Dressed for the office …with raincoat on, he moves onto the landing of the single floor apartment where the staircase drops down to the front door.
She emerges from another door between him and the stairs ….is dressed in an ankle length layered black negligee which is untied …revealing the fitted black slip underneath.
The meet near the head of the stairs where looking not at his face, but at his chest, she hands him his briefcase which he takes, but then stepping to one side, places on a small hall table.
Her eyes lower to where she watches his fingers unbuttoning his jacket. Below, and as the jacket opens, she can see the bulge in his trousers.
She wets her lips, she swallows and feels her pulse rate increase. As his right hand finishes the unbuttoning, his left …palm forwards …reaches forwards and his fingertips trace the almost scratchy lace covering over her breasts.
Her breath catches. With one hand on each shoulder, he turns her so that her back is towards him and he gently pushes her towards the railing and banisters.
She understands and knows, and leaning forwards with her elbows on them, she waits. His hands, as if for the first time, raise the layers of the negligee to her waist.
The early morning light that filters through to where they are, softly lights her bottom beneath the black silk of her slip.
There he can see the outline of her undergarments through the slip which he traces with his eyes. Between thumb and forefinger, he pinches the slip at either side of her bottom and slowly raises the material, gathering it between the fingers, hoisting it ….the pace of his actions increasing slightly as the garments are raised higher.
The material of her negligee is beginning to slip off of her buttocks …threateningly. Placing one finger in the small of her back, he halts it’s progress …and all action is frozen ….until one of her hands reaches around to replace his. Her legs are elongate in the height of her black high heels.
Her ankles are together, the lines of the seams run straight ….disappearing but continuing their blackness …running into the blackness of the lacy hem of her slip which is now at high thigh level.
The darker band it the top of the stockings are as precisionable as the tabs of the satin that holds them in place. The width of her lightly tanned thighs were taken into account when he bough her lingerie …it was all about proportions ….and the band of thigh is narrow before it to vanishes beneath the hem of her satin legged panties.
They reminded him of ‘tap dancers’ shorts when he first saw them, the kind he saw in films from the 20’s and 30’s which chorus line girls wore to rehears in. Tight across the hips, they flared slightly.
He hates elastic ….will not allow it in any of his or her clothing. The slip rides higher the royal blue of the side ties appears ….he tugs at the bow on the left and then the right. For moments that seem to stretch and gather anticipation with it, nothing. Then the material … with gravity as his friend …unfolds itself and the panties begin their curtain like descent.
She has not tanning lines, her soft glowing tanned bottom is revealed as he indicates that she should hold the slip in place with the negligee. It’s a ritual …this is part of the ritual. His trousers are all buttoned, there is never the sound of a zip ….and her anticipation is itself always in a state of anticipation …her mind flitting back and forth between asking herself ‘When’ and telling herself ‘not to’ ask.
Not words, but meanings …like signals …like Morse signals …indications of ‘silence’ …to silence herself and that questioning. Indicating acceptance. Her panties, like a shining black pool, are around her still ankles where the morning light reflect on the folds and on the shoes. Her black legs illuminated softly up one side …showing that soft tanned flesh that hold his eyes…..
Between her thighs the shadows deepen into the darker valley between her buttocks. He steps back. From the draw in the table which has been waxed and slides silently, he takes a tube which he uses to moisten and lightly lubricates his erection when he pulls on …it was tumescent …oh how he loves that tumescent state, that state which leads him …containing a poignant need which is either or neither the precursor to his arousal.
He strokes himself and looks at her. Her thighs cannot close, there is always that space there …at which at the apex is ‘her purse.’ He things of ‘it’ as that …calls it that …in his head. But it looks like a walnut …with it’s wrinkled folds that unfold when engorged….. There are times when he will just simply look at her ….stare at and marvel at …drink in this image and feel for it inside himself.
He loves when it unfolds, when the lips ‘purse’ like a trumpet’s bell end ….when she is aroused and at peek ….where he sees the moisture of her …as it gathers. It tastes like….! He never has a word for it …he’s never found onet. It tastes ….no …it is ….her. Stepping forwards he places a finger on each hip …as if he were straightening a picture on a wall. Her feet move apart …she looks down …moves one foot to step outside the pool down there. She, takes a deep breath.
She hears his taking intake of breath ….and hers catches in her throat …as the anticipation climbs. Those fingers in her hips slide to the place where the thigh and buttock meet …and there is the slight pressure upwards.
She arches her back forwards ….the dip of her back meaning that she nolonger need try to hold her clothing in place. He strokes himself again …one hand placed onto the top of her buttock …as if he were steadying himself …..or taking aim!
Her breathing …it catches again and her heart rate increases. She feels the heat from him as he steps nearer…. which she doesn’t understand. The amount of his naked flesh is minimal ! ….but that heat reassures her …somehow.
Then …the touch. His touch …his cock head touches her skin and that anticipation state moves into the next gear. The cockhead has travelled the length of the darkened valley ….searching for its way in ….that secret doorway into the moist warmth of that secret world in her flesh. He stops ..he’s found it …he is trying the key in her door!
The game, it’s a game he plays that she loves …this searching …this teasing of her. She loves it …but wonders what her sister would say if she knew.
What would her sister say if she cold see her …now …standing like this …arched back ..draped in black …heels thrust high …arse thrust high like the prow of a ship …searching for ….and she is stilled as the knob gains entry ….her mind ceases all movement. They key is turned and the darkened entry opened and he slides in …and is still ….for moments.
They feel one another …he questioning the inner guard …she answering, telling the guard to stand down. He feels her relax and her hunger comes to replace it. His hand slaps down, hard on her rump. He doesn’t want her hunger, just her compliance. It’s a game …of mutual hungers.
They must each play their part to achieve their maximum’s. It stings …she is still. She waits. Then he is through that inner security. He advances slowly, feeling the walls expand to meet him and to feel him. His balls stay inside his trousers. She likes this …this minimalism …with only the flesh of his cock in contact …in this context. Then, he is withdrawing.
She feels and he feels the mutual silkiness of their flesh in connection. The kiss of flesh …the warmth of the greeting and their mutual fit. He retreats slowly and advances …retreats and advances. She can hear his breathing and feels her fires of her needs …she shifts her hips …moves her arse …
Oh how she loves that word …silently in her head. She moves her arse to meet him …like a dance …that rhythm …her tease to make the advance …that angle problematic …yet, to help him with his fit into her flesh. He slams into her…! ‘Oh awh,’ she gasps …eyes widening.
She hadn’t felt that coming …and it sparks another cry from her throat ….a spark of neediness in her.
‘Uuuuh’ she cries as he rises onto his toes …she knows that he next thrust will be a deeper angle of attack on her arse …and she dips her back further, her head dropping below the line of the handrail …her fingers holding onto it …and there is one more thrust down and she pushes up to meet it and his is pumping and crying and groaning and gritting his teeth and shuddering and she is gasping and then ….like a spring mechanism winding down……….
There is a stillness ….deep breaths ….and after shock shuddered ….an aftermath movement as the inner order takes over and their innards resettle themselves. She breathes deeply. She feels the heat of his deposits and the heat of her responses move through her. He’s in the bathroom.
She feel her own sexual emptyness …but feels to in measure against his gratification. Later, she knows, at the office, there will be at least one other occasion when she will be entered ….when hopefully her needs will be met.
But then …even if not, it doesn’t matter because she knows that she is his ….she is available here should he decide to call in ….she he decide to stay the night with her and nothis wife, or should he decide to have her somewhere in the office.
As his PA, she is his …as his mistress she is his ….as his – she is his.
-Rae Graham (August 2000)