She wasn’t at all what he expected.
While reading the many stories she’d published online, Clay had only imagined who she really was. Her identity was concealed by a mildly self-deprecating user name. Still, he couldn’t help but visualize her as a curvy redhead, with a naughty smile and a constantly wet pussy. She wrote the filthiest erotic tales, which he consumed as soon as they were posted. He couldn’t begin to count the number of orgasms her words had fueled.
Now, standing before a dwelling perched on an east-facing hillside, Clay stared in open disbelief at the woman who had emerged to confront him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded by way of greeting.
She had to be close to fifty. Her pale face was lined, and her mousy brown hair was streaked with gray. Her figure went beyond curvy. Though her breasts were plenty large, the rest of her was, too.
Then again, it had been five years since she’d published anything at all. Why had he assumed he would be encountering a fresh-faced young woman today?
Shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his coat, he felt the gold ingots weighing down the garment. With a polite smile, he said, “Ruthie?”
She raised her eyebrows, surprised. Oh yes, he knew her name. It had taken plenty of online sleuthing by the investigators Clay had hired, but he’d gleaned many details about her life. Most importantly, he’d learned where she retreated after her online account went dark.
She’d come to this dilapidated homestead, almost an hour from civilization. He made note of the solar panels and generators. He admired the large garden, now dormant in late winter.
The woman folded her arms over her chest. “What do you want?” she repeated, quieter now.
Clay took a single step forward. “I was a huge fan of yours.” Nervousness made the words spill from his lips. “I found your stories not long after you began publishing, and I read every one of them. I was…” His voice faltered, and he looked around, as if the surrounding trees could help him. “I was devastated when you stopped writing. It took me ages to find you.”
Refocusing his attention on Ruthie, he found her expression hadn’t changed.
“What makes you think I wanted to be found?” she asked.
Clay shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He knew how he must look, standing there in his expensive coat and boots. His sweater and jeans were brand new, while Ruthie’s clothes were threadbare.
“I thought we could make a deal.” He withdrew the gold ingots from his pockets and held them out to her like a sacred offering. “I want to pay you to write another story. One just for me.”
Ruthie merely glanced at the gold before rolling her eyes. “If you want a story, one of the bots can write it for you.”
“That’s just it.” His tone grew higher-pitched, almost wheedling. The sun was shining right in his face, so he had to squint. “There’s nothing but AI slop available now, and it all sounds the same! It’s fucking horrible. All the real writers have been driven offline; anything they publish is almost impossible to find, since it’s drowned out by tons of garbage.”
The woman brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
Clay took another step. “That’s why I came to you directly. To see if we could make an arrangement. I miss your talent, Ruthie. I miss getting those emails letting me know you have a new story online.”
Her stare drifted somewhere to his left. Was he merely imagining the sadness, the grief, that flickered over her features?
“What kind of story are you interested in?” she asked.
He was suddenly embarrassed. “Uh, I’d like you to write about a white-collar professional who is… dominated by an older woman.”
Clay was certain he didn’t imagine her smirk.
“That’s easy enough,” Ruthie said. “Not very original.” With a dismissive wave at the gold ingots, she added, “Those won’t do me any good. I need you to bring flour and salt. I need—wait, I’ll make a list.”
She went back inside the log dwelling, not bothering to invite him to join her. A few minutes later, she returned with a sheet of paper. The items she scribbled on it were still readily available, even with the rations. Despite his desperation, she was making no unreasonable demands.
“Come back with all that,” she told him, “and I’ll give you your story.”
So Clay strode back down the mountain until he reached his self-driving SUV. He made the hour-long drive to the nearest town, where he stocked up on the supplies Ruthie required. And after a sleepless night spent in a hotel, he again made the trip to her desolate property. He was prepared to camp out in his vehicle and wait while she finished his story, if need be.
Loaded down with bags, he climbed the narrow dirt path. Even though he was well into his forties, he’d managed to keep in excellent shape, and he was grateful for that now.
Ruthie again emerged before he had a chance to approach the door. Taking each bag from him, she inspected the items they held. At long last, her mouth hinted at a smile.
Now that only a few feet separated them, Clay noticed that her eyes were a lovely gray. He also noticed her ass jutted out like a ledge, which invited the weight of his palm. Never before had he been attracted to larger women, but the thought of touching Ruthie in such an intimate way made his cock twitch.
“Come on inside,” she said. “I’ve written something for you.”
“Already?” he managed to ask.
Again, that smirk. “Like I said, the plot wasn’t challenging.”
Following her inside, he found that the house consisted of just one large room. He didn’t see a toilet anywhere. She must not have any indoor plumbing. Such living conditions were unheard of these days, even as the cost of electricity soared to fuel the AI data centers.
“Have a seat.” Ruthie nodded toward a wooden chair in the corner.
Clay sat down and waited while she put the groceries away. Growing anticipation left a sweet aftertaste in his mouth. He’d waited years—years!—for this very moment. Of course, he’d read other books, published long before the AI deluge, but none of them made him ache the way Ruthie’s stories did.
Once finished, she moved to a small table under the window. Inside its single drawer were several pages. With no fanfare whatsoever, she brought those pages to him.
Her handwriting was surprisingly neat. He’d imagined her scribbling in a creative fury the night before; instead, he could easily decipher each sentence.
Sitting there, Clay tried to pace himself. He tried to make his custom-written story last, the way one would a decadent dessert. But he found himself rushing ahead. A faint moan escaped his throat when he reached a particularly sexy part. It described the main character, a middle-aged businessman, tied to a chair not unlike the one which Clay now occupied. And that man readily assented to his dominant mistress exerting control. She roughly handled his cock and balls, and she shoved a gag into his mouth. She ruined one of his orgasms, and then another…
As the story’s conclusion neared, Clay realized he was breathing faster. By now, his hard cock strained against his jeans. Without thinking, he moved to stroke his erection.
All the while, he sensed Ruthie studying him. Every so often, he looked up to find her eyes narrowed with keen interest.
By the time Clay finished, he was desperate to jerk off.
Ruthie went to sit on the edge of her bed. She was wearing jeans, like him. Her long-sleeved blouse stretched across her pendulous tits.
“Was the story to your liking?” she asked.
Clay’s voice came out as a croak. “Very much.” His cheeks felt hot, and his pulse was still racing.
“Did it make you good and hard?” Her tongue slid across her lower lip as she waited for his answer.
“Fuck yes!” Without shame, he started fervently rubbing himself through his jeans.
Ruthie’s gaze dropped to his groin. “Take it out,” she said. “Let me see.”
Clay didn’t hesitate. After setting the story aside, he hurried to unfasten his jeans. In moments, he had them pulled down his thighs, along with his underwear. His cock stood proudly, its tip smeared with precum.
Now it was Ruthie’s turn to moan. “Touch yourself. Be a good boy and show me how excited you are.”
She spoke the way the dominant mistress in the story had. Taking his cock in hand, Clay gave it several strokes. With his other hand, he cupped his smooth balls.
His eyes widened when Ruthie unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. Now, he got a glimpse of her panties, made of faded white cotton. With her stare fixed on his dick, she slipped her fingers into those panties, seeking out her pussy.
Clay fondled his cockhead, coaxing forth more precum. “God, you’ve got me so turned on!” he confessed. “Did writing my story make you wet?”
“Yeah,” she breathed. Beneath the fabric of her panties, her hand eagerly worked.
Clay leaned back in the chair, pumping away at his dick. Normally, he would try to last longer, but it had been ages since he’d been so aroused. Ruthie’s brow furrowed, and her lips parted while she masturbated.
“Let me fuck you!” he begged. “Let me put every inch of this cock inside your needy pussy.”
But she shook her head. “Keep jerking off, and if you please me, I’ll allow you to come.”
The threat of her withholding his orgasm made him shudder. “I’ll do whatever you want, Mistress.”
She started rocking her hips, grinding her pussy against her hand. Her movements were wild as she writhed on that bed. “Ooh, I’m close!”
Clay ached to smell her; his mouth watered at the thought of tasting her. Breathing in, he caught the faint scent of unwashed skin. He wanted to slide from his chair and crawl toward her.
He wanted her to tell him no.
“Not yet,” Ruthie said while striving for her orgasm. “Don’t you dare come until I do!”
He whimpered but slowed his stroking. In his palm, his balls drew up as if to escape his touch.
Soon, he had to release his cock altogether and simply watch as Ruthie played with her pussy. Her free hand had been busy at the buttons of her blouse, some of which were missing, and her top now gaped open. Out of her mind with arousal, she yanked it farther apart and then lifted her right breast from the dingy bra’s cup.
Her nipple was a pale rose, the skin drawn taut. How he wanted to wrap his lips around that peak!
She freed her other breast as well, so they both spilled over her bra. While toying with her nipples, she masturbated at an even more furious pace. When her climax finally descended, she jolted and grew rigid.
“Let me,” Clay pleaded. His fingers again circled his shaft. “Let me come!”
For several moments, she seemed unaware of his presence. Her thick thighs squeezed around the hand between them, and her groans sounded half-strangled.
Yet she managed to choke out, “Come for me!”
It took just a few more pumps to make his muscles tense. His gasp was followed by a pitiful cry as semen spurted forth from his dick in a thin, watery fountain. The mess rained down upon him while he bucked his hips.
Afterward, their thrashing settled into a stupor. The two regarded each other with heavy eyelids and knowing smiles.
Neither said much, even when she climbed to her feet. She gave him plenty of time to wipe the cum from his clothes and skin. He sniffed the air, hoping to detect the smell of her pussy.
It was only as Ruthie straightened her clothes and checked the buttons of her blouse that she said, “I’ve made another list.” Lifting her head, she locked eyes with him. Her smile bordered on playful. “Bring me everything on it, and I’ll write you a sequel to your story.”
