The Bleakest of Seasons

He smirks. Score one for you.

Scott slides the chopsticks across the table.

'Fix your hair.' He says with a smile. Clearly he is enjoying the view.

You pick up the chopsticks and toss your hair into a bun and then slide the chopsticks into the mass of twisted hair to hold it in place. You see him admiring your body and you blush.

'You are very cute when you blush, I will tell you that.' He says, as he cracks apart a second pair of chopsticks.

You feel your cheeks redden. You move to lower your arms, but he stops you.

'Keep your hands clasped behind your neck and leave them there.' He says in a matter of fact tone, and then starts rubbing the second set of chopsticks together.

You stop for a moment, then place your hands behind your neck and wait.

You look around the room. He continues to rub the chopsticks together.

'Um... now what?' You ask finally.

Almost on cue, there is a knock at the door; the waiter has returned with the green tea. He freezes, and stares at you. You stare back, mortified. You feel your face and chest flush in embarrassment. He stands there, stock still, holding the tea.

Scott barely looks up as he works the chopsticks. 'That's perfect. Can you get her an order of kappamaki sushi? A dozen I think please.'

The waiter looks over at Scott, then looks back at you. You stare back at him in horror, certain that you may actually die from embarrassment. Finally, he sets the tray with the tea on the table, furtively steals one last glance at your chest, and then slides the door closed and disappears.

'Before you say anything...' Scott says quietly. '...please remember that you can end this at any time.'

You ignore him, focusing on your breathing. You really would like to get dressed and walk out, but it would mean he was right and you were wrong. He was clear;. if you quit, this would be it. Not one further look at anything behind the curtain, except for the tales he spun and chose to share with you.

You want more. You do. Your curiosity is piqued, and until he or you can overpower it with another drive, you're going to have to do what he says. No matter how badly he makes you blush.

'Lean forward again.' He says calmly, as he picks up the first rubber band and wraps it around the end of the chopsticks. A moment later he repeats the process at the other end and then plucks at the chopsticks. They snap together with some force.

Uh. Oh.

Scott leans forward and stares directly at your breasts. He pokes at one, then cups the other. His hands are hot, although the skin is soft. His other hand snaps the chopsticks off each other with a loud clacking sound.

Something makes a little squeaking sound. It's you.

He decides on your left nipple, and he gently seizes it between his thumb and finger. Slowly, deliberately, he rubs it back and forth until it hardens. He looks you in the eye, leaning into your personal space. Calmly, he touches his forehead to yours, and rubs his nose against yours. His breath is hot, and it smells slightly sweet.

'Deep breath. Don't scream.' He whispers.

Oh. Shit.

A moment later, the chopsticks snap shut around your nipple. Something makes a louder squeaking noise, and it hurts for a moment, then it switches to a feeling of pressure on your nipple, almost like someone has seized your flesh in a tight grip that is both painful and arousing at the same time.

'Oh god...' You whisper, mostly to yourself.

He tugs on the chopsticks slightly, coaxing one more gasp from you. Then he sits back again, leaving you hanging. He picks up the teapot, carefully pours you a cup.

There is a knock on the door, and then it slides open again. You glance over and realize that it isn't the waiter this time. The sushi chef stands there with twelve perfectly shaped little green round rolls. His face is blank, and only a few furtive looks reveal that he is entranced by your naked chest.

Your cheeks flame again. This is the third man to see you naked tonight.

He carefully sets the tray on the table in between you.

'Thank you chef.' Scott says, and dismisses him with a nod.

The chef bows, and then slides the door shut and leaves.

'I absolutely hate you right now.' You hiss.

'And you can end this at any time.' Scott murmurs as he carefully pours the second cup of tea.

'You didn't say anything about not hating you.' You argue back, convinced that you've at least found a small loophole in the rules.

'That's true.' He says calmly. 'Hate away.'

He holds up the teacup for you. You lean forward, and he holds it up to your lips. The tea is fragrant, strong and hot. You sip it carefully, and then lean back.

Scott smiles at you. Then he bridges his fingers together, and rests his chin on them. He flutters his eyelashes at you.

'You mean you don't like me now?' He says mockingly.

You shake your head. You definitely trust him. And like him, but at the moment you would really like to strangle him.

'Heh.' He chortles, then gestures at the tray in front of you.

You look down, then look back at him, frustrated.

'Scott, I'm a vegetarian. I... I can't eat that.'

'Addie, it's kappa maki. It's cucumber and avocado in rice wrapped in seaweed and as vegetarian as it gets.'

'Oh.' You look down at the perfectly uniform little green rolls. 'How do I eat them?'

Scott smirks, then reaches forward and flicks the chopsticks compressing your nipple. He pulls on one end of the sticks, then increases pressure until the sticks pop off your nipple. You gasp as your nipple pops painfully free, then blood rushes back into the nipple and it starts to tingle painfully.

'GnnnnGGGHHHH.... ' You start to swear, but you catch yourself. Scott ignores that and removes the elastics from the chopsticks. He easily seizes one of the little rolls and then holds it up to your mouth. Carefully, you lean forward and he carefully places it between your lips. You bite down, and it's sweet and crunchy and fresh. The avocado is ripe and creamy, and it contrasts with the tangy seaweed and crunchy cucumber in just the right way.

He waits until you finish, then he holds the teacup back up to your lips again. The liquid is hot and it burns your tongue ever so slightly. You suck in and blow out air to relieve the heat, and a moment later Scott holds up another piece of Sushi.

The door slides open, and yet another waiter stands there, eyes wide.

You look over at him, sigh, then turn back to Scott and look pointedly at the green tea. You're tired of feeling embarrassed.

Scott nods at you. Obviously you just passed some test on some level. He smiles and holds the tea up to your lips again and carefully pours the hot liquid into your mouth.

'We're good, thank you.' Scott says to the waiter. And then puts him on ignore.

The waiter stays frozen for a moment, then bows and slides the door shut.

For the rest of the unique meal, Scott feeds you carefully while you sit naked and vulnerable and yet feeling oddly free a few inches away.

A while later, after you've shimmied back into your clothing and straightened your hair out, you wander back out to the front desk with Scott. He pays for the meals and the drinks, leaveing a reasonable but not too generous tip. The manager warmly asks how the service was.

'I would say they were very attentive.' He replies, no hint of irony in his voice. 'Wouldn't you say Addie?'

'Very.' You reply, a forced smile on your face.

The waiters and chef wave to you as you go, their smiles wider than ever. You give a surreptitious wave back and then dart out the door with Scott. He walks you to your car. You walk there in silence. When you reach the car, you turn and look at him.

He's frumpy, and old, and a bit paunchy. He looks like life has beaten him down, just a little bit.

But you like him.

An errant hair drifts down in front of your face. He moves it out of your eyes. He looks down at you.

'Sooo..' He starts. You don't let him finish.

'Yes.' You answer firmly. 'Show me more. If I can't take it, I can't take it, but if I don't find out I'll go crazy. Take me as far as you can take me.'

He looks at you, and he looks sad. His eyes look tired.

'You can really do better.' He says quietly.

'Maybe. Maybe not. You're the one that has caught my imagination.'

He sighs; looks down at his shoes, then looks to the left.

'What's wrong?' You ask.

He sighs again.

'This is. This is wrong. You shouldn't want this. You should run from this. I shouldn't even have let you start.'

You stare up at his face. Then you reach up and place your hand on his cheek.

'Then why did you let me start?' You ask plaintively.

'Because... you never judged me. Not even for a moment.' He answers without hesitation.

'Can I trust you?'

'Yes.'

'You'll show me everything?'

'As much as you can take. And then some.'

'And I can end it at any time, right?'

'Yes.' It sounds like a vow.

'Then...' You pull on his shirt, pull him close. He doesn't fight at all. His face is stubbled, and his straw colored hair is messy, and his shirt is still damp over his belly.

And his eyes are tired. So tired.

'When do I see you again?'

'I have my son this week, but he goes back to his Mom's house for the weekend.'

'So Friday?' You ask.

'Friday.' He confirms.

You pull him closer and lock lips with him for a minute. He holds off for a second, and then you feel his hand in your hair pulling you closer in just the right way.

You break apart, and his hands slide through your long black tresses and down your back. He reaches into his pocket, and holds up the chopsticks, reattached firmly to each other with two red elastics.

'Friday.' He says firmly. His eyes still look exhausted, but now he has just a hint of a smile.

You watch him as he walks back to his car;the chopsticks clutched to your chest.

You smirk as he gets to it. Rust bucket would be a polite term. Deathtrap would be more accurate. Still he slides into the seat and buckles up. The engine roars to life and he zips away out of the parking lot.

You watch him go. Wait until the roar of his battered car fades away. Idly, you toy with the chopsticks in your hand.

'Friday' you murmur. Then a moment later, you're standing in your front lobby, keys in one hand, chopsticks in the other.

You take a long bath and mull over the evening in your head. A soft fluffy towel wicks away any moisture, and then you go through your little ritual of powders and creams so that your skin stays soft and pale. You slide into your comfy pyjamas, and slip under the covers.

Sleep won't come. You feel restless. Your head is still in the restaurant.

Finally, you roll out of bed and walk back to the front hallway. They sit there, next to the keys. The red elastic is taut against the chopsticks. You stare at them for a moment, then pick them up and walk back to the bedroom. You slide into bed, then pull up your top and pluck at your nipple with one hand until the little bud becomes firm. You pause for a moment. Quickly, you pop the chopsticks open and then let them snap shut on your nipple.

You suck in air between your teeth with a hiss. It stings. But it stings just right. A moment later, your free hand is between your legs. Your fingers flutter and you coax pleasure from yourself.

It's almost perfect, but you can't quite finish, until in a moment of clumsiness, your hand pulls on the chopsticks and they pinch your nipple even harder.

You gasp, and then twist on them viciously. Your breath comes in ragged gasps and as you finally orgasm you rip the chopsticks away. It stings like few things have, and your orgasm is the most intense one you can ever remember.

Moments later, as you lay splayed on the bed, fingers still between your legs, you giggle.

'Friday... you need to hurry up and get here.'

And then you sleep.

You met him on a Sunday evening. He told you he would be free on Friday.

Friday is a mere four days away.

It feels like a thousand years. Work is hard to focus on because you keep thinking about the things he made you do in the restaurant. When you get home in the evenings, you try and pace yourself, but inevitably you end up in bed with that pair of chopstick gripping your nipple painfully as you gasp and writhe under your own fingers.

That holds you for a few days, but on Wednesday night you twist the chopsticks so hard that the one snaps in half and sharp splinters poke at your tender skin.

'Dammit!' You curse as you rub your sore little bud and examine the McGuyvered sex toy he built for you. You liked this thing, but now it's broken and your nipple is sore.

Maybe he can build me a new one, you think.

But then he would ask what happened to the old one, and then you'd have to explain that you'd been using it as a masturbation aid for three straight days and he'd end up raising that eyebrow at you again.

You sigh. This is frustrating. Also, your nipple is a little sore from being crushed between two chopsticks every time you masturbate... which has been frequent.

He talks with you via email and chat. You tease him, he jokes with you, you learn a little more about each other as the days pass.

And Friday takes for-fucking-ever to get here.

Thursday night you make plans to meet him at a local bar after eight. He's dropping his son off at his mom's for the weekend, and then he's all yours. Or you're all his. Something to that effect.

You try and get him to tell you what he has planned for you.

'That's for me to know and for you to find out.' Is all you get back.

Bastard. Chubby, gray-haired, four-eyed, perverted, painfully honest, and deliciously intriguing bastard.

Friday afternoon goes by at what can charitably be called a snail's pace. But, finally, that most wonderful time of the day, 5 pm arrives, and you literally leave a vapour trail in your wake as you dash to your car.

You zip home as fast as you can without majorly violating any traffic laws, and dash into your bedroom and start arranging yourself. You shower quickly, shave everything that needs to be shaved... and then you go back and shave a little more just in case. Then you set yourself on the laborious task of making yourself appealing, yet not slutty. Outfits are auditioned and dismissed with great rapidity.

Finally, you settle on a naughty little black dress with a slit on the thigh that's just an inch too high, pairing it with a neckline that's a tiny bit too revealing, giving the dress a look that says 'Maybe. If you're lucky.' You match it up with a brassiere from Victoria's secret that amplifies your bountiful chest and slide ruffled pair of bikini briefs on underneath it.

You fiddle with your hair. Up, then down. Then you experiment with a couple of interesting looks that you've seen in magazines that make you feel ridiculous. Finally, you just pull your hair back and braid it into a simple, elegant ponytail.

Your makeup is next, and you keep it simple; some eye shadow, a little bit of eyeliner, and a shade of lipstick that you rarely use because your secret name for it is 'Fuck-Me-Red'. You smile as you pull out the tube from your reserve compartment. Every other time you pulled it out, you got lucky that night. Except for that time with Brad.

You shudder. The less said about Brad the better.

You banish Brad from your thoughts, then you realize that you have a second secret weapon in your drawer. You scramble around, then find it crammed into the back. The package is torn from the last time you used it, two Halloweens ago, but the fishnet stockings are still there, still waiting.

You hesitate. This will definitely look slutty. Is this the message you want to send?

You look down at the table. The chopsticks, splintered and broken are still there, because you can't bring yourself to throw them out. You close your eyes, and you can almost taste the scalding hot tea that he carefully held to your lips as you sipped and posed naked for him in a tiny little private room in the back of a restaurant.

A moment later, you're sliding the nylons on. You strap on your highest, most calf enhancing, leg elongating, sexy and vulnerable, yet strong and powerful heels.

That's it. You're done.

You pose in the mirror. You turn and examine yourself from different angles; critique yourself harshly. You release the ponytail, then braid it back up, tighter and with a more complex braid. You try on six different pairs of earrings, settle on a dangly but not too dangly pair, and finally spritz yourself with a blast of a new perfume that you picked up for just this evening called Jasmine. You waft the mist over yourself and hope that you smell like a very sexy flower. Or at least smell like a very pretty flower.

You're still fretting over your appearance when you glance over at the clock and realize it's nearly seven-thirty. Panicked, you bolt out the door as fast as you can move in your suddenly very high heels that look great on you when standing still, but feel like someone is murdering your feet when you try to run.

You get to the car quickly, bargain your toes down to a grievous bodily harm charge and zip through traffic as fast as you can. As you're pulling into the parking lot your cell rings, and you slide smoothly into a parking spot as you pull your cell up to your ear.

'Hello Addie?' He says quietly. Your stomach flutters when he says your name.

'Hi Scott.' You answer, sure that he can hear you smiling through the phone.

'Addie, I'm terribly sorry, someone wanted a bedtime story and I'm running a little late. I apologize. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Do you mind grabbing a drink and waiting for me?'

'You must be kidding. Our first date and you're late? That's it. I want out of this arrangement. We're done.' You say in a severe tone.

'Uh...' He hems and haws and tries to find the words for your surprising answer.

'You know, for a perverted, chubby little nerd with horrifying rape fantasies, you're kind of gullible, you know that?' You tease him as you let him off the hook.

'Hey! I am not gullible!' He says in mock indignation. You're pretty sure you can hear him smiling through the phone too.

'I'll see you in a little bit then?' You ask.

'Of course, I'm just heading out to the car now. Get a drink and I'll be there asap kiddo.'

The line goes dead, and you sigh. It was nice hearing his voice. You move to get out of the car and realize that your nipples are hard, and you're actually quite damp.

Slightly embarrassed, you spritz yourself with the Jasmine again. You really don't want to smell like sex until at least after you have sex.

As you walk to the restaurant, you realize that you may not even be at that point yet. What if he wants to show you pain first? Or humiliation?

You stop. Are you sure you want this?

Abruptly, you remember that moment in the parking lot at Midori's after you surprised him. He looked so tired, sad, and guilty. He swore that you could trust him and he would stop it the moment you'd had enough. You believed him.

Yes, you want this.

A moment later, you're at the bar in the restaurant ordering a glass of wine. Two businessmen sitting at a table look up and give you appreciative looks, as does the bartender. You do a quick mental fist pump, then fish through your purse for money to pay for the drink.

'I got it laady.' Says the salesman suddenly next to you, slightly slurring his words and not so slightly drunk.

You look at him calmly and decline his offer politely.

This irritates him.

'A guy can't buy a pretty lady a drink?' He says with just a touch of a sneer.

Wow, you think to yourself, this turned ugly in record time.

'I'm waiting for my date.' You advise him calmly.

'Date huh.' He says with a sneer, hands on his hips.