Short Smut

Skye Warren



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.