Callie's Gift

by Kallista Dane

  He pulled back and gazed into her eyes. “It was all happening so fast. These pictures kept appearing in my mind. I felt out of control. It freaked me out when you blurted out those two names. It was as though you reached inside my head, grabbing things without permission.”

  “I promise I will never violate your thoughts,” she said solemnly. “What I saw, what I said, did not come from deliberately reading your mind, I swear. Somehow, we both tune to the same telepathic frequency. It’s as though we…”

  “It’s as though we are destined to be together, Voodoo woman,” Trent finished. He kicked the door shut and drew her to the fire, sinking down with Callie in his arms onto the worn patchwork quilt.

  The End.

  Kallista Dane

  My name is Kallista Dane. Like my legendary ancestor Scheherazade, I cannot dance or sing or play an instrument. I have but one talent - I am a weaver of words.

  If you are seeking chronicles of maidenly virtue and innocent romance, go no further.

  But if you yearn to be entertained with exotic escapades that will fill your soul with passion, sensual tales of lustful desires, bold adventures where powerful males clash with impetuous, headstrong women, then I invite you to enter my world.

  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Kallista Dane and Blushing Books!

  Blackbeard's Tower: A Tale from 1001 Exotic Nights

  1001 Exotic Nights: The Beginning

  Twelfth Night

  Her Darkest Desires

  Moonshine Creek

  Judah’s Bride

  Please enjoy chapter one from 1001 Exotic Nights by Kallista Dane!

  1001 Exotic Nights

  The Beginning

  Chapter One:

  Kyra’s hands shook a little as she fastened the endless row of hooks on her brand new, very tight black corset.

  “There’s no reason to be nervous,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “After all, you’re about to get what you’ve been fantasizing about for years – an entire evening of spanking by the hottest man you know.”

  “But what if I don’t really like it as much as I do in my fantasies?” she asked herself, pulling on the sheer black stockings she knew he loved and adjusting the straps of her black lace garter belt.

  “What if you like it more?” replied the sexy woman who stared back at her.

  As she put on her makeup and did her hair, Kyra relived the surprising evening a few days before that led to tonight’s spanking rendezvous. She and Steve told the kids they were heading upstairs for a “date night,” hoping the two teenagers never guessed that this was Mom and Dad’s code name for an evening devoted to really great sex. But when they sat down to unwind with a glass of Chardonnay in hand and their favorite classic rock mix playing in the background, out came the solemn words that strike dread in the heart of every man in a relationship.

  “Honey, we need to talk.”

  But this time, it was Steve uttering the words. Kyra stared at him in astonishment. “We need to talk? You hate it when we ‘need to talk.’ What’s wrong, babe?”

  “I’ve been thinking about getting back into playing music lately and I thought I’d practice some of the old songs you love. I pulled the case from my Fender Stratocaster off the shelf in our closet yesterday and knocked down a box filled with files. I was trying to stuff them back in some kind of order, so I started going through them.”

  Kyra stared down at her untouched glass, embarrassed and unable to meet his eyes. “Did you? So you read some of them?”

  “Oh, yeah. I read some of them. In fact, I snuck the files into the office this morning so I could read the rest. And I have one question – where did you get them?”

  Now Kyra wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “I…uh, I wrote them.”

  “What do you mean you wrote them? Those stories were printed off the Internet!”

  “Yes, they were. I wrote them and then I posted them on my website – 1001 Exotic Nights.”

  “Your website! Since when do you have your own website?” Steve was almost shouting now. Remembering that the kids were downstairs, he lowered his voice. “And since when have you been obsessed with spanking?”

  Kyra knew it was time to come clean. “I set up the website about six months ago. And as for your second question, I’ve been fantasizing about getting spanked since I read a spanking scene in a book when I was thirteen.”

  Steve shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe we’ve been together for almost twenty years and I never heard this before. Why the hell didn’t you ever tell me about these fantasies? I thought we were honest with each other, no secrets between us.”

  Kyra heard the hurt in her husband’s voice and finally looked up to meet his eyes. “It’s always been my dirty little secret,” she confessed. “All my life I’ve been too ashamed to admit to anyone that I was turned on by something so kinky. And as time went on, it was harder and harder to imagine how I could ever bring up a topic like that with you. I mean, what do I say ‘Honey, would you pick up a quart of ice cream on the way home from the office tonight? Oh, and if they happen to have a nice leather-wrapped wooden paddle, I’d love to have you bring it home too and use it on me after dessert.’”

  “So you’re too ashamed to admit this to your husband, but you have no problem putting these kinky fantasies online for complete strangers to read?” Now he sounded more angry than hurt.

  Kyra reached out to take his hand as she tried to explain. “It’s easy to publish things on the Internet. No one ever sees your face. You can make up a pen name so no one knows who you really are. Putting my spanking fantasies on paper became a way to fill this secret desire I’ve had all my life. It’s kind of like writing in a diary…but there’s an erotic thrill in hitting the ‘send’ key, then going back and reading what I’ve posted, knowing others can read it too.

  "At first, I would look at the other women in line at the grocery store and wonder if any of them had read my stories. Then readers started leaving comments on my website, admitting that they too have secrets they never had the courage to share with anyone. Now I’ll see a well-dressed, classy looking woman heading up the street toward me and I wonder…does she have the same kind of naughty, nasty visions playing in her head when she’s all alone in the dark?”

  Steve shook his head in disbelief. “I never saw this one coming! When I found those stories, I thought you had gotten hooked on reading this wild stuff. But I never dreamed you were actually the one writing it.” He was silent for a few moments, then said quietly “I always thought we had a great sex life and I made you happy. I never knew you had these so-called ‘unfulfilled desires’ until I found those stories.” He stood and headed for the bedroom door. “This is going to take me awhile to process. I’m going downstairs.”

  He paused at the doorway and looked back. “Please don’t follow me. There’s nothing you can say that will fix thisright now,” he said coolly, closing the door behind him with a calm but firm thunk.

  Kyra tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before finally falling asleep alone. When she woke in the morning, her husband was sound asleep on his side of the bed, his back to her. Usually they cuddled in the night and she often woke up in the morning to find him sleeping with his arm curled around her, cupping her breast.

  “He must really be upset,” she thought as she tiptoed out of the room to get the kids up for school.

  “He just doesn’t understand,” Kyra told herself as she poured a cup of coffee and began fixing pancakes for their two teenagers. “I couldn’t tell him I want to get spanked. I’d worry about the kids hearing us if he did it. Besides, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m afraid if he really did spank me, it wouldn’t be as good as it is in my fantasies. Everything is perfect in my stories. My fantasy lovers say and do all the things that turn their women on the most. That’s why I started writing. None of the spanking scenes I found in the stories I read were as erotic as the ones I create in my head.”

/>   Kyra and Steve were college sweethearts. She had only gone out on a couple of dates before meeting him, including one memorable night at a drive-in when she was introduced to French kissing by her best friend’s cousin Brad. One Friday night in her sophomore year she was at a party with some friends when Steve walked in. Tall, wavy dark hair, full moustache, nice tan. He caught her staring and sauntered over. One sexy smile was all it took. Every hormone in her body gushed into action. He took her in his arms - for a slow, sensual dance that defied the hard rock beat of the music playing on the stereo - and by the time the song was over, Kyra knew this was the only man she wanted for the rest of her life.

  Steve apparently felt the same way. He called her four times the next day and, except for a few rare occasions, they’d been together ever since. They learned about sex together, long before the infinite resources of the Internet, sneaking copies of Penthouse letters into Kyra’s dorm room, then trying out whatever exploits they could get away with without being caught. In the first few years after they were married, Steve brought home an occasional x-rated movie. Most of them featured close-ups of genitalia that to Kyra were about as exciting as a visit to her middle-aged female gynecologist. But occasionally there was a scene that lingered in her mind for days afterwards.

  There was nothing wrong with their sex life. Steve was a great lover, tender and considerate. He always made sure that Kyra was aroused and then pleasured her till she was breathless. But if truth be told, they’d fallen into a bit of a rut. When the kids were younger, their budget didn’t allow many nights out. Babysitters were expensive and so were fancy dinners. So they created “date nights,” where they put the children to bed, then headed for the bedroom and shared a bottle of wine. They’d listen to music or rent a movie. A little foreplay, followed by taking turns pleasuring each other with oral sex, then off to the main event.

  But over the past few years, there were nights when Kyra lay in the dark, listening to her husband’s gentle snoring while she created very different date night scenarios - hot, steamy fantasies where Steve led her upstairs, then smiled wickedly and locked the bedroom door. He’d blindfold her, strip off her clothes and tie her spread-eagled to the bed, then tease and torment her pussy till she begged him to fuck her.

  A couple of times, on their rare weekend getaways without the children, Kyra asked Steve to stop at one of the “adult toy stores” advertised along the highway. He refused to go in with her, waiting in the car while Kyra nervously headed inside alone. At first, she shrank through the aisles, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, while ogling racks of huge vibrators and strange devices she’d never seen before. On later excursions, she began to take her time, lingering over displays of heart-shaped wooden paddles and pink handcuffs, staring boldly at videos featuring nearly naked slave girls kneeling at the feet of bare-chested men in tight leather pants.

  Once, on an overnight getaway in Asheville, she gathered up her courage and bought an amazingly realistic looking black vibrator shaped like a cock, along with a movie starring Marilyn Chambers. Based on the cover blurb, it actually sounded like it had a plot. Well, several plots, to be precise. The movie was made up of four or five short stories in which Marilyn lived out various sex fantasies. Kyra smuggled her purchases into the car in her big shoulder bag. When they got home that night, after fortifying herself with an extra glass of Pinot Grigio, she brought the movie out of her purse and handed it to Steve.

  They had a great time watching the first clip. Both of them got so hot, they never even saw the rest of the movie. In fact, viewing the different fantasies played out in that film kicked off their date nights for months afterwards. One evening, they got to a scene featuring Marilyn enjoying herself with a big dildo. Kyra jumped up, dug the black vibrator out of hiding in the back of her underwear drawer and boldly handed it over to Steve. He was so turned on; he grabbed it and pulled her down onto the bed. Kyra was in heaven. Their lovemaking that night had a fierce passion that satisfied her burning need to be taken, to be dominated. He didn’t even question her about where it came from until the next morning.

  Now they had a small collection of favorite movies, ones carefully chosen by Kyra over the last few years. But even watching those didn’t produce the same thrill for her any more. Surfing the Web one day, she found a site that seemed to be tailored to women, specializing in romantic tales with lots of sex in them. That site led to others, including her favorite, one with stories that featured lots of spanking – sometimes for discipline and sometimes just for fun.

  One night a week Steve got together with a couple of buddies to play darts at a local pub. Then she was assured of several hours where she could secretly read to her heart’s content. Other times, if he were watching sports on TV downstairs, she’d fire up her laptop in the bedroom. So far, Steve hadn’t questioned why she was extra-horny when he came to bed on those nights.

  But no matter how many books she read online, there was always something missing. One part of her head was constantly tweaking the plot or spicing up the dialogue. It wasn’t long before she began jotting down her own sexy tales – stories that went far beyond anything Kyra had ever experienced in real life. She was free to explore her wildest fantasies. And explore she did. Every woman she created was strong and independent on the outside and a wanton slut on the inside – but only when she found the right man. Underneath her haughty demeanor, every heroine loved being controlled by his masculine power and she especially loved when he spanked her into submissiveness. And of course, since Kyra was writing the stories, he always spanked her in the ways that turned Kyra on the most.

  After a while though, her characters seemed to take on a life of their own. Kyra began to feel as though she was merely chronicling the secrets of people who really existed, able to see beyond the façade that they presented to the world – to expose hidden erotic cravings and desires far beyond anything she herself had ever fantasized about. She wasn’t even sure where the idea of the website came from…if it didn’t sound so crazy, Kyra would have sworn one of her characters suggested it to her.

  * * * * *

  Steve waited upstairs until he heard the kids leave for school before coming down for their usual morning coffee in front of the fireplace. He’d been up for hours last night. Once he got over the initial shock of finding out his wife had been leading a clandestine life he knew nothing about, he sat down at the computer in the den to learn more. Typing in the name of her website, he found himself staring at a home page with the following words:

  1001 Exotic Nights

  My name is Kallista. Like my legendary ancestor Scheherazade, I cannot dance or sing or play an instrument. I have but one talent – I am a weaver of words.

  If you seek chronicles of maidenly virtue and innocent romance, go no further.

  But if you yearn to be entertained with exotic escapades that will fill your soul with passion, sensual tales of lustful desires, bold adventures where powerful males clash with impetuous, headstrong women, then say:

  Open, Sesame

  Steve clicked on the scroll at the bottom of the page. As it unrolled, he began reading the first tale.

  Blackbeard’s Tower

  Kallista began her ritual. She lit a candle scented with her special blend of essential oils and turned on the music. Opening a small carved box, she selected a splintered fragment of silvery blue from the array of rocks and crystals within. Kyanite, renowned for unlocking past life memories.

  Closing her eyes, Kallista gently stroked the sleek surface of the rock. Breathe in, hold…and slowly breathe out.

  She found herself once again wandering down the winding flagstone path through her secret garden. It was twilight. The worn stones under her bare feet still held the warmth of the tropical sun. Ahead stood an ancient adobe building framed with hot pink bougainvillea vines.

  Kallista stopped in front of the massive arched door to run her hand over its carved wooden panels, then grasped the handle, pushed the door open and ste
pped over the threshold.

  The enormous room glowed with soft light. Row upon row of fragile scrolls filled stone shelves all around the walls. The room was empty of furniture, save for a heavy wooden table and chair in the center. Kallista circled the room, softly touching scrolls here and there. As she did, images filled her head, accompanied by long-forgotten melodies and the faint scents of exotic spices.

  She uttered a prayer for guidance, then selected a scroll. Taking it to the old table in the center of the room, Kallista unrolled the scroll on its bare surface and sat down.

  Later that evening, when Nic entered the bedroom, he found Kallista wearing a tight black bustier and flouncy red skirt. A ruffled white petticoat peeked out underneath, short enough to reveal garters holding up black fishnet stockings. A pair of knee-high black leather boots with spike heels completed her outfit. The room was lit by candles and although they lived in the mountains, he could have sworn he caught a faint whiff of night blooming jasmine drifting through the open doorway from the terrace.

  “Do you remember the night we first met in St. Thomas?”

  Nic sat down on the loveseat at the foot of the bed. Kallista perched on a leather stool at his feet and handed him a goblet filled with clear liquid topped with a sprig of fresh mint. He took a sip. Mojito - made with Caribbean rum.

  “St. Thomas?” He paused for a moment, leaning back against the cushions. “No, I don’t think I do,” he replied with a smile. “Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

  It was a hot night. The air was heavy with the promise of rain to come and lightning streaked the horizon. Captain Teach watched as his men hauled burlap sacks of coffee beans into the hold of the ship. They would need to hurry. He planned to be far out to sea before the storm hit here, away from treacherous Frenchman’s Reef that circled the harbor. A bad storm could toss a ship around even in this protected harbor, bashing the hull against sharp coral and sending her to the bottom.