Tucked away in the darkness, a rose waits.
Tucked away in the darkness, a rose waits.
We’ve known each other for so long and so well. We’ve been best friends for longer than either of us can remember. We’ve watched one another drift from one broken relationship to another. We’ve celebrated each other’s successes, provided comfort during loss and danced at each other’s weddings. We’ve also listened to the shared disappointments in our respective marriages. Regardless of what life has thrown at us, we’ve always found the time for our weekly dinners.
And here we sit, in a quiet bistro downtown after work sharing a bottle of wine, our bodies a breath from one another. The scent of your cologne teases my senses mixing dangerously with the wine. Your tie is slackened yet; I can’t help but notice how you still exuded power in this relaxed state. Secretly, I have always adored you in your tailored suits. I’d often fantasized about having my wrists bound so many of those silk ties I’d gifted you with, leaving me defenseless against your passions.
You’re speaking, yet I cannot concentrate on your words. I watch your lips moving and wonder at the feel of them against my skin gently soothing the spot where your teeth marked me moments earlier. I nod absently, feigning attention as I will my body to behave itself, willing the wetness gathering in my panties to go away. I watch you reach for your glass of wine, and my mouth goes dry imagining that strong hands and elegant fingers wrapped around my throat.
I lick my lips and shift uncomfortably in my seat, the wine apparently taking its toll. My mind is a fuzzy haze of lust. I finally bring my eyes to yours only to notice you watching me intently, your dark eyes boring into mine. I have no idea how long you’ve been staring at me. My heart pounds loudly in my ears as long seconds pass. Your gaze takes in every detail as I am transfixed, unable to move. Do you know my plight? Can you smell my arousal?
My eyes widen as your hand settles atop mine resting on the table. A slow wolfish grin appears on your lips as you bring my hand to your lap. Shock rockets through me as you settle my hand on your hardness. Leaning in, you use your free hand to brush my hair back from my neck. Your lips graze my ear as you begin to speak.
“Tell me, darling,” you whisper pressing my hand firmly against your hardness, the other gently slipping the strap of my dress down my shoulder. “Tell me what you crave.”
She jerked from her thoughts, the vibration in her picket startling her. Reaching for her phone, she retrieved it from her front jacket pocket the screen casting an illuminating glow in the dim lights of the early morning ferry.
She read the notification and smiled to herself as she unlocked her phone. Bring up her messaging app she read, and then reread the text her heart increasing its pace.
“Good morning, my minx.” the text began. “I know you’re on the ferry. Find the nearest bathroom and remove your panties.”
She walked into the studio, the door chiming in time with her entrance. For weeks, she’d been researching photographers in a bid to find the one that would suit her needs. She was beyond delighted to stumble upon this particular studio owned by a photographer whose list of praises were longer than the Rhine. Since then, they’ve corresponded via email and direct messages with an easy camaraderie developing.
“Un instant, s’il vous plaît!”, a jolly male voice called from one of the back rooms.
“Oui Monsieur. Prenez votre temps,” she replied, stepping fully into the studio. She smiled to herself, excited to finally meet her new friend and photographer.
Casually, she perused the front parlour of the studio enjoying the sound of soft music drifting from the back. Along the walls hung numerous erotic and boudoir photos, many in the classic black and white, a few with splashes of colour. She took note of how the photographer maximized angles and expertly played with light and shadows. Though erotic in nature, the photos were done with a surprising level of class and sophistication, speaking highly to the masterful skill of the photographer. She knew she was in the right establishment.
“Bonjour Mademoiselle”, the voice called to her once again, prompting her to spin on her heels.
She sighed contently as a gentle breeze caressed her skin. She stood on the balcony high above the city taking in the sparkling night lights. Soft music flowed from the open French doors behind her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply the scent of the gardenias and roses that graced the candlelit balcony. She’d been looking forward to these next few days. She’d missed him, and his dark, sensuous accented voice was the ultimate of teases. His voice captivated her every time she heard it, birthing need and desire deep within her. She’d lost count the times she’d pleasured herself thinking of the sound of his voice, wanting touch and feel him. Now, she would wait no more.
She paced the bedroom nervously wringing her hands. Anxiety settled into her tummy like a heavy stone. She’d really done it this time; she’d provoked the sleeping giant. Their relationship had been strained at best these last few weeks, especially in the bedroom. For months she’d been trying to explain her desire to explore more in the boudoir. She’d grown tired of vanilla sex and wanted more. She’d been in a BDSM relationship before, and she found returning to a vanilla relationship with him was proving nearly impossible to sustain. For years, she’d loosely expressed her desires which significantly contributed to his lack of understanding. Yes, their marriage was fantastic otherwise, and on the surface, they seemed like the perfect power couple. He’d asked her more often than not to show him what she wanted, but she’d always been fearful of his judgment and the classic “topping from the bottom.” All of which lead to frustration for both, but last week things indeed came to a head in a volcanic exchange where things were said designed to wound. They did not miss their mark. Now, an uneasy silence stretched between them. Tonight she aimed to fix that and thanks to the aid of a treasured friend she would do just that. Tonight, she would show instead of telling.
The melodic, soulful sounds of jazz filled her ears as she stepped inside the dim lit restaurant. Her dark gaze scanned the room, searching… The grand dinner club overflowed with patrons, many of which enjoy a slow turn about the dance floor in the middle of the establishment. She craned her peering around the couple in front of her as they spoke with the maître d’.
Where are they? She wondered, as she nervously checked her watch again. She was early, knowing that both valued punctuality.