The Playboy's Proposition Read Online Free PDF Page B

and
worrying over everything. This is supposed to be fun. Sexy and fun. Promise me
if you start analyzing, you’ll stop yourself, because I’ve asked you to ... and
because it will please me. Say you’ll please me and obey me. Say it properly.”
    I said, “I promise I’ll please and obey you, Master.”
    He said, “Good,” then reached a hand behind my neck and
pulled me in for a deep, long kiss. I was half breathless by the time he
released me.
    We said our goodbyes, and too soon I closed the door behind
him. I leaned back against the door and stared at the little vibrator in my
hand. I had homework. I smiled at the thought. Best homework I’d ever gotten,
assuming the intrusion of a third person in my fantasies didn’t blow the whole
thing.
    And I had been ordered to stop worrying, over-thinking. That
thought made me smile even more. It was like being given permission to be
reckless and wild. Not that I needed a man’s permission to be reckless and wild
but ... oh no, I was over-thinking again. And I had promised not to do it. Stop
it, I chastised myself.
    In a few moments, I had stopped. Good for me. Excellent.
    And then I realized I was starving. Hungry at last. I headed
off to the kitchen.
     
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
     
    The night of my next date with Michael, I arrived home from
work to find a package waiting for me at the security desk. I rushed to my
apartment and opened the card that had been taped to the wrapping. It read:
“Wear this tonight. Put your hair up. And don’t forget the rules. 
--Michael”
    I laid the package on my dining table and sat down. I looked
at the present for a few moments. How long had it been since a man had given me
a gift? I couldn’t recall, exactly. Three, four years at least.
    Then it came to me. The last gift from my ex-husband. It had
been Christmas and he had given me a small ham, which I discovered had come
from his buddy who had received it at work as a bonus. The buddy didn’t like
ham, so he gave it to my ex, who kindly gave it to me to cook for him for
Christmas dinner. I couldn’t choke down a bite of it.
    They say it’s the thought that counts, and that gift, like
many before it, was no thought at all. After that, I told my ex not to bother
with presents for me, since money was tight and I didn’t actually need
anything, or that was the excuse I gave him. Better no gift, I had thought,
than a second-hand ham. Really? A ham?
    It occurred to me that perhaps that was why I had been so
difficult with Michael when he wanted to buy me things at the adult book store.
I pushed the thought aside. I promised Michael I wouldn’t over-think things,
and I intended to keep the promise.
    I had kept my other promise to Michael, having masturbated
according to his wishes. The tiny vibrator was surprisingly powerful and
pleasurable. Hard to believe such a little thing could pack such a wallop.
    Whenever it was time to insert a watcher into my fantasy, I
tried to side-step the rules and instead of choosing some stranger to witness
Michael and I, I chose a clone of Michael to watch us. Okay, maybe that wasn’t
exactly in the full spirit of what Michael wanted of me, but he never said that
he couldn’t be in my fantasies twice.
    Using Michael worked the first time. Then the second time,
something interesting happened. I imagined Michael sitting in a chair watching
Michael and me writhing around on a bed. I was close to coming and I looked
over at the chair, but Michael wasn’t sitting there anymore. He had changed. He
was older, and more muscular. His dark hair was shorter and brushed away from
his face. And his eyes weren’t blue. They were dark, and intense. Inscrutable.
This man wasn’t Michael.
    This man was The Businessman. Gibson Reeves.
    The realization instantly drove me to orgasm. I came so
powerfully that every time I masturbated afterwards, I used Gibson as my
imaginary voyeur.
    I mentally placed Gibson in the shadowy corner of a room
while Michael