Read It Back to Me
A private game built around embarrassment becomes far more powerful when she has to say her own fantasies out loud.
The notebook was hers.
That was what made it embarrassing.
Sam had not snooped. Rachel had handed it to him after three glasses of wine and immediately tried to take it back.
He held it above his head.
“No.”
“Sam.”
“You gave it to me.”
“I've reconsidered.”
“You said you wanted to try the humiliation thing.”
“I was younger then.”
“It was thirty seconds ago.”
Rachel covered her face.
She was thirty-five. Sam was thirty-seven. They had been together five years and understood that embarrassment could be erotic precisely because it was safe.
They had rules.
Nothing about appearance. Nothing involving real insecurities. Nothing outside the bedroom. No sharing. No recording.
The notebook contained fantasies Rachel had written for herself.
Sam opened the first page.
“Last chance.”
Rachel looked through her fingers. “Keep going.”
He read silently.
His eyebrows rose.
“Oh.”
“Don't.”
“You wrote this?”
“You know I did.”
“I'm impressed.”
“Sam.”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Come here. Take your clothes off.”
Her cheeks warmed.
He had seen her naked hundreds of times. Tonight the instruction felt different.
She undressed.
Sam kept reading.
“That one too?”
Rachel looked at the ceiling. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
He closed the notebook.
“Then we're done.”
He wasn't threatening. That was the agreement. The game existed only while she chose it.
Rachel took a breath.
“I fantasised about you making me kneel while you read those to me.”
Sam reopened the notebook.
“Better. Kneel.”
Rachel did.
Sam read another line. It described being watched while she touched herself.
“Did you write that?”
“Yes.”
“Louder.”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Rachel moved one hand between her legs.
The humiliation came from being observed, not exposed. From having nowhere to hide behind humour.
Sam read another sentence.
Rachel groaned. “I hate you.”
“Colour?”
“Green.”
“Then you don't hate me very much.”
She laughed.
Rachel continued touching herself while Sam read her own words back to her.
Some were romantic. Some filthy.
One was so specific Sam stopped.
“You've thought about this more than you've admitted.”
“Keep reading.”
He did.
Her breathing changed.
Sam stood.
“Hands away.”
Rachel obeyed reluctantly.
He opened his trousers.
“Look at you.”
That was the tone they had discussed.
Not cruel. Not degrading her worth. Simply exposing the gap between the composed woman outside this room and the one kneeling naked in front of him.
“You write pages about wanting this and blush when I read one sentence.”
Rachel looked up. “That's why it works.”
“I know.”
He touched her cheek.
“Open.”
She took him into her mouth.
Sam continued reading.
Rachel made an outraged sound around him when he reached one particularly explicit paragraph.
He laughed. “You wrote it.”
She pulled back. “I didn't expect an audiobook.”
“Keep going.”
The absurdity mixed with exposure until she couldn't decide whether she wanted to hide or demand more.
Sam eventually put the notebook down.
He lifted her to the bed.
“On your back.”
Rachel complied.
He spread her legs and looked at her without touching.
She tried to close them.
He held her knees apart gently.
“No hiding now.”
“Green.”
Sam lowered his mouth between her legs.
He knew exactly what she liked.
Rachel's embarrassment dissolved into pleasure until she was pulling at the sheets and swearing whenever he stopped as she got close.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“You know.”
“Apparently we need to work on saying things aloud.”
She glared at him.
Rachel said exactly what she wanted.
Every word.
Sam gave it to her.
Afterwards they lay side by side, Rachel's head on his chest.
“That was horrible,” she said.
“Terrible.”
“Never again.”
“Obviously.”
Rachel waited.
“Next Saturday?”
Sam kissed the top of her head. “I'll put it in the calendar.”
She hit him with a pillow.
Then retrieved the notebook and added another page.