made his fortune with his chain of candy stores across
the country, I'd often walked past them, and always noted the
catchy slogan underneath the main title: 'You Can't Keep Candy
Down'. There was always a sense of mystery to him, he was reclusive
yet socially erudite, cruel but kind, and well known as a faithful
playboy, only taking a new submissive on once a year, before
allowing them to pass his intensive course and then getting rid of
them. But I had no such plans to become one of his many submissive
women, I was far too independent and strong-willed for such things.
There's no way I'd stand for only a one year relationship with him,
I told myself,
Allen Saddler Peter Owen Ithell Colquhoun Patrick Guinness