Stealing Time

Prologue

They had in their relationship the stuff writers try to describe. To put it simply, they had a secure and timeless love, a mutual respect, an unwavering and unconditional trust, patience...and of course, obsession. Their hours were many, long, and unpredictable; so the lover's time together was often short and littered with exhaustion. Once a month on every third Saturday morning, they found a way to steal time.

Layla had found an Adderall connection a year ago. Since that first time, "every third Saturday" was starred on calendars and anticipated with a deep, sweet, poignant ache. She would purchase twenty 20mg pills, they would lock their doors, draw their shades, and turn off their communication devices. Then they would begin the binge-dosing. Every third Saturday was now an uninterrupted, 50-some hour day – and they spent the majority of it in their own personally-created heaven, their time-stopper, their reality-killer: their play-room. Originally only a bedroom, the play-room had, over many sessions' time, become the ultimate kink-lover's dream.

Once the trust had been tested at maximum level, and passed, then of course...they felt comfort, they then were allowed to delve deeper and deeper each time into the darkest, most secreted, shameful, perverted, humiliating...and, arousing areas of the erotic abyss; their true desires. They learned over time what gave each true, unabashed, unapologeticpleasure. Their journey taught, showed and let them feel the difference between commercial pleasure, and the pleasure felt by two in trust, in honesty. They were always detailed in desire, in instruction, and always 100% honest about even the filthiest of fantasies.

The following is a total, uncensored, graphic, meticulously detailed account of their latest session. Historical reference of sessions' past are noted accordingly. Enjoy.

Part 1 (For Whom The Bell Tolls)

Don had just drawn the last shade of their kitchen window, waiting for Layla to return from the pharmacy to begin dosing. All time-bearing pieces had been stored in the locked garage until the bell sounded, house-wide, to signify 12 hours before Monday morning – at that time, usually without disappointment or mourning, they each took a Seroquil and slept intertwined in grasping, thankful arms.

Layla began to walk the driveway precisely at 8:59AM – such an organized, professional woman. Don had, of course, left the front door unlocked for his wife (who hated fishing for her keys). She locked the door to their now-timeless play palace and was pleased to find that her chivalrous Don had shut the rest of reality while she picked up their focus-enhancing, libido-stimulating, experience-intensifying, inhibition-shattering, euphoria-creating time-stoppers. They met in the kitchen where Don anticipated the return of his beautiful wife over an exotic cocktail. His hair still thick and more the colour of pepper, was freshly wet and slicked the way he knew she liked. He sat at the kitchen table in black boxers, sipping his cocktail, he could barely wait to strip his wife down and ravish her body; but first, they had to catch up from the past month. This ritual enforced one of the key elements of the sessions: comfort (therefore, trust). They actually loved their catch-ups, which often provided unintentionally flawless segways to the games that followed. Layla, ecstatic to have this time alone with the love of her life for the first time since last session, instantly lit up. They embraced with the only gratification that can be felt when such perseverated anticipation is satisfied at last. They sat, and began dosing, sipping on a cocktail each. They smiled and laughed, conversating, both as teenaged-lovers and as a couple married half a century. Don and Layla's saving grace was always their ability to marry comfort and experience with playful curiousity and youthful passion – the kind of passion free from challenge or question.

The catching-up transitioned to fun, intellectual conversation with all real truth but no real meaning – the kind most felt was a waste of time; but in the sessions, it was made rule that the happiness and enjoyment of Don and Layla were completely free from mass acceptance or societal norm. This was time all their own in which they inadvertently created a society centric only to them, what they deemed worthy. Sometimes what sounded like insanity ensued, other times the observation was no different from others of a couple engaged in conversation turned idealistic, and then when Don (a patent lawyer) muttered of multi-use tools, Layla looked down and blushed....

Part II (The Door Test)

She was going to be embarrassed later when Don checked her panties at the bedroom door. Just the slight mention of a tool or toy moistened her freshly-waxed pussy. Had he said that on purpose? Layla knew Don had a reason for every little thing – his mind naturally saw angles that took professional thieves 20 years to hone. Where his genius lay was his natural ability to use those angles on a person for whatever purpose he so chose. The ironic beauty of the thing is this: Layla is a theory psychologist and her study on the analytical thought process' contribution to intelligence in dominant personalities had won her department the Nobel in Science. She and Don, a casual investor of such research, met at that ceremony – they fascinated each other immediately.

The faint shade of rose that flashed across her features was cue enough for Don to begin. She knew it as well, and only grew wetter for him in anticipation.

His tone went firm and authoritative. His crooked smirk hinting at the filthy thoughts flashing through his mind. His steel eyes iced with power all his from here on in. "Look at me, little girl," he demanded coolly with total ease and confidence. Layla flushed again and felt her pussy gush. Her ache began inside her, deep at her core as her clit began throbbing...she felt it: she had soaked through her panties. This was the first time she would fail the door-test – how would Don choose to punish a complete fail? Her ass cheeks tingled at the memory of her last punishment –and that was graded a B.

She obeyed his command and looked up immediately; she knew that cocky smirk, that deep, dark stare. Excitement filled every part of her – to be at his mercy and enjoy every moment of it...she sighed, the endless moments almost near.

He chuckled at her – how evidently timid yet excited she was. His beautiful little girl was going to feel pleasure she had never known, all because he had complete control over her. He knew all so well how nervous his condescending little laughs made her.

"Yes, Daddy?" She asked, her voice slightly shaken, as a young girl might've. Don thrilled in silence and his grin widened. He delighted in his never-failing ability to turn this beautiful, professional, grown woman into his very own shy, nervous, obedient little girl.

"Go to Daddy's desk next to the bedroom. Bend over it with your clothes on and Daddy will be there soon. I've made the test far more thorough, so please b e a good girl for me. I thought of so many new ways to punish you."

Layla couldn't help but let out an automatic, aroused sigh. She felt her pussy flood for her sexy, strong, unshakeable Daddy. The more he remained completely calm the more crazy she'd go. She blushed deeply – Daddy's punishments always humiliated her completely – how much more could there be? "Yes, Daddy." She smiled with naïve excitement and left to obey her orders.

"Good girl, Layla," he praised her – his little girl was so needy for Daddy, praising her kept her stable and comfortable. Whenever she was "bad", Don almost felt bad having to punish her -- he needed to comfort her so much afterward. "Stay still and Daddy will be there soon."

Making his little girl wait for her Daddy was both a reminder of his control and a test of obedience. The door test had always made little girl so nervous that she would stay exactly still even when she hadn't the slightest idea Don was watching her. In fact, the only times Layla disobeyed Don were because she wanted her punishment. Although they all were deeply humiliating to her, feeling Daddy uphold his control made her melt inside. So many times she had been put over Don's knee bare-bottomed, exposed to him completely and felt her pussy throb – this is often what she thought of when she was bent over anticipating the door test.... Mid-spanking Don would stop and caress her red cheeks, he would tell her she took it like a good girl for Daddy but that seeing her so exposed and humiliated gave Daddy great enjoyment.

His caress would then spread Layla's thighs apart. At this she would sigh; Daddy would punish her and make her feel like a child but then caress her like a woman – it was always so embarrassing for her that Daddy made her feel like a grown woman should but then would punish her like his child.

"Stay still for Daddy, Layla," Don would reply to her moaning. Daddy knew how sensitive to touch his baby was. He would then take just the tip of his finger and with no pressure at all run his fingertip slowly down the length of her slit. Her arousal was such at this point that her juices even wet her pussy lips outside, she would open right up for him. "Little girl," he would continue his slow, feathery caress as he spoke so calmly to her, completely ignoring her swollen clit each time. "Daddy makes you soak when he spanks you. You gush out onto my leg all the time," the tip of his finger would then caress the outside of her entrance, going very slightly inside only every so often. "You get so wet for Daddy when he has to embarrass you... you are such a good girl for me...." His knowing of her arousal only added to her humiliation, and she would soak more and more for him as he enjoyed teasing her. "How does Daddy's fingertip feel teasing you, baby?" Layla would moan, still bent over his knee. "What do you feel inside, Layla? Tell Daddy exactly." She would moan again – having to describe her intense desire because of Daddy's spanking. If she did not describe it, she would be punished further and Daddy would humiliate her in ways she never dreamed existed. "And stay still. Daddy needs you still. Now describe it to me, little girl." He continued teasing only.

"Mmm, Daddy," she managed, "I feel so wet inside...when you spank me like a little girl I can feel it gush out of me. It's so embarrassing," she would moan and manage near-stillness as Don began to finger her just a little deeper, slowly.

"I know it it, little girl. Now go on, tell Daddy the rest. I know my finger feels good but you must continue." He constantly kept that same, slow pace – so in control, she would begin unraveling around him, staying still as possible.

"Mmmnn... now it aches inside me, Daddy, I want to feel full but you only tease me. And my clit, Daddy...please, it's throbbing so bad...Please Daddy, fill me up." He chuckled at her and felt another warm gush of her juices. "No, no, little girl. You're still being punished – the tip of Daddy's finger is all you can have. You're not allowed anything to fill you for a while, yet."

He would tease her like this in 100 different ways, sometimes for hours. He delighted in her desperate begging. He hoiped and prayed that today she would fail the door test – he had been thinking of new punishments all month, and my God, she would beg... he had made his little girl wait long enough, he made his way to the desk beside the locked bedroom door.

Don's cock stiffened. There was his gorgeous wife, arms flat bent over his desk. That beautiful ass perked up by high heels right in the air. She had her work clothes on, pencil skirt, silk blouse – she knew he loved to strip her of those the most.

"What a good little girl you are," he said. He very lightly grabbed her hips and pressed into her. "You make Daddy so hard. Maybe you can have Daddy's nice, hard cock inside your sweet, tight pussy later if you're good." He chuckled and backed away as Layla moaned – soaking again, her thighs now slick with her own juices. They both knew she would fail immensely. "Face me," he commanded. She did, and saw again that wicked grin of his that excited her so. His eyes studied her up and down with a penetrating glare and stopped, looking directly in her eyes. "Let your hair down." She unpinned it and the long, curly locks fell all around, stopping just above her perky breasts. They paused in locked stare a moment before he began to unbutton her blouse, she began to heave. Another chuckle as he paused, "calm down, little girl – what in the world will you do when I actually touch you?" She gasped and arched her back unintentionally. "STAY STILL," he commanded sternly. He undid the last button and slowly slid it off her. She wore a white, sheer lace bra that allowed him sight of her hardened nipples. "A virgin today?" He chuckled, "how fun. Now bend back over." She did as she was told, soaked.

He unzipped her skirt, slowly of course, and worked it off from around her hips, letting it fall to the floor. Her panties matched the bra, a thong. He let her stand there like that a moment in silence before commanding, "step out of the skirt and open your legs for Daddy just a little – they'll be spread wide enough later."

She gulped and ached, obeying. Here it came.

He pulled her panties down and let them rest just below her ass cheeks. He saw her wetness glisten off her thighs. He laughed, she sighed.

"Little girl, you know I would usually test you with my finger," he paused, letting the ache he knew was there build deeper, "but there's no need for that," he grabbed the crotch of her drenched panties and pulled them down completely, "you're soaked."

She sighed deeply. "Yes, Daddy," a slight nervousness to her voice. He chuckled.

"Stay." A moment later she heard him unlock their door. It opened. "Come."

She stepped out of her panties and joined Don in the doorway.

"I got you a present."