Tiffany Reisz

The LETTER: AN EROTIC SHORT STORY BY Tiffany Reisz

The Letter is available in print in the collection Little Red Riding Crop: Adult Toy Stories from 8th Circle Press.

***

By their thirteenth date, Bryce decided to just make a game of it. Would it be tonight that Leigh dumped him? Tomorrow? Would they make it to fourteen dates? Fifteen? Why she kept saying “yes” to him when he asked her out was beyond him. On their second date they’d kissed. On their fourth date, they’d made out on her sofa. After that, all progress toward consummation came to a screeching halt and entirely without explanation. 

Dinner came. They ate it. Dessert came. They ignored it. Bryce studied Leigh over the top of his wine glass. Beautiful girl…red hair with streaks of brown and black, dark eyes that brightened with laughter…she had a freckle on her top lip that he loved to bite when she let him kiss her. On date twelve she hadn’t let him kiss her. Tonight she wouldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“Are you a virgin?” Bryce asked, deciding he had nothing to lose at this point. Clearly things were going nowhere. If he couldn’t have her, maybe he could at least get some answers.

Leigh sat up straighter and gave him a look of profound shock. 

“No…of course not. Where-”

“Born again virgin? Incredibly Catholic? Do you have an STD? HIV? Raging antibiotic resistant tuberculosis? If so, I’m willing to work around any and all of that.”

Leigh laughed nervously and shook her head.

“Bryce, I don’t have-”

“Why haven’t we slept together yet?”

She sat her wine glass on the table and crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s…complicated,” she began and stopped. “I wish I could explain. I want to but when I try it’s…” She brought a hand up to her lips and pulled at the air as if trying to drag reluctant words from her mouth. 

Her body sagged and suddenly she looked so small and sad in the chair across from him that he wanted to drag her into his arms and apologize for even bringing it up. This girl…he fucking adored her. Her laugh, her smile, her dry sense of humor, the way her voice went all goofy and high-pitched when she played with his dog…he had to have her in his life. And she must have felt something, anything for him to keep saying “yes” to all these dates. So why…?

“Can’t what? Can’t tell me? Can’t explain? Can’t say it in any language other than French? That’s fine. I’ll learn French. Just tell me.”

She shook her head.

“I should never have said ‘yes’ to the first date, Bryce. And I’m sorry. People like us, like me…we usually don’t go out with guys we meet at the gym.”

She paused and growled as if profoundly frustrated with her own inability to explain. Bryce wondered what the hell she meant by “people like us.” 

“I like you so much that against my better judgment-” she continued.

“Oh, thank you very much for that.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Leigh clenched her hands and groaned softly. That groan, he heard passion in it. Frustration. No way was this woman frigid. Exhaling through her nose, she looked up and met his eyes. “You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met. You’re kind and sweet and chivalrous and gentle…”

“Horrible, I know.”

“I’m not like you. I’m different. And I want to tell you how but I just can’t get it out.”  

“Then write me a damn letter if you can’t say it.” 

Leigh’s eyes widened at the suggestion. 

“A letter? I can do that. I’ll do that.”

“You will?” He hadn’t been serious. But the thought of a letter, the thought of any form of explanation for her strange behavior excited him. At this point knowing why she wouldn’t sleep with him turned him on almost as much as her actually agreeing to sleep with him. 

“Yes. I’ll write it and mail it to you. It’ll explain everything. And then you won’t have to see me again once you know if you don’t like what it says. You’ll just know. And then we’ll both feel better.” 

Bryce nodded in agreement. 

“Fine. Write the letter. But I promise you will see me again.”

Leigh turned her head and stared down at the floor. She grabbed her sweater from the back of her chair, threw her purse over her shoulder, and stood up.

Looking at him, she gave him a wan smile.

“I really like you,” she said. “So read the letter first. Don’t promise me anything until you do.” 

And with those ominous words, she left the restaurant and maybe even his life.  

For the next three days, Bryce rushed home from work and checked his mailbox before doing anything else. Nothing…nothing…nothing…Finally on day four, he held it in his hands. Pale pink envelope, black ink…the letter.

It took all of his willpower not to open it up and begin reading it right on the sidewalk. Shoving it in his pocket, he went inside, poured a glass of white wine, sat in his favorite chair and carefully sliced open the envelope.

The stationery matched the envelope—black ink on pale pink paper. Scanning the first page, Bryce saw no date at the top, no “Dear Bryce.” His eyes fell onto the first sentence and he began to read.

Naked she waited on the bed…knees to her chest, arms around her shins, head bowed and eyes closed. As instructed. As always. And as instructed she’d pulled her long hair into low pigtails that hung over her shoulders and tickled her collarbone. He seemed to love the combination of sweet and spice in her—her hair so girlishly dressed, her body naked, her eyes rimmed with black eyeliner in full Cleopatra mode. Anything he wanted she would do for him. She’d style her hair as he wanted, dress as he liked…anything for him. All it took was an order.

She stiffened slightly when she heard the bedroom door open. Closing her eyes tightly, she fought the need to look at him. God, she loved to look at him—at his black hair, slightly unruly, his bright blue eyes, the leather bracelet he wore along with his leather-banded watch. He’d always rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows. Until him she’d never realized how erotic male forearms could be. 

Bryce paused in his reading. He looked down at his shirt. As usual he’d rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. On his left wrist a black leather bracelet accompanied his leather-band watch. He ran a hand through his black hair a few inches longer than his mother considered entirely respectable. 

Wait…was Leigh writing about him? No way. They’d never...only in his dreams. 

Bryce kept reading.

She inhaled sharply when his hands came to her shoulders and rested there for a moment. From her shoulders they slid higher until he held her by her neck, his fingers lightly pressed into the hollow of her throat. Her entire body came alive at his touch both gentle and threatening. His hands fell away from her and then it was his lips on her neck instead. And then a collar, her leather collar that he always buckled around her neck before taking her—a sign of possession. He owned her. This was proof. 

He trailed kisses from her ear to shoulder and back up again. She flinched as his teeth met her earlobe.

“Hands and knees,” he ordered in a whisper. Without hesitation she rolled forward and into position. 

His hands traced a path down her back, over her hips, down and up her thighs. His fingers found her labia and he opened the delicate folds wide…wider…She knew he was looking at her and studying the most private parts of her. Her skin flushed, but not with embarrassment. Only with desire. 

Two fingers he pushed into her. He went deep until he found the core of her. A small sigh escaped her lips as he pulled his fingers out. 

Then all the gentleness disappeared. 

With one hand he forced her onto her chest as he yanked her arms behind her back. Cold metal ringed her wrists—handcuffs. He pulled her roughly up to her knees and dragged her to the floor.

“Knees,” he ordered and she went down without hesitation. He opened his pants, took her by the chin, and forced himself into her mouth. 

She loved the size of him, the feel of him in her mouth, the slight salt taste of him against her tongue. Slowly he thrust in and out while she sucked and caressed and kissed. Ostensibly she was his property. At moments like this, however, she knew she owned him, too.

His breathing quickened and she readied herself to swallow. Instead he pulled out of her mouth, grabbed her by the shoulder, and dragged her once more to her feet. 

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he rasped the words in her ear. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Because you like sucking cock? Or because you like sucking my cock?”

She smiled.

“Yes, Sir.”

He laughed softly and nipped at her neck. 

“Good answer.” 

She stood still and waited as he undressed. She wanted to watch, wanted to see him but kept her eyes respectfully lowered to the floor. Only her respect for him, for his dominance, his mastery of her eclipsed her desire for him. Everything primal and female in her wanted to lay itself at the feet of everything male and primitive in him. 

Bryce coughed and adjusted himself. He took a large drink of his wine and considered turning the A/C up in the house. Suddenly it had gotten incredibly warm in his living room.

With a hand on the back of her neck, he steered her to the closed closet door. As a birthday gift to her, he’d gotten an over-the-door restraint system. Now he had somewhere to tie her up. Made for much easier flogging. 

He took off the handcuffs and tossed them aside before forcing her arms over her head. One by one he buckled each of her wrists to the straps on the door. She turned her head and rested her cheek against the cool painted wood. In and out she breathed, slowly…deeply…She let herself fall into a meditative trance that even the first fall of the flogger on her back didn’t interrupt. But the second, much harder lash did. She grunted with every new strike. Her back burned with pain. Her body burned with need. She wanted it to go on forever. She needed it to stop immediately. 

He dropped the flogger and pushed his chest into her back. At first she flinched from the pain but the feel of his warm body on her ravaged back sent renewed desire singing through her skin. 

When he unstrapped her from the door and pushed her onto the bed, she felt only relief. Finally…at last…

“Stomach,” he ordered and she rolled over and spread her legs. She loved to spread for him, to offer her body to him and let him take her any way he wanted. Straddling her hips, he pushed inside her and started to thrust. Underneath him she lay almost motionless as he used her body for his own pleasure. He clamped his hands over her wrists and pinned her hard against the bed as he moved harder and faster inside her. She tried to ignore how her body responded to his every movement, his every touch…the tip of his cock grazed her g-spot and she gasped into the sheets…his mouth caressed the sensitive center of her back…She wanted to raise her hips and take him even deeper inside her, let him make her come. But this time was for him and him alone. And she loved to give herself over to him to be used solely to satisfy his own needs. His breathing grew louder. His grip on her wrists tightened to the point of pain.

“Bite,” he ordered and she brought her mouth to his forearm and dug her teeth into his skin. With a long shudder he came inside her as her mouth continued to mark the occasion on his arm. 

He exhaled and she relaxed back into the sheets. She hadn’t broken the skin but he would have a beautiful bright red bite mark on his arm for the next week. Knowing him, he’d take a picture of it and email it to her tomorrow with a little note that confessed he grew hard every time he looked at the bruise.

With casual strength, he flipped her onto her back. He kissed her breasts, sucked lightly and then harder on her nipples. Gripping her knees, he forced her legs wide-open and pushed two fingers into her again. His fingers moved easily inside her as wet as she was with her arousal and his semen. A third finger joined the other two. The shock of pleasure sent her hips rising off the bed. He turned his hand inside her and pinned her back down against the mattress as he brought his lips to her clitoris. With his hand he rubbed her g-spot, massaged her labia, moved in and out of her with spiraling circles that sent he reeling while his lips and tongue tasted her, explored her, brought her to the edge and left her hovering there…finally he let her fall off the edge but caught her before she landed. 

He kissed his way up her stomach, over her ribcage, across her chest, and up to her lips. Their mouths met finally and she tasted herself on his tongue. 

Pulling up he gazed down at her and brushed a tendril of hair off her forehead.

“My little girl,” he whispered. “Mine.” 

“Yours, Sir…” she sighed and closed her eyes. 

Bryce reached the end of the letter and immediately started over reading it from the beginning. 

So this was her? This woman who wanted to be owned, used, flogged, tied up, taken, possessed…this was Leigh? This was the woman who hadn’t even slept with him after two months and thirteen dates? This wildly sexual, confident, erotic woman? 

I’m different…those were her words at dinner. Bryce shook his head. The woman had told him “no” not because she was a virgin or religious or scared…but because she was kinky and needed to be with someone like her. 

You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met. You’re kind and sweet and chivalrous and gentle…

Leigh was kinky and she thought he wasn’t. And that’s why she hadn’t gone to bed with him in all this time. For weeks she’d wanted to tell him what she was but she’d been too embarrassed, too shy. And even now she hadn’t told him. She’d shown him instead. And from the almost painful erection pressing against the fly of his pants, it was clear he’d liked what he saw. 

In seconds, Bryce was out of the door and in his car. Racing across town, he made it to her apartment in record time. 

He pounded on the door and Leigh answered it with wide, wary eyes.

“Bryce…what is—”

Before she could finish the sentence, he clamped a hand over her mouth, stepped inside the apartment, and kicked the door shut behind him.

Shoving her against the wall, Bryce locked his legs against hers, immobilizing her.

“Don’t scream,” he ordered as he lowered his hand from his mouth. Already she’d begun to breathe heavily. Sliding a hand between their bodies, he reached under her skirt, pushed the fabric of her panties aside, and slid a single finger into her. She burned against his hand, already wet for him. “Still think I’m too nice for you?”

She swallowed.

“No.” 

“That was you in the letter.” He moved his finger in and out of her as she began to pant. “But you didn’t name him. Was that me? Or your dream man?” 

A slight smile played at the corner of her lips.

“Yes, Sir.”

Bryce brought his mouth to her neck and bit her hard enough to make her whimper. He hoped she had nowhere to go tonight. He didn’t plan to let her go until dawn.  

“Good answer.”