and the screen blinked to life. She was searching for the most
expensive shipping option when a small window popped up.
Beccababy93: You
there?
The
cursor fluttered in time with her heartbeat.
Call
me?
Can’t, Daphne typed
back, slowly. Wife.
She
ruins everything :P
Daphne
puckered her lips, looking at the screen, trying to decide what precisely to do
next. A few short days ago she would have closed the screen and just stepped
away. But now – like a child who couldn’t stop playing with fire, she knew she
wanted their conversation to go on. Not everything. She gives excellent
blowjobs.
You
said mine were better! Low. Daphne squinted at the screen. She couldn’t
push too hard – but what would look better in divorce court than a transcript
of some woman recounting memories of her time with Richard?
I
did? She
hit return. It was the kind of imperious thing Richard would say. Remind me
which one? In particular. Use details.
A
long pause, in which Daphne feared she’d overplayed her hand.
Paris?
Or London?
Both, Daphne typed,
and then sat back.
What
followed were fairly pedestrian narratives. Funny stories about getting caught
in the rain, hiding from a gendarme in a park, fate throwing them together – or
throwing her at his cock. Daphne watched the words scroll across the screen and
it felt like someone else was reading them, not her. She said nothing, which
only encouraged the other woman to go to greater lengths, perhaps fearing she
was losing her dearest Richard to the warm arms of his wife. Daphne
breathed in and out dispassionately as the woman finished up, and cut and paste
everything into a separate screen to print it off for later.
Is
everything okay? BeccaBaby93
had nervously asked in ‘Richard’s’ absence.
Leave
her hanging? Write things out of spite? Tell her the truth? Pretend ‘Richard’
was getting called away?
The
moment hovered, stretching out uncomfortably long, and then the temperature in
the room jumped up around Daphne like someone had turned on a nearby oven. She
waved her hands around herself -- the ghost was near, not tangible yet, but
close by.
Everything’s
fine. Keys
on the keyboard in front of her moved, soundlessly, and the letters the ghost
was typing appeared.
You
were so quiet ,
Becca typed back quickly.
My
hands were too busy to type.
Daphne
straightened and turned. Had he been reading over her shoulder? Had Becca’s
pathetic retelling of a blowjob turned him on? She flushed with anger and shame
– she couldn’t be losing out to Becca with the Master, too.
Tell
me what you’re going to do to me when you see me next, Becca prompted.
Daphne
rolled her eyes.
Do
you really want to know? the ghost typed back.
Yes.
Are
you sure? the
ghost teased, after just the perfect amount of time passed. Daphne could
imagine Becca wriggling in her seat on the far end of the line, a worm caught
on a hook.
Yes!
Tell me!
You
want to see into the filthy blackness of my heart?
You
know I love it when you talk dirty. Daphne almost felt bad for the girl
then, trying desperately to keep her husband – a man who clearly played with
women like dice – interested in her. And then Becca typed in some emoticon, a
smiley face with large innocently blinking eyes and Daphne wanted to swat the
monitor to the ground. I hope the Master gives you what you deserve, Daphne
thought, and pushed back from the keyboard.
The
ghost took this for the permission that it was, and words began to flood the
screen.
Chapter Twelve
What
if I did more than talk?
What
if I really were dirty?
What
if there were things about me that I could never change? Things I’ve never
dared to show you? Things I’ve been dying to share?
Daphne
swallowed and leaned forward to read.
I
just bought a new estate. Imagine my surprise when I was unpacking our first
night and found a hidden door.
What
was behind it? Becca
asked.
Shhh.
I’ll tell this story my own way, at my own pace.
Another
pregnant
expensive shipping option when a small window popped up.
Beccababy93: You
there?
The
cursor fluttered in time with her heartbeat.
Call
me?
Can’t, Daphne typed
back, slowly. Wife.
She
ruins everything :P
Daphne
puckered her lips, looking at the screen, trying to decide what precisely to do
next. A few short days ago she would have closed the screen and just stepped
away. But now – like a child who couldn’t stop playing with fire, she knew she
wanted their conversation to go on. Not everything. She gives excellent
blowjobs.
You
said mine were better! Low. Daphne squinted at the screen. She couldn’t
push too hard – but what would look better in divorce court than a transcript
of some woman recounting memories of her time with Richard?
I
did? She
hit return. It was the kind of imperious thing Richard would say. Remind me
which one? In particular. Use details.
A
long pause, in which Daphne feared she’d overplayed her hand.
Paris?
Or London?
Both, Daphne typed,
and then sat back.
What
followed were fairly pedestrian narratives. Funny stories about getting caught
in the rain, hiding from a gendarme in a park, fate throwing them together – or
throwing her at his cock. Daphne watched the words scroll across the screen and
it felt like someone else was reading them, not her. She said nothing, which
only encouraged the other woman to go to greater lengths, perhaps fearing she
was losing her dearest Richard to the warm arms of his wife. Daphne
breathed in and out dispassionately as the woman finished up, and cut and paste
everything into a separate screen to print it off for later.
Is
everything okay? BeccaBaby93
had nervously asked in ‘Richard’s’ absence.
Leave
her hanging? Write things out of spite? Tell her the truth? Pretend ‘Richard’
was getting called away?
The
moment hovered, stretching out uncomfortably long, and then the temperature in
the room jumped up around Daphne like someone had turned on a nearby oven. She
waved her hands around herself -- the ghost was near, not tangible yet, but
close by.
Everything’s
fine. Keys
on the keyboard in front of her moved, soundlessly, and the letters the ghost
was typing appeared.
You
were so quiet ,
Becca typed back quickly.
My
hands were too busy to type.
Daphne
straightened and turned. Had he been reading over her shoulder? Had Becca’s
pathetic retelling of a blowjob turned him on? She flushed with anger and shame
– she couldn’t be losing out to Becca with the Master, too.
Tell
me what you’re going to do to me when you see me next, Becca prompted.
Daphne
rolled her eyes.
Do
you really want to know? the ghost typed back.
Yes.
Are
you sure? the
ghost teased, after just the perfect amount of time passed. Daphne could
imagine Becca wriggling in her seat on the far end of the line, a worm caught
on a hook.
Yes!
Tell me!
You
want to see into the filthy blackness of my heart?
You
know I love it when you talk dirty. Daphne almost felt bad for the girl
then, trying desperately to keep her husband – a man who clearly played with
women like dice – interested in her. And then Becca typed in some emoticon, a
smiley face with large innocently blinking eyes and Daphne wanted to swat the
monitor to the ground. I hope the Master gives you what you deserve, Daphne
thought, and pushed back from the keyboard.
The
ghost took this for the permission that it was, and words began to flood the
screen.
Chapter Twelve
What
if I did more than talk?
What
if I really were dirty?
What
if there were things about me that I could never change? Things I’ve never
dared to show you? Things I’ve been dying to share?
Daphne
swallowed and leaned forward to read.
I
just bought a new estate. Imagine my surprise when I was unpacking our first
night and found a hidden door.
What
was behind it? Becca
asked.
Shhh.
I’ll tell this story my own way, at my own pace.
Another
pregnant
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