Short Story - Erotic Writer
“Why did this have to happen to you?” I cry, dropping my head into my shaking hands, tears streaming down my face and dripping off my chin.
“How did I never know this part of your life? I was your very best friend. I never knew you were a writer, let alone wrote such erotic things!”
I just received an email informing me that I was a “legacy contact” for my best friend and roommate, Opal, who is presumed dead. The last time I spoke to her was Sunday night. She was meeting friends downtown for dinner and never came home. The police found her car on the side of the road, rear-ended, with the contents of her purse scattered everywhere. An investigation is ongoing, but there are no other clues.
This leads me to today. I am just learning that I inherited her massively successful writing pages and her secret persona. I can’t believe I am just discovering that Opal was a famous erotic writer who wrote under a pen name. Those close to the case think she is dead, and it certainly looks that way. Although I don’t want to admit that to myself yet if she were alive, she would have contacted me by now if she could.
A message appears in Opal’s writing account. A notification popped up from another page on Facebook from someone named Marcus Anderson. I open it, not really having a plan. I guess I need to break the news that she is missing.
“Are we still meeting tonight? I haven’t heard from you this week.”
Shit, what do I do? I clicked in the text box, and I knew he saw those blinking blue dots as if I was writing something. I have to answer. . . oh my god, what do I say? As I began writing something completely lame, he sent another message.
“If so, you will come with no panties, shave completely, drink plenty of water, and be ready for a night of exploratory pleasure. You must keep your mind open and learn along the way. I look forward to our long-awaited first meeting.”
I was about to relay the tragic news, but his message caught me off guard. Who is this man that is contacting you? My mind is racing. He may have helpful information. I wonder if Opal ever sent him a picture of herself. I am intrigued and thinking of making a very impulsive decision; to ride this one out and become Opal. She left this page and responsibility to me for reasons I still don’t know. Perhaps, I can pick up where Opal left off? Making a decision, albeit maybe a bad one, I answer back after searching their conversation and picture history. No pictures were sent, no descriptions, just Opal playing her coy self, making him wonder in anticipation. Part of me wants to get answers. Maybe I can figure out what happened to her.
“I’ll be there tonight, following all the rules you set forth. What shall I wear if not panties?” I question.
“A package will arrive at your residence within the hour. Just in time for you to shower, change, and be ready for my driver to pick you up at 4:00 pm. Until then . . . enjoy preparing yourself for me. Remember, this is happening at your request, my dear.”
What have I gotten myself into, I think? Posing as Opal is either the most brilliant or dumbest decision ever. You only live once, and I don’t have much going for me here anyway. Why not? Life is about taking risks.
In the meantime, I sift through Opal’s accounts. I recognize many of her writing pieces, but not as the Opal I know. They are stories I read, not realizing it was written by her using a pen name. How have I not seen this before? My best friend is a huge published erotica writer, and I had no clue. She writes about mystery, BDSM, kinks, sex, and forbidden desires that would make anyone blush. I am floored by what I am reading. Opal was beginning a new book, it seems and started researching different kinks she had not experienced before. I’m sure her research is what spawned the requests that Marcus made.
At exactly 3:00 pm, the doorbell rang, and a courier left the most exquisite red box with a black satin bow on the doorstep. I bring it inside, embarrassed that I am already turned on by thinking about meeting this stranger without panties. I opened the box, and my desires exploded.
Inside the box was a short, black silk robe. I slipped it around my body with ease, and it fit perfectly. I tied the sash around my waist, and the front just skimmed the sides of my breasts. It was short, just past my ass, and had the most brilliant bounce when I walked. It was perfection. Now to unwrap the rest.
Next, I unwrapped a string of two pleasure beads. They were metal, connected, and cool to the touch. There was a letter explaining what to do with them. It said, “You will fully insert the pleasure beads one at a time into you, holding them in with your muscles, remember no panties. During this process, do not let yourself get too turned on, only enough to be dripping with pleasure, but not enough to cum. Insert the beads at exactly 3:45 pm.
This has taken quite a turn, but I was indeed following through. The second box smelled like cinnamon. It was a bottle filled with thick lube. The letter stated, “Apply this warm essence on your nipples and rub for at least thirty seconds, pinching and massaging. You will also apply this to your clit, fully soaking yourself; activating the warming sensation. You will want to use this before inserting the beads.”
The third package was a black lace corset. It was exquisite and delicate. The lacing up the back is perfection. I am aroused by Marcus’s taste, knowing now what Opal saw in him. There are black garters attached and also thigh highs to wear. Of course, no panties were included.
There is one more package and several bottles of water. I am already experiencing high levels of wetness forming between my legs in anticipation. I don’t know how I am going to last thinking about tonight, let alone applying all these things onto and into my body.
The very last package is the most interesting of them all. There are three items. Two leather cuffs for my wrists and a black leather collar that seems to be for my neck with a silver ring attached to it.
“Oh, my god - Opal, what were you involved in? But looking back through your conversations with Marcus, you trusted this man. He seemed to be your teacher, your mentor in the writing world. You needed this night to experience more aspects of this lifestyle to finish your next novel. I won’t let you down,” talking to Opal but to myself. It is comforting, but I am devastated she is not here. “You have six more months to finish and submit your next manuscript to the publisher. No one seems to know your identity or that you are missing.” I can’t get myself to say dead. “I will finish your book and save your legacy if I get through the night. Maybe I can learn more about you and who you were through Marcus.”
By this time, it is 3:30 pm. The final decision is made. I am following through with this. I am Opal, and hopefully, I will discover what happened to my missing (dead) friend. I shower quickly, shaving every part of my body completely, paying attention to my waiting lips below. I am thankful I usually get waxed; I am already pretty smooth and ready. After finishing in the shower, I open the lube that was sent and squeeze some onto my fingers. I spread it on my already-hardened nipples, instantly creating a welcomed warming sensation. The arousal I immediately felt made my whole body tingle with pleasure. I put more on my fingers and gently rubbed it on my clit as instructed. I started stroking myself using a back-and-forth motion, then started circling my clit, focusing on where it felt the best. I had never used this before and realized how much I had missed out on.
I am wet and dripping and need to stop before I climax with the touch of my hand. I put the lotion in my bag for later and chug one of the water bottles, pacing myself. Again, this request is certainly interesting. I think the demand of not using the bathroom will be challenging, but I will certainly do my best. I hope Marcus allows me to go before . . . playtime.
I slide into the corset, cinch the back laces as tight as possible, and tie the back. If only Opal were here to help, this would be much easier. But if she were here, it would be me helping her out. I look at myself in the mirror, admiring how plump my tits look, and it looks incredible - I look incredible. My waist is cinched and looks tiny; I guess this is how the term “hourglass” figure originated. I carefully pull on the black thigh highs, attach them to the garters, and slip on a pair of heels that Marcus also had delivered. They are black Christian Louboutin’s with the iconic red bottom. He has spared no expense. I am obsessed and feel sexy as hell. I finish the look with the leather cuffs around my wrist and fasten the black collar around my neck. It is tight but comfortable. I wonder if this will be just for show or if he will actually put the ring to use.
Last but not least, the beads. It is precisely 3:45 pm, and I need to insert the metal pleasure beads inside myself below. I am anxious, but the cinnamon-warming lube has kept me wet and ready. I am insatiably aroused and very slick with my essence seeping out, waiting to be lapped up, hopefully. I mean, I love sex, but I LOVE the feeling of a tongue licking my pussy. I need to push that thought out of my mind because I need to insert the beads into me. The first bead slips right in below without issue, then the second, leaving the rope they are attached to hanging out. They are in, and I feel the coolness from the metal and the pressure inside me.
Never experienced this sensation before, and I was shocked by how much I enjoyed this. I am on the brink of coming completely undone when they begin to vibrate slightly. I must keep my composure and breathe. The beads are stirring up feelings I never experienced before tonight. Finally, they stopped, and I am now working on settling my desires.
I chug the second bottle of water and feel my bladder expanding. I still have two bottles to go before 4:00 pm. I slip on the black silk robe and guzzle down another. I have five minutes left before Marcus’s driver is here to pick me up.
Four o’clock rolls around, and a black Tesla pulls up outside as I drink the last water bottle before I open the door. I put on a coat to cover myself a little, feeling rather exposed. The driver must know. I wonder how often he picks women up, but I’m too self-conscious to ask him.
“Are you Opal?” he asks, looking me right in the eyes.
I nod and grab my bag, getting into the car. He turns to me after I sit in the back and offers me a shot of Tequila. I take it to calm my nerves; what’s a little more liquid anyway, I think. The rest of the ride is quiet. I knew we were meeting at Marcus’s place but wasn’t sure exactly where it was located. However, I left a note in my house that I was meeting Marcus and where just in case, I went missing.
We pull up to Marcus’s house. I feel the beads shift as I move out of the car, distracting me from anticipation. I exit the vehicle, and Marcus looks like a god. He is standing at the door in a black suit. He has a white button-down shirt on with a red tie. He looks exquisite and domineering as hell. He is certainly not the type Opal typically goes for. He would have been welcomed compared to the normal guys she brings home.
“Come in. Take off your coat,” he kindly demanded. His eyes communicated annoyance because the coat-wearing deviated from his plan and directions. He takes my hand and guides me to the center of the room. “Now, remove the robe,” Marcus demands. “I want to study your body before we begin, and it will be easier to secure you.”
I look up, and a rope through a circular ring is attached to the ceiling. He takes the dangling end and clamps it to the ring that is on the collar I am wearing. He tugs at the other end of the rope and instructs me to stand tall and face him.
Marcus walks across the room and sits confidently in a chair, just staring at me standing there. He gives the rope some slack and asks me to turn and bend over for a better view. He inspected me to ensure I followed all his directions, getting up only to hand me yet another bottle of water.
“I don’t know if I can drink anymore,” I anxiously state, silently pleading with him.
“Opal, you will keep drinking and continue to hold it. You agree to this and must follow directions without question.”
I drink the water as he walks up to me, stroking my arm.
“Open your legs wider. How are the beads feeling, by the way?” he asks as he begins caressing my clit, sending tingling sensations through my body. He feels my wetness and how turned on I am as he touches his phone with his other hand; the beads vibrate again. I am struggling to remain upright, squirming, and losing a bit of control.
“Someone has been a good girl,” he says as the balls stop, tracing my lips below, smearing my essence everywhere. He tugs at the pleasure beads, and I feel them move, further arousing me. It’s getting hard to ignore my full bladder.
“Marcus, may I use the restroom?” I ask, beginning to squirm, still feeling his fingers circling my clit.
“Not yet, Opal. This was part of the agreement. Please stay still,” he answered.
Marcus inserts his fingers into my slit, moving the beads around, finding my sweet spot. He removes them with a swift, gentle pull. I am saturated and dripping as Marcus bends down before me, and his tongue dances across my skin, up my thigh. He begins licking between my thighs, tasting me. He grabs my hips and slowly circles and nurses my clit looking into my eyes sternly, demanding I do not climax. He knows I am close by how my body is reacting as he stops leaving me wanting more, leaving me insatiable for his tongue for a moment more.
As he stands up, wiping his mouth, he says, “You need more water; this seems too easy for you,” handing me another bottle; watching me drink it completely dry.
I am on the edge of releasing myself in multiple ways. If I orgasm, everything will pour out, so I am doing my best to hold off. I don’t know how long I can last, which will be extremely humiliating.
“Are you ready? I am going to continue and push you even a little further.” Marcus whispers in my ear.
“Yes, please continue,” I managed to whisper.
He inserts his fingers deep into my body, pressing his other hand on my abdomen. I let out the most animalistic moan. His knowledge of female anatomy tests my ability to hold in urination. He begins stretching and moving my lips aside with his fingers as he pulls on the rope, forcing me to arch my back. The point of no return is here. I can’t hold off any longer, and he knows it as he pulls his fingers out abruptly.
The waves of pleasure are about to take over my body as he circles my clit, thrusting a vibrator into my wetness as I explode. My thighs are shaking, and the walls of my body are throbbing. I can barely support my weight with my legs as I am lost in an ultimate release when suddenly, a warm sensation pours down my legs. My eyes widen, and I look at Marcus, embarrassed, not knowing what to do, realizing not only was cum squirting, but I wet myself. Standing there as urine ran down my legs, soaking everything under us, I didn't know what to do.
“I see you couldn’t hold it any longer. Making you uncomfortable as I induce pleasure in your body is exhilarating. You have been a very naughty girl, though, and may need a spanking. I can’t wait for round two to show you how to be a good girl,” Marcus’s smirk tells it all. He is thoroughly enjoying the mess I made and getting off, humiliating me a bit. “We must clean up to continue. I will get towels and show you to the bathroom.”
As he finishes speaking, the door suddenly flies open. It’s Opal! She is entirely disheveled and sobbing, running to Marcus.
“It’s me, Opal. Why do you look surprised, and who is this?” Anger flashes over her face as her eyes dart in my direction and back to Marcus, finally recognizing who I am.
Marcus looks at me, his eyes searing through my soul and then back to Opal. “What the fuck?” he uttered, looking directly at me, seething angrily.
©Tegan Matthews, 2023
. . . . To be continued 🖤