Page 3 of Boo-ty Calls
Archer
Staring out the windshield at the rush-hour traffic, I lean back on the headrest and drum my fingers on the steering wheel.
At least the music is good, because the smell of diesel and hot pavement makes me want to hurl.
Work was one problem after another today. Each time I got one employee set to go and going, another had an issue.
I don’t know what it is about a Friday that makes all the crazies call in about their cell phone problems. Losing my tie, I inch the Jetta forward a bit and wonder what the holdup is tonight. Friday-night traffic is one thing, but this is another.
Checking my phone, I scroll through social media while flicking my gaze to the road, and see there was an accident earlier. Fuck. I shoot Sloane a message telling her I’ll be home later than normal.
Daydreaming about tonight and this weekend has me wiggling in this seat. I love serving Sloane, but knowing in a few brief hours I’ll be under her and allowed to get off gives me a semi.
We’ve been together for years, and after a slow start sexually, we developed into what we are now. I’ve had past relationships where the girl was into my kinks at first, but then tired of them, which made me apprehensive of telling Sloane until much later in our relationship.
I make sure to return the power back to her. It’s been a helpful tool in reclaiming herself. She’d been with dick-bags in the past who hurt her under the guise of BDSM, and we’ve spent time unpacking the trauma it caused her.
Sloane is a dark emo goddess in a world where everything is fucking shit. She gives me something to look forward to every time we’re together.
Moving forward, I see there are at least five kilometers until I can take a side road out of this traffic hell. It’ll take longer to get home, but being stuck in this mess is making me tense.
Since the moment we met, I knew I’d do anything for her. Sometimes she needs me to take control of our daily life, which I do without hesitation because she gives so freely in everything else. Praise and humiliation, she gives me what I crave.
Handing over power to her lets me turn off my mind and provides her the creativity to make whatever she wants come to life. I serve her in other ways, and always make sure she feels safe and satisfied.
I was instantly captivated by her mind and fell hard after months of talking and meeting. It was as if puzzle pieces clicked together, and I knew she’d be my forever.
The more time we fell into the lifestyle, the more we picked up on what we do and don’t like. This morning, I bought a new cock sleeve to use tonight, and I’m excited to show her the dragon-like shape.
She reads more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, and while it’s part of her job, I know she has a soft spot for krakens and dragons.
Pulling off the highway, I make it to the side street and stop by our favourite restaurant. Ordering our favourites, I head home. I promised a better dinner than this, but it’ll have to do.
I’ve been putting thought into what I should do for our anniversary. Fifteen years is a long time together, and she deserves something fucking epic.
Parking behind her Accord, I grab the dinner and bags from this morning before heading into our simple two-bedroom brick house.
“Honey, I’m home.”
Sloane meets me in the hallway and rolls her eyes hard. She hates it, but we’ve done it for years, and I’ll never stop.
“You smell like you’ve sat in the car for seventy years. Go shower, and I’ll plate this.” She tries to take the bags from me, but I grip the red plastic one tighter and raise an eyebrow.
Jerking away from her grasp, I lean into her neck and blow a raspberry. “It was seventy-five, actually.”
“Whatcha hiding?” she asks.
“You’ll see.” I laugh and walk down the hall to the shower.
After I’ve done the dishes and folded the load of laundry, I stroll into the living room, but Sloane isn’t lying on the couch anymore. I head to the bedroom and lean against the door frame.
Her pink hair is pulled into braided pigtails, and the black highlights give it a swirled effect. Black fishnets adorn her legs to her thighs, where a cut-up dark skirt covers her perfectly rounded ass, and a crop top strains under her full tits.
“You’re watching again,” she says without looking toward the door.
“It’s tough not to. Fuck, you look good.” My gaze follows her around the space as she works through our toy box.
“Duh, like it’s hard.”
