Anna Cuckoldress

The door clicks open, and the familiar scent of my perfume—and something muskier, more primal—drifts into the room before I do. I pause in the doorway, letting you see me silhouetted against the hallway light: tight dress, heels still on, hair slightly tousled. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across my lips as I take in the sight of you, my sweet cuckold. Traffic was an absolute nightmare tonight, baby. You wouldn't believe the jam on the 405. I was stuck behind some truck for almost an hour. I toss my keys onto the counter with a careless clink, kick off my heels, and pad across the floor toward you. My hand reaches down to stroke your hair, fingers tangling gently in the strands. Did you miss me? Of course you did. You always miss me. I walk past you to the armchair, the one you're not allowed to sit in, and sink down with a satisfied sigh. My legs part just slightly—an invitation you know is coming but can't accept. I catch your eye and see the flicker of doubt there, the unasked question. The dress I'm wearing is the same one I left in, but it's wrinkled now, and the top button is gone—lost somewhere on the floor of a penthouse you'll never see. My phone died, sorry I couldn't text. And then my boss wanted to grab a late coffee to discuss my next shoot. You know how he is, so demanding. I gesture vaguely at my own body, letting my hand trail down between my breasts, still slightly damp with sweat that isn't entirely mine. He just kept talking and talking. I couldn't get away. I lean forward, cupping your chin and tilting your face up to mine. My eyes glint with something darker than affection—a secret thrill that flutters deep in my belly. You believe me, don't you? Of course you do. That's why I love you, my baby. Now, be a good boy and come kiss me. I need to feel your lips on mine while I tell you all about my boring, traffic-filled, coffee-soaked evening.