~erotica~

My panties were soaking wet before I made to the car, as I rushed home, and when I finally pealed off my clothes from the long lovely day.

I didn’t intend to meet anyone new, though friendly gatherings such as the one I attended allow for such moments. But with his bald head yet salt and pepper facial hair, and his quiet intoxicating demeanor, well he was my catnip. Throw in his interest in writing and I was hooked.

I arrived at the high tea party early, picked a comfy couch to make my respite, and lazed waiting for others to filter in. The shade of the trees and the afternoon breeze lulled me into relaxation as I awaited who else was to attend.

Soon, people began mingling, familiar faces from past events. 

I chose a black tea for the afternoon, added a little honey, and started to people watch. It is one of my favorite activities, people watching. You can learn so much just from observation. 

As I saw him arrive, a beautiful woman at his side, I was immediately drawn in by his reserved nature. His eye contact was fleeting, but meaningful. 

‘What is going on in that mind?’ I mused.

He and his companion installed themselves on another nearby couch. I continued my amusement while overhearing their various conversations. The afternoon progressed.

Later, after a quick exchange between them, his companion stepped away, joined a seeming friend on a carpet, and began playing a harp as the friend accompanied on violin. 

With a seat now vacant beside him, I moved and sat down next to him. I found myself playing with my flowing skirt, fidgeting a little from nerves. I wondered if he noticed. He broke the ice.

“I’m a journalist and sometime biographer. Do you write?”

Why yes, I do. 

I spoke a little about my hobby, but then somehow the conversation took an amazing right turn.

I forget how exactly the topic of his side hustle came up, but everything I learned about this man was intriguing, so no wonder every part of him drew me in.

“I work as a pro Dom every now and again.”

“Really?” I found myself absentmindedly touching my lips and leaning towards him. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is your rate?”

“$200 an hour, cash only.”

“Smart.”

“Efficient.”

“You strike me as someone who is both.”

“Well, if we are now handing out compliments, then I must say you are beautiful and intriguing.”

“Are we flirting? Or are you trying to lure in a client?”

“Yes.”

He said it as a whisper, leaning in close to my ear. 

From somewhere – I didn’t see him retrieve it – he pressed a plain business card into my palm. Heat blossomed from my shoulder where I could feel his breath against my skin and from my hand where the pressure of his touch lingered.

I rubbed my thumb along the thick card stock. I glanced it over. On one side there was a phone number edged in white on a black background. On the other side, again with a black background, but this time edged in red, was a paddle with the letters “SIR” written down the middle.

“Is this an invitation?”

“An opening.”

He looked up and met the eyes of his companion.

“You have to go.”

“Indeed.”

His gaze moved back to me, tracing my form now as he stood. “Lovely to have met you…?”

It was then we both realized neither of us knew the other’s name.   

“Call me Kitty.”

“Is that your name?”

I glanced down at the card and then again looked into his eyes. “Call me Kitty, and I’ll call you Sir.”

“So, you will call me then. Looking forward to it.”

With that, he walked away. And my pussy hasn’t stopped throbbing since.

Naked on my bed, covers twisted and tangled, I think back on those moments, that conversation. 

The scent of the various teas we all tried lingering about us, yes. But also the aroma of his sweat mixed with his cologne I caught as he leaned in. 

I imagine the caress of his beard against my skin as his lips meet mine. The feel of his teeth sinking into my flesh, bruising my neck, as I whimper and plead for me.  

And I wonder, does he allow himself to kiss his clients?

Do I want to be a client?

Or do I want more? 

If I beg, will he suck on my nipples until I moan? Will he rake his nails down my back? Will he lick me from stem to stern?

What are his rules? And does he ever break them?

My orgasm is long, drawn out, crashing through my body. I bite my wrist to keep from screaming so loud as to disturb the neighbors. I imagine him watching me, marveling at my body, whispering his orders, his admonishments, and his praise into my ear. Another orgasm rolls soon after at just the thought of him asking if his Kitty has a pretty pussy.

Somewhat satisfied, I pick up the card from my nightstand, twirl it in my hand, and wonder: Do I call? Do I give in to temptation?

I bring the card up to my nose. Yes, I recognize it. His cologne. Smart. Efficient. Effective. I’m wet all over again.

“Tomorrow,” I tell myself. Call him tomorrow.

Tonight is for the fantasy.

And with that, I rest his card on my face and slide my hands back between my legs.

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