The Reply
981 Words
The message came in just after 9:13 p.m.
A soft vibration on her phone — nothing dramatic, nothing loud — but in the quiet of the room it felt like a bell tolling in a temple.
I was on the bed, sitting up against the headboard, still warm from the shower Kellie had shared but not touched me in, wearing only loose shorts she’d chosen.
She didn’t glance back at me when she picked up the phone.
She didn’t need to.
The candlelight traced the curves of her moko kauae patterns, the swirling lines soft but commanding, framing her lips like a natural throne.
Her eyes — half-lidded, golden, and impossibly sure — scanned the screen.
She exhaled through her nose.
A slow, knowing breath.
“Hubby,” she said. “Come here.”
My pulse spiked. “Where?”
She pointed to the ground in front of her vanity stool.
“To your place.”
I climbed out of bed and sank to my knees at her feet—
not rushed, not clumsy,
but with intention.
The way she liked.
Her gaze dipped, approving.
“Beautiful,” she murmured. “You kneel like you were made for it.”
I lowered my eyes instinctively—
until she hooked one finger under my chin.
“No,” she said softly. “I want you watching me tonight.”
The moko kauae markings gave her expression a fierce elegance.
A kind of priestess-dominance.
An authority that felt older than both of us.
She held her phone loosely in one hand.
“He replied.”
My stomach dropped.
“What… what did he say?” My voice cracked.
Her lips parted into a slow, devastating smile.
“Ask properly,” she said.
I swallowed hard. “My Queen… what did he say?”
She brushed my hair back from my forehead, tenderness and control blended perfectly.
“He said,” she murmured, eyes flicking down to the message,
‘You’re stunning. And that smile? Dangerous.’
“He asked how my night was. And he asked if my husband knows men flirt with me.”
Heat washed through me.
Jealousy and desire tangled into something sharp and intoxicating.
“Kellie…”
“Queen,” she reminded gently, thumb stroking my cheek.
“My Queen…”
She hummed, pleased.
“This is good,” she said, tapping the phone against her thigh. “He’s respectful. Confident. Curious.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“And he assumes you know. Which I like.”
My breath shuddered.
“Do I reply?” she asked.
I hesitated only a second.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”
Her smile grew.
“Then you may watch.”
She set the phone on the vanity, screen tilted toward her, not me.
A deliberate power move.
I only saw her expression.
Her half-lidded eyes.
The regal set of her mouth.
The way her moko markings emphasized every tiny curl of her lips.
“Before I reply,” she said,
“I want to give you your first service task.”
My lungs tightened. “Yes… yes, my Queen.”
Her hand slid into her hair, slowly combing through it, lifting it off her neck.
The movement exposed the smooth line of her throat, the warm glow of her shoulders.
“You’re going to massage my legs,” she said.
“Slowly. Carefully. Reverently.”
My hands twitched.
“But—” she added, leaning slightly forward, “you will not touch anywhere I don’t guide you.”
I nodded quickly.
“And,” she continued,
“you’ll do it while I flirt.”
A tremor ran through me.
Her eyes glinted, wicked and soft.
“I’ll sit. You’ll kneel. You’ll serve my body while I enjoy someone else’s attention.”
My throat tightened.
“And,” she whispered,
“you will stay hard.
But you will not touch yourself.
Or grind.
Or beg.”
My entire body tensed.
“If you slip,” she murmured, “I’ll stop flirting for the night…
and you’ll sleep with your hands tied to the headboard.”
A breath escaped me. “Queen…”
She tilted her head, moko kauae marking curving beautifully with her smile.
“Mm? Already trembling?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Then you’re ready.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs just enough for me to kneel between them.
“Start at my calves.”
I obeyed, hands gentle, thumbs working slowly over warm skin.
“That’s it, hubby…” she breathed.
“Slow. I like slow.”
She picked up her phone.
I felt her thigh shift slightly as she typed.
Then she read aloud — not his reply, but hers:
“‘My husband knows exactly how much attention I get…
and he loves me best when I’m wanted.’”
I almost choked on air.
“Kellie—”
“Queen.”
“My Queen… please…”
“Mm,” she hummed, brushing her fingers lazily through my hair.
“You’re already falling apart. And I haven’t even touched you.”
My breathing shook.
Her thumb stroked the corner of my mouth.
“Tonight’s denial ritual,” she said,
“is simple.”
Her voice dropped into a low, commanding murmur.
“You will pleasure my legs…
while I pleasure my ego.”
She leaned in, whispering against my ear:
“And your hard little sweetie stays untouched.”
My whole body trembled.
“Do you understand, my boy?”
“Yes…” I gasped. “Yes, my Queen.”
She reclined back onto her palms, phone glowing in her hand, beautiful and absolute in the candlelight.
“Good,” she said.
“Now make yourself useful.”
Her foot nudged my thigh.
“And watch how easily I enjoy another man’s attention…
while you serve me.”
- Writer
