Erotics Anonymous - A Strangers in the Night Story

by Veronica Wilde

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Erotics Anonymous

  A Strangers in the Night Story

  Copyright © 2008 by Veronica Wilde

  ISBN: 1-59998-864-X

  Edited by Laurie Rauch

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2008

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Erotics Anonymous

  Veronica Wilde

  Prologue

  Valentine’s Night

  “Bring her in.”

  Chelsea’s bare thighs trembled as her escort forced her to walk down a chilly stone hall. She was blindfolded, with her hands bound behind her back. She had no idea where she was or who was roughly leading her along by the black leather collar fastened around her delicate throat. The stiletto heels on her feet made it difficult to walk. Yet it was her ignorance of the events awaiting her that caused the wild tumult of anxiety inside her.

  At this moment, she was being led into a carnal lion’s den, which could prove to be either heaven or hell. Tonight she had gambled on very high stakes. If her gamble paid off, she would gain the desire of her heart.

  If it failed, she would face almost certain sexual degradation.

  With every quivering footstep, she tried to calm the fluttering in her stomach by imagining the man she loved. As the demeaning collar tightened around her neck, she remembered the stroke of his fingers and the thrust of his cock. She recalled the shape of his sensual mouth and his thick, glossy chestnut hair. Her heart gave a fierce pang as she thought of his dark eyes and that first gaze, which had seared itself on her soul…

  Her escort pulled impatiently on the collar, tugging her toward her destiny.

  It had been two hours since she’d stepped into a limousine outside her college dorm and willingly costumed herself in the corset, garter belt and other erotic accoutrements left for her. As soon as she’d slipped on the blindfold, she’d had to rely on her other senses to comprehend her journey. For a long while she had heard only the muffled purr of passing traffic. She’d smiled to herself, imagining the reaction of the other drivers if they could see into the dark-tinted windows. What would they think if they could see her, a blindfolded, twenty-year-old college student, her long, blonde hair not quite concealing the nipples poking over her corset? Would they think she was a sex slave? A kinky young heiress?

  One thing was for sure, they would never believe her story if she told them.

  Eventually the sounds of traffic had faded, signaling the limo’s departure from town. She had traveled the rest of the way in silence. At last the engine had stopped and, a few moments later, her door had opened to a gust of cold February air that made her shiver. An anonymous hand assisted her from the limo. The sharp clean scent of snow and forest trees told her that she was in the country, far from her university.

  A moment later a collar was snapped roughly around her neck and attached to a leash. She was yanked forward and led into some sort of building as she stumbled on her heels to keep up. She was kept waiting in a cold room to wait for what seemed like ages, her nipples aching in the chill, until the fatal command was uttered and her escort picked up her leash and began to lead her down this hall.

  Now the time for fantasy was over. It was time to confront her destiny.

  Chelsea knew the moment she entered the room. Her spiked heels sank into the cushiony surface of a carpet, and a much warmer air danced over her décolletage. The commingled scents of wine, expensive perfume and heated skin drifted to her nose. As the expectant hush of the room settled on her ears, she heard a vigorous crackle. Somewhere a cheerful fire was burning.

  “Lovely.”

  The sultry female voice was one she knew well. A week ago, she would have called this woman her mentor; now she considered her an enemy. Chelsea stiffened involuntarily as the click of high heels drew near. Two fingers lightly touched the stiff tips of her breasts. “You are excited. As you should be.”

  Chelsea’s heart began to race with panic. They were going to untie her, right? Surely they weren’t going to leave her bound and blindfolded as strangers took liberties with her body. If that was the case, her quest was doomed indeed.

  A sharp snap sounded near her ear and her escort tugged on her collar again, leading her through the room. Though the surrounding guests were silent, Chelsea could sense many hungry eyes drinking in the exposed curves of her flesh. At last a hand pressed back on her chest, stopping her. Obediently, she stood still, the back of her bare thighs warm from the nearby dancing flames.

  “It is time to take your vows of secrecy to the Society,” her mentor said.

  She felt a cold blade rest between her breasts.

  “Do you, Chelsea Becker, swear to offer your loyalty, devotion and generosity to those in this room tonight?” the female voice asked.

  Her voice shook as she answered, “I do.”

  “Do you swear to keep secret all that you see, learn and experience here?”

  “I do.” Oh, please let this be the extent of her initiation rite. If it only involved this degrading costume and a couple of worthless vows, she would consider herself getting off light indeed.

  “Do you understand that any revelation of the Society will incur great punishment?”

  She swallowed nervously. “I do.”

  Unexpected hands grasped her from behind, fumbling with her corset. She stifled a cry of outrage as she realized she was being stripped nude.

  “You must come to us naked, for tonight is a symbolic rebirth,” intoned the female voice.

  Chelsea longed to smack her, but knew she had no right to complain. She had agreed to this. Still, it was hard to swallow her gall as even her panties were slid down her thighs. Finally she stood before the crowd in nothing but her heels, her collar, her bonds and her blindfold. Her cheeks burned hot with outrage and humiliation.

  Someone tugged her leash forward with rough impatience. She stumbled, inspiring a few muffled titters from the other guests, as she was jerked into the center of the room, and then pushed down until she knelt on the carpet. Suddenly the collar was removed. “Extend your hands,” a deep male voice ordered.

  She obeyed as best she could, extending her bound hands behind her back. With a swift whistle of descent, a sharp blade cut through her bonds, freeing her hands. A moment later the same blade severed her blindfold as well.

  She gasped as the black fabric fell away from her eyes, releasing with it her cascade of blonde hair. The first light to enter her retinas made her blink. As her vision became less blurry, she saw she was kneeling in a massive, torch-lit room of deep red walls and high, molded ceilings. Dozens of people lined the walls. All of them were staring at her, the naked gift of this twisted Valentine’s party. But she no longer cared about her exposure. She was searching for one face, the face that meant everything to her, the face that promised the gratification of her heart a
s well as her body. The only problem was that it was a face she had never seen before.

  Chapter One

  Three Weeks Earlier

  “Lie on those pillows and spread your legs,” the handsome sultan commanded. “Now. Before I devise a worse punishment.”

  Chelsea Becker sprawled across her bed, brow furrowed with rapt concentration as she eagerly devoured her new book. Outside her dorm room, a steady January snow twirled down over the campus, but she was absorbed only in this latest treasured acquisition to her erotica library. It was the most recent title by Jonathan Danvers, her favorite author—and alumni of her university. He had, in fact, been her inspiration to transfer here from her original college last year. As an aspiring erotica writer herself, she figured any writing program that had produced him must be spectacular.

  She flipped the book to stare at his photo on the jacket. A small, black and white headshot showed him to be in his late twenties and formidably handsome, with thick dark hair that fell to his shoulders and a stern gaze that dominated his noble bone structure. He looked exactly like the man of her dreams—experienced, passionate, and just a little bit dangerous. She sighed. He was such a figure of mystery to her. He had no website and his book jacket bio said only that he was the author of three books and had graduated from her university. All of her efforts to learn more about him had been futile. Yet there was no writer she would rather read—and no man she would rather seduce.

  It had been a little over two years since she had discovered his first book. She had been an eighteen-year-old virgin then, a girl who dreamt of that perfect older man who would initiate her into a sexual realm that was as sensual and adventurous as it was satisfying. A man who would treat her like a princess in public but make love to her as savagely as an animal in private. Unfortunately, no such man existed amongst the crude boys on her old college campus. The guys at her new university weren’t much better. The few sexual relationships she’d had so far had been highly unsatisfying.

  She impatiently brushed away her long hair. With Valentine’s Day just weeks away, the single girls in her dorm were already growing nervous about finding boyfriends, or at least dates, for that special day. She thought it was a crock. Why should she date some clumsy boy just to enact a commercial cliché of roses and an overpriced dinner? She’d pass, thanks. There was nothing romantic about obligatory candy and sappy greeting cards.

  Chelsea didn’t want a conventional campus romance. She wanted adventure, excitement—and red-hot lust.

  Her reverie ended abruptly as the door swung open. “Oh good, you are here,” her roommate Nikki said breathlessly. “I was hoping you hadn’t gone to class yet.”

  Chelsea eyed her roommate suspiciously. Nikki’s black ponytail was disheveled and her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold January day. Her eyes sparkled with a devilish glint that said she had a plan. That wasn’t good. Nikki had many plans involving Chelsea’s social life and Chelsea usually didn’t like any of them.

  “Why?” she asked guardedly. “What’s going on?”

  Nikki dropped on her bed and gave Chelsea an earnest look. “The Tri Delts are having a blowout party tonight. I know you don’t like frat boys, Chelsea, but this party is going to be awesome. You have to come.”

  Chelsea suppressed a sigh of impatience. It was always the same old song and dance with Nikki. She wanted Chelsea to share her nights of beer-drenched bashes with loud and arrogant frat boys. Chelsea wanted to stay home and work on her latest story. Maybe it sounded boring to Nikki, but in fact Chelsea found writing far more fascinating than listening to a self-centered jock brag about his latest sports victory.

  “No, it won’t be awesome,” she said, her voice thin with impatience. She closed her book and sat up. “Bigger, maybe, but that’s about it.”

  It was the first weekend of the new semester, all of the frats and many off-campus student apartments were hosting parties. After living under their parents’ roofs over winter break, everyone was especially excited to drink and cut loose tonight.

  “Chelsea…” Her roommate adopted a wheedling tone. “You didn’t hook up once with anyone last semester.”

  “That’s because I didn’t meet anyone worth hooking up with.” Chelsea fought the urge to become defensive.

  Nikki leaned closer. “You know, I’ve read your stories for your writing class, Chels. For a girl with such a dirty imagination, you sure act…kind of pure.”

  Chelsea’s annoyance exploded. “Nikki, how many times do I have to explain this to you? I don’t like college boys. Especially the Cro-Magnon idiots who live on fraternity row. I want an older man, someone experienced and intelligent. Someone sexy. You’ve read my stories, you should know that.”

  She was so sick of explaining this. Yes, she was so physically frustrated she wanted to explode, and yes, her sexual imagination was downright depraved. But she did not want what passed as the typical mating rite here on campus—drinking herself stupid and going upstairs with a college guy who would thrust mechanically into her body for a few minutes before passing out. That seemed to her far cruder and more degrading than the kind of naughty scenes Jonathan Danvers wrote about. She’d heard the guys in her classes share their weekend exploits and frankly, the way they talked about their conquests was revolting.

  But she couldn’t say that to Nikki. Nikki was one of those girls they talked about, a frat rat who could be seen every Sunday morning doing the walk of shame back to the dorm. She claimed to enjoy her wild sex life, saying that a steady boyfriend would bore her. Yet Chelsea had noticed that, whenever the other girls in the dorms brought up their Valentine’s Day plans, Nikki got a tight expression around her mouth. Stepford Girls, Nikki called them.

  “I just know what I want, Nikki,” she said more gently. “And I’m willing to wait for it.”

  “But for how long?” her roommate asked. “You don’t have any hot professors you can seduce. If you hate frat guys so much, why not turn Jeff into your fuck buddy? You know he practically bursts out of his pants whenever he sees you.”

  A small smile crept across Chelsea’s face. Jeff lived one floor above them in the same dorm and was in her creative writing class. He was nice-looking enough, just not…sexy. Not experienced. Not arousing.

  “Sorry, but I am not in the least bit attracted to him.” Chelsea smiled. “Besides, I think he’s hoping Professor Deveaux will seduce him some day after class.” She glanced at the clock. “Speaking of which, we’re going to be late if we don’t get going.”

  The January sky continued to shed thick, soft snowflakes over campus as they hurried to class. From across the well-shoveled pathways came a familiar shout, “Chelsea! Nikki!” Chelsea glanced behind them to see Jeff running to catch up with them.

  “Here comes your love slave,” Nikki murmured.

  “Ssh! Don’t encourage him.” Chelsea took another look at him. “Huh, he looks kind of hung over. I’m surprised he didn’t just cut class.” Most of the students in their dorm started the weekend on Thursday night, Friday classes be damned.

  “And miss his favorite two obsessions—Professor Deveaux and you?” Nikki said with a smile. “Not a chance.” With a brief wave at Jeff, she headed off down a different path toward the science building.

  Chelsea waited with some resignation for Jeff to catch up with her. Though she didn’t return his feelings, she knew Nikki was right—Jeff suffered from a very transparent crush on her. He was very sweet, but there was no way she could be attracted to him. He was just too young and callow.

  “Hey,” he said breathlessly as he reached her side. “We get our stories back today, right?”

  “Right.” From the excited anticipation in his eyes, she knew Jeff was eager to read Professor Deveaux’s comments on their most recent assignment.

  Their creative writing professor was widely considered to be the sexiest professor on campus. The fantasy of every undergraduate male, Odette Deveaux was thirty-two, French and beautiful. Maybe it was her Parisian ac
cent, or her long auburn hair and worldly dark eyes, but she tended to put every college boy—and some girls—under her spell merely by entering the classroom. Registration for her classes was so intense that anyone who wanted to be accepted had to submit two pieces of work and a short biography to be considered.

  Chelsea had been nervous when she’d applied for the creative writing class. She wasn’t sure the professor would take her goals as an erotica writer seriously, or the other authors she had listed as her influences. Rumor had it that Professor Deveaux published erotica work herself under a pen name—but Chelsea attributed that to some frat boy’s overheated imagination. It was just too difficult to imagine cool, reserved Odette Deveaux writing dirty stories.

  To her vast relief, she had been accepted into the class. All last semester she had worked hard to impress Professor Deveaux. This semester’s class had started out badly. Somehow the new assignment she had struggled over just hadn’t worked. The dorm had been too noisy and her mind too preoccupied with student loans, and somehow she just hadn’t been able to concentrate.

  Unlike Jeff, who was eager for any crumb of attention from their professor, she was not looking forward to receiving her assignment back today. Their professor’s honesty could be a touch brutal at times.

  They slipped into class. A moment later, Professor Deveaux strode into the room, elegant as always in a black suit. Her auburn hair was in a chignon. She didn’t bother to greet her class. Instead she returned the stories. “Some of you I was very pleased with, and others, not so much…”

  Chelsea’s stomach clenched as she received her story. The comments were written at the top, criticizing her lack of direction and generic characters. Oh well. She had known it wasn’t her best work.

  She glanced sideways at Jeff. He hadn’t even glanced at the comments on his assignment, his eyes were locked on their professor in rapt infatuation. Of course, Jeff didn’t really care about his work, he had registered for the class mainly to bask in Professor Deveaux’s allure. She smiled to herself. She could well understand his crush on a beautiful older woman, because if she had a sexy older male professor, she’d feel the same way. Unfortunately, all of her male professors were about as exciting as stale bread.