The Interview Between My Legs

A few weeks after my first public reading, I received an interesting email. Apparently, Novella was more invested in my stories than I thought she would be and so she contacted the host of some literary blog, or podcast she was listening to, who in turn emailed me for an interview. From what I've gathered, the podcast was mostly about "new" independent authors, and the woman who ran it was interested in talking to a "sex author" as she called me. On top of all that she was from Canada, I think, which made it all the more appealing as I like talking to people from other parts of the world, and so I accepted.

Novella was just as intrigued as I was when I told her, and she asked if she could be with me during the podcast, just to listen in on it, and so at the appointed time she came over to my apartment and brought a bottle of vino, for good measure. She ended up drinking it herself though, since I'm not too keen on alcohol and like to stick to softdrinks, and when the hour for the interview arrived, she was already slightly tipsy.

The podcaster called almost up to the minute at the time she said she would. We talked through skype, as it seemed the most convenient way of doing this, but didn't use any video, so all I could tell about her was her voice, which was very nice, somewhat high-pitched and very prim and proper. She sounded neither young, nor old, but it's hard to tell someone's age just from their voice, so I won't. "Hello," she said, "is this Kathrin?"

"Yes!" I answered, excited and maybe a little too enthused, "hi there!" I could hear her smile through the line. "Well, are you ready to start right away?" she asked. "Sure," I answered and she fell into a short introductory speech which she must've said a thousand times before until she introduced me: "Today, my guest is an independent writer of erotica for women. Welcome Kathrin Pissinger." She gave them the pen name Novella must've told her and then asked, just to be sure: "Kathrin, is it Kat-reen or Cat-rien?"

I shrugged. "You can call me Suzie," I answered.

"Suzie?" she repeated, puzzled. "Yeah," I said. "My real name's Giovanna, but everyone calls me Ellen." She was speechless for a moment, but then said: "I think I get it. So you're Vera." I laughed. She seemed to be smart, and I liked that. It's not often an interviewer understands humour. "That's right," I answered. "Well then, Carol, let's talk a little about you. You're a writer of erotica?"

"Porn," I replied. "Erotica sounds too fancy for the stuff I write. It's hardcore porn. I don't want anyone to read my stuff expecting to find sensual love stories with some vanilla sex scene in them and then be put off by it, so I think it's better to call it what it is." She seemed a bit thrown off by my reply, as she had a hard time saying the word "porn" as she continued. I assumed it had something to do with American prudishness. "Okay," she said. "So... porn... so... what are you usually writing about?"

"Well, about anything that turns me on, really," I answered. "Which is mostly lesbian sex, with a good deal of kinky fetishes like anal sex, domination, fisting, pee, everything I like." She caught her breath at the word "pee" but didn't say anything and instead continued: "Oh. So. Have you been doing that long?"

I reclined in my seat and put my hands behind my head, getting more comfortable talking about my writing. "Well," I said. "For about a year now. I've written something like 40 stories so far. They tend to be quite short, though, because I usually only write until I've come, or come enough to be satisfied and don't like to draw things out." Novella pulled her chair up next to me and leaned her head against my arm, looking a bit drowsy but enamoured. Must've been the wine.

I wondered if the interviewer realized she was in the wrong kind of interview, as she apparently struggled to find words to talk about sex, but she bravely continued with some standard questions that can be used in almost any circumstance: "Well, and... are all your stories about yourself? I mean, did you... do you write about your life... like... is it autobiographical?"

I smirked. It's the question that always comes up, but I tried to be as courteous as possible. "Well, some of them are, some of them are not. I like to say I write about what I did, like to do or dream of doing and let my readers figure it out for themselves which is which. It's part of the appeal, I think, so I like to keep that a secret. However, some stories clearly are fiction, like the Zombie thing I had started recently..."

"Oh," she said. "Like the Walking Dead or something?" I laughed. "Well, something like that. My Zombie Apocalypse has a lot more to do with fucking, and less with fighting. My Zombies are some weird rape-monsters, for example, and the heroines are a lesbian couple with a distinct dom-sub relationship."

"Hmm, so are you a fan of the Walking Dead?" she asked. "Well, I've seen the TV-series and I like it alright. It's a bit odd in places, because I like to imagine myself in these circumstances and for the most part, it works pretty well, but then there are things that break the... immersion, I guess you'd call it. Like, everyone on the show like dresses and lives pretty much like in the 1800's, but apparently there is never a shortage of shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream and lady shavers. That kinda breaks the spell for me, as it's one of the things I look at in a woman. Like, if I was without running water and showers for a week, my hair would look very different. And body hair... well, I'm a big proponent of female body hair anyway, so I think realistically the women on the show should be a lot less shaved."

Vella nuzzled my armpits, leaning against my side while the podcaster seemed completely taken aback. "Uh... I don't think I know what you mean," she said. I sighed. "Are you shaved?" I asked her. She began to stammer: "I... uh... I don't... I don't think..." I nodded. "See," I interrupted her, "we've got this weird little taboo thing about the female body where it needs to conform to a certain idea, and if it deviates from that, you'll almost be outcast. Like, if you keep your armpits, or even your pussy unshaved, you're somehow less accepted than the skankiest crack-whore. Consequently, only people who don't care much about social acceptance, like artists or hippies, stay unshaved. And me," I laughed.

"You... you're an artist," was all she could think of as a reply. "Ah bullshit," I laughed. "I write porn. It has nothing to do with art. It's an outlet, and it's fun, but it's not art." She seemed thoughtful and serious when she replied. "I think writing is an art," she said quietly. "At least not less than any other art."

"Well, alright," I said. "If you think of my writing as art, then it's very, very dirty art." I laughed. "So, I guess your... characters, then, are... unconventional women?" she asked. I shrugged. "What's a conventional woman? I love all women, no matter what they look like. Are you into girls?" I asked the podcaster casually. She stammered again, not prepared for that kind of questioning: "I... maybe... I have never... uh..."

"Okay, so maybe bi-curious but you haven't sucked much pussy," I concluded. "So let me tell you, women are very different from the picture we get in the movies, on tv or in books. Like, one time there was this weird discussion on one of my stories about my use of the word 'slime' to describe a woman's vaginal secretion. Like that was inacceptable. But considering the consistency and feeling of the liquid in question, I thought slime was the best and most accurate word for it. And I didn't think it was wrong, especially considering how good it tasted, but several people thought that word was too gross, or something. Like the way women really are is somehow not acceptable and needs to be prettified when writing about female sexuality. And I'm not doing that, I think women are sexy the way they are, and all those things some people find gross actually turn me on."

I took a deep breath while Vella leaned in. "I love it when you get passionate about something," she whispered in my ear while her hand ran down my chest, cupping my breast playfully. I smiled at her while the interviewer tried to sum up what she just heard: "So, I guess then your stories feature very diverse characters?" she asked. With Novella's hands all over me, I found it hard to focus on the interview and so just asked back: "Well, I guess it's women like you and me. You know, everyday people. Like, how would you describe yourself?"

That gave her some pause and Novella pinched my nipples as she whispered in my ear: "Mmmh, I bet she's all prim and proper. Like, glasses, pantyhose, lipstick, trying to stay fit, 2 hours in the gym every day, showering before and after sex..." She slowly wandered down my body, kissing my breasts as she pulled down my top underneath them. Through the speakers, I heard the Canadian lady think out loud: "Hmmm, well. I guess I'd be average. Not thin, not fat, and a bit taller than I would like. Uh... brunette hair. Glasses..." Vella giggled. "Dimples," she continued, "a light tan, green eyes... I guess that's it."

I shuddered at the 'green eyes'. Everyone thinks they got green eyes, just because they want to be special, when by all accounts most of them are just plain blue or grey. But I was courteous, especially since Novella began to make me feel so good, and so I replied: "Well, I'm kinda average as well - chubby, and tall, not very pretty, I don't have especially nice tits and sure as hell am not sporty. But that's my point. Average people can have non-average sex lives and some really hot kinks that you'd never think of by just looking at them. Somehow, I find that very arousing."

By that time, Novella had ended up between my legs and I had to shift my position to give her some room, lifting my right leg on the desktop as I made myself more comfortable. The interviewer, unaware of my preoccupation, asked: "I'm not sure what you mean by kinks..." I laughed. "Well, you know... the stuff that you don't like to tell everyone but that makes you squirming hot and dripping wet. Like, spanking maybe, or a really rough ass fuck, or getting tied up and used against your will. Or, in my case, degradation and humiliation. I guess peeing is just a part of degradation, but it's also got an element of freedom in it."

I startled as Novella suddenly tugged at my clit hard, pulling at it with her teeth. My foot hit the table with a loud 'thud'. "Uh, is everything alright?" the interviewer asked. I started breathing harder, my voice slightly excited. "Yyyeahhh," I answered. "I just... mmmmh... all this talk about kinks makes me kinda wet, and so... you know... luckily my friend here is already between my legs, helping me out."

That baffled and confused her considerably. "So... by friend you mean... a toy?" I laughed again. "Well, you could say that," I joked. "But one with a big greedy mouth and a very skilled tongue." I moaned slightly as Novella licked long and wide all over my labia and pubic hair, as if to confirm my statement. She asked again, even more confused than before: "So are you saying... that you're playing with yourself, like, right now?"

I closed my eyes and groaned, enjoying the feeling of Vella's passionate lips. "Mmmh, we're all women, so there's nothing to be ashamed of, right?" I said. "Because, we all know what we enjoy and how we like it. So I think it's pointless for me to bullshit you, so yes, I'm getting my pussy licked right now." She took a deep breath and then said: "I... I don't know. Maybe I'm not a normal woman, but I'm kinda clueless right now."

I smirked, grabbing Vella's short black curls with both hands and holding her face firmly against my pussy, not letting her stop licking me as I tried to get the polite Canadian woman into the mood: "Well, then just imagine that you'd be in my friends place, having to suck my pussy while I hold you down on your knees, your head pressed against my pelvis with both hands. You'd smell my pussy odor so strongly shortly before you taste it for the first time, strange and new at first, but after a few licks you get used to it. My labia feel soft against your tongue, but my thick, curly pubes tickle you."

She fell very quiet very sudden, all I could hear was her breathing, somewhat longer and heavier than before. I continued: "Soon, you notice my opening becomes a lot wetter, and sometimes a different smelling liquid kinda trickles out. You lick it too, and the thought of slurping up my pussy juice excites you so that you feel your own twat get very slippery between your legs. So you reach down inside your panties and start to rub it, because you can't stand it any longer. But I'm not letting you go, because right now, you're my little fuck slut, and you're just good enough to please me."

Novella moaned loud into my curly red bush, visibly aroused. The noise sent some slight vibrations through my clit which gave me a warm, beautiful feeling. When I looked down, she had pulled down the straps of her dress from her shoulders and let it drop down to her waist, her long, saggy tits dangling heavy between my legs. I smiled and continued, the breath of the interviewer slow and steady in my ears: "For some reason, being at my mercy turns you on even more, and just as you begin to feel comfortable in your position, you notice that, indeed, you're just a dirty little whore for me, because without a warning you feel a warm stream of tart, salty pee run into your mouth, just to put you into place and make sure you understand your position."

I pulled off my headset and held the microphone between my legs where a strong, hot fountain of piss shot straight into Novella's mouth with a loud 'Ssshhhhhhh' noise. "Oh my god," the interviewer gasped when she heard that, "oh my god, yesss!" I breathed heavier when I continued: "You're forced to drink it, nothing more than a human toilet, but you're not fast enough, so much of it splashes across your face and hair, running down your dress, which feels warm and wet against your tits. Once the stream subsides you instinctively insert two fingers into my rosy, puckered ass right underneath my sopping wet cunt and begin to fuck me anally. Because that's all you're good for, you little dirty ass-whore."

She whimpered while I felt Vella's fingers enter my anus and fuck me fast and hard. "At long last," I moaned, catching my breath, "you feel me cum, my sphincter contracting tight around your fingers, my pussy pulsing, opening and closing right in front of your eyes, some clear thick liquid running out. You're forced to lick it as I pull your head hard against me, rubbing it all over your face. Then, I let you go, sink to the ground, covered in my juices, your hair and dress a mess, feeling abused, but proud to have served me so well."

I arched back, feeling my pussy gush as I came, thrashing wildly as Vella slowly fell back, looking up at me, her face gleaming with wetness. The lady on the other end of the line suddenly had ended the connection. For some reason, I didn't think it would ever be aired.