Distance and Desire

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The phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling me from the edge of sleep. I cracked an eye open, squinting at the screen. Lucas. A smile tugged at my lips, instantly erasing the grogginess. He was three time zones away, stuck in some boring business meeting, but even the distance couldn’t dampen the heat between us. I answered with a husky whisper, my voice already thick with anticipation.

“Hey,” I purred, propping myself up on one elbow. The sheets were cool against my bare skin, a stark contrast to the warmth pooling low in my belly.

“Hey, beautiful,” Lucas’s deep voice rumbled through the line, sending a shiver down my spine. “Miss me?”

“More than you know,” I admitted, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on my stomach. “What about you? Missing my mouth wrapped around your cock?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating deliciously in my ear. “Always. But tonight, I want you to do something different.”

My brow arched. Lucas was usually the one calling the shots, but when he got that tone in his voice, the one that hinted at a challenge, I couldn’t resist. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“I want you to guide me,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Tell me exactly what to do. Make me beg for it.”

My heart skipped a beat. Lucas was a dominant man, both in and out of the bedroom, but this—this was a side of him I hadn’t seen before. The thought of him surrendering control, even just for a moment, sent a thrill through me. I leaned back against the pillows, my mind already spinning with possibilities.

“Alright,” I said slowly, savoring the power in my voice. “But you have to do exactly as I say. No questions, no hesitation. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his tone obedient, yet laced with a hint of mischief.

I smirked, my fingers drifting lower, teasing the hem of my silk pajama shorts. “Good boy. Now, tell me, Lucas. Are you hard yet?”

There was a pause, just long enough to make my pulse quicken. “Not yet,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But I will be soon.”

“Oh, I can fix that,” I promised, my voice dripping with confidence. “Start by unbuttoning your pants. Slowly. I want to imagine you struggling to keep your hands steady.”

I heard the soft rustle of fabric over the line, the sound sending a jolt of excitement through me. I closed my eyes, picturing him, his broad shoulders hunched over, his fingers trembling as he fumbled with the buttons.

“That’s it,” I encouraged, my voice low and sultry. “Take your time. I want you to savor every moment.”

“Fuck, Melissa,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “You’re killing me.”

“That’s the idea,” I teased, my fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my shorts, brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “Now, slide your hand inside. I want you to feel how hard you are for me.”

His sharp intake of breath was music to my ears. “Jesus, you’re good at this,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“I know,” I purred, my fingers drifting closer to the damp heat between my legs. “Now, stroke yourself. Slow and steady. Imagine it’s my hand on you, my lips brushing against the tip of your cock.”

The line went silent except for the sound of his ragged breathing and the faint, rhythmic squelch of his hand moving against his skin. My own breath hitched as I mirrored his actions, my fingers slipping between my folds, teasing the swollen bud of my clit.

“Faster,” I commanded, my voice shaking slightly. “But not too fast. I want you to edge, Lucas. I want you to feel like you’re about to explode, but I don’t want you to come. Not yet.”

“You’re fucking cruel,” he gasped, his voice raw with desire.

“I know,” I repeated, a smug smile playing on my lips. “Now, tell me, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to touch yourself,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I want to hear you moan my name.”

My fingers obeyed without hesitation, slipping deeper, circling my clit in slow, torturous patterns. “Like this?” I asked, my voice breathy as a soft moan escaped my lips.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his voice tight with restraint. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. My fingers moved in sync with his, our breaths intertwining over the line, a symphony of need and anticipation. The tension built, coil upon coil, until I was trembling, my thighs clenching around my hand.

“Lucas,” I whispered, my voice a plea. “I’m so close.”

“Not yet,” he commanded, his voice firm despite the strain. “Not until I say so.”

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to surrender to the building pressure. “You’re so cruel,” I panted, my fingers slowing reluctantly.

“And you love it,” he countered, his voice smug. “Now, keep going. But slower. I want to make this last.”

I obeyed, my movements agonizingly slow, each stroke a tease, a promise of what was to come. The phone felt slick in my hand, my palm damp with sweat, mirroring the wetness between my legs.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he demanded, his voice dark with desire. “Tell me what you’d do if I were there right now.”

My eyes fluttered closed as I painted the picture for him, my voice thick with lust. “I’d push you back onto the bed, rip your pants off, and take your cock in my mouth. I’d suck you so deep, you’d be seeing stars.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice breaking. “Keep talking. Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. My words flowed freely, each one a stroke, a caress, a promise of pleasure. I described every detail, from the way my lips would wrap around him, to the sound of his moans as I swallowed him whole.

“Melissa,” he warned, his voice tight. “I’m close.”

“Not yet,” I echoed his earlier command, my voice firm. “Not until I’m ready.”

He let out a frustrated growl, but he obeyed, his breathing ragged as he fought for control. I smiled, a wicked gleam in my eye, even though he couldn’t see it. This was my game now, and I intended to play it to the fullest.

Minutes stretched into an eternity, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, until I could feel the orgasm hovering just out of reach, a tantalizing promise.

“Now,” I finally whispered, my voice a husky command. “Come for me, Lucas. Let go.”

His groan was primal, raw, as his release tore through him. I could hear the wet sounds over the line, the smack of his hand against his skin, the hoarse cries of his name on my lips.

My own orgasm crashed into me a second later, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole my breath. My body arched off the bed, my fingers buried deep within me, my cries echoing his, a symphony of release.

The world spun for a moment, the only sounds our heavy breathing and the faint static of the phone line. Slowly, I came back to myself, my heart still pounding, my skin damp with sweat.

“Fuck,” Lucas finally managed, his voice hoarse. “That was… incredible.”

I laughed, a soft, satisfied sound. “Told you I was good at this.”

“You’re amazing,” he corrected, his voice warm with admiration. “I can’t wait to see you, Melissa. To touch you, to taste you…”

My smile widened at the hunger in his voice. “Two more days,” I reminded him, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on my stomach. “And then you’re all mine.”

“Two days,” he echoed, his voice a promise. “Until then, I’ll be counting the seconds.”

We stayed on the line for a while longer, our conversation drifting from the explicit to the mundane, the anticipation for our reunion hanging heavy between us. When we finally hung up, I lay there in the darkness, a satisfied smile on my lips, the memory of his voice, his moans, his surrender, replaying in my mind like a private, erotic film.

Two days. It couldn’t come soon enough.

Reflections of Desire

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I’ve always had a thing for mirrors. Not just any mirrors—the kind that let me see every curve, every line, every detail of my body as I move. There’s something intoxicating about watching myself, about knowing I’m the one in control, the one creating every moan, every shiver, every gasp. It’s like I’m both the performer and the audience, and the show is always for me. But sometimes, just sometimes, I let someone else watch. Like Jed. Jed was different. He didn’t just want to fuck me; he wanted to see me, to understand what made me tick. And when I told him about my mirror habit, his eyes lit up like I’d just handed him the key to a treasure chest.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, the kind where the sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of my bedroom, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. I’d just finished a batch of chocolate chip cookies—my specialty—and the scent of butter and sugar still lingered in the air. Jed was lounging on my bed, flipping through a book of poetry I’d left on the nightstand. He looked up when I walked in, his brow furrowed in concentration, but his gaze softened when he saw me.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the handheld magnifying mirror I was holding. It was an old thing, the kind you’d find in a vintage shop, with a brass handle and a circular glass that magnified everything to three times its size.

I smirked, setting it down on the dresser. “You’ll see.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Jed was good like that—patient, curious, but never pushy. I crossed the room to the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. The mirror was old, its edges framed in carved wood, and it reflected the room back at me in perfect detail. I could see Jed watching me from the bed, his book forgotten in his lap.

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked, turning to face him. My heart was pounding, not from nervousness, but from anticipation. There was something thrilling about knowing he was about to see me like this, raw and unfiltered.

He sat up, leaning against the headboard. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I want to see you, Mary Ellen. All of you.”

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then I turned back to the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. My red hair fell in loose waves down my back, and my pale skin seemed to glow in the soft light. I was wearing one of his button-down shirts, the tails hanging just past my thighs, and nothing else. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and warm, as I reached behind me to unbutton the shirt.

One by one, the buttons came undone, the fabric falling open to reveal my bare breasts. I watched in the mirror as Jed’s gaze flicked down, his throat working as he swallowed. I smiled, a slow, knowing curve of my lips, and let the shirt slide off my shoulders, pooling at my feet.

“Fuck,” he murmured, and I felt a rush of heat at the sound of it.

I stepped closer to the mirror, my nipples tightening as the cool air touched them. I reached for the magnifying mirror, holding it up to get a closer look. The glass magnified everything—the delicate veins beneath my skin, the faint freckles scattered across my chest, the way my nipples pebbled into tight buds. I traced a finger over one, watching the movement in the mirror, and let out a soft sigh.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jed’s voice was rough, and I glanced over my shoulder to see him biting his lip, his eyes glued to my reflection.

“Mmm,” I hummed, not bothering to deny it. “You’re watching, aren’t you?”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed again. “Every fucking detail.”

I smirked, turning back to the mirror. I lowered the magnifying glass, letting it hover just above my stomach, and slowly trailed it downward. My breath quickened as I watched my hand move, the magnified view giving me a close-up of my skin, the faint dusting of red hair at my core. I parted my legs slightly, just enough to give us both a better view, and felt a rush of wetness between my thighs.

“Jesus, Mary Ellen,” Jed groaned, and I glanced back to see him shifting on the bed, his hand resting on the bulge in his jeans.

I bit my lip, my heart racing. “You like what you see?”

“Fuck yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But I want to see more.”

I smiled, a wicked little twist of my lips, and lowered the magnifying mirror further. The glass caught the light, casting a distorted reflection of my pussy back at me. I was already glistening, my lips swollen and parted, and I could see the faint flutter of my clit as my breath quickened. I pressed the edge of the mirror against my inner thigh, watching the way the cool glass made my skin goose bump, and then trailed it upward, closer to the heat.

“Oh God,” Jed whispered, and I glanced back to see him unbuttoning his jeans, his cock already straining against the fabric.

I smirked, turning back to the mirror. “You want to touch yourself, Jed?”

He hesitated, then nodded, his cheeks flushing. “If you do.”

“I do,” I said, my voice steady. “But I want to watch you. I want to see you watching me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hand slipped into his jeans, wrapping around his cock, and he began to stroke slowly, his eyes never leaving my reflection. I watched him watch me, the sight of his hand moving over his thick length sending a jolt of heat through me. I was dripping now, my clit throbbing, and I pressed the magnifying mirror closer, letting it hover just above my pussy.

I reached down with my free hand, parting my lips to expose my clit. The magnified view was obscene—my flesh swollen and pink, the hood pulled back to reveal the sensitive bud beneath. I circled it with my fingertip, watching the movement in the mirror, and let out a soft moan.

“Fuck, Mary Ellen,” Jed groaned, his strokes speeding up. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

I smiled, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment as I pressed a little harder, my breath hitching. “Keep watching,” I murmured. “I want you to see everything.”

I lowered the magnifying mirror further, pressing it against my clit, the cool glass sending shivers through me. I could see every detail—the way my lips stretched around the edge, the glistening wetness coating the glass, the faint pulse of my clit as I rubbed against it. I added a second finger, slipping it inside my dripping cunt, and moaned at the sensation.

“Oh fuck,” I breathed, my head falling back as I watched myself in the mirror. “Jed, I’m so close.”

“Me too,” he rasped, his hand moving faster now, his cock thick and flushed. “Come for me, Mary Ellen. Let me see you come.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I pressed harder against the magnifying mirror, my fingers moving faster inside me, and let out a sharp cry as my orgasm hit. My body shook, my muscles clenching around my fingers, and I watched it all in the mirror—my face flushed, my lips parted, my eyes squeezed shut as I rode the waves of pleasure. My juices coated the magnifying mirror, dripping down the glass, and I moaned at the sight, at the knowledge that Jed was watching it all.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his hand moving frantically now, his cock glistening with pre-come. “Mary Ellen, you’re—”

His words were cut off by a sharp cry as he came, his body arching off the bed, his cum spurting over his hand and chest. I watched him in the mirror, my own breath still ragged, as he shuddered through his release, his face contorted in pleasure.

When he finally collapsed back onto the bed, his chest heaving, I turned to face him, a satisfied smile on my lips. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

He grinned, wiping his hand on the bedsheet. “Best fucking show I’ve ever seen.”

I laughed, a soft, breathless sound, and walked over to the bed, my legs still a little shaky. I leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips, and tasted myself on his mouth—salty and sweet.

“Next time,” I murmured, pulling back slightly, “I’ll let you touch the mirror.”

His eyes darkened, and he reached up, tangling his hand in my hair. “Next time,” he agreed, his voice low and promising, “I’m going to fuck you while you watch yourself in it.”

I shivered at the thought, my core already aching for it. “Deal.”

And as I climbed onto the bed beside him, the mirror still reflecting the aftermath of our pleasure, I knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Not by a long shot.

Desperate Measures

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I stared at the cracked ceiling of my tiny apartment, the peeling paint a stark reminder of my crumbling life. At fifty, I never imagined I’d be here—unemployed, broke, and one step away from homelessness. The eviction notice sat on the kitchen counter, a stark white sheet of paper that felt like a death sentence. I’d lost my job at the bookstore three months ago, and since then, the walls of my existence had been closing in. I had no savings, no family to turn to, and no pride left to spare. My only option was to beg.

With trembling hands, I smoothed my wrinkled blouse and straightened my skirt, trying to look presentable despite the desperation clawing at my throat. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door of Mr. Edwards, my landlord. The man was in his late sixties, a wealthy widower with a reputation for being ruthless but fair. Or so I’d heard. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I knew I had no choice.

The door creaked open, and there he stood, tall and imposing, his gray suit immaculate, his silver hair neatly combed. His sharp green eyes assessed me from head to toe, and I felt a flush creep up my neck. “Madeline,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, like aged whiskey. “What brings you to my door?”

I swallowed hard, my voice shaking as I spoke. “Mr. Edwards, I—I can’t pay the rent this month. I lost my job, and I don’t know what else to do. Please, I’m begging you, don’t evict me. I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, and my stomach churned. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that made my skin prickle with unease. “Anything, you say?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “That’s quite an offer, Madeline. Are you sure you’re prepared to follow through?”

My heart pounded in my chest, but I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter. “Then come in, and let’s discuss the terms of your… arrangement.”

The inside of his apartment was a stark contrast to my own. It was lavish, with expensive furniture, ornate rugs, and walls lined with artwork. The air smelled of leather and cologne, and I felt out of place, my cheap clothes and worn shoes a stark reminder of my poverty. He led me to a plush couch and sat down, motioning for me to take the seat opposite him.

“You’re in a difficult situation, Madeline,” he began, his tone calm but firm. “And I’m willing to help. But as you said, you’ll do anything. So let’s be clear about what that entails.”

I nodded, my throat dry. “Yes, Mr. Edwards. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

His gaze intensified, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “What I require, Madeline, is your submission. You’ll become my… companion, for lack of a better term. You’ll cater to my needs, both in and out of the bedroom. In return, I’ll allow you to stay in your apartment, rent-free. But understand this: you’ll be mine to command. Completely and utterly mine.”

My breath caught in my throat, and my cheeks burned with shame. This was it—the moment I’d been dreading. But what choice did I have? I was desperate, and he was offering me a way out, however humiliating. “I—I understand,” I managed to say, my voice trembling.

He leaned forward, his eyes piercing. “Do you, Madeline? Do you understand what it means to submit to me? To give up control, to let me use you as I see fit? There’s no going back once you agree to this.”

I took a deep breath, my hands clenching into fists in my lap. “I understand,” I repeated, firmer this time. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “Good girl. Now, let’s start with something simple. Stand up and turn around for me.”

My heart raced as I obeyed, my movements stiff and uncertain. I felt his eyes on me, appraising, possessive. “Lift your skirt,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding.

I hesitated, my cheeks flaming, but I did as he asked, my hands trembling as I hiked the fabric up to my waist. I was wearing plain white panties, the only clean pair I had left, and I felt exposed, vulnerable.

“Now, bend over and place your hands on the couch,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

My breath hitched, but I complied, my face burning with embarrassment. I could feel his gaze on my bare thighs, my panty-clad ass, and I wanted to shrink away, to disappear. But I stayed where I was, my body rigid with tension.

He stood up and walked around me, his presence looming over me like a storm cloud. I felt his hand on my lower back, his touch firm but not unkind. “You’re a beautiful woman, Madeline,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “And you’re going to learn to enjoy this. To crave it.”

Before I could respond, his hand landed on my ass, a sharp smack that made me gasp. “Ah!” I cried out, my body jolting in surprise.

“Shh,” he chided, his hand rubbing the spot he’d struck. “You’ll learn to take it, and you’ll learn to thank me for it. Now, stay still.”

I bit my lip, my heart pounding as I waited for what came next. His hand landed again, harder this time, and I whimpered, my body arching involuntarily. “Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Sorry won’t cut it, Madeline,” he said, his tone stern. “You’re mine now, and you’ll learn to obey without question. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” I stammered, my cheeks wet with tears. “I understand.”

He spanked me again, and again, each strike building in intensity, until my ass was on fire, and I was sobbing, my body trembling with a mix of pain and humiliation. But beneath it all, I felt something else—a strange, undeniable arousal that coiled low in my belly. I was ashamed of it, disgusted with myself, but it was there, undeniable.

Finally, he stopped, his hand resting on my lower back as I struggled to catch my breath. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice soft now, almost tender. “You took that well. Now, stand up and face me.”

I did as he asked, my face streaked with tears, my body still shaking. He handed me a tissue, his expression unreadable. “Clean yourself up, Madeline. We’re not done yet.”

I wiped my face, my hands still trembling, and looked up at him, my eyes wide and fearful. “W-what now?”

He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down my spine. “Now, you’re going to kneel before me and show me just how grateful you are for my generosity.”

My breath caught, and my cheeks burned anew. I knew what he was asking, what he expected of me, and the thought both terrified and excited me. But I had no choice. I was his now, body and soul, and I had to obey.

I sank to my knees, my heart pounding in my chest, and looked up at him, my eyes filled with uncertainty. “Please, Mr. Edwards,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I—I don’t know if I can—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his hand cupping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You can, and you will. Because you’re mine, Madeline. And I own you.”

His words sent a jolt through me, a mix of fear and desire that left me breathless. I nodded, my throat tight, and reached out, my hands trembling as I undid his belt, then his pants. His cock was already hard, thick and heavy in my hands, and I felt a surge of nervous anticipation.

“Suck it,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. “Show me how much you want this.”

I hesitated for only a moment before lowering my head, my lips brushing against the head of his cock. It was hot and throbbing, and I felt a rush of embarrassment as I opened my mouth, taking him in inch by inch. He was thick, almost too much for me, and I had to fight the urge to gag as he thrust forward, filling my mouth completely.

“Good girl,” he groaned, his hands tangling in my hair, guiding my movements. “Suck it, Madeline. Suck my cock like the desperate little slut you are.”

His words were filthy, degrading, but they sent a spike of arousal through me, and I found myself responding, my tongue swirling around him, my lips moving up and down his shaft. He tasted musky, masculine, and I felt a strange sense of power in pleasing him, in being the one to bring him pleasure.

“Deeper,” he demanded, his grip tightening in my hair. “Take it all, you greedy little cunt.”

I whimpered but obeyed, hollowing my cheeks as I took him as far as I could, my nose pressing against his coarse pubic hair. He thrust into my mouth, his hips snapping forward, and I gagged, my eyes watering, but I didn’t pull away. I was his now, and I would do anything he asked, no matter how degrading.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. “Fuck, you’re so good, Madeline. So fucking good.”

His praise made my heart swell, and I felt a surge of pride, of belonging. I was his, and he wanted me, needed me. The thought was intoxicating, and I threw myself into the act, sucking him with abandon, my hands gripping his thighs as he fucked my mouth with increasing urgency.

“I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained. “Take it, Madeline. Swallow every drop.”

I nodded, my mouth full of him, and braced myself as he thrust deep, his cock pulsing as he came, filling my mouth with his hot, bitter seed. I swallowed, my throat working as I took it all, every last drop, and he groaned, his hands tightening in my hair.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice soft as he pulled out, his cock glistening with my saliva. “You’ve earned your keep for tonight.”

I sat back on my heels, my face flushed, my body buzzing with a mix of shame and satisfaction. He smiled down at me, his expression satisfied, and offered me his handkerchief. “Clean yourself up, Madeline. And remember, this is just the beginning.”

I took the handkerchief, my hands still shaking, and wiped my mouth, my mind reeling from what had just happened. I was his now, completely and utterly his, and there was no going back. But as I looked up at him, his sharp green eyes filled with possession, I felt a strange sense of peace. I was no longer alone, no longer adrift. I belonged to him, and in that moment, it was enough.

“Come,” he said, offering me his hand. “I’ll show you to your room. You’ll stay here from now on, under my roof, and under my control.”

I took his hand, my heart pounding, and followed him, my mind racing with questions, with fears, but also with a strange, undeniable excitement. I was his sex slave now, his to command, his to use. And as terrifying as that was, it was also liberating. I no longer had to worry about rent, about survival. I was his, and he would take care of me.

The room he led me to was small but luxurious, with a plush bed, soft lighting, and a private bathroom. It was a far cry from my run-down apartment, and I felt a twinge of guilt, of unworthiness. But Mr. Edwards smiled, his hand on my shoulder, and squeezed gently. “This is your new home, Madeline. And I expect you to earn your keep.”

I nodded, my throat tight, and looked up at him, my eyes filled with a mix of fear and anticipation. “I will, Mr. Edwards. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

His smile widened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Good girl. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow, your training begins.”

I shivered at his words, at the promise of what was to come, and watched as he left, the door clicking shut behind him. I was his now, body and soul, and I had no idea what the future held. But as I lay down on the soft bed, the sheets cool against my skin, I felt a strange sense of calm. I was no longer alone. I was his, and that was enough.

Little did I know, the months to come would push me to my limits, would test my boundaries, and would awaken desires I never knew I had. Mr. Edwards was a demanding master, but he was also fair, and under his guidance, I would learn to embrace my new role, to find pleasure in submission, and to crave the touch of his hand, the weight of his command. I was his sex slave, his to use and abuse, and in that, I would find a strange, twisted sense of freedom.

The Green Thumb’s Secret

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The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth as I stepped into The Green Thumb, my favorite greenhouse. Spring had finally arrived, and with it, my annual gardening itch had flared up like a wildfire. At forty-eight, I still felt the same thrill I’d always had when surrounded by nature’s bounty. My shorter blonde hair, now streaked with a few silver strands, framed my face as I pushed open the glass door, the little bell above it chiming softly. The warmth of the greenhouse enveloped me, a stark contrast to the crisp spring morning outside. My green eyes scanned the rows of vibrant plants, their colors a feast for the senses. I was on a mission, armed with a list of ambitious plans for my garden this season.

I wandered through the aisles, running my fingers over the leaves of a particularly lush fern. The plants here were always healthier, larger, and more vibrant than anywhere else. It was almost uncanny. I spotted Mike, a young employee I’d seen around before, watering a row of tomatoes. He was in his early twenties, with a lean build and a mischievous grin that always made me smile. His dark hair was tousled, and his arms were toned from hours of physical labor. I approached him, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“Mike, these plants are incredible,” I said, gesturing to the tomatoes. “How do you get them to grow so well? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He paused, his eyes flicking around to ensure no one else was within earshot. “Well, Mrs. Kate,” he said, leaning in closer, “there’s a secret to it.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A secret? Do tell.”

He glanced around again, then whispered, “It’s the fertilizer. We use something special.”

“Special?” I prompted, leaning in as well.

He hesitated, then said, “It’s… well, it’s semen. The guys here, we all contribute. It’s like magic for the plants.”

I froze, my mind struggling to process what he’d just said. “Semen? You’re telling me you use… cum as fertilizer?”

Mike nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah, it’s a bit weird, but it works. The plants love it. They grow faster, stronger, healthier.”

I was shocked, but also strangely fascinated. “And… how exactly does that work?”

He shrugged. “It’s got all these nutrients, right? Nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium. Plants thrive on it. Plus, it’s natural. No chemicals.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of disbelief and amusement bubbling up inside me. “Well, I’ve heard of organic farming, but this is next level.”

Mike grinned. “Exactly. Wanna see?”

Before I could respond, he took my hand and led me toward the back of the greenhouse. My heart raced as we passed through a door marked “Employees Only.” The air back here was warmer, heavier, and the scent of earth and something else—something musky and distinctly male—hung in the air. My cheeks flushed as I realized what that scent was.

We entered a large room filled with pots of soil, each one labeled with a plant’s name. And there, in the center of the room, were several young men—all college students, by the looks of them—sitting on stools, their hands moving rhythmically. My eyes widened as I realized what they were doing. They were masturbating, their cocks in their hands, their faces contorted with concentration. Each man had a pot in front of him, and as they climaxed, they released their semen into the soil.

I stood there, frozen, my mind reeling. This was… surreal. And yet, there was something primal, something raw about it that sent a thrill through me. I felt like an intruder, yet I couldn’t look away.

Mike noticed my shock and smirked. “Told you it was a secret. We only hire young guys for this reason. They’ve got nearly limitless reserves of cum, and it’s the freshest you can get.”

I shook my head, trying to process it all. “This is… incredible. And so wrong. But incredible.”

He laughed, a low, infectious sound. “Yeah, it’s a bit taboo. But hey, it works. And the plants don’t judge.”

I glanced around the room again, taking in the scene. The men were of all different builds and ethnicities, but they shared one thing in common: their cocks were hard, their hands moving with purpose. One guy, a tall, muscular blond, was close to finishing. His hips were thrusting subtly as he stroked himself, his face flushed with arousal. Another, a lean, dark-haired guy, was moaning softly, his eyes closed in pleasure.

“How often do you… do this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“A couple times a week,” Mike replied. “Depends on how many orders we have. The more plants, the more cum we need.”

I nodded, my mind racing. “And… do the customers know?”

He shook his head. “Nope. It’s our little secret. They just know their plants are the best.”

I thought about it for a moment, then said, “I’ll take a dozen tomato plants, a few roses, and some herbs. And… whatever else you recommend.”

Mike grinned. “Coming right up. And don’t worry, they’ll get the full treatment.”

A few days later, the plants arrived at my house. I’d arranged for them to be delivered and planted by the greenhouse staff, curious to see if the rumors were true. As I watched from my kitchen window, a group of young men—Mike among them—unloaded the plants from the truck. They were all wearing tight jeans and loose t-shirts, their youthful energy palpable.

They began planting, their movements efficient and practiced. But as they worked, I noticed something strange. One by one, they started to undo their pants, their hands disappearing into their jeans. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what was happening. They were masturbating—right there in my yard.

I felt a flush of heat spread through my body, a mix of shock and arousal. This was… audacious. And yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Mike caught my gaze through the window and winked, a mischievous smile on his face. I stepped back, my cheeks burning, but I couldn’t resist watching.

The men were unapologetic, their hands moving with purpose as they stroked their cocks. One guy, a lean brunet with a piercing, was moaning softly, his head thrown back in pleasure. Another, a muscular redhead, was thrusting his hips subtly as he jerked off, his face contorted with arousal. Mike was watching me, his hand moving slowly, his eyes locked on mine.

I felt a tingle between my legs, a wetness that surprised me. This was wrong—so wrong—but it was also the hottest thing I’d ever seen. These young men, their cocks hard and throbbing, their hands working feverishly as they climaxed, one by one, into the soil around the plants. Their cum, thick and white, mixed with the earth, a primal offering to nature.

As the last man finished, Mike approached the window, his jeans still unbuttoned, his cock semi-hard. He grinned at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “One last fertilization treatment,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Just for you.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat as he started to stroke himself again, his hand moving slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I watched, transfixed, as his cock grew harder, his balls tightening. And then, with a low groan, he came, his cum shooting out in thick streams, landing on the soil near the roses.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. This was… incredible. And so dirty. So taboo. But I couldn’t deny the heat that had built up inside me, the wetness between my legs that demanded attention.

Mike smirked, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Enjoy your plants, Mrs. Kate. They’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

I nodded, unable to speak, my mind still reeling from what I’d just witnessed. As they loaded their equipment into the truck and drove away, I stepped outside, the scent of earth and cum heavy in the air. I ran my fingers over the leaves of a tomato plant, feeling a strange connection to it, knowing what had gone into its growth.

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. The image of those young men, their cocks in their hands, their faces flushed with pleasure, was burned into my mind. I felt a hunger, a need that I hadn’t felt in years. I slipped my hand between my legs, my fingers finding my wetness easily. As I touched myself, I imagined Mike, his cock hard and throbbing, his hand moving in rhythm with mine. I moaned softly, my hips bucking into my hand as I pictured him coming, his cum shooting out, thick and hot.

I came hard, my body shaking with the force of my orgasm, my juices coating my hand. As I lay there, breathless, I realized something: this was just the beginning. The Green Thumb had awakened something in me—a primal, raw desire that I couldn’t ignore. And I knew, without a doubt, that I’d be back. For more plants. And for more of their secret fertilizer.

St. Patrick’s Day Encounter

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I stepped into the pub, the warm, golden light spilling out onto the cobblestone street, inviting me in like a long-lost friend. It was St. Patrick’s Day, and the city was alive with celebration. Green banners hung from lampposts, and the air smelled faintly of beer and laughter. I’d come alone, something I rarely did, but the holiday had a way of making me feel bold. My short blonde hair was styled in loose waves, and I wore a form-fitting green dress that hugged my curves just right. My blue eyes sparkled with anticipation as I scanned the crowded room, taking in the sea of green shirts, hats, and even a few leprechaun costumes.

The pub was packed, the kind of place where the wooden floors creaked under the weight of dancing feet and the air was thick with the scent of corned beef and cabbage. I squeezed through the crowd, my hips brushing against strangers, until I reached the bar. The bartender, a burly man with a red beard, grinned at me. “What’ll it be, love?” he asked in a thick Irish accent.

“Green beer,” I replied with a smile. “It’s St. Patrick’s Day, after all.”

He poured me a pint, the beer a vibrant emerald color, and slid it across the bar. I took a sip, the taste both familiar and festive, and turned to survey the room. That’s when I saw him.

He was leaning against the far wall, his dark hair slightly tousled, his eyes a deep, piercing green. He wore a simple white button-down shirt and jeans, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made him stand out. His name was Sean, though I didn’t know that yet. He was laughing with a group of friends, his voice rich and warm, and I found myself drawn to him like a magnet.

I took another sip of my beer, trying to play it cool, but curiosity got the better of me. I made my way through the crowd, my heart fluttering with nerves and excitement. When I was close enough, I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, his eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, the noise of the pub faded away.

“Hi,” I said, my voice steady despite the sudden rush of adrenaline. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.”

He smiled, a slow, easy grin that made my knees weak. “Well, hello there. I’m Sean. And you are?”

“Jane,” I replied, extending my hand. His grip was firm, his skin warm. “Nice to meet you, Sean.”

We chatted easily, the conversation flowing as naturally as the river Liffey outside. He was charming, funny, and had a way of making me feel like the only person in the room. We talked about everything—our jobs, our favorite Irish pubs, even our mutual love for corned beef and cabbage. The bartender brought us another round of green beer, and we clinked glasses, the liquid sloshing over the sides as we laughed.

“This place really knows how to celebrate, doesn’t it?” Sean remarked, his eyes scanning the room.

“It’s my first time here,” I admitted. “But I’m already in love with it.”

“You should come here more often,” he said, his gaze locking onto mine. “I’d love to see you again.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I’d like that,” I said, my voice soft but sincere.

As the night wore on, the pub grew even more lively. A band started playing traditional Irish tunes, and people began to dance. Sean took my hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me, and pulled me onto the dance floor. We moved together effortlessly, our bodies swaying in time to the music. His hand rested on the small of my back, his thumb brushing against my skin in a way that made me shiver.

“You’re a great dancer,” he said, his breath warm against my ear.

“So are you,” I replied, my voice barely audible over the music.

When the band took a break, we found ourselves back at the bar, our drinks long forgotten. The pub was closing soon, and I felt a twinge of disappointment. I didn’t want the night to end.

“Hey,” Sean said, his voice low and intimate. “Would you like to continue this somewhere else? My place is just a few blocks away.”

My heart raced. I knew where this was heading, and I wanted it—wanted him—more than I could admit. But something about the idea of going to his place felt too predictable. I wanted to take control, to set the tone for what was to come.

“Actually,” I said, my voice steady but laced with invitation, “why don’t you come back to mine?”

His eyes widened, just a fraction, and a slow smile spread across his face. “I’d like that very much.”

We left the pub, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the crowded room. The streets were quieter now, the revelry of the evening winding down. We walked side by side, our steps in sync, the silence between us comfortable and charged.

My apartment was just a short walk away, a cozy space filled with books and candles and the faint scent of lavender. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, Sean following closely behind. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a lamp in the corner, casting soft shadows on the walls.

“Nice place,” Sean said, his eyes scanning the room.

“Thanks,” I replied, turning to face him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between us, his hands cupping my face as he pulled me into a kiss. It was hungry, desperate, like he’d been wanting to do this all night. His lips were firm yet tender, his tongue teasing mine in a way that made my knees buckle. I moaned softly, my hands tangling in his hair, holding him close.

We stumbled backward, our kisses growing more frantic, more urgent. His hands slid down my body, his fingers tracing the curve of my hips before slipping under the hem of my dress. I gasped as his touch sent shivers down my spine, my body aching for more.

“Take this off,” he murmured against my lips, his voice rough with desire.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I stepped back, my fingers trembling as I pulled my dress over my head, letting it fall to the floor. I stood before him in nothing but my lace bra and matching panties, my perky breasts straining against the fabric, my shaved pussy on full display.

Sean’s eyes darkened with desire, his gaze raking over my body like a hungry predator. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he growled, his voice thick with lust.

I smirked, feeling bold and confident. “Why don’t you show me just how much you like what you see?”

He didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands gripping my thighs as he pressed his face into my crotch. I gasped, my hands tangling in his hair as he inhaled deeply, his nose brushing against my damp panties.

“You smell so good,” he murmured, his voice muffled against the fabric. “So fucking good.”

I moaned, my head falling back as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and slowly pulled them down. My pussy was on full display now, my lips glistening with anticipation. Sean’s eyes locked onto me, his gaze intense and hungry.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he said, his voice low and rough. “To taste you, to feel you come all over my face.”

His words sent a rush of heat through me, my body trembling with anticipation. I spread my legs slightly, giving him better access, and he wasted no time. His tongue was hot and wet as it traced the length of my slit, his lips pressing kisses against my sensitive flesh. I moaned, my hands gripping his hair tighter, my hips bucking slightly as he teased me with his mouth.

“Fuck, Sean,” I gasped, my voice shaky. “Don’t stop.”

He chuckled, the vibration sending pleasurable sensations through my core. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His tongue delved deeper, his lips sucking gently on my clit as he explored every inch of me. I was drowning in sensation, my body on fire, my moans growing louder with each passing moment. He was relentless, his mouth devouring me, his hands gripping my hips to hold me still as I squirmed and writhed beneath his touch.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Ride my face, baby. Let me taste you.”

I did as he asked, lowering myself onto his mouth, my pussy hovering just inches above his eager lips. He wasted no time, his tongue thrusting into me, his lips wrapping around my clit as he sucked and licked with abandon. I moaned, my body trembling, my juices flowing freely as he worshiped me with his mouth.

“Oh fuck, Sean,” I cried, my voice breaking. “I’m close.”

“Come for me,” he growled, his hands gripping my ass as he held me in place. “Drench my face with your sweet pussy.”

His words pushed me over the edge. My body tensed, my muscles tightening as pleasure exploded through me. I screamed his name, my orgasm rippling through me in waves, my juices flooding his mouth and dripping down his chin. He drank me in greedily, his tongue lapping at my sensitive flesh, milking every last drop from me.

When I finally came down from my high, I collapsed onto the floor, my body limp and sated. Sean followed, his face glistening with my juices, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Fuck,” I breathed, my voice shaky. “That was… incredible.”

He chuckled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You tasted even better than I imagined.”

I smirked, feeling a surge of satisfaction. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

His eyes darkened with anticipation. “Oh yeah? And what do you have in mind?”

I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear as I whispered, “You’ll see.”

The night was far from over, and I intended to make the most of it. Sean had worshipped my body with his mouth, but now it was my turn to return the favor—and then some. The chemistry between us was electric, and I knew this was just the beginning of a night that would be etched into my memory forever.