This site contains explicit stories of sexual & kinky fantasies and is not intended for readers under 18.

We didn’t speak.

It was something we decided early on, in emails and texts and our conversations in the café that sat in between our apartment buildings. Over time, one by one, we took away each line of communication. As our negotiations went on and our boundaries were solidified, text messages were removed, then chat, then email, then phone calls, and finally speaking to each other altogether.

The rules then became both baroque and straightforward. We had the written word. Not just any written word, but specifically note cards.

We would meet before a party and I would deliver to her a beautiful set of ornate note cards. The style changed each time. Being that it became our only means of communication, I tried to make them as special as possible.

She had twelve cards. Twelve requests. She could only write on one side of each card. So she had to decide what was important to her.

“May I please use the restroom?”

“May I please come?”

“Please fuck me.”

“Please hit me.”

Her handwriting became quite lovely. Flowery and ornate. Calligraphic flourishes. I assumed she took a class, though I wouldn’t know since we didn’t speak.

Twelve cards. That’s all she had, and in those limited communiqués, those scant options, those few fleeting requests, the first card was always- “Thank you, sir.”

If you have enjoyed any of the 150+ free stories on this site, please consider supporting the author. You can buy him a coffee through Ko-Fi or send him a tip through PayPal or the Cash App. Tips make it possible to keep this site operational and let Jack keep publishing things for free.

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *