I Am Number Eight Ch 01

God knows why I started reading porn. Well I mean his particular porn. But I did, and I kept reading it. I read everything he had written then tried other authors but they didn't touch me the way he did. I reread everything I could find by him and felt an exhilaration I'd never known before.

Could a writer really do this to me? The answer of course was yes, there were many examples of this as the wonderful quote: "The pen is mightier than the sword" exemplifies.

But pornography? Here I was almost twenty-seven with a decent enough job as Administrative Assistant to the Director at a renowned medical facility in Manhattan. I was very good at my job and both my superiors and peers knew it.

Physically speaking, I'm tall, with what I think is a nice body except for the fact that my left breast is almost a cup size larger than my right. And while the few men I've let touch them hardly seemed to notice, I remain very self-conscious about it. On the other hand, I fill out the standard black cocktail dress as well as the next girl, as long as she's not Brooklyn Decker, or one of her peers.

I will admit that prior to discovering Edgar Prince's erotica I had begun drinking a little too much while bar hopping of a weekend, which I attribute to what I'll call my missing something but not knowing exactly what it was period.

Did I mention that I'm almost twenty-seven? I will be in two short months. I'm not married. I've never been married. Twice engaged, but never made it to the altar. This seems to be the key to my despondency, or whatever it is that's bugging me.

Yeah, what's bugging me – for instance, every guy I see I view as a potential life partner. That's crazy, or it should be. I meet someone decent at least once a week and go through what's now become a litany of reasons why he's special and follow that with another list of why he's not for me.

Friends, especially married friends, are always fixing me up with Mr. Right. Only he never is. I went through a slutty period a while back where I slept with every guy I dated, or tried too. Some wouldn't have me. Can you believe it? Maybe I was too forward when I began reaching out to feel them up after the first kiss.

Let me illustrate by giving an example of a typical date, or more accurately an encounter with a guy. I had sex with Kevin. Why? Because I'm stupid when it comes to male - female relationships.

We were working together on a tricky assignment involving bringing in a world class heart specialist from Huntsville, Alabama. The trick was to persuade him to leave his cozy spot in Alabama and move to Manhattan. Obviously the cost of his new residence would be through the roof; but we were telling ourselves that we were selling the opportunity to work in some of the most difficult of heart cases on what amounted to a daily basis. What more challenge could a surgeon want?

Well I can think of several, but there we were going over the various pros and cons of enticing him to our facility when I felt my horny button go off.

Suddenly I felt naked when he glanced at me. I managed to keep my distance and avoid anything close to a sexual remark. But to my surprise I accepted his offer of stopping off for a drink after we'd finished for the night.

The thing was we didn't pop into a lounge, oh, no. We popped into a liquor store, bought two bottles of wine and headed to his apartment, which happened to be three doors away from the store.

He was a gentleman, pouring me some wine while we talked about other ways of bringing the surgeon on board. But with the opening of the second bottle of wine he began telling me about his divorce and in the same breath how good looking I was.

And just as I began to like the guy a little, he suddenly kissed me. Yeah, I was tired and horny and so I let him. I didn't really respond but I wasn't exactly uncooperative either. And when he lay on top of me on the couch I sighed and figured, fuck it.

I wish I could say I was drunk, but I wasn't. As he unclothed me I helped a little, said it was "alright" when he accidently pinched me trying to unzip my pants, and even ran my hands up and down his back as our bodies became pressed together.

Old Kevin was sort of clumsy and awkward, and it was weird having this old guy on me like this. When he took It out I even put the condom on for him.

I may have been horny, or thought I was, but I wasn't slick enough to really say I was turned on, but I wasn't dry. I was prepared ... but I wish I wasn't. I mean, I wish that I hadn't given up so quickly. I mean it wasn't enjoyable, you know? I just lay there on the couch, and wondered why I was so fucked up that I let myself get into this situation at all.

It lasted about ten minutes, maybe, before he just stopped, breathed out long, and rolled off of me. I didn't waste a second: I immediately put my bra back on and got dressed. We didn't say a word to each other: he got up and left, presumably to throw out the condom. After that he found me out in front of the store smoking a cigarette.

He offered to give me a ride home but I declined. When I did get home I showered (even though it was so late, I just had to) then went online for a little while, then went to bed. And that was that.

For the next couple weeks I didn't even see him: my training in full swing now, I was spending most of my time with my regional manager. When I did see Kevin again, though, he acted like nothing had happened. And so did I. Suffice to say I was relieved to be out of that relationship, such as it was.

About two weeks later I went on a date with this guy, "Thomas", and started crying halfway through the dinner we were having. I was so loopy... I freaked him out. But that's okay, because I didn't really want to go out with him anyway... I just wanted to go out with a guy again, you know? Maybe make myself feel better for acting the slut with Kevin. Didn't work out that way... I ended up telling him he was "a great listener" and he got the hint. We haven't spoken since.

I told my friend Laura about the thing with Kevin, and she thought it was both funny and sad (her exact words!). She thinks I need to tell my therapist about all this (I've been refusing to talk to her about work, you see... more like avoiding).

I just re-read all that. Do I sound depressed? I'm not, though. I mean, I was during that week or two during the whole Kevin thing. Maybe writing about it stirred up those emotions again. But see, I realize now that the Kevin thing won't happen again. And I won't let myself act like that anymore. To prove my point, last week Kevin made one of his typically sexist comments to me and I shot him a look and said, "Do you really want to start that with me?" He just shut up after that.

Oh listen to me rambling on and on. I guess I really am kind of fucked up sexually.

Okay, the truth is I've actually slept with fourteen different guys; most more than once. I thought I knew everything about everything. I thought I'd tried everything except anal; and I knew what that would be like from Sheila Downs, who told me all about her little anal adventure, thank you very much.

Yet after reading Edgar Prince's material I realized how little I knew about virtually anything, especially about the kinkier sides of sex. His stories opened doors I hadn't known existed. Did people actually do the things he was describing in such vivid detail?

I researched subjects within the S&M genre, and found myself filled with a yearning thirst to try it for myself. And so, I wrote Edgar Prince and told him that I loved his work, and was fascinated by the subject asked if he would consider being rough with me.

My letter read: I want you to do me hard. I don't care if you to throw me to the ground and rip my clothes off. I want you to grab my head and push your fingers into my scalp. I want you to stick your cock in my face. I want you to set the vicious tempo that you want. I want you to fuck my mouth like you own it. I want you to make my lips swell at the collision when you bottom out. I want you to twist your fingers in my hair and yank. Use the reins to control my movements. I want my nose smashed up against your pubis and your balls pressed up against my chin. I want thick cords of saliva dangling from your shaft as I struggle to keep up with how fast and how rough you are. I want you to compel my face to your balls and ass and have me lick and suck both.

I want you to pull me over your lap and spank me. Leaving your handprints on my buttocks and turn my ass and thighs red and purple. Be brutal. I can take it. I want you to spank my clit. I want you to wrench my pussy lips and my nipples. I want you to slap my breasts. Make them hurt. Make me remember you.

Fuck me in all positions. Don't be gentle.

I want you to drive into me from above so that I feel your weight on top, crushing me. I want you to wrap your hand about my throat and choke me. I want you to spit in my face. I want you to cuff my cheeks hard — left side and right side — with stiff and unyielding fingers and also the back of your hand.

I want you to clutch my breasts and maul them while you thrust into me from below. I want you to see how my pussy stretches to accommodate your thick cock. I want you to feel the wetness skating down the sides of your shaft and coating your balls? I want you to lift me by the hips and launch yourself at me. I want you to let me squeeze your cock with the muscles of my cunt.

I want you to pinch my clitoris. I want you to take me from behind. Pull my hair as hard as you can. Tug it by the roots. Set your teeth into my neck. Leave bite marks over my back and shoulders.

I want you to grab my bouncing tits and haul me backward. Use your strength to impale my pussy onto your prick. Slam your cock into me. I want to hear your balls smacking against my ass.

I want you to rub my clit diligently and aggressively. I want you to sodomize me. I want you to stick your fingers in my cunt and feel yourself moving inside my anus. I want you to split me in half with your long, thick penis. I want to be small and submissive under you.

I want you to come in my mouth and cum on my body. Come in my cunt and my anus. I want you to use me. Be strict with me. Call me the vilest names. I want you to leave bruises behind.

I want a man with phenomenal stamina; a dominant lover who knows how to take charge of an uninhibited, dirty slut like me. You should be muscular and fit. Intelligence is a definite plus.

Admittedly, I went overboard, but then I really didn't expect him to reply, but two days later I received a reply.

Dear Emily: I receive hundreds of comments about my work. Yours however, stands out in that you appear to have a genuine interest in learning about the machinations involved between Dom and Sub. In answer to your principal question, I can easily be as rough with you as you can tolerate, for I not only write about S&M but practice it as well.

If you reside in Manhattan as you say, then it is possible that we can meet and at the least, have a rudimentary discussion about the subject. I reside in New Jersey, only twenty minutes, on a good day, from midtown.

Please let me know if you'd care to meet me personally, and we can meet in a local restaurant of your choosing and see where that takes us. My Email address follows.

Cordially yours, Edgar Prince.

On reading his reply, I found myself so excited that I hurried to my bedroom, took out my vibrator and gave myself a mighty orgasm. Then I reread his message and carefully worded a reply. In it I agreed to meet him, suggesting we meet at a well known restaurant that usually had a good sized crowd. I believed in old adage of safety in numbers; not knowing how little the size of the crowd meant with respect to making one less vulnerable to certain types of assailants should they be determined to do you harm. This last had no bearing whatsoever on Mr. Prince's actions, then or now.

I should mention that immediately after emailing my reply I toyed with the idea of running out and having my clit pierced for him. However a quick researching of the act convinced me that I had better wait before doing something that rash as I would need some time to heal before practicing sex with anyone. Of course I had already made up my mind that I was going to let my Prince have his way with me at least for one night at any rate, and possibly much more.

I received a reply from him an hour later. He agreed to meet me at the restaurant and suggested a day and time. I quickly agreed and sent it off.

The next several hours were spent trying on different clothing to wear for the occasion. I would, of course, not actually choose my ensemble until minutes before leaving for the restaurant. I finally selected a pale blue blouse that was a size smaller than I normally wore; and a short skirt that I knew showed my legs off along with my best pair of 'Fuck me' shoes. You can guess why.

He was waiting for me at the bar. "Emily, I presume?"

"Yes, Mr. Prince, is it?"

"No, my name is Klaus Sties. Prince is merely a convenient pen-name."

We shook hands as I appraised him. Not quite six feet tall, with a thick head of blonde hair, and the body of an Olympic swimmer, which I soon learned he was not, but he did swim 50 laps on a daily basis in his own pool. He wore an expensive blue blazer and tan slacks with highly polished burgundy loafers.

"I'm thirty-seven years of age, a U.S. citizen, born in Duluth for that matter. College educated, with degrees in English from Kansas State and Florida, respectively," he informed me.

I'm almost certain my mouth hung open and I was probably drooling at the sight of him. I know for a fact that he excited me even more on meeting him than his words had and that was saying a great deal.

He was still speaking to me, but I wasn't listening. Oh, I heard him ... God knows his voice alone had me close to cumming on the spot. But it was a combination of factors that had me riveted to him. From his yummy good looks, to that radio announcer voice that held me in a kind of hypnotic trance; but it was his eyes the dominated everything. And they never wavered from mine.

I pushed my breasts, big and not so big, out at him, straining the buttons on my blouse.

His eyes never left mine.

Suddenly I felt his voice inside me.

"So tell me, Emily, which topic interests you the most?"

"I ... I can't pinpoint any one thing," I managed to get out.

"Surely something above all others stand out in your mind."

"Well, I read everything ... and ...." I realized that he frightened me. Physically I was more than attracted to him, but there was also something ominous about him.

"Did the subject being tied up and spanked spark an interest?"

"Umm, yes, that and the clamps...." I couldn't get any more words out of my mouth.

His eyes now seemed to have a smoldering glow to them. I was very nervous and kept squirming around in my chair. It took me a moment before I realized I was extremely excited and wondered if it would show through my skirt when I stood up.

I finally found my voice again and asked, "So, umm, Mr. Sties, you have actually done these things?"

"Yes and its Klaus ... for now. If we move forward I will ask that you call me Sir, or Master at all times."

"I understand," I said, although I doubt that I did at the time.

"I have done these things and more, Emily. I also suspect that you wish me to do them to you. I suspect you have wanted this for some time, although you may not have fully realized it until now."

I realized I was rubbing my left thigh with my right hand and stopped. He was waiting for me to say something, so I blurted, "But no one else ...."

"Fuck everyone else. What do they know? You've seen those assholes all your life, how the words go right by their heads. What do they know? What do most of the people in the world know? You have a gift in that you can feel, Emily. You feel much more deeply than most others do, and it's a gift. You think there's something wrong with you, but it isn't, it's them.

"Look ... I want you to come with me, right this minute." He threw a twenty on the table and stood up, "Come on ...."

________________________________________

For some reason I followed him into a taxi, seemingly mesmerized by both his voice and intelligence. He appeared to have the capability to soothe over every one of my many concerns by telling me what I had so longed to hear a man say to me.

"You've dreamt about me for some time, haven't you?"

I think I nodded, for I certainly wasn't capable of making a coherent reply.

"I will show you what you are inside, and make you feel what you're capable of feeling, because you know there's so much inside, don't you? You know there's so much more..."

I nodded again and for the first time felt his fingertips sliding up my thigh. Did I grab his hand and stop him? No, I glanced at the driver, saw that he was concentrating on the road and allowed Klaus's hand to roam upward, almost petting me as if I were his pet cat.

Suddenly his hand was between my legs, and finding I couldn't control myself, I reached out and grabbed his penis, finding it rock hard in his trousers.

"No," he said as if scolding a school child, "There are rules, Emily, and the first one is: you don't touch me. Not without permission. I touch you, but you don't touch me, understand? Now pick up your skirt, I want to see your cunt."

"But," I started to protest, knowing the driver would see me totally exposed with one look in the rearview mirror.

"Now, Emily ... DO IT!"

With no further thought of protest, I raised my derrière off the seat of the taxi and hiked my skirt up revealing my silk panties and the smooth plane of my belly.

Klaus wasted no time in rubbing his hand over my pussy. I shuddered at the touch from both fear and pleasure but made no other response although I freely admit to being mortified at the thought of the driver witnessing what was happening.

"Feeling prudish, Emily? Your "I want" letter mentioned all the things you wanted me to do to you. Have you changed your mind?"

"No ... I want you to ... do them ... to me ... Master."

He ignored my comment and said, "You have a pronounced clit, Emily," not caring if the driver heard. "It should provide us both much amusement in teasing and tormenting it."

And when his fingertips lighted on that most sensitive part of my anatomy, I jerked back as if shocked with an electric wand.

What was I doing? Was I out of my mind? Was in a taxi with someone I hardly know, letting him touch me intimately. I couldn't believe it was happening to me ... but it was, and I couldn't bring myself to tell him to stop.

A second later it occurred to me that he might not stop if I told him too; he would continue to dominate me until he'd satisfied his every lust.

An eerie thought crept into my consciousness then. I certainly wanted him to do things to me; normally unspeakable things. I had all but given him permission to do with me as he wanted. Oh ... oh ... I may be lost!

I realized that he now had two fingers inside me, probing this way and that, and I didn't seem to mind at all, in fact I felt better than I had in ages.

"It's good to be touched, isn't it?" he said, making it a statement and not a question. "Especially by someone who knows exactly what they're doing," he continued. And at that moment I saw the driver's eyes riveted on Klaus's hand as it played with my private parts.

But Klaus noticed him too. I thought he would tell him to avert his eyes; to keep his eyes on the road, but what he said, stunned me and thrilled me at the same time. "She's getting wet and she's opening like a little flower for me."

"It's good when they're really horny," the driver said, looking over his shoulder and winking at me.