Tuesday Ch. 02

'He might not like this at all! What if he doesn't want to watch me? What if...'

'Girl. Stop. Calm down. Take a deep breath.'

His words come through the phone line loud and clear and resonate with you immediately. You feel his voice flow through you like a wave and when he speaks you feel the tension start to flow out of your body. You take in a lungful of air and hold it for a minute.

Stop. Calm down. Take a deep breath.

Be a good girl. Trust him.

'Yes sir.' You exhale.

'Better?' He asks you.

'Yes.' You do feel better. You just don't understand why.

'Ari, do you have some alcohol there?'

'Yes sir.'

'Take a strong drink. Don't get drunk, just a couple of stiff shots. You'll feel warm and loosen up a little.'

'Ok.'

'Just remember that it's your husband and he loves you and you're doing this for him.'

'Ok.'

'You can do this girl. I have faith in you.'

You beam a little when he says that. You don't understand why.

'Yes sir. Thank you sir.' You say in your tiny little voice.

'Girl, go show your husband what he's been missing.' He practically purrs it at you.

You nod your head and then the line drops as Padraic hangs up. He's not being rude or dismissive, he's just given you an order and he expects you to get it done.

And you do.

You grab the bottle of whiskey that you set aside for your husband in the bedroom and bang down two quick shots. You gasp for air and wheeze as it burns your throat but you force it down. Then you brush out your hair quickly and slip your high heels back on. Finally, you light a couple of candles around the room and dim the lights.

Your boudoir scene is set. You're nervous, but ready.

You check the clock and see you've barely got seconds to spare. You look around; trying to make sure everything looks perfect for him. A frantic scan of the room reveals everything in place, and the mirror on the dresser shows a dark, sexy young woman dressed in clothing designed to titillate and conceal little.

You stare at her for a minute. You can scarcely believe it's you.

A knock reverberates from the doorway. You freeze for a minute. Then you remember why you are there.

It's showtime.

You're striding to the door quickly before you can think about it, and open it just as he starts to knock again.

He stops cold, surprise on his face as he takes you in. His face reddens and his mouth silently opens. Then a smile creeps across his face.

'Ari?' He asks you, his voice almost uncertain as he speaks.

You lift yourself up on your tip toes and kiss him gently on the lips. He stands stock still for a moment and then gives a lusty little groan as he looks at you.

'Do you have your ticket?' You ask him quietly.

The ticket pops into his hand so quickly, you scarcely see him move. The scrap of paper you carefully drew for him with markers and a flourish of pressed lipstick is clutched tightly between his fingers.

You gently retrieve the ticket from him and set it on the dresser in a safe place. He waits patiently for you in the doorway of his own bedroom, uncertain what he should do next.

You smile at your suddenly awkward but attentive husband and then gesture at the chair. He smiles again at you, then moves to the chair and sits gracelessly.

If anything he seems more nervous than you are. That sets you at ease for some reason.

Quietly, you close the door and then move to the bottle of whiskey and pour him a strong drink over ice cubes so cold they're sticky to the touch. You bring it to him and gently place it in his hand, lingering a moment to wrap your hands around his own as he holds the glass.

He looks up at you in awe and desire. His pants are bulging now, and just these few moments of contact and the atmosphere have him as aroused as you have ever seen him. The ice in the glass clinks as his fingers tremble.

You can't help but smile at him. You haven't seen him like this in a long, long time.

'This is for you.' You whisper to him.

Your hands slip behind your neck and release the string holding your top in place. The flimsy silken fabric slips away down your chest and your still firm breasts jut forth eagerly for him. You don't remember feeling aroused earlier, but your little buds of flesh have turned erect and hard.

You slide your hands down your chest and across your nipples as you turn and stretch languidly in front of him. You walk to the bed slowly, and your fingers slide the lacy black panties down your thighs as you do so. As you reach the bed you deftly step out of the tiny garment and then turn gracefully to perch on the bed, naked but for stockings and your impossibly high heeled shoes.

You lock eyes with your husband and sit on the cool sheets of the bed. Slowly, deliberately you spread your legs and your hand slips between your thighs.

He sits motionless as he stares intently at you. The now frigid whiskey is forgotten as he takes your naked form in.

You try to think of something erotic to say to him, but you can't. And the truth is you don't need to. If he has ever been this focused on you and your body, you don't remember it.

And so, the private show begins for your husband. Your hand slips between your thighs, and your flesh is manipulated for his pleasure.

And he is well entertained.