The Artifact

*CONTENT WARNING: This is a story about consensual adult play, in a "DOM/sub", primal roleplay exchange. This story does contain graphic adult imagery, not suited or intended for minors. Please proceed with caution.*

The meeting instructions were for a hotel he knew well. He kept a suite there, for his exclusive use… for entertaining out-of-town guests, for late-night work, or for nights when he just wasn’t ready to go straight home. It’s true that his wife was unaware he kept the suite, but in spite of that small secret, he never actually used the suite for any mischievous acts… it was just an elaborate personal retreat.

The staff of the hotel knew him well, knew his business, and knew he was a prominent public figure in his professional industry. He had established a reputation, both in the world and in this hotel – so it struck him as odd and uncomfortable when the note made a demand on his appearance that would contradict his typical manner of dress. Such a small detail, but it mattered to him, and he chose to disregard that instruction, so as to not embarrass himself in a wardrobe that he considered to be out of character for his professional appearance.

Being a man of notable “Blacks” & “Whites” in every aspect of his life, he just couldn’t bring himself to wear the bright orange tie demanded in the note. A part of him considered it reckless. Another part of him was afraid of what people would say… and part of him just refused to be subject to jumping through another person’s unnecessary, proverbial “hoops”. Despite what the demand letter said, he chose to wear a tie that matched his suit, a two-tone black tie, with diagonal pinstriping. Aside from the tie, he followed the directions in the note very carefully.

He arrived at the appropriate time, sat in the appropriate chair, and faced the appropriate direction… and patiently waited.

There was one other detail in the letter that he neglected, though not intentionally… the “Artifact”! He didn’t know what this was… As far as he knew, he wasn’t in possession of an artifact, and therefore – unable to deliver it; no But not knowing who this person is, what they really wanted, or how much power they had, he still felt compelled to meet them and to meet their demands, as closely as he was able.

He sat for what felt like hours, though every time he checked his wristwatch, only a few moments had passed. It was his nerves getting to him… seconds felt like ages. He carefully watched the room, studying people who came and went, trying to pick out anyone who looked suspicious or looked like they were watching him.

The only person who stood out to him was a woman who worked in his building. They knew each other well, in a professional sense. Being his employee – he recognized her striking appearance and appreciated her elegant, yet professional aesthetic and the way she carried herself. It was his opinion that an employee who is well put together, is a positive reflection on himself and his company. Aside from that, he took no more note of her in a personal context.

Oddly, on this night, she also looked like she was uncomfortably waiting for someone.

He slid the bartender a twenty-dollar bill and instructed him to invite the woman over, while they both waited for their mysterious counterparts.

“It seems we are both waiting for someone… Would you like to have a drink with me while we wait?” The man invited! The woman silently nodded with a smile and took a seat on the stool next to his.

“I’m here frequently, and I don’t ever remember seeing you here, aside from the times I have asked you to join me for dinner meetings with clients. How often do you come here on your own?” He asked!

“It’s true!” she exclaimed.

“I really don’t come here. I’m supposed to be meeting someone, but we agreed to dress a certain way so we could recognize each other… Now I don’t know if he’s late, if he’s not coming, or if he’s here… watching me, and I just don’t know it… Internet dating seems to be mostly an ongoing study in human behavior more than anything else.” She said through lips that turned upward into a subtle smile, as she raised her wine glass to them, pressed the glass against her red lipstick, and paused for a moment as though to savor a thought before tipping the glass and touching the wine to her palate.

Maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the drinks… or maybe it was because she was here on her own terms as her own person – and not a representative of himself… but something about her struck him differently. He was sensing “intrigue”. She made no lingering eye contact. There were no innuendos or noticeable flirtations on her part. For the most part, she was inside herself, indulging an inner world that had nothing to do with him… other than the fact that he could feel it in her polite indifference to him. Whatever perception was shifting, was generated entirely from within himself. He also noticed the odd similarities in circumstances that brought them both there, but out of professionalism did not want to divulge his own personal details.

Just as he was finalizing this thought in his mind, the bartender delivered an envelope. A matte black envelope with a glossy black monogram. Recognizing the envelope immediately, he snapped back to reality, and it showed on his face. The arrival of the envelope caught the attention of the woman as well, after all – she was the one who delivered the first two envelopes to him, in his office. She placed her wine glass on the bar top and turned her stool towards him.

Saying nothing, but giving him her full attention with wide-open eyes.

He slid his finger between the seal of the envelope, tearing the black paper and removing the note within. Before reading the note, he looked up at the woman and said: “This is who I am supposed to be meeting tonight. In the last letter you brought to my office, they insisted that I meet them.”

He unfolded the paper to see only 3 lines of text.

“Black is not Orange!”

“You don’t have the Artifact!”

“You have disappointed me!”

No obvious threat was being made, and yet it carried a sinister tone. The person had obviously been here, seen him, watched him, and been close enough to know he didn’t follow the instructions; Yet, did not make themselves known.

With a nervous stutter in his voice, he elaborated to the woman, sharing the contents of this letter and the previous two… The demand for an artifact, the demand to meet, his disregard for the instructions, and the knowledge that at some point of the evening, that person has been in the room with them. The demands are a mystery… and now a new concern for the well-being of the woman next to him, who was required to deliver the first two letters, and now has been seen next to him upon the delivery of the third.

---Evidence---

The first envelope she delivered contained a simple demand for an “Artifact”. She delivered the envelope by hand, singly – not in a stack of mail. He remembered curiously commenting that there was no return address, she made eye contact, then turned away and returned to her desk. At the time, he gave no more thought to her potential part in this. Inside the designer envelope, was a single piece of paper with one line of text… “Deliver the Artifact”.

She later delivered a second letter. Enclosed, were instructions to meet in a hotel lounge for delivery. This note contained specific instructions on what he was supposed to wear and where he was supposed to sit and wait… and a reminder to “Deliver the Artifact!”

He has gone over, and over it in his head. There is no return address on any of the envelopes. There are no postage markers indicating they were mailed through any postal system or to indicate a city of origin or date of postage. The envelopes also didn’t carry the characteristic rubber band indentations that all pieces of mail from the mail room have, when the mail room staff bundled together letters for each floor and each office. In fact, the envelopes carried no distinctive marks typical of a piece of mail that has been casually, roughly, or hastily passed through a number of hands to reach a destination over a distance.

The envelopes were pristine…!

Each and every one was either delivered by her, or she was present when it arrived. She was out of place in the lounge, commented on the study of human behavior, and showed unnatural interest in his reaction to the contents of the third letter.

In his mind… it had to be her!

There was no doubt that she was the facilitator of this game. He began to study her behavior in the office. He made no mention or accusation to her or anyone else of his conclusion… he just watched and studied. He was irate that a member of his staff would toy with him… especially in a game that had no clear end.

---Glass Houses---

Now, in the office, volumes are spoken in the subtle exchange of glances between them, through the glass pane windows, though never a verbal word on the subject since the hotel lounge. She works in the same office. He can see her desk from his own. She answers his phone. She takes his lunch order. She brings messages from his wife on little post-its…

She has spoken to his wife, at length and frequently! They “banter”, He watches from his own office when the phone rings, as she answers, smiles, giggles and throws her head back in polite, cheerful delight at whatever small joke was being told on the other end… then hangs up the phone and delivers the post-it… from his WIFE; and twice a month he signs her paycheck and tells her “Thank you!”.

What game is she playing at now? The first envelope was a mystery, but it has since become clear that she is the designer of this scheme, and she likes to watch the evidence of her work as it unfolds. She gets off on silently holding him captive in his own cage, and watching him nervously squirm in his chair from behind his panes of glass, on the top floor, of a building named after him. She looks him in the eye now, through the windows of their adjacent offices. She looks him in the eye when she laughs and jokes on the phone with his wife…She makes a point of letting him know how close she is to all the personal details of his life.

She is shameless… and fearless!

He is enraged by it… and more and more helplessly drawn to it!

---Copycat---

She entered his office with a fourth letter in hand. This time she confidently dropped it on his desk, stared him in the eye, and lingered… almost like she wanted him to open it in front of her. He stood up from his leather office chair, took the letter in hand, and walked around the desk – holding her gaze the entire time. He stood so close to her, that they could feel each other’s body heat – though they never touched.

“Why don’t you just tell me what it says… tell me what you want!”

“I want you to open the envelope…!” Her pupils dilated. Her breath quickened slightly.

Never breaking eye contact, he ran his finger between the glued seam of the black envelope, breaking the dead silence in the room, only with the sound of steadily tearing paper.

As he pulled the slip of paper from the envelope, she quickly turned and left his office. Instead of returning to her desk, she turned down the main hall, briefly looking back at him over her shoulder, through the glass windows of his office. The paper read:

“Bring the artifact to the copy room!”

This woman’s cryptic messages, mystery demands, and phycological games were maddening! This was his opportunity to take control. He followed her to the copy room, and loudly barked at the occupying intern: “LEAVE! NOW!” He slammed the door behind the intern , as the intern left, locking the two of them in the room. He spun quickly, grabbed the woman around the neck, and backed her into the waist-high copy machine. He tightened his grip slightly and pulled her face close to his own. He deeply inhaled as he breathed her in, from her collar bone, up her neck, past her cheek, and to her hair. He was breathing in her scent like a starving predator savoring its prey before taking the first bite. She could feel him… hard against her inner thigh.

He roughly spun her around, grabbing a fist full of her silken hair and bending her over the copy machine. With one hand he held her head to the glass screen, restricting her ability to free herself from his grip. He used his feet to part her legs, knocking off one of her heels in the process. He

used his other hand to forcefully pull her skirt up over her back, exposing her perfect heart-shaped ass and creamy white skin. She was wearing silky black panties. He grabbed them at her hip and ripped them free from her thigh. He roughly pulled them down her other leg and off her shoeless foot.

Taking a moment to savor his capture, he slowly stroked her skin, tracing his finger over her lines and curves, and creases. Tightening his grip on her hair, he slid one hand to the front of

her hip and thrust himself hard against her… Just once! He never entered her. He never even unbuckled his belt… But he wanted to leave her with an impression. He wanted her to know who was really in charge. He collected her torn panties off the floor, held them close to her face, and

whispered: “I’m keeping this artifact for myself…!”

He gave her head a final forceful shove and then released her, leaving her bent over the copy machine, skirt hiked up, panty-less, and hair a mess. He felt some sense of victory or reclamation, but as he cracked the door he looked back- only to see her still bent over, but lifting her head to look in his direction with a devilish grin on her face, and with her own hand between her thighs, she moaned: “Were just getting started!” And then she laughed a sinister laugh that both terrified and enticed him.

He walked back to his desk looking like a madman… sweaty, hair out of place and half his shirt untucked and her panties noticeably clutched in his fist. He was a man unhinged!

---A Man’s Unraveling---

In the days that followed, he lost himself in fantasies of having her entirely. He had stopped going home after work. He had not seen his wife in days or told her anything of his whereabouts. He was losing track of work and was no longer maintaining the acute details of his appearance. He was completely entwined in his compulsion toward her. They had not spoken since the copy room. She would still look up at him occasionally from her desk, make eye contact briefly, and then go back to her duties.

When his wife would call with concerned inquiries, He couldn’t hear the words passing between them, but could see the shift in her demeanor as she said something along the lines of: “No! I’m sorry! He hasn’t been in today… But I’ll let you know if we see him.”

She would still make a note of the call on a post-it, then draw his attention, crinkle up the post-it, and throws it in the trash… watching for his reaction. He made no objection; she knew he wouldn’t, and each time that was confirmed, a small micro-expression of an evil smile would slowly smear across half her mouth… almost like an evil alter-ego trying to escape – and slowly succeeding.

Who was this woman… and what was this creature? His days were spent desperately trying to steal glances and his nights were now spent in his Presidential suite, as he paced back and forth or just lay splayed out on the floor, reeling fantasies of her through his mind. There were no more envelopes, and where he used to be tormented by their delivery… he now hungered for another one; Like he was being punished through the withholding of a “treat”.

---The Envelope---

Hand slightly trembling, he opens the drawer of his hand-carved mahogany desk. He lifts the false bottom. With careful deliberate motion, he lifts the first envelope from the drawer; like it was something to be cherished, or feared… Maybe it was both.

The envelope itself was something of a work of art. The paper was thick, slightly textured, matte black with raised, glossy, black lettering, but with only a single initial embossed on the front, in large font. The font was unique… not a typical choice for everyday clerical correspondence. It almost looked like handwriting. Her envelopes were designed with taste, and attention to detail.

He methodically slid his finger along the torn, open edge of the envelope, almost inviting a painful, dirty papercut, and a facial expression like he was toying with whatever punishment he would find inside. But he has opened this particular envelope before… and he knows what is inside … The contents torment him in a way he isn’t able to explain, other than to say – in some part of himself, he welcomes the torment, even needs it!

Sliding his hand inside the envelope, his fingers make contact with something that feels cool to the touch… and almost like a silky liquid as it slides over, through, and around his fingers.

Grasping the object between his fingers, he slowly draws it into the light of day. Clinging to it firmly within his fist, he holds it close to his face and inhales through his nose in a deep, savoring breath. The pair of silky black, bamboo fiber panties still smell like her. They smell like the perfume she wore between her thighs that day. They smell like her sweat… and they smell like her excitement when he tore them from her body. Each smell is distinctive and individual, but also blending together in a cocktail of memories that flood through him every time he picks up her panties and breathes her in. Not just memories of the copy room… but memories of how he got there in the first place; and memories accompanied by a sense of rage, a desire for revenge… or maybe just desire!

---The Suite---

He wanted her in his suite… but how to get her there?! He wasn’t accustomed to being so unraveled. He was an accomplished man, who lived by the books and believed in order, and yet he was captivated and compelled by a woman who has sat in front of him for years and has been mostly invisible until now… NOW; she is all he thinks about!

She asked for an “Artifact” and when he wasn’t able to deliver, she stopped asking, yet maintains his attentions. “We’re just getting started”, “Were just getting started!”, “We’re just getting started!” These words repeated in his head like lyrics to a favorite song. He doesn’t know what the artifact is… but maybe what she really wants, is for him to play the game…?!

He felt it was time to turn the tides in this game. He found and visited a paper artisan. He requested ONE, and only one handmade paper envelope – matte black paper with a glossy monogram, but this one was in red, like lingerie… like a little hint at what would be found inside.

He slipped a note inside. The note read only: “If you want your artifact, meet me in the Presidential Suite, room 888! Wear RED!” He sealed the envelope with a wax seal, dropped it on her desk, and walked out of the building. He didn’t specify where the presidential suite was, he didn’t specify a day or time… He would just go there and wait. He didn’t know if it would be hours or days or ever, but he would wait!

Four days later, the hospitality clerk rings the room: “Sir, a package is being delivered to your room. We will leave it at your door.”

“Thank you!” The man said, and no sooner than he hung up the phone, he heard a knock at the door. The delivery was sooner than expected and he wasn’t prepared. Only half dressed in dress shoes, slacks, and a belt. He opened the door and saw her standing there… dressed in black, not red; black heels, black stockings, a long black overcoat, and a strappy hint of something black underneath.

He didn’t care that she wasn’t wearing red. Maybe it was blatant refusal, or maybe a nostalgic throwback to his own refusal to wear the orange tie… it didn’t matter, He was playing the game for her benefit, his own demands were just for sport… and in truth, he liked black better anyway. He stepped back, opened the door wide, and silently invited her in.

She slowly stepped one high-heeled foot in front of the other as she entered the great room of the suite. Though he practically lived here, it looked as though nothing had been touched… he was indeed a creature of order, but maybe she could change that!

She half-turned, looking partially over her shoulder:

“Why did you invite me here?” He stepped quietly and closely behind her, close enough to smell her hair; a smell he recognized from the copy room.

“I want you to tell me what the Artifact is… I need you to tell me! Tell me, so whatever it is – I can give it to you!”

She turned, untied the belt of her over-coat to reveal the “almost nothing” she was wearing underneath, and asked: “And what would you do for this information?”

“Anything…! I would do anything you asked of me!” He almost begged.

“Then prove it to me…!”

She leaned in closer, her body almost pressed against his, and whispered closely in his ear with her red-stained lips: “I want you to work for it!”

At no further words between them, with both hands- he slid her over-coat off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist, carrying her to the sofa table. He sat her on the table, grabbing her by the thighs, and began to thrust into her, still with clothing between them. He was still wearing slacks and dress shoes. He began to unbuckle his belt, she stopped him and said:

“No! Not yet!” He grabbed her again, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply. He desperately wanted to feel her body. He wanted to give her what she wanted… he wanted to “work” for it… and for her! Yet she says “No!”

Even now, he doesn’t understand the rules, but he still tries to play by them. She scratches her nails down his chest. He winces and groans in pain but makes no attempt at stopping her… He likes the feeling of suffering for her! He grabs her firmly and squeezes her body with his large hands as he bears the pain she inflicts. He picks her up and carries her to the dining room table.

Just like in the copy room, he grabs her by the hair and bends her over. She moans with pleasure at being roughly handled. Now he knows what she wants…!

He caresses her creamy white ass with his hand, as he admires the way her black, lace garter belt slightly tightens into her round flesh. He admires the little oval between her thighs… perfectly shaped by nature to accommodate him as he slides into her… If she ever allows him to!

He slides one hand between her flesh and her garter belt, taking hold like reigns. With the other hand, he dances his fingers over her flesh… searching for a sweet spot, then he licks his fingers and slaps her skin… HARD! She cries out in what is both pain… and pleasure! He slaps her ass again… and again! Each time harder and each time she cries out, but never asks him to stop! Through her panties, he pets her with two fingers… slowly and gently, feeling her wetness seeping through the fabric of her panties and onto his fingertips.

Knowing that she wants him, but won’t accept him makes him rock hard and drives him crazy with desire for her. Still holding her bent over the table, he rubs her harder through her panties. She moans and squirms in his hands. Her wetness now running down her inner thighs, seeping between his fingers and dripping to the marble floor. He slides a finger between her panties and her flesh in an attempt to slide her panties to the side… but again she says:

“No! Not yet!”, “We’re just getting started…!”

Those words again, ringing in his ears like music and driving him to a pleasurable madness. He grabs her ass with both hands and buries his face in her flesh, trying to lap up her essence with his tongue and trying to breathe her in from the very source of her scent.

He spun her around and slid her up on the large, wooden table, knocking all the glassware and tableware to the floor. Centerpieces broken, liquids spilling off the edges, and pieces of broken glass all over the floor, he climbs on the table, pushes her legs apart, tears her panties away from her flesh, and finishes removing his belt. As he begins to unzip his pants, she begins to repeat: “No! Not…!”

“I WON’T!” He insists forcefully before she can finish! He pulled his pants down around his ankles,

with dress shoes still on, and pressed himself hard against her. Rock-solid, throbbing, and hungry for release and relief and for her acceptance. All of his built-up anger, anticipation, and desire washed over him as he slid

himself over her, back and forth! She wrapped her legs around him as her body begged him closer.

“TELL ME WHAT THE ARTIFACT IS!!!” He demanded!

“NO!!! NOT YET!!!” She yelled back! Both wanting each other with equal desperation and neither willing to yield! He rocked his body against hers over and over, harder and harder…!

“Tell me what the artifact is!”

“Tell Me What The Artifact is…!”

“TELL ME WHAT THE ARTIFACT IS!!!”

“NOOO!!!” She screamed as she clawed her way away from him, off the table, and onto the floor. He pursued her, grabbing her by the ankle and pulling her to her stomach on the carpet. He mounted her from behind, Pressing her head hard into the floor. She feigned a struggle but wasn’t really trying to get away. If she wanted to get away, all she had to do was end the game. They both knew that. He slid himself between her thighs. Tucking himself between and slowly slid back and forth. Teasing her, letting her feel every solid inch of him moving against her.

She reached for something to cling to, grabbing the table runner off the coffee table and pulling every neatly arranged candle and vase onto the floor with it. The suite was beginning to look like it had been tossed by thugs.

She rolled onto her back, pressed her foot against his chest, and pushed him away. Now dressed only in her shiny black stockings and nothing else, she scrambled to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. Now naked, with the exception of dress shoes, he quickly slid out of them and was close behind her. He found her nearly naked, smooth, and almost completely shaven (with the exception of a “landing strip”) which definitely caught his attention.

She was perched on the bathroom counter, legs parted, thigh-high stockings still intact.

He climbed to his feet, stood between her legs, held her face in his hand, and leaning his forehead on her shoulder, he begged: “Please… Please tell me what the artifact is. Please tell me what it is so I can give it to you…!” With yearning desperation in his voice.

She placed her hand over his, placed her other hand on his face, looked him in the eye, and whispered:

“It’s you…!” You are the artifact… not just you, but your ability to let go… your willingness to relinquish control, to step outside of order. You have everything so regimented, so black and white, so in order and by the book. Everything in your life is designed to create the appearance of a worthwhile life… but have you ever really lived a day in your life?”

The question was rhetorical. They both knew the answer.

“You are the artifact and I want you to surrender control to me… give yourself over to me… Trust me, to show you something worth being alive for!”

“You already have…! I’m yours… You have me!” He exhaled a sigh of release and sunk into her arms. She tightened her legs around him, lifted his head so his eyes met hers, and said:

“Now... Take me!”

--There is a continuation of this story, that is not included in this version.--

“The Artifact” Is an original document, finalized and published on July, 7th 2022. Changes have been made to the original story, in order to be in compliance with "Vocal" terms and conditions regarding graphic content. Both, the original, and the censored version were written by myself. If you would like to read the original version, It can be purchased in digital form, on a separate platform.