It was a warm, pleasant night. The perfect night to get "dressed up" and have me a little "Me time." A nice house dress, some sheer, brown pantyhose, maybe a little make-up, top it off with my thick hair, then some simple low-heeled white shoes. Yes, I felt great. I poured some bubbly and kicked back out front on the deck at one point for a smoke, slipping off my shoes and putting my feet up. As I sat there relaxing, something caught my eye. My indicator light on my phone was blinking. A notification. I picked up the phone and saw who it was from, then I pulled up the message, my heart skipped a beat:
WHORE.
Just one word. I gasped. The epithet stung, and yet, in the strangest way, I found it flattering. My inner whore who had been simply in a romantic mood, despite her loneliness, jumped to attention at the word.
WHORE.
(
What? Who? Me?
She asked almost giddily.)
I stared at the single word for a few moments, my heart beating. It was not unusual of course, to get these sorts of messages from him. There were plenty of nights when I would be getting ready for bed that he would send a simple text saying, "goodnight whore," or "goodnight slut." There were the morning texts of "Enjoy your day bitch." In fact, whenever we had any kind of text conversation, my name usually fell into one of those categories and he used them often. It was a reminder of where I stood. Where my place was. And my inner whore was only too happy to be reminded of it, so when I did not, in fact get them, I kind of missed them. Perhaps this was one of the same, just maybe he forgot to put the "goodnight" in front of the "whore."
"Yes sir." I typed back.
Nothing.
Sometimes I did get an occasional "bitch!" sent my way with nothing added, so when nothing else came through, I figured perhaps it was one of those.
My inner whore settled back down rather sadly disappointed.
The phone buzzed again. My fingers shaking, I picked it up. A picture file. My inner whore was wide awake again. I opened the file. There was a picture of his penis, thick and semi erect. That wasn't too unusual, what was unusual was that right next to it was another semi-erect penis, this one even larger than his. Obviously, he had taken a picture aiming his camera down to crotch level, getting both of them in the picture as they stood side by side. I recognized his tool right away. The other one I was not sure of. Judging by the size it could not have belonged to the anonymous stranger I had pleasured in the back of the Master's car recently when we went for a drive. This one was much bigger. I stared, instinctively, I licked my lips, swallowing hard and taking a breath. Under the photo was a message:
These need attention!
I gasped, my heart beating fast. (
Answer him! Hurry!"
my inner whore was yelling in my ear.)
"Yes sir." I typed back.
"Now!"
