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.
