I always play it to him as though I don’t really like anal sex… that it’s only something I do for him. It couldn’t be further from the truth, even though I’m still a nice girl.

We were going away for the weekend. Peter needed to represent a client at a conference in Chicago, and though he only had to attend daytime meetings on Saturday, we booked the overnight in order to get reasonable fares on flights. We were making a mini-holiday out of it.

“I think we should plan a really nice dinner in Chicago, sweetheart. It’s almost our anniversary,” he offered.

I looked over his shoulder at the laptop in front of him. He was searching review sites to find restaurants near our hotel. The Palm, Morton’s, Fleming’s… when he said “nice dinner,” he wasn’t messing around!

I put my arms around him from behind as I looked at the screen. “Mmm, those look lovely. But what if we ordered room service instead?” I nuzzled his neck, my lips on his earlobe so he got the drift.

He chuckled. “Are you suggesting we celebrate our anniversary by staying in?”

“You know how I adore hotel sex,” I murmured. “Your conference is at a pretty posh place, I think we could have some fun there.”

“As you like, sweet girl.” He closed the laptop and turned around to me. “And maybe I’ll do something very special for you that night.” Peter slid his hand slowly up my arm.

If you’ve been in a relationship of any length, you get to know the code words. “I’ll do something special for you,” was Peter’s way to invite the unspoken follow-up “…and then in return you’ll do something special for me.” He had taken the bait.

I smiled, pretending I didn’t know where he was headed. “Oh, yeah? What do you have in mind?”

“Something very special. We’re going to be on vacation and it’s our anniversary. We should treat ourselves, don’t you think? I want to take very good care of my Posie.”


My name is Josephine, but he calls me Posie. Peter heard my grandma refer to the old family nickname once at a wedding, and adopted it for his own. “No one calls you that anymore, babe. So it’s our thing now.”

Our thing is good. He is a marketing consultant for high-dollar law firms, and I’m messing around in graduate school. I’m studying to be a physical therapist, but maybe I just want to get married and stay home and raise babies. I’m not sure just yet. Fortunately, Peter doesn’t care. He makes loads of money, and our needs are pretty simple anyway. I’m 24, he’s 32, and we have plenty of time to figure out the future. We have a little condo, and a sweet little life, and we have a lot of fun together.

But not too much fun, because Peter likes me to be a good girl. I didn’t get why at first, but I do now: it’s more fun to debase and defile the good girls. A perverted slut doesn’t offer much challenge. So I hide my perverted slut side in a sweet, virtuous, respectable wrapper.

It’s easy to do. Peter and I both are rather conservative and all-American looking. Brown hair, blue eyes… nobody is calling us for fashion modeling but we’re attractive enough. He wears a lot of button-downs and khakis. I wear a lot of t-shirts, jeans, the occasional dress. (I mean, I’m not a tomboy but as a college student, I don’t have much occasion to dress up.) He’s pretty tall, and I’m not that tall, and together we look like that smiling average couple you see in the picture frames.

But every so often, I want something completely not average. I have some very dirty fantasies, and that means sometimes I have to trick my sweet Peter into giving them to me. I couldn’t just ask him outright.


On Thursday evening, my plan went into place. We were leaving for Chicago the next day, and Peter wanted to go out to dinner, so we didn’t have to cook and clean. I let him choose, and he of course picked Gino’s, the little Italian place in our neighborhood.

Gino’s daughter greeted us with cheek kisses, and we were ushered to our usual table in the corner. We both looked over the menu — but with my free hand, I found his knee under the table.

Peter looked up at me with an amused smile. “Someone’s excited about our trip.”

I looked down, blushing a little. “I am, babe. I know you have to work, but I admit I’m excited about us getting away from our everyday lives for a couple days.” I squeezed his leg under the table. His jeans weren’t tight but I could feel the muscle of his thigh through the denim.

“I am, too. We’ve never been to Chicago together. Although, if my Posie has her way, it doesn’t sound like we’ll be seeing much of it.” He leaned over for a quick kiss – and I’d have given him more but our waiter walked up.

“May I start you off with some wine tonight?”

We pulled apart and Peter turned back to his menu. “Yes, we’ll have a bottle of Cabernet, and our usuals for dinner.” He looked at me for confirmation.

“Actually, I’m feeling adventurous.” I looked up at the waiter. “I’ll try the lobster ravioli, instead of the penne tonight.” He nodded and scribbled on his pad.

Peter laughed. “Wow, you never get seafood here. You really are in a mood. This is going to be some weekend.”

I smiled mysteriously, and handed my menu to the waiter. “I know. I can’t wait.”

We laughed and drank our way through two bottles of the Cabernet, and I continued to let my hair down both literally and figuratively throughout the evening. Every time the waiter was away, I put my hands on Peter under the table. I wanted him hot and ready.


Later, back at our apartment, I pretended to be very intoxicated. (Now, I was a little bit drunk, I can’t lie. But I made out like I was really bombed.) I slurred, and leaned on Peter, who helped me up the stairs. I didn’t bother brushing my teeth or washing my face, just stripped off my clothes and climbed into bed naked, as though I was passing out.

He got into bed next to me. I made a great effort in opening my eyes to talk to him, and tried for a sweet, sad face. “I’m sorry I got so sloppy drunk, baby. I’m so horny for you, and I really wanted to come home and… you know…” I closed my eyes for a long spell.

He put a warm hand on my stomach, caressing me idly. “Posie, it’s okay. Happens to the best of us.” I could feel his fingers moving slowly lower.

And part of me was tempted to let him. I was hot for him. I was turned on by everything… the wine… thinking about my plan… by his hands on me, the nearness of his naked body.

I love Peter’s body. He likes to ride his bike and go to the gym, but he doesn’t work out too much… just enough to keep off all the pasta and wine we love to get at Gino’s. So he’s strong, with nice muscle definition and soft skin. His arms and legs are powerful, and he can flip me around in bed or hold me tight if I’m sad… and with a gorgeous cock that is always at the ready, hard and thick when I want it.

Like right now, pressing against my thigh. If I made even the slightest sound of interest, I could have it… it was so very tempting.

Still, I was resolved to wait. I didn’t want either of us to come tonight. Short-term pain for Peter meant long-term gain for us both.

I kept my eyes closed, and remained completely still. He’s a good man, and he wouldn’t take advantage of me if I was passed out.

Sure enough, he sighed, faintly, and kissed my forehead. He turned out the light, pulled the sheet up over me, and put his arm around me.

And in the last cruel step of the Thursday night phase of my plan, I turned on my side and away from him, spooning back against Peter’s body and pressing my bottom against his groin. I could feel the heat and hard of him, and I purposely cuddled deeper in, so his erection was nestled right in between the cheeks of my ass. Would he move away, unwilling to endure the agony? Tick-tock, tick-tock.

A couple minutes later, Peter was still right there, arms around me, cock still pressing against me. I was truly drowsy thanks to the wine, and was beginning to fall asleep. I hoped he would too, and dream about fucking me in the ass.


On Friday morning, our bedroom was just growing light when I felt Peter’s hand on my back. I had turned on my stomach in the night, and his fingertips traced a circle on my skin as he began to stir and move closer to me. I opened my eyes with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning, lover. How are you feeling?”

“Okay… I guess…” I widened my eyes suddenly. With an abrupt fling of the covers, I jumped out of bed and raced to the bathroom. I slammed the toilet door, and immediately made a retching sound. I coughed several times. I flushed the toilet twice.

Of course, inside the bathroom I was actually just sitting calmly on the toilet lid, inspecting my nails. But it needed to sound good.

Peter tapped on the door. “Are you okay, baby?” I could hear the concern in his voice.

“Hang on,” I moaned. I flushed the toilet one more time.

I opened the door, and pretended to wipe my mouth. He looked down at me, worried. I put my hands over my face in fake shame.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. Too much wine? Or maybe it was the lobster.”

His eyes showed concern but he couldn’t keep his nose from wrinkling with an “ick” face. “Is it… you know… um… which end?”

“I threw up,” I lied. “Maybe I got food poisoning.” (Oh, poor Gino, please forgive me! The ravioli was actually delightful.)

“My poor Posie,” Peter cooed. He took me into his arms, and stroked my long hair, rumpled from bed. I let him comfort me with a hug. We were still naked and warm, standing in the bathroom, and I could feel his cock stirring again. Even though he thought I had just puked! I guess the body just wants what it wants.

And mine did too, honestly. Once again, I thought about abandoning my ruse and just taking him right back to bed to fuck me. I was horny when I fell asleep last night and horny when I woke up, and now my favorite naked body was pressed against mine, and I could feel my nipples hardening and a quickening in my belly.

But… I was on a mission. I was going to get fucked, in the ass, and I was going to have an orgasm that would melt my mind, and Peter would think it was all his idea, and we both were going to wait till we arrived in Chicago.

He put me back to bed, with a cool washcloth on my forehead and a glass of water on the nightstand. I thanked him feebly, and watched him move around the room as he showered and dressed for work. Peter intended to go into the office for a half-day, then pick me up after lunch, and we were to get on the plane for Chicago that afternoon.

He sat down at my bedside. “Are you sure you want to make this trip, Posie? I can go alone, and you can stay home and rest. I’ll be back Sunday night.”

“No!” I exclaimed, almost too quickly. “I mean, I’m sure it’s just a little hangover. I’ll take it easy today and then tomorrow, we’ll have our special night.” Peter tilted his head, looking at me lovingly.

“My brave girl. I do want you to come to Chicago. I have a special surprise for you. So please, sleep in this morning, and then I’ll be back to pick you up for the airport.” He kissed my forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And I promise to make this up to you tomorrow.”

Peter smoothed my hair and smiled. I watched him leave the bedroom, and listened as he left the house. I waited as the garage door closed, and then waited five minutes more (he always forgets his phone).

The coast was clear. I hopped out of bed. My plan was under way. I was going to be squeaky-clean in 36 hours, the cleanest good girl on the planet, completely ready to be defiled by my lover.

Still naked, I went into the kitchen. In spite of my fake “sick”, I was actually a little hungry… but I was fasting today. I blended a big glass of orange and pineapple juices to drink as breakfast.

Back in the bedroom, I began packing for our trip. I collected my “special supplies”, the ones I’d been collecting and hiding around the house since Peter told me about Chicago. I determined how best to hide everything in the suitcase I planned to check (so my plans would not be discovered at the airport security gate, where I might die of the embarrassment).

Then, I double-checked my packing list; did I have my lingerie, outfit and shoes for Saturday?

I went to the closet and selected the outfit I would wear to the airport. It was a thin, low-cut tank-top and light cardigan wrap, with a long cotton skirt.

I stood in the closet, thinking about Peter. Was he going to be shocked by his nice girl turned dirty slut? He did seem to enjoy anal sex. (Though I think he wished he didn’t. I suspected that some well-meaning but ignorant older person in his life had told him that that was only for gay guys.) But we’d done it a couple times before over our two-year-plus relationship, and each time, Peter came so fast that you’d think it was a contest.

Yet each time, afterward, he behaved a little oddly, as though he was ashamed of what he had done. Ashamed of me, or maybe that we had stooped to such low action.

But I wasn’t ashamed. I fucking loved it. I love to feel his big cock back there. Sometimes when we’re doing it doggie-style, I imagine that he’s fucking me in the ass, and it makes me come harder.

I began touching myself, fantasizing about what would happen in Chicago. I looked at my naked body in the full-length mirror on the door, drawing my hands all over myself. My rose-colored nipples were hard, and I pinched them, squeezing my full breasts. I moved one hand down, caressing my hips, pretending it was Peter’s hand. He loves to grab my hips with his hands when he puts his cock into me from behind. I put my fingers between my legs, and my pussy was already wet.

But I stopped. It wasn’t time yet.

It was time to shower. I scrubbed myself clean, soaping my breasts and pinching my nipples. I washed everywhere, and I showed great restraint by only rubbing my pussy one time. Okay, maybe twice.

I dressed in a lacy white bra and thong, then the travel outfit I’d laid out. I carefully applied my makeup and did my hair, brushing it out silky smooth.

My bag was by the door, and I was just printing our boarding passes when my cell phone rang.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Peter’s voice was tender.

I practically purred in his ear. I was a new woman (like magic!), and I wanted him to know it. “Oh, Peter! I feel so much better. I got back in bed for a little while, and then I took a nice hot shower and I feel like a million dollars.” I paused to let this all sink in. “Are you on your way home, baby? Come get me. I am so ready to go on this trip with you.”

Peter exhaled with relief. “I am so glad. Been worried about you this morning. But I’ve cleared my desk and I’m ready to get out of town. I’ll see you very soon.”


“The captain has turned off the fasten-seatbelt sign, so you are now free to move about the cabin. The flight crew will be coming through soon with complimentary beverages,” intoned the attendant.

I turned off my iPod and took out my earbuds. I was in the middle seat on our row of the plane, with Peter at the window. I smiled pleasantly at our aisle seatmate, a gray-haired man who looked to be traveling for business. He hopped up and made a beeline for the back of the plane.

Peter looked over and laughed. “That guy apparently really needs to pee.”

I smiled. “Do you need to go too, while he’s up?” I reached to unfasten my seat belt.

“Nah, I’m good.” He tucked his magazine into the pocket in front of him and turned to me. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” Peter narrowed his eyes at me, inspecting my face. “The flight’s not upsetting your stomach, is it?”

I smiled mischievously. “Not at all. In fact,” I leaned closer to his ear and murmured, “the flight’s turning me on. I can’t wait for us to be alone.”

He smiled, shifting in his seat. I looked down at the swelling crotch of his khaki pants. “Mmm, Posie, this is like last night… what’s got you so worked up? If I’d known that the city of Chicago made you so hot, I’d have arranged a trip a long time ago.”

I turned toward him, blocking the view of his lap from the aisle with my body. “It’s not Chicago, Peter. It’s just you. I’m just ready to do something really special for you, to make up for being sick.” I dropped my hand discreetly onto his fly; his hardness sprung up to meet me.

I opened up the loose wrap I was wearing, letting him see the top of my breasts and the lace edge of my bra peeking out of my thin tank.

Our flight was full. He looked over my shoulder for witnesses, then reached up into the top of my tank, looking for my nipple. He looked into my eyes. “You’re a very bad girl, Posie.”

I leaned closer to him, pushing my breast into his hand. “But I’m your bad girl, baby.” I put my mouth on his ear and murmured, “I want you to think about how bad I am, till we get to Chicago.”

The rattle of the beverage cart behind us straightened me up. I closed my cardigan wrap back over my chest, and leaned back in my seat to give the flight attendant my order.

But under the cover of his drink tray and magazine, I massaged Peter’s cock until the plane started its descent into O’Hare.


By the time we landed at the airport, retrieved our bags, and took a taxi into the city, it was late. Peter had to be at his meeting the next morning at 7:30 am, so Friday night needed to be an early one.

The hotel was exquisite, one of the city’s oldest historic properties, with walls of windows overlooking Lake Michigan. Sumptuous leather, cool white marble, ornate brass, and striped silks made up the lobby. I waited for Peter to check us in.

I flipped idly through a fashion magazine, watching him talk to the desk clerk. She was a nice matronly-looking lady, and I was sure Peter was charming her. I saw them look over toward me, a couple of times. She smiled at him, nodded, handed him some papers, smiled again.

In front of the door to our room, Peter couldn’t hide his grin. He handed me the card key and asked me to open it. I carried my tote into the room… and found a beautiful arrangement of pink roses on the entry table.

There must have been three dozen of them! “Peter, oh my God, this is too much, I can’t believe you…”

“Well, pink is your favorite, and it is almost our three-year anniversary, so…”

I dropped my bag, and turned to him. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him passionately on the mouth. He embraced me, kissing me back, his lips, his tongue eagerly seeking mine.

He pulled my body up against his, and I could feel his cock hard against me. I reached down between us, and put my hand on his crotch. Peter groaned. “Posie, God, no more, I can’t take any more teasing.” With his arm around me, he marched me backward toward the bed, kissing me urgently, pulling at my clothes.

Once again, my aching pussy was crying for me to let him do it, let him fuck me right now – but it wasn’t part of the plan. Short-term pain for Posie, long-term gain for everyone. I wasn’t going to come till tomorrow night.

But it was time to give my sweet man some relief.

I turned around, and pushed Peter back to a sitting position on the bed. I kicked off my shoes, and slowly peeled off my cardigan. He leaned back on his arms to watch me.

I pushed my skirt down around my hips and let it fall to the floor, and then crossed my arms and took off my tank top. I shook my long brown hair out.

Standing before Peter in just my white lace bra and panties, I moved between his legs and unbuckled his pants, taking them down. His erection popped up unceremoniously, making a plaid tent out of his boxers. I pulled those carefully down, and knelt between his thighs. His thick beautiful prick was waiting for me, and I wet my lips before I slid my mouth down onto him.