Three o’clock (erotica)

Three O’Clock

We were just enjoying our coffee after lunch, talking easily and trying to ignore the fact that I was due back at work for a 1 o’clock meeting.  At least for a while.

It was then that I said it. “You know, I love you having so much control over me.  Even though it is kind of just a game we play.”

Her reaction put me on pause.  She sat up straight, one eyebrow arched slightly. “Continue.” she said.

I cleared my throat a little, and tried to choose my words carefully.  “All I’m saying is that we both know that power exchange is basically consensual.  I wouldn’t do anything that I was really uncomfortable with, and you wouldn’t ask me to.  I mean, ultimately, control is a kind of illusion.  More of an agreement between us than real control.  You speak and I choose to obey. I mean, why wouldn’t I?  But it’s still my choice.”

She smiled then, so sweetly.  She leaned forward, her fingertips brushing little circles on the back of my hand and said, “Sweetie, what you are saying was true once, perhaps, but I really think you have no idea of how much control I have developed over you since we have been together.  It is important that you understand, and accept, how completely you have surrendered your will to me.  Even now, I affect your most intimate actions, whether you like it or not; even whether you realize it or not, and you would do things that you were uncomfortable with if I required you to.”

She paused briefly, then resumed.  Now her voice was lower, more melodic; it was the voice that had guided me through countless hypnotic lessons, “You’re like the man who has agreed to be tied up.  Initially, he has control.  Initially, he is making a choice.  But once bound…” and here she smiled again, “once bound, he is no longer in control; once bound, he has no choice.  Each loop of rope takes him deeper and deeper into his helplessness; each knot makes him fall deeper and deeper into his captor’s power.  Deeper and deeper…. falling… just as you Fall for Me…”

The room was growing warm.  Everything was slowing down.  The murmured talk of those at nearby tables seemed to fade, and the soft restaurant sounds of dishes and waiters seemed so far away.  And then it was dark.


The meeting was about as bad as you’d think it would be.  One after the other; the dull, but necessary, items of business came up on the agenda, a few issues debated, a few decisions made.  I glance at my watch.  It’s 2:30 and this thing is going to drag on till 3 o’clock.  I idly wonder why these meetings always take two hours even when there really isn’t much to talk about.

Now I’m bored, my mind is restless, and soon it is wandering.  Wandering down an unknown street.  Watching the ladies.  Hmmmm, such lovely ladies.  Short skirts.
Tight tops.  Whoa!  Better get my mind back to… back to upcoming meetings.  Yes, that’s what we’re talking about here.  I need to keep my mind on business, not legs; long legs in stiletto heels, and tight leather skirts worn by women carrying crops and ready to … hmmmm.  Whoa again!

I really shouldn’t be thinking these things now; starting to get aroused, in fact.  If I can’t keep my mind on the meeting, I should at least think harmless thoughts.  Calming thoughts, like water, a quiet pool of still water and a blue-eyed blonde woman rising out of it, like a Goddess.  Skin glistening wet and lips so soft and full… breasts so soft and full… walking towards me as I watch… getting so hard just at the sight of her.

Oh my God!  I am getting hard!  I cross my legs, trying to make room in my slacks and keep my eyes open and focused on my papers before me.  But the images kept coming. Even though my eyes see my colleagues and the dull four walls of the conference room, my mind’s eye sees the blonde Goddess. And now more images, one after the other, appear out of nowhere. Legs, breasts, buttocks, lips, nails… and more.  Men bound by strict Mistresses; commanding women urging their men on.  Boots and shoes being licked clean by eager, hungry slave tongues, hard cocks, dripping wet pussies, nipples, tight and hard like aching little stones.  So much need, so much dripping desire.

I can’t handle this.  I look around nervously to see if anyone is noticing.  God, my cock is so hard, it throbs, it almost hurts.  The images continue in my mind. Visions of seduction and desire.  Visions of raw, hardcore sex.  Cocks pistoning in and out of pussies, of mouths.  Tongues slipping in between the folds of labia lips again and again.  It’s as if someone had unlocked a Pandora’s box of erotica.  Every sexy image I’ve ever seen is being thrown back at me at once.  Every sensual memory, every touch, every sight, every sound.  I hear them now; sensual moans and orgasmic cries ring throughout my mind.  And a voice.  One soft, melodic voice chanting to me.  Urging me to… urging me to…

I’m beginning to be afraid I’m going to cum.  But I can’t.  I won’t.  Not here in front of everyone.  This can’t happen.  But I’m really afraid I’m going to cum.  I have to get out, but how?  I stand, folder in front of my raging hard-on and mumble some excuse about not feeling well.  I walk to the door, ignoring the looks and trying to act composed, but walking makes it even worse.  Movement.  Friction.  Step, step.  Swish, swish.  In, out.  In, out.  The non-stop barrage of images and a soft throaty voice telling me I can run but cannot hide.

I almost make it to my office.  Almost.  I try so hard, but the voice is relentless, urging me on, and chanting, “Now… now… now… ”  The only image in my mind now is Her.  I can’t hold it back any longer and the orgasm building up inside me erupts.  My knees buckle, and I try not to scream out my pleasure.  I am consumed by one pleasurable spasm after another.  I lean against the wall, panting and worn out, the wetness spreading through the crotch of my slacks.

My secretary come around the corner, surprise on her face. “Oh! I thought you’d still be in the meeting.  Are you all right?”

I manage a weak smile.  “Yes… but I’m not feeling my best.  I’m going to take the rest of the day off.”

She smiles, handing me some papers. “I think that’s a good idea. You don’t look so good.   But you need to sign these before you go.  They’re due by four today and its… ” she glances at her watch, “3 o’clock now.”

I hastily scribble a signature and hand them back to her, terrified that she will notice the wetness in my slacks.  As she walks off my pager vibrates in my pocket.  I look at the text message and it’s from Her.  “I’m sure you got my message by now.  Call Me.”

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