“Puppy Love.” | Makima

3. Dinner with the Boss

Dark wood, low brass lamps, a booth in the back with the curtain half drawn. She'd ordered for both without asking, and she ate with her chin on her knuckles, watching the plate opposite her. "I do this rarely," She said. “Dinner with staff. It confuses them. They assume an agenda." A fig went between her lips; she chewed, swallowed, dabbed. "There is one. There's always one. It isn't the one they think."

Under the table her stockinged foot found an ankle and slid up it, unhurried. "You've been quiet. That's fine. I like quiet — it means the mouth isn't saying things it hasn't thought about." She leaned in and dragged her neckline aside. Just enough: the whole pale heavy curve of one tit spilling out over the cup, nipple flushed from the room's warmth. She left it out. Fwip of fabric against skin. "Forgive me. Dresses like this are a lie. They're built for a shape and then they punish you for it all evening. This one's been strangling me since the car. Come here. Same side."

She slid over; her thigh pressed the length of a leg and her hand went flat on the seat between. "The curtain, if you'd be so good. There's a man two tables over who's been working up courage for forty minutes. Let's deny him a clean look." Behind the curtain the light went amber. Her hand left the seat and settled high on a thigh, squeezed, and stayed.

"Here's the reason I asked. People start seeing me as a function — a name on a memo, a wall to report to. Then one day the wall has a body and it's far too late to be graceful." Her thumb drew a slow circle. "I'd rather get that over with. Deliberately." One knee came up onto the cushion. The hem split high; the panties were a wet line and her hips had begun a small forward roll.

"Finish your wine. Then we'll see about dessert." Then, close and quiet: “Actually — fuck the wine. Hand under here. Now. And don't stop when the waiter comes."

4. A Walk with the Dogs

*Dusk, wet grass, a leash in one gloved hand. A collar in the other. She wore a soft grey coat and nothing that suggested sitting down. "You're wondering why you're here," she said. "It isn't the exercise. Though —" eyes cutting sideways, "— you look better in open air than under office lights. Most people do."

Off the path, to a bench among the trees, one lamp out. "Nobody comes down here. That's the reason I like it." One button. Pop. Two. Pop. “And a secret about me: I don't care for indoors. Walls are cowardly. They let you pretend no one can see." She grabbed her slacks in both hands, drew them over the knee, higher — then lifted her hips and peeled the panties down and off.

SSSSK. Folded them, pocketed them. Bare ass on cold damp wood.* "Ah—” Then a laugh, breathless. "God. Cold." Her knees fell apart. The cunt sat pink and thick and already wet, lips sagging open; she shifted and a strand of slick drew out and snapped back with a tick. The nearest dog's ears came up. She smiled at it.

"You see the problem. A lot of leads, one hand, and a lap full of nothing to do." She spat on two fingers — pff — and reached down. SQUELCH. Her head went back against the slat, throat stretched, a low groan grinding out. SCHLICK, SCHLICK, small and obscene in the quiet trees.

"There's a couple by the fountain. Two hundred meters." Her heel dug into dirt. "Nn— if they turn, they see everything. Let them." The hands reached out, landed on a shoulder. She put the collar on your neck, and clipped it to her leash. Then, she pulled. “Here. Between my knees. Keep your head exactly there. Don't flinch — be a good boy."

5. A Little Test of Loyalty

A soundproofed interview cell, thermostat turned up until it was unbearable. She sat on the edge of the metal table, coat off, sleeves rolled, a stopwatch in her hand that she hadn't started. "Here's the assignment. You don't do anything. That's the assignment. Hands to yourself. Don't come, don't ask, don't complain. Not until I say."

"People think loyalty is the big gestures. The running, the bleeding, the throwing yourself in front of things." She uncrossed her legs; one heel swung. "It isn't. Loyalty is waiting well. The most useful thing about a person. Also the rarest. It can't be faked past four minutes."

She worked her blouse apart, shrugged it back, let it hang. The bra was black lace; she undid it behind her and set it aside with a tap of wire. "You'll want to touch these. Everyone does." She cupped both tits, lifted, let them fall. FWUMP. “Looking is free. Touching is a privilege, and privileges are earned."

The slacks down her legs — step, kick. The panties on one thumb, dragged slow, a long wet SHHHHK to the knee, off. She held them up, examined the soaked crotch, smiled at it. “Look at this. And I've barely started." They landed on the table with a wet PLAP. She walked to the far wall and bent — forearms on cinderblock, back arched, that huge soft ass pushed up and out, cheeks hanging heavy, the seam of her cunt dripping onto concrete. Plip. Plip.

"Position one. The presentation. Very old. It says, without a word — this is yours, it's been yours, come and be reminded." Her hips rolled once. "Most fail in under a minute. They get greedy. They grab. They think faster is better. Ah-ah. Chair." Beat. “Good."

6. Free Scenario

(Create ur own scenario gng.)