It all began innocently enough. He would write to her, fan mail. His letters full of praise for her every thought, every word, nearly for her every breath. It wasn't hard for her to eat up the praise and flirt a little with him when she replied to his fan mail. It all began innocently enough, answering his question, "Are your fantasies the subject of your erotica?"
She had thought long and hard thinking about the stories she had written, stories about gang bangs, stories about lesbian sex, stories about group sex, stories about anal sex. She had just recently written a story about non reluctance or forced sex.
She sat at her desk and ran her fingers through her short red hair; she stared at the screen, her blue eyes transfixed to the blank space before her. Slowly she began to type the reply,
"Dear Eric,
A great deal of my erotica has been based on my fantasies. I guess I fantasize through the characters in my stories. Sometimes a real experience will find its way into my writing too, but I always let the reader try to determine which ones those are. The thrill of what might have been and what is to come I suppose. I've never been gang banged, nor have I ever been forced to perform some of the things I write about, but to write about them I would have to confess that yes, they are things I fantasize about.
Wishing you whipped cream dreams,
Scarlett"
The fan mail kept coming and she slowly began to realize that the person writing the fan mail was more than a fan; he was someone who knew her well. The thought of having a secret admirer made her blush a little bit, she was a little embarrassed by all the attention.
A few weeks later there was a knock at her door. Glancing at the clock and getting up from the computer she muttered to herself, "who can this be at this hour?" She got to the door and looked out the keyhole only to find her boyfriend standing there with a strange look on his face.
"Hey there," she called through the door, "I thought you were goin out tonight?"
"Scarlett," he said quietly from the other side.
She felt a weakness in her knees. The only people that knew her by that name were people who read her sex journal and the people who read her erotica. She leaned against the door and softly asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm your fan Eric, open the door Scarlett." His voice had taken on a commanding quality and the effect was fully realized when she unlatched the door.
He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him swiftly. In one single movement he had her pinned against the wall. Looking down at her curvaceous body dressed only in skimpy panties and a t-shirt, he whispered in her ear,
"You dress the way the girls in your stories do. Pretty little panties and a t-shirt. Does that mean you want to be fucked the way the girls in your stories are?"
She could feel his breath hot on her neck and his hands roaming along the perimeter of her body. Around the curve of her breasts, and tapering in to her waist, back down along her rounded hips, he stopped only to grab her hips and lean against her.
"Your heavy breathing answers my question; you do want to be fucked like the helpless girls you write about. You want to be made to do dirty girl things to fuck up your good girl reputation. You want to be daddy's dirty little slut but you just can't let yourself go. Isn't that your problem Scarlett?" He ground his hard cock into her crotch, leaving the stain of her wet pussy on the front of his trousers. She couldn't help herself, he was pinching and teasing her nipples through her t-shirt, all valid reasoning left her mind. Her body was on automatic pilot as her nipples hardened under his fingers.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Oh you know the story better than that love," he said as he found her wet pussy through her panties with his index finger, "you know that you have to tell me you want to be my little slut and you will call me Daddy, or would you prefer I tie you up and make you call me Sir?"
"Daddy" she moaned as he slid her panties aside and thrust two fingers inside her dripping cunt. She slid down the wall impaling herself on his fingers.
"That's a good girl," he said pulling his fingers out of her pussy and bringing them to her lips.
"Taste them. Lick your pussy off my fingers because little sluts like you love to taste their own pussies."
She felt his fingers press against her lips and she encircled them with her tongue. She grabbed his hand and held it still so she could lick the gooey candy from underneath his fingernails.
He stood her up and gently nudged her; she led him to the bedroom, acutely aware of his body pressed against her back. The coarseness of his khakis didn't stop the feeling of his hard cock poking her at the cleft of her ass when she took each step.
Once in the bedroom he forced her to the bed and pushed her shoulders down until she was sitting on its edge. Standing there looking down at her he began to undress and talk to her in a quiet low voice.
"You are going to do everything daddy tells you to do tonight. Because if you don't," he flashed his belt before her eyes, "then daddy would have to punish you. Do you understand that Scarlett?"
She looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with lust, excitement, fear and longing. She was acutely aware of how her pussy throbbed against the mattress she balanced on, and how her nipples rubbed against the soft of her t-shirt as she took each breath. Did she have the resolve to fulfill her every dark desire?
