Original subtitles

My name is Rachel.

I make my living writing for fashion magazines.

For the past several months, I've been writing sensual stories.

Not for publication, but for a very curious man, a private collector of

erotica.

I met him through a friend of my agent.

I guess he liked something he read.

He approached me out of the blue and suggested I gave sexual subject matter a

try.

He told me that other riders have tried, but he'd never really been happy with

what they turned in.

He said he had a hunch about me, so I gave it a try.

He called her at the office, her lover.

Her boss.

Come, be with me, he said.

The sound of his voice sent warm sensations through her body. More than

warm. Hot.

Something melted.

Something opened.

She wanted to run to him, but she couldn't.

She had a staff meeting in the afternoon.

I canceled it, he said.

And you know where to find me.

And take off your panties. I want you naked beneath your clothes.

That's good, Rachel.

I like it. Go on.

No one knew she was damp between her legs.

No one knew and no one cared.

So she left them as she found them.

It was a ten-minute drive, and there she was, breathless and soft beneath her

clothes.

I want to see her in something feminine and very sexy.

It's your money. So wear whatever you'd like.

you

um

It's hard.

Well?

It's not bad for a first effort.

I'd just like to write another one for me.

The same price?

Thanks, David.

Is there anything in particular you want me to write about?

Whatever turns you on.

Whatever turns me on.

Everything turns me on.

Men, women, tangled bodies, the taste of faulty skin, white

teeth on my breath, the blue heat of passion, a frenzy of orgasm.

On her 24th birthday, she asked for oysters.

He gave her pearls.

She was his birthday goddess, a holiday in the flesh, a masterpiece worthy of

celebration.

Let's go.

What's the next one about?

I don't know if I could do another one.

I'm running out of ideas Impossible ideas are everywhere. Just look around

you

Bye.

I'd like you to incorporate some of these accessories into your stories.

Is this yours?

Are you implying that I'm sexually incompetent?

Maybe. I really don't know anything about you.

Are you married?

Do you have a lover?

What if I told you I was having you write these stories to excite my wife?

Would you believe me?

No.

You might be wrong.

See what you can do with them.

Thank you.

Thank you, Rachel. My wife is going to love this one.

There really is a wife?

Yes. She's as curious about you as I am.

Why don't you write about yourself next time?

I haven't done anything to write about.

Nothing special, I mean.

Ha ha ha

I'm sorry.

you

His name was Jim Taylor, an ugly guy with pitted cheeks and puffy lips.

But the girls at the club were crazy about him.

Maybe it was his ties with the mob.

Power is an aphrodisiac.

Or maybe it was the steady flow of champagne and gardenia.

Money is also an aphrodisiac.

It's too predictable Rachel two women fighting over a man. I hate it But it's

real it happens all the time.

I don't want to see them fighting.

I want to see them making love Is

that better

much

So,

Thank you.

Thank you.

Black stockings, white thighs, the stinging kiss of a whip, a tongue,

falling on satin and lace.

Delicate fingers with scarlet nails and black leather gloves, spiked heels,

silver studs, black velvet tied loosely around the ankles and wrists,

cross currents of increasing pleasure.

a driving need to explore, first with the eyes, then breast on breast,

belly to belly, scarlet nails on ivory skin, descending

to the secret place, petting, stroking.

I love you.

David wanted me to write a period piece.

I asked him what period he'd like. He said his favorite was the decadent 30s

in Los Angeles.

You know, Sin City, Hollywood Babylon.

Describe a woman for me. Create a fantasy creature.

What do you mean?

I mean, describe her body. The way she snows. The look in her eyes.

The curve of her breasts. The way she moves.

I'm going away with my wife and her lover for a week or two.

What?

Never mind.

Just write as many pieces as you can while I'm gone. I'll pay you for them

when I get back.

David, what's your ultimate fantasy?

To lie naked in bed with all the women I've ever loved and have none of them

jealous of each other.

the button

you

Thank you.

I won't be writing for you anymore, David.

I'm going away for a while.

Did I do something to offend you?

No, you've been great.

But I can't keep living in my head.

I wanna go out and do some of the things I've been writing about.

I understand.

I'll miss you, Rachel.