Something to listen to. You're welcome. :)
The house had gone quiet. You perk your ears up to listen, but can't hear anything. For the umpteenth time you struggle against the restraints around your wrists and ankles.
Christ, you think. Where did she learn to tie such a knot?
The kitchen is dark except for the light over the island counter. You can hear the refrigerator hum. How long had she been gone for? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? What was she doing?
You are tied to a kitchen chair. Earlier in the evening, after work, you had driven up here to your lake house. It was private. Secluded. Rebecca would be out with Skyler polishing off a bottle of wine or two, getting sloppy drunk per usual, and bitching about you and Skyler's husband Todd.
You'd put that thought out of mind as you slipped into a warm bath with scented oils. You'd taken your time shaving your legs and then moisturizing after. You'd slipped into the navy blue empire dress with dark tan, seamed stockings you'd bought from Macy's and black suede heels. Yes, this was a weird habit. And no, no one -- not even Rebecca -- would suspect that this is how you relieved stress. No one would understand your secret desires. You can't help what feels good. You're the VP of Blinding edge. You were allowed to indulge. But that doesn't mean that you wouldn't be mortified if your golf buddies found out about this little hobby.
You hear the sound of high heels on hardwood floors. She walks in quietly wearing tall leather heels, a black high waisted pencil skirt, and a pink silk blouse. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled back into a fierce looking updo. Your whole body trembles. Her big blue eyes seem to swallow your very essence. In her hand is an old school polaroid camera. She snaps a picture of you. Smiles. Then takes the photo the camera ejects and pins it to the fridge with a magnet.
"Miss Sawyer," you breathe. "Ashley ... look ... if you untie me I promise I won't tell anyone about this. Hell, I'll write you a letter of recommendation for your next employer if you like. C'mon now! Before this gets out of hand."
She takes a seat on one of the island stools. You glance up as she casually lights a cigarette, and gently blows the smoke toward the ceiling. You watch as she crosses her legs at the knee and places her hands on her lap. You can inhale the sweetly feminine scent of her perfume from where you're sitting. She reaches into a white envelope that had been sitting on the island counter and holds up a glossy 3x5 photo. You cringe when you see it.
"Did you write Emily Whalen a letter of recommendation?" she asks cooly. "Or once she was done sucking your dick you no longer had any use for her?" She holds up another photo. "What about Sonia Carter? Did you write one for her after your stooge Kyle used her and threw her away like a tissue? Good luck on all future endeavors, right?"
You stop struggling against your restraints. "Ashley ...," you try again. "It's obvious you're very upset. Is it money you want? I can write you a check. Just name your price."
She exhales a plume of smoke and casually holds up another photo. "Did you write Angie Miller a check when she threatened legal action when your little boys club were passing around nudes of her that were stolen from her personal computer?"
You were losing control of the situation. How in the world did she know all this? This was Ashley Sawyer. Receptionist. Blonde. Friendly. A bit aloof at times. Not some ... some mastermind. You decided to try a different tact.
"My -- my wife is going to be up here soon," you said. "I -- I wouldn't want her to get the wrong idea."
"What idea is that, sweetheart?" she says. "That you look better in a dress than she does?" She slips another photo out of the folder and when you see it it turns your blood cold. "Besides, it looks like she's a bit busy getting her brains fucked out by her friend Skyler's husband Todd tonight. I don't think she's thinking about you at all."
You're anger is boiling over now. You're hurt. Embarrassed.
"Let me go you cunt!" you bark.
But she doesn't match your anger. Instead she makes a little clicking noise with her tongue and walks over to you. She places a hand against your cheek. You can smell her perfume mixed with the cigarette. She brings her face close to yours -- so close you can feel her breath on you.
"It's not that simple," she says. "I sent an email from your personal computer that informs the office you're taking a two week hiatus."
"What?" you frown. "Why?"
She smiles. "Because up here, Mr. Thatcher, we're going to be making some beautiful music together."
Thank you SO much for reading if you made it all the way through. I hoped to write something that would catch your attention, and give you an idea of how I write. I also hope that I was somewhat subtle in the type of story that this will be. Please no Alpha Doms. This is not the story for you. I promise.
I wanted to write a really fun and engaging opening scene to hopefully attract the right type of partner. My only request is that you be a serious writer and be willing to add value and not take away.
As far as my kinks go I do enjoy deep sensuality, romance, passion, edging, chastity, forced feminization, sissification, emasculation of male subs, light humiliation, orgasm control and denial, domestic servitude, corporal/domestic punishment, strapons/pegging, face sitting, foot and ass worship, etc.
Google is my writing home. I prefer to chat and build stories there. I'd love to turn this into something great. :)
I'd love to hear from you if you're interested!
+Ashley+
Submitted August 25, 2015 at 02:55AM by hollywoodcensored http://ift.tt/1KIt4Ad dirtypenpals
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