We Have a Plan!

Sometimes I lose faith in what we…or maybe that should say W/we, are. I’ve been pretty good about not being whiney but yanno…it’s been 8 months since I’ve seen my Master.

Yes.

EIGHT. FUCKING. MONTHS.

Sure we text a few times a day (like, good morning, good night, and some days a flurry of notes back and forth)…and I try to be respectful of his time, but sometimes it feels like I’m driving the relationship thing forward (or off a cliff?) all by myself. If I didn’t text him for a day, he wouldn’t write. Then,  I get all pissed and mad and think to myself,

well fine. (no, that should be in caps in full snarky mental voice) F I N E. He doesn’t want to reach out to -me-, and I have to instigate ALL communication, so fuck him. 

I do that. Yes, sad but true, nilla is not a perfect little princess of a slut.

Now, bear in mind that all this is all happening between my own ears, and actually reflects nothing in our relationship in the real world.  In the past I would act on impulse and snarkfest him with a shit-ton of texts saying things like:

okay you don’t like me anymore okayfine

sure sure don’t reply, i don’t matter

whatever. i’m sure you’ve got more important things going on than replying/showing you care/calling the slut who’s been yours for YEARS

And on it would go. Then he wouldn’t reply to any of that, and eventually we’d talk, and he’d say

“nilla, what has changed? Hasn’t this been the way of us all this time? Sometimes I’m busy, and can’t reply. But nothing has changed. I’m still your M. You’re still my slut. All is well.”

So now I just repeat that in my head when the nerves fester up and explode…’he hasn’t called or texted and he mustn’t need me anymore’…is covered over by

‘nilla, nothing has changed…’

and it helps. Because I hear his voice saying it, and it stops the freefall.

But because I was feeling…lost? I dunno. Adrift. There, that’s a better word…I did send him a text mid-week:

‘are we still even a thing anymore? all we seem to say is good morning and good night…sigh

And he replied right away to that.

yeah it’s a problem – we are both pulled in many directions – we’ll work it out.

and I had to add my two cents

I hope so. We are pulled apart by life and I get that. I just miss you.

note the forlorn, sad voice there. Then M, being the M he is, and who knows exactly how to snap me out of my funk says

Keep that thought when I’m beating you.

And with that, the sun comes back out, I smile, and I know that everything will be okay again–eventually. And with that in mind, I shoot him a text a day or so ago and tell him I’m feeling desperately needy (do all you Domly types love to hear that?!), and he pulls a date out of the air and damn if it isn’t an open day on MY calendar too! So, peeps, we have a playdate in 2 weeks.

TWO WEEKS!

Of course, now I’m feeling old (sorry Jz) and fat (sorry Olivia) and gross. Me, who is usually totally not worried about this shit in normal life. So what, I shrug, I’m round. So what, I say with a smile, I’m short. So what, I’m coming to a fucking HUGE birthday in a matter of months and the wrinkles are popping. (that one still kinda makes my knees shake a bit…still growing older certainly beats the Big Dirt Nap!)

I have to *consciously* remind myself that he doesn’t care about that shit. I’m sure he’d be thrilled with a slender(er) submissive who was 30 years younger …hell, I wouldn’t say no if a genii appeared and offered that, but you know what? I love and adore him, but… he’s got his own wrinkles, his own messy hair, his own tummy.  Neither of us are winning beauty contests here. We’re not in this for the (what I call) “glam-porn” where every tit is perky and bouncy, and every torn blouse is arty and sexy. Nope, just two old farts who will have the *best* time banging on one another (and banging one another!)…until I’m begging him to stop making me cum…and he’s refusing to stop.

Ah. See? You’ve all let me vent and now I’m not feeling so terribly gross after all. It’s not about the looks…it’s about the actions, the way we make one another feel, and being together. It may be an odd way to show love for one another, but really, when all is said and done, I’m okay with that!

 

Hired! ~18~

She was thrumming. As an avid reader she had often thought that any of  the books she’d read about D/s -with all those silly adjectives- were just that…silly. But her body was quite literally thrumming with anticipation. She yearned for him; his touch, his wit -even when he drove her crazy, which was about every other sentence-and even his rare smile. Through his careful application of touch, and words, and the fucking, frigging, gawd-awful annoying chastity belt, he’d made her burn with needs so intense it was painful. Or pain-empty, she thought snidely.

Normally she would object to that, to being ‘trained’ to be so needy. But here? Now? There was no denying that she wanted to scream in his face

“FUCK MEeeeeeeee!”

which would not be very dignified, and who knew how he’d react? He likely wouldn’t like being screamed at in her banshee voice, but he might enjoy that he’d driven her to the absolute end of her wits. She kept her eye on that shining key, transfixed. It held, literally and figuratively, the keys to the kingdom. Or the pussydom. Or the Dom’s pussy.

She wanted to giggle, but held it back because then she’d have to explain and she wanted to get that key!

“I see you’re holding conversations in your bobble-head again, slut,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “I wonder if I’m in any way involved?”

“I-sorry,”Sir. I was…thinking about the key. About getting out of this. About your delicious cock…”

“All to the good slut but unless you shut up..verbally AND in your head, you’ll not understand the game. If you don’t understand the game, you’ll lose, and you’ll have to wear that to work tomorrow.”

He pointed at the silver belt that fit around her waist, that blocked access to her very needy pussy. Swallowing hard, because she absolutely did not want to wear the belt to work, OMG perish the thought, she nodded, biting hard on her inner lip to silence herself.

“Better,” he said, watching her for a moment.  “I’m going to clamp your nipples. Every ten seconds, I’m going to tighten them. If you can stand it for a full two minutes, you’ll have passed your first test.”

Slowly she nodded. What choice did she have, she pondered. It was take the clamps and torture, or be stuck wearing metal panties. Flicking her nipples to draw them taut, he grasped one, and twisted it experimentally, making a ‘hmm’ as his eyes bored into hers. She winced as he tweaked hard to the right, then harder still. Nodding, he released the swollen bud, only to snap a clamp upon it.

She gasped aloud.

“Already you react? It’s going to be a very long 120 seconds then, won’t it, slut?”

She swore she could see the sadistic gleam in his eyes.

“It was just..”

Just what, she wondered. She couldn’t tell him how needy she was, not yet. Or tell him that the quick bite of the clamp had arrowed a shot of lust-pain directly to her clit.  Quirking his brow at her, he twisted the other nipple.  This time she expected the quick hit of pain, but he slowly released the lever, denying her the jolt that her body was craving.

The smirky smile danced around his mouth, tightening her resolve. She’d bear that two minutes, indeed she would.

Twist

Twist

The first ten second tightening was nothing more than a caress. By the first minute, she was squirming, her pussy throbbing, her nipples starting to burn.

Twist

Twist

As He tightened the knobs on the clamps for the tenth time, she thought her nipples were going to be crushed beyond salvation. Feeling the seconds pass with the painful pulse beating she whimpered through the eleventh and then braced for the twelfth, (thank all the gods!) and  final twist. Gritting her teeth and breathing slowly, she stared at him.

“Good slut,” he said, then flicked a finger along each clamp, setting them to bouncing. “Now, jump.”

“What?” her tone was pure shock.

“You heard me.”

Looking steadily at him, she thought about disobeying.

“It’s…going to hurt.”

“Yeahh,” he purred.

“Bastard”

Cocking his head at her, he smiled.

“Did you say something there slut?”

She shook her head and gave a half-hearted jump. Her tits wobbled and wiggled, and she groaned.

“Good practice jump. Again, but higher.”

She groaned louder, but jumped a bit higher.

“Slut. Your toes barely even left the floor. JUMP, cunt, jump. Wait. I think you need more motivation. Bend over.”

Dear gods, what had she gotten herself into? It had been so long since she’d had a play session. The last time with Asshole Andy hadn’t been playtime, but a brutal beating.  She wasn’t used to this. She…

He slapped the underside of her tits hard, as she stood there, bent at the waist. Her tits stung, and each impact set the clamps to swinging wildly as her huge breasts wobbled in response. Every blow against her under-tit made her squirm and yelp. It was finally only his hand in her hair that held her until he was finished.

“OMG!” she yelped, gasping.

Still using  her hair he pulled her upright again.

“Motivated?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yessir,” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“Good, then get on with it.”

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. She wanted to kick him. A mutinous expression crossed her face, but she desperately wanted to get out of the damn belt. Fuck, she could prove to him that she was made of strong stuff.

She jumped.

Gritting her teeth, she whistled out a breath as her tits screamed fire from her nipples outward. He stepped up to her, grabbing each large tit in each hand, and smacked them together.

“Such lovely tits,” he said, his hands gripping the flesh tightly. He pushed them together, making her whimper low in her throat.

“Fuckable, lovely fuckable tit tunnel,” he said, before laughing and releasing her. He removed a clamp quickly, flicking the abused nipple.

“Tell me slut, which hurts worse now…the clamped nip, or the one without?”

If she could have done anything in that moment, she would have hit him, or bitten him, or something, but the two different pains had her mouth opening, closing, and silent.

“I never thought I’d see the day when you were speechless. I suppose it won’t last, but at least now I know how to have a moment’s respite…” He laughed, pleased at his own humor.

As she opened her mouth to speak, he removed the other clamp. With a gasp, she doubled over, wondering if her nipple was still on her, or stuck within the clamp. Lifting her by her chin, he kissed her, hard.

“Good slut. Step one, done.”

 

 

Vanilla Suckage

I love the word suckage…it evokes thoughts of cocks, and gagging on them, on the taste of His cum, on the feeling of submission I get when I kneel at his feet, sucking on Him.

This is not that kind of suckage, however.

No, this is a brief “AAARRGH” as my vanilla life has sucked so much of the wanton out of me. Sometimes, it’s really, really hard to remember that I AM a slut. That I AM a lover of pain, and powerless orgasms. That I need my well to be filled, even as he drains me. I need to be renewed as His slut, and I need it soon.

We were supposed to meet earlier this month for playtime, but being ill, then several serious snowstorms all put the end to those plans. (He actually lost power for close to a week, though we did not. He got lots of wind, we got lots of snow. It sucked for both of us…again, not the good kind of suckage!)

Now we’re hoping that we can work out the time to be together in April. Easter, and birthdays, and life will try to muck things up, but if we both stay healthy, we might, maybe, possibly be able to eke out some time together for Him to beat me. (Just re-reading that makes me smile. Seriously, are we pain sluts fucked up or what?)

As much as I need to be beaten and fucked brainless, He needs to beat, to fuck, as well. Sometimes I forget that Dominants need that release every bit as much as we submissives do. Maybe it’s because they’re all quiet and stalwart about it, and can compartmentalize it better than subs can? I dunno, that’s my personal theory, anyway.

So, I’ll be writing off my frustrations tomorrow….my day off –at LAST;  last week my “day off”  got suborned and I’ve really been feeling the need for some down time, because as much as you all have been wanting to read chapters, I’ve been dying to write them!

I’m not slipping off quietly into that vanilla night. Nope, I’m grabbing my submission and pulling it up from my toes where it’s been tamped down and making those plans and more importanly, keeping them. As He said to me this morning,

you are mostly a pain slut who hasn’t had any selective pain in quite some time.

So true.

Painfully needy for pain…how’s that for an oxymoron?

 

A Question for Question Month!

Jz writes:

They’ve given you a trophy:
“World’s Best __________”
What is written in the blank?

Thanks for a really challenging question, Jz!! I’ve been thinking about this question a lot. She wrote this days ago and still I ponder. What am I really good at? Well, a cop out answer is “being me”…but I doubt that they give anyone a trophy for that.

And then I think “Liar”…because this whole life on the other side of the slash is a complete lie to the vanilla side of my life. With the exception of two friends who share my proclivities, and my M, no one in my vanilla life even has an inkling of who I am on the inside. It’s been 10 years since my “awakening”, an event that was triggered by one of the darkest periods in my marriage. Ten years — a DECADE — since I discovered that there was a name for these longings, for the dirty nasty things I like, that turn me on, that make me wet, that make me cum. Ten years since I discovered my inner slut.

And then I wonder if “Worlds Best Liar” fits, you know? “Worlds Best” is pretty big league- I’m thinking Bernie Madoff kind of big. Of course, he wasn’t the best liar, because he did get caught…

And liar has such a negative connotation. There’s guilt involved. The guilt of deception, because I’m one way in my day to day, and another way in my head. In here. Where I can write out my fantasies, and share them with other like-minded peeps. Like you.

And then I think…well, I’ll bet YOU don’t walk around wearing a vest with all your D/s badges on them, right? You don’t have an “I’M A FUCKING ASSHOLE DOM” button that you wear to the grocery store, right? Nor a “I’M A CUNT” or “I’LL FUCK YOU” or “USE MY HOLES” when you’re going to the mall, right?

Not in real life.

This … thing… we do, who we are when we do it…it’s real. It’s real to us, and our partner(s). It’s real in the moment, in our domination and our submission. That’s not a lie.

We have, each in our own way, learned to balance the dark with the vanilla, our needs versus our daily life, knowing that it’s really pretty much impossible to be out living openly as a Dom, or as a submissive and still be in the world, adulting. It’s not just about the sex…it’s about the core of who we are. Many submissives are strong and, if not exactly dominant in their daily lives, are at least in strong leadership roles. And I’m sure there are dominants out there who are not the boss at their jobs, who have to follow directions from someone above them.

We have to get along in our world, after all.

What we bring to our relationships is that other. The part of us that is tamped down during the many hours, days, weeks that our vanilla lives demand from us. Having time to do, to be, who we really are with our Dom or our sub? That’s freedom from the reality of life. After all, would I really want my entire life to be stuck in some Dom’s cellar, used only for the holes i have?

Oh hell no.  But it’s a fantasy that never fails to make me have the most intense orgasm!

And now, I’ve strayed a bit from that trophy title haven’t I? But I needed to sort through all the thoughts that have been rolling around in my noggin since I read it. I’m not the worlds best writer because I don’t follow all the rules for writing perfection, and my style isn’t for everyone (then again, neither is Tolstoy, and War and Peace is a classic…).  I’m thinking of all the things I’m not…ruling out my award. Maybe it’s time I think about what I am…a good friend, a good mom, a good pet mom, a good gardener, and a decent cook. I’m great at swearing, working hard, not giving up, and being creative. But what would you give me an award for?

Oh. Oh I know. I know what I’m really, really REALLY good at.

trophy
Worlds Best HUGGER

Hired! ~14~

His hand, still fisted within her hair, held her. Gods, she thought somewhere in the sane place in her mind,  he kissed the horny up so many notches. In the clash of lips and tongues, his had done battle and conquered hers. He nipped -delightfully – up her chin to her ear. That dangerous tongue of his swirled along her outer shell, sometimes the faintest flutter of a touch, sometimes a full-on lick, before sucking and biting on her lobe. She shivered, moaning, as he whispered dirty things in her ear; how it would feel when his tongue slid over her clit, how it would feel when his fingers explored her asshole. When she was a quaking, shivering mess of unbelievable need, he stopped.

“Good slut,” he said absently, patting her head, and releasing her. Sitting slumped between his legs, she barely noticed him rising and stepping over her. The kitchen light flashed on; she heard the sound of him rummaging in her fridge.

The red-hot haze of lust began to fade, and she shivered. Cold now, she wondered what the hell he was doing. Hearing the snick of drawers opening and closing she frowned. He was going through her drawers. And not the panty kind, either.  Just about to call out to him, she was forestalled by his grinning reappearance.

“You have a treasure trove in your whatzinit drawer!” His expression was boyishly gleeful.

“My what?”

“What-zin-it,” he enunciated. “You don’t always know ‘what is in it”…but it’s usually something you’ll need at some point.”

“Normal people call that a junk drawer.”

“Yeah? That’s just weird. WE always called it a whatzinit drawer at our house. It’s not junk, Kat. It’s useful and helpful things. Take these for instance.”

He held out his hand, holding two chip clips out for her to see.

“You’re excited about…chip…clips.”

“I’m excited because of all the fun I’m going to have with them.”

“They have almost no spring. They are not…for gawds sake…nipple clamps. I bet I’ll barely even feel a pinch.”

“I know,” he said, his tone filled with humor. “Which is why it was great to find these!”

In his palm lay two thick elastic bands, the kind that holds thick vegetable stalks together at the grocery store.

“So what I do it, I put on a clamp and…well, you know, I think it would be better to show you.”

He knelt down, and lifted her left breast. A quick pinch made her nipple rise, and he quickly fastened on the chip clip. The slightly pointed tip grabbed up her nipple, and left her with a mild sensation.

“Mhmm, see, just a little nip for your nip. Nothing much at all. But now we add this guy.”

First he removed the clip. He folded the elastic twice, then slid it over the front of the clip. Her eyes widened.

“See? We’ve just tightened the clamping ability by about 100%.”

He squeezed the open end of the clip hard, making the tip open, then guided it to her nipple. This time when he released the tabs, she squealed loudly. He smiled, flicking the pinchy device.

“Now,” he continued, “we mustn’t let your other nipple feel neglected.” With a grin he prepared the second clip and fastened that onto her. Her eyes closed as she whimpered again.

“Hurts, yes?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Then yelped as his hand grabbed her hair, and began lifting her.

“Up, slut,” he urged, as if the hand tugging tendrils from her scalp wasn’t enough to make her move.

“Ow ouuuw…” she muttered. She stood, swaying just a bit. The clips wiggled and wobbled but did not fall off, despite her ungraceful rise to standing. Already she was feeling that burn that she craved.

“Open,” he said, smacking her leg. Obediently she opened her legs, standing in front of him, her tits jiggling, her pussy shiny with the silver chastity belt.

“Be right back,” he said, before heading back to the kitchen. A silver spatula appeared in the doorway. “Do you know how much this thing hurts?” he called out, waving it in the air.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Okay, good,” he said. More drawers opened, closed. She could feel the need building, burning.  “Are you going to take this thing off of me soon?”

“Soon…ish,” came his muffled voice.

“Soonish?” she muttered. “What does that mean, soonish?” Realizing that she wasn’t being very submissive, and definitely not feeling so, she wanted to yell right back at him. But maybe that wasn’t the best of plans, she decided, as she heard a triumphant “yes!” from the the other room. It only took a moment for him to appear, with whatever he’d found, securely wrapped in a towel.

“Don’t you have a toybag?”

“Of course,” he replied, taking her by the arm and leading her forward. “Perfect. Stop.” Once more he tapped at her thighs, before walking behind her. “You have a lovely ass, slut,” he said, but she couldn’t reply as he’d also struck the back of her left thigh with the spatula. The sound it made was a dull *ting*, but she couldn’t speak, could only draw in the breath, her toes curling in the rug. When she came down, she let out a long hissed breath and a muttered ‘fuuuuck’ .

“I love the curve of it,”

*smack*  on the other thigh

“and the bounciness of your skin,”

*smack* on the first thigh, 

“and the blushy color from my spanking,”

*smack*

*smack*

*smack*

“and I’m sure going to love the adorable bruises from this pancake turner thingy.”

*smack**smack**smack*

“it’s…aaaaaah! FUCKFUCKFUCK…a spatula, you know?”

*smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack*

“Did you say something slut? No?”

*smack**smack*

“Can’t speak? I love those sexy whimpers and gasps,”

*smack**smack**smack*

“it really gets me hard, you know.”

*smack**smack**smack*

The tremors came, making it hard to stand. There were tears, and panting breath.  Her thighs throbbed, her ass where he’d worked his way up and over all the curvy bits. He tugged her head back by her hair, again, and looked at her face.

“aww, poor little slut. Hurts, hmm?”

“yesss,” she whispered.

“I found a lovely wooden spoon. One of the heavy, thick kind. Wanna see?”

“No. I know which one you …”

*smack* between her thighs, hitting metal and skin. She jolted, the shockwaves of the blow awakening her clit, making her even more aroused.

*smack**smack*

“I smell you.”

His fingers felt all along her, the inner thighs, and the edges of her pussy.

“Pretty hot and moist down here, little girl.”*smack*

She moaned. *smack*

“Who woulda thunk you’d get that turned on by my hitting your metal casing? Hmmm?”

**smack*

She jumped as he struck her already tender bum.

“One would think that hurt you?” *smack**smack*

“YesssSSSS”

“Ooohhhh”

*smack**smack**smack*

“Ppplease take this off and fuck me, Sir, please.”

*smack*

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean *smack* OWWWW!”

“What do I mean oww? That means we’re both enjoying this, my dear.”

He spun her around, making her dizzy, and slapped both tits quickly. He hit flesh and the clamps, making her eyes widen as she rose to tiptoes, yelping.

“Your eyes are pleading…are you asking for more?” He slapped again, each tit receiving several fast blows. Her head fell back, her eyes closed as she moaned deep in her throat. His hand grabbed her throat, feeling the vibrations of her pain, then tightened. Striking her again, he drew the pain sounds through his skin, relishing them, feeling his cock stiffen.

He pushed her to her knees then, and unzipped his jeans.

“Good girls get a reward,” he said, as he press her face to where his cock strained for freedom. He grunted as the heat of her mouth closed around him, and slowly pressed himself across her velvet tongue.

 

 

 

Hired! ~12~

“Where r u?”

“Really. Where r u?”

“I’m getting pissed here. It’s almost 10!! I have to pee so bad!”

“I haven’t had my coffee yet, it’s barely 10 and it’s Saturday. Sleep. zzzz”

“BTW…it’s “badly”

“You said….wait…wtf? badly?? what the hell? are you talking about?”

“You said quote: I need to pee so bad.”

“So?”

“It’s bad English. It should be badly. It’s an adverb.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m not correting grmmr orspelling on saturday, specilly with textingwhen I gots to peeeeee…”

“There’s never a bad time for good grammar.”

“OMFG are you even kidding me now? NOW??”

“You said you’d be over early. Yes you did. Where the FUCK are you?”

“It isn’t on my calendar. Oh, wait, I don’t have a life manager anymore. Sorry.”

“R U even kidding? I NEED TO PEE!!”

“You said that already. Better grammar the first time, though.”

“aaaAAARRGGHHH!”

“MY EYEBALLS R TURNING YELLOW I NEED TO PEE SO BAD–LY”

“Asshole”

“The belt has holes in it. Go pee.”

“Eeeeewwww…That’s so gross. It’s going to be all against me and…and…brb…”

“zzzzzzzzz”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“You did NOT just fall back to sleep. I was barely gone 10 minutes. I figured it out.”

“Huzzah.”

“zzzzzzz was too sleeping”

“?”

“figured what out?”

“Kat.”

“KAT”

“wut?”

“WTF?”

“WTF….? wut?”

“what is WUT?”

“*eyeroll*”

“WUT means eyeroll? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Say it out loud.”

“It.”

“Still means nothing.”

“*EYEROLL*”

“Wut?”

“Jerkface.”

“I can hear you giggling.”

“Real doms don’t giggle.”

“Real doms don’t let their subs suffer needing to…oh. Wait.”

“Wut?”

“funny. not funny.”

“I dunno K, it seems rather hilarious to me.”

“Was your bladder throbbing?”

“Duh. YES!”

“I DID need to pee desperately.”

“I like that word. Desperately.”

“Are you really still in bed? Aren’t you lonely?”

“Nah. I have the phone with you texting me like every 12 seconds.”

“No time to be lonely.”

“Or sleep”

“I’m still horny.”

“Oh, I should hope so. Just stay in bed and imagine all the wicked things I plan to do with you. Or maybe not.”

“Wait…maybe…not? WTF?”

“Well, I was thinking on the drive home last night.”

“Oh, is *that* why I heard fire trucks? Set your hair on fire thinking, did you?”

“cute. Remember I have weapons of ass destruction and know how to use them, little girl.”

“smug smile…promises promises”

“Right, well, that was my point. I need a manager in my office…and you’re the best I’ve had in a long time.”

“I want to rehire you. Pizza tie notwithstanding, you’re damn good”

“at your job. When you can control your temper.”

” **!**”

“What was that?”

“My middle finger.”

“charming.”

“So, as I said, I want you back. But there’s a significant issue.”

“I went on the date with you. The tie is paid off.”

“oh, not the tie.”

“geeze. WHAT? I can’t even…”

“You said no sex with your boss. I’d be your boss.”

“I did say that. I say many things.”

“Right, and it would be terribly cruel of me to put that kind of pressure on you.”

“You’re a sadist. You said so.”

“You thrive on cruel, remember?”

“True, very much so. But to make you so uncomfortable…it seems unkind, even for me.”

“So…if I take the job offer, you’re not coming over to…”

“to…what?”

“To finshis what yuo srtated.”

“Are you agitated, little girl? I see your spelling is an issue when you are..”

“Agitated? I’M PISSED! And horny!”

“Well, that’s why the belt is so good…you can keep wearing it and I can..”

“?”

“?”

“can what?”

“where are you now? geeze I hate when you just bloop off…”

“I’m going to lay here and make up dirty songs with you in them. And make fun of you.”

“JERKFACE JACKSON WHERE ARE YOU?”

“sing that to the ‘scooby doo’ themesong…”

“Hey…don’t bust scooby do… what’s the matter?”

“when you go it’s cutsomary to say brb or something.”

“oh. I don’t text often. My fingers are tired.”

“poor baby. NOT! Geeze, so go on…”

“I had to pee. Go on with what?”

“our conversation? scroll back to remind yourself. The belt?”

“which one..I have several..”

“MY BELT. the one you stuck on me!”

“oh, that belt. Right. Well, if you keep wearing it, I can give the key”

“to someone else. ask them to hold it. Maybe even my safe deposit box.”

“in Baltimore.”

“Wait just aminte. youwanna lock me up and put the fucking key in BALTIMORE???WTF??”

“Well, it was a suggestion. I could leave it with the valet.”

“And tell him what? ‘here’s my key for my sluts cunt?”

“Oh, I like that. He would, too, I suspect.”

“BTW, your spelling is terrible!”

“No. No no noononononon.”

“Just no.”

“Well, okay. It was a suggestion. We can keep it here at my place.”

“NO TO THE FUCKING BELT.”

“I rescind my words that I won’t ever fuck my boss again. I take it back.”

“DO-OVER!!”

“ally-ally-in-come-free”

“I didn’t get that last one.”

“jeezuz furking crisco”

“My eyes are fucking rolling in my  head and r gona pop OUT”

“Dint you ever play hide n seek as a kid? Were you ever a kid?”

“SMH”

“LOL”

“So…let me clarify.”

“You don’t care if I’m your boss.”

“Because you’ll fuck me anyway.”

“Good so far?”

“Y E S”

“And we’ll be play.partners and I can torture you.”

” Y E S”

“And that will kind of make you my “sexretary”…?”

“NFW”

“?”

“No. Fucking. Way”

“Right.”

“Frist, not a secretary. Manager. second. It’s sounds so totally STUPID.”

“so? I like the sound of it. It trips off my tongue.”

“Grumble. Stupid. Grumple. I’ll trip your tongue.”

“Is that the business manager talking? Not my submissive, surely?”

“My name’s Kat. Don’t call me Shirley.”

“That joke is older than dirt.”

“still funny tho”

“ha.  ha.  no.”

“giggling”

“eyeroll”

“are you coming over?”

“I’m standing outside your door. Let me in, Kat.”

 

 

 

 

 

Hired! ~11~

Time moved, she was certain of it. Yet she couldn’t say if 5 minutes had passed, or 50. She felt the warm leather of his crop between her thighs, and wished he were there to use it on her. She was needy, uncomfortable, and half naked for crissakes! Facing the rustic wooden wall, her tits and ass exposed, she was flushed with embarrassment. Eventually even that faded during those interminable, unknown minutes. Behind her she could hear people moving around the cavernous room. She could hear those who were otherwise engaged in play. There were slaps and *tings* of implements striking flesh, closely followed by shockingly loud screams as the recipient responded. There were moans and whimpers and the sounds of those in deepest ecstasy.

What she didn’t hear was his footfall. No sound of those beautifully polished shoes coming towards her. How was this even a date, she wondered, feeling suddenly angry. It happened that way sometimes, the submission and the annoyance jockeying for position in her emotions. Her hands felt numb, and her back was tiring when she felt the warmth of hands on her back…and ass.

“Ohh, poor kitten…he left you here all alone and unattended,” crooned a sexy and female voice. “So pretty, this round ass of yours..” the voice trailed off as a long fingernail scratched lightly down her crack and circled her anus. There was a slight tug around her throat as the ends of the tie were pulled taut for a moment, before more fingernails scrabbled down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of his attention, or just that those sharp fingernails hit the line between pleasure and pain. The voice continued, the owner clearly knowing that she was having an affect on the tied submissive. One nail trailed up and over her left ass cheek, scratching just hard enough to leave a thin, red line there. Goosebumps rose along her shoulders, her arms, and her nipples crinkled tightly.

“I–I’m waiting for him, t-to…” she stopped on a gasp as the fingernails pinched a piece of flesh where her ass and thighs met.

“I know, that hurts so much, doesn’t it honey?” The voice was husky now, clearly lapping up the subtle signs of pain;  Kat’s arching back, her in-drawn breath, the short pants as she released it against the hurting.

The pinch seemed to last an hour. The relief when the nails released her was nearly as intense as the pain had been, as was the sudden surge of moisture between her thighs.

“Mona,” a deep voice said, the tone admonishing. “Didn’t MamaLa have a conversation with you about poaching?”

There was a pouty “mmm” of sullen agreement.  “But Dirk…! You weren’t here. She looked so lonely, the poor thing. And there was that very pretty ass just begging to be touched..how could I resist?

“Resist,” he replied drolly.

“I’m resisting… authority…” she said with a husky chuckle.”Okay, fine, have it your way, you big greedy bastard.”

The soft sound of her feet moving off gave some measure of peace to Kat.

“You left me,” she accused. Her hair had fallen forward, obscuring her vision.

“Yeah, so?”

He moved beside her, then freed her arms from the iron ring on the wall. Though she tried to hold back the gasp, the blood flowing back to her hands and cramped shoulders made being silent impossible.

“Oh, owww,” she whimpered.

“Poor little kitty cat,” he mocked, all falsely sympathetic as he brushed the hair from her face. He leaned close, kissed her top lip, nipped at her eyebrow. She moaned again. damn him. The last semblance of her snark was fading fast, under a hot and heavy need. She wondered if she’d ever been so horny. Feeling his hands on her breasts, she tried to move closer, but was surprised to feel the fabric of her dress being tugged back up to cover her. In moments he had slid the crop from between her thighs, then pulled down the hem of her dress, covering her bottom. She blinked at him, not comprehending his game.

Taking the tie from around her neck, he bound her wrists, then led her by the trailing length of his tie across the room. They paused for a moment to watch a submissive. Her face was a portrait of beautiful agony as her master nailed her tits to a rough wooden board. Katherine shuddered at the thought of it, but the woman was obviously far gone in subspace. She could see the puddle forming on the floor between her legs; it was obviously a kink that worked for them.

“Interested?” he asked, pulling her attention from the scene.

“No,” she replied. His grin was devilish, managing to be both mocking and humorous. Only a Dom would find that sort of thing funny, she mused. By damn he was one sexy bastard when he smiled. And when he didn’t. 

Damn.

She was hooked.

He tugged her “leash” and she was obliged to follow him. He slowed to watch a leather-clad woman bullwhip a burly man. His cock was locked in a cage, his nipples cruelly pegged. As he shuddered beneath a snapping blow, she clearly saw the back end of a plug up his bum. It made her wet, which surprised her. His cock twitched with every whip-stroke, and she felt an answering tingle in her clit.

“You seem very…interested,” he said in a low voice.

“He’s…amazing. So is she,” she replied, equally quiet.

“Mistress Dominica is a master of the whip. Shall I sign you up for one of her classes?”

She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or not, so she shook her head.

“If you’re sure…” his voice trailed off as the sub roared out a yell when the tip of the whip hit just near his balls. “Well, that had to hurt,” he said, cupping a hand over his groin and making her almost giggle out loud.

“Stop,” she hissed, but she grinned as he made a faux scared face at her, still cupping himself. He tugged her onward.

She frowned as they left the play room, entering the bar. What the hell was he up to now?

*************************

Not only had he ushered her through the bar and outside, but he’d led her to his car, all but shoved her in, hands still tied, and belted her safety belt. He’d driven her home with no conversation whatsoever, which made her curious. Her tits were tender from his earlier slap-fest, but her clit pounded like it was a gong.

She needed to be fucked. She needed to cum. She wanted.

Wanted.

Damn him for stirring her up like this. She fidgeted in her seat. She caught just the faintest hint of a grin on his mouth; no, not even a grin, just the sexy upturn on one corner.

“Where are we going?”

The smile deepened. Thank gods above and below, she thought. He’s taking me home to fuck me there. 

He pulled into her driveway, parked, then came around to let her out. Releasing her hands, he slipped the tie loosely around her neck. Arm around her back, he led her upstairs, took her key and opened her door. Stepping inside, she all but threw herself at him, pulling his head down and kissing him fervently.

He tugged her dress down, then off. Helping her step free of it, he held up his hand to forestall her.

“Go to the bathroom.”

“Now?” she all but moaned.

“No, tomorrow. Yes, of course now. Do you  need me to assist you? Watch you?”

“Oh hell no!” 

She scurried to the bathroom, used the toilet quickly. Looking at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands, she noted the bruises already blushing along her breasts.  She felt weak in the knees. Oh gods, she so needed this.

He was leaning against the dining room wall, pulling the tie absently through his fingers. Shyly she walked towards him, she naked as the day she was born, he, so well dressed in his suit. Straightening, he gestured to her to come.

“Here,” he said, pointing to the floor in front of him. “Good girl, now turn.”

She presented her back to him as instructed. What was coming? Her heart was all fluttery in her chest, her nipples grew taut. When he tapped her inner thigh, she spread her feet wider. She felt something between her thighs…the cool silk of his tie. He pulled it forward and back, teasing her clit for a moment.

“Hold the ends,” he said, and she took them, one in front, one behind, holding them. It took all her willpower to not rub it against her clit, but he hadn’t indicated to do so, and she didn’t want to push it.

“I picked this up at the club, while watching your delightful ass from across the room. Several of my friends were hoping that I’d share you, you know. You made such a pretty picture there, vulnerable, yet wanting.”

The shiver of need ran up and down her spine. A fresh drool from her pussy was soaked up by his tie.

“But I declined. After all, you and I hardly know one another. 13 working days, and one evening run-in hardly qualifies as getting to know you, right?”

She nodded, glad he hadn’t shared her. So wrapped up in the thoughts of that, that she didn’t notice at first, the heavy metal belt he fastened around her waist.

“Open wider, slut.”

Her legs spread, and a thick metal spine was pressed against her pussy. She jolted at the chill of it. There was a click at her backside. His fingers slid under the front of the band.

“Your pussy is so fucking hot,” he murmured. “Wet, juicy, I’ll bet you need to cum, don’t you?”

“oh, yesss,” she moaned, pressing against his probing fingers. Then they were gone, and a second click sealed the band firmly between her legs.

“No cumming tonight, I’m afraid.”

He lifted his fingers to her mouth.

“Taste that. Taste that needy cunt juice. Yours, little girl. Your needy cunt is going to leak all night, I’m afraid. I’ll be back in the morning to release you so that you can pee.”

He slid the tie from under the crotch band as she stared in shock at him.

“Wait…what? What?? YOU….you…you can’t… ” she yelped. “I…I need….”

“..to wait until I decide it’s time for you to come. Just…be careful what you wish for, little girl. I am a sadist, after all.”

He tied her wrists quickly with the tie, binding them firmly but not so tight that it would be harmful.

“Tonight you will sleep, smelling your arousal all night long. Your pussy will ache and weep and …eventually, you will sleep, and dream of all the wonderful, awful, delightful torments I will do to you.”

He kissed her on her nose, then pushed her into her room, closed the door. Quietly, he let himself out of the apartment, heaving a deep sigh. His cock throbbed. He patted his crotch as he jogged down the steps.

“Soon, my raging friend. Soon.”

His cock knew it would not be soon enough for either of them.

Perverted Pleasures (6)

You never know what you’re gonna find when you go trolling through your “Drafts” folder…I found this gem, from 2 years ago. It’s not finished … yet. But I was in the mood for a hot fucking story…and maybe you are, too? ~nilla~

 

(This never gets old… ~n~)

She splashed through ankle deep water for three steps before it fully registered that she was splashing through water.

In her kitchen.

In the dark pre-dawn hours, she struggled to bring her mind around to what the fuck was going on. No coffee. No light. No dry floor. Backtracking, she stepped once. Twice. Shivered hard, then stepped onto the living room carpet. Sodden carpet. Turning, she stepped forward until she found dryness underfoot. Snapping on the lamp next to the couch she winced, slapping her hands over her burning eyes.

“Goddam!” she yelped. “I’ve fucking blinded myself. Finally brave enough to peer through slatted fingers, she could clearly see a current in the kitchen. The sound of hissing came from the corner of the counter where the dishwasher lived. Cautiously she moved back into the splash zone.

“Oh fuck. Goddam it to fucking hell and fucking back!”

Blue tiles floated or lay skewed on the bottom of the pond that had been her kitchen floor when she’d gone to bed last night. Now it resembled Lake Holyfuck. Stupefied, she stared at the mess. How the hell did one even begin to cope with this? she wondered. She wished she was not alone having to deal with this. That she’d married and had three kids and a dog and maybe a hamster. Then she could share the load of shock and awe and horror with someone. But no, this was all hers.

She made her way to the cellar door, but couldn’t open it. Too much water against it or maybe too swollen from it. Who knew. It was time to call for help.

A quick trolling of the online yellow pages located three plumbers in her area–she called them all. Leaving urgent pleas for help on each machine didn’t resolve this current issue.

“Looks like we’re not going to work today, boys and girls,” she muttered. Splashing into the thick of things she took a pan from the wall and started bailing. Ten minutes into frantic scooping and her phone startled her with the crescendo from the 1812 Overature. Grabbing it up, she very nearly dropped it, but caught it in slippery hands.

“You’ve got a problem, sounds pretty epic.”

“You have no idea,” she said, hating the edgy panic in her tone.

He asked for her address, and promised he’d be there in 20 minutes. Skeptically, she hung up the phone and started bailing again. Sure he’d be here in twenty minutes. No one ever came when they said they would. She was twelve minutes into bailing when she heard the unmistakable sound of a truck in her driveway. Knocking came seconds later at her front door. Good thing, too. If he’d come to the back door he might have been swept away from the current of water that would race out, like in some cartoon she’d seen once.

“Hi. I’m Kevin.”

“No. No, you’re an angel from god. My savior. My hero.”

He bent to lift a battered red box, a motherfucking huge box from the porch floor, then followed her inside.

“Well, whoa. You certainly have a problem.”

“Well there’s an understatement,” she said dryly. “Sorry. I haven’t had my coffee even.”

“Best to not use any electric in here for now. We have no idea what got wet…this is a lot of water. Be right back.”

Sooner than she would have thought possible, the water level began to lower. He’d set up a pump thingy, then showed her how to vacuum up the puddles. Once the floor was clearer, he disappeared under the sink. She had a really great view of his ass, just a hint of crack, as he worked under there. There was a soft curse, then a louder ‘motherfucker!’  and then, silence.

The hissing had stopped.

He eased out from under the sink.

“Got that little bugger.”

“I thought you called it a mother fucker.”

He smiled. With his whole face, he smiled, but his eyes just mesmerized. She didn’t want to stare, but damn she was staring. She looked away, looked down, feeling the heat of a blush rising. Dang it! He was really fucking se…wait…what?

With a blink she stared into the toolbox. There was no mistaking the bright red ballgag in one of the compartments, nor the black eye mask. She cleared her throat.

“So…uhm…that thingy watchadoo…you turned it off. Can you fix it?”

“Nope. Your dishwasher basically crapped out.”

She looked at him, and knew, she just knew that he had seen her looking at the sex toys. The look he gave her was challenging.

“So…you don’t fix dishwashers.”

“Nope. Just the plumbing. And other things. Naughty little girls.”

His hand was in her hair, tugging her head back. She yelped, then gasped as his big hand circled her throat. He looked down at her, his eyes boring into hers. Somewhere she’d lost the power of speech, of fight. Maybe it was his fingers woven through her long, bed-tangled locks, or maybe it was fear, or maybe it was something else. Something dark, with a longing that tore at her civilized manners, a beast seeking freedom.

“Wh..”

“Hush. You’re really in no position to ask anything now.”

He bent quickly, scooping up the ball gag. His tersely spoken ‘open’ was quickly obeyed. There was that look in his eyes again. It said ‘danger’…and something else she wasn’t certain of yet.

The blindfold slid over her eyes moments after he’d fastened the gag tightly. A push between her shoulder blades made her stumble forward. Another push, another stumble. Disoriented, she had absolutely no idea which direction she was headed, until her knees hit the bed and she fell forward.

“Don’t fucking move.” 

There were sounds behind her. Drawers opened, then closed. He was searching for something. Then quiet until his hand slapped at her ass.

“Up, on your back.”

She didn’t move, feeling defiant. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the sharp slap of what was unmistakably a belt upon her bottom made her yelp. She would have moved then, would have leapt upon the bed, but his hand clamped hard on the back of her neck, holding her down as he other hand slapped her ass, her thighs. The light cotton of her pajama bottoms did nothing to alleviate the burning sting. Her ass was hot, her mouth squealing around the gag with every blow. She didn’t want to cry, but couldn’t stop; the pain was too much, too hard to bear.

“The next time I tell you to move, you move.”

She nodded fiercely, yes, even though his fingernail scraped the back of her neck with each jerky nod. He all but tossed her up on the bed then, flipping her roughly onto her back. Her ass screamed at the movement. She felt fingers on her skin, the brush of air on her thighs as he removed her bottoms. There was a moment when she thought one more time of trying to flee, but the fear of what would happen when he caught her–and she had no doubt that he would catch her–was greater than her confidence that she could escape.  Her camisole was ripped in half. It was both thrilling and terrifying.  Hands clamped on her tits, squeezing hard, pinching her nipples, then slapping them.

A quick whoosh of sound, of air, and the sharp stinging slap as he used the belt on her left tit drew another muffled scream from behind the gag. She tried to clamp her legs together but his fingers pressed against her slit.

“You’re a fucking noisy thing. Not that I mind. I like the sounds…sexy, hot, makes me want to hurt you more. And your cunt is wet. Your mouth may be protesting, but your pussy is slick and begging for attention.”

Shaking her head no did no good. His fingers twisted and twined their way inside her, violated the empty space, filling her.

“You are fucking sopping wet–as wet as your kitchen floor. Whore. Dirty little whore, needs a good reaming by her plumber. Lucky for you I brought a big plunger with me.”

He moved away, but his hands were quick and firm, lifting her leg, grabbing her wrist, tying her with…her own fucking pantyhose. The way she must look, wrists tied to knees, knees held apart somehow, leaving her deepest secret places exposed and open for him. She should be fucking terrified. She was terrified. But neither could she deny that there was an element of dark turn-on here, too.

 

 

Hired! ~8~

If she thought that he was going to haul her up off of the floor and onto the bed, she was delusional, he thought, straightening his tie in her bedroom mirror. She’d slipped into the bathroom to ‘freshen up’, girlspeak for pissing, he guessed.

Looking around at the explosion of clothing in her room, he eyeballed the bed. OH, yeah, he definitely thought about fucking her brains out, but in this room? Though he was not a neat freak, he was afraid someone would quite possibly put an eye out on some of the garments strewn about. He gave her points for her bed being made.

His eyes narrowed. Her bed was made. The only clothing thrown higgley piggly about the room was sexy clothing. A wide smile broke like dawn across his face. Sexy clothing. Everywhere. She wasn’t just nervous about dating her boss, she wanted to look sexy for him.

As he’d jokingly ordered her.

Well now, wasn’t that a kick in the arse? The smile slid away as he heard the toilet flush. There was no point in rubbing it in her face. Yet. All things in good time, as was said. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he moved to the living room to wait for her.

“I suppose your reservations are ruined. Sorry.”

yeah right, sorry not sorry,  she thought as she stepped into view.

“No indeed. I called ahead to bump up our time. We’re good.”

“Oh, great,” she said with patently false enthusiasm.

“Let’s go then, shall we?”

“shall we” she muttered under her breath, but of course he was all eagle-eared and heard it.

“Tsk tsk. Mocking your boyfriend isn’t nice.”

“You are NOT my boyfriend. This is a debt to be paid.”

“Ah, So…you won’t get any enjoyment out of the evening then. Shall I take you to a burger joint and get you fries and a shake instead of steak and caviar?”

“I don’t like caviar. Too salty.” In truth, she’d never had any.

“Uh huh,” he replied, taking her arm. “Let’s go, Kat, and stop stalling.”

As if to emphasize the point, his stomach rumbled and she laughed. “Even your stomach has to add its two cents?” she laughed, poking his belly with her elbow as she slipped into her shoes.

“Hmm,” was his only reply as he watched her body move in interesting ways under the dress. “Nice shoes.”

“Hmm,” she mocked him.

“This could be a long evening.”

“Or a short one,” she retorted. “You could get sick of me and take me home early.”

He just smiled that smirky-face smile and held the door for her.

***********************************************

The restaurant was quiet and elegant. Subtle wait staff, fine wine, snowy linens. There was some soft music playing at the edges of her hearing, but she was drawn again and again to his face. He laughed. He teased. He gestured with his silverware. He stole her food, and plopped some of his on her plate, then laughed when her eyes rolled at him.

The waiter removed their dishes, and he ordered ice cream for dessert.

“What, no chocolate cake?”

“Don’t want you weighed down with all that in your belly when we go dancing.”

“Dancing?!” Her voice squeaked. “You never said a thing about that?”

“How neglectful of me.”

In truth, he didn’t look apologetic at all. Then again, it wasn’t really an apology. Her brows furrowed as she stared at him. He looked back at her, eyes dancing, chin resting in his palm. Daring her. He was silently needling her and she was not going to fall for it. Letting her breath out slowly, she smiled at him.

“Okay.”

If she’d hoped to fuddle him, she failed. He just smiled and leaned back as their ice cream was served. When the waiter left, he gestured with his spoon.

“Eat.”

Dom voice.

She ate.

************************************************************

She stood beside him as they waited for their coats. Her back straightened, shoulders back, and shot him a look when his hand slid over the curve of her ass.

“What. Was. That.”

“My hand.”

Gritting her teeth, she looked up at him.

“I know it was your hand.”

“Why did you ask? Did you think it was my foot?”

There was that deep breath again, in, out, in, out. She was not going to let him goad her. Pizza and temper had gotten her into this mess, and calm was going to get her home in her bed alone in a little bit. She was not going to let him poke her into flaring at him.

“I was sure it wasn’t your foot, because that is firmly planted…”

“yes?”

That smirk, again. So help her god, she was going to…breathe, breathe…

“on the floor.  Why was your hand on my butt?”

“Why?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sometimes hands have a mind of their own. It’s a very curvy ass.”

“You’re calling me …fat?”

“Curvy. In all the right places. I’m not into stick figure women, Kat.”

“Oh, so all I need to do to get you to leave me alone is go on a diet?”

He laughed. He was so fucking outrageously sexy when he laughed like that. All-in, that was how he expressed his joy. Head back, lips smiling, the total abandon of his guffaws made her smile.

Except, she wasn’t going to smile and encourage him.

He flicked a finger down her cheek.

“So serious. Yet, a lovely ass. I doubt if anything you did could discourage me…other than saying ‘no’. No is acceptable…if you are truly uncomfortable with me.”

Considering the current climate, it was a decent thing for him to say. And truthfully, he wasn’t forcing  her to do any of this. He may have tweaked her into it, but she was honest enough to admit that she was…kind of…sort of…maybe enjoying his company.

At least he wasn’t her boss, so that bridge was gone downriver.

She leaned close.

“I could fart.”

“One assumes so, yes. Amazingly enough, so do I.”

“I could have spinach between my teeth.”

“Nope, clear.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“You didn’t have spinach at dinner.”

“Well, I didn’t have it today.”

“Oh.” That gave him pause.

“Well, that might preclude me kissing you…but since I already have, I can confidently say that you do not, nor did you earlier, have spinach between your teeth.”

She laughed. He loved the way her entire face lit up when she really let herself go. This was becoming a very enjoyable evening, and yet the best was yet to come. No pun intended.

He leaned close again.

“How about, before the coats come, you jot into that restroom and remove your panties for me?”

Her mouth fell open, and she looked up at him, wide-eyed, before leaning up to his ear. Coming towards them was the hostess with their jackets in hand. She held his arm to brace herself as she rose to tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“I can’t do that!”

He looked down at her, and grinned that heart-melting, devilish grin.

“Sure you can,” he said, normal voiced.

On tiptoe again, she tugged him down lower to her mouth by his tie.

“I can’t,” she whispered, sounding breathless. He had to admit that the sound of her voice, and the wisp of her warm breath against his ear was a two-pronged turn on.

“You can.”

“But I can’t,” she said again, then swirled her tongue around his ear, the cheeky witch!

“I’m not wearing any.”

 

 

Hired! ~7~

She opened her mouth to speak, but his finger pressed against her lips, quieting her.

“Don’t argue just for the sake of arguing,” he cautioned. “We both know how much you’d hate eating your own words.”

He didn’t just remove his finger. Oh, that would have been far too simple, she thought. She felt pissy thinking it, and tried to figure out where that was coming from. Self-examination before going out with Mr. Dangerous? Weird, but likely necessary. It seemed silly, okay, stupid to be holding onto a work-grudge. And yet he had  figuratively tied her hands there, holding her back from doing all but the most mundane and trivial work that even a gopher could have accomplished.  Still, the curl of lust in her belly could not be denied as that finger slipped down her chin, then raised it. His eyes practically ate her, she thought, her heart fluttering nervously. He moved closer still, then his lips brushed lightly across hers.

“Okay,” he said, a smile on his face, “let’s be off, shall we?” and he lightly smacked her bottom. She jumped, the spell he’d woven around her broken.

No. Not broken. Enhanced.

Still, she wasn’t ready to get into a sexual haze with her boss, version 2.0. Been there, done that, ripped up the tee-shirt,  she thought.

“You’re frowning already.”

Shaking herself, she tried to find a snappy retort, but she found herself unable to find one that seemed appropriate.

“I’m trying to decide what to wear. As a jacket.”

“Well, choose quickly, as our reservation time is approaching.”

Quickly, she opened the coat closet, where order ruled, and grabbed her short leather jacket. It would pair nicely with her outfit.

“Ready,” she said.

“I think you’ve forgotten something.”

“I have my purse here, my jacket…you’re here, so….” she looked at him like he was mentally deficient, he thought.

“Is going out barefoot the new thing?” he mused.

“Oh HELL!” she said, then giggled. “Okay, you win. I’ll go get shoes.”

She dashing into her bedroom and paused. Shit, she’d almost forgotten the unholy mess in here.

“Dear. God.”

She turned to find a look of shock and perhaps horror on his face.

“Katherine…” he said, his voice trailing away as he took in the enormity of the mess.

“No. No, go away. You didn’t see this. It never happened. I mean, never. It’s one date, and you’ll never have to witness this ever again.”

She pushed him back, but he was like a brick wall.

“Well, we’ll debate that later, but what the hell happened in here? It looks like you threw your very own panty party in here. Or a rave. Or whatever the hell they call it these days. This…from my tidy, organized, everything-in-it’s-place  Katherine? I…it…” he ran a hand over his hair, then looked at her, and laughed. “You’re a fucking slob at home, Ms. TidyPants.”

“I am NOT,” she retorted, her cheeks flushing. She shoved at him again.

“Oh, only all this evidence to the contrary,” he guffawed, his hand swinging around to take in the entirety of the room.

“Shut. Up. Mr. Jerkface Jackson.” Teeth gritted she began pushing him in earnest. “Out. Shoes. Go.”

She darted to the open closet door, and grabbed the first pair of black shoes in there. She knew they were the right ones because those had not been affected by the Attack of  First Date Syndrome. Darting back to the door, her foot caught in a bra strap, the other caught in a cup. When she tried to shake it off, she stepped on the boning of the her corset, and yelped. Hopping on one foot, she immediately slid across a silk teddy, and wound up flailing along the side of her bed, until she fell. She landed face first. Burying  her face deeper into the pile of crap on her bed, she moaned.

His footfalls moved across the room. Carefully and slowly, she noted, so he wouldn’t step on her shit. She didn’t want him to get any closer so she tried to shoo him away.

“I’m not ever getting up from here. I’m not ever going to look at you, or remember that you exist in the world. Go away and leave me to die in my embarrassment.”

Her hands made flopping motions at him, as if to wave goodbye.  Her voice, muffled by the pile of clothing and blankets on the bed, came out as a wail. His laughter clearly carried to her, however.

Damn him.

He kept laughing. He laughed so hard that he tried to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, but he slipped on a silk charmeuse robe, rolling right down the side of the bed to land on his butt on the floor beside her legs.

And still he laughed, the dumb ass.

“ohmygawd,” she moaned, but a giggle escaped.

He gulped air, coughed, as he laughed even harder, then tugged on her leg until she fell down beside him.  He had tears in his eyes from laughing, the rotten cur!

“Stop laughing,” she laughed.

“Can’t,” he laughed.

Later, she was never sure how long they sat there in the destruction of her room, but they were both exhausted, sides aching, when they finally ran out of giggles.