The Novelists Ch 03 On Friday

On Friday, Jun10, 2022, at10:39 PM CET, Maddie Smith

wrote:

Alan,

I remember now the first time I knew that I loved you. It was before I'd even met you, when I read that piece you wrote on the Hoover Dam. I had never before entertained the possibility that monumental engineering projects could be arousing, but in your hands, dear...

That's what I thought of as I read your most recent...submission. It was lovely, dear, though brief, and a bit schematic. Still, I read it this morning before I left for work, and I've felt tingly all day just thinking about it. So now, to share my gratitude, let me tell you how I spent last night.

You may recall that I was in a sulk, darling. A day of frustrating meetings, a botched email from you. I needed a drink. None of these silly spritzs that everyone's drinking these days. I needed a martini, darling. Ice cold and bone dry. They make a fine one in the hotel bar, so I freshened up and headed downstairs. There's just no use stewing alone in one's room, I think.

I was just beginning to enjoy my drink when a very dull, very tall, very American finance type sat down next to me--uninvited of course--and proceeded to tell me all about how exchange rates or something, and how much he resents the property tax rates in Chappaqua. Or Scarsdale. Or Greenwich. I can't remember.

When I saw Annette passing through the lobby, I told him that my dinner date had arrived, and I called her over. She really is such a dear. She understood immediately, and we made our escape, arm in arm, leaving Tom Chappaqua to mutter to himself about lesbians. And taxes no doubt.

I still haven't told you about my previous dinner with Annette. Nor, I believe will I tell you much about this one, except to say that these dinners have been surprisingly romantic. Before you ask, I will reassure you: I haven't slept with her. But the conversation, dear...

I have to tell you that you came up. She asked of course, when she realized who I was, she asked about you.

"What's it like to be married to a famous writer?" they always ask.

"You'll have to ask him," I always say.

That line always gets a laugh.

They don't always ask the next question, but she did. "Is it true what I hear about the two of you?"

Sometimes I leave them guessing, dear. I smile. I tilt my head. I say something literary and inscrutable. Tonight though, I leaned in and said, "What do you hear about the two of us?"

Annette said, "That you sleep with whomever you want, then you go home and tell him all the details. That his short story The Cuckold's Hat is not really fiction."

Of course I denied everything. I mean I can't completely ruin your reputation, Alan. But I didn't lie either. I told her, "We have made promises to one another that few people will ever understand." Then I put my hand on her knee.

We stared at each other for the longest moment then... I wondered if she might lean in to kiss me, but she was frozen. I had all the power and we both knew it. The kiss was mine to take, not hers to give. She waited for me to do it, but I didn't.

Oh that moment! I've savored it. The way her head turned up towards me. The way her lips parted, waiting for my kiss. I've turned over in my head what I might have done--taken her head in my hands, felt her silky hair. How I might have run a hand under her chin, pulled her in with my other hand on her neck, kissed her there in that little restaurant, the other patrons looking on. How she would have looked when I told her to come back to my room with me. The way she would have looked at me when we got back to my room, my freshly-turned-down hotel bed waiting for us. Housekeeping puts little chocolates on my pillow every night, dear. I would have stripped her, fed her one of those chocolates, laid her face down on the bed, her gorgeous model's ass waiting for my touch. She would have been squirming in anticipation, waiting for me to lick her cunt from behind. You would have loved that moment too.

If you'd been with us, you would have begged me to do it. To take her back here with the two of us, even though you'd have known all along that you'd never get to touch. That I'd make you watch. Make you sit across the room and stroke your straining cock while you watched us. Knowing that you wouldn't cum--because I wouldn't allow it. Knowing you'd watch us all night, frustrated, while I made her cum over and over and over. Hard. Denied.

Oh you would have loved that.

Love,

Maddie

PS: Just two more days, my Alan. Two days! See you Sunday, dear.

On Saturday, Jun 11, 2022, at 7:55 AM EDT, Alan Smith

wrote:

Maddie,

Wow. I don't know what to say. Maybe... thank you for thinking of my reputation?

I read your latest email over and over and over last night, stroking myself the entire time. Stopping over and over to calm down. Keeping my promise to you--following your rules.

I finally had to stop--much later in the night than I should have. Deep breaths. Deep breaths and dripping cock. I had a fitful sleep, waking over and over, dreaming of you, tormented by my hard cock.

I love you and I miss you more than I can say. I can't believe that our week apart is nearly over. Sunday. I'm waiting for Sunday. I'm turning over every detail of your return in my mind. Keep me warm until your return: Tell me more about Annette.

-Alan