This story is dedicated to all
my fellow writers of erotica.
Be Careful What You Wish For
PUBLISHED BY:
Maggie Chatterley
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright © 2012 by Maggie Chatterley
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Be Careful What You Wish For
There were three basic reasons Carrie wrote erotica. First, she was good at it. If anyone was a born storyteller, she was. Second, Carrie enjoyed her job. She initially started her writing career as a reporter yet soon discovered local politics bored her and she was too much of a daydreamer to pursue a career in hard news. She switched gears and started writing fiction. Third, her writing gave her a way to act out her own secret, forbidden and politically incorrect fantasies in a safe environment, or so she thought.
In spite of the fiction she wrote, where dangerously handsome, yet excessively dominate alpha males demanded total submission from the story’s heroines, Carrie considered herself a modern and liberated woman of the twenty-first century. The men she dated did their fair share around the house, would never presume to tell her what to do and as for dominating her physically and sexually, not a chance in hell.
Yet, Carrie loved writing about the type of man she would never date. Fact is, she didn’t believe the storybook alpha male existed. The only excessively dominate men she met in her real life were actually insecure men who had to abuse their women to feel good about themselves, and who needed that?
This didn’t prevent her from creating her fantasy ultra-alpha male for her popular series featuring Karen the lovely submissive and the dominate, Alex. When writing the characters, Carrie unconsciously used herself as the model for Karen. Like herself, Karen had large, blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes. She had silky, thick black hair that fell straight to the center of her back. She was not described as thin or heavy, but stood at 5’6” with a well proportioned figure. While she had nice shaped breasts, and filled out a b-cup, it was her ass and shapely legs and thighs that got the most attention. In essence, she was the ass man’s wet dream.
Of course, she made Alex tall and buff, standing well over 6-feet tall. She never specified a nationality for the character; he might be Italian or Hispanic. He had a dark complexion, jet-black hair and dark eyes that looked into a person’s soul. He was self-assured, possessive, demanding, and always in control. He viewed his submissive as his property, and believed he had the right to use her as he wished, and her desires were not taken into account. He might treat her occasionally as his pet, yet she was primary an object for his lust. Karen was to be used, and used frequently and harshly.
Carrie used a pen name, for she knew her friends would be horrified at some of her stories, especially the ones featuring Alex and Karen. They would be quite shocked if they knew what Carrie allowed Alex to do to Karen, and how Karen accepted Alex’s domination, even doing things she really didn’t want to do.
While the thought of Alex turned Carrie on, she told herself she would never, ever submit to such a man. But the truth was, she didn’t imagine there was a man quiet like Alex, and if she was to encounter an ultra alpha male, he would probably be a self centered asshole. In her mind, she submitted to Alex with each story she wrote about him.
If Carrie hadn’t driven to the city that day, or noticed the odd little spell shop, things might have turned out far differently. She might have continued to write her harmless stories and gone to bed at night dreaming of all the naughty things her imaginary Alex might do to her body. Instead, she unwittingly stepped into the dark and sensual world of her imagination.
She had never noticed the spell shop before, nor was she into witchcraft and magic. Carrie didn’t believe in all that stuff, yet she ventured into the shop solely to get inspiration for her writing.
“Can I help you find anything?” The woman behind the counter looked quite natural in the shop, reminding Carrie a bit of goth-gypsy, if there was such a thing.
“No thanks. I am just looking around, cute shop.” Carrie smiled brightly.
“Cute?” The woman behind the counter sounded insulted.
“Well, it is all very interesting.”
“I take it you aren’t here to purchase something for a spell?”
Carrie laughed, yet when she noted the salesperson’s serious expression she stopped laughing and smiled apologetically.
“Actually,” Carrie explained, “I’m a writer and I noticed the shop, it looked so interesting. I thought I’d have a look and maybe get an inspiration for a new story.”
“So you don’t believe in magic?” The woman asked, her tone sounding as if she thought Carrie was naive and perhaps a little stupid. Carrie just shrugged, and continued to look around.
Carrie picked up a few books that looked interesting and took them to the salesperson to check out. After the woman silently rang up the items and placed them in a bag, she reached under the counter and pulled out a small box. She leaned across the counter and placed the box in Carrie’s hands.
“I want to give this to you,” the woman said, “consider it a small gift. I can’t resist the temptation to convert non-believers. Plus, its power only works on writers.”
Carrie opened the small box, and there lying on a piece of cotton was what appeared to be an ordinary black marble. She frowned and wondered it was supposed to be.
“Be very careful using it,” the woman warned, “and I hesitate giving it to you, for such powers can be dangerous in the hands of nonbelievers.”
“I don’t understand.” Carrie asked, then put the cover back on the box and slipped the item into the shopping bag the woman had placed on the counter, holding her book purchase.
“It takes you into the stories you create. For example, had Mark Twain had the stone in his possession and he held it in his hand and said take me to Tom Sawyer he would have found himself in Tom Sawyer’s world, and meeting his character face to face. Now if you say take me to Tom Sawyer, nothing would happen, because you didn’t create the character of Tom Sawyer.”
Carrie found herself giggling all the way home, appreciating the salesperson’s originality. Of course, it was just an ordinary black marble, Carrie told herself, and imagined there were probably a dozen more little boxes shoved under the counter of the magic store, each filled with one lone marble. It was an inexpensive marketing gimmick, just the cost of one tiny box and one marble. Clever, she thought.
She tossed the box in the corner of her home office and forgot about the black marble. Carrie came across the little box about a month later. It was late Tuesday evening, and she had just finished writing her latest story featuring the dangerous Alex and submissive Karen. As she prepared to leave her office to pour herself a glass of merlot and unwind, she spied the box. As she walked from the office and turned off the light, she grabbed it and took it with her.
Ten minutes later Carrie was sitting on her recliner enjoying a glass of wine. She set the wine glass on the table next to the chair and picked up the small box, which she had placed there a few minutes earlier. She opened the box’s lid, removed the marble and dropped the box and lid to the floor.
She rolled the black marble from hand to hand, thinking of what the woman in the magic shop had said.
“I have to give it to her, this really is a cute gimmick,” she said aloud to the empty room. Impulsively, she held the marble tightly in one hand and closed her eyes.
“Take me to…” she thought a moment of all the characters she had written, and wondered which one she would actually like to meet. She then opened her eyes and looked at her closed fist holding the marble.
“I tell you what,” she said aloud, “If you really worked, I sure as hell wouldn’t say take me to Alex.”
Suddenly the marble became very hot, practically burning her hand. Carrie opened her fist quickly, throwing the marble across the room, and looked down at right palm, expecting to see a red mark.
“What the fuck…” Carrie cursed and then the room started spinning around her. It was as if she and her chair, were in the eye of a tornado, with the room spinning faster and faster around her. And then, everything got very dark and still. Carrie just sat there, frozen, wondering what in the hell had happened.
Gradually, the darkness faded and the area filled with light, as if someone were turning up the dimmer switch to illuminate the room.
Carrie was still sitting in the recliner, yet the space around her was not her den, although there was something familiar about it. Yet, the most chilling thing, she was no longer alone. Standing just two feet in front of her, was a tall dark man, with piercing black eyes. He looked exactly as she pictured her imaginary Alex, yet oddly, slightly better looking and far scarier.