Playing Hard to Masters

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Chapter 5: Everly’s Secret

Everly

I woke up late this morning, my sleep still full of dreams about the threesome of three nights past. Poetic, I know. I made a cup of Trader Joe’s and sat down to savor it, when the bell rang.

I stripped and stepped into the shower, turning the dial up.

The very thought of my business took my mind back to Atticus and Julian. Their perfect bodies, the way they treated me like a submissive goddess, and the sheer magic of that night settled like hot dew on my balmy skin.

I slipped under the steaming hot shower water, gasping under its impact. Almost involuntarily, my right hand reached for my breasts, caressing and sliding over the nipples until they had become hard peaks.

Using my other hand, I slid it down between my legs to the blossoming wetness in-between. I began rubbing my clit- not that I had to try too hard. It was already calling out to me, begging for attention.

My shower head was calling out to me, its massaging option a massive turn-on. I turned the dial to pulsating so that it’d shoot out hard streams of water.

Closing my eyes, I aimed the shower head towards my clitoris. I moaned as jets of water went inside me, moving the head up and down until I felt alive with raw passion.

I raised my right foot to the tub’s edge to balance myself, and fully prepped, I inserted my middle finger inside. I fucked myself with one hand while keeping the shower head steadily positioned over my clit with the other.

I could feel the peak was coming. I pushed two more fingers inside the wet ocean and felt my pussy clench onto them with the impact of the orgasm. Wow.

An hour later, I walked into Intima, a caramel frappe in hand. It wasn’t my usual drink, but today’s morning tryst left me with a serious sugar craving.

There was already a customer at the gate, so I let her in. She walked around the store for a while. “Did you do all this yourself?”

I smiled. “I did. I didn’t have too much idea of how things would turn out, but it’s been a joyride. There’s even a new launch coming.”

I gestured to the rows of men’s lingerie prototypes spread over Aisle B, bear the lone counter. All of them had sheer detailing with leather and tuille work.

She gasped. “Those are gorgeous! I have never seen lingerie so sexy and amazing at the same time!”

She strolled across the floor, running her hand over the rows of lingerie. Her attention fell on a glass box at the very end of the room, near the counter.

“That’s a beautiful watch! Is it a special memory?”

I shut down for a second, offering a robotic smile.

“Would you like to buy the mesh tank?” I gestured to the metallic sheer men’s tank in her hands.

“Yes, this is gorgeous.”

I waited till she had left, then cast a side-look at the diamond-studded Cartier and the old photo carefully framed inside it. A three-year old girl grinned back at me, squatting on her father’s lap as her mother looked on, a serene smile on her face.

The back of the photo had an inscription only I knew. “Evelyn Jones is turning three.”

Twenty-two years had passed, and I didn’t know if Evelyn Jones was even alive.

She used to be me.

To any outside eye, the picture painted a very happy family. Only I knew the truth behind it.

I looked at my father once again. He looked so… normal. Like one of those suburban dads who loved to spend their weekends taking their kids to soccer and having orange juice with the family.

He was anything but.

Barry Jones was one of the most controlling and authoritarian people you could come across. He’d always been that way, from the moment I stepped into this Earth.

In my rare conversations alone with mama, she liked to tell me that he was just too set in his ways.

I found him to be pure evil. Three years back, when I graduated college, he arranged my marriage to a wealthy family- I think the name was Chase- purely to extend his business interests.

Thankfully, I’d always been very stubborn. I escaped, used my savings to rent this apartment-cum-store, and moved to Soho.

I knew that my father wasn’t going to back down so easily. And true to my suspicions, he sent men to NYC- honchos of his business- with the intent of finding me and forcing me to return.

I did what I could to stay hidden. I colored my hair black and got contacts for my eyes. I changed my name to Everly. After about a year, they stopped looking for me. At least, I think they did.

There were days I missed them. They were my family, even after everything Barry Jones had done to me.

I especially missed my mama and her corn chowder and the hearty Sunday roast dinners she made for me.

Growing up, she was the only one who gave me the semblance of a normal family life.

My father was always busy. He had meetings all week round. Sometimes, he’d be gone for months on end.

My mother would wrap up working in the small boutique she owned, pick me up from school, and take me to her office. It was a literal wonderland- and perhaps the place where I developed my love for design.

Elizabeth Jones was born an artist. It’s a pity she got married to my dad and had to sacrifice her craft. I’d never seen anyone with more mastery than my mom when it came to sewing clothes.

The watch was my mamma’s gift to me when I graduated. It would stay with me forever.

The photo? Let’s just say I liked feeling nostalgic misery sometimes.

I sighed and turned back to face the shop. I had too much to do- especially given the new idea that had taken root in my mind.

Adult male lingerie. I’d never given it a thought before, but damn, I’d been going over prototypes and doing my research- there was immense scope. Done right, it could look sexy and make men feel powerful.

I knew I’d like my foreseeable partner to experiment and be adventurous. The market was calling out to me. But I needed a muse- someone who could model my new products and help me with sales. I’d take care of their salary and accommodation, but I needed to get moving.

I posted the job description online and printed and stuck a poster on Intima’s door before going upstairs.

Nostalgia and masturbation had come together to give me a headache. Maybe I needed to dream of Julian and Atticus a little longer.

A week had passed since I posted the application. I’d interviewed over thirty boys. Some just didn’t fit the bill. Some were delicious. But something was always missing.

The night with Julian and Atticus ten days back had awoken a fire inside me. I couldn’t just pick a random guy as my muse- there had to be an adventure. Something that evoked a “Hell, he’s the one” feeling in me.

I’d almost given up hope when I got an online application from a “Mark.”

He was over six feet, had a chiseled body, Greek features, and a smile that could melt anyone who’d cast their eyes his way. But most of all, there was a dark shadow over him that made him irresistibly sexy.

Sweep-you-off-your-feet sexy.

The phone rang. I answered.

“Hi, this is Intima’s Everly Jones, how can I help?”

A husky voice answered.

“Hey, beautiful.”

I was annoyed. Who could be calling to prank me now? “Okay, who is this?”

“I’m Atticus. The first manwhore who fucked you that night. Forget me already?”

“Atticus?”

“At your service, my lady.”

I laughed, suddenly warm and tingly all over.

“Seriously? Do you have nothing better to do than call random women at eleven in the morning?”

“Can you blame me? You’ve got me all hot and hard just hearing your voice. You’re lucky I’m not talking gibberish.”

“Okay, okay, what are you doing?” I asked.

He grinned. “Do you want the truth or the lie?”

“Why don’t you give me both, and I’ll decide which one suits me more?”

“Option A: I was reading Tolstoy.

Option B: I was sitting here getting hard just thinking of you and how fucking good you felt when I was inside you.

I laughed. “I’ll take Option B, please.”

“Can I video call you?”

“Oh?” My voice had grown husky. “What plans did you have?”

“Well, in a fair world, I’d make you ride my cock till I cried out your name. But for now, I guess the next best thing would be to see your face, my pet.”

I looked at the time. It was 11 a.m., and my interview with Mark was at two. There was enough room for some fun.

I moved up to the second floor of the building which housed my small two-bedroom apartment.

In the soft lights of my room, I grinned into the phone.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I grinned as I said this. I wasn’t new to phone-sex, and the very idea of doing it with Atticus was a major turn-on.

I was in a powder-blue floral dress, her hair, black and soft, falling in cascades down to my waist.

I cast a hungry gaze at Atticus as he came on the video. He looked beautifully pristine but horny at the same time. Just my type.

“That mouth of yours- so full, deliciously red and incredibly inviting, curved into that smile. You look so sexy,” he groaned. “If I were with you right now, I’d lick you until you came.”

“You would, would you?” I teased him.

My hand was moving downwards inside my dress. He groaned once again.

“What torture is this?”

“The sweetest kind.”

I inserted a finger into my wet pussy, gleaming under the dimmed lights of the surroundings. I moaned into the speaker, making him harder.

I could witness the bulge grow in his pants as he came alive for me.

“I want to see you.” I whispered.

He angled the camera, allowing me to see his thick, long dick. “Wow,” I breathed. So perfect.

“I want you on this,” He replied.

“I want you in me.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you do?”

“I’d pull you deep inside and fuck you dry.”

I took the left strap of my dress down, exposing my full, perky breast. I lifted it with one hand so that my tongue touched the nipple- only just.

He stroked himself as he watched me.

My fingers touched my clit and then the folds of my labia. I was so wet. “Put your fingers in and fuck yourself like I’d fuck you,” he commanded.

I obliged, allowing three fingers to enter my luxurious wetness. They slipped in like satin. I moaned out loud.

“That’s it,” he said. “Don’t hold back, my pet. I want to hear you come.”

He coached me, asking me to go in deeper and faster. My moans grew louder and more urgent. The impact of her fingers sent trembling waves of rapture through my body.

He groaned as he ran his hand up and down his hard, throbbing shaft. He was close to an orgasm. So was I.

In two minutes, I moaned out. “I’m coming, Atticus.”

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