by Cyan
Copyright 2003 by Cyan
All Rights Reserved; No Redistribution.
It had to be Erica. She stood on my front stoop, in a sharp, conservative business suit, tall and blonde. She was flanked by two women, each in jeans and holding bags, both shorter, darker, and perhaps a bit younger. "Good," said the woman, Erica. "You met me at the door. I like that." And with that, she walked in, leaving me to back out of her way. I felt a twinge of annoyance at such gall but quickly suppressed it. This was definitely the wrong time for such things. I turned to find the three of them in my living room. Erica was looking around as if sizing up the place. "This is Anna, my photographer, and Cecily, my makeup artist," she said, not bothering to look at me. The two women looked sheepish. I wondered which was which, but I identified what looked to be a camera bag in the grasp of one of the two.
Erica turned back to me. "I trust you haven't had second thoughts," she said, a question in her voice. She paused only very briefly, not even giving me much chance to speak up, then continued, saying "You understand the premise of the book. Every book needs an angle, something to give us a way to promote it."
"Sure," I said quickly before she spoke again, figuring otherwise I'd never get a word in.
She looked at me sharply, almost as if she had expected me to remain quiet. "And as you well know, in this case, the gimmick is you. You and the other authors."
"Yes," I said, my voice a bit weaker. I realized I'd been managing to stand by my decision through avoidance of the subject, and hearing Erica's talk was bringing my doubts back into the fore.
"You're nervous," she said.
"Yes," I said, hearing a quiver in my own voice.
She smiled. "Then we'd best not make you suffer waiting. Strip."
Right here, in my living room, the thought struck me. Somehow that was unexpected, and it seemed all wrong. Of course I couldn't tell you how else this ought to have happened. Should it have been in my bedroom? Erica's expression changed, suggesting she wondered why I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing. I put my hands on the waist of my skirt, my thumbs inside. It was elastic and I could slip it off easily, but rather than doing so, I froze. "Good God," said Erica. "It's certainly all fantasy to you, isn't it?"
"I guess so," I said.
"Never been in a real scene," she mused. "But it was a good story. You apparently have a good imagination. Cecily, strip her."
"Oh," I said involuntarily. Cecily quickly approached me and wasted no time starting to undo my blouse. It was happening: I was being undressed for Erica.
I shook so much I couldn't help her. Erica merely stood there, watching. Anna stood next to her, looking a little nervous, then opening her case as if she were looking for something to do other than simply watch me. As Cecily proceeded, I thought again about the call. Erotic stories from a submissive point of view, two to four thousand words. And just to give it some extra interest, a special requirement of the author. Hence Cecily taking off my bra and pulling down my skirt. In another minute, she was undoing my shoes, then having me lift my feet, one by one.
And then I stood there, wearing nothing. Cecily immediately began combing my hair. "Not too bad," said Erica. "Your readers will truly appreciate this." Naked, in front of these three women. Cecily started patting my hair, then looked closely at my face. I was about to be photographed, naked.
You can't imagine how far that was from my experience. Yes, I'd written stories, I have thoughts, thoughts I don't share or at least not so they could be pinned on me. Not a soul knew. A pen name was an absolute necessity to me. The only ones who knew my identity were in the publishing business, and the part of it that knows it must respect such things. And now I was to be photographed.
Cecily touched up some spots on my face. The house was rather cool for my state of dress. Erica had told me not to worry, that the photographs could be done in such manner that I wouldn't be identifiable. In particular, the blindfold would obscure my face. And a blindfold was part of the deal. Cecily looked me over a bit more, then took a pair of handcuffs out of her bag. Taking my wrists, she bound them behind me while Anna was setting up a tripod and lighting. Cecily produced a blindfold. "You'd better kneel first," she said, nodding at the floor. My hands behind me, I awkwardly got down, then she put the thing over my eyes.
"Good," said Erica. "We'll start with the kiss."
"Lean forward, I'll help you," came Cecily's voice, next to me. She steadied me, her hand on my body. "Down a little more and you'll feel it."
Erica's foot. My lips were on it, her shoes allowing my lips to touch her skin. "Moisten your lips just slightly, not too wet, then put them softly on her foot," said Cecily. My rear stuck up in the air and I inwardly cringed at the way I looked. "Good," she said.
"How's her hair?" said Erica. Then Anna spouted directions to Cecily to move it this way and that. All the time my lips touched Erica's skin.
"You holding up?" asked Cecily. I wondered whether to withdraw enough to answer, but didn't have the nerve. "Good girl," she said and patted my rear once, then I heard her move away.
"A few more," said Erica. I realized that Anna must be snapping away. I was being photographed naked. Not only naked, but kissing a woman's foot, a woman I'd hardly met.
"Good, now the caning," said Erica.
My heart skipped a beat. How did I agree to this? I asked myself. It was insane, so insane. A caning. Well, a posed caning.
And I'd written so many canings. I'd imagined them. But somehow that was as close as I ever expected to be to one, as close as I wanted to be. Canings were for thoughts and stories. Cecily had helped me up and led me, blindfolded and bound through my own house. I soon realized I was at my dining room table. The whole idea that this took place in my own house made it seem all the worse. "Lean over," said Cecily. Somehow her voice was sympathetic.
I obeyed with her help and found myself lying against the cold wood. "Pull your hands up as far as you can; it's safer," she said. Safer? It wasn't a real caning, it was just a photographed scene.
"Push her hair to the other side," said Erica, and I felt Cecily do so.
"It'll hurt a bit," said Cecily softly before she backed away.
"W.. What?" I said.
"The caning," said Erica. "They hurt," she added, a bit of sarcasm in her voice.
"Hey!" I said and tried to move away. A caning!
Hands were on me. "Relax," came Cecily's voice, she was holding me. "You can do it."
"It's just a photograph!" I said.
"Oh it has to be real," said Erica. "It photographs better, and in my editor's note I'll be attesting that it was no photo fantasy."
A lump was in my throat. Had she explained this before? I was certain I would have remembered. "It won't last long," said Cecily, encouragingly. "Just relax," she said, gently guiding me back onto the table.
I caught myself holding my breath, then made a slight whimper when I tried to start breathing again. "Oh my, you are something," said Erica. "You do still want to be in the book, right?"
I hesitated, but then a "yes" came out of my mouth.
After another moment, she said: "You know, deep down you want this, book or no book." That wasn't true. I was sure of it. Sure I wrote such things, but I'd long become comfortable with the difference between fantasy and reality.
But I said nothing. The house was totally silent, for a moment that seemed to go to eternity. Then came the woosh.
And the pain, the pain of that devilish thing. Immediately I couldn't imagine how I'd accepted such a thing. I didn't scream, at least not loud, but from what I remember of the sounds I made I'm sure they all knew I was frightened out of my wits. Another one came, and with the third I sensed the rhythm. But a fourth one didn't come and I found myself go almost rigid with fear as to whether there would be another and when. And it came. "Two more," said Erica.
I was being caned. I was letting a woman, a veritable stranger cane me in my own house, lying on my own dining room table. Another came. Then another, and I knew it was done. "OK, the kneeling one," said Erica. Cecily, whose touch I was sure I recognized, helped me up and back to the living room. "Here," she said, gently pressing me toward kneeling. She fixed my hair again once I was on my knees.
"Is she aroused?" asked Erica.
Such a question! Cecily's fingers went to a nipple, then slid down toward my sex. And as she did so I realized the answer was yes since I almost fainted at her touch. "Definitely," she said, her fingers on me there, briefly.
Erica almost laughed, then said "Good."
They said nothing and I heard Anna moving around, snapping pictures. "OK, now the last one," said Erica finally.
The last one. Yes, I knew the four poses they intended to use, each author put through the same paces. Blindfolded though I was, I sensed Erica sit on my couch. "This way," said Cecily, drawing me toward Erica.
How could I agree to this? The thought ran through my mind over and over. I felt Erica's leg, then Cecily pushed my head down, between Erica's knees. Under her skirt.
I wondered: how simulated would this be? But Erica had said, she was going to attest to it all happening just as photographed. Her skirt covered my head. My lips reached her. "OK my sweet," she said, saying it as a go- ahead. She wanted me to--do it.
My lips kissed, moved slightly. I felt her hand through her skirt, on the back of my head, moving me down, slightly lower. "Your tongue," she said. I obeyed. "Ah, yes, that's it," she said. "Keep it up until I tell you to stop."
I licked. Licked and kissed, but instinctively knew I must get back to licking immediately. And the way she moved whenever I kissed suggested she was about to see that I resumed. "Good," she said once during the silence. But I noticed she sounded distracted. Then her hand on my head applied slightly more pressure.
All that was happening was my licking. I assumed Cecily was still there and Anna certainly had had enough time to get the photos they'd need, but they made no sound. In fact there was no sound until Erica's breathing began to pick up.
Erica was excited. I felt I was no longer the only one to embarrass myself in front of them all. Knowing I was making progress toward my goal-- Erica's goal--seemed to encourage me and I tried harder. "Yes," she said, barely above a whisper, her voice breathy. Her breathing became more pronounced and I felt her body start moving, as if slightly writhing. You're going to come and you can't stop it, the thought went through my mind, feeling almost a dominance over her. She belonged to me at that moment, was my slave instead of I hers. I heard her come closer and closer and though once more the thought struck me that I was engaging in actual sex with a woman, mostly I found myself swept up in her reactions, as if living vicariously through her experience. I certainly didn't orgasm but somehow it felt like I did, I remember her orgasm as if it were my own.
And as she finally came down, I relaxed, kissing instead of licking. She suddenly stiffened, pressing my head again. "Lick, but more slowly," she said, once again showing control of her voice. I obeyed immediately. After a couple of minutes, she said "OK, get up."
I was pulled out. Cecily took off my blindfold and undid my wrist. "Anna has the release," she said. Confused for a second, I realized Anna had a piece of paper and a pen.
It was the final act of the little play, this scene. Cecily led me to the table where Anna had laid it out. "Standard stuff," said Anna, "and I didn't take a single shot other than when you were blindfolded."
I stood naked next to her, looking at the fine print, as usual knowing I really needed to read it. And the thought occurred to me that I could refuse to sign. I glanced at Erica. She still sat on the sofa, but looked another way as if she were in thought. At the far wall of the room. Was she thinking about the orgasm she'd just had? Or maybe something else entirely, perhaps about her plans for the rest of the day. Anna had put the pen in my hand. I momentarily felt I was being badgered into this. But my next thought was the scene that would take place if I refused, and the one thing I could be sure of was that my story wouldn't appear. Cecily's arm went casually around me as if assuring me everything was fine.
I signed. Signed away rights to publish pictures of me naked, of me being caned, of me servicing that woman. As I stood, having signed it, Cecily's hand briefly brushed over my back and rear as if by accident. I felt the pull to check her face to see what she was thinking, yet the opposite pull to avoid calling attention to anything that was happening. "Good," said Anna.
"Well, we must be off," said Erica in the business-like manner she'd had when she'd appeared at my door. She stood, straightening out her skirt. Anna was packed and Cecily was closing her bag and soon I was following them to the door, still naked. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you," said Erica. Cecily squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek and I admired the way she could be so touchy without calling attention to it. Sometimes I wish I was a toucher. Anna stood next to Erica and something about the way she stood so close, watching us seemed to set off an alarm in the back of my mind. They had the door open and I was aware that I was naked and had best not stand where I'd be too easily seen. Cecily withdrew and when she resumed her place with Erica, Erica lightly touched her hair. In a possessive way.
They shut the door. I stood there for no more than half a second before darting to the edge of a window where I could watch them go. Anna drove, I remember that. Erica next to her and Cecily in the back. Anna and Erica exchanged a few words before starting to back the car out.
I don't take many copies, just one actually. There's no one I'd give the book to, no one who knows what I'm up to. Yes, I'd been published before, but it's certainly Erica's book that I keep close by. I find myself studying all the authors, their pictures. Reading Erica's testament that the pictures are real. And the stories, all different, yet each with that little submissive tinge. And I don't want to sound vain, but I look at the pictures of me, of the single scene in my life that was real, not fantasy, not words, not a dream. Of course I still have the fantasies. It's just that now I have three new characters in them.
Cyan Stories
Erotic fiction, sex stories, for erotica lovers.