Tonight I had the incredible pleasure of being in the reader lineup for Smut Peddlers, an erotica reading event (currently online) hosted by the queer Canadian bookstore Glad Day. I got hooked up with it through my participation in the fabulous Sinclair Sexsmith‘s erotica writing class which I’ve been taking and highly recommend if you get a chance!
I used the opportunity to write a brand new piece, which I wasn’t able to read in its entirety, but wanted to share here. It was just a bit of dirty fun that I don’t particularly plan to do anything with.
It’s inspired by the play I’m currently working on, Fiveplay by Erica Smith and produced by The Coil Project. There’s a scene in the play– which you should come see, by the way, if you’re in the DC area in April 2022– in which my character, Emerson, is having some struggles with her wife Avery (played by my real-life metamour…and did I mention that our partner is directing? Total polyfam affair) and part of the trouble is Emerson’s workaholism. During the scene, “Work” becomes personified as a seductive woman who tries first to distract Emerson from a big talk with Avery, and then reprimands her for neglecting her wife. So I took the basic idea and ran in a much, um, more explicit direction with it!
Enjoy…
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WORKAHOLIC
The woman silhouetted in my bedroom doorway, leaning on the frame with a teasing finger beckoning me over, was not my wife.
It took me a moment to realize it. The soft low laugh woke me, and I struggled to make sense of the shadowed curves traced by the hallway night light. But when I pushed myself up on one hand, I felt the shifting weight beside me, followed by a sleepy sigh. I looked down at the bed; Kira’s bundled torso rose and fell in an even pattern, as far to the edge of the bed as she could get.
I reached for my glasses and the haze of night took shape.
The doorway was empty.
Just a dream. I dropped back to the pillow, taking my glasses off, but next to their spot on the nightstand my phone buzzed against the wood. I picked it up and squinted at it. The sliver of the notification hinted at the developer’s response to my “urgent” project email, the one I’d sent before dinner. My phone screen pointedly noted, in large numbers, that it was nearly 2 AM.
I couldn’t help myself. I checked the email. Whispered a curse.
Fine. Five minutes now would save me a lot of grief at 7 AM. I didn’t turn on any lights, stumbling barefoot down the hall and pulling my long hair into a messy ponytail as I yawned.
The dim golden light trickling onto the hall floor from my office made me pause, and the quiet squeak from inside stopped me. I crept forward along the wall, avoiding the creaky board, and thought about what I could weaponize in a pinch. Drawing a shaky breath, I peered around the door jamb.
The light from my floor lamp slanted across her cheek, leaving half her face obscured. Her eyes glittered with pleasure. Her legs draped over one arm of my desk chair and she was pushing herself with one red-soled power stiletto to drift in a slow spin. “About time. I’ve been waiting.”
“For me?” It sounded idiotic, cracking like a teenage boy’s voice. “How did you get in here?”
“Silly, you brought me home with you.”
“I think I would have remembered that.” In my faded, period-stained briefs and ancient bi pride tank top, I felt like even more of a hot mess than usual. The woman in my desk chair, by comparison, looked ready to execute a corporate takeover of the world.
Her lips, a perfect French red matte, pursed as she uncoiled herself and stood up. The glow of my laptop screen outlined the dark embrace of a pencil skirt over the dangerous curve of her hips and I struggled not to stare. “I’m sad. You’ve been so devoted.” Two sure strides, and her breath was hot on my skin. “I thought we had something good going.”
There was something familiar about her. Like I’d—what? Crossed paths with her? Chatted in line with her somewhere? I looked at my laptop screen. It had definitely been closed before I went to bed. Now it was not only awake, but showing the login screen for the test site I was about to work on.
“Who—” I turned back, but she was gone again.
My phone buzzed in my hand. Another email. Generic address from my company. Just one line.
“Come put your hands on me again, lover.”
There was definitely no one in the room. I rubbed my eyes. These eighteen, twenty hour days were really starting to get to me. This project was supposed to be done three weeks ago. Even one more, and it’d be my marriage wrapping up instead.
The chair was still slowing out of its spin. I slumped into it, yawned, sighed, ran a hand over my face and shook my head to wake myself more. Just five minutes…just this one task. I logged in.
“I knew you couldn’t resist me.” Her hands slid over my bare shoulders, palms flat at the tops of my pecs. I caught a glint of long, manicured nails in the light. She pressed her palms into the tight muscle, dragged them back and pinched my knotted traps. It was the exact right spot. A tiny moan betrayed me. She laughed, low and velvet and knowing. “Don’t I always make you feel so good?”
For just a moment, I surrendered to the massage. Like a cat kneading a blanket. It did feel wonderful just to be touched. But that voice—had I heard it at a meeting? On the other end of a conference call? “But…who are you?”
Her lips brushed the very edge of my ear, slow and patient. “I’m the most important thing in your life…aren’t I?” A tiny, sharp bite on my earlobe. Those masterful lips swept down my neck, parting for the teasing skim of a tongue tip. And then a hand wrapped around my ponytail, pulling the gasp raw from my throat. “And you’re going to do everything I demand of you.”
She turned my face back to the screen, still holding my hair. Her other hand drifted down, nails running over my taut nipple. My hands shook as I put them on the keyboard and tried to focus. A feeling bubbled up from deep in memory, familiar, elusive, just out of reach. I felt myself leaning just the slightest bit into her grip. “…yes, Ma’am.”
Now that the developer had finally done his job, the task was simple. The solution was so elegant. I fell into it. Just one more thing to do. And one other thing.
She’d pulled my shirt up. She was pinching my nipples, rolling them in her fingers, biting my neck. Her hand danced down my stomach, sneaking into the waistband of my underwear. My breath was ragged, my eyes glazed in the blue glow of the screen. She slid one finger over my slickened clit. “That’s my good girl.”
And then she was in my lap, her skirt already gone, and I was ripping the buttons of her blouse, shoving the silk off her shoulders. Her mouth dipped to claim mine, demanding and sure. The blouse caught on her arms, trapping them at her sides.
“Ooooh. This is what you like best, isn’t it? Feeling like you could take on the world. Feeling so powerful, so brilliant. I give that to you. Only me.”
I pulled the silk tight in my fists, binding her arms, our skin crushed together. “I’ll tell you how this is going to go.”
Her hair spilled loose from one comb, brushing my face. Her eyes were greedy. “Look who’s the big boss now.”
“That’s right.” I was pushing the chair back from the desk. I spread my legs wide, forcing her to sink to her knees in front of me. This time it was me taking hold of her hair with one hand, destroying that expensive updo, holding her there where I wanted her.
She looked up at me, her gaze hot and questioning. The rich red lipstick was smeared now; she smiled through it. “I can give you anything you dream of.”
“Not really.” The flatness of my tone landed; I saw her wince. “But you did make me happy for a minute tonight, so you get to watch.”
I slid my hips forward and slouched back, holding her head just inches from my pussy. My free hand pushed aside the crotch of my undies. I stroked my clit, pushed one finger inside myself and then a second, fucking myself slowly, rocking the heel of my hand against my clit with every thrust. Faster and faster, my whole hand slippery with it, the scent of it thick in the air, until I arched my back and my breath caught in my throat and I jerked hard, once, twice, three times.
I never broke eye contact with her.
Leaning forward, I tipped her head up to mine and traced the outside of her lips with my glistening fingers, denying her any more than that. I brought my face down and my mouth close; her lids lowered as she offered hers. I just barely didn’t touch my lips to hers, so that she could feel my words. “I deserved that. And that’s all you’re getting from me.”
I straightened up. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. She started to speak and I cut her off. “Never call me this late again. I’ll tell you when and how I want you next.” I reached over and closed the laptop with a decisive click.
My hand was empty. She was gone.
The sheets on my side of the bed had cooled; they felt good. I studied Kira’s sleeping outline, traced in moonlight. My wife. So patient, so frustrated, so sad. So lonely.
I was too.
Closing the space between us, I lifted her quilt so that I could rest my whole body along hers. She shifted, sighed, aligning herself to me in her sleep.
For a few minutes I just watched her, running my fingertips down her arm and stroking her hair back from her neck the way she liked. Remembering tenderer times.
She stirred. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Is something wrong?” Awake now, rolling back to scan my face for bad news.
“No.” I smiled. “I just love you.”
Sudden glint in her eye. A long pause. Almost too quiet to hear. “I love you too.”
She let me kiss her. I felt the hunger in it, ran my hand over her stomach. “Do you want to…?”
Her hands were in my hair, pulling me closer. “Yes. Yes. Now? Baby, don’t you have to work early?”
I was already caressing her thigh, pulling her leg over mine. “I’m calling in sick. And tired.”
God, I’d missed her laugh.
