simply agreed to do as I was told. Why now? Why him?
"You
can," he said, "And you will."
"Will
you be looking at me?" I asked. "Because I can't take your eyes.
It's too much. Too soon."
"I'll
be looking at your trembling knees," he replied. "Waiting for them
to part."
"Do you
promise?"
"Yes."
"You're
going to have to say it," I pleaded.
"I
promise to look only at the delicious space between your knees as you part them
and show me your panties," he confirmed.
"Okay.
Here goes," I announced, as I slowly turned my head away from the exit and
found him with my eyes.
He was more
gorgeous than I had been able to appreciate in that first, electrified glance.
His eyes were set low on my knees as agreed upon, but I could still feel their
energy, even on my skin. His features were decidedly Mediterranean. A long,
proud nose pointed down to a strong, solid chin. His salt-and-pepper hair was
combed back to reveal a high, olive-skinned forehead with three very faint
worry lines that looked as if they had not been exercised in years. His left
leg was crossed over the right, his free hand draped over the dominant knee.
Arms and legs were lean and angular. He wore his beautiful clothes
beautifully.
"I'm
waiting," he said.
He remained
stalk still, a Greek statue gazing back at its admirer.
I tore my
eyes off of him long enough to case the room. People typing on computers,
reading newspapers and tablet devices. A woman and her young daughter assembling
a puzzle at the back table. Three men in polo shirts--car dealers?--talking
shop. Ryan breaking down the espresso machine for cleaning.
Then him.
Sleek, beautiful him, still fixed on my frightened, pink knees.
"Okay,"
I half croaked. I cleared my throat. "Here goes."
I reached
down and pulled the hem of the skirt up just two short inches, resting it on
the tops of my legs. He took a sip of his coffee without so much as blinking.
I felt my knees slowly separate, shaking like a newborn fawn. His energy,
those damned eyes, instantly filled the space between my milky smooth thighs,
warming them then sending a wave of moisture from my intoxicated pussy lips.
"Red,"
he said.
"Yes,"
I verified.
"Silk?"
he asked.
"I
don't think so," I admitted. "I'm sorry."
"Don't
be, you had no way of knowing."
He looked up
from my dripping wet panties and we locked eyes. This time I was unable to
tear myself away. They were emerald green and deep-set with large black
pupils. These eyes had seen things, that much was clear. Things far more
salacious than a pair of red satin panties. And yet there was softness in them
as well. A gratitude that he may have preferred to conceal, given his
otherwise commanding nature.
"Have
you ever shaved your pussy?" he asked.
I felt the
moisture nearly spraying from my pinkness.
"Once,
back in college." I said. "I wasn't sure how it looked."
Suddenly and
without warning he stood, produced a large roll of cash, peeled several bills
onto the tabletop, and walked for the exit. My heart screamed in protest as he
opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Halfway across the street,
he finally raised the phone back to his ear.
"Same
time tomorrow," he said. "Leave the panties at home."
Chapter 2
The half
bottle of cheap Merlot on top of my refrigerator had partially turned to
vinegar, but I wasn't feeling picky. I poured a second glass and
quadruple-checked the call history on my phone:
1:35
pm…UNKNOWN
No missed
calls. No new texts.
I understood
his decision to remain anonymous during that first, daring call. But now
found myself at his complete mercy. A deliciously agonizing thought.
I placed the
phone back on the corner of the bathroom sink and picked up my wine glass.
Sitting on
the edge of the tub, I held a small hand mirror between my legs to inspect the
plump outer lips of my freshly shaved girl parts. I couldn't remember what I
hadn't liked about seeing them this way just six or seven years earlier.
Perhaps it had just been too soon. Too
"You
can," he said, "And you will."
"Will
you be looking at me?" I asked. "Because I can't take your eyes.
It's too much. Too soon."
"I'll
be looking at your trembling knees," he replied. "Waiting for them
to part."
"Do you
promise?"
"Yes."
"You're
going to have to say it," I pleaded.
"I
promise to look only at the delicious space between your knees as you part them
and show me your panties," he confirmed.
"Okay.
Here goes," I announced, as I slowly turned my head away from the exit and
found him with my eyes.
He was more
gorgeous than I had been able to appreciate in that first, electrified glance.
His eyes were set low on my knees as agreed upon, but I could still feel their
energy, even on my skin. His features were decidedly Mediterranean. A long,
proud nose pointed down to a strong, solid chin. His salt-and-pepper hair was
combed back to reveal a high, olive-skinned forehead with three very faint
worry lines that looked as if they had not been exercised in years. His left
leg was crossed over the right, his free hand draped over the dominant knee.
Arms and legs were lean and angular. He wore his beautiful clothes
beautifully.
"I'm
waiting," he said.
He remained
stalk still, a Greek statue gazing back at its admirer.
I tore my
eyes off of him long enough to case the room. People typing on computers,
reading newspapers and tablet devices. A woman and her young daughter assembling
a puzzle at the back table. Three men in polo shirts--car dealers?--talking
shop. Ryan breaking down the espresso machine for cleaning.
Then him.
Sleek, beautiful him, still fixed on my frightened, pink knees.
"Okay,"
I half croaked. I cleared my throat. "Here goes."
I reached
down and pulled the hem of the skirt up just two short inches, resting it on
the tops of my legs. He took a sip of his coffee without so much as blinking.
I felt my knees slowly separate, shaking like a newborn fawn. His energy,
those damned eyes, instantly filled the space between my milky smooth thighs,
warming them then sending a wave of moisture from my intoxicated pussy lips.
"Red,"
he said.
"Yes,"
I verified.
"Silk?"
he asked.
"I
don't think so," I admitted. "I'm sorry."
"Don't
be, you had no way of knowing."
He looked up
from my dripping wet panties and we locked eyes. This time I was unable to
tear myself away. They were emerald green and deep-set with large black
pupils. These eyes had seen things, that much was clear. Things far more
salacious than a pair of red satin panties. And yet there was softness in them
as well. A gratitude that he may have preferred to conceal, given his
otherwise commanding nature.
"Have
you ever shaved your pussy?" he asked.
I felt the
moisture nearly spraying from my pinkness.
"Once,
back in college." I said. "I wasn't sure how it looked."
Suddenly and
without warning he stood, produced a large roll of cash, peeled several bills
onto the tabletop, and walked for the exit. My heart screamed in protest as he
opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Halfway across the street,
he finally raised the phone back to his ear.
"Same
time tomorrow," he said. "Leave the panties at home."
Chapter 2
The half
bottle of cheap Merlot on top of my refrigerator had partially turned to
vinegar, but I wasn't feeling picky. I poured a second glass and
quadruple-checked the call history on my phone:
1:35
pm…UNKNOWN
No missed
calls. No new texts.
I understood
his decision to remain anonymous during that first, daring call. But now
found myself at his complete mercy. A deliciously agonizing thought.
I placed the
phone back on the corner of the bathroom sink and picked up my wine glass.
Sitting on
the edge of the tub, I held a small hand mirror between my legs to inspect the
plump outer lips of my freshly shaved girl parts. I couldn't remember what I
hadn't liked about seeing them this way just six or seven years earlier.
Perhaps it had just been too soon. Too
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