My poor wipers were struggling against the relentless rain, barely clearing the windshield before another sheet of water plunged down. It felt like the sky was opening up and an entire ocean was intent on dousing my little car. Music blared from the speakers--full volume--but the pounding rain simply drowned it out. I shifted in my seat, absentmindedly scratching at my neck, caught between amazement and that type of horrified awe we get at what nature can do.
The signal changed to green, but the vehicle in front of mine didn't move, either ignorant or simply as awed by the downpour as I was and unable to multitask. I held back a groan and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Today had been brutal. Not just long--though the hours had dragged--but filled with the kind of clients you complained about later, the ones who made you question your career choices.
Finally, the car ahead crawled forward. I pressed the gas pedal lightly and eased through the lake-like intersection. I spread and curled my toes against the mat, savoring their freedom now that I'd shed the heels that had been torturing me all day. The kind of shoes designed for show, maybe some ballbusting depending on your preferences, but not comfort.
Ahead, a flash of lightning ripped through the blackened sky, turning the clouds white for a split second. The thunder followed almost immediately, obviously I was directly under the storm.
My stomach rumbled directly in sync with the rolling thunder, reminding me that it didn't approve of how long it had been since I'd eaten last. The stop-and-go traffic certainly wasn't helping my mood, the headlights of the cars ahead blurring and reflecting off of every visible surface. It was a miracle some idiotic drivers hadn't already wrecked and caused traffic to halt for good.
I came to a stop once more, having just missed a left turn signal. One hand stayed firmly on the steering wheel, while I let the other wander to my thigh. I felt the soft fabric of my pants against my fingertips, letting the material cling to the warmth of my skin as I moved my hand slowly upward. My breathing slowed, becoming almost meditative, as if my hand knew exactly where it wanted to go without needing to think. The car hummed to life beneath me as I began moving again, the tires skimming over the wet road.
Maybe I should have been paying attention to the cars ahead, but god, some gentle pressure on my thigh felt good.
I shifted in the seat, letting the heel of my foot press deeper into the floor mat, my toes flexing slightly as if in response to the growing warmth spreading between my legs. The rough day was wearing away on me, and obviously my body was looking for a way to relieve the tension. I kept a constant friction from my hand to my thigh, moving just high enough to tease. It was both calming and pleasurable in the best way.
My hand moved higher, before I pushed firmly against the fabric, feeling the heat of my body under the cotton. My fingertips wormed their way under my shirt and just beneath the hem of my pants, and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from going further. The last place I wanted to orgasm was on my car seat, in the middle of traffic.
I shook my head, exhaled a long breath to clear my head, and pressed the gas to get through the intersection. The rain continued its assault but my little car chugged along, tires swimming through puddles as I made my way toward the one place I wanted to be: home.
The thirty minute commute, additionally slowed by the weather, felt like it took hours. I finally turned onto my street, the windows of the houses glowing faintly through the downpour. I pulled into my driveway, the familiar soft crunch of gravel under my tires sounding heavenly.
I switched off the engine and leaned back in my seat, letting out a long, exhausted breath, once again cursing my small house and its lack of a covered garage. I winced as I shoved my feet back into my shoes, my toes still tender from a day of wear. I took another deep breath and gave myself a three second countdown before making my dash. Grabbing my purse, I pushed the door open, immediately drenched as I sprinted to the front porch.
The warmth of the house felt amazing on my chilled skin, the familiar scent of lavender and wood polish filling the air. I dropped my keys onto the little table by the door and kicked off my soaked heels, my feet grateful to be free once more.
The thunder growled faintly in the distance as I shrugged off my jacket and wandered into the kitchen. All I wanted right now was to unwind--a hot meal, a good TV show, probably some porn, something mindless.
I reached for a bottle of wine on the counter, poured myself a generous glass, and leaned back, letting my eyes finally close. The first sip slid down smooth, the warmth spreading through my chest. I popped a few grapes from the fruit bowl beside me, but their sweetness was an unwelcome clash to the already sweet wine. I'd have to get some different food to go with it.
With a sigh and much more effort than should have been necessary, I pushed myself off the counter and headed for the bathroom. I could already feel the heat of a nice shower calling to me. My clothes--shirt in particular--clung to me like a second skin, still damp from my dash through the rain. A warm shower was exactly what I needed.
I stripped off the wet clothes, shivering as the cool air blew over my bare skin. Droplets of rainwater ran icy rivers down my body, and I wiped them away before stepping into the tub.
The moment I turned the handle, a cascade of hot water poured over me, banishing the lingering chill into the abyss. I hadn't had hot water in nearly a month until days ago--one of the numerous problems with this house--and goddamn it felt good. I closed my eyes, slumping back against the tiled wall, not even caring that my hair was getting wet on a non 'hair wash' day.
The heat of the water against my skin lulled me into a barely conscious stupor. I could have stayed there forever, lost in the warmth, but my body had other ideas. It seemed to scream at me, annoyed at the way I'd neglected its advances in the car.
I ran my palms over my breasts, lingering just a moment as a shiver of pleasure shot through me, every nerve flaring to light. My fingers found a nipple and I twisted softly, biting my lip as the sharp combination of the pain and pleasure sent a jolt through my core. My breath hitched, and I felt the telltale heat rise in my cheeks, a flush spreading across my breasts as my nipples began to harden under my touch.
My other hand dropped lower, feeling the goosebumps that sprang up despite the steam filling the bathroom.
I closed my eyes, resting my head against the wall as my fingers ventured to the spot on my body they knew the best. My pussy was slightly tender--a reminder of last night's session with a certain monster-inspired dildo. I drew a finger across my raw sex, letting a soft gasp whisper from my lips. My hand moved with deliberate slowness, tracing figure-eights across my pussy lips.
But I shook my head, pulling myself out of the haze. Not here, not now. I needed food first.
Netflix could wait--it was obvious what I needed right now. I'd grab something to eat and then retreat to bed with my laptop and vibrators. Clearly, there was a lot of tension still to unravel. For maybe thousandth time that week, I found myself wishing for a consistent fuck--my toys were good, but nothing could replace the real thing. It had been far too long since I'd felt the heat of a real cock. Unfortunately, for now I'd have to settle with handling it myself.
I toweled off quickly and tossed my damp clothes into the dryer, not bothering to get dressed. Living alone had its perks, and with the kind of evening I had planned, staying naked felt... appropriate. I padded back to the kitchen, my feet silent on the hardwood floor, and pulled a pre-prepped meal from the freezer.
Slumping into a chair, I waited for the microwave to hum to life. My phone filled the void, thumb scrolling through an endless stream of posts and unread messages. Most of it was the usual noise, but it distracted me just enough to make the wait bearable.
The microwave beeped, breaking my reverie. I set my phone down, rose from my chair, and reached for a plate. Out of the corner of my eye, my screen lit up. I glanced back, curiosity tugging at me, and a grin quickly spread across my face.
Oliver: "Hey Belle, are you free for a booking tonight?"
It was a good thing I hadn't picked up the plate yet, it probably would've been destroyed in my hurry to pick up the phone.
Me: "Yep! Have you got a specific time slot in mind?"
His reply came almost instantly.
Oliver: "Can I get an Uber to pick you up in half an hour? I'm not sure how long, but if I make you stay late I can pay extra. Bad day at work. I just need relief."
Me: "Sounds good! Glad I'm not the only one."
The mental and physical exhaustion melted from my muscles as a surge of energy took its place. I abandoned the kitchen and dashed to the bedroom, flinging open my closet doors and grabbing a handful of clothes. My prayers had been answered. Tonight I'd get a real cock.
This was a rare treat. Calls from Oliver didn't come nearly often enough. He was one of my original clients, one of the first to take a chance on me when I was just starting. At twenty-three, I was still building my reputation as a dominatrix. Advertising wasn't exactly straightforward in the trade, but word of mouth had gotten my name to a few circles.
It didn't help that I was so particular about the clients I took on. I specialized in cuckquean couples--married men desperate for a fresh, younger body while their wives became my personal slave for the evening, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes with hungry fascination. It was a niche, sure, but one I excelled in. I had the kind of figure older men craved--curvy and firm in all the right places--and their wives couldn't match anymore.
I wasn't sure what it was about dominating women that enthralled me so much. I loved fucking men--none of my toys could ever compare--but dominating them was still unexplored territory for me. With women, though, I thrived. Teasing, humiliating, commanding them to kneel at my feet, holding eye contact as their husbands emptied themselves into me--it was a power unlike anything else.
Usually, the men were the ones seeking an escape from their marital monotony, and the women were nervous and unsure of themselves. With Oliver and his wife though, it had been different. Claire was shy at first, but within a few visits she'd begun to eagerly obey my every command, seeming to thrive on the lack of control.
It also helped that Oliver had undergone a vasectomy. There was nothing like taking a load of hot cum straight in your pussy.
If only there were more couples with cuckold fantasies in the world to keep me busy. Most weeks, I was lucky to get a single request like this. It wasn't just the work I missed--it was the rush, the exhilaration of being desired so blatantly, of taking control. And, of course, the cock.
I dressed in record time: thigh-high stockings, a miniskirt, and a snug crop top that left little to the imagination. No bra, no panties--Oliver loved when I showed up like that. And if the Uber driver caught a glimpse? Well, I didn't see a problem with that.
I took a seat at my desk, adjusting the mirrors until I could see myself from every angle. My golden blonde hair hung in loose, damp waves around my shoulders--flat at the roots, frizzy at the ends. Great. I knew I shouldn't have disrupted my hair schedule. I ran my fingers through it, fluffing for volume before giving up and twisting it into a sleek low bun. A few loose strands framed my face--slut strands, as my friends called them. Perfect for me.
I pulled open my vanity drawer and went straight for the essentials. A pump of foundation, blended fast and smooth. A dusting of powder to cut the shine. Peachy blush high on my cheeks, just enough to bring life back. Lip liner for shape, gloss for the shine. Quick, effortless, done.
My green eyes were my best feature, so I played them up. A tight curl to my lashes, two swipes of mascara, a sharp flick of black liner. Sultry without trying too hard.
My figure was looking as good as it ever had, curvy but toned, and I couldn't help but adjust the hem of my skirt, smoothing it down with a giddy smile. All those hours spent in the gym were certainly paying off.
