around and unzips my skirt. He tugs it over my hips, until it’s off. I’m left in my underwear and garters.
His hands trace my thighs, skim over my undergarments. I let out a small sigh . I will stay in the moment, I will stay in the moment .
A finger slips under my lingerie, grazing my pussy with the lightest touch. My insides flip. It’s been so long since a guy has touched me like this, I wonder if my body can stand it. I feel myself shake, and that can’t be normal.
His hand moves away, and for a second I feel nothing — until he slides off my underwear. I can’t believe I’m letting a stranger look at me like this, touch me like this. But that thought is barely a whisper compared to my body screaming for more.
He spreads my legs. I tell myself to let him, let him .
His finger again fondles, touching lightly, every fold of my pussy, in loose circles. The darkness imposed by the blindfold heightens my other senses. When he brushes my clit, I moan. He puts more pressure on it, and I bend my knees, digging my heels into the bed.
Then it’s not his finger, but the hot wetness of his tongue, tracing the path his finger drew, sucking the swollen bead of my clit. I’m making sounds I don’t recognize.
His tongue presses inside me. I reach down, pulling at him. I have the shocking realization that I would let this guy fuck me. I want him to fuck me. How can this end any way other than his cock inside me?
“Oh my god,” I say. His finger slides back in, his mouth there, too. His tongue and his fingers play me like he’s known my body forever. I grab his wrist, squeezing, bucking against his hand. A quickening throb of pleasure takes me out of control. I thrust against him, my pussy convulsing against his fingers. I ride it, gasping, until my body finally tremors with release.
When I am still, he runs his hand lightly over my pussy. I shudder, chills running through my body.
He pulls a blanket over me, to my waist. I pull it higher, covering myself. I wait for him to say something, or pull off the blindfold. But I don’t hear movement. I don’t hear anything. Until the click of the door to the suite tells of its opening and closing.
I wait a few beats before sitting up and tugging off the blindfold. I’m filled with that dazed feeling you get after a massage, kind of buzzy and tired. But when I sit up — slowly, not quite trusting my equilibrium — I feel a surge of elation.
It’s over. My dry spell, my slump, my self-imposed pleasure drought, is finished.
I have my body back. At least, for now.
*** ***
“Earth to Claire.”
I look up, startled to find Joan from the fragrance counter.
“What did you say?”
“One of my customers is asking for a lipstick called Rendez-vous. Are you okay?”
“Just a little tired.” I barely slept last night. Long after I got home from The Four Seasons, my mind raced with freeze-frame images of the stranger and a vivid sense-memory of the way he touched me.
I pull open the top drawer of my bay, where the lipsticks are lined up in their boxes in alphabetical order. I hand Rendez-vous to Joan. At least she has a customer, the store has been quiet all day. Usually, this would frustrate me. But since I’m not exactly functioning in top form, I’m grateful for the respite.
A quick glance at the clock above the elevator banks tells me I spaced a little too much. I’m late to meet Justin at Starbucks. He insisted we have coffee so I can debrief him about last night.
“I’m going on break,” I call to Patti so she can keep an eye on my counter. She ignores me, still pissed off about me running out on the book club.
I close the register, and hurry outside.
Justin is already sitting at a table with two coffees. Unlike me, he looks quite rested. He’s dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a gray hooded sweatshirt. I’ve never seen him so casual, and he looks
His hands trace my thighs, skim over my undergarments. I let out a small sigh . I will stay in the moment, I will stay in the moment .
A finger slips under my lingerie, grazing my pussy with the lightest touch. My insides flip. It’s been so long since a guy has touched me like this, I wonder if my body can stand it. I feel myself shake, and that can’t be normal.
His hand moves away, and for a second I feel nothing — until he slides off my underwear. I can’t believe I’m letting a stranger look at me like this, touch me like this. But that thought is barely a whisper compared to my body screaming for more.
He spreads my legs. I tell myself to let him, let him .
His finger again fondles, touching lightly, every fold of my pussy, in loose circles. The darkness imposed by the blindfold heightens my other senses. When he brushes my clit, I moan. He puts more pressure on it, and I bend my knees, digging my heels into the bed.
Then it’s not his finger, but the hot wetness of his tongue, tracing the path his finger drew, sucking the swollen bead of my clit. I’m making sounds I don’t recognize.
His tongue presses inside me. I reach down, pulling at him. I have the shocking realization that I would let this guy fuck me. I want him to fuck me. How can this end any way other than his cock inside me?
“Oh my god,” I say. His finger slides back in, his mouth there, too. His tongue and his fingers play me like he’s known my body forever. I grab his wrist, squeezing, bucking against his hand. A quickening throb of pleasure takes me out of control. I thrust against him, my pussy convulsing against his fingers. I ride it, gasping, until my body finally tremors with release.
When I am still, he runs his hand lightly over my pussy. I shudder, chills running through my body.
He pulls a blanket over me, to my waist. I pull it higher, covering myself. I wait for him to say something, or pull off the blindfold. But I don’t hear movement. I don’t hear anything. Until the click of the door to the suite tells of its opening and closing.
I wait a few beats before sitting up and tugging off the blindfold. I’m filled with that dazed feeling you get after a massage, kind of buzzy and tired. But when I sit up — slowly, not quite trusting my equilibrium — I feel a surge of elation.
It’s over. My dry spell, my slump, my self-imposed pleasure drought, is finished.
I have my body back. At least, for now.
*** ***
“Earth to Claire.”
I look up, startled to find Joan from the fragrance counter.
“What did you say?”
“One of my customers is asking for a lipstick called Rendez-vous. Are you okay?”
“Just a little tired.” I barely slept last night. Long after I got home from The Four Seasons, my mind raced with freeze-frame images of the stranger and a vivid sense-memory of the way he touched me.
I pull open the top drawer of my bay, where the lipsticks are lined up in their boxes in alphabetical order. I hand Rendez-vous to Joan. At least she has a customer, the store has been quiet all day. Usually, this would frustrate me. But since I’m not exactly functioning in top form, I’m grateful for the respite.
A quick glance at the clock above the elevator banks tells me I spaced a little too much. I’m late to meet Justin at Starbucks. He insisted we have coffee so I can debrief him about last night.
“I’m going on break,” I call to Patti so she can keep an eye on my counter. She ignores me, still pissed off about me running out on the book club.
I close the register, and hurry outside.
Justin is already sitting at a table with two coffees. Unlike me, he looks quite rested. He’s dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a gray hooded sweatshirt. I’ve never seen him so casual, and he looks
Similar Books
