Curse of the Bitch

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Cheating, Group Sex, Interracial, Anal Sex, .

Desc: Sex Story: This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago. It is the tale of a writer f erotic stories who believes he is cursed when his stories start coming true.

Author's note. The circumstances surround the main character's entry into the erotic writing world are autobiographical.

I am scrunching my body as far back into the crevice as humanly possible. The cold concrete helps me to feel every bump and bruise on my aching body. I know if I can survive until first light I should be able to make it out of town alive. I also know if they manage to catch me under this bridge, I'm fucked. My shoulder stings from a near miss earlier this evening. I say near miss, because I am sure the asshole was aiming for my head.

I haven't really slept in the past 48 hours, and I don't plan on closing my eyes until my ass is firmly planted on a Greyhound bus bound for anywhere but here. I can relax for a few minutes now because I think I have given my pursuit the slip. It's amazing what you can put your body through when you have a group of armed angry men seeking to make you a statistic.

The near pitch black darkness makes it impossible to read my watch, but when I last looked it was three thirty in the morning, so I think it's closer to five now. The first bus leaves town at six thirty, which should be about twenty minutes after first light.

My plan is to hole up under this bridge until first light and then make my way to the bus station. There will be enough people around there that I can get on the bus and disappear forever. I'll miss this town but I'll be alive. I guess while I have a minute I can explain how I came to be in this predicament. My name is Chris Frost. I am a 25 year old factory worker / musician who just happens to write erotic stories on the side. I also have been cursed by a gypsy.

I drive a '67 Cadillac Eldorado that has been dubbed by my friends as the turquoise pimp mobile. One of them even bought me a pimp hat and cane shortly after I bought it. They said I had to buy my own fur coat.

I got into the whole writing thing quite by chance. One day as I tried to stave off boredom at my day job, I discovered I could surf the internet on my phone. This discovery of course led to me surfing porn sites. On one of the sites I found a list of links to other porn sites. I was going link by link checking out each site's offerings.

Some sites had links that only seemed to lead you to other sites. Some sites would let you see a few pictures and then ask for a credit card. None were truly free and they all offered pretty much the same faire.

I clicked one link and was led not to a true porn site, but to a site full of erotic stories. At first I was disappointed, I wanted to see tits. Out of curiosity, I clicked a category and started reading. By the time my shift was over I had read fourteen stories and was in the middle of number fifteen.

For the first time since I joined the workforce I hated to see the end of my shift. I drove home as quickly as I could and finished reading the story at my PC. As I read story after story I realized a few things.

The first was that for armature writers, I got about the mix I expected. I got writers that could write a damn fine story, and I got writers that seemed they were probably giggling like ten age boys as they wrote about boobs and pussies. And of course there were some who seemed to be lucky to string three or more words together to make a comprehendible sentence.

Second, I realized that I had a few ideas of my own and I could probably do a decent job of getting my story out there. I had done well in English all through school and I have a better than average vocabulary. So I decided I would write a story and submit it to the site.

The third thing I realized was that it was two in the morning and I had been sitting at my computer since four in the afternoon. I hadn't eaten or gone to the bathroom. Worst of all I had to get up at 5:30.

As I worked the next day I let scenarios play in my head. Every once in a while I'd laugh or say "That's good" as ideas played out. I know a few of my co-workers had to think I was losing it. I spent every break and my lunch period reading on my phone.

When I got home that evening I opened Word and started typing. Previously I had only used the PowerPoint viewer to look at porn. By 10:00 I had six full pages written and three more pages of notes and research. By the end of the weekend I had my first story done and was ready to submit it.

I opened an account on the site and made up a pen name. I decided to call myself DirtyCharlz, because Longcock69er and BigDikFukr were already taken. The "Dirty" was because I wrote dirty stories, and "Charlz" was for my first dog Charlie.

Four days later I had my story back from an editor named SlutnBoyShortz and I submitted it. I checked every day and finally a week later it was posted. As I waited for the comments of "You're awesome" to roll in I read the other new stuff that day.

By early evening I had two comments on my story. One said "Thnsk for shring" and the other just said "Really?" At that point I decided that maybe I couldn't write and told myself I was all the better for trying.

The next night I checked the e-mail I had used to set up my account and found three encouraging notes from readers. One even offered to edit my next story, because she wasn't happy with the job Slut had done.

So with renewed enthusiasm I started writing my next story. I decided to write an incest story because they seemed to get the most readers and from what I read the most positive comments.

So over the next year and a half, I wrote a multiple chapter incest tale. It started with the fumblings of a brother and sister's first sexual relations, and progressed through the ages. They lived as man and wife and raised a family.

As the tale went on I realized that I would have to end it at some point just to avoid the story becoming mundane. So with three chapters left, I had the sister die of cancer, but to keep the eroticism going I had the oldest daughter jump into bed with her father. In the next to last chapter he fathered his own grandchild.

For the last chapter I had run out of ideas. I had him wish to die by being fucked to death, and all of his daughters and cousins joined in to give him his final wish. A lot of the readers were upset that I had finished the series.

After I had submitted the last chapter, I started trying to decide what I wanted to write next. That decision was made easy by three e-mails I had received. The first one offered to send me video of the poster and his young sister performing my favorite sex acts. "She'll do anything you want to."

The next was pretty similar. A guy wanted me to write a story about him raping his sisters, aged 16, 14, and 9. Needless to say I deleted it after I forwarded it to the FBI. Even that wasn't the most disturbing e-mail.

A woman sent me the worst one. It was a three page rant about sexism and my objectifying women and promoting incest. She said I needed to think long and hard about the victims. Her final line was

"You will soon find sympathy for your victims, sinner!"

I said "Bitch!" out loud as I deleted that one, and swore I was out of the erotica game for good. After that e-mail I would know her as "The Bitch."

So I had decided once again that I wasn't going to write anymore. My creativity had run its course and I had egged on some pretty sick people. I was feeling good about leaving the scene when I got an e-mail from a fifty year old guy in California named Jimmy. He told me that he was disabled and all he was really able to do was read stories and play on the internet. He said that while he was physically unable to have sex, he had a vivid imagination and erotica had replaced the real thing for him.

He told me that he saw a real talent in my writing and that if I changed my subject matter, I could be one of the best out there. He closed by saying that people like me gave him a reason to go on living. Right there and then I decided to write again.

For three weeks I thought about new stories. I had spent so much time working on the one incest tale that I had trouble coming up with a different set of characters. Finally I came up with the idea of a guy who just goes around getting laid. I figured he'd be like the King Midas of pussy. He walks into a room and automatically any woman in that room wants to fuck him. It could be like a supernatural power. Thus Jimmy DeBone was born.

In the first chapter, Jimmy goes to a massage parlor. I know;

every guy that goes to a massage parlor gets laid.

I call bullshit, because I have gone to massage parlors many times and have never been offered a happy ending. Of course Helga, the main woman I like to be rubbed down by, looks like she'd be more at home in a biker bar pool tournament. She's nice as hell, but damn she is a scary butch chick.

So I had Jimmy go to a massage parlor. His masseuse is Kiko, a small dainty Japanese girl with magic fingers and a snapping pussy. Three hours after Jimmy goes in, he stumbles out well fucked and tired. I had three specific adventures planned for Jimmy.

After the massage parlor, I had Jimmy get molested at the grocery store. An under-appreciated housewife dragged him into the stock room and fucked him silly. When the manager caught them, she simply told him she was looking for fresh meat and had found it in abundance.

The third adventure had Jimmy make a delivery to a house while the woman there was hosting a bridge club. While there he became the central entertainment for eight horny cougars. After I had all three chapters written and edited I submitted them along with a request that they be posted a week apart.

.... There is more of this story ...

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