Sunday 25 November 2018

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 18 November 2018

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.”

Tuesday 6 November 2018

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.