Skye Warren - Short Smut, Vol. 1

We had done everything over six months of dating and one year of marriage. Played with all the toys, sampled each fantasy, tried every position. My favorite combination was the elastic figure 8 cock-ring wrapping me tightly while she played high-powered executive to my fumbling male secretary.

Melissa would berate me for my poor job evaluation, and I’d swear I could make it up to her. Work harder, perform better. Maybe, she’d acquiesce, but first I must be punished. I could go to full-mast just thinking about the way she looked, spread eagle on the desk, pulling me close by my tie and telling me to get her off, quickly now.

There wasn’t any reason I should feel… just a bit bored with the whole thing.

I wasn’t stupid enough to tell Melissa that. I knew what I had. A smart, gorgeous wife who played my games, enjoyed them even. She never should have even looked twice at a washed up financial professional fifteen years her senior with pent-up kinky desires, but instead she’d given me everything.

No reason she should know. My libido may have dimmed, but I could still get hard. I could still come on her command. This strange little bout of sexual ennui would pass.

“ I’m leaving on a business trip tomorrow,” she said over breakfast.

I took a sip of scalding coffee, shook out the already unwrinkled newspaper in front of me. Leaving. Tomorrow. “Oh.”

“ There’s a big conference in New York. I may have mentioned it. My boss’s wife had her baby early so I’m taking his place. I’ll be back next week.”

A full week. Had I ever been apart from her so long since we’d gotten married? Every night a new combination, every night she’d held me after. No, never. A strange pressure wrapped around my throat, and I cleared it. “Well,” I said. And then because it seemed I should say something more, “Congratulations.”

She flashed me a smile, the kind that still made my heart thump. “I suppose. It’s a good opportunity. Sorry for the late notice. I hope it’s okay.”

I didn’t want to appear unsupportive. I didn’t want to appear needy, even though inside I was a roiling mass of doubt and anxiety. Suppose she’d figured out that she could do so much better? What if she’d noticed my dullness in bed? A body like hers, she could pick up any man in the bar. Once he got a load of her sweet disposition and intelligence, she could keep him too.

I couldn’t help but ask, “We can talk on the phone, right?”

She touched my hand, the reassurance matching her words. “You know it, hon. I’ll have workshops during the day, then some networking events in the evening, but I’ll call you every night before I go to bed.” She took a bite of toast. “I don’t think we’ve been apart this long, have we?”

“ I don’t know,” I lied.

We finished breakfast silently, or rather, I sat there miserably, watching the dainty way she ate. All too soon she got up, kissed my cheek, and gathered her things to leave. “By the way,” she said, stopping by the door. “I don’t think you should come while I’m gone.”

On the very first day, I left work early to wait for her call. Reclining in bed, I considered her absence. I missed talking to her most of all, the lack of sex a secondary concern. Recently I had been fighting this sexual blandness, but surely it could work in my favor now. The timing of this trip was perfect. If I wasn’t allowed to come anyway, then it was convenient that I didn’t care to. At least, not too much.

The phone rang, and I picked up before it rang again. “Melissa?”

“ Hi, hon.” She sounded tired.

“ I love you, baby.” Screw needy. There was no hiding it. “Missed you so much today.”

She laughed, more delighted than tired now. “I saw you this morning before I left.”

“ I know. But just knowing you were far away hurt. The house is so empty.” Like it was before I’d found her, but worse, because I knew what could be.

“ You didn’t come, did you?” Her voice was low, laced with authority.

My breath caught, my cock hardened. “No, ma’am.”

“ Good,” she said, brightening. “Now check under the pillow.”

I scrambled from the armchair in the bedroom and slid between cool sheets. My fingers fumbled around a scrap of lace, and I held it up. Her panties. Her pink and black polka dot panties with black lace trim; the ones that drove me crazy.

“ Oh baby, no no.” But it was too late. I was already rock hard and aching.

“ A little something to remember me by. You are to keep it on your pillow the whole night.”

I clutched the lace, struggling to get myself under control. Dread and excitement coursed through me, a familiar and comforting blend. She always knew exactly what I needed.

“ I’ve got to go. Goodnight, hon,” she said.

I took deep breaths and willed myself soft. “Bye, baby. Love you.”

“ Love you too. Oh, and you might be interested to know I came in those panties three times before I left.” The line went dead.

I groaned, low and tortured, as I fell onto the pillow. Desperate, I breathed in her scent and then immediately regretted it as my cock throbbed in answer.

It would be a long, hard night.

The second day went better. I only thought about Melissa once an hour, a marked improvement.

I immersed myself in work, started a big, complicated project late in the afternoon and worked until evening. The new secretary from the temp agency only screwed up twice, as if she’d joined my productivity bandwagon. I even stopped at the gym, so I’d be more tired than horny.

Pleasantly buzzed from the mixture of workout endorphins and anticipation of our phone call, I strolled through the door at 9 o’clock. I showered with the door open, so as not to miss the phone ring, but by 10:30 it hadn’t. Giving in to my restlessness, I checked the phone. That’s when I noticed the blinking light. My blood began to race, hot and panicky. I pressed play.

“ Hey, hon, it’s me. I know I’m calling earlier than last night. I was pretty tired so I turned in after dinner. I guess I’m going to hit the sack. You can call me if you want to talk. Goodnight.”

Beep.

That stupid black box got to talk to my wife, when I didn’t. Goodnight? Damn, damn, damn.

I sat down heavily. I was a grown man. I could go a whole day without talking to her. Should I call her anyway? Wake her up. Yes, please.

But I didn’t. She was tired, she’d said so. It was the epitome of selfishness to even consider disturbing her just to appease my need of her. At least I didn’t have to worry about my sexual depression, not when I had the emotional kind to weigh me down.

The secretary from the temp agency looked all of fifteen, though the paper said she had an associate’s degree. She giggled like a teenager, though, and dressed like one. How exactly did one ask a subordinate to show less skin without getting slapped with a harassment lawsuit?

So I suffered her tardiness, her generally shoddy work and the way she filed her nails at her desk without complaint. Surely to some men she’d be sexy, but to me it was too much.

Not like Melissa. She was young too, though not that young and classy besides. Sexy in that she knew all the dirty things to do me, but only if she decided I was worthy. She wouldn’t give it up easily, because with her, she wasn’t giving in. She took what she wanted.

Still though, there was something to be said for a woman with so-obvious curves bouncing around the office when I hadn’t gotten any relief in days. And that something was that it was fucking annoying. It wasn’t even her legs or cleavage that drew my eye, but her shoulders. From the back, with her wavy black hair and shoulders exposed by a completely inappropriate tube top, she could almost pass for Melissa, if I squinted.