“Meet me at Plato’s after work,” I text.
“Yes, my Queen.”
You wonder why I would want to meet where the suits gather to knock a few back and possibly hook up for the evening, but you’ve had enough experience to know that I have my reasons.
It’s crowded, noisy, and loud as you walk in a bit before seven.
Making your way through the crowd, you see and smile at half a dozen people you know. You’re stopped by an old colleague, and as you’re chatting, you spot me at the bar.
I’m in a tailored suit, looking every inch the moderately-successful-nympho-cubicle-worker-on-the-prowl, and I have my feet trapped between another man’s legs.
“…you know?” Tom says.
You stammer, trying to grasp what he was saying, realizing you’ve gone completely blank.
“Yes, absolutely,” you come out with, hoping it’s the right response, your eyes still glued on me, watching me flirt.
Tom launches into the next part of his story as your phone vibrates with an incoming text. You jump and reach for it as if your pocket was on fire, startling Tom.
Seeing the text is from me, you excuse yourself from the conversation for just a moment, and read it.
“You’re late. I was bored. And horny. I’m going home with someone tonight. It may not be you. How will you win me?”
A million butterflies take flight in your gut as your cock releases a gush of precum.
And you smile.
Turning, back to Tom, you renew the conversation with a will. You join the game, a hunter stalking his prey, knowing that even in the unlikely event you lose tonight, you still win.