Phi

She could hear them laughing in the den while she rinsed off dishes and placed them in an orderly fashion in the dishwasher. Dinner had been a success, and she beamed with pride as she remembered all the accolades she’d received throughout the meal.

“You’ve got yourself quite the little chef there,” he’d said to her husband as he scraped every last bit of food off his plate and onto his fork.

He being Charles, one of her husband’s longtime friends. They’d met in middle school over a shared love of video games and comic books. Charles had gone back east for college and made a life for himself in Florida. They frequently kept in touch online and via text, but after six years of marriage, this was the first time Maddie had gotten a chance to meet Charles, and she’d hoped to make a good impression.

Her husband’s voice cut through her thoughts, “Maddie, come in here.” Maddie quickly finished loading the machine and turned the knob to get it started. Wiping her hands down the front of her apron to dry them, she removed it and smoothed out the front of her floral patterned sundress. It had seemed a little fancy for a dinner at home, but Hank had picked it out himself for her to wear. “I want Charles to take one look at you and wish he’d have claimed you first,” he’d said.

She stepped back into the den. “Yes, Hank?”

Hank was giving her that look. Maddie’s eyebrows knit together as she tried to read his energy. Their D/s relationship was always kept behind closed doors. In front of guests, he generally treated her the way one would expect a loving wife to be treated – dispensing with the honorifics and pet names and keeping up appearances with plenty of “please” and “thank yous” to mask the fact that every request was really more of an order.

“Charles was just telling me that Miami is full of fake tans and tits, and that it’s been ages since he’s seen a pair of pale, natural tits.” He sat there, holding his beer and grinning.

Maddie felt the blush creep into her neck. “Okay…” she responded, unsure of his point.

“Well, go on. Show him yours.”

“Aww, come on, Hank. Don’t embarrass her like that. She’s only just met me,” Charles said in mock protest. The words may have sounded like he was on her side, but the way his eyes were glued to her, she started to become very aware that she was about to become the evening’s entertainment.

The two men continued to look amused while she stood in the center of the room feeling exposed. There was no doubt now that Hank had told Charles about their dynamic. She felt herself being reduced to property for the first time in front of an audience.

Without another word, Maddie reached back and unzipped the sundress, lowering the straps from her shoulders and pulling the top down to her waist. Hank smiled approvingly as Charles leered, taking another sip from his beer.

Maddie reached back again and unclasped her bra. She slid the straps down her arms, and, with a deep breath, removed the cups from her breasts.

“Damn,” said Charles.

“Didn’t I tell you?” replied Hank, knowingly. “She’s my perfect little slut. She’ll do anything I tell her to do.”

“I still don’t believe she’d do anything,” said Charles.

“Go ahead. Test me,” Hank prodded.

Charles set his drink down on the coffee table and leaned back. “Have her jump up and down.”

Hank looked back at Maddie. “Twenty jumping jacks.” The blush crept further up into her cheeks. “Yes, Sir,” she responded. There was no pretense at all anymore. She counted them out while they watched, and shut her eyes as she felt her dress falling below her hips.

Don’t wear panties tonight. It’ll be our little secret, he’d said before Charles arrived that night. It’ll remind you that you’re my whore while you’re serving my friend dinner.

By the time she was finished, the dress was crumpled at the floor by her feet and she stood before them both completely naked. By the look on Hank’s face, he’d planned this all along and he was pleased; but that was of little solace to her state of embarrassment. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Charles.

“Aww, I don’t think she likes this at all, buddy. She won’t even look at me,” Charles said, voice dripping with saccharine.

“Oh, she’s just shy, Chuck. Come show him how much you are enjoying his company tonight, whore.”

Maddie’s eyes rolled back slightly into her head as she went on autopilot. Taking a few steps forward around the coffee table, she stood in front of Charles and lifted her leg onto the couch beside him, using her fingers to spread open her dripping wet cunt. Charles didn’t waste any time, bringing his own fingers up to investigate for himself.

What happened next was almost a blur. Words were exchanged. Commands were given. Before she knew it, Maddie was bent over the coffee table with Charles fucking her from behind while Hank sat in the upholstered chair in front of her his eyes taking her all in.

Her emotions began to overwhelm her and she turned her face down toward the table. At that point, Charles grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face back up, thrusting his cock deep inside her and holding it there as he spoke. “Don’t look away from your master, Maddie. This show is for him every bit as much as it is for me. Show him how much you appreciate his ownership, Maddie.”

She opened her eyes again and this time she saw it. His pleasure. Hank looked so proud of his possession. Of her performance. Like a letting his best friend take his brand new Ferrari out for a spin. She felt a sense of pride swell up in her again, overtaking the shame and embarassment. She was a prize. His prize, and he was so proud of her he couldn’t keep her to himself any longer.

She felt it coming and knew what to do. She locked eyes with Hank and asked the question. “May I please come, Sir?” She didn’t have to wait for him to say the word. His broad smile was all the answer she needed and she bucked and gave in to the orgasm as ripped through her body.

“Atta girl,” Charles released her hair and grabbed hold of her hips and kept thrusting. “At. A. Girl.” He pulled out unceremoniously and smacked her ass. “Hank. Remember that thing we did on Spring Break junior year? Do you think she could handle that?”

“There’s one way to find out,” Hank responded, unbuckling his belt. “Get her down to the floor,” he said as he stood up and pulled his pants down to his ankles, releasing his hardened cock. “You want the back door this time?”

“If you don’t mind,” Charles responded.

Hank lay down on the floor face up and motioned for Maddie to straddle him. She knelt down over him and moaned as she felt the familiar feeling of him entering inside her. He leaned her forward so that her breasts were pressed against his chest.

“I love you, my whore,” he whispered. Her whimpering muffled by a kiss as Charles worked his way into her ass.

“Oh, Hank. She’s perfect,” Charles congratulated him.

“Yes,” Hank said through gasps and grunts. “She is.”

Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

There were two other scenes in progress when they claimed their spot near the center of the large play space.

“Are you ready, pumpkin?” he asked, a wide grin on his face.

“Yes, Sir,” she responded.

“Go ahead and get started, then.” He leaned back against the large padded table and watched her take a step back. She lifted her arms dramatically overhead and bent at the elbows. With delicate fingers, she pulled at the strings of her spaghetti-strapped dress and he watched it slide down her body and fall to the floor.

She was exquisite. He glanced around the room. Most people were still watching the other two scenes, but a few heads had turned to take in the sight of her gorgeous, naked body in the center of the room.

He looked back at her. She took a few steps forward and pressed her body against him. Up on her tiptoes, she leaned in to kiss him while her delicate fingers worked the buckle on his belt.

He groaned as her hand slid down his waist band and wrapped around his cock.

“Naughty girl,” he groaned.

“Shhh,” she responded, and yanked his pants down with his boxers to his ankles.

“Up on the table, please,” she murmured. He lifted himself up and parted his knees to accommodate her. She slid her palms up his thighs and under his shirt. He kept his own palms flat on the table at his sides.

“Too many clothes, i think.” she said. He grinned and raised his eyebrows. She smiled back and with a few forceful tugs, managed to rip open his button down shirt, revealing the white undershirt he wore underneath.

She took a few steps around the table and climbed on behind him. He could almost smell the scent of her wet cunt as she knelt behind him, pulling the sleeves down his arms while she buried her teeth into his right shoulder.

He growled.

She slipped her hand into the bag on the table and he heard the click of the blade locking into place followed by the sound of his cotton shirt being ripped apart.

“That’s better,” she murmured in his ear as the last stitch of clothing fell away from him.

She reached into the bag again and pulled out a bundle of rope. With her teeth she unraveled it and pulled his wrists behind his back.

By now, some of of the spectators had abandoned the other scenes and were watching them with interest. She moved around his body like a dancer, wrapping, threading and tugging at the rope until he was bound with this knees bent, legs spread wide apart. She took another coil of rope and secured him to the hard point overhead, then gleefully covered his eyes and mouth with sloppy wraps of jute and sat back to marvel at her handiwork.

She looked around the room. All eyes were on her, just the way she liked it. She climbed back up onto the table and pressed her breasts against his back. “How many people do you think are watching us now, Sir?”

His muffled response sent her into peals of laughter.

She looked out into the crowd and her gaze settled on an man who’d been watching her intently for some time.

She called out to him. “Pardon, but….I was hoping you might help me with something?”

Surprised, the man stood and walked over to the table. “What do you need?”

“Well,” she smiled, “I need to get fucked. Hard. And my husband is a little tied up tonight.” She took a step toward the man and slid the back of her hand down the length of his muscular arm.

“Would you mind?” she asked, sweetly.

As the man began to unsheathe his surprisingly large cock, Mrs. Shameless reached back grabbed hold of her husband’s dripping member. “Oh, Sir. I might have to give you back your sight for this one or you’ll never believe me!”

Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

“Get dressed. We’re going out tonight.” She’d been laying on her belly in an old t-shirt and knee-high socks tossing popcorn into her mouth while watching reruns on Netflix.

Turning to her side, she asked with her mouth full. “Where are we going?”

“It’s newbie night at the dungeon, pumpkin,”

She bolted out of bed and was dressed and ready in less than ten minutes. “Is my outfit okay?” she asked with the toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.

He looked over his prize. She’d put on a short white sundress with a halter neckline that accentuated her ample breasts and short hemline that showed off her toned thighs.

“You look delicious, pumpkin. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Their arrival at the dungeon was met with a few knowing glances from a few of the regulars in attendance. They paid them no mind, and headed over to the social area where a group of young men were sitting, watching, and fidgeting silently. They sat on a long leather sofa between two young men who were doing their best not to interact with each other.

Mr. Shameless addressed another young man sitting across from them. “First time at a dungeon?” he asked the young man with a wispy mustache and ironic t-shirt.

“Yeah. I went to a munch last week and they told me this would be a good party for me.”

“What are you into?” He lay his hand gently on his girl’s bare thigh. She leaned back and slightly spread her legs. The movement did not go unnoticed by any of the young men seated around them.

“Uh….” his voice almost cracked. “I don’t know. I’m pretty new, I guess. Spanking. I’ve seen some cool rope stuff.”

“Have you ever spanked a woman’s ass before, son?”

The young man turned a deep shade of red. “No, not really. I mean, once…in college. I was drunk and she started asking me to, so I did.”

Mr. Shameless smiled. “My girl here loves a spanking. If you like, I can show you a few tips on how to do it right.”

The young man looked around at his cohorts. With their eyes wide and mouths set in a stern line, it was as if they were attempting to telepathically will him into accepting the offer.

“Uh…yeah, sure. I guess.”

With that, Mrs. Shameless leaned forward and positioned herself over her husband’s lap, her face landing very close to the crotch of one of the young men seated beside him. “Umm…is this okay with you?” she asked him innocently.

“Uhh…Yeah. Sure. No worries,” he squeaked.

With that, she crossed her arms over his lap and tucked her head comfortably between them.

Mr. Shameless lifted her skirt up over her back. “Oh, you little slut. You didn’t wear panties?”

“The laundry wasn’t finished drying,” she responded, pressing her forearm down gently on the bulge forming in the young man’s lap. She grinned, face still buried in her arms and parted her legs slightly. The guy sitting on the other side of her would get a good view.

“The first thing you need to do is warm her up. You can’t just start straight into full-force spanking. You help build up her tolerance. I like to do it like this,” he ran the skin of his palm over her ass in circles, then patted a few times to create a bouncing effect on her flesh.

“Mmm…that feels good,” she moaned in response.

“And then, well, ’cause I want her knowing who owns her – I like to make sure she knows who’s boss, right?” With that, he grabbed either side of her ass cheeks and spread them apart, exposing her taught anus to the spectators. The young man seated to the other side of her shifted his body weight on the sofa. The hipster with the wispy mustache leaned in closely. The one with her face on his lap stretched his neck to see as much as he could.

“Oh. You can’t see from there. Here, just reach over and touch it so you get an idea what i’m talking about.” Mr. Shameless grabbed the young man’s hand and brought his finger over to rub against his wife’s asshole. She moaned in response again. “See what I mean? Now she knows who’s boss.”

He continued the lesson, showing different techniques for spanking and occasionally suggesting to the three young men that they give it a try using Mrs. Shameless as a demo bottom, so-to-speak.

“Now, you boys wanna know how to check if she’s enjoyed herself?”

The young men nodded in unison.

“On the floor, pumpkin.”

Mrs. Shameless gathered her body up and re-positioned herself on the floor between them all, legs spread, palms on the floor behind her. Mr. Shameless reached down and pulled her tits out from her halter and lifted her skirt up over her waist. “You, go ahead and feel her cunt. Tell me what you find. And you two, grab hold of a nipple. Feel how hard they’ve gotten.”

The three young men slithered down to the floor surrounding her and did as instructed. Mrs. Shameless’ eyes locked on her husband’s as the young men pinched and poked at her.

“Do you think any of them have ever seen a girl get fisted before, Sir?”

He beamed back at her.

“Oh, good question, pumpkin. You boys wanna learn about fisting?”

Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

I was spending a lot of time online, chatting, taking my clothes off, being every man’s fantasy – you know, your average 20 year-old pastime. By virtue of the fact that I live in a rather largely populated area, several in my internet man harem were local guys.

I always had extra fun flirting with those.

One night, I really wanted a pack of cigarettes, but I didn’t want to get dressed. I was lamenting this on the chat channel when one of my local guys offered, jokingly, to bring me a pack of cigarettes in exchange for a blow job.

I kind of love it when a guy throws out that “joking (not joking)” idea and the inevitable shock and awe when I actually go for it. Part of that is my instinct to please everyone that makes me a pretty damned good submissive. There’s also a part of me that wants to stand out in their minds as the living manifestation of every carnal lust they could imagine.

He was cute. Tasty, too.

Some time later, another one of my local followers started talking to me about this fantasy he had. He wanted to videotape a girl masturbating for him. He offered me money for it; but in my slut mind that put me in a different category of person, and not one I was comfortable with.

I thought about it and suggested, instead, that he gift me a scanner. People kept asking me for pictures and the only digital ones I had were black and white webcam shots and my high school senior photo.

He agreed, and we set a date for him to come over.

(Again with the recklessness.)

The man had a large head, heavily scarred from acne, dark eyes and hair and mildly Latino features. He arrived at my apartment with the scanner box in one hand, and a bag with his (full size) camcorder in the other.

Kids, do you remember what VHS was? Just your friendly reminder that I am old and this was a long time ago.

I had put on a black corset top that I’d bought at Fredericks’s of Hollywood, with the requisite black thigh highs, garter belt, and heels. After he came in, we negotiated some limits (after seeing him I didn’t want him to touch or fuck me), and I asked him where he wanted me.

We shoved a big pile of laundry to the side of the sofa (I was a slob), and I lay down on my back, spread my legs and waited for him to press record.

I was pretty determined not to fake this one, and I’d warned him it could take a while. He didn’t seem to mind.

By the time my fingers slipped underneath my panties, I was already wet. The stranger in my apartment, camera pointed at me, the silence in the room except for my soft sighs and moans – it was pretty hot.

He directed a little, having me remove my panties and spread my cunt open so he could get a close up. He asked me to put my fingers inside myself.

Side note – it might be that I have fairly small hands, but that really doesn’t do anything for me. Am I alone in this?

Back to the story:

He wanted to see me suck on my own nipples, something I’d done for the masses on webcam many times. I released my tits from the corset and made direct eye contact with the camera as I licked and nipped at them with my teeth.

When I went back to masturbating in earnest, I went a little quiet. I had to concentrate on my clit to get to the actual orgasm. In the middle of it, he actually reached down and pushed his hand down on my belly. I remember thinking this went against our negotiated “no touching” but there I was, laying in front of him with my cunt splayed open, touching myself. I was concentrating on the orgasm and let it go.

It was a good one. The real ones are always good ones, especially back then when they were rare.

When we were finished, I asked him to get me a copy, which he later dropped off. After he left, I giddily began installing the scanner software onto my computer so I could start building my color photo library for the harem.

Many years later (after I’d met my future husband and the slutcapades were behind me) I recognized him sitting in the waiting room at my OB/GYN’s office. I think it took him a while to recognize me, but he suddenly started fidgeting and when (who I assume to be his very pregnant wife) came out from her appointment, he rushed out of there VERY quickly.

I still have the tape.

Anybody have a VCR they want to bring over?

Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

I stirred as light shifted and the shadows danced on the ceiling. Thoughts incoherent. Cold. Foreign. Conversations with invisible friends, flashes of flesh on flesh, a woman’s cry, a man’s grunt. My cry. His voice. Stirring again. Fingers touching me – slowly, up my thigh, lightly across my labia. Warmth on a nipple. I hear a gasp. It sounds familiar. It’s mine. My nipple cold now. Visions of a saliva trail and the air hitting wet skin. Finger tracing my lips. I’m moved. Covers being pulled over me. I curl up into the fetal position. Warmth enveloping. Warm lips on my forehead. And two words whispered.

Good girl.

I awoke under the floral comforter in Brad and Naomi’s guest room. I hadn’t remembered falling asleep. The last thing I remembered was the sound of his voice, telling me to come and my explosive orgasm that followed.

I didn’t know what time it was, but it felt early. I looked around the room. There was a door leading into the adjacent bathroom. Rolling out of the bed, I walked over and grabbed a towel off the rack. It was normal-sized, meaning i could either get it around my hips or my tits, but not both.

I fastened the towel underneath my armpit and left the opening on the side, and quietly stepped out of the room to investigate.

There was a large grandfather clock in the living room. It was just after 6AM. We hadn’t left the club until almost 2, which meant I’d slept probably less than three hours.

With a sigh I walked over toward the kitchen and located the coffee machine. I felt odd going through their cabinets, but…

“It’s to the left.”

His voice startled me. I turned around abruptly and nearly dropped the towel.

“Sorry, I….,” my voice trailed off as I took in the sight of him. He was wearing boxer briefs. I’d never seen him without a shirt on. He was…breathtaking. As I dropped my gaze, I saw the hint of what Naomi had mentioned in the restaurant.

I felt the blush. He walked toward me and came up right in front of me, then with his left arm reached over and opened the cupboard behind me. I was trapped between him and the counter with nothing but his boxer briefs and a “normal sized” towel between us.

“French roast okay?”

I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded.

He moved away and I exhaled. “Sorry if I woke you.” I kept my voice low as I re-tucked the towel under my arm.

“You didn’t,” he responded. “Not exactly.” His back was to me now, as he filled the coffee maker with water. The view was good from the back. I imagined the sight of the muscles on the backs of his thighs straining as he plunged in and out of me….

I must have made a noise, because he turned around with a curious expression.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I …uh….think it’s best if I keep those to myself for now.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re going to get shy on me now.”

I flashed on the night before. Spreading my legs and touching myself while he watched. The sound of Naomi’s cries as he ….whatever it was he was doing to her. He sounded like an animal. I bit my lip.

I wanted him. There was no denying it. This entire dance I’d thought I was leading, and suddenly I found myself wanting to be ravaged against his kitchen counter while his wife slept in the bedroom.

It felt so wrong. Because he wasn’t in on it. Because he’d be cheating, in his own mind, not knowing it was exactly what his wife wanted.

But I could see the growing bulge in his boxers as he watched me. He wanted it, too. I could swear his eyes were ordering me to drop the towel. I silently begged for him to say the words. To let me know that my instinct was right. He said nothing and just watched me.

I dropped the towel.

And then I dropped to my knees.

“Crawl over here and take it out,” he said very calmly.

I looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t respond. He just watched me.

I crawled over on the tile floor, dragging the towel with me. When I was in front of him, I set it out and knelt on it. I reached up to pull down his boxers.

“Hands behind your back.”

I licked my lips. Was this really happening? I sat up on my knees and grazed my lips against his lower abdomen. I felt the hair beneath his bellybutton tickle my nose. I kissed him there. Then lower. Then, using my nose to push inward, grabbed his boxers with my teeth and started pulling down. I did the same on each side of his hips, kissing at his flesh before pulling down.

When I’d gotten the boxes down to his mid thigh and his cock sprang up above the waistband, I gasped.

He smiled.

“She’d told me that’s what finally got you in.”

I looked up, confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’ll explain later,” he added. “Let’s test drive that mouth of yours before I fuck the rest of you, shall we?”

I didn’t have time to think. His hand was in my hair and his cock was in my mouth before I knew what was happening. It tasted fresh. He must have showered after last night. Or this morning…

Not exactly.

He said I hadn’t woken him up, exactly.

He pulled me up by the hair and pushed me over to the kitchen island, bending me over until my breasts were flat against the cold granite. One, then two fingers probed between my legs, pressing my labia apart and letting out the flood of wetness that had been pooling. “You ready to take that big fat cock now?”

“Yes, please!” I responded. He grabbed a condom out of the drawer in the island. Convenient, I thought.

Just as my cunt stretched around it, I thought of his words.

Big Fat Cock. Oh, fuck he felt good. She’d told me that’s what finally got you in. When had she…?

I smile at the thought of him sticking his big fat cock into somebody else and imagining her reaction.

Oh. My. God.

He was fucking me at full thrust now. My orgasm was building. There was no holding back, there was no asking for permission.

There was no keeping my voice down.

I exploded first and his orgasm followed. When it was over, We lay still, him still inside me, for moments after – heartbeats coming back down to normal. The coffeemaker beeped and I heard liquid pouring.

“Good morning, lovelies.” It was Naomi. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. I hope you liked your present.”

He pulled out of me and turned me around, planting a soft kiss on my lips.

“She’s perfect, darling. Thank you.”

Phi is an erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, phi lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

I’m certain I was yammering as we walked through the door. There was a plan: to drink, to cook, to eat, and to fuck.

I had assumed in that order, and therefore, was not expecting to be held by the hair and drag/pushed into the living room. That was certainly a surprise.

But when he pulled the pillows off the sofa and dropped them to the floor before me, I had an inkling.

And when he pulled his phone out and fiddled with it after ordering me to masturbate, I had another inkling.

Some time after the orgasm, after he’d given me a taste of him, after he’d told me to get dressed and make him a drink, he’d nonchalantly told me that it’d taken me 93 seconds to orgasm.

“Because you were watching me,” I explained.

Manual override on my own could take an hour. Any sort of stimulation when he’s watching me takes significantly less time.

Dinner was decent.

It was during the fucking when I was asked how long it took me to orgasm earlier.

I don’t know how the fuck I remembered the number.

But I did. “Ninety three seconds, Sir.”

He started to smack me. Slowly, then quickly, altering speed and intensity.

And then he stopped.

“How many is that?”

Well. I don’t know. Maybe it’s like the pillows and I’d had some sort of nonverbal cue. Or maybe it’s something I always do, the counting.

“Fifty.”

I could hear him smile. I felt the swell of my own pride in getting it right.

Here’s what he doesn’t know. I think I lost count somewhere after the next 20. I dropped into some altered state for a moment and when I came back….I could have sworn we were at 83, not 93.

But those last five smacks were double handed and hit hard.

Maybe they counted for two.

Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

We’ll leave it up to you, the readers to decide what exactly the ending of this one may mean….

They sat in the board room, two dixie cups from the water cooler and an open bottle of champagne between them. The merger had been a success – one six months in the making. The sun had gone down and the last of the staff had long logged off and gone home, probably to celebrate with their loved ones.

This deal meant everybody got a pay day, even the clerks in the mail room.

“Did we already toast to us?” he asked, picking up the paper cup with his pinky out.

“We did a few times, I think,” she smirked. “But what the hell? Let’s do it again.” She lifted her cup in similar fashion and tapped it against his before bringing it back up to her lips to smother a girlish giggle.

He caught his stare lingering on her lips. She was older than him by a good fifteen years and she still looked great. The merger made her rich enough to retire, and as of midnight, he was the new CEO.

“It’s getting late,” he said. Again.

“Yes, it is.”

“I keep saying that, don’t I?”

“Every time there’s an uncomfortable silence,” she said, peering up at him through her lashes.

“Aren’t all silences uncomfortable?” he asked her.

“No, some are heavenly,” she sighed.

Now he smirked. “Heavenly silences? Explain how those work.”

She smiled with a hint of mischief. Taking a slow, deep breath she set her cup down and uncrossed her legs so as to face him. Without a word, she reached out to unbutton the top two buttons of her blouse.

“Woah, what are you….?” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Shhhh,” she shushed him as she unbuttoned the third, this time revealing the blue lace of her bra and enough cleavage to file an HR report.

He sat and realized again that his gaze remained on her lips as though they held the key to deciphering her intention.

“I think maybe the bubbly is getting to us,” he stammered.

“You wanted to know what a comfortable silence felt like,” she reminded him.

“Yeah. I’m not so sure how comfortable I’m feeling about all of this,” he said.

“Do you object?” she asked, those damned lips pouting slightly.

“Uh…no, I wouldn’t say that, I just……”

“Shhhhh. Don’t answer me with your words. Let your silence tell me what you really want,” she whispered.

“That…..that doesn’t make sense,” he stammered.

She broke into peals of laughter and leaned back, crossing her legs again. “No, it doesn’t, does it?” She took another drink.

Confused, but relieved that her body language had stopped being so aggressive, he laughed nervously along. “No…not really.”

She leaned against the backrest of the chair, smiling as if lost in a memory. He sat and watched her for a few minutes.

“There,” her voice broke the silence.

“What?” he asked, surprised.

“That silence just now,” she continued. “Was that uncomfortable?”

“No,” he responded honestly. Once she’d stopped trying to seduce him, he felt as though the silence was a welcome reprieve from having to face the discomfort of the situation.

She stood and buttoned her blouse. “I’m tipsy. I better call a car to take me home,” she said.

Just before exiting the board room she turned and looked back at him. “That silence is gonna feel pretty comfortable for a day or two. Maybe even a couple weeks. It’ll be a relief for a little while. But one day, it’s gonna be a knot in your stomach, wondering if you should have said something. Done something. One day you’re gonna wonder what would have happened if….”

He stared at her curiously.

“You’re the boss now, buddy,” she continued. “This deal means I’m retired and you’re on your own in charge of all of this,” she waved her arm around the board room.

“For years, I put up with those silences. Those comfortable silences that meant I could move up and get ahead. And now, I sit here tipsy from the champagne I drank with you because I never trusted anybody enough to let them in, and thinking about all the silences I kept all in the name of keeping things comfortable….”

He stared at her as she continued.

“I tell you what. I’ll be plenty comfortable now for the rest of my life and I’d give it all away in a heartbeat if…-.” her sentence trailed off.

“If what?” he asked softly.

Her smile was sad now. “I can’t go back and fix it all now. It’s too late for me.”

She left the room.

He sat in silence, questioning everything that had just transpired. Just as she’d hoped he would.

Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

Her actions were methodical – almost robotic in nature. Closing the door behind her, she slid her arms from her raincoat, pulled the sweater over her head and unbuttoned her pants. Within minutes she was stripped down to her socks, panties, and a thin black tank top.

It’s too bright.

She drew closed the heavy curtains to block out the remaining sunlight from the room. She turned off the lights – first the adjacent bathroom, then the lamp by the television, and finally the bedside table – all left on since her too-early departure into the shadows of a near-winter morning.

Crawling over the items she’d laid out on the king-sized bed, she burrowed her lower half below the white quilted comforter and longed for her own bed, her own pillows, and all the comforts of home, including him.

Tonight he’d have been there with her; but instead she’s nearly three hours south of that fantasy, alone in a darkened hotel room with three hours to kill before her business dinner.

It’s at this point that she peels back the physical and emotional shields she’d engaged to make it through an entire day of meetings and schmoozing without giving into the devastatingly distracting desire that would remain unsatisfied for another week.

With a slow exhale she becomes aware of the chill in the air. Sliding a hand over her breasts, she’s quizzically surprised by the hardness and sensitivity of her nipples. At once she realizes the stark contrast between them and the soft, warm, and increasingly damp environment below the covers.

She allows her other hand to drift below, beneath the thin fabric of her cotton panties. In the darkness, his face becomes more visible in her mind’s eye, and with enough imagination – he appears beside her. She can almost feel the weight of his body on the bed beside her, the warmth of his breath on her neck.

I want you, she whispers into the empty room.

As her chilled fingers warm against the peaks and valleys of her body, her mind wanders to a recent conversation. She remembers where she is and a thought creeps into her head.

An imaginary knock at the door. No, wait…somehow, he just appears. A key left at the front desk, perhaps after having received instructions to prepare for his arrival. He stands at the foot of the bed.

“He sent me to watch you. Said you’d told him your inner-exhibitionist was hungry, and I was close enough to feed her.”

A small moan echoes off the walls as the fantasy hits home and her cunt floods with validation.

Show him… she tells herself, as she pulls her breast out by the nipple and lowers the blanket below her knees.

Spreading her legs, she counts out the slaps…

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Just as he’d instructed, now with his surrogate to bear witness.

Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

He’d been driving at least an hour to get to my house. He’d told me before he left that he’d want a shower upon arrival, so I responded that I’d wait to take mine with him. He also usually wanted a drink, and sometimes a smoke. And at some point, we were going to have to eat.

And fuck.

“What would you like to do first?” I asked, after kissing him hello

“Pee.” He answered.

“Okay,” I answered, smiling and stepping aside so he could move past me and toward the bathroom.

When he emerged, I was waiting for him in the living room. I inched closer to him, staring into the deep blue pools of his eyes. “What would you like to do second?”

What started as a soft kiss quickly escalated. His hands were everywhere: around my throat, in my hair, clawing at my breasts and thighs. I gave him what I could, and what I couldn’t he took from me.

I paused to catch my breath. “I still need a shower,” I whispered. He chuckled, “So you’re saying you’re a dirty whore, right now.”

He spun me around and held me tightly against him with his forearm across my chest. “Yes, Sir,” I answered.

Then I was bent over a chair, my skirt hiked up. I could hear zippers and rustling. When I looked down on the floor I saw his shadow cast from the lights behind him. He’d undressed. He was walking toward me, carrying something.

I feel the first strike of the belt across my ass.

By the fifth or sixth they were making me jump.

He’s fucking me. My god, it feels amazing, but my leg is cramping up. I try to shake it out, but my calf is seizing. I tell him so.

He drags me by the hair up to the bed.

I’ve come more times than I can count. We’ve reached the point where I’ve stopped asking for permission to come and I’m growling at him, “I want it. It’s mine. I want it, now!”

I explode. I can feel him starting to twitch. He surprises me. In a flash, he’s pulled out, flung the condom off and he’s coming on me. A drop lands directly in my mouth, the rest on my neck, chest, and belly.

It takes a few minutes to regain coherent speech.

“What do you want to do third?” I ask.

Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.