The Missing Piece

Doris T, a 43-year-old high-powered executive in Brisbane, sat in her corner office, staring at the city skyline as the sun dipped below the horizon. Her life was a whirlwind of board meetings, international flights, and carefully curated encounters within the swinging lifestyle. She had explored every fantasy—submissive play with dominant singles, threesomes with adventurous couples, even nights of pure hedonism at exclusive parties. Yet, no matter how intense the physical connection, something always felt… hollow.

She craved more than just bodies moving in sync. She wanted a man who could unravel her mind before he ever touched her skin—someone who could weave eroticism into words, who could discuss philosophy, politics, and art with the same passion as he described the curve of her spine.

Then, one evening, she found him.

It was a Thursday night when Doris logged onto Redhotpie, an exclusive forum for individuals in the lifestyle. Most profiles were predictable men boasting about their stamina, couples posting glossy photos with forced smiles.

Doris didn’t find anyone of interest and decided to humour herself by going to chat rooms. She discovered it was full of weirdos wanting to show off their privates to random strangers. Undeterred, she decided to check out the stories section as she found that she was always more stimulated by words than by photos.

She clicked the very first story and skimmed through it within 2 minutes. The same thing happened with the second story and the third. It was almost 11pm and something told her to just read the fourth story and if anything, it will be a good bedtime read to help her fall sleep.

That final story was unlike anything she had ever read, and she was no longer skimming through it but re-reading a paragraph before proceeding to the next. She loved the story about how 2 friends colluded to seduce the wife of one of them into having their first MMF session. Upon completing the story, she found herself so aroused that she had to leave a positive comment. After doing that, she took a step further and clicked on the profile of the author, **Ghostwriter, 48, Adelaide.**

His introduction on his profile was also distinctive and singular:

"I don’t just want to undress you. I want to unwrap your thoughts first. Tell me, what’s the last book that made you ache? The last piece of music that made your skin hum? Let’s talk about everything—then let’s see where the conversation takes us."

Doris felt a shiver run through her. She responded before she could second-guess herself.

"The last book that made me ache? ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being.’ The last music? Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’—but only when played too slow, like the pianist is savouring every note. Now tell me, do you always open with such dangerous invitations?"

His reply came within minutes.

"Only when I sense a woman who’s tired of being touched before she’s been understood."

And just like that, they fell into a rhythm. She discovered that his name was Gordon.

For weeks, they exchanged messages that blurred the line between intellectual sparring and foreplay. Gordon was a consultant who had travelled the world, a man who could debate economic theory as easily as he could describe the way a woman’s breath hitches when teased just right. He also had a penchant for writing stories - the kind that were vivid, sensual tales where every sentence was a caress. In short, it was the kind of stories that allowed the reader to fill in the voids with their own interpretation of how things eventuated or perhaps did not.

Doris loved his stories as it took her back to her teenage years when she was a big fan of "Choose Your Own Adventure" series....and yet it also had shades of the old Mills and Boons novels with a raunchy streak of a Jackie Collins composition.

"Imagine," he wrote one night, "your nails dragging down my back not in desperation, but in slow possession, like you’re mapping territory you plan to claim. The sound it would make—skin remembering skin. Would you let me hear it?"

Doris bit her lip, her body responding before her mind could catch up. No man had ever made her wet from words alone.

But it wasn’t just the eroticism. They discussed literature, history, even the absurdity of corporate jargon. He challenged her, made her laugh, made her think. And with every exchange, the ache inside her grew.

When Doris’s company scheduled a conference in Adelaide, she didn’t hesitate.

"I’m coming to your city," she messaged him. *"No more screens between us."

His response was immediate. "Tell me which hotel. I’ll be there before you’ve even hung your dress in the closet."

The flight felt endless. Doris wore her usual power suit, her hair perfectly styled, her demeanour unshakable—but beneath the composed exterior, her pulse raced. She checked into the luxury hotel, her fingers trembling as she swiped the keycard to her room.

She barely had time to pour a glass of sparkling water before there was a knock.

Gordon stood in the doorway, taller than she’d imagined, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled, his bespectacled eyes dark with anticipation. He wore a tailored shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

"Hello, Doris," he said, his voice deeper in person.

She stepped aside, letting him in. The door clicked shut.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then he reached out, tracing a single finger along her jawline. "You’re even more striking when you’re nervous."

She arched a brow. "Who says I’m nervous?"

He smirked. "Your pulse. It’s racing right… here." His thumb brushed the delicate skin of her wrist.

Doris exhaled. "Maybe I just want to see if you live up to your words."

Gordon leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers. "Then let me prove it."

He didn’t kiss her—not yet. Instead, he guided her to the couch, poured her another glass of wine, and asked, "Tell me about the first time you realized power wasn’t just about control."

And just like that, they were back in their element—talking, debating, laughing. But this time, his fingers traced idle patterns on her thigh. This time, his gaze dropped to her lips every time she spoke.

When the conversation lulled, he finally closed the distance. His kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was savouring the taste of her. Doris melted into him, her hands gripping his shirt.

"Gordon," she murmured against his mouth.

"Mm?"

She pulled away and had to sit down as she felt her legs go wobbly from the excitement.

The hotel room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows on the silk sheets. Doris sat on the edge of the bed, her dress slipping from her shoulders as Gordon approached again, his face illuminated with desire.

He traced a finger along her collarbone, sending shivers down her spine. "You're exquisite," he murmured before claiming her lips in a slow, intoxicating kiss again. His hands explored her curves with practiced ease, each touch igniting a fire within her.

Doris gasped as Gordon’s mouth trailed down her neck, his tongue flicking over her pulse point. His fingers unhooked her bra, letting it fall away before he cupped her breasts, teasing her dark chocolate nipples until they hardened under his touch.

Lower he went, his lips blazing a path down her stomach. He knelt before her, peeling off her panties with agonising slowness. When his tongue finally found her core, Doris arched against him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He turned her over and planted little kisses down the nape of her neck, all over her back and down the back of her thighs. With each kiss, Doris felt as if hot wax was being dropped on to her skin from a lit candle...sensually painful initially before the numbness of the soothing warmth that followed. This was just too good and very different from the others.

She turned around in a flash and pulled him up, desperate to feel him inside her. Gordon obliged, pressing her into the mattress as their bodies aligned. With a deep, deliberate thrust, he filled her completely, their moans mingling in the heated air.

Their rhythm was slow at first, then frantic—a dance of passion and need. When release came, it was explosive, leaving them breathless and entwined in the afterglow.

As they lay together, Doris sighed. "Stay the night."

Gordon smiled. "As you wish."

And then there were no more words.