Pauline came home from the office. She was lonely, bored, frustrated. It had been weeks since she had been on a date. It wasn't that she was unattractive; in fact she was quite beautiful, with red-brown hair, green eyes and ivory skin. The problem was just the opposite. She was so lovely that most men assumed she was already "taken", and did not approach or pursue her. As so many people have done, she turned to the Internet for entertainment and distraction, and eventually found herself surveying the porn sites. Most of these were crudely done, apparently by the semi-literate.
But one site did catch her attention. It was called, simply, "House of Desire." She clicked past the disclaimers, scarcely reading them, and found that this site was unusual, due to its quality and variety. Indeed, it had an enormous array of erotica. Straight and gay, vanilla and BDSM, oral, anal—all of this and more were featured in both visual and literary formats, all presented with skill and elegance.
She found herself getting lost in the website, as minutes turned to hours. While Pauline liked to think of herself as an iconoclast and not bound by convention, she found herself drawn more and more to what is so mainstream in the porn world: oral sex. She grew increasingly hungry as she stared glassy-eyed at an endless parade of fellatrices, cocks throbbing in their painted, parted lips. Her hand found its way between her legs, and she began to pleasure herself, soft moans escaping her lips—lips she wished were wrapped around a phallus. Her orgasm, when it finally arrived, washed over her, shaking her violently. Exhausted, she headed to bed, sleeping, dreaming of sex.
She awoke thinking about the website. Indeed, it haunted her the entire day at work. Immediately, upon returning home, she returned to the computer, checking her email. One item in her inbox riveted her attention. The subject was, "House of Desire". Clearly, her computer had been identified, and probably spammed.
But this email was not spam. It contained a local street address. She considered the possibility that it indicated the location of the place where this erotica was created. The email contained one other thing: an extraordinarily explicit image of a blonde haired woman fellating two men, their ejaculate covering her face, hair, breasts. The image burned its way into her mind. She resolved to drive to this "House of Desire", to learn its secrets, and perhaps divulge some of her own.
She took the next day off from work, and the half hour drive to the address indicated in the email. The "House" was indeed a large house in a rather expensive part of town, with classic architecture and fine landscaping—as you might imagine (or hope for) in an erotic pleasure palace. She parked her blue Volvo, and walked to the front door. She rang the bell, and waited. And waited. There was no response of any kind. Disappointed and yet somehow relieved, she finally left, and returned home.
But like a gambler returning to a favorite slot machine, she could not resist re-checking her email. And indeed, there was a new message from the "House of Desire". It said: