6 comments/ 8778 views/ 8 favorites Miss Phillips Takes Dictation 01 By: DomNovel She came up the stairs on nervous high heels, her overnight bag full of what he'd instructed her to pack. In her hand she clutched her transcription of his voice mail which she had typed while sitting in a steno chair, wearing a tight black skirt, a starched white blouse, and a black push-up bra and lace panties. Just as she was wearing now under the outer clothing he had instructed – her most conservative business suit covering her most daring lingerie. She recited the text of the message as she had initially read it, and as he and told her to memorize it, listening to his voice, powerful and gentle and firm. Her lips now caressed the words as he had taught her to do. "Writer seeks secretary he will mentor in creative writing/publishing. "Sexy, creative, mature, occasionally brilliant, dominant writer is seeking a submissive curious secretary who has reached the point in her life when she is ready to explore her need to take dictation . . . and occasionally be disciplined in a mutually satisfying way. You have organizational skills, you are attracted to writers and you've always wanted to write. You're attractive, sexy, single, divorced or separated, literate and articulate, and have deep memories or fantasies that maybe you believe you shouldn't have, but you feel the need to explore in a safe environment. . . For the interview, you'll find yourself naked and draped across my lap, open, vulnerable and exposed as I ask you intimate and probing questions about your earliest sexual experiences and wildest fantasies with bare bottom encouragement. I'm in my mid-fifties, neither built like Arnold nor hung like Northern Dancer, a wild imagination, a commanding voice and a powerful sex drive. I write much more than erotica and I self-publish -- where your secretarial assistance is required. I'll nurture your writing with encouragement, informed editing, a gentle voice, surprising suggestions, practical advice and a fun, firm hand. If you find yourself aroused at this point, even though you've never done anything like this before -- perhaps because you've never done anything like this before -- please submit. If we click, this is a long term position. If not, we'll had a fun, creative night, exploring -- and you've had a writing lesson. Photo and pertinent resume gets courteous response. "Good evening, Miss Phillips." Warm, welcoming smile; rumbling and sophisticated baritone, iron in velvet. The piercing blue eyes seemed to be bending her over and inspecting her. She shuddered and it was like a wet dog shaking itself; she actually felt a drop of moisture fly from her pussy, past the skimpy fabric of her panties, to splash, warm and embarrassing against the bare skin of her inner thighs, above the suspender belt he had instructed she wear. "Come through," he said and lead through a bachelor's kitchen into a library where book shelves and filing cabinets towered like escalating ideas and where a black steno chair faced a black desk chair leaning against a large desk. He stopped her in front a full length mirror, taking and setting her overnight bag on a table. He had told her in their discussions -- still it took her breath away when it happened -- he would strip her at the beginning of the interview. He spun her round as if she were younger, about to be undressed for bed. His expression calm, unhurried. Her face was red and flushed, her breathing best described as panting. He quietly undid each of the buttons on her starched white blouse. He pulled it open roughly, then turned her toward the mirror while he took the blouse down and put it on a hanger. (They had some comedy there because it wouldn't stay on the hanger and she had to suppress her giggles, half suspecting he was doing it to relax her. He casually enjoyed the moment with her then his went instantly stern again.) He turned to the mirror and removed her push-up bra, tossing it aside. His hands tickled her nipples as if they young buds. Her blush covered her face and her breasts. Her nipples jutted, accusing her, betraying her arousal. He tweaked them and she moaned. She remembered a flash of their online interview.   How do you feel? Embarrassed and aroused. They so often come together for you. Yes, she said, wondering how he knew. She had told him little about herself then.   They both stared in the mirror now at her body, and into each other's eyes. Man and Woman, Dom and sub, their eyes discussing trust, dares and needs. He ripped her skirt off. She stood there like a panting animal in her black suspender belt as his hand slowly reached for the elastics of her panties. In an agonizingly slow and humiliatingly revealing motion he pulled them down -- exposing the tips of her glistening lips. The room was full of the pungent aroma of her need. She stood in garter belt, stockings and heels, in front of the mirror, reciting the message he had told her to memorize like a mantra. He threw her panties away. He inhaled and spoke in her ear, his voice: rough silk. "That's a lovely perfume you're wearing, Miss Phillips. A man could get used to having that around his office. Pleased be seated." She walked, more or less naked to the chair, crossed her legs. He smiled. Almost hyperventilating she uncrossed them and left them only slightly parted. "Now, Miss Phillips," he said amiably. "Tell me why you want to be my secretary." "Oh, God," she gulped. "Well I've always attracted to creative men and dominant men and I'm a good secretary, and I like to read, and your ad made me so wet and made me think about things that happened a long time ago but I'm turned on by them and confused about them, and you seemed to understand and I think you're a really good writer, I mean, just from your ad, I mean I'm sure you write more than singles ads, much more, and I really think I'd like dictation from you. Oh God, I can't believe I'm doing this. I've never done anything like this before. I'm babbling. Please stop me." His smile widened as she spoke, "I thought you put that rather well." "I always wanted to write," she blurted, shocked herself that she'd said it even of course he knew it. "You do write. All the time," he said, "e-mails, memos, letters." "But it's not creative writing." "More creative than you think. Do you sometimes struggle to find the right word?" "Yes. It proves I don't have a very good vocabulary," she smiled. He smiled back at her, "Proves you care enough about words to wait for the right one to arrive." "I hope so," she nodded, thinking the interview was going rather well. Although she'd never done one half-naked before . . . "Do you have ideas for stories?" "Lots of them, but I can never get started." "If I told you your literary house was burning down and you could only save one story idea, what would it be?" "It's about Regency London, but I don't know enough about the period." "Google it later. In the meantime write a letter to a friend." "I beg your pardon." He smiled. "And you beg so prettily." He enjoyed the blush that spread over her body as he continued. "You know her, your heroine – she's mostly you -- have her write a letter to a friend about her day. Make sure there's a shopping trip involved. You might find you know more about the era than you think." She smiled. "Yes, sir." "Perks of the job if you get it," he smiled. "Call this one a freebie. Send it to me by next week. I look forward to seeing it." He talked about his work. Her laughter pleased him. He detailed his decision to e-publish, both erotic and non-erotic. "I'm old school, I'm looking for a secretary who will not only take dictation but organize aspects of the publishing, web presence, social media, etc. At some points, especially with travel, she'll also have to organize me, I'm afraid." He smiled, reached out and gently but quite firmly plumped her nipples together, once, twice -- the third time hurt just a bit, but exquisitely. His fingers owned her. He waited until she had recovered her breath and then continued calmly, talking about financial and other matters, all of which seemed more than reasonable to her if unorthodox. "She will also help research my first erotic novel, taking dictation collared and naked." She gulped, struggled to take it all in and blurted out the first question free from the log jam in her brain. "What is your first erotic novel called?" He told her. "What's it about?" "About two hundred pages, I guess. How's your typing?" "It's good. Um, what kind of research?" "We'll need to discover exactly what the central character feels about her adventures. These would be some of your first writing assignments." "So I'd be, like, a fictional character in the story?" "Not any more." "I beg your pardon." "And you still beg and blush very sweetly, it covers your body like fine burgundy. You'd be a fictional character based on you." "How would that be different?" "To begin with, you'd have a different name." "What name did you have in mind?" "Miss Phillips." "Well, it's certainly nothing like my own name. Physical description?" "Different and pretty vague anyway." "And will I be in all of the adventures? Will we act all of them out?"   She flashed on some of the adventures she had already had in the pre-interview phase. The day he'd told her to wear her most daring panties to work under her business attire. It embarrassed her how much it aroused her to follow his order, to be secretly exposed -- a secret she suspected some of her co-workers might have been very interested to learn. And then when he'd told her at noon to strip the panties off in the office washroom and put them in her purse she admitted to him by text that there was a very wet spot in the gusset of her lingerie. She walked to her desk with the lips of her vulva and the pucker between her cheeks exposed to the open air that flowed up capriciously under her skirt. She prayed she was not giving off a scent. She was very proud of his comment when he read the diary she had been instructed to keep: "I could almost feel and hear your panting."   "Only some of them. Writing is usually a combination of what we've experienced and what we've imagined. Much of the time I'll be dictating stories about other characters. But you'd be a submissive sweetheart, a girlhood dream of a literary heroine, an erotic Jane Eyre. . . People will say it makes Fifty Shades of Grey look like an anatomy lesson." She laughed. "Makes the Kama Sutra look like a game of Twister." She was still laughing. "Makes the Story of O look like buying a consonant." Her breasts wobbled as she laughed now. His voice was the sudden, full, snap of a bullwhip. "Stand up, please, Miss Phillips." She stood, almost toppling over in her haste. "Walk over here." He lifted her by her elbow and walked back to the mirror as a fresh blush covered her cheeks and breasts. "Miss Phillips . . ." he began. "Yes, sir." "Men have used dungeons to dominate, whips, chains, clamps, bondage," each word caressing and rumbling in her inner ear . . .   Your ear is your most virginal opening, he had told her. A man has never taken you there, penetrated you there, taken you in the theatre of your mind where you dance naked in your hunger, exposed and yearning.   "I will use one finger, Miss Phillips." He casually braced his index finger against his thumb, held it next to her nipple and FLICKED. She emitted a confused gust of shock, pain and pleasure -- feeling herself on the very rim of orgasm. "How does that make you feel, Miss Phillips?" She panted, the room full of her arousal. Her personal scent: Bordello. She had arrived immaculately coiffed. She was now disheveled and in heat. She took a deep breath and gave up holding anything back. "I'm so wet, Master," she blurted, using the word to address him although he had never demanded it. He smiled at her fondly. "You please me," he said. He flicked her other nipple. "You realize that I am going to dominate you." He began to flick around the soft flesh of her breasts. "Yes, Master." "How does that make you feel?" He lightly flicked her on the edge of each nostril. "So turned on, Master." "Open your mouth." He flicked her tongue. "You've wanted to be dominated for such a long time, haven't you Miss Phillips?" "Yes, Master." "Have you ever called a man, Master, before Miss Phillips?" "Never!" "Yet you have chosen to do so. Squat, please." "Yes, Master." "Open your legs, show me how wet you are." He began flicking the inside of her thighs advancing with agonizing slowness up from the knees. "Why?" "Why?" she panted. "Why have you chosen to call me Master?" She struggled through the confusion of her lust. "Because it seems right, Master," she breathed. "Do you like the taste of the word in your mouth?" "Yes, Master." "Say it again and taste the word." "Yes, Master." She ran her tongue in hungry sensuality around the inside of her mouth and over her lips, feeling like an animal. "It tastes like my cum after I have rough fucked your throat." She whimpered. He flicked her clit. She came in long heaving sighs, rippling ecstasy. "Turn around and bend over please," Miss Phillips. It felt so humiliating and so right. She turned her head and could see her panting face and heaving breasts in the mirror. She felt herself licking her lips as if her arousal was something she could taste on her own body. "Spread your cheeks please." She reached back -- powerfully aroused at the moment of her deepest humiliation. She spread her buttocks slowly, not teasingly but as if she they were reluctantly giving up the sight of her secret virgin treasure. Devastatingly lightly, in exquisite slow motion, he flicked the rim of her anus and almost as if by accident his forefinger gently penetrated her puckered opening. Her arousal had caused her every orifice to sweat and she cooed just a bit as he rested his finger tip there and moved it so slowly it like a pulse. She moaned. "Turn your head and look in the mirror please Miss Phillips. What do you see?" "Oh, god, a very horny woman, Master." "Well, why didn't you say so!?" he asked in mock surprise. He spanked her bottom playfully as he stood up. He opened the door. "We'll continue the interview in the Master Bedroom. Please enter on all fours." He stopped her with his hand on her elbow. "The bed is close to the door. You can get on all fours once you get onto it." "Thank you, Master." He inhaled sensuously. "That really is lovely perfume you're wearing tonight, Miss Phillips."   To be continued . . . Miss Phillips Takes Dictation 02 Sorry for the delay. If you have not read the first installment you do so now. Perhaps not an order, but we both know you need discipline. ***** Miss Phillips walked on hands and knees to the end of the bed. In the dim light she stopped in front of another mirror. She found herself gazing into a portal, watching her breasts swaying like a harlot/housewife in exquisitely shot European erotica. To her surprise her own body turned her on. The sound system was playing - although she did know it then - Angelo Badalementi's Music from the Motion Picture "Secretary." Master sat in a small chair beside her the height of a piano stool or milking stool. She could see his face in the mirror. "Gravity is a wonderful thing," he said and gently set her breasts swaying again as if playing with a desk toy. "I have kind of a fetish for women on all fours. "It's so primal." He ran his fingers through her hair and along her back. "Aren't you a hot little earth mother?" her murmured. He squeezed her buttocks "All civilization ripped away . . ." he simultaneously tickled her anus and teased her plump hungry lips, dripping for him. "Vulnerable in heat like an animal," "A mare waiting for your stallion." He begun to finger fuck her violently at a gallop then stopped abruptly. "A kitten waiting for your tom cat." His hand left her holes and he stroked the light bit of fur she allowed on her pussy. "Sweet lil' ewe, waiting for your ram." He plunged his hand in and out again and spanked her on the ass. "A cow waiting for your bull." He reached down and very gently but distinctly took ahold of her udders, and "milked her," squeezing and teasing down from the base of her breasts, he stretched her nipples in a maddening erotic rhythm. "A bitch in heat waiting for her top dog." He climbed behind her and to her mortification and helpless arousal he sniffed her bottom. He got up and walked around in front of her. She watched his bobbing cock, mesmerized. "Of course the difference with Man is he stands above. He gets up on his hind legs not just to mate but to command. We are not animals, Miss Phillips, we are human beings. We're much kinkier. "A man can walk upright and eroticize an idea in a woman's mind." He rubbed his cock and balls over her face "Do you like my cock miss phillips?" "Yesssss." He pulled his cock away. "And what do you think I should do with my cock, Miss Phillips?" "FUCK ME!" He turns up Badalementi's "Secretary" and climbs around behind her. He sniffs her. He tastes her hot dripping pussy, his tongue ladling the honey down his throat and lashing at her swollen lips, coming maddeningly, insolently, dominantly close to her clit. He replaces his tongue with his cock, holding it in his hand like a pistol, teasing it over her slit, slapping it against her clit, teasing her lips again. "Do you like that Miss Phillips?" "YessssSSSS!!" He rams the entire length of his cock into her sopping wet cunt. He fucks her, straddling her from behind, his hands finding her breasts like nature's handles, tweaking her nipples, spanking her ass, teasing her asshole, tugging gently on her hair. Balls deep in the secretarial pool, the scent and her cries of her ecstasy filling his room like incense and flutes. She watches him in the mirror, remembering his quote from his profile, "neither built like Arnold nor hung like Northern Dancer." Yet somehow he feels like a tree trunk inside her. A root growing out of the ground and pounding into her cunt. "I am your mare, your kitten, your ewe, your cow, your bitch!" she finds herself crying lasciviously. He cums like a volcano, white hot lava splashing the walls of her womb, jets of ivory pleasure; her juices honey sweet, anointing her King in hot summer rain. They are awash in the wave, faces in soft focus ecstasy in the mirror. He spanked once and slid out. She groaned. "Clean me up, miss phillips." She spun around and dove as if the sudden void in her vagina could only be satisfied orally and deeply. Master ran his fingers through her hair, as she bobbed in happy-girl mode, he reached to gently tweak her nipples, greatly enjoying himself and her. "Mmmmm. That's it, miss Phillips, taste the juice your pussy celebrates with when it's been properly fucked, you hot, sweet, hungry, sexy, pet." She licked as if she hadn't eaten in days. He cuddled her. He thanked her for the gift of her submission. She asked him why some women need to be treated rough and nasty. "I'm not a psychologist, psychiatrist, or therapist but I think like everything else it's both ingrained and taught. Your cultural environment, your own personal experience, that which links you to human story. "Something naughty happened that you had no control over but it aroused you and now you crave it but feel guilty. You need to be erotically indulged in your forbidden fantasy and erotically punished for enjoying it. (Even if need be punished for enjoying the punishment.) "And then cuddled for your bravery and your honesty. "You have every right to be dominated - if that is a sexual need - by a man who respects you and cherishes you - even though he may be disrespectful in the bed room if that pleases you both." She thought: "Sure, go ahead. Fuck me and understand me, you bastard!" He returned to his 'lecture' and she listened intently like a good student even if there was perhaps just a trace of mockery in that adoring smile. He suddenly brought his open mouth down on her nipple, grasped her breast in his hand like a precious goblet and sucked as if satisfying a deep and primal hunger. And then the other. She held her mouth open wide in surprise and ecstasy. He calmly resumed his 'lecture': "Your responding to the ad suggests you have these needs. There seem to be only three sane responses." He flicked a wet nipple with each response to which she moaned her encouragement. "One, where you admit what you need and get it - and are respected, mentored and cherished. "Two, where you wean yourself off what you need or just drop it, replacing it with loving, decent, wholesome, sharing, nourishing vanilla sex. Plus maybe macramé. "Three, where you become the aggressor." "I'd like Sane Response #1, please. Do you think we'll ever change categories?" He shrugged. "Only if we want to. Now it's time for the next part of your interview." He turned up Badalementi's music "Secretary." Soundtrack. (Because a hand firmly and suddenly applied to a full buttock is a rifle shot. He didn't want his neighbors to think the revolution had begun.) He took the mirror from the foot of the bed and deftly tilted it so that he could lean it horizontally against the book case. It revealed the side of the bed where he sat. "Please drape yourself across my lap, Miss Phillips." She took a gasping breath and did so. "Can you see yourself?" She saw her entire body in the horizontal mirror, totally vulnerable like a school girl. She whispered, "Yes, Master." "Why do some women enjoy being spanked?" he asked rhetorically. He continued like a lecturer and she had to stifle a giggle at the thought of him her using his bottom like a lecture desk as a hall full of students witnessed her exposure and the punishment she felt deliciously certain was to come. "One: Because the bottom is designed to absorb impact and that's why people have been spanking them for millennia." (He felt her generous cheeks then brought his hand down quite firmly.) "Two: While the initial blow stings, it leaves a warm glow." (He massaged her warm glow, his fingers parting her buttocks so she could feel the air playing across her anus.) "Three: The spanking offers confession, penance, and absolution." (He fingered her cunt and asshole and when she moaned brought his hand down HARD on her ass.) "Four: The wiggling cheeks vibrate right down to the clit." (He gently reached to delicately squeeze her there. Her body shuddered.) Five: All holes are available to anyone who wishes to explore and stimulate them. (He wiggled his fingers in her holes and then brought his hand down repeatedly on her hungry ass.) Six: And it does turn your bottom a lovely, rosy hue. (He admired his handiwork and the crimson blush on her ivory cheeks.) They paused there as she caught her breath. To her surprise she felt elated as she saw her proud red ass in the mirror. "You've obviously given this a lot of thought," she said mischievously. "Let's call it my Master's thesis," he agreed. "'Erotic Corporal Discipline and the Submissive Female Bottom: A Penetrating Analysis.'" His voice became crisp like an interrogator's. "How old were you when you first had sexual feelings?" She struggled to keep up and named an age. "What did you do about it?" "I touched myself." "Tell me exactly what you did." She confessed her first stumbling, then passionate rubbings, of her lips, the exquisite discovery of her clit and how she would rub it frantically and cum like a young, silent, shy banshee jerking her hips in primal hunger. "What was your first experience with another person, even just seeing them naked or them seeing you naked? Jerking off the family dog counts," he said deadpan. She giggled. He spanked her bottom. She confessed her sexual path and the things that happened that she didn't understand and still aroused her and made her feel guilty. He spanked her bottom and gave her absolution. There may well have been a relative or a family friend involved, but Miss Phillips deserves her secrets. Although if that had been the case, it was his fault, he was the adult, and she mustn't blame herself if she feels guilty, and if it helps she can be erotically punished. While she was still on his lap he asked her: "Miss Phillips," "Yes, Master." "Have you ever reached back and spread your cheeks for a man to penetrate, miss phillips? Felt the hot searing breath of your Master as he inspected you. Taken his tongue, his fingers and finally when he has relaxed you and lubed felt the thick knob of his cock, knocking at your door, felt the sudden mixture of pain and pleasure as he enters you, expanding, you stretching you. His hands on your breasts, she shaft of his cock quivering in anticipation of your hungry, horny virgin hole?" She gulped. "No Master." "But you've thought about it." "Well, not quite the way I'm thinking about it now. But, oh, yes. Many times. And once, in college, a boyfriend . . . and it hurt. I cried. But it was partly that I was frustrated and I don't think he knew what he was doing. . ." "I'm sure your boyfriend in college didn't know or care to prepare you for that." They sat for a long time in silence, her body sleek and glistening across his lap, her cheeks red, her cheeks wet. She felt his cock beneath her like a permanence of iron. He had told her how he would prepare her. "What would you like now, Miss Phillips?" he asked quietly. "Will it hurt?" she moaned. "Some, at first, but it will hurt less the more you relax." He was rolling a joint. He explained that it was a very mild mix of marijuana, he didn't want her disoriented, just relaxed. He held it to her lips to puff. They had a glass of white wine. At his order he brought the bottle from the refrigerator between her breasts which he licked and bit thoroughly. When they had enjoyed the wine he ordered her to produce the scarves he had ordered her to bring. "I'm going to tie you to the bed now. On your back, legs spread, Miss Phillips." She giggled. "Yes, sir!" He blindfolded her. Her other sense, particularly touch and hearing, came alive. He tied her to the bed with her scarves. She felt helpless. To her surprise this was a wonderfully safe feeling as if she was no longer responsible for her own guilt. After he tied her to bed, he gently lubed her up and teased her sphincter as he would over the course of the evening, increasing the finger count. "I could have used a butt plug, but I you deserve the personal touch." Then he was gone. She had no idea how long it was until she felt his presence again, minutes or hours. Suddenly she felt intense cold on her nipples. It took her some time to realize that Master was eating ice cream of her nipples. He rubbed it into her pussy and ate her into multiple orgasms. Then he cleaned her up tenderly and left her for some minutes She felt the swish of the riding crop in the air above her then inhaled as he held it under her nose. "Doesn't the leather smell divine, miss phillips?" His voice merged with the velvet darkness. "I admit it's a somewhat trite device, but I have found ladies tends to respond to a certain rugged traditionalism." Suddenly, the crop flicked across her nipples. She strained against the scarves as she cooed in pain. He flicked her nipples again, then, smartly on her clit . . . "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, gawwwwwwwwwwwwd." For good measure, he rough fucked her mouth. But he didn't cum. He untied her, shaky legged like a newborn colt filly. "Put your ass up in the air, Miss Phillips," he said firmly. She put her head down and presented her virgin ass to her Master, her hands snaking back as he had taught her to do, opening her cheeks to his gaze. He licked her anus lovingly and lasciviously. She moaned. Suddenly his tongue was gone and she felt as empty as she's ever felt. He let he teeter there for a moment. Then he swiftly replaced his tongue with his finger and he spun her around and kissed her, tongue deep as she hungrily danced with his tongue, tasting her tangy juices. His hand was entwined in her hair as he pulled her back. He spanked her bottom once, lubed her up, his fingers firm and possessive. She was required to request each when she was ready and the finger count began again. One finger, two, three - "OMG!" - four. He moved around to the front so she could watch him lube his cock. Her mouth was hanging open with lust. He moved back behind her and she felt the familiar weight behind her. "Spread your cheeks, miss phillips." She froze, as if captured in time. Her hands snaked back elegantly in slow motion. She grasped her cheeks and spread. Although he had been looking at it all night, her small, helpless, hungry sphincter took his breath away and his cock twitched. Show me where you want it. Her middle finger as if on a spring snapped to point to her anus. He took his well lubed member in his hand and teased the head against the pucker of her sphincter. "Ohhh," she said, pleasure and pain starting to merge. He leaned forward, grunted, reached to milk her, stroke her hair, and spank her bottom. "Tell me where you want it." "In my assssssSSSSS!" He POPPED inside. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" She writhed like a wild thing. "Just relax," her murmured. His hand found her clit and gave it an affectionate squeeze, then his finger plunged into her cunt and expertly found her g-spot which he stroked in sharp staccato brushes. She panted in pure animal lust. He watched as his member penetrated like a long sabre of flesh into her most secret and intimate hole. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she cried. His balls slapped against her cunt. They both reveled in the tight hug she had on is dick. Wave of pleasure followed wave of pain and then suddenly they were the same wave. He thrust and pounded her, spanking her cheeks, owning her hole She sobbed, "Oh, God, Master take my ass the way he took her ass. Say the same things to me." "You bitch you slut you whore you cunt, you like it up your ass as I spank you. DON'T YOU!?" He was her ram, his hands on her breasts like they were handles placed there just for that purpose. "Yessssss! Oh, God, it's just like he did to her. In the end she made the sounds I make when I, oh God," (looking up at the mirror) . . . and the same face . . . she came when he fucked her ass!!" And so did she in powerful waves and he gripped her breasts and rode her in their private rodeo. Afterwards, they cuddled. "So that was, like, Anal 101?" she purred. "And an advanced course at the same time. You get an A+ and a Bachelorette's degree." "It was so intense." "Did you like it?" "Yes, but I don't think I'd want to do it every night." "Just full moons, special occasions, and rainy afternoons." "Mmmm." She smiled as she drifted off to sleep. In the morning, they made love gently, then in a hot fucking frenzy, and talked. "You've kept a lot of things locked within," he said. A lot of stories have been trapped there - not just the naughty ones." "How can I free them?" "Clear some time and invite them out to play." And that's what she did. Like any new couple they were on fire sexually in their first months together and she was with him as much as her schedule allowed. The first erotic novel was up and online before they knew it. As sales increased fun time increased. They would fuck and write and play and write and fuck. She developed as a writer and his writing gained depth. They liked it best with his depth was inside her when she was on all fours. ~*~ When her romantic, quirky, epistolary tale of Regency London (or something else entirely), outsold his own current offering - albeit briefly - he took her out to an intimate, occasionally hilarious, dinner. They sipped champagne and danced, remembering how they started writing erotica - and still did occasionally for fun. That night he spanked her bottom. He was very proud of her and she knew it. She just glowed. ( * )