Come and go…for dinner (Part 1)

[Da****]

Thank you all for the love from my two previous short stories. Here is a new one. This time from a fem perspective. Enjoy my heathens. I love reading the comments. It makes my day.

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The ice in Leo’s glass clinked, a bright, sharp sound against the low murmur of the dining room. He didn’t look up from the pork loin he was slicing. “More wine, love?”

“Please,” I said, my voice steady.

He poured, the dark liquid hitting the bottom of my glass with a practiced, unhurried grace. Two rooms away, in the study, a man named Carter was grunting. It was a wet, rhythmic sound, punctuated by the creak of the heavy oak desk.

Leo slid the plate of sliced pork toward me. “He’s getting close. You can tell by the breathing.”

I could. Carter’s breaths were turning into short, sharp gasps. A moment later, a different sound, a slick, rhythmic sucking, like a fist pumping in a wet glove. Then a low, guttural groan that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.

Leo smiled, a private thing meant just for me. He speared a piece of meat with his fork. “That’s one. Four more to go.”

I took a bite. The pork was perfect, tender and salty. The green beans were crisp. My husband was an excellent cook.

This was our Tuesday. Our quiet, domestic Tuesday. While I ate, a man one rooms over was finishing on our sub’s tits. He’d used her mouth first, then her hands, then her armpits, anything but her cunt. That was the only rule, the one I had set. Her pussy was a shrine, and only Leo and I were permitted to kneel at the altar.

The study door opened. Carter appeared in the hallway, tucking his shirt back into his trousers. He was a large man, built like a former athlete, with a kind, unremarkable face. He gave us a sheepish nod as he passed. “Thanks, Leo. Ma’am. She’s… she’s something else.”

“She is,” Leo agreed without looking up. “Would you like a plate before you go? There’s plenty.”

“No, thank you. The wife’s expecting me.” He paused at the front door. “Same time next week?”

“I’ll text you,” Leo said.

The door clicked shut. Leo and I ate in silence for a moment. The house was quiet again, save for the faint, ragged sound of breath from the study. Our sub, Chloe, was catching her breath. She would be a mess now, sweat-slicked, her makeup ruined, Carter’s release cooling on her skin.

“She’s earned a break,” I said.

“Almost.” Leo wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “Let’s let her stew in it a minute. It’s good for her.”

He was right. Chloe’s favorite part wasn’t the act itself. It was the waiting. The anticipation, the dread, the full-body awareness of being a vessel for others’ pleasure. She craved the surrender. The simplicity of it.

We finished our meal. I stacked the plates while Leo poured the last of the wine into two fresh glasses. On my way to the kitchen, I passed the study. The door was ajar. I didn’t look in. I didn’t need to. I could picture her perfectly: kneeling on the rug, her long black hair covering her face, her body already slick with the evidence of Carter’s use. She would be trembling, but not from cold.

When I returned with the wine, Leo was standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He was watching the study door, a faint, indulgent smile on his lips. Like a man watching a sleeping cat.

“Ready for the next round?” I asked, handing him his glass.

He took a sip. “In a minute. I’m enjoying the view.” He was looking at me. “You’re beautiful tonight.”

“I’m wearing sweatpants.”

“It’s not the sweatpants,” he said. His eyes were dark, warm. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb brushed my collarbone, a casual touch that sent a low, electric hum through my body. “It’s that look you get. The one you get when you know what’s happening in the other room.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re the sun,” he said, “and everyone is just orbiting.”

He kissed me then, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of wine and my own possessiveness. His hand found the back of my neck, holding me there, not hard, but with unquestionable authority. He pulled back just as I was starting to lose myself.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “The night is young. And our little pet has so much more to give.”

He tapped on the study door with his knuckle. A polite knock.

“Clean yourself up, Chloe,” he called out, his voice calm but carrying. “You have three more guests tonight.”

A faint, raw sob was the only reply.

Leo looked at me, his eyes crinkling with amusement. He tilted his head toward the study. “Shall we watch the next one together?”

My heart hammered against my ribs. I nodded.

He held the door open for me. Chloe was still on the floor, but she had moved. She was kneeling now, her back straight, her hands resting on her thighs. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes wide and glassy. The evidence of Carter’s visit had been wiped away, but the memory of it was ***ted in the trembling of her thighs and the frantic pulse in her throat.

A new man was already in the room. One of Leo’s colleagues from the firm. I recognized him, Doug. He was nervous, his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He looked from Chloe to Leo, his expression a mix of hunger and uncertainty.

“Doug,” Leo said, walking to the wet bar in the corner. He poured himself a whiskey. “Glad you could make it. She’s all yours.” He gestured with his glass toward Chloe. “Her mouth is nice, but you’ll want to use your belt on her back. She responds well to that.”

Doug’s mouth went dry. He swallowed. “And…?”

“No,” Leo said, his voice flat. “That part of her is not on the menu. Consider it a house rule. Everything else is fair game.”

Doug’s gaze flickered to me. I was standing by the door, my arms crossed, watching. His eyes traveled down my body, a slow, appreciative crawl. I was in old, baggy sweatpants, my hair in a messy bun, and still, I saw the hunger in his face. The same hunger I saw in every man Leo brought home.

Leo saw it, too. He set his glass down with a decisive thud. “Eyes on the prize, Doug. That one,” he pointed at me, his voice dropping an octave, “is not part of the arrangement. She is mine.”

Doug flinched, his eyes snapping back to Chloe. “Right. Sorry.”

Leo smiled, all charm again. “Don’t be. Now, get started. I want to see you use her.”

Doug unknotted his tie, his breathing already harsh. He advanced on Chloe like a man in a trance. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She just lifted her chin, offering her throat. A perfect, silent surrender.

Leo came to stand beside me. He didn’t touch me. He just leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Watch,” he whispered. “Watch how much she loves it.”

And I did. I watched as Doug fumbled with his belt. I watched as Chloe’s back arched, a gasp tearing from her lips at the first, sharp snap of leather. I watched as Doug’s desire, his guilt, his awe—all of it—poured out of him and onto her.

Then Leo’s hand found mine. His fingers laced through mine and squeezed. It was a warm, grounding pressure. A reminder.

“You’re next,” he said, his voice a low promise. “After they’ve all used her. When she’s a puddle on the floor, and the house is quiet. Then I’m going to take you into our bedroom, and I’m going to remind you who you belong to.”