The Best Erotic Stories.

Kerrie in the Big Apple
by Kerrie O'Keefe

A former boyfriend of Kerrie O'Keefe once compared her singing voice to that of a tone-deaf grizzly bear who had just dragged his testicles over a barbed-wire fence, but that didn't stop her from singing in the shower whenever the mood hit her. On the morning of June 8 she was soaping up to something very similar to the tune of "Paperback Writer" when she had to pause to try to remember what came after the line about the clinging wife who didn't understand. The moment of silence was broken by the telephone, so she shut off the water, splished naked into the bedroom, and greeted the caller: "Hello, Mom."

"Kerrie, how did you know it was me?"

"Who else would call me two hours before my flight leaves and plead one more time for me not to go to New York?"

"I don't know," replied Mrs. O'Keefe. "Maybe a boyfriend, if you had one."

"Mom, relax. I'm going, I'll be fine, and I'm not coming back until a publisher reads this manuscript."

Her mother clicked her tongue. "I just worry about you all alone in a city like that. There are people there who would just soon shoot you as look at you."

"Mom, I'm 28, and nobody's going to shoot me."

"You'll be sorry if they do."

"I can't argue with that."

Kerrie patted herself dry as she reassured her mother that people safely traveled to and from New York City every day, even people from Meadowville, Indiana. She'd saved for this trip for a year, carefully watching her budget, cutting back on entertainment expenses, and squirreling away any unexpected checks that happened to come her way. There had been only one unexpected check in the past year, a hundred-dollar payment from a lesbian magazine for a piece of fiction she'd knocked out in an hour.

Pretty sad, Kerrie thought... I've been writing serious fiction for ten years, and the only thing I've ever been paid for is some softcore porn about a couple of health club instructors. She had two literary novels ready for publication, but the number of rejection slips on them was already in the triple figures. Publishers and agents alike ignored her equally. The sad part was that she couldn't get any of them to read her manuscripts... every rejection but one was in response to a query letter. The other one had started out promisingly: "Yes, I'd like to take a look at your novel," but the manuscript came back just a week later, with the terse and unhelpful note, "I don't like books written in first person."

She couldn't understand it. She used active voice, she wrote dialogue as if recording it from real life, she knew when to use the subjunctive mood, she drew her characters with a realistic brush to make them as funny as possible, and she used commas to set off complete thoughts only when part of a series. She had long since stopped making the common mistakes of a beginning writer, so there were no stories in her collection in which the main character woke up to realize he'd dreamed the whole thing.

Kerrie knew she was a writer. But now it was time to make her dream come true and become an author as well. The goal of her trip to New York was simple: Deliver her manuscript in person until someone read it and realized she was good enough to publish.

She examined her reflection in the mirror just before she left for the airport: "Fresh-faced dynamite," another ex once called her, and it was still true. She ran her hand through her rich brown hair and let it fall loosely around her face. Look out, New York City, she thought... Kerrie O'Keefe is coming.

( ( (

Before slipping into the sheets at the Hotel Manhattan that night, Kerrie worked out a plan of attack. She opened the current Writer's Market to the section on book publishers, then went right down the list, ruling out those who didn't handle literary fiction, those who only accepted agented submissions, those whose area of specialty was exceedingly narrow ("We only publish short story collections written by Haitians and translated by disabled people of color"), and those who included snotty comments in their listings ("Before you send us your work, be a good writer"). She really wished she could find a listing that dealt with her particular pet peeve: "We don't publish novels by celebrities who think they're writers." Nothing irritated her more than to see that some actor or singer had written a novel between concerts or film scenes or some such thing, unless it was the fact that those same actors and singers got preferential treatment over people who were dedicated to writing.

In any event, the first publisher that seemed to be a good match was Bender & Moore, Ltd. She circled their listing and thought "Tomorrow, I'll have a contract... maybe a multi-book contract!"

Bender & Moore was located on the 27th floor of one of the lesser skyscrapers, and as Kerrie walked in she was surprised at the quiet. She expected the constant bustle of editors and first readers, maybe some famous authors hanging around, but instead there was just a young blond receptionist, snapping her gum and reading the Weekly World News.

"Excuse me," said Kerrie. "I'd like to see an editor."

"What about?" said the girl, not looking up.

"To show him or her my manuscript."


"Yes. Literary fiction."

"Mmhm. Name?"

"The Darkness of Home. It's a satire."

The girl finally deigned to look at her. "I meant your name, honey."

"Oh. Kerrie O'Keefe."

"Where you from?"

The question irked Kerrie. She had always suspected her return address of Meadowville, Indiana had been a strike against her. "Does that matter?"

"If you don't tell me, I'll tell you to march right back out the door."

"M... Indianapolis, Indiana."

"Jesus Christ, where's that?"

"It's the capital of Indiana!"

"No, I mean where the fuck is Indiana?"

"It's a state!"

"Mmhm. You have an appointment? No, obviously you don't."

"I'm willing to wait until someone has time to see me."

The girl pushed a thin strand of gum between her lips and sucked it back into her mouth. "Can't wait to be discovered, huh?" She put a bookmark in the tabloid and motioned Kerrie to some double doors behind her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I've exhausted all my other options," said Kerrie. "I think if I could meet an editor and show him my book in person, I could... "

"Yeah, fine, whatever." The girl pulled a wire basket out from underneath the reception desk and pushed open the double doors. "This way." She led Kerrie down a long hallway lined with individual offices, none of which had windows into the hall. At the last door on the right, the girl handed Kerrie the basket. "You can put your clothes in here."

"Beg pardon?"

"Your clothes. Put them in here and I'll mark your name on the tag."

"You're asking me to take off my clothes?"

"Habla ingles?"

"I think maybe I'm in the wrong place... "

"Take a look."

The girl threw open the door and revealed a waiting room where a plump man and two women were sitting with manuscript boxes on their laps. Each was stark naked, and each looked up expectantly when the door flew open. "No, it's not your time," said the girl. "This is Kerrie O'Keefe... she'll be joining you."

"I can't believe this," said Kerrie in a low voice.

"Might as well come on in, Kerrie," said the man cheerfully, patting the chair beside him. "Nobody bites."

Kerrie felt dizzy and had to lean against the wall. "I know I'm in the wrong place," she said. "This is just too weird."

"Suit yourself," shrugged the girl. "But if you find a house that doesn't have the nude waiting room, be sure to come back and tell me about it."

Kerrie tried not to look at the nude writers sitting so nonchalantly in the room, but couldn't help herself. The man was about 40, bald and paunchy with a thick mustache, and not at all shy about displaying his far from formidable package. One of the women looked to be in her mid-40s, with large natural breasts that fell comfortably to her sides; the other was even younger than Kerrie and if anything perkier as well. She smiled sweetly at Kerrie and casually moved her manuscript aside to reveal a neat rectangle of pubic hair, sort of like an exclamation mark.

"Want me to get you started?" asked the receptionist. "Sometimes it helps."

"Wha...? Oh, uh, sure... "

The girl efficiently unbuttoned the top buttons of Kerrie's blouse, pulling it aside to peek in at the silky white Wonderbra. "More?" At Kerrie's dazed nod, the girl pulled her blouse out of her khakis and finished the job. Kerrie set the manuscript down and removed the blouse herself, and found the girl already working on her belt.

"I'll get it from here, thanks," she said. "I mean, it's not what I expected, but... "

"Yeah, they might do it different in India," said the girl, neatly folding Kerrie's blouse. She waited patiently for Kerrie's shoes, her white anklets, her khakis, and finally her underwear, then motioned Kerrie inside and wished her luck. "Someone will come and get you when it's time. There's a bathroom and a snack machine over there, and it's best if you guys don't get all chummy with each other, if you catch my drift."

The paunchy guy jumped on that one: "You shouldn't tempt us with these hotties, then!"

"Don't make me throw you out of here, Clyde. See you later."

Kerrie stepped inside and picked a chair an equal distance from just about everyone. Finding it impossible and pointless to keep herself covered, she sighed deeply, set the manuscript beside her, and crossed her legs. She was glad she had a better body than at least one of the women.

"What's your book about, Kerrie?" asked the older woman.

"It's literary satire. Relationships in a small town, that sort of thing. Tongue-in-cheek, mostly. How about you?"

"Historical romance. Three generations of a powerful New Hampshire political family. Clyde's got a sports novel and Melanie's was what again?"

The younger woman stretched, seemingly bored with the whole scene. "Generation X fuckfest. Slackers and slackerettes screwing each other silly to combat their own increasingly nihilistic tendencies."

Kerrie rolled her eyes. "Sounds quite literary."

"Fuck literature," said Melanie. "Sex sells, baby... and you got a great pair of tits."

Clyde sat up and waggled his eyebrows as his little bone poked up like a miniature cobra. "If you two get it on, I'll write you a check when I get my clothes back, I promise."

"Get bent, chubby," said Melanie.

"I don't think I'll be 'getting it on' for money," scoffed Kerrie.

"No harm in asking, though, huh?"

The older woman made a tsk-tsk sound. "Men."

Kerrie quickly changed the subject. "Have you all done this before? Showed up unannounced like this, I mean?"

"First time for me," said the older woman. "All my friends say my book is the best thing they've ever read, but editors weren't exactly jumping at that endorsement. After forty rejection slips, I decided to make something happen myself. Sure, I'm surprised at the nudity, but if everyone does it, well, I guess I've learned something."

"I've never even sent out a query," said Melanie. "Screw that. I live here in town, so when the book was done, I decided to go right to the source. So we're naked... big fuck." She raised her knee, revealing her smooth outer labia to Kerrie, who turned away.


"I make the rounds fairly regularly, but I've never been seen by an editor," he shrugged. "This is my third time here at Bender... it's one of the nicer nude waiting rooms, I think."

An intercom crackled and the receptionist's voice boomed into the room. "O'Keefe, they're ready for you," she said.

"Me? But these people were here first!"

"Someone got free that likes sapphires."


"Do you mean satire?" asked the older woman.

"Whatever. O'Keefe, take your stuff to Room 8, across the hall and up one."

Kerrie tucked her manuscript case under her arm. "Seems like it should be one of you going instead of me, though... sorry." The others waved her off and wished her well, and Melanie whistled at her as she headed for the door. Strange girl, thought Kerrie, but cute... almost cute enough to make her want to explore that bi fantasy she'd had for years. But no, she chuckled as she went down the hall, that's one of those things that'll never happen.

She knocked on the door of Room 8 and cautiously entered a fairly modest office that had a lovely view of more skyscrapers. A tall thin woman with pale yellow hair sat at a desk, obviously unconcerned about Kerrie's nudity. She extended her hand brusquely and told Kerrie to sit down. "I'm Valerie Bichette," she said. "I'm a junior editor and I read a dozen manuscripts and fifty queries a day. What makes you think we should publish your book?"

"Uh... it's well-written," said Kerrie, regretting it immediately.

"Well-written? Hm, yes, that's a switch. We don't get many of those. What else?"

"It's unlike anything out there on the market today."

"Really. Then how will readers know where to look for it? People don't want something different, they want something the same. They want comfort, they want consistency, they want to read the same book over and over. What's yours about?"

"It's about relationships among people in a small town."

"Ah. Clever. In today's market, there's Chance of a Lifetime, Elm Street USA, Block Party, and Neighborhood Blues. All books about relationships in a small town, and those are just the ones in our catalog. You're hardly unique."

"That's good, though, right?"

"What's good about it? Didn't you ever hear of originality?"

"But you said... "

"I didn't say anything. Stand up on my desk."


"Stand up on my desk. Set the manuscript down first."

Kerrie shook her head in disbelief, but climbed somewhat awkwardly onto the desk and stood looking down at the junior editor. Valerie chewed on the end of her glasses for a moment, then rolled her chair forward and grabbed Kerrie around the knees, planting her face in the young writer's curly muff. Kerrie gasped and almost lost her balance as she felt Valerie's tongue poking between her legs. One of Valerie's hands started sliding up Kerrie's thighs, forcing them apart so she could get better leverage on her clit. Kerrie again started to topple forward, so the editor helped her down and put her on her back on the sofa. "Spread your legs," ordered Valerie.

"But I-I've never been with a girl before," said Kerrie.

"So? I've never been with someone from India before."



Valerie whipped off her flimsy sundress, revealing her disdain for underwear. She pinched her own nipples to stiffen them up, then knelt beside Kerrie and offered her a hard pink nip. "First time, you just gotta go for it," said Valerie, and Kerrie gingerly leaned forward to touch the tip with her tongue. Valerie shuddered. "Yeah, baby, more." Kerrie placed her tongue on the underside of Valerie's C-cup-sized breast and licked her way up to the nipple, which disappeared into her mouth. "Good girl, good girl." Kerrie suckled the way she liked guys to suckle her, picking up the intensity when Valerie began using her middle finger to make butterfly motions against her damp pussylips. She couldn't believe it was real: her first bi experience, and it was happening with a stranger in the middle of a publishing house before ten in the morning!

But the fact was that the simple act of being naked had always tended to make Kerrie horny. She'd been known to clock in late for work on days when she stepped out the shower, checked herself out in the mirror, and masturbated while imagining herself in a nude layout. This wasn't that much different-walking around with her perky breasts jiggling, having one woman flirt with her and another stick her face into her privates-why not just go with the flow? She moaned softly as Valerie worked two fingers and then three into her box.

"That feels real good," whispered Kerrie between licks of the editor's rubbery nipples.

"Feel me too," said Valerie, and Kerrie reached between the woman's legs and got her first feel of strange pussy. Valerie's juicy lips seemed to open by themselves and suck Kerrie's middle finger right inside, and soon they were both fingering each other in the same lusty rhythm. As Valerie leaned down to nibble around her firm breasts, Kerrie thought she had this whole experience figured out: Play ball with the people in charge, and you increase your chances of coming out with a contract... maybe even a nice advance.

"How am I doing, Valerie?"

"You could go deeper... and use your thumb on my clit more."

"I mean, do you think I have a good chance of getting published?"

"You aren't hurting your chances any... but 69 is always the big test, especially for a first-timer."

With that, Valerie began licking down Kerrie's body, licking little circles all over her tummy, licking in and out of her belly button, licking the sensitive skin at the bend of her thigh, and finally pushing her legs apart and licking her sweet damp sex. Oh god, thought Kerrie, it's true... a woman really feels different down there! She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation, and when she opened her eyes again she saw Valerie's gaping twat poised above her head. You can do this, thought Kerrie-girls do each other every day, and besides, who would ever know? She studied the long protruding cuntlips as Valerie eased her crotch down, wondering if that's how she looked when she was on top in a 69 situation. Valerie's buttocks were like two half-circles lying side by side, with just enough of a gap to expose the tiny wrinkled hole between them. The musky scent of girl-goo enveloped Kerrie's head, and moments later the editor let her full weight rest there, forcing Kerrie to begin a vigorous eating motion just so she could get some air into her lungs. "Make me cum, Kerrie," moaned Valerie. "You're gonna wanna make me cum."

Kerrie let instinct take over, wrapping her arms around Valerie's ass and concentrating rapid tongue flicks on her clit. She was vaguely aware that Valerie had stopped licking her, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway: She wanted desperately to make this woman have a wonderful earth-shattering orgasm. Not only because it would have helped Valerie look favorably on her manuscript, but because she wanted an extreme close-up of another girl cumming. Presently she felt herself being crushed into the sofa, as Valerie sat straight up and began a self-pleasuring cunt grind that reduced Kerrie's face to little more than a sex toy. Kerrie continued to lick and slurp for several moments before realizing that the tip of her nose was literally inside the editor's ass.

Valerie came with a rush of cunt cream, soaking Kerrie's chin and neck. "Fuck!" exclaimed the editor as she eased herself off the young writer. "For a straight chick, you can sure eat pussy."

"Thanks," said Kerrie, panting. "Will you read my manuscript now?"

"No time for that... "


"Relax, sweetie. I mean I'm passing it on to the senior editorial staff."

"Oh, my," smiled Kerrie. "That's good, right?"

Valerie slipped her sundress back on. "Very good."

"Excellent. But, uh, Valerie?"

"What, babe?"

"Will you get me off, too?"

"No time for that either, sweetie-I'm going to take you to the editorial conference room. Come on."

Kerrie wiped the pussy juice off her face, fluffed her hair, and sighed as she picked up her manuscript and followed the editor into the hallway. If she hadn't bumped into the wall once, she probably would have forgotten she was naked.

Valerie showed her into the vacant editorial conference room and told her to expect a wait of at least a half-hour. "There's a bathroom through that door," she said. "You can freshen up and jill off if you want-might help make a good impression, you never know."

The door closed and Kerrie was left alone in the darkened room to wait. She took a seat on one side of a long conference table, but then decided she might as well wash her face and privates before the editorial staff came in. Go with the flow, she reminded herself-you're in the big time now, Kerrie old girl. A day earlier she certainly wouldn't have imagined being separated from her clothes in midtown Manhattan.

In the bathroom Kerrie rubbed her slick cuntlips until she reached a disappointingly mild climax, and blamed the lack of orgasmic intensity on her excitement about being one step closer to publication. When she was fully composed again, she stepped back into the conference room and found six men sitting around the table. Her manuscript still sat right where she left it, unmolested.

"Kerrie O'Keefe," said the most handsome of the six men, extending his hand. "Congratulations, and welcome."

"Thank you," she said, as professionally as her nudity would allow. "I can't wait till you read my... "

As she reached out to shake hands with the handsome man, he grabbed her, jerked her close, and bent her arm back behind her. "You do as we say now, bitch, and you won't get hurt."

Kerrie yelped. "Oh god, please don't hurt me... I just wanted someone to read my book."

"Oh, right, your book," he sneered, using his free hand to paw at her tits. "Everybody wants to talk about her book. 'It's so good! All my friends think so! I spent so much time on it! I got good grades in English! I'm a good writer!' My question for you, Kerrie O'Cunt, is How do you feel about gangbangs?"

"I... I've never seen one."

"You won't see much of this one, either," snarled one of the other men, a gray-haired fellow with a long unfriendly face. At that point all six men began removing their suits and ties, and Kerrie swallowed hard, frightened at the prospect of being a gangbang centerpiece. They didn't have gangbangs back in Meadowville, as far as she knew.

Handsome moved his hand down to her twat and began rubbing it at about the same speed as a vibrator. The sound of her wetness caused the other men to nudge each other and leer. "I hope she's a cum freak," said a red-haired man in his 40s.

"I love the cum freaks," said a young goateed man. "When they start gagging and complaining, it takes all the fun out of it."

"That last bitch was a major cum freak," said a 30ish man with a fat cock. "I mean, she was covered!"

Kerrie tried to formulate a sentence, but Handsome's fingerwork was setting off fireworks in her pussy. "Did-oh my-did you publish-ooh yeah oh god-did you publish her book?"

"Beats me," said Redhead. "But she sure was a cum freak."

"She was covered!" chortled Fat Cock.

Kerrie watched as Gray Hair climbed up on the table and lay on his back, pushing his erection up till it pointed at the ceiling. "OK, slut," said Handsome, swatting Kerrie on the ass, "climb on and climb on."

"You mean...?"

"Bitch, it wouldn't be a gangbang if there wasn't penetration."

"If there weren't penetration," she corrected him. Obviously no fan of the subjunctive, he swatted her twice more and boosted her onto the table.

"Come on, girlie," said Gray Hair, pushing his bone at her. "I'm gonna coat your insides with jizz." Kerrie crawled forward, unable to look the man in the eyes-he was square-jawed and mean-looking like one of her old school bus drivers, a known perv. Still, if going with the flow meant advancing up this editorial ladder, she could probably finish off the whole crew in fifteen or twenty minutes.

Two hours later she lay alone on the table, exhausted, her hair matted with semen, her chest sticky with semen, her lips tasting of semen, her pussylips oozing semen, and her butthole moist with the senior editorial staff's parting shot of hot gooey semen. She realized that if she added up all her sexual activity in the past ten years... and it was at least semi-regular-there wouldn't have anywhere close to the amount of semen drying on her now. The volume was boosted quite a bit by the appearance of all the male junior editors, first readers, and mailroom staff, who laughed and whooped frat-party-style as they shot long ropes of goo into her open mouth, her eyes, her ears, and her hair. No sooner would one guy squirt a load down her throat than the next one would add to the dripping pearl necklace on her chest. They gave her no time to think, no time to rest, no time to protest, no time to enjoy it, no time to recuperate-it was one right after another, sliding underneath her, flanking her and forcing her head from side to side so she could give alternating blow jobs, jerking off onto her bouncy tits. The double-penetration was definitely unexpected, though-it was Handsome himself who took her anal cherry while Goatee Guy was pumping her from underneath. The sensation was impossibly indescribable-her parts didn't even seem to be human parts anymore, but more like some extraterrestrial supercunt capable of accommodating small foreign cars. The cocks had to be bumping into each other in there, and Kerrie couldn't understand why guys wanted that. Then both of them grimaced and groaned and added to the fuckload of semen already inside her, which gave her the answer: It didn't matter to the guys one bit.

She lifted her hand to her hair and felt the sticky cummy residue. Woulda been nice, she thought, if they'd made me cum at least once.

( ( (

"Jesus, they got you good," said the gum-cracking receptionist, closing the conference room door behind her. "This might be a record. Your hair is, like, nothing but jizz. God, so is your face. You look like some mutant cum-monster or something."

"Can you take me to a shower, please?"

"Sure. Hop down. Don't worry about dripping on anything. We have a cleaning service."

"Did anyone say anything about my manuscript? One of the men was reading it before he came over and made me suck him off."

"They didn't tell me to give your clothes back, so that must mean you're moving up to the next level."

That buoyed Kerrie's spirits, so she put some spring in her step as she followed the blond to the shower room. They passed Valerie Bichette in the hallway, but the junior editor didn't acknowledge Kerrie. She couldn't tell whether Valerie was snubbing her or if she was just unrecognizable.

The high-pressure shower felt wonderful and the hot water washed every trace of squidge down the drain, and as Kerrie toweled off later she realized she was probably very close to realizing her dream. Bender & Moore had a weird method of weeding out the bad writers, to be sure, but the important thing was that when it was all over, Kerrie would at least know that her manuscript was being given real consideration. And all it would take is a careful read for any professional editor worth his salt to know he had a special talent on his hands.

"Miss O'Keefe?"

Kerrie wrapped the towel around her and looked at the shower room door, where there was standing the most beautiful and elegant woman she'd ever seen: tall and lithe, with dark hair piled up high and the loveliest purple eyes. She wore a shimmery silver catsuit that accentuated her perfectly geometric curves, and she exuded graceful sensuality just standing there. "Yes?"

"Drop the towel," ordered the woman, not unpleasantly. She waited until Kerrie stood clean and nude before her: "My name is Lucinda Bender. I own this place."

"I see," said Kerrie. "It's different than what I expected."

"Yes, but it's reality. People come in off the streets every day, and every one of them thinks he's the next Stephen King... even if he writes for the gay erotic poetry market, he thinks he's going to sell more than John Grisham. But it's all bullshit anyway. We do whatever we want."

"What about me?"


"Do I have a chance to be published?"

"Of course you do. We have one spot left in next year's catalog. Come with me."

Back down the hall to a different room. This time the door opened onto a brick passageway-ancient-looking but clean, and definitely out of place in this modern skyscraper. Lucinda entered first and urged Kerrie to join her; the naked girl did, but cautiously, and they made a short jaunt down to another closed door.

"This is your last stop of the day," said Lucinda. "Let's see what happens, shall we?"

The publisher opened the door and flipped a light switch. Eerie red light flooded the dungeon-like room, and standing in the middle of a variety of torture devices was a young woman wearing black latex from shoulders to toes, including her hands and feet but not including her crotch and nipples. Her golden blond hair was pulled back severely in a tight bun, and her iridescent purple eye shadow had been applied all the way to her hairline. That and the bright scarlet lipstick gave her a strangely vampiric look.

"This is my partner, Angelina Moore," announced Lucinda, "Mistress Angel to you. We call her Angel because she's so sweet and does so many good deeds."

The latex-clad dominatrix smiled and licked her lips with what Kerrie discerned to be an unusually long tongue. "Is she going to hurt me?"

"Unless your threshold of pain is fairly superhuman, I'd say the answer is Yes. Lie on that table, Miss O'Keefe, and we'll talk publishing."

Lucinda pointed to a seven-foot long slab that looked to be made of recycled plastic, and Kerrie lay down on her back, trusting the elegant woman to be decent enough to stop the proceedings if the evil-looking Mistress Angel got out of hand. The publisher stepped aside as her partner fastened a wide leather sheath around each of Kerrie's ankles. Sewn securely into each sheath was a thick metal ring, the purpose of which soon became apparent when the mistress pulled two chains down from the ceiling, where they were suspended on pulleys. Locking the metal rings into an open chain link, Mistress Angel then used a crank to pull the chains taut, so that in a moment poor naked Kerrie was hanging by her feet with her head more than a yard off the floor. Her freshly shampooed hair dripped water on the concrete, and Kerrie felt quite certain this was the most vulnerable position she'd ever been in. "My, Kerrie," said Lucinda. "How submissive you look. Have you ever done this before?"

"N-no, ma'am," replied Kerrie honestly, but upon hearing the publisher's cluck of disapproval, she quickly added "But I've fantasized about it."

"Excellent. Angel, I think I'd put a couple of biting clamps on her tits so she'll think twice about lying again."


"Oh, don't worry," said Lucinda. "Everyone does it. Everyone says they'll never sell out for publication, but in the end they always do. It wouldn't have mattered what you said... the truth is, I love to see young girls in nipple clamps."

At just that moment, Mistress Angel showed upside-down Kerrie a particularly scary-looking pair of clamps, then grabbed the poor girl's gravity-pulled breasts and took her sweet time, opening and closing each clamp several times on each nipple as if feeding it a meal to be savored. Kerrie cried out in real pain, which only made the dark mistress crouch down and smile wickedly in her face. Kerrie looked pleadingly into the blond woman's eyes, but Mistress Angel only made a guttural growl and began nibbling at her prisoner's exposed neck.

"Mistress Angel has very little mercy, you'll find," offered Lucinda. "But such is the publishing industry. It's a tough business. God, we're inundated by dreck every single day: If you believe my mail the Great American Novel was written about 30,000 times last year alone, quite often by writers who don't know enough to put an apostrophe in the contraction for 'you are.'"

Kerrie wanted to let Lucinda know that she was well beyond such amateurish mistakes, but found it hard to speak while there was a very real possibility that Mistress Angel would soon find a vein and start sucking.

"I also get hundreds of memoirs from people no one is slightly interested in, grandmas and grandpas reliving their Depression days because someone in the family said 'Hey, you should put those stories in a book!' And of course everyone's got an idea for a series, be it mystery or romance or sword-and-sorcery or western or spies, as if we were too stupid to notice that their hero was ripped off from all the other series out there, or worse yet, ripped off from some TV show."

Kerrie caught a break when Mistress Angel moved to adjust the pulleys. "Mine isn't like that! Mine is meant to be literature!" She heard Lucinda chuckle, even as Mistress Angel moved the pulleys apart and secured the chains so her head was even with the mistress's shaven cunt.

"Ah, literature," sighed Lucinda. "Meant to last, like the classics of old. Which means simply that out of the goodness of our hearts, we pay for the privilege of publishing your lofty work. We pay the typesetter, the printer, the binder, the cover artist, and you-and sit back and watch our investment disappear, just so you can make your mark on history."

"People still read good b...!" said Kerrie, before Mistress Angel closed her thighs around her head. Kerrie slurped at the woman's musky gash, hoping a good pussy-licking would cause the mistress to lighten up.

"Poor, naïve Kerrie," laughed Lucinda. "Poor little girl from Indiana, sucking pussy, taking cumbaths, and submitting to various and sundry degradations, just to get noticed by a New York publisher. Did your mama warn you not to come?"

Angel refused to relax her thighs, so Kerrie yelled a "Yes" directly into the mistress's crotch.

"Did she want you to stay on the family farm and churn butter?" taunted Lucinda. "Step back a moment, Angel." The mistress backed away and Kerrie watched the beautiful publisher shimmer over to her, the catsuit like liquid silver on her exquisite body. Angel handed her something-Kerrie couldn't tell what until the leather straps of the cat-o-nine-tails stung her exposed pussy. "Unnnngh!" yelled Kerrie. Pussy spankings had never even entered her fantasy universe, and this one hurt.

"So, little Kerrie, here you are." SWOP! The cat-o-nine hit its mark once again. "And though you've cried out in pain, you haven't begged us to stop. Which tells me either you're a sorry little wench who gets her rocks off being gang-raped by men and humiliated by women-or you seriously think there's a prize at the end of this decadent rainbow." SWOP! SWOP! "Does it make your clit tingle, little farmgirl? Do you want me to ease your pain by kissing your sweet little Indiana pussy, or by offering you a book contract?"

"Pl-please, Ms Bender," choked Kerrie. "I just wanted someone to read my book."

SWOP! SWOP! "But I'm a busy woman, Kerrie. So busy I might forget where I'm aiming this whip... " WHAP! WHAP! "And hit your titties instead. I might forget to tell Angel not to light that candle and drip hot wax on your cuntlips. I might forget to tell her not to shove a zucchini up your ass, or not to videotape you being mounted by a black lab." SWOP! SWOP! WHAP! Kerrie thought for a moment she was losing consciousness, but her senses returned on hearing her name. "Kerrie, when am I supposed to have time to read all these so-called masterpieces? Because every single person thinks his or her book is worth publishing, little farmgirl. Thank goodness for discouraging form letters-the research shows that fifty writers a day give up after receiving their third such letter. That means 15,000 fewer writers to bug us each year, easing our workload immensely, but still not enough." SWOP! SWOP! Kerrie couldn't believe a trickle of cunt cream was sliding down her belly, but there it was: She was getting moist at the publisher's whipping and verbal abuse.

"Angel, move her over to the table. Gently."

The mistress worked the pulleys until Kerrie was once again flat on the plastic slab, her legs apart, her breathing labored, her nipples sore. She turned her head dizzily and watched Lucinda Bender strapping a leather harness around her lovely torso. Angel handed Lucinda a foot-long dildo, smooth and thick, and helped the publisher secure it in the harness. Lucinda then ran her hands all up and down Kerrie's body, carefully removing the nipple clamps and offering soothing condolences as the girl felt the blood rush back into her nips. "You're so close," murmured Lucinda, lightly tickling between Kerrie's thighs. Kerrie moaned, eager for this beautiful and sophisticated woman to take her. "You're so close to your dream, my girl. Do you love me?"


"I want us to be lovers, Kerrie. Say you love me."

"I-I love you, Lucinda."

"Ooh, you're so eager to please," said Lucinda, climbing onto the slab. She touched the tip of the dildo to Kerrie's inflamed cuntlips. "Shall I make love to you now?"

"Yes, oh god, yes."

"Mmmm, are you begging?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Beg to be fucked, little Kerrie."

"Oh god, Lucinda, please please please fuck me. Please, I'll do anything, anything you say... "


Kerrie wanted desperately to pull the woman on top of her and wrap her legs around that voluptuous body. She threw her head back with her eyes half-open, begging without shame: "Oh Lucinda, please let me suck you and kiss your pussy and eat your ass and be your little whore, please? I love you, I love you, I need you to fuck me... "

"Mmm, Kerrie, I love to hear you beg! I have good news for you!"

"Yes, oh god, what is it?"

Lucinda pushed the head of the dildo in, just enough to tantalize Kerrie and make her crazy for more. "That last spot in the catalog-is yours!"

Kerrie's heart swelled at the good news and at Lucinda's bright smile, but a throat-clearing sound behind her made her wary. "What is it, Angel?" asked Lucinda.

And the mistress, who hadn't uttered a word until that moment, said: "Lucy, remember, we filled the last spot yesterday afternoon."

Kerrie couldn't believe her ears. Even worse, Lucinda drew back so the dildo was no longer touching her. "Are you sure, Angel? I don't remember it at all."

"Remember? That first novel by Britney Spears?"

Kerrie woke up screaming. Thank goodness, she thought, the real publishing industry isn't like that.


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