Prologue
They had in their relationship the stuff writers try to describe. To put it simply, they had a secure and timeless love, a mutual respect, an unwavering and unconditional trust, patience...and of course, obsession. Their hours were many, long, and unpredictable; so the lover's time together was often short and littered with exhaustion. Once a month on every third Saturday morning, they found a way to steal time.
Layla had found an Adderall connection a year ago. Since that first time, "every third Saturday" was starred on calendars and anticipated with a deep, sweet, poignant ache. She would purchase twenty 20mg pills, they would lock their doors, draw their shades, and turn off their communication devices. Then they would begin the binge-dosing. Every third Saturday was now an uninterrupted, 50-some hour day – and they spent the majority of it in their own personally-created heaven, their time-stopper, their reality-killer: their play-room. Originally only a bedroom, the play-room had, over many sessions' time, become the ultimate kink-lover's dream.
Once the trust had been tested at maximum level, and passed, then of course...they felt comfort, they then were allowed to delve deeper and deeper each time into the darkest, most secreted, shameful, perverted, humiliating...and, arousing areas of the erotic abyss; their true desires. They learned over time what gave each true, unabashed, unapologetic
pleasure
. Their journey taught, showed and let them feel the difference between commercial pleasure, and the pleasure felt by two in trust, in honesty. They were always detailed in desire, in instruction, and always 100% honest about even the filthiest of fantasies.
The following is a total, uncensored, graphic, meticulously detailed account of their latest session. Historical reference of sessions' past are noted accordingly. Enjoy.
Part 1 (For Whom The Bell Tolls)
Don had just drawn the last shade of their kitchen window, waiting for Layla to return from the pharmacy to begin dosing. All time-bearing pieces had been stored in the locked garage until the bell sounded, house-wide, to signify 12 hours before Monday morning – at that time, usually without disappointment or mourning, they each took a Seroquil and slept intertwined in grasping, thankful arms.
Layla began to walk the driveway precisely at 8:59AM – such an organized, professional woman. Don had, of course, left the front door unlocked for his wife (who hated fishing for her keys). She locked the door to their now-timeless play palace and was pleased to find that her chivalrous Don had shut the rest of reality while she picked up their focus-enhancing, libido-stimulating, experience-intensifying, inhibition-shattering, euphoria-creating time-stoppers. They met in the kitchen where Don anticipated the return of his beautiful wife over an exotic cocktail. His hair still thick and more the colour of pepper, was freshly wet and slicked the way he knew she liked. He sat at the kitchen table in black boxers, sipping his cocktail, he could barely wait to strip his wife down and ravish her body; but first, they had to catch up from the past month. This ritual enforced one of the key elements of the sessions: comfort (therefore, trust). They actually loved their catch-ups, which often provided unintentionally flawless segways to the games that followed. Layla, ecstatic to have this time alone with the love of her life for the first time since last session, instantly lit up. They embraced with the only gratification that can be felt when such perseverated anticipation is satisfied at last. They sat, and began dosing, sipping on a cocktail each. They smiled and laughed, conversating, both as teenaged-lovers and as a couple married half a century. Don and Layla's saving grace was always their ability to marry comfort and experience with playful curiousity and youthful passion – the kind of passion free from challenge or question.
The catching-up transitioned to fun, intellectual conversation with all real truth but no real meaning – the kind most felt was a waste of time; but in the sessions, it was made rule that the happiness and enjoyment of Don and Layla were completely free from mass acceptance or societal norm. This was time all their own in which they inadvertently created a society centric only to them, what they deemed worthy. Sometimes what sounded like insanity ensued, other times the observation was no different from others of a couple engaged in conversation turned idealistic, and then when Don (a patent lawyer) muttered of multi-use tools, Layla looked down and blushed....
Part II (The Door Test)
She was going to be embarrassed later when Don checked her panties at the bedroom door. Just the slight mention of a tool or toy moistened her freshly-waxed pussy. Had he said that on purpose? Layla knew Don had a reason for every little thing – his mind naturally saw angles that took professional thieves 20 years to hone. Where his genius lay was his natural ability to use those angles on a person for whatever purpose he so chose. The ironic beauty of the thing is this: Layla is a theory psychologist and her study on the analytical thought process' contribution to intelligence in dominant personalities had won her department the Nobel in Science. She and Don, a casual investor of such research, met at that ceremony – they fascinated each other immediately.
The faint shade of rose that flashed across her features was cue enough for Don to begin. She knew it as well, and only grew wetter for him in anticipation.
His tone went firm and authoritative. His crooked smirk hinting at the filthy thoughts flashing through his mind. His steel eyes iced with power all his from here on in. "Look at me, little girl," he demanded coolly with total ease and confidence. Layla flushed again and felt her pussy gush. Her ache began inside her, deep at her core as her clit began throbbing...she felt it: she had soaked through her panties. This was the first time she would fail the door-test – how would Don choose to punish a complete fail? Her ass cheeks tingled at the memory of her last punishment –and that was graded a B.
She obeyed his command and looked up immediately; she knew that cocky smirk, that deep, dark stare. Excitement filled every part of her – to be at his mercy and enjoy every moment of it...she sighed, the endless moments almost near.
He chuckled at her – how evidently timid yet excited she was. His beautiful little girl was going to feel pleasure she had never known, all because he had complete control over her. He knew all so well how nervous his condescending little laughs made her.
"Yes, Daddy?" She asked, her voice slightly shaken, as a young girl might've. Don thrilled in silence and his grin widened. He delighted in his never-failing ability to turn this beautiful, professional, grown woman into his very own shy, nervous, obedient little girl.
"Go to Daddy's desk next to the bedroom. Bend over it with your clothes on and Daddy will be there soon. I've made the test far more thorough, so please b e a good girl for me. I thought of so many new ways to punish you."
