Dreams That Liberate. Part III. Let The Games Begin.

Ping! A Skype message rushes in. “Can you come to my office, please?” Not a good time, Boss, not a good time! Skylar is coming today, I was about to rush home. I text her and Elias “Really sorry, urgent issue. Be back ASAP. Why don’t you have some wine? You can start without me. If it feels right.” My thumb hovers over “Send”, then I go back to the message and add a wink emoji. Yes, feels very appropriate for this situation when I want to be a caring hostess and I cannot.

Two OKs, one smiley with a tongue out from Skylar and one wink from Elias come back almost instantaneously. Phew, Skylar seems relaxed about me not being there. I pull my boots off and slip into my high heeled brogues. They certainly do not radiate an office humdrum feel. High-heeled brogues mask sultry femininity, they have nothing to do with office attire. That’s why I like them and, more importantly, need them now. You’d better tell me what I want to hear, Benjamin!

I knock. He nods. I push the handle and enter into a glass cubicle where all is visible from outside, none is audible. I close the door. “You wanted to see me, Benjamin?” He motions to a leather chair. “Yes. Please sit.” I sit, cross my legs, throw one arm over the other on my knees. He registers my brogues, shuffles in his chair a bit, looks up. “I want you to take on a project for me.” Oh really?? As predicted. But please go on. I say nothing, just nod with my eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“Overlooking the AI developments within the department.” Seems to be a non-finite project. “It’s a constant flow of information, not a one-off. I want to understand the time savings and redirect personnel to other issues rather than dealing with what a machine can deal with.”

A machine. One of my lovers used to call a magic wand a “machine”, it makes me smile. Benjamin takes it for a “yes”. 

I have questions about this infinite project and we delve into interesting, but not so sexual discussion about AI. I like AI. I prefer being a handler of the “machine” rather than it leaving me jobless, which it will do to many, as time goes on. I call him Benjamin several times: “Benjamin, what do you think about …? Benjamin, it would make sense to …?”. After around a fifth “Benjamin” he stops me. I am now to call him Ben. More efficient, of course, but this is not the point. The point is, he’s familiarising himself to me, makes himself more available. Ben it is.

We spend 40 minutes together during which we draw schemes, we allocate paper people to paper offices. We sit side by side, we stand up to reach the top of the A3 paper, our shoulders brush, we breath into each other, we touch our hair (not the best practice during pandemia, but we both get tested at work). Then we laugh at a sudden joke. We finish the discussion. We’re both hungry. Would I like to get a dinner? Somewhere nearby? No, not this time, Ben, two lovers are waiting for me at home. I do not verbalise this, of course. I generalise this into “Sorry, I am busy tonight”. He looks a bit sad. Not upset, just sad. He vibrates his pen. “Next time. We have a lot to talk about.” 

We can talk all we want within your fish bowl, Ben, but obviously you want to talk about something outside of it, where nobody can see and hear, where a slight touch would not be misinterpreted, where you do not have to hide. 

I turn to go. He scans around hastily through his fish bowl walls to see if anybody is around – the lights are on, but the people are gone. He leans forward for a kiss on the cheek, his right hand moves lightly on the side of my waist, so lightly that If I was wearing a coat, I would not have felt it. I do not react, as if I had not noticed. He retrieves his arm, his dignity intact, but his motives are clear as day. “See you tomorrow.” Yes, tomorrow is good, Ben, today I need more than a kiss on the cheek.

I unlock my flat door rather than ringing the bell – I prefer not to disturb Elias and Skylar, even if they are only having drinks. I want to slip into whatever they are busy with, without interruption.

No, they are not having drinks. The drinks have already been had: an empty bottle of wine, two empty glasses on the kitchen table and one full, mine. Several candles half way through their life, but still bright, illuminating the walls with their soft flickers. All is surprisingly quiet. Hmmm… Interesting. 

I step deeper into the living room, divided from the kitchen by a Japanese room divider, a present from my Japanese lover. I see a corner of the sofa, then the rug comes into view, then two feet on the rug, too small to be Elias’.

I move closer, not trying to be too quiet, but the feet do not move. She is still in her jeans, they are rolled up slightly, I can see her ankles. It is that moment when with one more step all will be revealed – perhaps Skylar lies on my rug dead as a dodo, in a pool of her own blood, face pale as a sheet, drained of life, or… on her side, asleep, sucking her thumb!

I sit on the sofa, my feet beside Skylar who is curled up in a foetal position. I can hear her breathe and from time to time she makes a sucking noise grabbing onto her thumb when it’s slipping out of her mouth.

I hear the key turning in the front door, then Elias’ steps. He pokes his head in “She’s still asleep?”

“Yes. What happened?”

He puts a carrier bag on the table, in it there is a new bottle of wine. He picks up the empty one: “This happened.” She’s tiny, it’s normal she cannot take a drink. Although I have been with women who at 5 feet tall can drink me under the table and then still fuck like soldiers.

He smiles. “She’s so heavy when asleep, I could not even carry her to bed.” He sits down next to me. “It looks like it’s you and me tonight, ma chérie.” We cover Skylar with a duvet, rest her ginger head on a pillow. Her hair draping around it looks like a burning sun. Even when being moved, she would not let the thumb out of her mouth. It obviously calms her down to suck on it. We take the candles and wine to the bedroom.

Another half an hour later we’re both tipsy, licking wine off each other’s lips. We’re in our shirts and underwear – we’ve gotten that far. I kneel in front of him. My hands run along his spine, from the neck to his bum. I squeeze it in my palms, soft at first, then harder. He tightens his embrace around my waist and bites me on the neck. I slap his bum with my right palm whilst looking him in the eye: an invitation to The Games of Rough.

Elias lifts me and throws me on the bed. My body sinks into the memory foam without bouncing back. He incapacitates me with his weight, his tongue in my mouth, his hand on my breast. My legs wrap around his. He sits up in between them and pulls my shirt apart, buttons flying in all directions, hitting the walls. I do the same to him. I rest my head on his chest for a second – his heart is beating fast. I lick his nipples, roll my tongue around them. He moans. I travel lower, to his belly button. A streak of saliva marks where my tongue has already been. 

I slide lower, to his cock, lick around the root, then, leaving the shiny wet path, I travel up to the tip. Slow at first, my tongue wraps around it. I pull away. Then with one hungry move I impale my mouth on his cock, to the very bottom of it and stay there for a short while, moving my tongue alongside the cock walls. Elias likes it, I know it. He tries to be quiet, but my tongue is persistent and I will do this until he moans. “Aaaahhh!” He lets out a sincere groan. His fingers slide into my hair to keep my head close to his crotch.

Suddenly, his body twitches with surprise. My back to the door, all I can hear is a slow squeak of the hinges, like in a horror film. We both turn towards the door, eyes wide – for that one second before we see Skylar, our bodies are ready to fight.

“Jesus, Skylar! Why didn’t you knock?!” I am annoyed at this intrusion and the lack of manners. Elias, seemingly unaffected, giggles: “Shit, you scared us for a second. Feeling better?”

“Yes, much better…” Her eyes trail down to our shirts and the loose buttons on the floor, Elias’ cock (surprisingly still hard after a scare). She then looks at us, or more specifically – me. “I am sorry I did not knock…”

“It’s OK, I am scaredy-cat.” I smile and give this whole situation a light and dismissive wave of the hand, but she does not seem to return my niceties.

Then, I notice what she is doing – her hand travels to her breast and plays with her nipple. “Please don’t be mad at me…” Her voice trails off, her gaze turns to the floor.

Oh, this thumb-sucking baby is a sub! Well, let me dominate you to oblivion. Let the Games commence!

“You know what happens to those who do not have manners?” My voice is soft, but firm. She shakes her head.

“Well, you are going to find out.” I look at Elias – he’s beaming, nods. This is our sign for me to become a mistress. I sit in a lotus position, slowly stretch myself, put my palms on my knees, sigh like a school matron, greatly displeased with some prank of a school child. Elias and Skylar are motionless, like all good subs should be from the moment the game is on. I clear my throat to deepen my voice and in a cold, military tone command:

“Skylar, come over. Stand in front of me. Right here, yes. Arms by your side. Elias, stand behind and take off her clothes.” 

“No, Skylar, do not look down, look at me. Follow my every word. I will not tolerate insubordination. To reply, you use “Ma’am”. Do you understand?”

“I do, Ma’am.”

Good. This is shaping up to be an eventful night.

To be continued…

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