Silk Scarf Ch. 3

The drive to work, always frustrating but never changing. Brief case rocking gently in the passenger seat. Today was another in a long string of days tied together with boredom.

Over ten years with this company, and unable to move past middle level management. You know you are better prepared than most you work with, but still the upward movement never occurs. Wondering if the cause is your gender, you glide into your parking place, in the covered tower area.

Mick, the Landmark security guard near the elevator flags your attention as you approach. Turning in his direction, he reaches under the counter and passes forth a long slim white box tied with a white bow. The box reminds you of the ones that you see delivered occasionally through out the office. Usually carrying flowers, especially roses, to those around you. Never has Tim sent flowers before.

Riding the elevator to the third floor, you find yourself rushing to the little cubical they call an office, anxious to open the package from Tim. You're wondering what the motivation for flowers was, especially since you had hardly spoken in a few weeks. Perhaps he was trying to make amends. Your smiling, thrilled to have him re-opening that door. Now, maybe you can re-kindle that which brought you together once.

Placing the box on your desk, you glance around, checking to see if your co-workers are watching. All appear to be pre-occupied. Smoothing your skirt under you as you sit in the swivel back armless chair. Hands trembling with excitement, you untie the bow, wanting to save it along with the box to show Tim later. The bow spread around the box, the lid lifting. A quick peek inside, under the flap of the box, reveals that it is indeed not flowers. Lifting the lid completely you find a black silk and brocade evening gown. Lifting it from its container, holding it up you realize that it is floor length, possibly hand made, and very, very elegant.

Tim would never have picked out something like this. He is way too conservative. Backless with low cut front, and slit on the side, almost to the hip. Beautiful. You look back to the box. Searching for a note. You had not noticed one under the bow. No note. A quick call downstairs to Mick, confirms that there was no note attached upon delivery. Turning the dress over and over, caressing its smooth silky fabric, you wonder what had gotten into Tim. This was so fantastic, yet so unlike him. Maybe, just maybe.

A shadow crosses your desk. A glance up reveals another deliveryman, no more like a messenger. A white envelope sealed on the flap with wax is proffered. Taking it, the messenger turns and leaves. You turn the envelope over and over. The script on the outside is the same as before. Heart racing, hands trembling, you pry the wax off, and open the flap. Him. The note in the same format, beseeching yet commanding confirms that the gown is from him.

Well it can all just go back to where it came from. Your vow not to meet again will remain unbroken. Another call to Mick, followed by disappointment. Mick is unable to inform you where the package came from. You hadn't noticed a company name on the jacket of the messenger service. You replace the gown in the white box, re-tie the bow and place it on the credenza behind you. The note is still open on your desk. You notice that your fingers are gently tracing the edges. I can't do this. Can't do this to Tim, or even to myself. Yet something, something deep within, something yet not admitted to yourself confirms that you will again comply with the wishes of the note.

Thank GOD Tim works late most evenings. The meeting is set for six-fifteen. For the last two hours you have been making excuses up in your mind not to attend. Yet here you stand rather than sit, avoiding wrinkles in the gown, ready to go forth to you know not where. The limousine is due at any moment. This will be easy, you can just tell the driver no, that you are unable to go with him.

You jump at the sound of the knock on the door. Peeking out the bedroom window, you can see the long sleek black vehicle parked at the curb in front. Your view from the second story obscures the front door. Unable to see the cause of the knock you know it must be the driver. Building your courage, making your mind steadfast, you decide in fact to tell him that you cannot leave. Another knock, and you start for the stairs.

Hand closing around the familiar knob, the door opens. A driver standing there, saying nothing, points to the car. You look to him for information, look to the long black shining vehicle, feel the gown tightly hugging your body. You start to speak, but are unable. The door closes softly behind you, as you follow the driver to the open back door of the limousine. As you slide in, the slit in the gown opens, eliciting a glance from the driver as he notices the long lean leg and firm thigh. There on the seat is the scarf, and beside it another note in the same script. The door closes gently, the click of the lock like a gunshot in your ear. A moment of panic moves thru you. You tear the note open, and read the contents. Why, what is it with me you ponder. The car is not moving, it's still sitting at the curb. The driver is waiting. The familiar scarf, folded, now in your hands. Covering your eyes, and with resignation you pull the knot tight. You hear the window between you and the driver rise, the car in gear, and the sensation of movement.

What is this? Sitting in the soft leather seat of the moving vehicle, you wonder. Blindfolded, going who knows where, to meet who knows whom, for whatever reason. This is crazy. Your hands move up to the scarf, ready to remove it, but something stops you. You have a need for some remote reason to see this through. Hands again in your lap. The gentle rocking of the limo, you lean back and relax. Well more like controlled panic. Listening for familiar sounds, you realize that the limo is almost sound proof. You find your Heart racing, and your mind almost out of control. You notice your hands quivering in your lap.

The drive seems to last forever. You realize that you have moved out of the city. The limo moving faster and smoother. Probably traveling on the freeway. Soft music begins playing, the sound surrounding you, helping you relax. Breathing is easier and your heart slowing to almost normal. Still the vehicle moves on. On and on, steadily, very little change in direction. The sounds of the music lulling you into a very relaxed state. The constant click of the tires on the road is a most pleasant humming in your extra sensitive ears.

Slowing now, and a slight turn to the right, confirming your exit from the freeway. Slowing more, a complete stop. A turn to the right, the road rougher than before. Many swerves, a few stops and a few tight turns in each direction. You sense a driveway. Ears detecting gates opening. The limo moving forward. A few more twists and a complete stop.

Hands shaking again, mouth dry, the side door that you entered, how long ago, opens. A cool draft moves across you. Your exposed thigh feels a slight breeze. A soft gentle hand taking you by the arm. Guiding you from the vehicle. Legs opening to move across the seat. Turning at the sill, knowing that the slit is open, hands trying to close the gap. Unable to see, makes you wobbly on the tall heels. Finally you are standing. Guided forward, you hear a female voice, " four steps". One, two, a wobble on three, assistance from the one at your side, four. Scuffling sound of your shoes on tile. A slight trip on a threshold. The feeling of big overwhelms you. A door latching behind you echoes off the interior walls.

The hand assisting you drops away, no sounds. Alone, or not, you have no idea. Your neck moves about seeking any sound, anything to help give you a bearing. Nothing.

You know that you have surrendered to this evening, but have no idea why. Pictures flash through your mind. Visions never really there, but perceived from the other night, how long ago? Standing, no vision, no sound, just you alone within your self. These images move through. The champagne, the couch, the fear, embarrassment, the wanton desire, how you must have looked over that couch. A strange heat moves through your body. Fear mixed with excitement, causes your skin to become chilled, and nipples hard against the gown. Standing you relive the other night, moment by moment. The desire growing, tempered only by the anxiety.

Another's presence sensed. No a sound, just a feeling, something moving, circling quietly. Long moments pass, then a slight touch on the back of your arm, like a brush on a painting. Another soft touch followed by a gentle grasp. Pulling you to the left. You are lead, the blind following out of complete trust. Shoes clicking on tile, then soft, quiet on thick carpet. You feel yourself moving into another large room. Stopped by a slight tug on your arm, you freeze. Hearing acute, but there is no sound to rest upon. Hair lifted from your shoulders by unseen hands. A clip holding it in place. Warmth radiating from your left must be a window there, facing the setting sun. Hands, two, caressing the sides of your neck. The touch so wonderfully soft. The fingers so smooth on your almost bare shoulders. Down the exposed flesh of your back. A drink placed in your hand. Long cool glass, the stem short. You raise the glass to your nose, the scent of champagne.

The cool bubbles move through you, taking the edge from your panic. You are guided to a small straight back chair. Barely large enough to cover the firm tight hips, that you have worked so hard on. Lower than normal also, might be a child's chair. You hear the door close, alone again. This time only for a moment, the door opening and closing again. You feel someone close. A smile crosses your lips you recognize the cologne. It is he. You feel weak in the knees, so excited you almost blurt out in happiness, but you remember the note, and withhold.

Soft music playing in the background. A hand on your ankle, shoe being removed. Then the other. The glass taken from your fingers. A hand touching yours. Lifting, urging you upwards. You stand bare footed. Your arms raised level with shoulders, outstretched. Heart racing, where will this go, what is happening to me. Arms are encircling your body. Drawn close, you feel his body fully against yours. One arm behind you, the other softly held in his hand. He leads in the dance of two lovers. You pull him closer, feel him fuller. The cool glow in you is growing warmer. You dance as if you had always been partners.

The melody ends. Still held tightly, another slow soft song starts. This one an old favorite of yours. Your heart lifts at the sounds, memories of an early love overwhelming you. Still you dance. He feels so grand pressed against you like this. Your arm around his neck, pulling him closer. Turning you rapidly, you feel the long skirt flair, and the brush of the wind reminding you of the garments not worn, but left in the drawer at home.

Song after song, spin, twirl, like Cinderella's ball you float in his arms. You want to laugh, call out let him know all that he has made you feel, but always the note.

Another twirl and the song ends. A slow classical piece begins. He moves from your clutch, and disappears in the soft music. You stand still concentrating looking for a sound that will give his presence away. A slight clink, as if two pieces of metal touched. A thumb on your chin, downward, opening, something smooth and hard inserted partway. Chocolate, and strawberry. Delicious the juices in your mouth flowing around the flavor. You suck gently, rather than chew, savoring the taste.

Another proffered and taken. Another, but this different. Not all the way in. You lean into take it, and brush against his lips, holding the berry. His hands curled in your hair, pulling the clip out, drawing you close for this first kiss.

Lips soft, moist, yet firm. You accept this, and begin moving stronger against him. You can feel his steady breathing. He parts, leaving you the other half of the berry. Pulling you close, you surrender into his arms. Who is this person that can make me feel this way? My body out of control my need so strong, how can he make me feel this way? His lips nuzzling at your neck, his arms around you again. You gather him into you, and hold him close. Tears begin to flow under the blindfold.

His finger lightly daubing at the salty tears, wiping them from your face. You need to cry out, to tell him what you feel, but cannot. A single word could break the spell. His lips on your ear, behind your ear, down your neck. Hands behind your back, working at the zipper that held the gown closed. Stepping away, the gown loose, you cannot control the desire. Leaning slightly forward, you let the gown cascade down your body. A body, alive for only the second time in so long. So very alive. His breaths close. Another tug on your chin your mouth opens expecting another berry instead you feel his lips close on yours, his tongue searching. Your whole body collapsing against him. His support is all that keeps you from falling. Tongues intertwine his so strong, yours so mobile. Wrestling together, trying to let each know the hidden feelings.

His hands moving over your bare back, touching everywhere, searching but not finding, and searching again. Your breasts pressed against what must be a silk shirt. You can feel the warmth of his flesh in your swollen nipples. The kiss broken he steps back. His hand guides yours to a breast. Your fingers cupping the fullness from beneath, lifting slightly. Electric shocks travel through you from your nipple to your toes, his tongue lathering the engorged flesh. Head tilted, and, back arched you offer yourself more openly to his kiss. The whole nipple taken deeply into the warm mouth nursed as a child would. The light brown flesh growing to his touch, his tongue twirling, mouth sucking. Your hands grasp his head, pulling him closer, bidding him to take more, not to stop. Bolder, you move him to the other. He takes it deep, his hands on the first. You feel the wetness in you spread, like a long closed dam opening. Your legs part. They seem to have a will of their own. You can almost feel the heat from within you. Your whole body warming.

Shifting you try to maneuver your body closer to his. You need to feel him close now. He turns slightly, still his tongue on your breasts. First one breast then the other. You feel the fabric of his pants between your legs. Your body is on fire. He is still moving from breast one to the other. Your hands holding his head close. Your hips searching for the correct posture. Trying to move your body against his leg. You cannot control that which this man has opened. Desire is in control now.

Anything, everything he wants, is his for the taking. If only he would help douse the flames growing inside you. Your legs straddling his, you find a purchase, and move slowly against him. The fabric against that most sensitive of sites. Like a bitch in heat. You are out of control, you need this, you justify this. Your hips grinding against him is making the fabric of his pants moist slippery, and smooth against you. His manipulations on your breasts is continuing to brighten the fire within you. Your hips a rhythm found. Steady, steady the flame grows. Harder and harder you pull on the head at your chest. Desire grows, demanding release. Almost begging, your hips continue the dance. Close, so close. His hand drops from your breast. Inserted between you and his fabric-covered leg, you grind onto him, calling out in pleasure. His fingers moving deep within you. Your lips opening wide, insides clutching wildly at the foreign objects. The palm of his hand in precisely the right place, you rock slow and hard against this touch. Building, building, the dampness felt on your thighs. The explosion came so quickly, the racing heart, the heaving chest,the loud moans overtaking you. You collapse into his arms. His hand wet from you, his fingers inserted into your mouth, his tongue following. Your tongues battle for the taste of you. Knees weak, you settle gently to the floor.

Softness surrounds you, the warmest, coziest most comfortable place you have ever been. Soft breathing next to you. You feel the weight of him upon the bed. The scent of champagne in the air. The almost painful sensation as the cold fluid splashes across your breasts, down to your flat hard stomach, trickling between your legs. Your hips jerk at the sensation between your sensitive thighs. His tongue lapping at the drink. Your body responding already, a groan escapes, followed by a whimper as his tongue caresses that crease at the top of your leg, and moves slowly toward the center. The bubbles from the drink, bursting, in the most unusual places. New sensations with each burst. Tongue closer now, closer to the heart of your body. The warm, wet, soft, rough, oh so fantastic, curling around your button. Your fingers curl into his hair, pulling his face into you. So quick you are ready for this, so quick your need has been re-kindled.

Fingers parting you spreading open that hidden area. Tongue swirling at the outer edges. Spreading wider, opening totally, you give in to the sensation. Tongue moving deeper, filling you. Your muscles clenching down. His finger swirling lower, his tongue deeper, your own fingers assisting. Hips undulating, your need rising, body on fire, screaming for release. Knees bent, legs open the giving complete. A low growl and then a cry into the air escapes. The flood of your essence is coating his tongue. Legs straight out, hips thrust upwards, body tense, then darkness.

Awakened by a tender shaking, again a female voice, you can leave now. You remove the scarf to find the room empty, save for another empty glass, and a single red rose on the edge of the bed.