by Bonnie Dee
“That hurts!”
“It is your own fault. Was the kiss worth it?”
She leaned her head back to meet his eyes. She licked her lips, slowly, before answering. “I liked it better when you were bleeding.”
She joined a secret society of masks and sex games. What she found was a forbidden love.
Erotics Anonymous
© 2008 Veronica Wilde
As a writing student at an exclusive college, Chelsea Becker isn’t into the normal, boring dating scene. Nor is she interested in pledging a sorority. But when a botched class assignment results in a chance to do some “extra credit”, she discovers a secret society of famous erotica writers on campus. As an aspiring erotica writer, she’s willing to do anything to join.
Her initiation tests include the exploration of her most risqué fantasies—including wordless sex with a masked “muse” whose scorching touch betrays the passion they’re not supposed to feel.
Her initiation into Erotics Anonymous is supposedly just a game. But the lust her muse evokes is erupting into forbidden love… a love that will come at a very dangerous price.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Erotics Anonymous
The next night at ten o’clock, Chelsea stepped out of her dorm to find a silver limousine waiting for her.
No driver stepped forth to open her door or usher her inside. After an awkward hesitation, she opened the door handle and climbed in. The warm and darkened interior was an inviting contrast to the cold January night. As she sank back into the cushioned leather seat, the limo pulled away and began the winding journey through the campus. No music played; the driver remained silent. Chelsea clutched her long, black leather trench coat around her and watched the lights of her dorm recede.
Her instructions for tonight had arrived via an anonymous email that morning. It ordered her to dress in a short skirt with no stockings, the top of her choice, and a long coat to cover it all. Her destination was a popular bar right near campus. Tomorrow she was to write about the night’s events and submit her story to the same email address.
Her mouth was dry, her bare thighs were shaking and her panties clung to her wet sex. She was almost sick with trepidation at the mysterious initiation test she faced tonight—yet she was more deeply aroused than she had ever been in her life.
The selection of the bar startled her. It was a dark and malty dive, packed to standing room only every night of the week with students. It was the least erotic or elegant locale she could think of. So why would the Society ask her to go there? It didn’t make sense. All the same, she was determined to fulfill their instructions. All last night she had tossed restlessly in her bed, thinking of the sexual and professional benefits membership in the Society could bring her. Not only would the literary contacts be amazing, but it would be a relief to associate with people who viewed sex as an adventure and an art—not a beer-fused hookup between two students who wouldn’t even acknowledge each other in the dining hall the next day.
And, of course, there was the possibility—the probability, even—that she would meet the man of her dreams, Jonathan Danvers.
The limo pulled up outside the bar. The neon lights glowed in the frosty night. Taking a deep breath, she climbed out and headed inside.
The bar was a sweltering den of darkness, noise and heat. As she squeezed through the crowd, she could barely hear the jukebox over the roar of conversation, laughter and clinking glasses. The surrounding faces were hard to make out in the dim glow emanating from red light bulbs over the wooden booths. She cast a wary glance around her, wondering what exactly she was supposed to do. Was it possible that Professor Deveaux had been playing a joke on her? This entire environment was appallingly crass.
A tall, beefy guy in a baseball cap headed her way. “Hey, I know you,” he yelled over the din. “You’re in my sociology class. Are you here alone?”
She shook her head and moved toward the back of the bar. Dressed in her long leather coat, cashmere sweater and short skirt, she was growing hot and flushed from the swarm of bodies around her. Feeling thirsty, she joined the crowd of people three-deep around the polished wooden bar trying to attract the bartender’s limited attention. Squeezed among much taller men, she felt unseen and unnoticed. At last, she found herself pushed up against the bar itself. A flutter of claustrophobia ran through her as the crowd closed in on all sides of her. Helplessly, she tried to push back and claim some breathing room, but to no avail. Nor did the bartender seem to notice her.
The person behind her pushed her coat to the side and caressed the soft curve of her ass.
Chelsea froze. How dare he? Who was this jerk who was so arrogant as to go around feeling up girls in public? She tried to turn around and confront him, but the damp bodies surrounding her were pushed too closely together. She was trapped.
The anonymous hand began to stroke her thighs, running two fingers up her firm muscles that quivered with both indignation and excitement. She waited breathlessly as the strange hand continued its ascent underneath her short skirt. Mortified by her own arousal, she jerked against him, signaling her displeasure in the only way she could. This was completely unacceptable behavior, no matter how nice it felt. Yet the stranger only ran his hands under the delectable cheeks of her bottom, and gently flicked his fingers between her legs, signaling her to open her legs. She understood. This was her test and he was her Muse.
Closing her eyes as her face burned hot, she spread her thighs for his hand.
The stranger was stroking her through her panties now, playing with her pussy more masterfully than anything she had ever experienced. As he fingered her clit, her thighs became wet with a warm surge of arousal. His touch was so intimate, as if he already knew the needs and responses of her body. Who was this man? Once more she tried to twist around to see his face. But the crowd was so intense that she could only view the men on each side of her, both absorbed in their own conversations. She wiggled helplessly, both wanting him to continue and appalled at her own complicity.
Gently, he dragged her panties down her thighs, stopping them just before the hem of her short skirt. She swallowed, another wave of fever staining her face as he brushed his fingers over her exposed sex. Never in her life had she allowed anyone to take down her panties in a bar or feel her up in public or arouse her so fiercely without even showing his face…
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