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FFF - Jan 4 - An Invitaion

Required Phrase:  Invitation
Word Limit:  300 words
Extra Credit:  Send me cash.  LOL  :-)


I hung up the phone with the car service. The award ceremony didn’t start until 7:00, but walking the red carpet began at five and, since I was just a lowly technical director; I was to walk before six, before most of even the networks showed up.  

My wife was out of the country on her own production. She was a rising star in the reality TV world and I was proud of her, but I liked walking the red carpet with a hostesses from the show.

I looked in the mirror and approved my look.  I buttoned up my shirt, slipped on my cufflinks, tucked in, zipped up, tied, and waited. Bored with waiting, I went down to the lobby and made small talk with Francis who manned the desk on Fridays. He knew I was up for an award and wished me luck as the car pulled up underneath the awning. Bennie, the doorman, tipped his hat and reached out his white gloved hand to open the door.

She was sitting there, her cleavage on display and her hand deep between her thighs tugging at the hem of her short dress. She made no sound, extended no invitation to enter, so I waited. Bennie stepped back discreetly.  Her fingers pushed deeper and her wrist vanished beneath the dress. Her back arched against the expensive leather seats, hiding her in the shadows. I could hear her fingers, the moisture, her breathing, and at last, her moans.

Benny chimed in, “Your wife wanted us to get you a good luck gift so we told her to send us the cash.”

Extending a glistening hand, she introduced herself, “And you got me as your rabbit’s foot till morning.”

I could feel the statuette in my hand, it was my lucky night.



 I told her to stop fidgeting with her dress.  “You look fine,” I snapped a bit, “Stop fussing."

“I don’t know how I’m going to get out of the car," she said, trying to pull the short skirt lower on her thighs. “I don’t want to flash the paparazzi when I get out."

“Did you dressed as I instructed?" She lowered her head.

“No sir." She whispered and it was difficult to hear her over the sound of the freeway under our wheels.

“What are you wearing?" She had been disobeying and I worried that my discipline had not been strict enough.

“Nothing master." She said, tears in her voice. “I wanted to be bare for you, I wanted you to touch me. I wanted to know," she sobbed, “I needed to know you still wanted me.”

“Are you wearing the piercings?"

“Yes Master," she smiled, “one Onyx barbell, one diamond, and the ruby clit ring.”

I rubbed the bones of my tired skull. My instructions were so simple. The dress, the piercings, and the tiny black spanks. Five items. One outfit.

“Show me.”

“Now?” Her look was one of genuine surprise, “but we are only minutes away from the hotel and the invitation said Don’t be late.”

“Show me.”

She leaned forward and unzipped her dress. She shrugged her shoulders and it fell into her lap, the precious stones of her piercings glimmered as streetlights reached through the windows to accentuate the fullness of her nipples. She turned and put one foot in my lap and laid back, the twin rubies winked at me.

“Five minutes till arrival sir.” The driver said

I pulled the forgotten underwear from my pocket and slipped them on her just as the door opened.

The paparazzi called her flawless and they were right.

I hope you stayed around for my second entry.  I actually liked it a bit more than the 1st, but it was an afterthought facilitated by a really long conference call at work so it got second billing.

The idea of an invitation offered or withheld is powerful.

Look at me, fuck me, love me, need me.  These are all invitations for more intimacy, love, acceptance, pleasure.  While others, a tone of voice, crossed legs, a frown, a snippy e-mail, are the anti-invitation, they close you down, shut you off, send you home.

Let's hope 2013 is full of open invitations to all sorts of naught wonderfulness!

Spread the word,

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