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This site contains explicit writings on sex, BDSM, roleplay, and various mature fantasies.

It was the bad days that made me eternally grateful for the bell. Crowded subways and spilled coffee. Meetings from the moment I walked into the office until late in the afternoon. No lunch. Some god awful presentation. Then rain the minute I left for home.

It was those days that I would come home, pull off my soaking wet suit, take a hot shower, and think of nothing but the decadence of the bell.

The bell looked very much like a doorbell. A circle of scuffed brass with some ornate patterns around it and somewhat worn letters that read “PRESS.” In the center, was an off white semi-transparent button. It was installed in the wall just to the left of the fireplace in my living room, build into the wooden molding.

It was a beautiful apartment in a grand old building on the Upper East Side, and the bell was like many in such places, once used to signal the doorman in the lobby to fetch a taxi for tenants. That service had been discontinued, and the button laid dormant when I moved in, but as time went on, I found myself looking at the ornate little bell more and more, determined to find a use for it.

The idea came to me on New Year’s Eve. I had a little get together, and someone noticed the bell and asked what it was for. I jokingly told them it was to call for more champagne. All that night, I kept an eye on the bell, and when someone pressed it, I brought them a fresh bottle of bubbly. Everyone laughed, and no one seemed to be sure if it was a joke or not.

It got my mind wondering. What would I want if I could have a pretty little doorbell in my living room that brought me something when I rang it? What desires did I need a quick delivery system for?

An image of a girl in a trench coat at my door flashed. Sweet and shy and delivered to sate my needs, whatever they might be at the moment.

The tinker in me was charmed by the idea of digging into the old walls and rewiring the thing, but alas, the changes I eventually made were far more modern and straightforward. The inner workings of the bell were replaced with a wireless device. When I pressed the button, a little bell went off in another apartment. Apartment 2B, to be exact. Two floors below my humble 4B.

The secret little bell went off in the apartment of Dr. Harold and Mrs. Regina Marshall. The Marshalls were old New York money and had a lovely classic six, three times the size of my apartment. They had me over for dinner dozens of times over the years and were generous people who enjoyed my company, and I think they pitied me and my bachelorhood a bit.

The bell that rang when I pressed my little button was in their daughter Angela’s bedroom.

I swear, sometimes, when I pressed the bell, I could feel the signal travel through the walls. Down, down, through two stories, through other apartments and other lives, into the secret little place, hidden behind her bed.

I could see her, in my mind’s eyes, lying on her stomach, legs scissoring in the air, with some book open, studying as always, my brilliant plaything. I can imagine how she jumped when she heard it and how her heart started to pound.

The protocol was simple. If she heard the bell and she was home and able, she would press the button on her end, and my little bell would turn green. Then she would arrive at my door within fifteen minutes, ready to serve.

It all started when she was twenty. That first time she whispered to me in the kitchen when her parents had me over to celebrate my making partner at the firm. I brought a bottle of Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame. Angela had eyed me as I poured her and her parents’ glasses. “Just one glass for Angela, since it’s a special occasion.”

I wasn’t that much older than her. Still, at almost thirty and a lawyer, I felt worlds away from her. Yet that was part of the allure. She was this budding, deliciously, curious woman—the daughter of the sweet older couple downstairs.

In the kitchen, a bit red-faced and tipsy, Angela told me she used to fantasize about me as a teenager. Back when she was all braces and pigtails. I groaned and told her she should say such things, but that only made her bolder. “All that tweed and passion when you argued with my father over politics. I’d hide in the kitchen and swoon.”

Her father called for her from the living room, and before she turned, she kissed me on the cheek, just touching the corner of my mouth with her lips.

“I want to write you a letter. I’ll slip it under your door. Tell me you’ll read it?” She asked, her hand on my side, fingers tightening.

“We shouldn’t,” I said, but in saying it, I knew I was a goner. There were few things more seductive than the forbidden.

Her finger slipped into the belt loop of my slacks. She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and pouted.

“Tell me you’ll read my letter if I slip it under your door,” she said, lips pursed, one finger pulling at my belt loop and the other pulling down the collar of her dress, showing a bit of cleavage. Girlish flirtation tinged with knowing seduction.

“I’ll read it,” I said, and in a flash she was out of the kitchen, laughing with her parents while I tried to tame my cock which was threatening to burst out of my pants.

Then there was nothing but letters for a while. The letters only possible at the beginning of a relationship. There was something quite Old World about writing them longhand on our stationary. My bone-white laid paper with my staid monogram and her dull pink and deckled edge. To see such filthy things written in her looping and bubbly print.

Her letters were full of passion and purple prose. The letters of an English major who was obsessed with the classics. I was overwhelmed by them. It started as some base desire, but it changed as I tried to keep up with her intellect. Law school had beaten the poet out of me, but she made me try. That was a lovely thing.

As instructed, I slipped my replies into the huge old Oxford dictionary that was in the little library in the building’s basement. It was all so dramatic and illicit.

It went on like that for two months. Letters almost every day, though we hardly saw each other. Our schedules rarely ever lined up. Still once, one single time, I got into the elevator, and she rushed in just before the door closed.

She was on the second floor, and we only had a moment. She was in a light summer dress, and her cheeks were flushed. She held a book to her chest, shyly. In a flash, I pushed her against the wall of the elevator and kissed her. One kiss, really a chaste kiss on the lips, but it was our first.

I remember how she closed her eyes and didn’t open them, even when the bell of the elevator dinged, and like boxers, we returned to our corners of the elevator. The doors opened, and she met my eyes once more before exiting. She had a look of pure desperate need that was almost shocking to see. That she was so desperate for me? I hoped she saw the same in my eyes, because my desperation screamed in every cell of my body.

The flurry of letters after was impressive. Three a day for a while. It was all we could think about. As we wrote, I thought about the bell again. I looked at it as I wrote to her. I thought if that bell could get me one thing, I would want it to be my girl.

She had heard me tell the story of the bell. I had asked her father once when I was at their place for dinner. I noticed he had theirs removed from their living room, since it no longer functioned.

“Imagine that? A little bell to call me up to your place? I could be at your beck and call,” she wrote.

Oh, how the idea filled me with fire. I told her that it would be a lovely thing. I told her I longed to get her trained like those dogs of Pavlov, to grow wet at the sound of that bell.

“A bell to call my Belle. My pet. My girl. To come when called and to be made useful for me. Is that what you want? To be my useful girl?”

The letter I got back was the word “please,” written one hundred times. She was the kind of girl who would write it that many times and I was the kind of man who would count.

From then on, she was always Belle, and we knew we had to make our little fantasy reality. Oh, how my heart swelled when she sent me plans. This electronic doorbell could be converted with this single board computer. A temptress, a tart, and a tech all in one? I took her plans and added them to my own research until we had a working model. All the while passing notes like school kids and sneaking around her parents and the nosy doormen.

I don’t how it would have worked if we went out for drinks and a movie and then took a tense cab ride home to make out and go around the bases until we ended up in bed. I can’t imagine it, not with my Belle. She could only be my secret pet.

It took a lot of willpower, once the bell was in and tested, not to press it immediately. I wanted her tense and primed and hungry. I wanted her as eager as I was. I stared at the bell that first night while sipping Scotch and went to bed at midnight, horny and anxious.

Two days later, at nine at night, after cleaning up the apartment and taking a long shower, I stood in front of the small brass circle and took a deep breath and pressed the little button. It gave a small audible click, and then I watched and waited. After less than a minute, the yellowing semi-opaque material glowed a faint green.

Then there was the waiting. Taking deep breaths, trying to keep my heart steady. I looked in the mirror. I wore my custom made black suit. It was fitted and comfortable, but also very handsome. A simple white dress shirt and no tie. My dark hair was recently cut and looked neat with a part. I was clean-shaven and clear-eyed. I heard the ding of the elevator outside my door. A moment later, my doorbell.

I continued to look at myself in the mirror and waited a beat, then another, then I walked slowly to the door.

She looked shorter than I remember in the doorway. Her eyes were wide, and her hair was wet. She had no makeup except for a little lipstick and the sharp wings of eyeliner that I had written her I loved.

I realized I caught her during her bath, and the idea thrilled me for some reason.

She didn’t meet my eye and walked in quickly, checking the hall that no one saw. Then she was there, in my apartment, in my clutches. I kept a mask of cool on as everything in me wanted to pounce. We stood just inside my apartment, her back against my closed and locked door.

She wore a shorter than knee length raincoat. It was something I requested, but I was expecting something long and conservative. Hers was short and flashy black patent leather. Along with her eye makeup and her red lipstick, she looked younger than I remembered, and it made me nervous.

Her nervousness, on the other hand, was palpable and made me immediately straighten. Only one of us could be overtly anxious, and it was going to be her. I pressed her against my door and lifted her chin.

“My Belle, just in time. How lucky I am to have you at the press of a button,” I said, my hand trailing down her cheek, down her neck, down her body until I found the belt of her raincoat. I pulled, and the knot easily gave way.

As we had written out, negotiated again and again in letters, she was naked under her coat. She seemed to be fighting her shyness, and she covered herself with her hands for a moment before pulling her arms behind her back.

She bit her bottom lip, and I could see so many conflicting feelings in her eyes.

I slipped my hand around her hip and was shocked at how hot her skin was. She audibly gasped when I touched her. She squirmed and fidgeted under my grip, and I put my other hand on her other hip, holding her still.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you? You are still ready to be my useful little Belle?” I asked with a smile.

She looked me in the eye for the first time and nodded quickly and eagerly, which brought a broader smile to my lips.

“What did you write? What did you write all those times?” I whispered into her ear.

“Please, please, please, please,” she said quickly, like a mantra into my neck.

“And if I reach down between your legs, I’ll find you wet and ready to be useful?” I asked, my hand moving from her hip to her belly and then slowly down. Her skin was slick, lotioned, and perfumed.

She seemed to choke on her answer. It was too embarrassing. Her embarrassment was like a drug to me. The red in her cheeks grew, and my cock got even harder.

“I was in the bath-” she started, but I put a finger to her lips.

“I didn’t ring the bell to talk. We speak in letters. When you are here, it’s for me to fuck you.”

Her eyes widened. My fingers went back to between her legs. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The physical intimacy was overwhelmingly intense after letters and the occasional meeting in the hall.

I remembered the narrative I had in mind for the evening. I pulled my arm away and took a few steps back. I watched her pant and pout there in front of my door. My girl, my Belle, all mine. I turned and walked across the living room to my favorite armchair. I sat down and had a sip of my Scotch and looked at her expectantly.

“Hang your coat on the coat rack, please. Then why don’t you come here to the center of the room and let me get a good look at you?

She looked mortified and didn’t move for a moment. Then fidgeting and fumbling, she went to the coat rack and just looked at it for a moment. I wanted to save her, but the embarrassment was so intensely wonderful to watch.

I was rooting for her. I wanted her to be brave and follow the fantasies she had written out. I had a backup plan, but I didn’t think I’d need it. She was a good girl. She was my good girl.

When she bit her bottom lip and slowly pulled off her coat, I felt my lips spread into a wide smile. She hung the coat up, giving me my first glimpse of her perfectly plump bottom.

There was something particularly heady about falling hard for someone’s words and the look in their eyes. To be seduced by their ideas and their fascinations. When you mixed that with coming face to face with the hotness of their physical form. It all tied together and mixed together so wonderfully. I wanted to devour her, every part of her.

It seemed to take an hour for her to walk from the little foyer in front of my door into my living room and finally to the center of the crimson and gold Indian rug in the middle of the room.

She faced me, as I sat, and put her hands behind her back, ready to be appraised.

Oh, reader. I can’t help but talk to you directly for a moment. Oh god, she was beautiful. Exquisite. Her skin glowed from the bath. Her pear shape was a bit padded by that freshman fifteen she filled out with in the last few years. Her bottom deliciously rounded, her thighs thick at the tops, leading to muscular defined calves. Her breasts, small and full, topped with large, somewhat puffed up nipples, the areolas a soft coral against her tan skin. Slight triangles of tan lines that make me swoon as if they highlighted those bits of her that were hidden to the world but now shown to me.

My body was completely charged as I looked her over. My cock hard, my blood racing, my heart pounding. I wanted her, completely. Still, I swallowed it down. I tried to appear calm. I stood up slowly and took a deep breath and walked towards her.

Nervousness radiated from her, just like the sheen on her pink skin from her bath. She stood in the middle of my living room rug with her arms folded over her breasts, and her nudity seemed obscene.

She laughed suddenly and covered her mouth. I saw her eyes were wide and gleaming. The nervous laughter bubbled over her fingers like champagne poured too fast.

Her eyes met mine as she squirmed, trying to cover her mouth and her tits and her cunt and failing at all of it.

I walked closer, and I was obsessed with her skin, all of her pink skin, still hot from the bath. All those days and months and years, I had never even seen her in less than a knee-length dress, and there she was, naked for me.

There were moments when I seemed to step outside myself and examine my own feelings. The wonderful tension of wanting to touch her, to throw her over my shoulder, and bring her to my bed, but that urge was tempered by the delight of waiting and teasing it out, watching her grow hungrier and more wanton.

I wanted to break her nervousness with lust. I wanted her to become too aroused to even think of covering herself. I wanted her wet and rutting like an animal in heat. So instead of taking her, I paced around her, taking every inch of her in, memorizing every bit of her.

“Put your hands down,” I said very calmly, almost softly. She slowly let her arms fall to her sides.

“What to do with a pretty girl who offers you anything?” I whispered into her ear, standing behind her.

I slipped my hand around her side, and she gasped a little when our skin touched.

“How to use such a bright mind and such a decadent body?” I asked into her neck, and I pressed against her, feeling the warmth of her body through my suit.

I closed my eyes and thought about what I wanted, what I really wanted right then and there. I pressed my bell, and my girl came running. She stripped for me and was bathed and ready. What to do with such a prize? I took a deep breath and tried to organize my desires. I made a to-do list of my wants.

“I think I’ll have you entertain me. I think I would like to sit in my comfortable chair and sip my Scotch and have you sit on the floor in front of me on a nest of pillows and put on a show for me. Yes, that sounds like a good start. Let’s do that,” I said, giving her one small kiss on the shoulder and then walking quickly to my bedroom and coming back with a few pillows.

I put them on the floor while she watched a bit confused. Four bed pillows and a few pillows from the couch, as well as a towel for her to sit on. Perfect. I sat back in my chair and got comfortable and then looked at her expectantly. Next to my chair was an end table with a long box. I opened it, but only revealed a silk scarf covering the contents.

“On the floor, legs spread like a good girl. Don’t dawdle. I want a nice little show. What a pretty girl does when she’s all alone. What does she do when she’s reading dirty letters all day and waiting for that bell to ring? You’re going to show me,” I explained with a smile.

She swallowed and bit her lip again and then slowly made her way to the next of pillows I had built for her. As she did, I leaned over to my left and pulled the standing lamp next to my chair closer to me. I turned it and tilted the shade, so the naked light shined down on her.

As she knelt down on the towel, I reached into my jacket pocket and took out a slip of pink paper.

“Last night, as I laid in bed, my fingers slipped under the sheets again, and I imagined I was in front of you. I imagined you making me show you how I did it. I imagined your eyes focused between my legs, and everything went so quickly. The vulnerability of it made me wet. The embarrassment too. How even with my boyfriend and then with my girlfriend, lovemaking was a quick thing. I always seemed to be hiding, or we were in the dark. As I came, I imagined my body spread out and exposed to you the way it had never been to another person,” I read aloud as she sat down, facing me, and stared up at me in stunned silence.

I folded up her letter and put it back in my pocket.

“See, that’s why you are such a good pet. You don’t merely ‘do whatever I want,’ that’s such a pedestrian fantasy. You come with a whole library of ideas and fantasies to take advantage of, as well as a list of fetishes and fears and secrets and inhibitions. So much to play with. So many colors in this palate we are painting with, aren’t there?” I asked, and she simply stared.

I sat back and took another sip of my drink.

“Well, let’s have it then. Spread those pretty legs, and let’s see it. In the naked light, with nothing to hide from and no clock ticking. I want to see how the spoiled daughter of my rich neighbors fingers herself at night.”

She winced, just the tiniest amount, and I could just make out her mumble, “I’m not spoiled,” and I don’t know why but it filled me with glee.

“You will be, Belle. By the end of the night. I promise.”

She smiled. She smiled, and it was like a whole audience at Carnegie Hall clapping for me.

“Now, no more banter. Let’s see that little cunt of yours.”

And there it was, the change in her eyes. The shy girl was still there, but she was lying back against my pillows and spreading her legs for me with no more hesitation. And there it was, the focus of our attention, the core of everything, her pussy.

Her thick thighs spread for me, and her eyes looked drugged as she exposed herself completely. My mouth watered, and my blood boiled.

There was a thickness to her. She had a chubby mound, with a neat slit down the middle. Her hair was trimmed, short, and neat. As her legs spread wider, the lips of her sex opened, and a coral, like her nipples, appeared then a deeper pink. I felt myself groan with need.

“Now, tell me what you do, why you do it the way you do,” I said softly.

She closed her eyes.

“I-” she started, her voice was a little hoarse, it cracked. She took a deep breath. “I tease myself. I can’t usually come from just my fingers, but I tease myself for a long time. I think about being watched. I think about being told what to do. I think about that, and I just touch around my thighs,” she said, as her hands mimicked her words. She touched her legs and inner thighs and then up to her belly, then she went around again.

I reached over to the box on the table next to me and pulled off the silk scarf. I took out the long black battery-powered vibrator and examined it.

“Continue, then maybe I’ll have you show me what you do next.”

Her eyes were on mine. Her fingers continued to circle and tease. It was hard to break her gaze, but I wanted to see. I wanted to watch the show she was putting on for me. I wanted to record every detail in my mind as she spread herself wider and her wet fingers got closer to her clit.

I smiled and laughed to myself for a moment. Watching her fingers hover over her own little bell, her own little button. The symmetry was satisfying.

She was squirming more, one of her hands squeezed her own inner thigh desperately. I stood up, looking down at her, and she raised her hips up, as if to give me a better look.

“I think I’d like to see you play with this toy. I think I’d like to see you get very close to coming and then stopping. Could you do that for me?”

She nodded quickly, biting her bottom lip. Her hands were still between her legs, and it made her arms push her tits together perfectly. I liked her in that position. She looked thick and decadent, like a little cake.

I leaned down and handed her the vibrator. I knelt there beside her. The plan was to sit back down and watch, but once I was near her that seemed ridiculous. I put my hand on her knee and was once again surprised at the temperature of her skin.

“Now show me how close you can get,” I said, giving her knee a little squeeze.

Her skin was like a magnet to my hand. I couldn’t let go of her knee. As she turned on the big toy and eyed me as she moved it slowly between her legs, I pulled on her knee possessively, making her spread her legs a little move for me.

She went wherever I pushed her. She did whatever I wanted. As she guided the bulbous head of the vibrator to her clit, I felt a rush of power and exhilaration. What a toy to have. What a luxury.

I felt her body tense as the buzzing came in contact with her skin and listened as her breath caught. I squeezed her knee as her breath turned into little moans.

“Not too fast,” I reminded her.

She swallowed and nodded, but the tide was already pulling her out. I watched as her ass raised up from the floor, her hips thrusting up into the air, needing something more. My hand moved down to her inner thigh, and I pinched a little, just hard enough to make her wince.

She glared at me, and I smiled. I slapped her inner thigh in the same spot, and her eyes seemed to glaze over. She mumbled something I didn’t hear, then repeated in a whisper “so close.”

I moved to kneel next to her and finally got my hands on her tits. They were smallish and pert and firm. I closed my hands on them roughly. My fingers made white and then red trails on her skin that vanished after a moment.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice raised an octave, and I saw how things had quickened for her with more physical contact.

“Please!” She repeated, and I pulled the toy away.

I stood and put the toy back on the table and then looked down at the wet writhing girl on the floor, blushing and whimpering. That’s what I wanted. I wanted her in an animal state, just on the edge.

My hand went to my belt, and her eyes shot up and watched my fingers. I had to laugh. She scowled up at me as I chuckled. She pouted, and I was in love with the girl I had drawn out the bratty needy thing.

“Is this what you want?” I asked, reaching down and tightening my fingers around my hard cock, evident through my slacks. She swallowed again and nodded, bottom lip stuck out, and eyes glassy and huge.

I slipped my belt through its loops in one motion, and her eyes were glued to the leather. I coiled the belt and put it down next to her. I slipped off my shoes.

“Now, let’s see if you can get even closer,” I said, handing her the vibrator. She swallowed, still wide-eyed, and slipped the device between her legs as she watched me undress.

I unbuttoned my slacks and pulled them off. I shrugged off my jacket and started to unbutton my shirt. The buzzing continued as she writhed and bit her bottom lip, her eyes on me the whole time, an inversion of me watching her naked form.

Socks and undershirt off, and I stood in my boxers, looking down at her. Her eyes were unfocused, her legs spread wide, all of the shyness gone, replaced by wantonness. I circled her and finally knelt behind her, slipping around her, my legs spread to her sides and my arms around her waist.

My lips met her neck, and she sat up straighter. She pressed her back against me. She was climbing, tightening, starting to shake. I wrapped my arms around her, my hands finding her breasts. The contact was overwhelming. I could feel her heartbeat racing. Her breath hitching. The moans bleeding out between breaths.

“Can I-” she whispered.

“Get to the very edge for me,” I said into her ear, kissing her neck, then dragging my teeth across the tender skin.

“Please-” she begged, her voice rising an octave.

“Not yet.”

Her breath was faster, almost hyperventilating, and then there was the startling sound of the vibrator on the hardwood floor as her legs clamped closed, and her body shook and contorted.

She made little whining sounds that made me hard and mean. I pulled her back against me.

“What a good girl you are for me. Look how entertaining you are with all your whines and noises. Pink skinned and blushing for me. My naked little toy,” I laughed, taking her wrists in my hands.

For a moment, she struggled, and I growled into her ear. I pulled her hands behind her back and bit down on the space between her neck and shoulder. I bit hard, relishing the feel of her skin.

The pain seemed to hypnotize her. She grew quiet and limp in my arms, like a doll. I moved her around like that, pushing her down and around and over my lap, her ass facing me.

For a few moments, I just savored her skin. I moved my hands around her body, groping her like a teenage boy. Her tits and ass and wet pussy. Reveling in the control over her body.

She said nothing, only moved where I guided her, and opened her legs for me when I wanted access. When I slapped her big ass, she pushed it out towards my hand. She rutted against me, humping my knee, whining for more.

I spanked her a few times, just to feel the jiggle of her ass and to see the red marks my hand left. To have her in my grip and to mark her as mine.

When I couldn’t hold my desire back any longer, I pushed her down on the towels and pillows and put her on her back, legs spread for me, and knelt there between her thighs, looking down at her.

“Mine. My girl. My little Belle,” I said, smiling down at her, my hands on her thighs, squeezing until she winced and looked up at me wide-eyed and hungry.

I slipped back and leaned down and buried my face between her legs. The feeling of power flooded my veins. The bell I pressed to summon her to my apartment. To have her strip for me and spread her legs for me and entertained me and then let me bury my face between her legs and just enjoy her pussy.

Fuck, and I did enjoy it—soaking wet and swollen and sensitive. I explored every bit of her and slipped my tongue inside of her heat and smiled against her pink pussy, and she squirmed under my hands and my tongue.

I felt drunk on her pussy. The smell of it everywhere, on my face, all around me. As I focused on her hard clit, her thighs slowly closed around my head, and her body stiffened as it did before. I moved my arm down and slipped a finger into her. The heat and the tightness were incredible, and knowing soon, my cock would slip into that perfect spot made my body primed.

Her hands were in my hair, pulling and holding on to me. Her moans building and her ass rising up, letting me know how close she was, and then, I broke her little spell, I rose up, wet faced and smiling, and watched her writhe again in unfulfilled need below me.

“Now, since you’ve been such a good little toy, I’m going to give you a chance to finally come. I’m going to slip my cock inside of you and use you properly now. You can use your fingers or that toy, but you can only come while my cock is inside of you. Do you understand?”

She looked up at me with those wide eyes and nodded fast. Her legs spread, and she settled down, ready for me.

“It would be very nice to have a little toy like you come on my cock,” I said, stroking my hardness and rubbing the head of it against her wet thigh. I wet the head of my cock against her, tracing each of her lips, moving it up to her clit and rubbing my cock against her clit and she pushed up trying to get more of me.

I met her eyes, and there was such need in her gaze. It was delicious.

“Squeeze your breasts for me, little pet,” I said in almost a whisper, and she did it instantly.

“Can you beg for my cock?”

Her eyes bulged a little. Remarkably, even though she was naked and red and squeezing her pert breasts, holding her out to me, she demurred. I watched as the need fought with the embarrassment.

“Please, can you fuck me? I’m so wet for you. I need it so badly. It-it will feel really good for you, I promise. I’m hot and-um, wet, and tight. I’ve been touching myself every night thinking about your cock, waiting for you to fill me up. Please-” she said, and the word was broken by a sound somewhere between a moan and a scream as I thrust my cock into her and pushed myself until our bodies met.

In teasing her, I had teased myself, and as I pulled back, I had to find my control. I fucked her, and the feeling of her tight wetness nearly made me blackout.

Then the tide-like pull of the physical rhythm. Fucking, in and out, as I help her down like a rag doll, using her body, using her cunt.

She slipped an arm between us, and I felt her frantic rubbing. She matched my rhythm, rubbing as I fucked her. She whispered, like a mantra, “come on your cock, come on your cock,” and that pushed me to a new level of need.

We both sped up, and when her breathing became frantic, her moans desperate, my body followed hers. When she looked up at me suddenly and the word please was silently on her lips, I told her to come for me.

I fucked her through it. She tightened around me, and her arms wrapped around me, and it all pushed me over the edge.

I came inside of her. I felt myself growl and furiously fuck her as I came and came for what seemed like forever.

Then we were both on the floor, panting, a tangle of limbs.

Time seemed to swell and then ebb. Did we sleep for a moment? All I knew was the smell of her and the warmth of her body and then her lips on mine.

We’d done it—a fantasy completed for the first time. My mind was already at work on the next as we kissed and smiled against each other.

Suddenly, she took my hand. Her hand tightened on mine. There was a beat where we looked at each other with new eyes.

“Don’t make me go,” she whispered. Her voice was small.

“I know that’s the same. You call me with the bell and use me and then send me off, but, this first time-” her eyes were shimmering with tears.

“Next time you can be mean, you can kick me out after you use me, but this time, I just-” she started, but what she needed was obvious.

I pulled the pillows so I could lay next to her. I took her cheek in my hand and smiled. She smiled back, radiantly. Then we kissed. Like every other kiss we shared, this one was completely different. This was a sweet and tender kiss. We closed our eyes and fell into a deep kiss, free of expectations and hurry and doubt.

I twisted her around so that she was the little spoon, and I pulled a towel around us.

“That’s the toy I need right now. A good pet to have with me for a while. To keep me warm in my bed until I’m done with her.”

She squirmed in my arms, trying to get closer and pulled my arms around her.

“I can do that,” she said in a sleepy whisper.

After a moment, we left the wet towels and the hard floor and slipped into my bed. We kissed and held each other until the connection of our bodies made us have to fuck again. It was slow and languid and perfect. Then we slipped into sleep.

I think about all of that when I look at my bell. I think of all that I can have by ringing it. It makes even the rainiest, most miserable day bearable.

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