From Erotic Author to Pet

Writing is a cruel mistress. Sarah had known that for a long time. Cranking out 12 erotica novels a year was hard at first and only got harder with each passing year.

The truth is that there are only so many fetishes to write about and only so many ways to describe sex. It starts to feel repetitive after a while to write, which means that it probably gets repetitive to read as well.

And that's the problem. Bore your readers and you lose them. Make them wait for their next fix and they find a new dealer. If you want food to eat and a place to sleep, you have to do the job.

Bimbo porn hadn't been Sarah's first choice. She was into her third year when she tried it the first time. Even then, she certainly didn't enjoy it.

But it was reliable. She could crank out several variations on the theme a year without losing readers.

But it was proving difficult this time. Every other fetish she could think of led her to a dead end, and she didn't have much time left to crank out a new story. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

She had tried a number of ideas when she finally settled on a kind of self-hypnosis. All she had to do was have an erotic image flash onto her computer screen once every second. It was too brief for her to notice, but long enough to get her in the right frame of mind.

At first it worked even better than she could have hoped. The ideas came and the words flowed.

The story she came up with was of a young woman with a vanilla sex life. One day, at a garage sale, she bought a ring. Over weeks of wearing it, her breasts got bigger, her ass got rounder, and her waist got smaller. She found herself wearing progressively less clothing and more makeup. Her libido had been rather less than her boyfriend's, but soon she was wearing him out and supplementing him with fingers, then toys, and then strangers. As her need grew still greater, she added women to her list and branched out into more creative sexual acts and then extreme ones. Soon, even that wasn't enough for her, and she was nightly getting fucked in all her holes by crowds of men and women. She ended each night with cum all over her skin and leaking out of her holes. And then... Sarah started having trouble again.

At some point, Sarah realized that she had stopped wearing panties. She couldn't remember doing so, though it would have to have been a very recent decision. She chalked it up to doing research on her "heroine" and thought no more of it.

She was surprised to find herself wearing much tighter and more revealing clothes than she could remember wearing or, for that matter, owning. Once again she chalked it up to "research". It didn't seem important. Nothing did, really, except her heroine's journey.

Sarah began to find herself sitting at her computer, legs spread, hand thrashing under her skirt and/or top. She was doing it instead of and while writing. At first she was puzzled and a bit troubles by her behavior, but soon she just... stopped thinking about it. "Sex is normal. Masturbation is normal", she told herself, "given what I'm writing, it would be odd if I didn't." It wasn't something she had done while writing any of her other stories, but... it was getting increasingly difficult for her to think about her past or present.

Her sex life was getting more interesting as well. She had long had a healthy, if intermittent sex life. But she had started to notice herself going to bars. Once there, she would see a stranger and have her mind and body consumed with "WANT WANT WANT WANT WANT." The next thing she knew, she would be in the bathroom on her knees or bent over the sink being crudely fucked. Sometimes she would be on her knees in front of the sinks, her face buried between a woman's legs.

"Well... that's new", she thought to herself, meaning the interest in women, though it was all new for her. "I guess I'm just really pent up right now", she told herself, "I should get it out of my system." It all sounded very reasonable to her, or at least reasonable enough to not think about it any further.

What should have worried her was that the words stopped coming. It wasn't even that the story that dried up, it was the words. At least half of her vocabulary had been replaced by fits of giggling. Simple things like preparing her own meals had started to seem hopelessly complex.

Sarah decided that her difficulty writing meant that she needed to throw herself more fully into her sexuality. It seemed so obvious to her that it didn't even merit a second thought.

She went out every night and most afternoons. She went home with men, women, couples, and groups. She licked, sucked, and fucked. She got stripped, whipped, DPed and spit-roasted. She got kicked out as soon as they were done with her, sometimes made to walk home wearing only her underwear with cum all over her face and body. She smiled blankly as people stared and whispered.

She hadn't even tried to write in several days at that point. She had all but forgotten about the book or that she had ever been a writer. She was like a shark; she had one need and she would single mindedly seek to sate it. She had no desire and little capacity to stop "swimming".

She found a business card in her pocket one day. She didn't remember it, but it had been given to her by the couple she had met the night before. They told her that the club seemed like something she would enjoy and that they hoped to see her there. She had to sound out most of the words (reading had gotten so hard!), but the pictures told her what she needed to know. She would be going soon.

And she did go that night. She had never been fucked in public before. She had never had so many eyes on her naked body, so much cum on her skin, so many hands and lips all over her, so many pussies in her face, so many cocks in her mouth, so much in her pussy and ass, so much... everything. She loved it. For a brief moment, she even felt satisfied.

She didn't want that night to end, but of course it did.

At 4 AM, the crowds had left and the lights came on. Sarah was still flush with euphoria, but started to feel desirous again. Lady Callie, the owner of the establishment, walked up to Sarah, who was on her knees in a daze.

"Child, go home", Callie said, "there is nothing for you here until nightfall."

Sarah looked up at the woman. Her large, taut breasts were covered but not hidden. Her pussy was uncovered for any to see. Sarah's mouth watered. "There is everything for me here", she protested, "And nothing for me anywhere else! Please do not send me away!"

Lady Callie reached down and cradled the woman's face. She stroked her cheek and brushed away a falling tear. She felt pity on the woman, seeing that she was trapped in a hole she could never escape and that few could give her what she needed.

Sarah collapsed at Lady Callie's feet and wept, "Please! Own me, hurt me, use me... just don't make me leave. Don't make me need. Don't make me do without!"

The Lady led Sarah to her room and made a place for her to sleep on the floor. The next day, the papers were drawn up, giving Lady Callie power of attorney over Sarah. Soon, Sarah's house and all her possessions were sold and her name was forgotten.

Lady Callie took good care of her pet and star attraction. Every night she was seen by hundreds and fucked by dozens, but nothing ever tasted sweeter than her Mistress' pussy or felt better than her strapon.

It was the perfect ending to the story she had never and would never finish, as well as to all the stories she would never start. She never wrote again. She rarely spoke. There was no need, she had found her happily ever after.