About Last Night

The tile floor is cold against my bare ass. I don’t have the energy to pull the bathroom rug under me. It’s all I can do to hold my hair back, keep it from falling in the toilet.

My head rings like a kettle drum. What the hell happened last night?

I have a vague recollection of dinner. My stomach wants nothing more than to reject the tender prime rib. And the booze. The booze! The fucking booze just kept flowing, like Christ himself was standing at the bar and filling glasses with a wave of his hand. I can’t remember how many tequila shots I had.

I spew into the toilet.

Obviously too many.

I had pledged my undying faith to Jose Cuervo; we’re BFFs now. Arriba!

I spew again. Not much is coming out now—I’ve been at this for a while.

Last night comes back in snapshots. The managing partner’s speech after dinner; I remember now. He droned on about the financial impact of the merger, bonuses all around, yadda yadda yadda. Everyone clapped at the announcement, some wolf-whistled.

It was at that point that Martin put his hand on my leg, skimmed it beneath the short skirt. The journey up my thigh came to a halt when he reached the clasps of my garter.

“Jesus.” Martin angled his head, appeared to be listening to the speaker. He dropped his voice. “Meet me in the lobby. Bring your purse.”

He left as everyone applauded the final words of the speech. Chairs scraped, music blared and bodies swarmed onto the dance floor. I followed a few out of the ballroom, the handful who were going outside for a smoke. I didn’t want a smoke. I wanted to finish what Martin and I had started back at the office, before leaving for the staff banquet; when he’d pinned me against his desk, ravaged my mouth with his, squeezed one hungry nipple between thumb and forefinger.

It’s no wonder I drank so much. I should have known the drinks wouldn’t dampen the fire. Tequila always makes me horny.

At a discreet distance, I followed Martin out the building, half a block up the street and into a taxi. He pressed me against the seat, pushed my knees apart.

“Go,” he said to the driver.

“Where?”

“I don’t care,” Martin snapped. “Just fucking drive.” His hand rushed up my leg, pushed thin silk aside and plunged.

Yes! Yes! My hands had a mind of their own at that point and craved to reciprocate.

Frantic with need, I fumbled trying to unzip his pants. He pushed my hands away and did it himself. He looked at me as he freed his cock.

“Is this what you want?”

I nodded. “Please!”

He wrapped his hands in my hair and pushed my head down.

“That’s it,” he moaned as I impaled my mouth on his cock. “You’re such a good girl.”

At once, I was calm. My head was clear. The stress of year-end bullshit dissolved. And as Martin fucked my mouth and crooned that I was such a good girl, I knew I had found my role. Knew where I belonged.

His cock jerked as he came down my throat and I gulped him down like a greedy slut.

I don’t recall much after that. I don’t remember dropping Martin off at his house, coming back home, getting into bed. I'm not even sure how I came to be crouched in front of the toilet, wearing nothing but a Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

The scream of the telephone stabs like an ice pick. The answering machine kicks in. My cheerful voice rings through the apartment.

“Hi, it’s Charlotte! I can’t take your call right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back soon. Have a great day!”

I dry heave. Am I really that fucking annoying?

“Hey, Charlotte.” Andrea’s voice floats through the speakers. “Why aren’t you at work? What happened last night? You left without saying goodbye. Some people are saying you left with Martin.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And his wife called to find out where he is. His wife, Charlotte! She says he didn’t come home last night. Everyone’s talking about it. You HAVE to call me and tell me what happened!”

Andrea hisses the last sentence into the phone. Then the buzz of a dead line.

I press my forehead against the cool porcelain.

Oh, fuck.

Sunday Sex

Sunday Sex is sacred to us, a tradition of sorts. It’s always slow. Always tender.

Which is much different than our usual session. Our usual session involves biting and growling and several loud orgasms. And ropes. Or a belt. Sometimes both. And if I’ve been a good girl, a flogger.

But Sunday Sex is sleepy and dreamy and one quiet, moaning orgasm. It’s simple. Satisfying. And reinforces our love.

So when he shoves my arms above my head, grips my wrists and presses them into the bed, I’m surprised. And at once, every nerve in my body tingles.

He knows I like it hard, rough. Not that I don’t like Sunday Sex, but when he fucks me, pounds me, I feel truly wanted. Truly owned.

I wiggle beneath him as he kisses my neck, rubs his morning bristles against my cheek. I open my thighs to him, my hips reach up. I moan when he shifts away from me.

“Not yet, baby girl. Let me do this.”

“But, Daddy…”

He looks down at me. “Let me do this,” he repeats. “Keep your hands where I put them. I am trusting you to behave as if they were tied.”

It seems impossible, but my pussy throbs more. “Yes, Daddy.” It is barely a whisper.

“Good girl.” He kisses my mouth, nips my bottom lip. “Legs together.”

Understanding slams through me then. Oh fuck, is all I can think. A session, but not a session. Tied, but not tied. Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

I draw my legs together. And just to be safe, clasp my hands together above my head.

“I saw that,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s angry and I am immediately contrite.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. But I’m used to holding onto the ropes. My hands need to hold onto something. So I’ll hold onto myself instead.”

“You’re such a clever girl.” He kisses me hard. “I accept your compromise, but don’t bring your hands down.”

“No, Daddy.”

“Remember the Rule,” he warns.

My heart pounds. Oh fuck! We don’t follow the Rule on Sundays.

“Yes, Daddy.”

As he travels down my body, my hands clench and unclench, my hips buck. But my hands stay above my head and my legs stay together. Because the rule is: “Only Daddy spreads your thighs”.

And since I’m a bit of a slut, this isn’t an easy thing for me to do.

His mouth trails down my belly, kisses my hips. He pushes his tongue between my thighs and tongues my clit. I grip my hands together and thrust my hips into his face.

“I like when my girl is greedy, needing Daddy’s tongue, desperate to fuck Daddy’s mouth.”

I love it when he talks like this. It makes me want him more and my hips pump faster.

And this is when the session truly begins. Which one of us will give in first? Will he shove my thighs apart first? Or will I beg him to eat me first? And it will involve begging, because I know the moment I ask, it will invoke the Begging Rule. Which translates to me begging and Daddy teasing me until I’m coming apart. And as much as I like invoking the Begging Rule…because I’m a bit of masochist and love to edge…I don’t have time for that shit. Not today. I don’t want to be teased. I just want to fucking cum! Now. Hard and fast.

“You make my pussy feel so good, Daddy.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, Daddy. My pussy is leaking down my ass.”

“Do you want Daddy to lick your sweet ass?”

I moan. “Yes, Daddy.”

He digs his fingers into my hips and growls, his tongue still pressed against my clit. The vibration shoots right through me and I pump faster.

And I say what I know will send him over the edge. I know that he allows it to send him over the edge. But we both know I won’t ask if I don’t want it. And he won’t even try if I don’t want it. I love that about him.

“I want Daddy to fuck my ass.”

Without ceremony, he shoves my thighs apart and back, buries his face into my pussy.

His open mouth sucks hard as he spreads my pussy with his thumbs.

“Daddy, you’re going to make me cum!” And if this a Sunday Sex session, it means only one orgasm. Another Rule. And I don’t want to cum this fast. Not right now. Not when it feels this good.

He looks up at me and grins. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart. Not even close. Sunday has just begun.”

Meeting Allen

Nerves ripped through her like an electrical shock.

For more than a year, Angela had texted, emailed and phoned Allen. It had started with sexting, which quickly moved to phone sex and now they regularly met on Skype to masturbate.

He was easy to talk to, made her laugh. She loved his dirty mind. And in a few minutes, she was going to finally meet him.

She tuned the hotel clock radio to a jazz station set low, then turned down the bed.

She ran a hand down the short silk dressing gown she wore. She wasn’t sure why she’d brought it, it wasn’t like she planned on wearing it long. In fact, she wasn’t planning on wearing much at all this weekend.

The quiet knock had her nipples puckering and her pussy slick with need. She let the gown slide off her shoulders and pool around her feet as she opened the door.

Big and strong, he filled the doorway. Those eyes she’d only seen in pictures and video now widened as he looked her up and down.

Allen’s easy grin dropped. “Jesus Christ.”

Angela smiled. “Hi handsome.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

She waited until he closed the door before she launched herself at him. He caught her, his mouth greedy against hers, his tongue teasing. Those wide hands she’d seen stroke his cock, now stroked her body, seemed to be everywhere at once. She was a bundle of need, teetering on the edge of release.

“I need you inside me. Now.” She had done nothing but think about this since they’d made plans to meet. She’d been horny for days and no amount of self-pleasure could ease the pressure.

“Let me do this.” He dropped to his knees, pushed open her thighs.

With his thumbs, he spread swollen lips, circled a finger inside her up to the first knuckle. Just the tip, just a tease.

“Jesus, you’re wet.”

She whimpered, tried to lower herself, desperate for relief, but he held her up.

“Not yet,” he mumbled against her.

His fingers kept her spread wide as he kissed her thighs, sucked her labia. She tried to shift so that he could suck on her clit, but he moved away each time.

“Allen!” She was whimpering now and her legs shook. Head tipped back, pressed against the hallway wall, her hips rocked against air begging him for release. “Please. Please.”

“That’s what I want to hear. I want to hear you beg.”

He cupped her ass in both hands pulled her pussy into his face. His head moved from side to side, rocked up and down, as his tongue lapped with greed. It twirled around her clit, thrust inside of her.

She spread her legs wider, inviting more. Needing more.

“That’s it baby, open up for me.”

He sucked her clit into his mouth, pushed two fingers into her cunt, curling them to tap that most sensitive spot just inside.

She couldn’t breathe and the need to bear down was unbearable. It was too much and her body bowed back as the orgasm tore through her.

“Fuck! Me!”

Allen caught her before she collapsed.

“That’s next,” he said, as he pulled her to the bed.

Wendigo*

She wears nothing but a silk tie and silk ropes.

He covers her almond-shaped eyes with a fantasy tie by Rubinacci. It seems appropriate, all things considered.

He ties her calves to her thighs, her wrists to her knees. Her only comfortable position is with her thighs spread, pussy and ass exposed. She lays on the kitchen table, just at the edge, exposed to him like the best fucking meal a man could have.

He licks his lips, inhales. Yeah, the best fucking meal.

The chair scrapes the floor as he nudges it forward. Her cunt drips with need and he smiles.

"Greedy girl," he whispers. He flicks his tongue over her swollen clit and her body jerks. "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I was looking forward to my dinner." He says it casually, as if they're having a conversation about weather or stocks. He looks up at her and sees her nod. And he smiles. "But you were late," he continues, keeping his voice flat, though his cock twitches.

She drops the smile and her bottom lip quivers. "But, Sir," she whimpers.

"You were late," he repeats. "And I was hungry."

Her hands bunch into fists. "Yes, Sir. I understand." He can see her body all but deflate.

"What do you think I should do?" he asks.

She hesitates for only a moment...his girl is so well-trained.

"I should be punished." Her tone says defeat.

She knows this will not be maintenance punishment. Not a casual spanking over his lap that ends in a hard fucking. She knows this will end in disappointment. She knows it will end with her wanting.

"How do you think I should punish you?"

"However Sir thinks I should be punished."

Again, such a well-trained girl. He knows he should punish her, and yet...

He leans his head against her thigh, brushes his beard against the tender skin; something he knows she likes. "I can't. I've been waiting all day for this."

"I know, Sir, and I'm sorry."

He smiles against her thigh. "Yeah, maybe." He kisses her thigh. "You'll be really sorry after I'm done."

"I...what?"

He doesn't respond to her query. Instead, he simply wraps his arms around her thighs and buries his face into her pussy.

"Oh! Oh, fuck, Sir! Yes!" Her hips buck into his face, blindly reaching for more.

"Start counting," he orders. He doesn't mean the smacks on her ass that he insists she counts out loud in a strong voice. He means something else. And she knows what he means.

"Yes, Sir!" He can hear the smile in her voice.

He spreads her pussy wide with his thumbs and sucks hard on her clit. As always, she cums fast and hard.

"One!" she cries as the orgasm hits.

He continues to lap at her pussy, thrusting his tongue into her cunt.

"Oh!" she cries and he knows she realizes what he meant. What he meant by counting and what he meant by being sorry and, most important, what her punishment will be.

It is a fantasy she had shared with him weeks ago...to be forced to cum over and over...and he wants to give it to her. Give her this gift. A gift for his good, good girl.

"One," she repeats. And he knows she's in.

"Use your safe word if you need to."

"Yes, Sir."

He knows she won't, but he'll watch her and shut down the session if necessary. Until then...

He presses his open mouth against her pussy and grinds his tongue against her clit as she chants "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Her thighs quiver as she cries out "Two!"

He presses a finger into her cunt as he continues to suck on her clit, fucking into her until she convulses around him. He loves that she's so quick to orgasm.

"Three!" His thumb works her clit as he licks the tight rosebud that continues to pucker.

"Oh, fuck, Sir. Keep doing that. Don't stop. You know how much I like it when you play with my ass."

"Yes I do." He moves up to her pussy and she groans. "You know the rules."

"Yes, Sir." Her hips thrust up. "You know what I want and what I need."

"And?"

"And you will give me what I want and what I need. I don't need to tell you."

"Good girl."

Confident that he has trained her well, that she'll obey, he loses himself in her. Loses himself in the heady scent of her pussy, in the dripping sweetness of her cunt. He clamps his open mouth onto her pussy, sucks her clit into his mouth, swirls his tongue around her until she is cumnming again. He rams two fingers into her soaking cunt and fucks into her as he continues to suck.

He stands, shoves the chair away, knocking it over. One hand reaches up to grip one tit and his fingers continue to drill into her and she cries out again. One hand twists a nipple, the other fucks into her greedy cunt, his mouth licks and sucks her clit. Tight muscles throb against his fingers as she cums over and over.

He realizes that she no longer uses words but only pants and moans.

"Oh fuck, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was enjoying it so much." He kisses her thigh. "So fucking much. You didn't use your safe word."

She rocks her head from side to side and chants. "Nine. Nine. Nine."

"Shall we make it an even ten?"

She arches as much as the ropes allow. "Please!"

He cups both tits in his hands and shoves his hard cock into her cunt, gripping her tits like anchors. She is frantic now, her head rolling from side to side chanting "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!".

He shifts, grabs her knees and rams into her over and over until her cunt spasms, sucking at his cock, pulling at him until he is cumming, unloading deep inside her.

He drapes over her, putting most of his weight on one elbow.

"How do you feel, baby?"

She sighs, shifts her head. Though she is blindfolded, she presses a kiss against his cheek without fumbling.

"Ten."

He chuckles. "Good girl."


*The wendigo is a mythical cannibal monster or evil spirit

Service Elevator

A glance out her office window told her that she’d worked too late. Again. The office tower across the road had dark windows which meant that it was at least midnight and the automatic timers had engaged.

Emily turned her wrist, narrowed a look at her watch. Yup. Twelve-fifteen.

She hooked her bag over her arm and walked out to the elevator. Working late was not an anomaly for Emily Grant, so walking through the office in complete silence, flanked by dark offices, didn’t bother her. She rather liked it. There was a general exodus around six o’clock, which made it easier to accomplish tasks that required her undivided focus. By eight, the place was empty.

She pushed through the secure glass doors into the corridor, pressed the down button. She was tired but had accomplished much more than she had expected. The proposal was finished and she could present it to the board on Monday. She was confident they would like her ideas and move to make the changes she was suggesting.

She closed her eyes, took in a cleansing breath, and let it out in a disappointed sigh when she heard footsteps. She knew everyone in her office was gone—had been gone for hours—so whoever was working late was with the investment firm across the hall.

Emily cursed the slow elevator. Now she would have to share the ride with a stranger. Not that she was concerned for her safety. She could look after herself. But she would have to make Small Talk and, dammit, it was too fucking late for that.

“Oh, hey.” Tall and lean, he wore a charcoal suit with a vibrant yellow and orange tie. He carried a leather briefcase. Emily recalled his name was Frank. He’d introduced himself the first time they’d met at the elevator several months ago. She’d had the hi-how-are-you-nice-weather-we’re-having conversation with him almost every day since then. The mundane had recently shifted to flirting, but it was still late. Not to mention, she had a bottle of chardonnay chilling at home and she could hear it calling her name.

He grinned at her. “We seem to be on the same schedule.”

She noticed the dimple this time. It softened his look, which was all dark and broody, a little dangerous. God help her, but bad boys had always been her weakness.

He pressed the down button.

“Why do people do that?” Emily asked.

He frowned at her. “Do what?”

“Press the elevator button when it’s already been pushed. The elevator isn’t going to get here any faster if you push the button several times.”

“Yes it will.” And to make his point, he pressed the button once more.

Emily let out a surprised laugh when the elevator chimed its arrival. “Well, it appears you have magic hands.” Oh god! Did she just say that?!

He held his arm out to keep the doors open. “I do,” he murmured as she eased by him.

She licked her lips. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that late.

Frank’s finger hovered over the service button and he glanced over at her, lifted one eyebrow in question.

No, it wasn’t late at all, Emily thought, and nodded her consent.

Her smile bloomed as the elevator stopped between floors and the lighting shifted to a dim emergency glow.

He pressed her against the elevator wall, pulled her chin down with his thumb. His mouth was hot and greedy against hers, his tongue offering promises.

As he devoured her mouth, one hand cupped her breast, squeezed her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress, the thin silk of her bra.

“I know we don’t have much time,” he murmured against her mouth. “Security will be checking on the elevator.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Forget the preamble.” She was desperate to feel him insider her.

He tipped his head back and smiled at her. “Oh, we’re going to preamble, darling. It’s just going to be fast. It’s all going to be fast and brutal.”

“Good,” was all she managed before he dropped to his knees and shoved up her skirt.

He yanked the silk panties aside and clamped his mouth on her pussy. He pressed her thighs apart with his elbows, spread her lips with his thumbs.

Emily held onto his head for balance—or maybe it was to keep him in place—as his mouth, tongue and teeth all ravaged her pussy until she was an incoherent puddle.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The whispered chant was all she could manage.

Frank eased two fingers into her and the explosion was instant. Relentless, he fucked into her, sucked on her clit as her cunt convulsed around his fingers.

He stood up, sucked his fingers into his mouth. “Delicious.”

She reached for him. “I bet you are, too.”

He brushed her hands aside. “As much as I want to fuck your mouth, we don’t have time for that.” He unbuttoned his pants, drew down the zipper, let them drop to the floor. He made no comment to the fact that he was commando.

He boosted Emily up and she wrapped her legs around him, his cock finding her cunt like a missile. He held her against the wall and she held onto his shoulders. He rammed into her with a fevered frenzy that had her edging in seconds.

“You’re gonna make me cum again.”

His fingers dug into her hips. “Right there with you.”

With a final thrust, he emptied into her. She could feel his cock pulse inside her cunt as her own orgasm vibrated through her.

He pressed his mouth against hers, taking the kiss deep as he pulled out. He arranged her panties, pulled down the skirt of her dress. He pulled up his trousers, lifted the zipper, looped the button.

He kept his eyes on hers as he reached for the security button and released the elevator. He kissed her until the elevator reached the lobby.

When the doors opened, two security guards were waiting.

“Are you okay, Miss? Sir?”

Frank looked over at her. “You okay?” She could see the ghost of a smile play at his lips.

“I’m okay.”

Frank grinned at the security guard. “We’re okay.”

He stepped aside as the guards rushed into the elevator to ensure its safety.

“I’m working late again on Tuesday,” he said to Emily. Loud enough, she realized, for the guards to hear. “If you want, I’ll wait for you. Make you sure you go down safely.”

She smiled at his choice of words.

“I look forward to it.”

What she wants

I wait until she’s dressed; the pretty silk blouse and frilly floral skirt.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her.

She smiles. Blushes.

“Turn around.” I rotate my hand in the air, thrust my chin at her.

She sucks in a breath, but turns.

I push up her skirt to find her bare bottom. “Good girl.”

I brush my fingers over her pussy.

“Oh, Jesus, sweetheart. And you’re so wet."

"You make me wet." Her voice is breathy, barely a whisper.

I smile. "You’re about to get wetter."

I press my mouth against her pussy, savor the salty-sweetness that is hers.

She bends over, her legs wide and I push her cheeks open. She rocks back and forth, riding my tongue, moaning my name.

My cock is throbbing and I need her lips around it. I need to hold her head as I fuck her sweet mouth, but I can’t stop feasting on her juices. She tastes so fucking good.

She’s panting now, and I know she’s close.

I reach up, gently pinch her clit and she groans.

"Please,” she begs. “Please."

And I know what she wants.

I drag my tongue along her wet folds, up to her tight asshole, swirling my tongue round and round.

"Yes!” she moans. “Yes!"

I squeeze her swollen clit and grind her ass with my tongue until she cums, sobbing my name.

Jackhammer

You kiss my throat, run your tongue along the back of my neck. It’s an erogenous zone that makes me instantly wet.

And you know it.

Your hands cup my breasts, massaging, kneading. You roll each nipple between your fingers, pinching and twisting. My legs tremble and my head drops back on your shoulder. You reach down with one hand and finger the wet folds of my pussy. The other hand cups my chin, tilts my face. Your mouth devours mine while your fingers swirl around my clit. My hips rock against your hand as you swallow my moans.

“Please,” I beg. “I need you inside me.”

“Not yet,” you say, against my mouth.

I whimper, grind my hips against your hand, but it’s not enough. I reach down, press your hand against my pussy. Your hand glides down, a finger teases my cunt.

“Yes!” My back against your chest, I arch my hips, hook an arm around your neck. “More,” I beg. “Please. I need more.”

“Greedy girl.” You spin me around, hoist me onto the kitchen table. You yank a chair over and sit, shove my thighs apart. Before I can even sigh, your mouth is on my clit, sucking hard.

“Fuck!” I drop back onto the table and you push my legs back, spreading my legs wider. Your tongue works my clit, licking and swirling. You suck it in between your lips and the sensation has me groaning. You ram your fingers in my cunt.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I hold my knees back and you fuck me, ramming into me like a jackhammer, again and again, until you make me cum hard.