The XXX Bathroom Reader Ch. 03

I Am Number Eight

God knows why I started reading porn. Well I mean his particular porn. But I did, and I kept reading it. I read everything he had written then tried other authors but they didn't touch me the way he did. I reread everything I could find by him and felt an exhilaration I'd never known before.

Could a writer really do this to me? The answer of course was yes, there were many examples of this as the wonderful quote: "The pen is mightier than the sword" exemplifies.

But pornography?

Here I was almost twenty-seven with a decent enough job as Administrative Assistant to the Director at a renowned medical facility in Manhattan. I was very good at my job and both my superiors and peers knew it.

Physically speaking, I'm tall, with what I think is a nice body except for the fact that my left breast is almost a cup size larger than my right. And while the few men I've let touch them hardly seemed to notice, I remain very self-conscious about it. On the other hand, I fill out the standard black cocktail dress as well as the next girl, as long as she's not Brooklyn Decker, or one of her peers.

I will admit that prior to discovering Edgar Prince's erotica I had begun drinking a little too much while bar hopping of a weekend, which I attribute to what I'll call my missing something but not knowing exactly what it was period.

Did I mention that I'm almost twenty-seven? I will be in two short months. I'm not married. I've never been married. Twice engaged, but never made it to the altar. This seems to be the key to my despondency, or whatever it is that's bugging me.

Yeah, what's bugging me - for instance, every guy I see I view as a potential life partner. That's crazy, or it should be. I meet someone decent at least once a week and go through what's now become a litany of reasons why he's special and follow that with another list of why he's not for me.

Friends, especially married friends, are always fixing me up with Mr. Right. Only he never is. I went through a slutty period a while back where I slept with every guy I dated, or tried too. Some wouldn't have me. Can you believe it? Maybe I was too forward when I began reaching out to feel them up after the first kiss.

Let me illustrate by giving an example of a typical date, or more accurately an encounter with a guy. I had sex with Kevin. Why? Because I'm stupid when it comes to male - female relationships.

We were working together on a tricky assignment involving bringing in a world class heart specialist from Huntsville, Alabama. The trick was to persuade him to leave his cozy spot in Alabama and move to Manhattan. Obviously the cost of his new residence would be through the roof; but we were telling ourselves that we were selling the opportunity to work in some of the most difficult of heart cases on what amounted to a daily basis. What more challenge could a surgeon want?

Well I can think of several, but there we were going over the various pros and cons of enticing him to our facility when I felt my horny button go off.

Suddenly I felt naked when he glanced at me. I managed to keep my distance and avoid anything close to a sexual remark. But to my surprise I accepted his offer of stopping off for a drink after we'd finished for the night.

The thing was we didn't pop into a lounge, oh, no. We popped into a liquor store, bought two bottles of wine and headed to his apartment, which happened to be three doors away from the store.

He was a gentleman, pouring me some wine while we talked about other ways of bringing the surgeon on board. But with the opening of the second bottle of wine he began telling me about his divorce and in the same breath how good looking I was.

And just as I began to like the guy a little, he suddenly kissed me. Yeah, I was tired and horny and so I let him. I didn't really respond but I wasn't exactly uncooperative either. And when he lay on top of me on the couch I sighed and figured, fuck it.

I wish I could say I was drunk, but I wasn't. As he unclothed me I helped a little, said it was "alright" when he accidently pinched me trying to unzip my pants, and even ran my hands up and down his back as our bodies became pressed together.

Old Kevin was sort of clumsy and awkward, and it was weird having this old guy on me like this. When he took It out I even put the condom on for him.

I may have been horny, or thought I was, but I wasn't slick enough to really say I was turned on, but I wasn't dry. I was prepared ... but I wish I wasn't. I mean, I wish that I hadn't given up so quickly. I mean it wasn't enjoyable, you know? I just lay there on the couch, and wondered why I was so fucked up that I let myself get into this situation at all.

It lasted about ten minutes, maybe, before he just stopped, breathed out long, and rolled off of me. I didn't waste a second: I immediately put my bra back on and got dressed. We didn't say a word to each other: he got up and left, presumably to throw out the condom. After that he found me out in front of the store smoking a cigarette.

He offered to give me a ride home but I declined. When I did get home I showered (even though it was so late, I just had to) then went online for a little while, then went to bed. And that was that.

For the next couple weeks I didn't even see him: my training in full swing now, I was spending most of my time with my regional manager. When I did see Kevin again, though, he acted like nothing had happened. And so did I. Suffice to say I was relieved to be out of that relationship, such as it was.

About two weeks later I went on a date with this guy, "Thomas", and started crying halfway through the dinner we were having. I was so loopy... I freaked him out. But that's okay, because I didn't really want to go out with him anyway... I just wanted to go out with a guy again, you know? Maybe make myself feel better for acting the slut with Kevin. Didn't work out that way... I ended up telling him he was "a great listener" and he got the hint. We haven't spoken since.

I told my friend Laura about the thing with Kevin, and she thought it was both funny and sad (her exact words!). She thinks I need to tell my therapist about all this (I've been refusing to talk to her about work, you see... more like avoiding).

I just re-read all that. Do I sound depressed? I'm not, though. I mean, I was during that week or two during the whole Kevin thing. Maybe writing about it stirred up those emotions again. But see, I realize now that the Kevin thing won't happen again. And I won't let myself act like that anymore. To prove my point, last week Kevin made one of his typically sexist comments to me and I shot him a look and said, "Do you really want to start that with me?" He just shut up after that.

Oh listen to me rambling on and on. I guess I really am kind of fucked up sexually.

Okay, the truth is I've actually slept with fourteen different guys; most more than once. I thought I knew everything about everything. I thought I'd tried everything except anal; and I knew what that would be like from Sheila Downs, who told me all about her little anal adventure, thank you very much.

Yet after reading Edgar Prince's material I realized how little I knew about virtually anything, especially about the kinkier sides of sex. His stories opened doors I hadn't known existed. Did people actually do the things he was describing in such vivid detail?

I researched subjects within the S&M genre, and found myself filled with a yearning thirst to try it for myself. And so, I wrote Edgar Prince and told him that I loved his work, and was fascinated by the subject asked if he would consider being rough with me.

My letter read: I want you to do me hard. I don't care if you to throw me to the ground and rip my clothes off. I want you to grab my head and push your fingers into my scalp. I want you to stick your cock in my face. I want you to set the vicious tempo that you want.

I want you to fuck my mouth like you own it. I want you to make my lips swell at the collision when you bottom out. I want you to twist your fingers in my hair and yank. Use the reins to control my movements. I want my nose smashed up against your pubis and your balls pressed up against my chin.

I want thick cords of saliva dangling from your shaft as I struggle to keep up with how fast and how rough you are. I want you to compel my face to your balls and ass and have me lick and suck both.

I want you to pull me over your lap and spank me. Leaving your handprints on my buttocks and turn my ass and thighs red and purple. Be brutal. I can take it. I want you to spank my clit. I want you to wrench my pussy lips and my nipples. I want you to slap my breasts. Make them hurt. Make me remember you.

Fuck me in all positions. Don't be gentle.

I want you to drive into me from above so that I feel your weight on top, crushing me. I want you to wrap your hand about my throat and choke me. I want you to spit in my face. I want you to cuff my cheeks hard — left side and right side — with stiff and unyielding fingers and also the back of your hand.

I want you to clutch my breasts and maul them while you thrust into me from below. I want you to see how my pussy stretches to accommodate your thick cock. I want you to feel the wetness skating down the sides of your shaft and coating your balls? I want you to lift me by the hips and launch yourself at me. I want you to let me squeeze your cock with the muscles of my cunt. I want you to pinch my clitoris.

I want you to take me from behind. Pull my hair as hard as you can. Tug it by the roots. Set your teeth into my neck. Leave bite marks over my back and shoulders. I want you to grab my bouncing tits and haul me backward. Use your strength to impale my pussy onto your prick. Slam your cock into me. I want to hear your balls smacking against my ass.

I want you to rub my clit diligently and aggressively. I want you to sodomize me. I want you to stick your fingers in my cunt and feel yourself moving inside my anus. I want you to split me in half with your long, thick penis.

I want to be small and submissive under you.

I want you to come in my mouth and cum on my body. Come in my cunt and my anus. I want you to use me. Be strict with me. Call me the vilest names. I want you to leave bruises behind.

I want a man with phenomenal stamina; a dominant lover who knows how to take charge of an uninhibited, dirty slut like me. You should be muscular and fit. Intelligence is a definite plus.

Admittedly, I went overboard, but then I really didn't expect him to reply, but two days later I received a reply.

Dear Emily: I receive hundreds of comments about my work. Yours however, stands out in that you appear to have a genuine interest in learning about the machinations involved between Dom and Sub. In answer to your principal question, I can easily be as rough with you as you can tolerate, for I not only write about S&M but practice it as well.

If you reside in Manhattan as you say, then it is possible that we can meet and at the least, have a rudimentary discussion about the subject. I reside in New Jersey, only twenty minutes, on a good day, from midtown.

Please let me know if you'd care to meet me personally, and we can meet in a local restaurant of your choosing and see where that takes us. My Email address follows.

Cordially yours, Edgar Prince.

On reading his reply, I found myself so excited that I hurried to my bedroom, took out my vibrator and gave myself a mighty orgasm. Then I reread his message and carefully worded a reply. In it I agreed to meet him, suggesting we meet at a well known restaurant that usually had a good sized crowd.

I believed in old adage of safety in numbers; not knowing how little the size of the crowd meant with respect to making one less vulnerable to certain types of assailants should they be determined to do you harm. This last had no bearing whatsoever on Mr. Prince's actions, then or now.

I should mention that immediately after emailing my reply I toyed with the idea of running out and having my clit pierced for him. However a quick researching of the act convinced me that I had better wait before doing something that rash as I would need some time to heal before practicing sex with anyone. Of course I had already made up my mind that I was going to let my Prince have his way with me at least for one night at any rate, and possibly much more.

I received a reply from him an hour later. He agreed to meet me at the restaurant and suggested a day and time. I quickly agreed and sent it off.

The next several hours were spent trying on different clothing to wear for the occasion. I would, of course, not actually choose my ensemble until minutes before leaving for the restaurant. I finally selected a pale blue blouse that was a size smaller than I normally wore; and a short skirt that I knew showed my legs off along with my best pair of 'Fuck me' shoes. You can guess why.

He was waiting for me at the bar. "Emily, I presume?"

"Yes, Mr. Prince, is it?"

"No, my name is Klaus Sties. Prince is merely a convenient pen-name."

We shook hands as I appraised him. Not quite six feet tall, with a thick head of blonde hair, and the body of an Olympic swimmer, which I soon learned he was not, but he did swim 50 laps on a daily basis in his own pool. He wore an expensive blue blazer and tan slacks with highly polished burgundy loafers.

"I'm thirty-seven years of age, a U.S. citizen, born in Duluth for that matter. College educated, with degrees in English from Kansas State and Florida, respectively," he informed me.

I'm almost certain my mouth hung open and I was probably drooling at the sight of him. I know for a fact that he excited me even more on meeting him than his words had and that was saying a great deal.

He was still speaking to me, but I wasn't listening. Oh, I heard him ... God knows his voice alone had me close to cumming on the spot. But it was a combination of factors that had me riveted to him. From his yummy good looks, to that radio announcer voice that held me in a kind of hypnotic trance; but it was his eyes the dominated everything. And they never wavered from mine.

I pushed my breasts, big and not so big, out at him, straining the buttons on my blouse.

His eyes never left mine.

Suddenly I felt his voice inside me.

"So tell me, Emily, which topic interests you the most?"

"I ... I can't pinpoint any one thing," I managed to get out.

"Surely something above all others stand out in your mind."

"Well, I read everything ... and ..." I realized that he frightened me. Physically I was more than attracted to him, but there was also something ominous about him.

"Did the subject being tied up and spanked spark an interest?"

"Umm, yes, that and the clamps..." I couldn't get any more words out of my mouth.

His eyes now seemed to have a smoldering glow to them. I was very nervous and kept squirming around in my chair. It took me a moment before I realized I was extremely excited and wondered if it would show through my skirt when I stood up.

I finally found my voice again and asked, "So, umm, Mr. Sties, you have actually done these things?"

"Yes and its Klaus ... for now. If we move forward I will ask that you call me Sir, or Master at all times."

"I understand," I said, although I doubt that I did at the time.

"I have done these things and more, Emily. I also suspect that you wish me to do them to you. I suspect you've dreamt about a man who would show you what you are inside, who would make you feel what you're capable of feeling, because you know there's so much inside, don't you? You know there's so much more."

As his words penetrated my brain, his fingertips slid up my thigh, slowly working their way to my crotch ..., stroking my left leg, and then the other; petting me as if I were a frightened animal.

Then I realized I was now rubbing my left thigh with my right hand, mimicking his movements and stopped.

"Let's get to the point, Emily, lift up that skirt."

Dumbly I nodded assent and with the knowledge that someone at another table might witness my actions, slowly raised my skirt. Klaus's hand went directly to the gusset of my panties and stroked the entrance to my pussy.

I shuddered at his touch.

"It's good to be touched, isn't it?" he whispered. "It feels good to have someone else touch you, someone who knows what he's doing. You like me touching you, don't you?"

"Yes," I replied, my entire body was numb, except for my cunt. It seemed that every one of my senses was aligned with my vagina.

"Umm, Emily, I see that you're very wet, and look ..." He pushed a finger into me. The fabric gave way to the tip of his finger. I groaned and shook uncontrollably.

"Very nice, you're opening like a little flower."

"I ..." My feeble protest fell away to a soft sob of rapture.

You have a gift, Emily. You feel much more deeply than most others do, and it's a gift. You may think there's something wrong with you, but it isn't, it's them.

I think I remained perfectly still. I may have moved, but for the most part I barely breathed, holding the skirt up so that anyone caring to look could see right up my legs to my crotch and his hand as it fondled my cunt folds.

"What are you going to do to me?"

His answer was to slide those fingers up and down my slit, forcing the fabric into my cunt. I moaned.

A moment later he found my clit and bore down on it. I moaned louder and he eased up on the pressure, not wanting to become the focal point of restaurant activity.

"I'm going to finger you to an orgasm, right here, right now. If you want you can call attention to yourself, but I doubt you want that."

The tips of his fingers flicked at my clit creating a searingly hot feeling - like a red hot poker coming right up to my flesh but not actually burning it.

"No!" I whispered approaching panic.

He chuckled and teased my clit and I moaned, "Oh, Christ yeah! Right there! Right there!"

"See how easy you are, Emily?"

I was so close to cumming, I waited for him to touch me again. It wouldn't take much; I was so ready to cum.

But he kept me there, on the edge. It was wonderful and all, but I wanted to cum so fucking bad. I needed to cum, and that thought dominated my mind over everything else.

"You need to understand something, Emily, what I'm doing is between me and your cunt. You're just along for the ride. Your cunt and I have an understanding. It loves what I'm doing; it knows I'm going to make it cum and it wants to cum on my fingers more than anything else right now. And we're going to do just that, right here, and if some people see it happen, who's to care? You? No, I seriously doubt that. Me? I couldn't care less what they say or do. "

Nervously, I glanced around the room. Two couples were definitely watching what he was doing to me. And I thought I saw two men seated at different tables watching as well. I swallowed and though how lewd I must look to them I was behaving like a filthy slut, and this excited me even more.

Klaus pushed the crotch band of her panties to one side and his fingers touched me. I was practically drooling down there.

I know I was panting with anticipation.

He sent two fingers into my wetness and whispered, "Take your right hand, and unbutton your blouse."

I didn't hesitate, but did as requested.

"Another button," he whispered as his fingers slid in deeper while his thumb teased my clit.

Anyone looking over at us had to know what was happening. I risked a peek at the closet couple and saw them both transfixed on Klaus's hand as it fingered me.

The woman was furtively squeezing her partner's leg, or perhaps his penis, from where I sat I couldn't tell.

I opened the button as requested. The inner slopes of my breasts were visible now. I recall thinking that I was glad I'd worn my sexiest bra, since half the restaurant could now avail themselves a good look at it and more.