David didn’t remember turning his alarm clock off, but as he yawned and stretched that Saturday morning he decided it was probably a good idea he hadn’t set it. After the week he had, he needed a little extra rest. Plus, it was the weekend – weren’t you supposed to sleep in?
He turned in his instinctual morning movement to check his phone and found a crisp sheet of white paper folded over it.
He opened the note and saw the neat script of his girlfriend Emily.
I hope this doesn’t come as a shock – and it shouldn’t if you have any awareness at all about our relationship over the last few months – but, I’m leaving you.
I just can’t do this anymore. I love you, but we both have grown and grown apart. Everything has gone sour and I don’t see that changing. You will always be in my heart in some way, but I am getting out before I start hating you.
I took the liberty of getting you a replacement. I know you don’t like to sleep alone and, frankly, I worry about you. You have an important job and I don’t want you to fuck it up because you are depressed about our divorce.
The replacement’s name is Claire.
I’m staying with my parents in Decatur for a while. Don’t call.
He blinked. He blinked again.
Just then he heard a soft sound: the near vocalization of a yawn and the feeling of someone stretching nearby.
Turning, he saw a woman lying next to him in the big bed. She was pretty. She leaned on her folded hands and smiled at him.
“You’re finally awake, sleepyhead,” she said with a smile.
David scrambled to get away from her but ended up falling on the floor next to the bed.
“Who are you?”
“Relax! Relax. I’m Claire. I thought the letter explained. I’m a Licensed Replacement Therapist. I’m here to help with your transition,” she explained in a slow, strong voice.
“I can show you my license and documentation if you’d like,” she said, with a calmer tone. “Why don’t you just relax and lie back down? Your wife hired me so that you wouldn’t be alone or stop your important work while you transitioned through your breakup.”
David’s head was spinning. He sat down on the bed more to keep himself from falling back down than anything else.
“It’s totally okay to feel disoriented, David. I know this is a little weird, but Emily cares about you and wanted to make sure you handled the transition of the divorce well.”
“I see,” he said numbly, though he didn’t.
David sat up and, for some reason, pulled the sheet to cover himself. He was wearing boxers but the intimacy of waking up in his bed with a stranger threw him.
“It’s okay, David. Replacement Therapy is all about having someone as a surrogate who gives you time to process changes on your own schedule. I’m here as a placeholder. I’m only ‘replacing’ your wife until you can function on your own without her,” she explained in a casual way that had a little hint of being pre-written.
David eyed her warily.
“Is this, um, is this your job? Do you get paid for this?”
She smiled maternally again.
“Yes, this is my job, but it is a bit more complicated than that. I do all kinds of replacement work. Sometimes, when someone’s partner or parent dies or is sick for a long time or has to go on a long trip, I sit in for them and try to make everyone comfortable.”
“So you replace someone’s mother sometimes?”
“Oh, yes. In fact, that is the majority of my job. It’s sort of like a substitute teacher.”
David turned and planted his feet on the floor.
“Okay. I, um, I have to process this.”
“If it helps, I love my job. It is really fulfilling work.”
“Oh well, that’s good,” David said, but he wasn’t listening anymore.
The note had fallen on the floor and David felt a cold hand on his heart and throat. His old life was over. His wife was gone. Everything was going to change.
“David, I know this is hard. I’m here to help. What did you usually do on Saturday mornings?”
David didn’t want to look at her, even though she was pretty.
“I don’t know, we slept in. We would get up around eleven or noon and make a big breakfast. We would read the newspaper in bed,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Well it is only nine-thirty, so do you think you might want to rest some more?”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel very well,” he sniffled, trying to hold back the tears.
“Why don’t you come lie by me? Oh, David, you poor thing. Why don’t you just let me hold you for a while,” the replacement asked sweetly.
He didn’t want to, he wanted to be alone, yet somehow he felt himself falling back against the soft bed.
Her arms were warm and inviting. She sat up and pulled him to her shoulder, petting his head, soothing him with little shushing whispers.
David was completely weirded out.
He was being comforted by a stranger who was beautiful and wearing a lacy camisole and, he assumed, panties. A stranger who smelled very good. A stranger who had large breasts that were inches from his face.
He sat up.
“This is weird.”
She sighed sympathetically.
“It doesn’t have to be. Replacement Therapy is based on continuing the the daily routine, so that you can process changes in time, not right away while the wounds are still fresh. Let’s just have a nice Saturday morning. What else did you do on Saturday mornings? What if you didn’t sleep in?”
Her voice was very comforting. He let himself gently fall back into her arms, his head resting on her chest.
“I don’t know. We stayed in bed. I guess, if we woke up it was just to have-” he was cut off by his own blush.
“Well, we would have sex. You know, like, lazy morning sex,” David said, glad he wasn’t looking at her as he did.
This was blatantly untrue. Most mornings if he turned to kiss Emily, she would hit him, often in the face and tell him to go brush his teeth. When he got back from doing that she would be wrapped up in the blankets and asleep.
Claire, the replacement, nodded her head understandingly.
“That is a very special thing for couples, intimacy, especially on a weekend. I hope you know I’m here for you for whatever you feel comfortable with,” she said, petting his head again and pulling him closer to her bosom.
“Oh?” he said, letting his hand rest on her stomach, just below her breasts.
“That is part of the whole replacement, um, therapy?” David asked, his fingers moving up the smooth silk of Claire’s top.
“It can be. Maybe it would help to talk about your sex life a little,” she said sweetly, as if asking how he took his coffee.
“Oh, well, it had changed when things got rocky, but earlier on we had a really amazing sex life. Emily was very loving and, well, adventurous. I mean, I was a little surprised by how kinky she turned out to be, once she trusted me, but eventually I started to really like all of her…” he tried to find the right word to top off his lie, “eccentricities.”
Claire didn’t seem surprised at all, she merely ran her fingers through his hair and in a kind friendly way, took his hand and moved it to her breast.
“Does that help a little?” she whispered.
David nodded, trying to hide his growing arousal, or at least make it believably organic.
“It does. Thank you, Em- I mean, Claire. I’m sorry. It is a little confusing.”
She kissed his forehead and he squeezed her breast softly. Her breasts were amazing, soft and pert and barely contained by her top.
“You can call me Emily or did you call her Em? You can call me whatever helps. What did she call you?”
David swallowed. He considered his next move carefully.
“Well, to be honest, when we were alone in bed like this, she liked to call me, um, sir,” he said, the lie making him wince, but his want and his curiosity about how far he could take it overwhelming him.
Claire smiled her school teacher smile.
“Well, that sounds rather naughty! But, perfectly normal! You two were in a loving long-term relationship. Of course you had a playful and adventurous love life. I think that’s wonderful, David- oh, or should I say ‘Sir!'” she said with a wink that was about as far from kinky as he could imagine.
Unsurprisingly, it still totally got him hard.
Emily had actually been pretty adamant about his kinky leanings. They were fine for a little fun once in a while when they were dating, but once they got married, it was out.
“Right. So, we would play games, you know, like kinky stuff,” he tried to explain, while rubbing her breasts more greedily.
“BDSM? Bondage Discipline, Dominance Submission, Sadomasochism? How did you play out those elements in your lovemaking?” she asked astutely.
“Right, those, yeah. Well, she would call me sir and sort of, I guess, be submissive to me. She would offer her body to me, to use. It was sort of…” he tried to find the words.
“An objectification roleplay, wherein you two engaged in a consensual power exchange. That’s great, really. Maybe you should stand up and we can work on that,” Claire said, slipping out of bed and then walking around to David’s side.
David stood up, trying to hide his very apparent erection and then, thinking better of it, putting his hands to his sides and letting it bulge out of his boxers.
Claire stood in front of him and with a strange sort of curtsy, she knelt on the floor and spread her legs slightly, putting her wrists on the floor as well, palms of her hands open and facing up.
“This is the classic position of submission. Is this how you like to be kneeled to, Sir?” she asked with a more formal, but still fairly unsexy voice.
“Uh, yeah, that’s how she does it sometimes, but usually, I mean-”
“You can tell me what to do, Sir, it’s okay. Did you two use a safeword or maybe the ‘red’ and ‘yellow’ system?”
David scrambled, “Oh, yes, a safeword. If you need me to stop, you should say, um, ‘periwinkle.’”
He had no idea where the word came from.
“Right, Sir, I will use that as my safeword. I hope I won’t need it though. I hope I can be a good slave for you,” she said, just the edges of sultriness slipping into her voice.
A crooked smile crept over David’s face.
“Good. Right. But, she would never kneel clothed like that. A good slave is always naked and ready to service her master,” he explained.
Claire looked up at his eyes and then held a hand out for him to help her up.
She stood and nimbly, as though she were dancing, slowly pulled off her lacy pink top.
David let out the tiniest noise. Thank you? Thank god? He wasn’t sure if it was English. All he knew was that her breasts were perfect.
She slipped off her panties as well, showing a very neat little patch of blonde hair.
It occurred to him then how much she looked like Emily. Same height, roughly the same body type, though Claire had a far larger ass and larger breasts. He wondered if that was what Emily thought he would want: her, but with a little more of the parts Emily had been self-conscious about.
Then, just as the sadness of that realization dawned on him, his dick took over.
“Right, well, even better than kneeling is bending over the side of the bed, ass up, ready for your spanking,” he said quickly, helping her get in position.
“Remember your safe word and here we go,” he said, trying to remember how to spank someone, since he hadn’t done it in years.
Like falling off a bike, it came back to him easily. Her ass was thick and resilient and although she was a bit sensitive, she seemed game to give it a college try.
He let his hand fall on her ass with a loud smack and then he rubbed and caressed her. He kept one hand on her back and as he spanked her again he moved it up to take her blonde hair in his fist and pull it slowly back.
“Well, this is, um, invigorating, Sir,” she said a little breathlessly.
He took that as a positive and started smacking her ass a little harder, his handprints on her skin making his cock painfully erect. He smacked and smacked and then let his hand rest on her now hot ass, slowly moving down until his fingers were between her thick thighs.
He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go further. This weird situation seemed outside the realm of any experience he’d had before. She did have a safe word though, so he shrugged and slipped his finger between the legs of the stranger hired to replace his wife.
He gasped as his fingers met with warm wetness.
As he pushed two fingers into her she looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes a little wilder, and she bit her bottom lip.
“Thank you, Sir. Thank you for my spanking, and thank you for your fingers,” she said, her sweet voice tinged with lust.
“You are being a good girl. Now hop up on the bed, on your back, legs in the air,” he said, smacking her ass one more time to accent the command.
She jumped at his words and was on her back in a second, her legs in the air, bent at the knees, holding onto her calves and keeping herself wide open for him.
The kink was fun, but the thing he missed most, the thing that Emily had refused him and had caused him the most pain, was eating her pussy.
As he shifted onto the bed and crawled between her legs, his mouth watered and his mind twisted and turned like a snail in salt.
“Is this, I mean, can I?” he said to her.
“Anything you like, Sir.”
He was so close.
“Emily didn’t like it…” he said, trailing off.
She looked down at him, pushing herself forward so that her wet pussy was millimeters from his face.
“I’m a replacement, Sir, not a copy. I would really like it if you ate my pussy,” said said with a new voice, strong and full of need.
Have you ever seen a thirsty man drink from a fountain? He kissed and licked and sucked and suckled and dipped his tongue into her and hunted for the spots that made her moan loudest. He let her hips and her hands guide him. He let her ride his face and when she was close, when she told him not to stop, he kept it up even when the muscles of his jaw burned.
When she came for him, he broke. His wife was gone. His life was gone. But, he knew ecstasy.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
There was a moment of silence.
“I’m glad that helped but, I really need you to fuck me now” she said with a greedy voice, free of sympathy or maternal sweetness.
Her legs were still up in the air, but now her hands were between her legs, rubbing her pussy, which was red and swollen. She was wet to the thighs. Her fingers were a blur.
“Please fuck me, Sir. Please, please, please,” she said, repeating the word like a mantra.
He smiled. His eyes were as wet as his mouth.
“Say ‘pretty please,’” he said, his voice confident for the first time.
Her eyes locked with his. She wasn’t a replacement anymore.
“That’s stupid, like a little girl,” she spat.
He grabbed her hands and forced them over her head.
“You’ll be whatever I want, you hear me, you slut? If I want a little girl that’s what you’ll be and happily,” he said, inches from her face.
“That’s sick. You’re a sick fuck,” she said.
“I guess you’re not getting fucked then,” he said, with a laugh.
His cock had slipped from the slit in his boxers, and it slid against the silk wetness of her cunt.
She whined and bucked her hips.
“But I know you want it, too. I know it’s been a long time, such a long time since you sunk you cock into a wet pussy. Such a long time since you came into anything but your hand,” she said, her voice mocking and cruel.
He let go of her hands long enough to smack her across the face.
Her eyes rolled back and her body convulsed. Her hips gyrated for a moment and her toes curled. He realized she was coming again, just from slapping her cheek.
As she came down, she gasped for air.
“Fuck me, please…” she said dragging the word out, finally giving in.”Pretty please, okay, fine, fucking pretty please. Anything, anything if you just slip it into me. I promise. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want.” She whined and begged and squirmed against him.
And then, just like that, he was inside of her. Inside of someone new, for the first time in a decade. Inside perfect tightness. Inside her and she was about to come again. She writhed and bucked against him and he fucked her. He fucked her like he hadn’t fucked, well, ever. He fucked her with every ounce of power in his body and she took it. She fucked him right back.
“Just to let you know,” she said between thrusts and moans, “all Replacement Therapists are tested as part of the licensing process and a administered hormonal birth control. Holy fuck that feels good. So, oh fuck, you, oh, can, come, inside, me-” she said through her orgasm.
And he did. Time slowed and his vision tunneled and in a plastic moment between seconds he realized his marriage was over and this was processing. He understood all of the shitty things he had said and all of the bitter, cruel things she had done and how they both hadn’t meant any of it.
He also realized he was coming and coming; it seemed like it was never-ending. And then he was kissing Claire, kissing her for the first time, and he was crying.
They slept, they kissed, they made love gently the next time.
When he awoke again, she was gone. There was an addendum to Emily’s note:
If you liked this story you can send me a tip via paypal.me/writingdirty
Some people need a slow and easy transition and others need a quick one. I’m glad I was there to help rip the bandage off fast for you.
You are going to be okay.
I hope you find a pretty girl to say pretty please to you.
Remember to ask for what you want. You’ll be surprised by how often you will get it.