I think writers of all genres get asked this from time to time and, if one writes erotica, the question sometimes comes with an implied ‘What sort of weird/depraved/ plain odd/ person reads these?’

I have two utterly and totally true stories I love to tell in reply.

First one was shortly after my very first erotic short story was published in Best Women’s Erotic 2000. (Yes, we are going back a bit.)  I was at some corporate function or other – before the dh retired I went to quite a few as I am a really nice wife.  Anyway I was talking to a group of similarly really nice wives, when a young woman, I’d only just met said, ‘I understand you write erotica.’ Now, all I knew about her (other than that she was also a company wife) was she’d once been a Baptist missionary. So, bracing myself for some sort of lecture or snide look, I replied in the affirmative, and waited.  She asked the title of the anthology. I told her, keeping my voice as neutral as I could but biding my time to pick up the cudgels, if necessary. Then, to my astonishment, she went on the tell me how, by the time they got their three small children to bed, she and her dh were exhausted and to liven things, they used to read each other erotica to ignite the spark.

After I closed my mouth, I couldn’t help myself smiling and almost hugged her. I think I offered to send her a signed copy.

Second story was some years on. I was at a group book signing organized by my publisher in a Borders in Akron.  (The fact it was a Borders rather dates this too.) This lovely, old lady came up to the table and picked up a copy of Power Exchange. Now, when I say ‘old’ lady I don’t mean someone in her 60s. Her hair was totally white, she was slender but had the no waist no hips, body shape some really old women have and in addition, her skin had that translucent quality I associate with extreme old age. At a guess, she was in her mid-eighties if not older. And there she was with a copy of Power Exchange in her hand and all I could think was ‘Dear Heaven! If she reads that, the poor old soul will have heart failure.’

As tactfully as I could, I said, “That’s BDSM erotica.” She gave me the most gloriously, wicked smile and said. “I know dear, it’s it best, isn’t it? I love your books and my online friends have been saying I must get this one. “ She went on to tell me she’d been a widow for 20 years and never had been one to troll the bars looking for men but, with a nice, sexy read and her vibrator, she was a very contented and satisfied woman.

She went down the table, bought an armload of books and went off. I decided I wanted to be like her when I grew up.

So, for whom do I write? I write for twenty-something Baptist missionaries who are worn out after running after preschoolers all day but still love and desire their husbands, and I write for eighty or ninety something widows who still feel the need.

And everyone in between.

And for a taste of my naughty short stories, I invite you to try Three Short Stories or one of my companion volumes of shorts. Links to buy at:
http://madeleineoh.com/shortstories.html#threemore

And meanwhile, here’s a sample story:

A String of Pearls

©2014  Madeleine Oh

“For you.”

When  Robert speaks, in his slow, deep, ‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ voice, he gets my undivided attention. Chicken with Holy Basil can’t compete.

This was our wedding anniversary and I expected a surprise. But what? A bright, red butt plug with a green ribbon round the base?  A pale-as-the-inside-of-an-oystershell, vibrating egg?  Quilted, purple silk restraints? That had covered Christmas and Easter and my birthday.

Our first wedding anniversary could be anything.

He set a black, velvet jewelers box on the table. Had Robert turned conventional? Buying me a string of pearls or perhaps an add a bead necklace. Possible but highly improbable.

He nudged the box closer to my wine glass. “Open it.”

I had it opened just enough to glimpse the white satin lining in the lid, when our waiter reappeared. All he wanted was reassurance our meal was perfect but I almost slammed the lid on my finger. Maybe it was matinee length pearls but you can’t be too cautious in public. Not when you’re married to Robert Kelly.

Checking to make sure no solicitous waiter or maitre d’ loitered, I snapped open the velvet lid. It was pearls alright but I’d never wear these to the opera – I hoped.

Nestling against the velvet padding and almost reflected in the gleaming satin lining of the lid, were six, large pearls: strung on a fine twisted cord, one end sporting a polished metal ring, plenty big enough for hooking and tugging with a strong middle finger.

I did an involuntary kegle exercise imagining how they’d feel pushed one by one up my asshole.  Knowing how a butt plug stretched and stimulated as Robert pulled it out, my stomach churned jasmine rice and holy basil imagining six round beads exiting my tight opening one by painful one.

I was so wet thinking about it, I was scared I’d leave a damp patch on the upholstered seat. Wearing no panties didn’t help in the least. I should be used to that by now, but I wasn’t. I never crossed the street without thinking about my mother’s warnings in case I got run over.

Sitting in the Thai Pavilion, smelling my own arousal while Robert smiled promises at me across the pink linen table cloth, I wanted to shove back my chair, grab my husband’s hand and drag him home to bed. But Robert ordered mango mouse and sticky rice which  I ate, one tiny bronze spoonful at a time, and never tasted a thing.

By the time he’d sipped the last of his decaffeinated  espresso and finished signing the credit card slip, I could feel myself soaking though my skirt and I was the next best thing to panting as I settled on the spot leather upholstery of Richard’s, Merc. Only ten minutes drive, fifteen max if every light was against us, and we’d be home.

I was ready and willing for whatever Robert had in mind, even six gleaming pearls up my asshole.

What Robert had in mind was having me strip in the garage. I half-expected him to fuck me over the hood of the car but no, while I was stepping out of my shoes and getting ready to roll my lace-top stockings down, he grabbed me by the waist and tossed me over his shoulder. Head hanging half-way down his back, face rubbing against his tussore silk jacket, while he held my ankles in one hand and stroked my butt with the other, I was tempted to wriggle and complain, but with my ass, literally under his hand, decided against it. That part of me was going to get enough attention tonight, no point in getting it reddened as well. Besides, I was more worried about one of the neighbors seeing as Robert carried me across the breezeway into the house.

Once inside, Robert eased me down his body. Every inch, from my shins and knees to my boobs and my face, rubbed the warm, rough surface of his jacket as he lowered me until my feet touched the cool, tiled kitchen floor.

“Happy Anniversary,” he said and kissed me.

Lord! This fucker of mine can kiss! Slow and sure, with the unhurried confidence of an expert, he pressed my lips apart and caressed then with his tongue until I let out a little sigh. He delved right in. His tongue poked, pushed, stroked, pressed and teased until I tried to push away. He’s made me come with kissing before now and I wanted to last.

“No,” Robert muttered into my mouth and set to with enthusiasm. I wrapped my arms round his neck, mashed my body against his and gave as good as I got. Now, he was the one moaning. He’d been hard when we started, now his cock felt like an iron pipe inside his tropical wool slacks.

“I’m almost coming,” I managed to get out between groans.

“Good,” Robert replied, bringing his hand to my breast.

I gave up thinking, forgot speech. His fingers tweaked and pulled and rolled one nipple then the other until he whipped me into a frenzy of need and wanting and… his mouth clamped down on mine as he gave my nipple one hard twist and I came with a shout that resounded in my head, echoing like the spasms of heat that radiated from my cunt. I’d have collapsed on the Mexican tile floor if two strong arms hadn’t held me. As it was, my cries sent the dog off in a yapping frenzy.

“He’s upset because he isn’t getting any,” Robert said, holding me with one arm, as he reached for a doggie treat to keep the mutt quiet. While Hercules chewed on his milk bone, Robert dipped into his pocket and brought out my anniversary pearls, his finger through the loop as they dangled right in my line of vision. “Hold them,” he said and dropped them in my hand. “While I carry you.” He scooped me up in his arms, head against his chest instead of down his back this time and carried me across the house to our bedroom.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, as he plonked me on the bed.

As if I would when I had the chance to watch the best striptease in town. Robert played soccer in college and he still moves with the almost balletic grace of a world class player. Even mundane things like hanging his jacket up or unbuttoning his shirt, he performs with grace and as for unbuckling his belt or sliding down his zip with a slow scritch – riveting might be a good word. But the ultimate exhibition is what I wait for,  his wonderful, hard cock jutting out for me to hang my hopes on. Looks are great but taste is better and I was licking my lips as Robert came towards me. I needed to taste that beautiful cock, my beautiful cock, and feel it between my lips.

Robert paused by the night stand for a tube of jelly, (should have expected that, given what I was still clutching in my hot, little hand) and a bottle of massage oil. “You’re looking tense,” he said. “Roll over and I’ll help you relax.”

After that climax I was about as tense as a marshmallow. But who’d turn down an offer like that? I rolled on to my belly and closed my eyes as Robert poured warm oil between my shoulder blades.

It trickled down my spine in a slow stream and he was pouring more. It ran down the side of my waist and pooled in the hollow of my back. Then my husband got busy. Hands flat he spread that spicy, scented oil all over me, anointing me from my shoulders to my thighs. His practiced fingers found tension in my shoulders and the top of my neck where it met my skull. He gently stroked and smoothed until all I wanted was to spend the rest of my life in bed under Robert’s expert hands.

Then he blew on my skin and I knew at once he’d used the Kama Sutra oil! Heated trails flowed over my skin in the wake of his breath. Was it possible to be utterly relaxed and aroused? You bet! I swear he huffed and puffed over every square centimeter from the back of my knees to the nape of my neck and while by skin still glowed, his hands began again.

Fingertips at first, five on each butt cheek, tracing ever-widening circles on my ass. Soothing and stimulating at one and the same time. His hands gently flattened, pressing and opening my cheeks apart. His fingers stroked my crack and then dipped between my legs.

“You’re sopping wet,” he whispered against my skin, starting another warm shiver with his breath. “Now, what am I going to do about that?”

“You could fuck me,” I suggested. “Fill me up with your lovely, hard cock.”  Saying it aloud had me soaking,

“Oh, I will, my love, later.  Right now…” he paused and I gave a little gasp as cool lubricant oozed between my ass cheeks. This wasn’t warm but as he rubbed it into my asshole my body accepted the cool. He held my cheeks apart, opening me wider. The metal tip of the tube kissed my opening as a rush of gel surged inside. Robert’s finger followed, gently pushing, circling, stretching and opening until my sphincter relaxed. I was passive, anticipating the intrusion, while my mind whirled. Would it hurt? How tight would it feel? Would it, heck, they, stretch more than the Christmas butt plug or Robert’s cock? Would it…

One soft gasp as my butt hole stretched and I felt… not much different but one pearl nestled inside me. I exhaled.

“How’s that feel?” Robert asked.

“Okay.” I’d barely spoken when the second slipped inside.

I hardly felt it once it was in. It was pushing past the muscle wrought wild sensations. The third seemed bigger, tighter. They were nestling inside me, and the fourth nudged them deeper. How big was I in there? How far would they go? What if they got stuck?

“Easy, easy,” Robert’s hands stroked my head and shoulders. “It’s okay. We’re half-way. I wish I had a camera handy. If you could see these beads disappearing up your ass.” With that another popped inside.

Robert ran kisses up and down my spine, awakening the last traces of heat in the oil drying on my skin. As I murmured my contentment, the last two pushed inside.  I knew they were there:  Stretching, filling, pushing, warming.  The cool of the gel faded and all I felt was heat that sent my cunt flowing and little soft groans rising from deep in my belly.

Robert rolled me on my back and reminded me what a great mouth he had. He licked from fore to aft with tantalizing slowness until my hips moved of their own accord and little groans became big ones.

He stopped, Damn him! Sitting back on his heels and grinning. “Okay, love, now it’s my turn to lie back and enjoy it.”

Turn about is fair play, and heck, sucking Robert’s cock isn’t my idea of hardship… hardness, maybe …but not hardship. He leaned back, a pillow behind his back and I went to it between his legs, softly circling the smooth head of his cock with the tip of my tongue. Taking him between my lips, fluttering his hard muscle with my tongue until he ran his hands through my hair, pushing me lower.  I took most of him in, running my tongue up and down then warm skin at the side of his cock. Lifting back a little to flicker round his ridge again and again until he groaned. I let up a little – but not much. Down and up I went in a smooth rhythm, enjoying the taste of him and the magnificent scent of aroused male. Nothing like knowing your own power.

“Easy,” he said at last and pulled my head away. “Let’s fuck!’

I grinned up at him. “Brilliant idea.” I didn’t wait to be asked twice. Shifting to kneeling, I scooted up the bed until I was squatting over his thighs. As Robert’s hands on my waist steadied me, I impaled myself on his wondrous erection.

And gasped. I’d married a big cock but not this big! I was stuffed, packed tight with solid erection and hard, round beads. As I rocked gently, I felt Robert press inside until he rubbed the beads through my cunt walls. I took a deep breath and rocked again.. and again…  Incredible! Wonderful! I gave up thinking adjectives and concentrated on sensation as I worked my cunt up and down Robert’s cock.

I watched him. Saw the pleasure soften his face and the heat glimmering deep in his eyes. I wasn’t the only one spiraling to the outer galaxy. I leaned forward so my clit felt more of the pressure and rocked up and down until Robert moaned. I was close to coming now, breathing hard as sensation built and grew and..

“Nearly there?” Robert gasped.

I nodded. Groaning as passion turned my brain chemicals to boiling pitch. I let out a long, slow moan as the nerve endings in my cunt drew up for the leap into joy. The first waves of orgasm rippled through me as Robert pulled out the first bead. A wild yell of delight burst in my chest. My whole body roared and the next one came, and the next. My body awash, my mind drowning, I shouted and groaned and sang the wildness that flooded me. I lost balance, collapsing on Robert just as he came, his heated spunk bursting into me as my last vibrations slowed and calmed.

I lay on top of him, as his warm jism oozed out of my cunt and the last sweet spasms of pleasure faded to gentle ripples. I rolled off him, nestling beside him, my head on his chest. The beads in his hand glistened with lubricant and I still throbbed deep inside.

Robert opened his eyes and grinned. ‘Happy Anniversary.’

I can’t wait for Halloween.