0 comments/ 5304 views/ 0 favorites Confessions of an Erotic Nature By: Stellaandhank A few years ago, Stella experienced a sexual re-awakening that changed the course of her life. As if they could smell her invisible pheromones, men looked at her face, her breasts, her hips with abandon. Or did they? Their real or perceived attention fueled her new sense of erotic self. She wanted to lose herself. And she did -- first in Anais Nin and Henry Miller. And then in her own photography and writing. Stella waited for the right man (her own Henry Miller) to join her on her journey of "delicate perversions." She started to wonder if he existed or if she was living (once again) in the old books of dead writers. This is about what happened when Stella finally found him. A man who had also been looking for someone with whom to get lost. She had no choice but to call him Hank. He had no choice but to see her as his "French Whore." Follow Stella and Hank's journey of sexual pleasure and exploration as it unfolds through their daily correspondence and photography. * Dear Hank, Last week at dinner, did you notice that we had barely sat down with John and Marianne when she announced that she thought I had an "exceptionally beautiful face and a lovely full mouth?" Were you equally surprised when she asked me about my sexual orientation? I didn't expect that she would make her intentions so obvious, especially after knowing us for less than 10 minutes, did you? Marianne is not only beautiful but has to be the most sexually overt woman I have ever met. The way she flirted with you in front of John all the while not letting anyone forget that she hungered for me too. You put it perfectly when you looked her square in the eyes and said she was a modern day sexual Tyrannosarus Rex! I could tell her desire for me excited you. And that excited me. Since then, thoughts of letting her do some of the things that you do to me have flooded my brain. I want to surrender to all forms of sexual desire. I want to let her seduce me. I want to give myself to her like I give myself to you. I want to stand in front of Marianne in black (lace) and white (skin) and the high heel shoes she openly admired as we left the restaurant. (Do you think the people at the next table could tell what was going on?) I want to let her touch me and taste me as you and John watch our Sappho-inspired little show. And while Marianne feasts on me, I want to turn my head to face you and see your eyes speak the words "You are so bad" and "I have never desired you more." Love, Stella P.S. Should I write her? * Stella, my sweet French whore, it is you who pulls the strings of my desire. Your sensual erotic nature is the fuel for my burning desire. To make love to you is to enter a world of ecstasy and sweet carnal pleasure. Your fruit is always ripe for me but my ravenous appetite is never fully quenched. You know me and my desire to continually explore the borders of our sweet delicious perversions. To watch you with Marianne will only make our fire rage even more. Write her, Stella. She won't be able to resist you. Hank * Stella, I woke up this morning with a wonderfully hard cock. All I could think about was your soft voluptuous body lying next to me. I fantasized about stroking your soft full ass with my hands while slowly spreading your legs to lightly caress your wet wanting pussy. You moan lightly awaking to the touch of my wet fingers. I pull you tighter cupping your full tits in my hands. My cock is big and hard as it seeks your sweet delicious cunt. I slowly push allowing you to fully take me in. Delicious thoughts as I masturbated all over the sheets... mmmm Stella .. you don't know how the thought of you turns me on. Tell me, did you write Marianne? Hank * Dear Hank, I wrote to Marianne and confessed that although I was initially threatened by the sexual energy she not so subtly directed towards you, it wasn't long before I felt a curiosity and desire building in me - after all I too had been the recipient of her sexual attention and energy that night. I was even so bold as to tell her that I fantasized about her seducing me (the self-sacrificing virgin!) in front of our eager-to-watch men. A Sappho-inspired "performance art" if you will, where both performers and audience are equally aroused and entertained. Do you think she will be game? Stella P.S. I can't wait to fall asleep next to you just so that you can wake me up like you do during the night (sometimes twice!) and again in the morning with your beautiful, hard cock Confessions of an Erotic Nature Ch. 02 January 20 Stella, I know you feel safer doing this with another woman, but I know you Stella, and I know what you really desire terrifies you the most. I know you fantasize about two men. Tell me the truth, could you see two men fucking you? I want to hear it all. I want to be in your erotic realities. You are such a sexy erotic women, you can have any man. Describe it to me, my sweet French whore. Hank January 20 Dear Hank, You asked me to describe my fantasy of having two men – well I just have images that come in and out of my head when I'm alone but I'll try and put them into some kind of story for us. Maybe a swanky hotel fits in perfectly with my French whore fantasy. I don't want you to be adversaries, I like the idea that you are such good friends with enough money for only one of you, but you are both so hungry for sex that you decide to share your favourite whore – me. I like the idea of having drinks in the hotel lounge flirting with both of you. Whispering things to both of you. Having you both whisper things to me. After a while, we would all take the elevator up to our room. I would take turns kissing each of you in the elevator. In our room, you both would get undressed and get into the king size bed – leaving room for me in the middle. I would go into the bathroom and re-emerge in a black corset, stockings and high heels – the way you see me as your old world French whore. I would start to kiss one of you while the other one grabbed my breasts from behind, making me moan. Then I would start to suck the man I was kissing while the other man spread my legs from behind and started to play with my cunt, making me moan more. Then this man would start to lick my pussy all the while I am spoiling the first man with my tongue. I would want one of you to suck on my breasts while the other sucked on my clit. I would want one of you to fuck me while the other put his cock in my mouth. I want to do all of this and then switch and do the same things with the other man. I love the idea of you both talking to me, asking me if this is what I want, if I love your cocks, telling me how good I am at sucking them, how I am your favourite whore of all the whores. And you both make me cum over and over in different ways telling me how delicious I taste and feel. Then you have to decide between you – which one is going to fuck me and cum in me and which one is going to have me suck them until they cum in my mouth. Afterwards, I would love to fall asleep in both of your arms – all of us exhausted and incredibly satisfied. Well, it's my fantasy and you did ask. Love, Stella (aka your favorite French whore) January 20th I love your stories, Stella. The fact that they may one day become real turns me on even more. You are my temptress, my naughty French Whore. I want to go deeper into our erotic world and explore each other more and more. I love you, Baby. Hank January 21st My dearest Stella; I remember with such vividness our first meeting, how you stirred me, how at night with my man we talked about you and Hank and all the wonderful possibilities that might exist. I would love the chance to kiss you, hands cupping your face or tangled in that delicious mane of hair. Your erotic journey has just begun my darling. You know that the two of us would love to be part of that journey. Marianne (& John) January 22 Tell me, how did you feel when you read her letter, Stella ... and what naughtiness did you think about? Hank January 22 Dear Hank, I was actually very moved by what Marianne wrote in her letter. She's sensual and erotic and I have never been desired by a woman before. You were right – I must be an exhibitionist because I love the idea of both you and John watching us. All of this is so exciting and taboo and our dirty little secret. And just the thought of how you will devour me when I return to you is enough to push me over the edge. Stella January 23 "I have a capacity for delicate perversions. The love of only one man or one woman is an enclosure. (Anais Nin, Henry and June)" Dear Hank, After we watched Henry and June last summer, I had to buy the book. It was hypnotic reading for me. I never had this experience before – reading something that spoke to me on so many levels. For starters, her husband, Hugo, is just like Adam (my ex). The nicest man in the world, but she always feels is too young for her and too submissive. He adores her. Her world becomes incestuous with her analyst, Henry Miller, Hugo and – wait for it – her cousin. If his name was Mark (like my cousin) I would have fallen out of bed reading. But it's Edouardo. She too was the oldest of two brothers. She too was always trying to find the love she felt she didn't rec've from her father growing up. She loved fashion and makeup and was incredibly feminine and led a pretty hedonistic lifestyle between Paris (where she slummed with HM) and in the French countryside with Hugo (who worked for a bank). Oh and she was "sickly" with something that she doesn't identify but that kept her bedridden many years (makes me think of my migraines). Have I convinced you that she is my alter ego yet? Incredible. Lyrical. Intelligent. Hypnotic. And at times sarcastic and laugh out loud funny. Henry Miller thought she was the best writer and she was. Hmm, can you tell I was affected? And you, Hank, you know that I have always seen you in some way as my Henry Miller. He was strong and masculine and didn't take shit from anybody and appreciated beauty and sensuality. And loved to fuck. Stella January 25 To my beautiful intoxicating Stella. Your taste never leaves me. It has become the fuel for my desire in ways you cannot imagine. I close my eyes and feel your breath and soft touch envelop my being. Your skin is like white porcelain to my touch. I ache for your beautiful body. I will undress you slowly taking every advantage of your willing desire. You will touch me with hands so soft and mouth wet and wanting of all of me. To kiss, to lick to hold you firm as you take in my hard throbbing member – I'm lost in a delirious world of our carnal erotic pleasures. My Stella, my love, my beautiful French whore. Yours Hank January 26 Dear Hank, Last night was wonderfully delicious lying under my ceiling fan in my bedroom as we feasted on each other – it was the perfect way to get through this heat spell. And talking about the things that might happen with Marianne when I get back from Europe just made the hot summer air even hotter. The only thing that will get me through the next three weeks away from you is knowing how amazing it will be to have you between my legs again when I return. I think all of this talk is turning us into sexual deviants! Telling me to seduce Simon (who you know has it bad for me) at the wedding this weekend is very naughty of you, Hank. But I do like how you think. So I will dance with Simon leaving him in a confused state of arousal, as you watch our little show. And then we'll come home and fuck. Our last weekend together for three long weeks. Did I ever tell you that when I was married, we used to go to nightclubs and I would invariably make eye contact with one or two men that lasted the evening as we all got lost on the dance floor. It was intoxicating – bodies dripping wet to loud, pulsating music – spinning us into an orgy of exposed desire and imposed restraint. It was my homage to Erica Jong's famous "zip-less fuck." And it was also the beginning of the end of my marriage. Simon won't know what hit him. Love, Stella (in the red dress) Confessions of an Erotic Nature Ch. 03 This is the 3rd instalment in the letters between Hank and Stella. Chapters 1 and 2 are posted under "Letters and Transcripts". * February 10th My dear sweet Hank, I had to write as I just couldn't wait to see you to tell you about the strangest (and most exciting) thing that happened to me today in London. It turned very hot and humid this afternoon as I strolled around Camden Town market inhaling its history and smell of exotic food cooked on open fires. I quickly regretted my decision to wear jeans (London weather is so bloody unpredictable), so I tried on a short summer dress near the Stables Market. It was pale pink with a large black floral pattern, a scalloped neckline and tiny front buttons that revealed a soupcon of cleavage and best of all it fell just below my knees. It felt so good to be out of sticky jeans that I kept on my new dress for the rest of the day... grateful for the breeze blowing up my legs around the docks. On the Tube on my way home, I stood facing the adjoining car to escape the throngs of sour faced commuters. I was day dreaming about you fucking me in my new dress. (It's like the red dress you love -- sweet and naughty at the same time.) I remember looking down with excitement at my new purchase. As I looked up I noticed a woman standing in the next car opposite me. She was very smartly dressed in an expensive looking tailored navy blue suit that screamed success and patent navy open toe pumps that screamed two weeks wages. The woman was staring at my new dress and I looked away pleased -- after all it is a compliment when other women notice what one is wearing. I looked back at the woman and saw that she was still looking at me. Our eyes met and the woman unabashedly lowered her gaze to my breasts. She must also like the bodice of my dress, I thought naively. Another station passed. The doors opened and closed. Passengers entered and exited the train as the voice in the sky reminded them to "mind the gap." I looked back again and the woman looked right into my eyes. Then she did something that I thought I must have imagined.The woman continued to stare right into my eyes and then, she licked her lips. My pussy reacted before I did. It did a little involuntary lunge to nowhere and back again. I kept my eyes down until I had the nerve to see if I had imagined things. When I looked back at the woman, she smiled. I looked away, embarrassed. I looked back as the train lurched to its next stop, the doors opened and she was gone. I stood there in a (wet) trance until I reached my own stop. Tonight, as I hung my new dress on a hanger I noticed for the first time the label inside. I kid you not, it read: "Stella" I'm about to fall asleep but had to write to you because this whole experience has made me dizzy. The heat, the woman on the train, the dress with my name in it. Yours, Stella (in the Stella dress) March 15th Hank, We both know it would come to this again. It always does. Still I feel very sad to have ended things with such harsh words. Even if I was angry and hurt and this had been building up for a while. I imagine you might be feeling as hurt as I am by all this -- for your own reasons -- most of which I will probably never fully understand. But I don't want to end things on this note. I want you to wear the sweater from Spitalfields Market that I gave you for your birthday, and use the other gifts, and think of me when you do. Because they are symbols of my love for you. Especially the "card." Stella P.S. Given our current circumstances, I wrote to Marianne and John and withdrew our previous letters of interest. I imagine they were disappointed. As was I. March 16th Stella, You have loved me and I you .. we've touched each other and have more good feelings than negative. It's been very special. I'm wearing the sweater right now. It feels good and has your "name on it". All your gifts will be with me, appreciated and loved. We will see each other again.. Sometime when our feelings are less raw. You know I love you my Sweet French Whore. Your Beautiful Man, Hank March 30th Hank, I don't know how you are feeling about our last separation, but I honestly do not think I could survive something like this again. The emotional pain I still feel is visceral and I find myself being hit by waves of sadness so intense my body aches all the way to my feet. Perhaps you will see this as more of my "drama" but it's just the way I am. I assure you that I am not exaggerating. I wish I were. Part of my pain is from the road blocks you put in front of me over the past two and half years. And the other part is from having lost the side of myself that only existed with you. The French Whore is dead. And I'm in mourning because part of myself has died. I don't want to rehash all that has happened and been said between us. I will always be hurt about certain decisions you made and that unfortunately will never change -- no matter how many times and how many ways you tell me you love me. I doubt very much that you are sitting at home thinking about surrendering to your love for me. Or planning how we could make this relationship work. Or that you can't contemplate your future without me in it. I wish you were doing all these things. But I know you are not. For these reasons, I am writing you is to ask you to let me get over this. It will probably take me a couple of years -- that's the way I am. I grieve for a long time. I hurt for a longer time. As much as you might love me, and desire me, and like me, I need for us not to see each other again. I need not to hear from you. It will just prolong my hurt. You wrote that we will see each other again when we are less raw. Well, that can't happen. And you need to be the one to make sure it doesn't. I am weaker than you. I will want to entice you back into my arms and between my legs. And I will conveniently forget how much it will hurt afterwards. Like it does now. So please, if you do love me, just ignore any letters I might send you when I am feeling less strong. It's the only way. Stella May 1st Dear Hank, I fill my days with work and children and sorting out kitchen drawers and cupboards. I do all those things that have been waiting patiently until I was desolate enough to pay them attention. I realize that I been lonely for a long time, including that which you and I were together. And that I am ready for someone who has not "had enough of me after a day and a half." At these times, it is not difficult for me to slap myself out of yearning for you. I tell myself, firmly, he made his bed. Now he must lie in it. Alone. At other times, my mind betrays me and I can only think of our unwavering sexual greed for each other. And I lie in my bed throbbing and wet. Alone. Today I went to my local library and was the only one not hunched over and white-haired. (The public library is already a relic -- one day children will enter and ask "what is this place?") I combed the stacks looking for my favourite contemporary writers and piled my escape route in my arms. I decided to include something from the past as well and chose: Winter of Artifice by Anais Nin: mostly because I liked the title and the illustrations on the book cover. Later at home, I realized it was three actually "novelettes" and turned to the first story. It was called "Stella." These eerie coincidences are exhausting to an overworked imagination like mine. Stella May 4th Dear Hank, This rainy weather has condemned me to a week in bed and endless pills.Today is the first day that my head does not feel pummeled and bruised. To make matters more cruel, it meant I couldn't write my letters that nobody reads but me. These letters to myself. No relief from the pain in my head.No relief from the ache in my cunt. No relief from the thoughts in my mind desperate to become words on a page. Today, though, there is peace. My head is clear and I'm on a post-migraine high. My fingers are happy to be typing once again into the abyss. Only my cunt is restless. (Are other women like this? Unable to concentrate on anything else but the throbbing between their legs? I wish I knew. I always feel better to know I am not unlike others.) I wouldn't be able to resist you today. I feel like relieving myself of this endless, deep ache for your cock. I feel like raping you. Using your hardness for my own needs. I would look at you with total lust in my eyes, my voice would be guttural as I whispered my desire for your cock. Then I would use you, Hank. A few thrusts is all it would take as I lifted my skirt and sat on you. I'd cum on you and then rub my full breasts all over your body, like an animal, still hungry for more, until you begged me to sit on you again. Begging me to use you again. Begging me to treat you like my whore. I'd ask, "Do you like that, whore?" and you'd answer,"I love it." Stella May 8th Dear Hank, Last night I had a dream of perversion in which I was blindfolded and then told that different men would be going down on me. I was to see if I could tell when it was you. My pussy reacted to some mouths and was indifferent to others. Then your sweet mouth was on me. I knew it instantly. You kissed and licked the inside of my white, fleshy thighs. You licked my clitoris very gently until I started to moan and spread myself eagerly for more of your sweet attention. (My cunt is throbbing as I write this just remembering how vivid the dream was.) You started to suck me slowly as I lifted my hips up higher. You sucked me for the longest time until I couldn't take it anymore. I know it's you, I know it's you, I said moaning. The next thing I knew your hard cock was pushing inside me as I came all over your lovely hard hungry shaft. I can't wait to go to sleep tonight and fuck you again in my dreams. Stella May 9th Dear Hank, I will not stop sending these letters to you. I will show you no mercy. Why should I be the only one to suffer through this? We are in sexual purgatory -- suffering from withdrawal of the most exquisite passion either of us has ever known. Why should it be easier for you than me? Why should I have to be the only one to listen to these voices in my head? These voices between my legs? It's not fair. You will listen too. Until the voices are extinguished through exhaustion. Stella June 15th Stella, I promised myself that I wouldn't write you and give you the time to heal, but it's not always easy especially when I think of our erotic times. I want to fuck you say badly -- eat your sweet pussy and lick your sweet tits. I had to say it just so you know our desires are mutual. I also know that we can't see each other even if the temptation is so powerful. I'm happy knowing you still crave to have my cock between your beautiful white thighs. I'm not happy that I make you sad. I sometimes just want to tell you I miss you ... not to hurt you but just to tell you that its not always easy for me to end our communication. You make me crazy Ms. Stella. Hank June 16th Dear Hank, I imagine you with two miniature "Hanks" sitting on your shoulders -- the "Good Hank" and the "Bad Hank." They each torment you with conflicting advice -- one says to listen to your ethics and leave me alone; the other says to listen to your erection and write me. You used to say that I love to be desired, but it is you who loves to be desired. As soon as there is radio silence from me you betray me (and yourself) and contact me. Because you want (and need) to know that I still hunger for your beautiful 60 year old cock. That I can taste it in my dreams. That I play with my breasts alone in my bed, making my nipples hard, and imagine it is your mouth on them. That I can't imagine ever fucking anyone else. Correction, that I can't imagine ever wanting to fuck anyone else. We are sexual soul mates. I would take you back between my legs in a second. I would fuck you until you were 80. But I want (and need) you to desire me for more than my sweet cunt. And you don't. Stella P.S. Tell me what you miss about me. I need to hear it. Why do I drive you crazy? June 17th Dear Stella, I miss your smell, taste, your affection, your words, your touch. Our sweet delicious intimacy. You make me crazy because all I think about is making passionate love with you. Fucking you wildly. Hank **** Prologue About Hank and Stella... A few years ago, Stella experienced a sexual re-awakening that changed the course of her life. As if they could smell her invisible pheromones, men looked at her face, her breasts, her hips with abandon. Or did they? Their real or perceived attention fueled her new sense of erotic self. She wanted to lose herself. And she did -- first in Anais Nin and Henry Miller. And then in her own photography and writing. Stella waited for the right man (her own Henry Miller) to join her on her journey of "delicate perversions." She started to wonder if he existed or if she was living (once again) in the old books of dead writers. This is about what happened when Stella finally found him. A man who had also been looking for someone with whom to get lost. She had no choice but to call him Hank. He had no choice but to see her as his "French Whore." Confessions of an Erotic Nature Ch. 04 June 17th Dear Stella, I miss your smell, taste, your affection, your words, your touch. Our sweet delicious intimacy. You make me crazy because all I think about is making passionate love with you. Fucking you wildly. Hank * June 17th Dear Hank, I read this quote last week: "I'm so miserable without you it's almost like you're still here." I'm weak, Hank. That's why I told you not to write me. But I'm also so miserable without you. Hopefully one day I will meet a man who wants me as his whore and his life partner. Until then I'm too miserable not to be your French whore. Weak Stella * June 17th Dear Stella, We are sex junkies, Stella, and we need each other to get lost . We will meet at the hotel next week. Tell me what do you want me to do to you when you walk through the door? Hank * June 17th Dear Hank, I am a sex junkie but only for our special passion. I have had no desire for, and have never gotten lost like this with, anyone else. We can write about all the things we will do to each other but probably when we meet there will be no sexual script. Still this is what I will be dreaming about until we meet... I want you to kiss the inside of my white thighs and bite my flesh a little. I want you to lick me between my legs but come up often to kiss me in between. I want to feel your tongue in my mouth and taste my taste on you. For some reason this turns me on -- smelling my cunt in your moustache - but only if you promise to go back to licking and sucking me after a little while. I want to kiss the inside of your thighs and kiss your sweet balls. I want to lick them gently and run my tongue up and down your shaft. Then I will caress your cock and chest with my breasts as I come up to kiss you deeply. But I'll have to go back for more of your delicious cock and will return to lick and suck you again. I will do this several times until you beg me to sit on you and then I will offer you my breasts as your cock disappears in my sweet spot. Stella * June 17th Dear Stella, It's crazy but I needed you to write me that. Yes, I'm a junkie for our special passion as well. Hank * June 17th My strange beautiful man, After all this time you still don't quite believe how much I desire you and only you? That it is you that brings out the French whore in me? That she doesn't exist without you and nobody else understands her but you? I have mental images of you standing in front of me stroking your hard cock for me showing me what will soon be mine. Images of you fucking me on our sides and you open your eyes to watch my face as my breathing changes because you want to watch me have pleasure. I still throb when I think of the first time you came inside me and called me a fucking bitch. You're a beast and I love it. Because so am I. Stella * June 24th Stella, It was sweet to meet you today at our cafe. You looked so beautiful and sexy as always. You know how I desire and feel for you. I do love you and when I see you I want you that much more. We have to give this some thought. I can hear it now .. you did what? I don't think any of your friends have ever had a intense relationship like our's .. they really don't know what their missing. Always, Hank * June 24th Dear Hank, Today was the first time I think I truly understood and believed that your conflict is not a reflection of your love and desire for me. It is more a reflection of what's in you. Yes, you have told me this many times but I was too hurt and frustrated by the framework of our relationship to see it other than personally. (When you say things like after a day and a half I have had enough of you -- it doesn't help either.) The truth is I have often personalized other people's pain, fears and sadness. It took me almost 40 years to believe that I wasn't the cause of my father's depression. All relationships carry the weight of the past and what you are going through together with my emotional wiring has made it especially hard. Somehow today it became a little less hard for me. I want to make things a little less hard for you. I want you to get lost between my legs. In the place you know so well. In the place that was made with your cock in mind. Stella * June 24th Stella, I want to come and see you Friday night. All I could think about last night while lying in bed was having you stroke my hard cock while I sucked your beautiful tits. I always want to fuck you. I will come Stella. I have ample pent up sexual energy and desire for you. My cock is so hard right now ... the thought of being between your legs makes me crazy ... I want to lick and suck your pussy and tits. I think we are perverted sexual deviants. I like it. Hank * Prologue: A few years ago, Stella experienced a sexual re-awakening that changed the course of her life. As if they could smell her invisible pheromones, men looked at her face, her breasts, her hips with abandon. Or did they? Their real or perceived attention fueled her new sense of erotic self. She wanted to lose herself. And she did -- first in Anais Nin and Henry Miller. And then in her own photography and writing. Stella waited for the right man (her own Henry Miller) to join her on her journey of "delicate perversions." She started to wonder if he existed or if she was living (once again) in the old books of dead writers. This is about what happened when Stella finally found him. A man who had also been looking for someone with whom to get lost. She had no choice but to call him Hank. He had no choice but to see her as his "French Whore." Follow Stella and Hank's journey of sexual pleasure and exploration as it unfolds through their daily correspondence... this is the fourth instalment in their correspondence.