She picks up on the first ring, then pretends she didn't by waiting three beats before speaking. "Hello?"

"Hey." His voice carries the smile she'd tasted forty-seven minutes ago. "I just—I wanted to check something in my calendar. For this week. If that's okay?"

"Oh! Yes, checking calendars is... that's a normal thing people do." She's pacing her kitchen, bare feet catching on the linoleum's slight tackiness. The dishes from breakfast still crowd her sink—evidence of a morning that feels like it happened in another lifetime.

"Right, exactly. Very normal." He clears his throat. "So I have this work thing Wednesday—"

"Wednesday's actually perfect because Tuesday I have my sister's—wait, no, sorry, you weren't suggesting Wednesday, were you? You were just telling me you're busy then."

"No, I mean, yes, I was saying I'm busy but also trying to, um, figure out when I'm not busy. If that makes sense." The sound of papers shuffling comes through the line. "Thursday?"

"Thursday." She tests the word, rolling it around her mouth like the memory of their kiss. "Thursday I have yoga until 7:30, but after that—"

"I could do after that. I could definitely do after that." The eagerness in his voice makes her stomach flip. "There's this place that does really good Thai food, unless you don't like Thai food, in which case there's obviously other food that exists in the world—"

"I love Thai food." She's grinning now, pressing her forehead against the cool surface of her refrigerator. "I was actually going to suggest Thai food, but I didn't want to be too... presumptuous about suggesting specific cuisines this early in our... calendar coordination."

A laugh breaks through his carefully maintained casualness. "God, this is weird, isn't it? An hour ago I didn't even know if you liked me, and now I'm checking my Google Calendar like it holds the secrets to the universe."

"It is weird," she agrees, warmth spreading through her chest. "But maybe good weird? Like, I'm standing here pretending I need to double-check if I'm free Thursday when I've already mentally canceled three different things."

"I haven't checked a single thing on my calendar this entire conversation," he confesses. "I've just been holding a random receipt and making paper-shuffling noises."

The laughter comes easy now, the awkwardness transforming into something precious—a shared secret, a private joke in the making. They're building something here, between the pretense of scheduling and the raw honesty of new attraction.

"So... Thursday at 8?" she ventures.

"Thursday at 8," he confirms, then adds quickly, "Although I could do 7:45 if your yoga ends earlier than expected. Or 8:15 if you need more time. Or really any time that works for you, I'm pretty flexible. Not yoga-flexible, obviously, but time-flexible."

"8 is perfect," she says softly, and they both hear what she really means: *You're perfect, this is perfect, the way my heart is racing right now is perfect.*

"Okay. Good. That's... that's really good." Another pause, filled with unspoken words. "I should probably let you go now, right? That's probably what a normal person would do instead of trying to find more excuses to keep talking?"

She traces a pattern on the fridge door, spelling out Thursday over and over. "Probably. Although I should mention that my calendar has some very suspicious empty spaces this evening..."

"What a coincidence," he says, relief and joy tangling in his voice. "Mine too."

The cityscape blurs into watercolor smears beyond the fortieth-floor windows—all those lives being lived while Kaia sits frozen at her desk, caught in the gravitational pull of James’s office light down the hall. (Like a moth to flame, except moths don’t spend months constructing elaborate justifications for their inevitably fatal attraction.)

Her cursor blinks in accusatory morse code: *you’re-not-work-ing, you’re-not-work-ing*. The Peterson brief sprawls across her screen, legal jargon swimming before her eyes—a perfect metaphor for her current state, all these carefully constructed arguments dissolving into want.

Time feels elastic after hours, stretching and compressing like a universe bending around a massive object. Which is what this thing between them has become: enormous, unavoidable, warping the space-time continuum of their meticulously maintained professionalism into something dangerous and electric.

She catches her reflection in the darkened window—cheeks flushed, pupils dilated—and catalogs the physiological responses like evidence in a case she’s building against her better judgment. *Exhibit A: elevated heart rate. Exhibit B: shallow breathing. Exhibit C: the way her skin feels too tight, like it’s trying to contain something infinite.*

The walk to his office is thirty-seven steps (she’s counted, repeatedly, obsessively). Tonight each one feels like crossing a threshold, like quantum particles collapsing from possibility into certainty.

He looks up when she appears—always up, never startled, like some part of him is perpetually aware of her proximity—and something molten pools in her chest at the sight: reading glasses sliding low, sleeves rolled with precise intention, the controlled chaos of papers spreading across his desk like the physical manifestation of her scattered thoughts.

“Kaia.” Her name in his mouth is a complete legal brief: argument, evidence, and conclusion all wrapped in two syllables.

“I was just...” The lie evaporates unfinished. They’re both too smart for pretense, too aware of the chess game they’ve been playing where every casual touch is a calculated move toward this moment.

He stands—fluid, deliberate—crossing the room in measured steps that somehow contain both restraint and hunger. “Were you?” His voice carries that familiar trace of amusement, the tone that simultaneously infuriates and intoxicates her. “Just what?”

(There should be a word for this—this exact point when years of legal training in constructing airtight arguments crumbles in the face of pure want.)

“Testing a theory,” she manages, pulse thundering in her ears like waves against a crumbling seawall.

“And what theory would that be?” He’s close enough now that she can see the faint stubble along his jaw, smell the lingering notes of coffee mingled with something uniquely him—a scent her lizard brain has cataloged as *dangerous* and *necessary* in equal measure.

Instead of answering, she rises on her toes (a motion she’s rehearsed in her mind so many times it feels like muscle memory) and presses her mouth to his.

The kiss reconstructs her understanding of time: there is before and there is this, and the demarcation between them is sharp enough to draw blood. His hands find her waist as hers tangle in his hair, and some distant part of her brain notes with satisfaction that it’s just as soft as she’d imagined.

They break apart breathing hard, foreheads touching, sharing the same electrically charged air. “We should—” he starts.

“Later,” she interrupts, surprising herself with the authority in her voice. “Some cases require less deliberation than others.”

His laugh is low and warm against her neck. “Counselor,” he murmurs, “I believe you’re leading the witness.”

“Object all you want,” she whispers back, fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “The evidence speaks for itself.”

When he kisses her again, it feels like winning a case she didn’t know she was arguing—like justice and mercy wrapped in the same breathless verdict. His hands map the geography of her spine as she presses closer, eliminating any remaining space between precedent and possibility.

“Take me home,” she breathes against his mouth—a motion to proceed that requires no deliberation.

He answers by lacing their fingers together, and they leave their half-finished briefs behind like abandoned closing arguments, stepping into a night that promises to rewrite every law they’ve ever known.

—

Monday arrives with all the subtlety of a summary judgment, harsh fluorescent lights replacing the forgiving darkness that had made everything seem possible seventy-two hours ago. Kaia’s been rehearsing this moment since she fled his apartment at 3 AM Saturday morning (not that she’s counting the hours, except she absolutely is, with the kind of precision usually reserved for billable minutes).

The elevator ride to the fortieth floor feels like watching opposing counsel destroy her star witness. Each ascending number ratchets her anxiety higher: *thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine—God, when did this building get so tall?* She’s arrived precisely twenty-three minutes earlier than usual, a tactical maneuver designed to minimize contact that instead leaves her feeling like a coward citing procedural technicalities.

(She’s analyzed Friday night with the same obsessive attention she typically reserves for depositions, rehashing every moment, every touch, every awkward fumble and miscommunication until the memories feel worn smooth as river stones. The way his hands had shaken. The way she’d gone cold and distant. The terrible, haunting silence afterward.)

The office is blessedly empty—or so she thinks until she rounds the corner and nearly collides with James emerging from the break room, coffee mug in hand. Time stretches like hot glass, then shatters: a study in the relativity of professional mortification.

They do an awkward dance of mutual avoidance, both stepping the same direction twice before freezing in place. His coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim. She clutches her laptop bag like a shield.

“Kaia.” Her name in his mouth sounds different now—clinical, careful, like evidence being handled with latex gloves.

“James.” (When did his name become so difficult to pronounce? Four weeks of bar exam prep were easier than these two syllables.)

The silence that follows could be submitted as an amicus brief on the topic of human discomfort. She maps his appearance with unwanted precision: tie slightly askew (unusual for him), dark circles under his eyes (did he sleep as poorly as she did?), shoulders tense beneath his perfectly pressed shirt (the same shoulders she’d—*no, absolutely not going there*).

“I was just...” They both start simultaneously, then stop. A perfect demonstration of the legal principle of mutual embarrassment.

He clears his throat. “About Friday—”

“The Peterson brief is on your desk,” she interrupts, words tumbling out with the desperate energy of a client volunteering privileged information. “I finished it over the weekend. All the citations are updated, and I added a section on recent precedents that might—”

“Kaia.” Softer this time, almost pained.

“—be relevant to our argument, particularly regarding the statutory interpretation of—”

“*Kaia.*”

She forces herself to meet his eyes, immediately regrets it. Because there it is—everything they’re not talking about, laid out like evidence in a case neither of them knows how to try.

“We should probably...” He runs a hand through his hair (she knows exactly how that hair feels now, a piece of evidence she desperately needs stricken from the record).

“I have a client meeting,” she lies, already backing away. “We can... later. Maybe. If there’s anything... professional... to discuss.”

She retreats to her office with as much dignity as she can muster (which, if quantified, would barely fill a motion in limine). Through her open door, she watches him stand there for a long moment, coffee growing cold in his hand, before he turns toward his own office.

The day stretches ahead like an endless deposition, every hour a careful dance of strategic avoidance and professional necessity. She throws herself into research with the kind of manic energy usually reserved for pro bono cases, as if enough case law can build a wall between Friday night and Monday morning.

But every time footsteps pass her door, her heart executes a series of complex maneuvers that would violate several workplace safety regulations. Each distant phone ring triggers a fight-or-flight response worthy of academic study. The coffee maker’s gurgle sounds accusatory.

(She’s already drafted and deleted seventeen emails to him, each one an exercise in saying nothing while meaning everything. The eighteenth attempt sits in her drafts folder, cursor blinking: *"Regarding the matter of Friday night..."* Like their catastrophic attempt at intimacy can be reduced to a case number and filed away.)

When 5 PM finally arrives—the longest billable hours in legal history—she begins the delicate task of packing up without being noticed, each file and notebook lifted with trembling care. But as she reaches for her coat, a post-it note slides from between the files on her desk. Her breath catches at the familiar handwriting:

*Re: Friday night

Motion to continue discussion?

My office @ 5:30pm*

She stares at the yellow square for so long the words begin to blur, her pulse keeping time like a court reporter’s stenotype. Outside her office, the elevator chimes its end-of-day rhythm as the firm empties out. Soon it will be just them again, in the same after-hours quiet that started this whole mess.

The post-it crinkles as her fingers close around it. Some cases, she realizes, require a second hearing.

You find yourself in a library where all the books are missing their last pages. The shelves curve impossibly upward, disappearing into a ceiling that might not exist. (Yes, you're in a story now—but then again, weren't you always?)

Footsteps echo behind you, but they're your own from five minutes ago, still searching. You've been here before, or maybe you'll be here later. Time does that sometimes, especially in stories about last things.

Between the shelves, you discover a reading room where people sit with half-empty coffee cups that never grow cold. Their conversations hang in the air like unfinished sentences, and you recognize the feeling—that moment when words fade before reaching their destination. You've felt it before, haven't you, reader? That sensation of almost-but-not-quite understanding something essential?

A woman sits at a desk made of mirror fragments. She's writing in a book that writes itself back, each word disappearing as soon as it's penned. You know her, though you've never met. (That's the thing about being in a story—everything is both real and not real, like quantum particles or promises made at midnight.)

"I've been waiting," she says, but her voice sounds like rustling pages.

You want to tell her you've been waiting too, but instead, you notice how the light through the windows falls in patterns that spell out words you almost remember. They remind you of something—perhaps that dream where you could read in colors, or that summer when the sunset looked like scattered punctuation marks.

In your pocket, you find a ticket stub from a movie you haven't watched yet. The title keeps changing every time you look at it, but the date remains the same: Today. Always today. (You see what I did there? Time is funny in stories, especially ones about endings that are really beginnings.)

The woman stands, and suddenly the room rearranges itself like a sentence being edited. Bookshelves become doorways, doorways become windows, windows become questions you never thought to ask. She hands you a book—your book, though you didn't know you'd written one.

"The ending's missing," you say.

"They always are," she replies, smiling with one corner of her mouth, the way people do when they know something you're about to figure out.

You open the book. Inside, there's a map of everywhere you've ever almost been, marked with X's that look suspiciously like kisses. Or perhaps they're asterisks, footnoting moments you'll understand later. (You're getting good at this, dear reader, finding meaning in the spaces between words.)

The woman is closer now, close enough that you can see her eyes are filled with library cards, each one cataloging a different way to say goodbye. You realize, with the peculiar clarity that comes with being a character in someone else's story (or is it your own?), that this is it—the last time you'll fall in love.

Not because it's ending, but because after this, all other loves will be echoes of this one. They'll be like books you've already read, stories whose endings you can guess three chapters in. This is the last first time your heart will fumble with the grammar of attraction, the last time love will feel like a foreign language you're desperate to learn.

The woman reaches for your hand, and her fingers are warm like well-worn book spines. Around you, the library hums with the sound of a thousand stories reaching their almost-endings. (Do you feel it too, reader? The way the words are pulling us toward something inevitable?)

"We should probably kiss now," she says, "before the metaphors run out."

And you do, in that space between one paragraph and the next, where all the best things happen. The kiss tastes like the last page of your favorite book—the one you've never been able to find again. It tastes like understanding finally catching up to experience.

When you open your eyes, the library has become a garden where flowers bloom in serif and sans-serif. The woman is still there, but now she's writing your name in cursive on the air, and you realize that maybe you're writing hers too, has been all along, in the margins of every story you've ever lived.

(And here, dear reader, is where I leave you—not because the story's over, but because the best endings are the ones we write ourselves, in the spaces between what's said and what's understood, in that moment when we realize we've been reading our own hearts all along.)

You close the book, but keep your finger between the pages, marking your place. After all, the best stories are the ones we never quite finish reading, the ones that keep writing themselves in our dreams, in our memories, in the way we learn to love after we think we've loved for the last time.

(Turn the page, if you like. Or don't. The story will wait for you either way.)

~ My first erotic story! Thoughts, feelings and constructive criticisms welcome, enjoy xo

Word count: 4,293 ~

The light from the old television set flickers, casting an eerie glow throughout the otherwise dimly lit crypt as the old black-and-white "Dracula" plays quietly. The shadows bounce off of Slade's sharp features while he lounges in his plush black leather armchair, leisurely sipping from a glass, half-filled with a dark crimson liquid.

Persephone sits at his feet, her slender legs curled up beneath her, her big hazel eyes glued eagerly to the television screen, watching Bela Lugosi's Dracula charm Mina Harker.

Slade has always loved a good old-fashioned Vampire film, but tonight, his attention is more focused on Persephone than the drama playing out on the screen. He enjoys the way she watches the movie unfold, leaning forward in anticipation when suspense is building, and gasping when something exciting happens.

Slade clutches his glass of blood in one hand and reaches down with his other hand, lightly running his fingers through Persephone's auburn curls. A fond smirk plays across his lips as she leans into his touch.

They were an unlikely pairing, the two of them, yet together, they were a match made in Hell. They found each other while they were both lonely and in pain; he could remember it as if it were yesterday.

Back in 1978 when Slade spent the better part of his days lurking in the subways and spending all night at punk clubs in search of victims to feed from. All of it, he did with his mate Dahlia by his side. Together, they would drink from punkers, some nights even get high off the blood of junkies and wreak havoc upon the city. Until the night Slade came back to the old factory in the Bowery and found Dahlia in bed with two other Vampires. When he confronted her about it, she claimed quite bluntly that she had grown bored of him.

He never saw her again after that night. Without Dahlia, Slade spent the next several weeks in a haze of blood, alcohol, cocktails of drugs, and a blur of punk shows; during this time, he vaguely remembered partying with Iggy Pop and drinking heroin from Sid Vicious, however, he was in such a haze at the time, he was never sure of what had been real or not.

Regardless of all the blood baths and wreckless partying, Slade was heartbroken deep down inside without Dahlia by his side to partake in the madness with him. He felt like a piece of him was missing. Until that fateful night when he was wandering through the alleyways in Brooklyn, chainsmoking and on his way to the liquor store for a fresh bottle of Jack, when he stumbled upon Persephone, battered and bleeding like she had been tortured, lying in a pile of trash behind a laundromat. He recognized her species immediately by the distinct ridges on her face, running along the length of her nose and forehead, and the sacred sigils that adorned her flesh: a Revenge Demon. They were a rare breed of Demon, sent to Earth to punish the ignorant by carrying out curses upon their chosen victims, and occasionally help those who sought vengeance upon their enemies.

As Slade discovered, she had indeed been tortured by a group of men who had sought their own revenge on Persephone for cursing one of their friends quite brutally by forcing him to vomit maggots- ones that specifically ate human flesh, outside or inside.

Slade was always unsure of what came over him at that moment when he saw Persephone lying there, but despite the natural rivalry between their species, he felt a semblance of pity for her. So Slade took her back to the factory. Like Vampires, Demons heal fast, and Slade nursed her back to health the way he knew best- old No. 7 and time. He did this with the intention of gaining Persephone's favor to exact his vengeance against Dahlia and leave her no choice but to come crawling back to him; in his mind, he hoped for this in the literal sense. Yet, when the time finally came and Persephone asked what she could possibly do in return for his tenderness, the thought of Dahlia escaped his mind for the first time since he met her decades ago, and all he asked was for Persephone to join him in raining chaos upon the human race.

Slade found a fierce loyalty in Persephone, who was utterly devoted to the man who nursed her back to health and exacted revenge of his own upon the men who had harmed her. She cursed enemies foolish enough to sabotage their schemes or had simply crossed paths with them. Thus, their bond grew closer, and they found love budding in the midst of the chaos. While Slade was captivated by the Demoness, whose bluntness suggested both disdain for human life, yet carried an air of innocence concerning the world surrounding her. While her radiant beauty held him hostage more so than any man she had ever seduced during the millenniums she reigned indescribable chaos among the selfish.

Now, nearly two and a half decades after their first encounter, Slade and Persephone were inseparable and wreaking havoc upon the hunters who pursued them.

But there were no plans for causing any havoc tonight - at least, not above ground.

Slade takes a long sip from his glass. He watches Persephone lean forward, eagerly watching the television as Doctor Van Helsing and Jonathan Harker discover Dracula's missing reflection and decide to confront him about it. Dracula swats the mirror away in horror and Persephone scoffs.

"Vampires aren't afraid of mirrors." There is a brief silence, occupied by the film's orchestra before Persephone turns her head and looks back at Slade, her brows furrowed slightly in confusion. "Right?" She asks.

Slade chuckles fondly, his fingers still mindlessly dancing through Persephone's curls. "No Love, we're not afraid of mirrors. They just make it all dramatic for Hollywood." He explains and takes a sip from his glass.

Persephone nods understandingly, and her gaze returns to the television, "That makes sense - I've never seen you react to a mirror like that."

Slade allows the remainder of the scene to play out before he sets his glass on the end table to his right and picks up the remote, shutting off the television- prompting Persephone to look back at him.

"Hey!" She exclaims, "I wanted to see the Vampire kill the mean doctor who scared him." She pouts theatrically, crossing her arms and sticking out her bottom lip, in a way that resembles Tinkerbell.

"Well, then I'm afraid you wouldn't like the ending very much, Love." Slade replies. He sinks down more comfortably in his seat, and with a wicked smirk that means nothing but trouble, he pats his thigh. "Come sit up here with me. I want to talk to you."

Persephone hesitates, looking up at him with skepticism, her eyes narrowing. "I hope it's not about those hunters. They remind me of that mean Doctor Van Helsing and his evil mirror."

"No, no..." Slade coos. His hand travels down Persephone's back, his thumb rubbing soft circles on her spine, "nothing about them tonight, I promise. Tonight is all about you."

Her eyes light up, and Slade doesn't have to ask her a second time. "In that case..." Her voice trails off as she eagerly rises from her place on the floor and climbs into Slade's lap, her halter-styled red lace nightgown clinging to her curves beautifully. Slade lets out a satisfied him as she straddles his lap, his hands instinctively coming to rest on her waist, feeling the warmth of her curves through her negligée. Persephone settles into his lap and wraps her arms around his shoulders. She looks up at him with those ever-curious hazel eyes and a sweet smile spread across her pink lips - dimples proudly showing.

"What do you want to talk about?" She asks.

Slade, seemingly mesmerized by the Demoness in his lap, reaches up with his left hand and cups her cheek, his thumb tracing along her bottom lip as he gazes at her. "You've been such a good girl for me lately..." He purrs, his voice dropping to a low seductive tone. "Cursing all the Hunter's henchmen - showing them who's truly in charge now... Mmm... and what about all those nasty boils you gave that Priest, hm? I've never seen anything so vile." He leans in, capturing Persephone's bottom lip between his teeth, growling softly and sucking on her bottom lip slowly, savoring the taste of her strawberry-flavored lip gloss before he releases it again.

Persephone moans, dipping her head down to press a kiss to Slade's lips. He lets out a low chuckle against her lips and returns the favor, adding a flair of fervor as he deepens the kiss. Their lips part with a soft smack, and she looks at him sweetly.

"You're the one who asked for vengeance. I only granted it." She explains, running her fingers through the bleached blonde hair at the nape of Slade's neck.

He shakes his head, "But you made it happen my vile Goddess; and for that, I think you deserve a reward."

Persephone cocks an eyebrow, "What kind of reward?" She asks.

"Your wish is my command." He captures her lips in another kiss, the heat of the tension between them growing more intolerable with each passing second.

"I like it better when you tell me what to do." She remarks, her voice a delicate whisper against Slade's lips.

"Is that so?" Slade asks with a low growl, his grip on her waist tightening as he pulls her in closer until their bodies are flush against one another.

Persephone nods, "Mhmm...."

Slade's blue eyes darken with desire, that wicked smirk curling across his lips once more, "Then go stand against that pillar for me." He orders, nodding toward the object in question. He releases his grip on Persephone's waist and waits patiently for her to obey his command, which she does without hesitation; she rises from his lap and with soft bare-footfalls echoing through the crypt, she makes her way through the reaching shadows toward the tall pillar where she leans with her back against the cold intricately carved stone.

He reaches for his glass and takes a long slow sip, those eyes of his gleaming in the dark, admiring the sight of his Demoness standing against the stone, putting the other statues of Saints and Angels to shame. He lets the blood sit on his tongue, savoring the flavor like a fine liquor as he returns the glass to the table and rises to his feet with a grace that belies his tall stature. He saunters toward Persephone, his tongue peeking out to lick a drop of blood from his sneering upper lip. Standing before her, he reaches out and runs a cold finger along her collarbone, watching with enjoyment as her breaths quicken. His other hand trails down her torso, following her curves down to the dip of her waist, gazing deeply into her wide eyes, watching the anticipation build inside of her until both of his hands are resting firmly on her hips. He pushes her back against the pillar and Persephone gasps softly from both the cold stone and Slade's body pressing against her; his larger form entirely silhouettes her smaller figure, engulfing her within the shadows.

Slade dips his head down, bringing his lips to Persephone's ear, "Do you know what kind of reward I think you deserve, my Sweet Demoness?" He asked, his voice breathy, low, barely above a whisper. He takes his ear lobe between his lips, dragging it between his teeth, making her gasp.

"Yes..." She breathes, nodding her head, "Tell me please."

He releases her ear then whispers with a growl: "You deserve to be worshipped like the Demoness of destruction you are... until every inch of your body is trembling, I think that's a fitting reward... don't you, my Sweet?"

Persephone pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and nods again, faster this time, eagerness clear in her eyes. Slade grips the backs of her thighs and with a swift yet effortless motion, he lifts her into his arms. She squeals in surprise and giggles breathlessly in excitement, clinging to Slade and linking her ankles around his hips. His fingers dig into her thighs where her nightgown rose up, his grip firm enough to leave bruises behind which fade away as swiftly as they appear. He raises her body so her chest aligns with his lips; he kisses her neck hungrily, loving the feel of her veins pulsing with each beat of excitement that emanates from her immortal heart. He nips at her skin lightly, eliciting sweet gasps and moans from between her red lips. His kiss travel lower, his lips nestling between the pale mounds of Persephone's ample cleavage peaking put from the top of the negligée.

Persephone moans out, arching her back and leaning further into Slade's cool lips; the sensation sends goosebumps across her flesh, her insides humming and aching with desire. Two and a half decades and he still gave her goosebumps when she felt his kiss on her body.

Slade runs his palms up the smooth pale flesh of Persephone's thighs, sliding her nightgown up her slender curves and over her creamy white orbs. He presses a kiss to each of her pink nipples, aroused from the cold, pulling one between his teeth, making her shudder. He slips his fingers into the waistline of her panties, sliding them down her legs, letting them fall into the shadows below. He slips a hand between her supple thighs, growling low in his throat as he feels the warmth of her need between her legs. He parts her moist folds, soft as dewy rose petals, gathering her slickness onto his fingertips and bringing it to her little bundle of nerves. Persephone gasps and her head falls back against the pillar. He begins to circle her clit with swift het smooth motions, and her fingertips d into his shoulders. Slade knows her body so well, touching her is like playing an instrument. He follows the sounds she makes, he figures out what she is missing- what she needs the most- and he gives it to her, completing the symphony. Slade dips his index and middle fingers inside her, listening to the way she gasps quietly in surprise. He circles her clit with his thumb as he slowly moves his fingers in and out of her, curling them just right, making her whimper and grasp onto him harder. He can feel her moisture building, growing slicker beneath his fingertips, making his own desire grow until he can take no more. He craves her more than blood.

Slade runs his other hand up her spine to the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her curls and tilting her head back further, exposing her neck. He kisses his way back up the length of her neck, withdrawing his fingers from her heat. Persephone whines at the sudden emptiness, but Slade's lips crash into hers, swallowing up the sound as their lips reunite in heated passion.

Persephone's hands clamor for Slade's clothing, her fingers begin to eagerly work to unbutton Slade's shirt, the dark fabric falling away to reveal his pale flesh and the hard planes of his chest. Slade helps her to remove it, overcome by his own desperation, he tears it from his shoulders, ripping the fabric and breaking a button in the process. He tosses the shreds of fabric to the floor, joining the shadows.

Persephone runs her palms down Slade's torso and reaches for his belt buckle. She can see the bulge in Slade's jeans and the sight only makes her more eager. Perhaps too eager, as her fingertips tremble softly, making it difficult for her to maneuver the leather through the buckle.

"Mmm... so needy." Slade purrs, playfully nipping at  her neck "Want your reward, do you, Baby?"

"Mhmm... yes..." Persephone nods, her eyes never leaving her fingers. "I want it now."

Slade peers down, watching her pull the belt free from its buckle, and her dainty fingers reach hastily for his zipper. The sight of her fingers shaking in excitement, and the urgency in her motions only serves to make Slade want her even more, if that was possible- his jeans were feeling more like a vice than a piece of clothing.

Persephone tugs Slade's jeans down enough for his member to spring out, hard and heavy against her stomach. She can't help but stop and stare, licking her lips, eyes full of need. She looks up at him, her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes pleading.

"Slade, please...." She says, her voice a whimper that echoes through the stone chamber like a squeak from a mouse.

Slade kisses her neck, "Don't worry, Love..." He murmurs into her ear, then kisses her lips, "I'll give it to you." He places his left hand on her back, right at the swell of her hips, his inhuman strength holding her in place effortlessly. He lifts her up just a little bit more, their eyes locking. "Hold on, I've got you."

He takes his cock in his free hand, directing himself into her pink folds, lowering her onto him, inch by decadent inch. Persephone clings to Slade, moaning softly, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Shh... that's it, Love..." He whispers, his voice gruff and breathless.

He fills her until she is practically impaled on him, their bodies flush against each other. Her back is pinned against the cold stone. Cold Vampyric flesh against hot Demonic skin.

Persephone looks at him with those big brown eyes, her cheeks flushing pink. Slade moves in a steady rhythm, gaining speed with each thrust, sliding in and out of her moisture with ease. Their moans echo off the crypt's stone walls in a combined symphony of pleasure. Slade whispers sweet nothings and praises to her. Persephone's breasts, on full display, bouncing up and down against Slade's chest with each powerful thrust. He takes her mounds within his palms, squeezing and molding the sweet supple flesh in his large calloused hands. Her moans and delicate whines grow louder; his grunts and growls more feral. Slade moves with inhuman speed, each deep thrust sending her closer to ecstasy. Her legs tighten around his waist, the muscles in her thighs beginning to tremble.

"S-Slade, I'm gonna-- oh!" Her words are cut off by a high-pitched moan as the pleasure building within her body suddenly intensifies.

Slade dragged his teeth along her neck, "Cum for me, my Pet," He growls, "let me feel my vile Goddess tremble." He slips a hand between their bodies, his fingers applying pressure to her clit, matching the pace of his thrusts as he rubs her tiny pink nub.

"Slade! Oh, honey!" Persephone exclaims, "Fuck!" She tosses her head back and her entire body begins to shudder with the force of her climax.

Slade clamps down on her neck, right as she reaches the peak of ecstasy. He drives into her faster, harder, through her body-quivering orgasm; adding to the pleasure. Her walls pulse around him, her veins pound against his teeth, and her juices coat his cock just as surely as the blood he drinks from her soaks his tongue.

Her body is still shuddering when Slade pulls out of her, and a drop of her juices drips down her inner thigh. Even her body was crying out for more. "Don't stop, please don't stop..." She pleads, her cheeks flushed in post-orgasmic bliss.

Slade releases her neck, leaving two small holes in place, and his lips smeared with her blood. "I'm not stopping, Love..." He captures her lips with a hungry kiss, sharing the metallic taste of her life force with her. "Not until I make you scream again." He holds onto her tight and lifts her back from the pillar. He carries her deeper into the crypt to an alcove deep within the shadows, where a large queen-sized bed sits, and he lays Persephone down on top of the red velvet sheets.

Slade positions himself above her, and Persephone reaches for him needily, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. He secures her legs on his waist and slides back into her with a low growl. His movements are slow and deep, continuing with the same rhythm. Her pussy is still sensitive, tight around Slade's cock like a vice; her moans turn to whimpers into the kiss while he growls and groans at the pleasure the combined sensation delivered.

"So tight... so wet." He purrs.

He starts to pound into her faster, harder, making the bed creak under the intensity. The intimate erotic sound of their bodies slapping together echoes through the crypt.

Persephone spreads her legs as wide as she possibly can, desperate to feel Slade just a bit deeper. "More, please... more...." She begs.

He hears the need in her voice and lifts her left leg over his shoulder- the new angle sending him right into that little patch of heaven inside of her that made her see stars. She gasps and her pink toes curl. Her hand instinctively reaches for the pillow behind her head, her dainty fingers clutching the fabric so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Slade grasps both of her wrists, pinning her arms there above her head. Her body was entirely exposed, her pale flesh covered in a light shimmer of sweat, mixing with the blood dripping down her neck to her chest, making her appear like a decadent dessert laid out beneath Slade. His lip return to her neck, his tongue flicking over the already healed wound, lapping up the blood that remained.

He slips a hand between their bodies, his other hand keeping her leg in place. He places his thumb on her clit, applying just enough pressure and circling her bundle of nerves with the same rhythm, making Persephone squeal with pleasure.

The sensation makes it so hard for her to hold back, and she could already feel that familiar pressure building in her hips. She can feel her abdomen grow tighter and tighter with each thrust, each little circle; she felt like she was about to come undone again at any second.

"I'm so close again..." She pants out, her voice breaking. "I'm so close..."

The muscles in her thigh tighten and grow tense over Slade's shoulder, and he can feel her muscles trembling, outside and inside.

"That's it, my Love..." He whispers, pressing his forehead against hers and a kiss to her lips. "Come for me again, Baby."

A curl of his bleached hair comes free of its gel, falling in his face. His thrusts grow wilder, his own climax approaching him like a speeding bullet. He releases his grip on Persephone's wrist and grips her hips instead to pound into her harder.

Persephone can't utter a word. The only sound that escaped her lips were frantic whimpers and whines as she felt her walls tighten around Slade, and her second orgasm suddenly came crashing over her- one more intense than the first, whipping through her petite body. She clutches onto Slade's shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh, leaving small bloody half-moon marks behind. Her eyes flutter shut in bliss, but only for a moment, she quickly opens her eyes again, wanting to look into Slade's eyes as they both come undone.

Slade slams into her one final time, letting out a roar of satisfaction. He holds himself there deep inside her, letting out a roar of satisfaction, emptying his seed into her; his cock pulsing with each stream he releases into her.

Persephone holds Slade close, her arms even trembling around his shoulders and panting against his still chest as she came down from her high.

Persephone held Slade close, her arms still wrapped around his shoulders as she came down from her high, panting against his still chest. Slade kisses her cheek, her lips, then he looks down at her, tenderly brushing her auburn curls away from her sweat-soaked forehead. It took a lot to wear out a Demon, especially Revenge Demons, infamous for their high stamina; looking into Persephone's hazy hooded eyes, Slade knows he has done well. He leaves another kiss on her forehead and slowly pulls out of her, gingerly setting her leg down and collapsing beside her.

But before the pair settled into bed too comfortably, Slade sits up and reaches for the covers. Persephone whines needily reaching out and grabbing for Slade.

"Shh... I'm not going anywhere, Love." He whispers to her softly.

He lies back down beside her, lifting the velvet covers over their bodies. He wraps his arms around his Demoness, holding her close to his chest. Persephone snuggles up to him, resting her head on his chest, a blissful smile across her lips.

"I feel all floaty." She murmurs sleepily, her dimples showing sweetly.

Slade smiles upon her fondly as his cool fingertips run through her curls soothingly. "Rest now, Love. We've got lots of hell to raise tomorrow."

"Mm... that sounds very exciting." She smiles, nuzzling her forehead against Slade's chest.

Although there was no heartbeat to be heard, she could feel his love for her coursing through his veins. She had a lot of enemies in this world, but she can sleep peacefully at night knowing that Slade was here to protect her; and when the sun set, and it was the dusk of a new night, they could set out to destroy their enemies, one by one. Together.

I stand before him in inspection pose. ‘You know what your directions are sub girl?’ He asks me with a wicked grin as he snaps one of the nipple clips to my left breast. I take in a rapid breath through my nose, I wasn’t expecting the alligator clips this morning. It told me he was going to try to challenge me today. He looks up at me from where he sits at his desk, waiting for my answer.

’Yes, Sir. I do. I am to go into the bathroom, turn on the shower as far as it will go, change the head to pulsate and then come as many times as I can without having to pull the shower head away from your cunt. I am to count each one and thank you for it. When I am unable to take anymore, I am to clean myself, dry myself and present myself to you, Sir.’ He gives me that wicked ass smile, snaps down the other clamp on my right breast, and points to the bathroom. As I turn to go, he lightly pats my ass. ‘Good girl.’

As I lean forward to turn on the water for the shower, the chain connecting my nipple clamps clangs against the shower door, bringing a quiet little moan out of me. I quickly debate in my mind whether I’m grateful for the power shower we had installed or not. I know I’m not very good at pushing my own boundaries, but he really wants me to work on this for him. The minute any sensitivity sets in for me, I always pull away. Afraid to go deeper, harder, more.

I step into the shower, and first let the warm water flow over my body. Helping me to relax to untense my muscles as I’ve no doubt they will be tense again soon enough. I reach up and grab the hand held shower head and flip the lever to turn off the overhead feed. I can’t help it. My heart rate starts racing. I come so hard this way. He knows this and I’m pretty sure that is precisely why he has set me this task. The reality is, I’m already aroused just from being near him all morning, naked, posing, watching him work. There’s something deeply fulfilling to see someone so engulfed with what they are creating. I love to see how he works, how his mind functions, how things come together. With that thought, I spread my legs apart, hold my cunt lips open with my left hand and point the powerful jet right at my clit. I lean forward as my legs start to tense, I go up on my toes, I bang my head against the wall and let loose a quiet moan as almost instantly, my first orgasm flies through my body in what must be record time. I moan aloud. Timidly, ‘one, thank you sir,’ is whispered from my mouth.

Every nerve feels like it’s tingling as I rise up on my toes as each orgasm rocks through me. ‘Ten. Thank you, Sir. Eleven. Thank you, Sir’. My head grinds into the wall as each orgasm comes and go. My muscles bunch up and clench and release again as orgasm after orgasm piles one in top of the other. ’15, sir, thank you. 16, sir, thank you.’ I can only mutter the count through gritted teeth. It’s taking every ounce of control to try to maintain the count. My head is swimming, my body is trembling from top to bottom. I can’t. No more. No more. My mind seems stuck on the thought. I want to pull my hand away, but I want to please him. I want to make him proud. My mind just wants to float away and bathe in the sensations reverberating through my body. As I feel another orgasm becoming more of an imperative than a desire, I scream out. ‘I can’t, sir, I can’t. Please, Sir, can you hear me. No more, please, please. I beg of you…’ As the last word issues from my mouth, my voice goes up an octave and a piercing scream slams out of me, a sound of pain and pleasure as I come again.

His voice carries from the other room, ‘don’t forget to count, slut. I’d hate for you to have to start over.’ I swear under my breath at him and try desperately to recall which number I’m on. My mind is too hazy, I try to focus. I try to come back into my body but it seems just too far out of reach. I grasp at straws in my mind. My head starts to shake back and forth. A number, any number, but even that seems beyond my abilities. ‘That would be 17, dear whore. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.’ His voice is nearer and grounds me. I pull the number from his lips to mine.

’17, sir, that’s it, yes, it must be, yes, yes, definitely.’ Another scream emits from me as 18 forces its way out. Now, it seems there is no way to stop them. They come fast and furious, one on top of the other. I pant out, ’22, sir. Thank. Aaaarrggghh!’ I try to catch my breath. I’m almost hiccuping the count now. ‘No sir. No. No more. I can’t. Can’t. No. No more.’

Suddenly, a hand firmly wraps itself around my throat. Holding me there. ‘Take it for me, bitch. Take it for me.’ I vaguely register that I’m shaking my head back and forth and muttering no, no, no under my breath. Without realising it, it’s changed from no into yes. The strength of the hand at my throat brings me back into myself. The shower head continues to beat at me mercilessly. I whimper. I just want to throw it away from me. Smash it against the wall. It’s agony, but also ecstasy. 24 and 25 pass in the same way. I start banging my head against the wall as my body now tries to pull away from itself. My eyes and sealed shut. I can feel the tears pouring down my cheeks. The hand releases its grip around my throat, I beg for its return but to no avail. My body convulses as another orgasm rips me apart.

I feel a hand upon my forehead, pulling it away from the wall. ‘Now slave, we’d hate to damage you now wouldn’t we?’ Some words or sounds come out of my mouth but I’ve no idea what I’ve said. Each breath jitters through me. Another hand reaches around and pinches the alligator clip on my left breast. I wail as I come again. Holy fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Only obscenities echo through my mind. My legs start shaking uncontrollably. ’Can‘t, can’t, can’t. No. no. No.’

As I feel my legs starting to give way, two strong hands grab ahold of my hips. My body stabilises. My hand still clutching the shower head in a death grip, I lose all sense. ‘Lean forward, now, slave.’ I mindlessly follow the direction, as the sound of his voice is the only think that holds me to this world. My mind explodes as he slams his cock deep inside of me. Another orgasm erupts. I can feel him filling me and then pulling away only to slam deep inside again. ‘T-t-t-t-t,’ is the only thing that comes out of my mouth. I screech as another orgasm is torn from me. All sense evades me. I float and float. Feeling everything around me touching my flesh. Every atom caresses me and I feel like I’m weightless, no longer within my body. All the sudden, ‘uh uh uh uh uh uh,’ I’m brought down to earth as my Master continues to ream me. Inside of me, I know he’s nearly there. As he explodes inside of me, I drop the shower head as one last orgasm grinds its way out. My legs give way and I go down into the bathtub. I curl up in a fetal position. The water comes from overhead. My Master helps me to sit up. I feel his touch as he washes me clean and then moves onto my hair. I stay there. Secure with his hands around me. The water disappears. He helps me up and out of the tub. I can barely stand. A warm towel is wrapped around me and I’m led away. I collapse onto the bed. My Master removes the towel, wipes the tears from my cheeks, moves his body to spoon me and brings the blanket up and around both of us. With a light kiss, he whispers in my ear, ‘28, good girl,’ and I fade away with a sedate smile on my face.

I know I’ve done something wrong, but I’ve no idea what. You are very busy and focused at the moment. I should not interrupt your work. Still, it spins in my brain. Amends. You need to make amends, but how do you do that without being sure exactly what you did wrong. I glance in your direction. A thought comes into my mind. I bite down on my lower lip. Will it help or will it irritate? I’m not sure, but I must do something before I start to spiral downward and become obsessed with trying to figure out how I messed up.

I glance again your way, Sir. You are very much still hard at work. I reach down and pull my shirt over my head. I fold it neatly and put it to the side. Next, I unfasten my jeans and slide them down my legs. I step out of them, fold them, and place it on top of my shirt. I reach behind me and undo my bra, one hook at a time. Shrugging my shoulders out of it, I place it on the pile. Lastly, I slide my panties down, and with my foot kick them over to land nicely on the stack of clothes beside me. I can feel your attention shift just the slightest little bit. You’ve noticed but I’ve fortunately not distracted you. I think for a minute. Now, knowing you, you would want me either somewhere close to hand or else on display. I find being on display difficult, so I move to the middle of the lounge and lie facedown on the carpet, my toes pointed straight and my hands resting on either side of my head. I chose the Floor pose so that you can see my submission to you. Lowering myself so that you can visibly see that you are above me. That my body is here for whatever use you have of it. I reach out and set the timer for 15 minutes, then quickly lower my head back down, my nose and forehead making contact with the carpet underneath.

At first, I get my breathing under control, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. As it starts evening out and my breathing becomes more deliberate, I think of the air coming in through my nose And out through my mouth. I think about how lucky it is that I don’t have the ball gag in my mouth, that would make this much trickier. Wait. Stop. You are not here to be aroused. You’re here to show your submission.

I want so much to look at the timer, but part of the discipline, I‘m sure, is doing this without keeping an eye on the time. I close my eyes. I think of myself there, in your lounge, the feel of the carpet beneath me, the crush of my breasts against the floor, the idea that you could do anything to me just lying there. An image of you, standing above me, a lit candle in your hand. You turn it sideways as the hot wax drips and lands on my back with a quick intake of breath. I close my mouth, and wait for the next drip. Oh, the pain feels so good. As the candle heats up, the wax falls in quicker succession. My breathing becomes laboured and I feel myself starting to grind my cunt against the floor. No! This is not what you’re supposed to be focusing on. I try to shove the thoughts out of my head.

I open my eyes and stare down. This is not a time for coming. This is a time for repentance. I keep my eyes firmly down. Why is this so much harder with my eyes open? Do you see who you are? You are his slave. To do as he wishes with you. If he really wanted to, he could leave you there for an hour, maybe two. Your body is his. Your submission is his. You hand over all that you are into his hands. It is what you want, what you long for. Someone to take up my submission and make full use of it. There’s so much I would like to give to you, Sir. So much I have yet to offer. Please do forgive me. Let me show you what I will hand over to you. My thoughts begin to cycle over all the things I could be and do and take and absorb, again, my hips start to grind against the floor as my thoughts begin to manifest themselves firmly in my imagination.

I hear your chair move, and out of the corner of my eye, I see your bare feet approaching me. You stretch up onto your toes, then come back down and walk around me. Abruptly your foot lands on my ass, pushing me Hard against the floor. ‘Stop that, slut,’ is all you say to me. You keep the pressure up until my hips fully stop their movement.

Contrition, yes, that’s what I need. I try to think through all that has happened. What did I do? Where did I go wrong? Did I say something. Did I do something that displeased him? I can’t pinpoint it, only the definite sense that I’m in the wrong. What can I do to make it right? What will he ask of me in ways of demonstrating my contrition? Anything, really, as long as I am forgiven. My entire being goes still. I feel his foot lift off of me and his footsteps fade as he goes into the kitchen. I can hear him getting a drink.

What could he do? St. Andrew’s cross? Kneeling with my hands cuffed behind me? Nipple clamps weighted and pulling on my breasts, bringing a sweet pain I long for. Maybe the single tail. I love the crack it makes, the sound as it cuts through the air and that delicious burn and sting as it makes contact. I hear him coming back towards me. I start to salivate. Will he try out some of the shibari he’s been thinking about? Something new? Something unknown? Or maybe he will grab a cane. Again I can feel myself thrusting against the carpet. Working myself up. Wanting to come. Wanting to fuck and be fucked. I gasp as your toes make contact with my cunt. You wiggle them about causing me to moan, driving them deeper. As you step back, I hear you say, ’Hey whore, don’t leave a stain,’ with that you remove your foot, reset the timer and step away.

A lot of people are silly and playful with sex. The notion is almost completely foreign to me. Some folks giggle and make puns, and some folks try hard to look sexy, through dance, and tease and games. My preference, with sex, boils down to intensity or shame.

I am a big fan of lust, of pinning someone against the door, and going down on them as their fingers slide into my hair and squeeze it into a tight ball. I enjoy gentle intensity as well. Holding someone, leading them in comfortable silence to a bed, and simple acts like stroking their spine with my fingers. Hell, I like the intensity of snotty, crying, let me think about anything other than my pain, sex.

Let me mention shame, and then we can set it aside for the time being. The more I isolate myself, the lazier, the more disgusting I feel, the more I crave the horrible kind of sex. I don’t need anyone to give me anything. This sex is only done in the dark. The silence is uncomfortable, but sacred. The more talking, the quicker I need them to leave. This sex is functional. We meet, I give, you leave.

The only way for me to overcome this shame, to receive, is through pain. Physical, emotional, and I haven’t tried it with a partner yet, nor do I understand what it is, but I am quite certain that I could handle spiritual pain. This is dangerous sex for me. I should avoid it at all costs… but I won’t.

So, back to the good stuff. The damned good stuff. It had been a while, for me, since anything like this had happened, see above. I was out of shape, and out of practice, and, as I told Abby, hard pressed to find my moments. Having confidence is crucial for me since I value control. Not having it was a chastity belt.

In my experience, nothing removes those pesky chains like a fire pit and some good whiskey. Abby agreed to a late night, hastily enough to remove any doubt I might have been having. So, we sat on the patio, in flimsy deck chairs, with the light and heat of the flames pushing out waves of heat that pressed at our faces, whilst the whiskey worked its warmth from within.

I had shimmied closer to Abby during one of my terrible stories that had us both in stitches, to where I could hardly tell it, and she could hardly listen. I hadn’t noticed when I closed the gap, so as my hand fell onto her knee, a little too familiarly, we had both paused for a moment before I withdrew.

She reacted fast, and with drunken imprecision grabbed my hand, holding it in place. I was looking to the floor as she did but glanced up to check her expression and caught the slightest smile before shifting focus to the flames. I kept my hand there with hers.

I am unsure if this is an anxious behaviour, or because I am some kind of narcissist, but I like to test the waters sometimes. Make sure I know they are interested in me. Even at eleven pm, with a date choosing to be alone with me, and drinking, I test them. Suffusive to say, she passed.

“Hey, stand up.” I say, regretting a lack of a plan.

“Okay.” she replies, and I help steady her to her feet, using the clasped hands as I do.

She stands facing me, and the joined arms rotate down to our sides, and my fingers intertwine with hers. She looks confused.

“I am sorry. I didn’t have a plan. I thought for a moment about dancing with you, just so I had an excuse for making you stand.”

“You just say all of your thoughts out loud, don’t you?”

“No, less than a fifth of them, to be honest.”

“Oh. Did you want to dance?”

“No.”

A nervous laugh escaped from her. “Okay.”

“Sorry, I just wanted an excuse to get close. Then I got nervous. So, here we are.”

The fire crackled, and a branch fell. The sparks and the noise drew our attention, and we were both hit by another wave of heat. I enjoyed staring at the fire.

“So, what did you want to do?”

I understand it as an invitation, but I feel uneasy, and it lacks clarity, so I don’t bite.

“Did you want another drink?”

“I should probably slow down.”

I am a grown man. Why am I acting so feeble?

“I could be persuaded to have one more, I suppose.”

“Why am I so feeble?” Damn, that was out loud.

“Uh, you’re not.”

“Oh, sorry. That wasn’t meant to be out loud. It’s just…” I take a mental deep breath and bring my empty hand up to meet her jawline. “You’re very pretty.”

This isn’t right. All this talk of intensity, and I flap around like this.

“Thank you.” She steps closer to me and leans her head into my grasp.

One thing I know, is myself. If we stay here, nothing will go well for me. Not here tonight, just here, in this spot. I need to move, to reset my brain, so to speak. So, I step away from her, and pull her away from the fire pit, towards the patio door.

“Come on.” I say with conviction.

She follows. We reach the patio door, and I swing her round to face me. I step in, pressing myself towards her, making the kiss an obvious, but certain thing. One last test to see if she will leave.

We kiss. Her lips press into mine, but as the gentle movement comes to an end, I push the kiss deeper and pull her into me. I squeeze my fingers into the nape of her neck, and her hands drop to her side. She grabs the bottom of my t-shirt and pulls it down tight against me, as if fighting the urge to tear it off.

I bring my other hand to her side, and I push up into her ribs. Her top bunches as I slide up. I pause, and let out a breathy “Do you–”

“No.” She interrupts, grabbing the hand and pushing it higher.

Under her top now, I grasp at her breasts and stumble harder towards her. We fall against the brickwork, and I use my hand to shield the back of her head.

She slides the now free hand between us, squeezing through the tight gap to run her hand down to my jeans. Grabbing at me through them. The sudden intensity of it catches my breath. I release her chest and move my hand down to her jeans. I run my finger along the waistline, half inside them, but never going in. Instead, I move my hand down over the jeans and run firm fingers between her legs, too.

She arches her back, and I kiss her neck.

She reaches to undo my trousers, and I grab her hand to stop her.

She reaches up to my shirt and tries with both hands now to disrobe it.

I pull away again, and say, “Not here. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Mhm”

She grabs my hand and waits to be led.

As we climb up the stairs, I look back to her and say, “You pass.”

I walk through the door and drop my book bag down on the bench. As my gaze sweeps the room, a smile starts to spread across my face. There you are, huddled over the laptop, tapping away at the keys. You’re so engulfed in your work that I’m not sure you’ve even registered my arrival. My smile grows wider.

In no time, I slip out of my clothes. I fold them neatly and stack them on the bench. Then I lower myself to the floor. On all fours, I crawl across to him. I nudge up against his leg. Almost absently, he lowers his hand and runs his fingers through my hair, brushes a thumb across my cheek. When I glance up, it’s impossible to miss the utter exhaustion on his face. I suspect he’s been up all night and all day again. Always working and when he does get a reprieve, sleep eludes him. It’s not good for him. He needs to sleep. Worry fills my soul.

Moving the trash bin to the side, I slip underneath the table. His feet sit bare before me. I lean down and I shower light kisses, first on his left foot and then his right. I slide my hands up his pants legs. Every muscle is taut, strained. He is working far too hard. My hands work their way back down, lightly kneading as they go. His leg is jiggling up and down. Something has him on edge. I slide my hands gently up his legs until I come to the fastener. I make fast work of that and as I start to ease his trousers down, he lifts up from the chair momentarily so that I can remove them unhampered by the chair. I throw them to the side and slowly I start again. Little baby kisses starting with his feet, then moving up his left leg, one light kiss as a time. His leg starts to slow. I continue on up around his knee, and along the outside of his thigh. As I plant kisses along the line of his briefs, his legs slide open. I shower kisses across his thigh, brushing his tightly constrained cock with my head as I return to my trail of kisses. So very slowly and deliberately, I kiss my way down his inner thigh as my hands caress his legs on the way down. As I move to the right leg, I glance across and see that his leg is nearly still, the frenzied motion slowed. I replicate the same path up his right leg. I am ensconced nicely between his legs as I reach the top of his thigh. I take and deep breath in, smelling the utter maleness of him. I nuzzle my face into his crotch, running his rock hard cock across my cheek. I reach up again and start to pull his briefs off while he continues to tap away at the keyboard. However, I can’t help but notice that his typing has slowed. As I proceed back down his leg with my kisses, my hand stays just over my head, lightly grazing his cock, feeling it bob around under my touch. My fingers glide with the lightest of touches over the solid weight of him. I can feel my wetness growing, but now isn’t about me. It’s about him. What he needs most and yet constantly sacrifices. He needs to sleep.

As I feel his cock jump against the brush of my hand, I move in closer, and take him into my mouth. He glides smoothly across my tongue and down my throat. As my head comes back up, my tongue wraps itself around him, savouring every inch of his cock. I pull back, keeping only the head in my mouth. I suck hungrily on the tip, until I hear the sharp intake of breath. With that, I release the head and slide all the way down, my jaws widening and stretching, taking it all in. Suppressing my gag reflex, he hits the back of my throat, I increase the suction upon his cock, and I feel his hand come down and tangle into my hair.

As he pulls me up by my hair, I let the suction ease as I take in a breath, he slams my head back down his cock. He sets the pace as he fucks my mouth. Harder he pushes back, then slowly draws himself away, only to slam all the way to the back of my throat. I reach up and start massaging his balls with my hands. I hear a groan from above me. He’s enjoying this, I can tell. I’m feeling very pleased with myself, but realise that if he comes here at the computer, he will just return to work again. That’s not going to work.

Taking a chance, I relinquish his balls and push back against his knees. The chair rolls away from the table. With his cock still in my mouth, I follow along with him, emerging out from underneath the table. When we are a sufficient distance away, I let his cock fall out of my mouth. I climb up his body and straddle his lap. I can feel his hardness caressing my cunt, making me even wetter than I was before. Pulling his shirt off over his head, I lower my head to his nipple. I liCloud and tease it with my teeth, nipping at it and capturing it between my teeth. Now both of his hands are in my hair, but all I hear are low moans. I smile in satisfaction. He moves my head across to his other nipple where I tease and bite and lick until it’s standing up just as hard as the other one. Kissing my way up his chest, along his throat, nibbling at his earlobe until finally our mouths connect and a whole new frenzy breaks out as hunger and desire pours out of us. It’s that touch that sears through my body. I start to lose myself in him, giving over to his desires when a thought knocks at the back of my brain. He needs sleep.

With all of my willpower, I disengage from him and rise up off his lap. I grab his hand and pull him along to the bedroom. He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls his legs up as he settles into the middle of the mattress. I climb over him and guide his cock straight into my dripping wet pussy. I start out slowly, but it’s no use. My want of him causes me to speed up, riding him fast and hard. He reaches up, grabs my nipples one in each hand and twists and pinches at the same time. I throw back my head in pure pleasure as I work my hips, pulling him into me as fast as I can. His fingers once again pinch hard on my nipples and I nearly scream, I’m going to come and I’m not going to be able to hold off. As I speed up, he grabs hold of my hips, pulling me down onto him, driving deep until I throw my head back the strength of my orgasm hazing my brain as I feel him inside of me, shooting, spurting, filling me. His moans join mine as we both hit that release we both needed.

Laying my head across his chest, I sit and I listen as his heartbeat pounds underneath me. Gradually, it begins to slow, and return to a steady rhythm. I rise up and kiss him lingeringly, enjoying the taste of him. I climb off and push on his side until he gets the hint and rolls over onto his stomach. I mount him again, but with a different objective this time. Firmly, I start to massage his back, his neck, working the kinks out of his shoulders, deep into the muscles, releasing all of tenseness held there from earlier, as I continue to work up and down his body, I heard the quietest of sounds, it’s the steady, undeniable sound of sleep. I climb off, cover him in a blanket and close the door to the bedroom behind me. ‘Sleep well. Sweet dreams,’ I whisper as the door clicks into place.

Today, if you are able, I would like you to go somewhere relaxing for me. But go there without underwear. You can wear anything else you would like. There’s no clothing I would consider cheating.

There was a café, no longer there, a long time ago, before I really knew about being careful, where I took someone I quite liked. I fucked her in the private bathroom of a public, very pleasant café. I wish I could be there in that café with you. You would surreptitiously enter the bathroom with me, where I could slip clothes pins on your nipples and you could kneel and take me in your mouth for as long as your jaws could stand it.

If you’re able, spend some time thinking about me being inside you. You can do whatever else you would like. You can think about anything else between us that you would like.

You’re welcome to come for me today, whether in the bathroom or otherwise.

Those were my orders for today. I paused for a moment and read them through a couple more times. I swiftly shucked out of my work clothes and opened up the door to my wardrobe. What would be the best fit. What would be slutty yet secretive. What would make me smile that knowing smile as I walked past others on the street and just increase my need for satisfaction with every person I pass?

A small laugh escapes me, I know what is deliciously perfect. As a take the hangers down, I like my lips in anticipation. Now this is going to be fun. I take a moment. I lie back on my bed. I spread my legs wide and open my mouth, while letting my eyes flutter closed. I take a deep breath in. I can smell the scent of you. Raw. Sexual. Powerful. My heart rate speeds up. In my mind, I imagine you mounting me, fucking me, slamming your cock into me so hard that I scream. My hips begin to lift and circle, wanting so desperately to be filled. I recall the thickness of you, the fullness inside my mouth. The velvetness as I wrapped my tongue around it and your groans as your climax neared. I wanted to touch myself now, but no, not yet, I have something better in mind.

Rising from my bed, I grab the tennis skirt, polo shirt and the light, loose cardigan I’d chosen earlier. I slipped them on in no time, added ankle socks and some trainers. I was nearly all set. There was just one other stop to make before I headed out. i walked into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door, slid open the second drawer and grabbed what I wanted. I tucked it into my pocket for later. Then, as I was about to walk out the door, an afterthought occurred to me. I opened up the junk drawer and grabbed a couple of clothes pegs. I laughed to myself. This is going to be a good day after all.

Stepping out of my front door, my new neighbours across the way smiled and waved. I returned the wave and couldn’t help but laugh just a bit to myself. They had no idea. The sun was glorious and it was just moving down out of the sky, waiting for the end of the day. At that moment, I realised that if I timed this right, I would be at my destination just as the gloaming was upon me. That most magical time of the day. Always my favourite.

As I walk along the pavement, I smile and greet each person that I meet. Exchanging niceties without really stopping. I can feel it then, the cool autumn breeze, sneaking under my skirt to my exposed mound. It tickles a bit and tantalises my nerves. I can feel my wetness growing. As the wind persists, it’s like one little lick after another, drawing my arousal, growing it. Finally, I see it up ahead, my destination. I enter the woods and begin to make my way down the trail, looking for the perfect, ideal place. You can tell everyone has just returned home for the day as all of the dog walkers are out in force, chatting happily, calling for their dogs or puppies and enjoying the beautiful evening. I expected them to be there. That was all a part of the challenge I’d set myself.

I go deeper into the woods, petting dogs here and there, commenting politely to those who stopped to chat. I branch off to my right. It’s quieter here. This part of the woods is often boggy and there is a steep hill as well. If I recall correctly, I should find what I’m looking for shortly. As my anticipation grows, the wetness starts to seep out of me. I can smell myself now. My desire. My need. Where is it? Where is the damn thing? There! I spot it, a barely visible trail just up ahead. My pace increases as I know soon I will be there, the perfect place. I duck under some branches and watch out for stinging nettles. That would be the last thing I need. My eyes sweep over the terrain, searching for what I need. As my desire grows, I think if I can’t find it sooner rather than later, than a sufficient place would have to do. I can’t help myself, I reach down under my tennis skirt and quickly delve my fingers into the wetness that’s filling me. I stroke myself. Just a few times. In and out, so smooth, so hungry. I pull my fingers back out. I close my eyes and raise my fingers to just below my nose. I take a deep breath in. That scent, that want, ohhh satisfaction best come soon. Opening my mouth, I slide my fingers in, wrapping my tongue around them and licking them clean. A smug little sigh escapes me as a smile once again spreads across my face. I open my eyes and that’s when I see it! The perfect place.

A little clearing in the woods with a fallen tree going through it, that’s just what I need. The terrain is a little rough, but no pain, no gain. Slowly, I navigate through the brambles and branches and muddy spots to finally arrive in the clearing. I look about, but see no one. I stand still for a few moments and listen. I hear the movement of dogs and people but none of it is very near. This is the place. I lie back with my head on the log and draw up my knees. My cunt is completely exposed to the brisk chill that is in the air and the breeze that rustles through the trees. It’s like little kisses caressing me, opening me more. My knees sink away to the sides and I reach into my pocket. I find the two clothes pegs I’d grabbed from the junk drawer. With practices expertise, I licked my fingers and rolled my nipples between them. As the begin to hard I start to pull them away from my body, pinch them hard between my fingers and then twist them viciously without remorse. In no time at all, my nipples are ready, I grab one breast and feel the heaviness in my hand. I pinch my nipple and pull it taut. At the very distance of distension, I grabbed a clothes peg and snap it onto my nipple. I bite down on my lip to stop myself from moaning as the pleasure seeps through me, driving my hips up and into the air. I grabbed the second nipple and twist it roughly, pinching it as I turned it between my fingers. My whole body arches toward the sky and as my body comes back down, I can feel the forest debris under my ass. My ass starts to grind against it, enjoying the pain it instills. Before I lose my thoughts, I grabbed the second clothes pin and snap it on. A gasp struggles free as pleasure starts shooting through me. I shake my chest and feel the drag and the pull of the pegs, pulling my nipples down with them.

I lean back and close my eyes. Think of you today. As the breeze floats across my exposed lips, I think of your mouth on me, pushing me closer and closer to release. Another scene flashes through my mind. You were teaching me the difference in impact between all your different cat o’nine tails, paddles of various materials and sizes. You persisted using them until I could identify each one by sound and feel as they smacked into my ass. It’s now taking all of my restraint not to touch myself. Waait. I hear you in my head. I keep thrusting heavenward but manage to keep my hands at my side. A new memory comes to me. Kneeling naked on the floor with you in front of me, you introduce your friend. I can hear you explain to him all my skills all my different hungers. Everything sounds so far away. I’m in a haze of pure desire. I think I know what will come next, but I don’t want to get my hopes up and then have them dashed to the ground. A small sound behind me causes me to raise my eyes just a little bit. I glance between my lashes and a shock of pure arousal shoots through me. It is! It is! Both of you are stripping off, manoeuvring around me. You told me to go to all fours. You lift my chin so I can see your face and you smile at me, and I can’t help but smile back. At that moment, I feel your friend’s cock sink into me, filling me up and driving me forward. I press back as my desire takes over. With your thumb, you open my mouth and shove your cock in deep, nearly gagging me.

By this point, I am writhing on the forest floor as those moments of freedom, hunger and satisfaction flit through my mind. I quickly reach into my other pocket and pull out the huge carrot that I’d grabbed from the fridge. I shoved it down my throat. Remembering what it felt like to have your cock in my mouth, bathing you with my tongue, sucking you in and letting you slide back out. The carrot fills my mouth just as you had. Using only the suction of my mouth and the skill of my tongue, the carrot begins to slide in and out of my mouth, swirling within me. Reminding me.

I can wait no longer. My body feels like it’s on fire. Not even the cool breeze is touching me now. With each upward thrust of my hips, my breasts jiggle tugging a little more on my nipples. My cunt is thrown into the air, bared to the world. I slide my finger down and just glide across my clit. A groan of pleasure rumbles from inside me. Oh how I want this. I buck up against my finger as it plucks quickly back and forth across my clit. Faster I stroke, wanting it all wanting it now. My feet scrabble for purchase against the forest floor. Each jerking motion scraping my bare ass across the detritus on the ground. Just one more level of pleasure to push me towards the edge. Thrashing madly, I can feel the pressure building, the tension in my body getting tighter and tighter. I grab at the ground with my free hand as all of the sensations wrap themselves around me, bombard me and drive me forward. My feet slam into the ground as my hips thrust upward as far as they can go and a muffled scream tries to sneak past my lips which are sealed right. My orgasm wrenches from my body throwing me this way and that, jerking higher and faster. Pushing for more, another wave of orgasms washes over me, drenching my thighs and the ground beneath me, but still I cannot pull my hand away. Viciously, I drive my clit, fingers flying over it driving it to the edge again, and the release makes me slam my head against the log, but I feel only the pleasure encompassing me, bringing to life every nerve ending of my body, causing my mind to flee and just the world of sensations to run across my skin. A deep thrumming vibrates through me as my body tenses and releases over and over again. My ass settled on the ground and I just enjoy the powerful thumping of my muscles spreading through me. I close my eyes as I try to calm my breathing. Memories wash in, my mind floating, you holding me until my mind would return and my breathing would settle. It’s safety like no other. A huge smiles spreads across my face. As I return to the world around me, I stand up, brush myself down and start to head back out of the woods and home.

Today, I have spent a lot of time thinking about which Gorean position I was going to do for you today. I wanted to show you how much I appreciated last night. All those orgasms, one after another, spending myself for you. I feel that I should challenge myself in a way that might be pleasing to you. So, as I finish the housework, I knew that the time to make a decision had come.

I go to my bedroom and strip off all of my clothes. My nipples go instantly erect with the cold of the air. Standing there naked, I grabbed my phone and set a five minute timer. This was it. I took a deep breath. Once the timer was set, I placed myself in the inspection pose. My hands on top of my head, my eyes forward and my pelvis tilted up, my legs splayed wide. I chose this pose as it is the one that is most difficult for me. It is total exposure. Everything is there for everyone to see. I am putting on display the thing that I most dislike about myself - though not as much as I used to, you’ve taught me that.

Within 20 seconds, I am already looking at the timer, wishing my time was up. Not even close. I feel so completely vulnerable, so defenceless. I try to keep my eyes open, but I find it nearly impossible. I try lowering my gaze, but that only makes it worse as then I can see myself. I glance across at the timer but my screen has gone into sleep mode. I could come out of the pose to check the timer, then I would know how much longer I needed to endure this, but I realise that part of the challenge for myself was to stay in the inspection pose. I would just have to wait it out. Time crawls past.

I open my eyes again. I realise that I have started to close in on myself. My pelvis was thrust back and my shoulders had started to round inward. ‘No! Do it right!’I tell myself. I raise my eyes, push back my shoulders and push forward my hips. Full accessibility. I push myself forward so you’ll be able to see everything, touch everything. With that in mind, I widened my stance. Nowhere to hide.

Time passes. I start to twitch. Why is this taking so damned long? I don’t like it. I hate it! Being so exposed, showing myself for anyone to see, it makes me so anxious. And yet, there is a wetness building.

I start to play out in my mind a scene where you have me standing like this with all your friends about. Each one is allowed to come and touch me, play with me, inspect me, tease me. If I’m good, you say that you might even let some of them fuck me and use me at the end of the night. I shake my head. No! You shouldn’t be imagining a scene. You should be remembering who and what you are, not losing yourself in a fantasy.

I take a few deep breaths and make sure I’m fully on display. I am yours. Your toy to do and play with as you will. This body is not mine, but yours. If you choose for it to be displayed, then that is what I will do. If you wish to leave me like that, then that is what I shall do. If you want me to accept who and what I am and the package that it has come in, then I must do that. I start thinking that maybe my service is beautiful and in that service, maybe I am beautiful. I force myself still. I calm my mind. I make sure all is available, that I am ready for whatever lies ahead.

Then the timer goes.