My phone buzzed.
“I’m back in the country. Just sitting here remembering our last sesh. So. Hot. ?”
The way he used that wooden spoon…my, my.
“That pic you sent…Fuck. Those red marks ??”
“What are you doing now…”
“You had your lunch break yet… ?”
“Well I’m house-sitting for some friends. I think it’s close to your work… ?”
I ordered an uber and slunk out of the studio.
By the time I arrived, he’d already laid out the utensils on the side.
He asked me to take my pants off and bend over.
We locked eyes as he breathed in my scent.
“I missed this…”
He breathed it in again.
“I’m keeping these. Gonna put them in a zip-lock bag.”
His fingers crept up my inner thighs. He teased, and then slid them higher, grabbing my cheeks. He dug his nails in.
He cocked his head and picked up the wooden spoon. He slapped it into his palm a couple of times. And then cracked it across my bum.
He walked us to the mirror.
I was naked, bent in half, and holding my ankles.
He’d left marks.
He fetched the fish slice. And swung it back and forth.
He smacked it across both cheeks.
It hurt. It left prints.
We locked eyes in the mirror.
He ripped the wrapper off with his teeth. And slammed himself into me. Over and over, and over and over.
He stopped. And backed out of the room.
He came back in breathing deeply.
“Smells like us.”
And then my phone rang. It was the uber. I pulled my clothes back on.
No time to finish. No time to shower. Not even time to clean up. I could smell us on myself.
I went back to the studio without my pants.
I had to use the stand-up desk for the rest of the day. And hoped my colleagues wouldn’t ask why.
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