I have lived a dual life for years… the day I released my first erotic story on Literatica – Hot Indian Sex Stories.. Looking back at those two now, I cringe at my writing: my lack of character development, my vague semblance of a plot, and my ‘by the numbers’ sex scenes.
The persona people see is pretty simplistic. I teach English at a high school in a small town in Canada. I am a mother of two, a twenty year old son and an eighteen year old girl. My husband died a couple of years ago in an oilfield accident and I have been a single parent ever since. I have not dated at all since, and even if I did, I’m not sure it would be with a man.
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However, I wasn’t ready to tell my children I might be a lesbian. Besides teaching, grading and coaching volleyball, I also take my son to football and my daughter to dance. I’m also a caring sibling. Both my sisters have been going through hard times and I have been there the best I can be. I’m also a concerned daughter who is always checking in on my aging parents. I am, without a doubt, the glue that keeps my family together.
My serious look: The secret persona that no one, I mean no one (not even my late husband or my siblings) knows, is the erotica writer. I have been for years. And over the past five years, I have published over 200 stories in a few different sexual categories. Not to be pretentious, because that’s not who I am, but my stories are read by thousands of people daily and I have stories with over a million reads (four of them). I started writing because I was bored at home one summer, when the kids were much younger and wanted to explore some of my fantasies (mostly lesbian) through writing. I didn’t originally have any intention of releasing them online, but on a whim one day I created an account on Literatica , a new email address, and submitted my first two stories.
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I had no idea that whim would forever change my life. I felt a rush when I saw them published; I felt a rush when I saw the stats (score, votes and reads); and I felt a rush when the stories received comments on the website or in an e-mail.
Sure, some were super negative, but the majority were positive and flattering.
I had no idea what an ‘H’ meant beside a story. I had no idea that readers could favourite stories or favourite authors. I also had no idea that it would stir a need in me to write more and to satisfy a need for recognition by strangers.
I started writing sequels to those stories and although they did okay, it was ‘Bedding the Babysitter’ that convinced me to write and publish regularly. The story took off and I have received hundreds of emails from fellow women, teenagers, and college girls sharing similar feelings with the protagonist Jenny. I learned I wasn’t the only woman who questioned her sexuality. This story seemed to push curious girls to experiment, in the closet girls to accept who they were, and older women to explore their own lesbian sexual fantasies.
Learning that my stories impacted people flattered me, and I have been writing ever since… attempting to release a story a week.
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Anyways, the point of this meandering ramble was that I had done a great job of keeping my two opposite personas separate.
Although it took months to become the submissive slut I often wrote about, in retrospect, it probably started the first day of a new school year.
Both of the other English teachers in our small department were gone (one retired and the other was on maternity leave). This threw me a bit as we had worked as a threesome (the non-sexual version of the term) for the past five years.
My school look… serious and professional… but sexy… and, like my username, always in stockings:
At school, I was a woman of habit and didn’t like change. I had grown accustomed to how well we worked together and dreaded the thought of training two new first year teachers: it was obvious this would mean more work for me as I had to mentor both of them.
Now I probably sound like a bitch, but I’m not. I just hate training the new generation of teachers which are, for the most part, lazier than my generation
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Most of these worries faded when I actually met the new teachers I had prejudged without actually meeting them.
The male was a witty young man with a drama background, and wanted to perform a musical in the spring, something I had wanted to do for years, but couldn’t pull off alone.
The female, Annabelle, I instantly knew was trouble. A redhead (my weakness), green eyes (my weakness), and legs clad in mocha coloured pantyhose (my ultimate weakness in both the nylons and the colour).
Although I had plenty of moments of temptation over the years, I had resisted taking a bite out of the apple of sin… at least when it came to my students… But a teacher on my staff? Well… that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
I have been with a few women, including teachers, but always when I was out of town at conferences. Besides being a teacher, I also have a Masters Degree in Assessment and was often asked to keynote at conferences or do full days of school professional development.
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I had travelled to all ten Canadian provinces and two territories, twenty-four American states, and this past year did my first European gigs hitting England, Belgium and Norway (I had my first Norwegian, as well as my first British woman during that trip). Those gigs had me already hired for a week-long tour in 2016 during my spring break where I was doing five keynotes in Italy. Much of my ancestry is there. I had already booked off a second week so I could travel Italy before ending in Paris so I could see The Louvre.
Again, off topic.
Anyways, I was instantly intrigued by the red haired, green eyed, young British woman, especially as I had often fantasized about wild nights in London with an older British woman who dominated me in ways I had only dreamed of. At twenty-five, Annabelle was much younger than me, yet she spoke as if much older.
She had travelled extensively and was really excited about this one year exchange.
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Over the first month, I noticed a few things:
Like me, she wore nylons every day.
Like me, that even included casual Fridays where she wore pantyhose and heels with her jeans.
Like me, she kept her fingers and toes perfectly manicured.
She was a very touchy feely woman, unlike me, often touching my hand or arm when we were working together, which was often because we were assigned a period every second day to work together, along with the new guy, Mike.
She had a sexy English accent that somehow made everything she said sound sexy to me, just like the older woman back in London… who never did tell me her name… other than Mistress.
I was completely intoxicated by her and spent many nights imagining that she seduced me and made me her pet.
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Annabelle had become my newest late night fantasy. My daughter in bed, marking was done, and I am in story mode for the evening, fantasy. I usually write for a couple hours before bed and then, when my writing gets me horny, I either put on some porn, usually lesbian, or fantasize about submissive to a dominant female.
Sometimes it was to students.
Sometimes it was to parents of students.
Sometimes it was to colleagues.
Sometimes it was to celebrities, especially younger pop stars who wore nylons like Taylor Swift or Selena Gomez, who both had turned into lovely, sexy women. Like seriously, Swift has to be a domme, Gomez a submissive (maybe a story I should write one day).
Sometimes it was to my two sisters… like I wrote about in the ‘Three Sisters’ story.
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Sometimes it was to a couple of my friends.
But more times than not, it was to our second year principal… Ms. Rose. She was a beautiful, big breasted young woman, already principal at age twenty-eight, with a no-nonsense attitude.
Most of my fantasies had her coming to my room to have me lick her pussy whenever she needed to get off. The idea of being just a pussy pleaser (similar to many of my gay male stories where they were just cocksuckers) was a major turn-on. Just giving and not receiving… just being a good submissive (like so many of my protagonists… so many characters are based on my wide range of fantasies).
Here is one such fantasy I had played repeatedly for months before the arrival of Annabelle:
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Parent teacher interviews are done. The last one was an exhausting one with a tiger mom who believed her child should have a 100. She was so intense that I had Ms. Rose join me for the interview since the parent had been a problem for all the teachers and the administration.
After almost an hour, the meeting ended, with no real conclusion or agreement with our assessment procedures, and she threatened to go to the board.
As soon as the parent left, Ms. Rose sighed, “Well, that was fun.”