"I hate you," I told Marcus firmly, as I turned to face him in bed.
"What have I done now?" he asked, taken aback.
I stared at him implacably for several seconds, letting his consternation grow.
"Or, possibly, you hate yourself," I relented, cracking a smile and reaching to stroke his bare chest.
"Huh?" he demanded, looking even more perplexed.
"Well, whoever wrote the last installment of our adventures is a 'manhating' femdom apparently," I informed him, moving my hand down onto his abdomen
"How insightful!" he replied. "I am, indeed, consumed with loathing for myself and all my sex. Although, I might require radical surgery to live up to that latter epithet."
"And you need to know that 'putting a butt plug in a man's arsehole is not going to win you any more stars or readers'," I admonished, smacking his penis lightly to the rhythm of my words.
"I'm assuming they didn't have a problem with you also having a butt-plug up your arsehole?" Marcus enquired.
"Followed by your penis," I reminded him, squeezing the item in question firmly and feeling it respond to my touch. "No, they seemed to be fine with that. Presumably, it's OK for women to have things shoved up their arses but not men."
"I fail to see the logic," he protested, gently gyrating his hips in order to move his cock within my steady grip. "As the only one of the two of us in possession of a prostate, I stand to derive more intrinsic pleasure from having something inserted up there than you do. I know that the main pleasure you get from anal sex is seeing me enjoying it. Are they scared that sticking something up there will turn them instantly gay? All I can say is that, if they are willing to deprive themselves of the pleasure of anal stimulation for the sake of some misguided macho insecurity bullshit, they are not my intended readers."
He closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling of my warm hand on his cock. "I loved it, especially combined with all that temperature play stuff. The whole thing was mind-blowing! I've never felt anything like it. Thank you. Can we do it again sometime?" he asked excitedly.
"You certainly appeared to enjoy it, my love," I said. "So much so that you didn't feel the need to add any fictional embellishments this time, it seems." I loosed my grip on his penis and began stroking it with the tip of my index finger. "The only slightly misleading element was the implication that the anal play was unexpected. I think me insisting that we both have douches beforehand probably gave the game away on that score. I don't seem to remember that appearing in your account."
"A little poetic licence, perhaps," Marcus admitted. "But you're right, I couldn't think of anything that would have made it better. You really do understand me. I'm so lucky to have you." He started to trace his finger in a gentle circle around my nipple.
"And I you, darling," I replied, "I love the way you just know what I want without me having to tell you -- sometimes before I even know I want it myself."
"Exactly! That's why I'm more convinced than ever that I put my story in the correct category in the first place," he insisted, pausing his circling of my nipple in his vehemence. I stopped stroking his cock until he realised, at which point we both resumed. "What is love if it's not wholly accepting and even treasuring the various quirks and foibles of the other person, and making it part of your mission in life to try to anticipate their needs and make them happy? And by that definition, you are the epitome of a loving wife."
"As you are a loving husband," I asserted,"Even if that category doesn't exist on
Literotica
-- which, presumably, it would if the site was actually a hub for manhating femdoms, as one commenter claims." I gripped his penis firmly once more. "Talking of missions, earlier this morning you mumbled something incoherent about me having a mission today. What was all that about?"
"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed, reluctantly extricating himself from my grasp. He got to his feet and stood with his erect penis pointing at me accusingly. "You almost distracted me. I'm going to quickly jump in the shower and then, by the time you've had your shower, I will have everything ready." He headed off to the bathroom, leaving me wondering if he was being deliberately mysterious in order to repay me for pretending to be angry with him earlier.
When he had finished, he ushered me into the bathroom and shut the door. I took my time in the shower and when I emerged from the bathroom, the house was silent. I surmised -- correctly as it turned out -- that he had left the house to make further arrangements. On the bed I found my phone with a post-it saying 'Read me'. It was next to a pile of clothing, a pair of sunglasses, a small handbag and a pink, app-controlled egg vibrator with a bottle of lube.
I turned on my phone to find the messaging app open and a new message waiting for me.
'
Insert vibrator. Put on clothes provided -- nothing else. Head to park. Take phone. Await instructions.
'
I quickly dried my hair and then examined the pile of clothes. There was a white silk button-up blouse, a black leather-look mini-skirt, black suspenders and stockings, a fairly plain black cotton thong and a pair of black ankle boots with -- thankfully -- manageable heels. No bra. "That'll be fun! Thanks, Marcus!" I muttered to myself.
I lubricated the vibrator and slid it into place leaving the short extraction cord nestling between my thighs. I put on the suspenders and stockings then pulled the thong over the top. The thong just about covered my small triangle of pubic hair. I wriggled into the skirt. It was tight over my butt but the material was supple and slightly stretchy. There was a good two inches of bare thigh between the top of my stockings and the bottom of my skirt. The skirt itself had a deep, laced slit on either side, which revealed even more of my thighs up to my hips. I put on the blouse over my naked and unsupported breasts. The silk felt soft and cool against my skin and I could feel my nipples harden slightly. The clingy material of the blouse hid nothing. Every sway and jiggle, every erect nipple would be apparent to anyone looking at me. I slipped on the boots and the sunglasses, put the phone in the handbag and headed for the front door.
A few streets away from our house is a large park with various wooded areas surrounding a large grassy expanse. It was past the peak time for joggers and dog walkers, so it should be relatively quiet -- maybe a few mothers-and-babies or older people enjoying the mid-morning sun. I walked along the road feeling very much like a prostitute heading off to start her shift. With each step my breast bounced and swung, brushing against the fabric of the blouse. I could feel the weight of the inert vibrator inside me shifting with my steps.
Apart from one motorist who noticeably slowed down as he passed me, I didn't meet anyone on the way to the park. With no further instructions, I stood near the entrance gate pretending to look at the posters on the noticeboard nearby. My phone buzzed. '
Stay there. Stand still.
' Just as I finished reading the message, the vibrator burst into life in my cunt. The pulsing vibrations started slow and gentle but gradually intensified and sped up, reaching a peak and then diminishing again. This pattern repeated in wave after wave and I stood there for what seemed like an age.
At one point, a mother with a small child in a pushchair walked past me. She looked at me curiously but said nothing. My cheeks and chest were hot and red, partly with embarrassment and partly with arousal. I tried my best to remain as still as possible but was unable to prevent some involuntary clenching of my abs and buttocks. I could feel myself getting wet.
My phone buzzed again. '
Get panties wet. Take them off. Leave on noticeboard. Go to SW corner.
'
"Fuck!" I whispered to myself. I reached under my skirt and began massaging the fabric of my thong against my pussy, pushing it between my labia to soak it in the fluid that was seeping from my vagina, until it began to make faint squelching noises. I looked around to ensure the coast was clear then hitched up the skirt so that I could hook the straps of the thong with my thumbs and wriggled them down over my stockings. I stepped out of my panties and picked them up. Smoothing down my skirt, I approached the noticeboard. Glancing round again, I hooked a strap over the corner of the noticeboard and hurried away. As I walked along the tree-shaded path, a warm breeze slipped under my skirt and caressed my pussy, cooling the moisture that still coated my naked vulva. The fabric of the skirt was beginning to stick to my bottom which meant the damned thing kept riding up and exposing the underside of my buttocks. A late jogger ran towards me. From behind my shades, I could see him trying his best not to stare at my freely moving breasts as he passed. I pretended not to notice him noticing me but I was excited by the magnetic effect my breasts had on his eyes.
I approached the south-west corner of the park and my phone buzzed. '
Unbutton blouse. Expose breasts. Await instructions.
'
I looked around nervously. I was standing at the junction of four paths. Anyone approaching on one of those paths would have a clear view of me. Was Marcus somehow able to see me? Was he hiding in the undergrowth with binoculars, fully embracing the role of pervert? Did he already know if anyone else was on those paths heading towards me? Had he timed this so that I wouldn't be discovered? Or so that I would be?
I unfastened the blouse and opened it. The dappled sunlight fell on my naked tits. I had a strong urge to close my eyes but I kept them open, darting glances along each path. Every noise was amplified in the stillness. It felt so risky.
The vibrator started up again -- this time, long intense pulses with short gaps in between. My breathing became shallower and more erratic. I was unable to stop myself letting out several short moans, which sounded very loud in the silence under the trees.
There was another message: '
