A Day & Two Nights

She stood back, took in this sight, and smiled. She made a lewd display of licking and sucking clean each finger that she had used to fuck my cunt then came over and towered above me. She bent over and took my left nipple into her right hand, gave to this nipple the mixture of pleasure and pain she had given to the other, pulling and pinching my nipple between her fingers. She placed her left hand on the back of my neck, took hold of my hair, and yanked my head back. She leaned closer to me, I opened my mouth waiting for her to do the same, waiting for the sensation of her lips on mine, her tongue on mine, for us to share a kiss. This was not to be, as I found out when she held her mouth above mine, pursed her lips, and then spat the mixture of my cum and her saliva into my waiting mouth. She released my hair and my nipple and I closed my mouth then hung my head down, the sensations both physical and psychological overcoming me. Involuntarily, I savored this new taste in my mouth as I squeezed my legs together and cupped my tortured breasts with my hands.

"Susan?" She asked, looking for my attention.

I still had not regained the power of conversation, so I looked her evenly in the eyes and nodded for her to continue.

"I'll send a car for you, on Saturday. I'll have them pick you up at your place at 9:00. I'll need to have your last name; you'll need to tell me so I can tell them. What is it?" She asked and waited, making sure I understood her.

I mumbled it to her, and then asked for hers.

She ignored my question with a smile, and continued: "You'll come to my place, he'll come over once you're there. He's tested and clean. I am too. Are you? Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

My cunt gave an involuntary twitch when I realized what she was saying: That her lover fucked her bareback, and would fuck me the same way. I nodded and mumbled my understanding, and my consent to this.

"I need to go. I will see you on Saturday." She turned, unlocked the door, and closed it behind her. I leaned over and locked the door after she left.

I heard the sounds of her washing her hands and then waited for her to leave the ladies room before I stood up, smoothed my dress down, and re-attached my halter-top. My nipples screamed in protest; thus eliciting from my body and mind price of my passions. She had left me marked yet again, and I wondered what other marks I would receive on Saturday night. I regained my balance as I stood up, left the stall, and approached the mirror. My mussed hair, smeared lipstick, and dazed expression looked back at me from the mirror. I composed myself, fixing my smile, and quickly fluffing my hair back into place. I washed my hands for the fourth time in 15 minutes then left the room.

June and her party had moved to one of the tables off to the side of the bar. She was sitting back, legs crossed, now with sunglasses hiding her eyes, looking Mod, stylish, and enthralling those around her. She gave no overt notice of me, yet I sensed her giving her hips an involuntary clench as she unbuttoned her coat and lay back on the couch. I quickly averted my gaze and found a spot at the now-crowded bar.

I was about to order my third apple martini when the bartender set down a shot glass containing some layered concoction in front of me. Equal parts Irish Cream, Kahlua, and Midori; I recognized the drink immediately. I also knew who had sent me this drink. I dismissed him and his unctuously discreet demeanor with a flash of my eyes. I held up the drink, turned in profile to June, and in one fell swoop swallowed the sweet mixture of this 'Quick Fuck' while still feeling the effects of the other quick fuck.

I left soon after that. I did not look for June's (and my soon to be) other lover. I knew the search would be fruitless, and I wanted to keep it as fantasy until Saturday evening. He did fuck me that evening, though; with June, my lover, the Moon holding me in her luminescent embrace. I let my favorite jelly vibe take his place; fucking my cunt hard and fast until I rolled to my side presented my ass to his surrogate cock. I fell asleep alone, sated for the moment, and yearning for more.

The intervening days passed in a blur of work and working out, then Saturday sprung heavy and turbulent, capable of change at a moment's notice. I took my coffee black, bitter, it's fragrant earthy aroma rolling my mind awake. Thoughts of June and her lover, never far from my mind, came back in full force for quite some time until I noticed the passage of time. I had spent the morning with my mind locked in a battle between the virtues of caution and reckless abandonment while my coffee had grown cold in my lap.

I showered and dressed. My thinking being that, like all ambivalent moods, a shopping trip often strikes the perfect balance between apprehension and inaction, I found my way down to Spring Street in the Village. My mind did find distractions as I acquired a few winter things on sale at one store, then switched seasons and stores and picked up a fun frilly gingham print summer dress, and then got some sassy cosmetics at a third store.

Feeling better about myself, or at least feeling better about placing my mind elsewhere, I made my way to Washington Square Park, content to get some coffee and watch the day pass. Time would move without any thought by me, but my decision would not. Or could it? Could I just not be home at 9:00, not be there when the driver came to deliver me to June, pass up this her latest invitation? No. Abdicating on a decision still selects a course of action, and I have not desire to move through my life choosing my destiny through avoidance. Besides, by dismissing this invitation, I knew there would be no others, and I wanted there to be others. I would go to June this evening, to see if her scene matched my mood. If it did not, I would leave. If it did, then I would let our combined mood carry the evening. Above all else, I would be the mistress of my own destiny.

With a renewed sense of balance and purpose, I walked along the streets lining the north side of the park, looking for a particular boutique mentioned in passing by a 'friend' some weeks ago. Finding the place proved elusive, but rewarding. Their shoe collection displayed along one wall, with everything from ankle-strap pumps to thigh-high leather boots. Mannequins displayed a few of their dresses: A liquid metal strapless mini-dress in ruby red with keyhole cutouts on both sides; a slinky long velvet evening gown in royal blue with a slit high up one side and a scoop-front plunging neckline exposing both cleavage and belly button; and on and on. My 'friend' was right: This store had a very fun, daring, exciting collection of club-wear and party dresses.

Reasoning they would be on my body longer than the dress, I started with the shoes. I spied a pump, a simple sleek black satin D'Orsay pump, with a 4" heel and an ankle strap. The salesgirl mysteriously and majestically appeared at my side as soon as I held this shoe in my hand. Yes, they had my size. They looked incongruous when I tried them on, matched as they were with my casual wear, yet I could feel my calves and ass flex under my jeans, and reasoned with one of the dresses lining the racks behind me, I would look delicious.

With the shoes in hand, I next went looking for a dress. One caught my eye, a rose-pattern lace dress with four ties on each sides and even the spaghetti straps tied behind the shoulders to the back of the dress. It did not have a lining, my fingers almost visible under the nearly opaque and very delicate fabric. The dress I pulled out was two sizes too large for me. The salesgirl nodded approvingly, dug into another rack, and emerged with the same dress in my size. Both dress and shoes went with me back to find a dressing room.

I stripped down nude before slipping my new shoes on. I was right, the lines of the shoes worked well with my toned legs and ass. Putting the dress on worked best if I untied one set of the side ties, slipped the top over my head, pulled the rest of the fabric around my body, and then reattached the open side of the dress. The ties on each side allowed me to cinch and pull the fabric, to adjust and move my breasts, until the dress became a second skin. The back hem of the dress was just long enough to cup and hug around my ass, the bodice curved around my body, and the cinched side and shoulder straps lifted my breasts. Sitting down on the chair in the dressing room and facing the mirror, my cunt peeked out from between my uncrossed legs. Standing and approaching to the mirror, I could just barely discern the outline of my nipples through the lace. This dress was decadent to the point of indecency, was truly lingerie masquerading as eveningwear, and I loved it.

The salesgirl waited behind the counter, waiting patiently for me to emerge from the dressing room. She made mention of and motioned to a selection of chokers and necklaces displayed behind the counter. Initially dismissive, I noticed a set of satin chokers embossed with roses in a selection of colors. Accessories should always unite the shoes and clothes, as did one black satin choker embossed with black roses. Lightning struck thrice as they had my size, the salesgirl helping attach the choker snugly around neck. I faced the mirror behind the counter, pulled my hair back, moved my head side to side, and loved the look. The signal conveyed by such a thing would be as unmistakable as those sent by my ankle-strap pumps and peek-a-boo dress. The choker tightened around my neck as I threw my head back. I remembered June, how she had placed her hand there, on my neck, how I had placed my hand on hers, how she had gently squeezed, just as I had wanted her to.

Five hundred dollars later I had my outfit for the evening. Sometimes your body pays the price of passion; sometimes you get to use American Express. No matter: The bill always comes due.

I got home with 4 hours to prepare. I first set about preparing my body, cleansing myself inside and out, then removing any unwanted body hair, and then resting in a tub full of scalding hot water and rose-scented bath oil. I emerged from my bath, scented, slick, pink, and smooth. Body oil came next; in the same scent as the bath oil, to my neck and shoulders, to my arms and chest, to my breasts and tummy, to the full length of my legs and between my thighs, and in the furrow of the cheeks of my ass.

I let my body absorb the oil and exude the scent as I did my make-up, black matte kohl lining my eyes mixed black matte eye shadow a coal black eye lashes, clear gel shaping and defining my brows, and a luscious wet red lipstick applied to my mouth. My eyes would smolder beneath the mask, emphasizing my mouth. This is what I wanted. I remembered thinking that men probably thought June had the 'perfect cock-sucking mouth' and I wanted June and her lover to think the same of mine. I wanted him to notice when I talked and smiled, notice of my lips, to imagine them wrapped around his cock; when he looked at my mouth, I wanted him to see a cunt.

After using some gel to tame and style my hair into a loose French braid and quickly doing my nails in a red shade reminiscent of my lips, I noticed the time would not allow anything more than slipping my dress into place, locking my feet into my heels, and embracing my neck with my choker. My coat and purse stood ready by the front door, waiting for the call summoning me into the disturbingly dark night. I caught my reflection while walking around my apartment, walking off my nervous energy, and feeling the shoes the dress the choker constricting and exposing my body. My appearance was overt, conspicuous, and sexual. I looked like a whore. My body tensed at this revelation. My left hand moved from my side to between my legs, my dress came up as my middle finger found then rubbed my clit, my cunt clenching then flowering, opening itself to my finger. I had moved beyond being moist or damp to being slick and wet. I brought my finger to my mouth and tasted my arousal, realizing as well that I felt exactly as I looked, when the concierge called, announcing the driver had arrived.

It was a quick 15-minute ride up Eighth Avenue to June's Central Park West apartment, and then another couple of minutes in the elevator up to her floor, door-to-door in 20 minutes. Her apartment took up the entire floor, and I stepped from the well-lit elevator into the dimly lit foyer. The elevator doors closed behind me, delivering me into this dark recess, seemingly closing off my last means of escape. Just as I was about to call out her name, June appeared in the doorway, silently sweeping her right hand back, inviting me into her lair.

The gallery held scarcely more light than in the foyer, yet the ambient light gathered around her body, giving her an appearance best described as luminescent. Her frosted hair slicked black from her sharply angular face, her shaped and plucked eyebrows framing her sparkling blue eyes, the long string of pearls wrapped around her neck and dangling down between her breasts all served to draw attention to her mouth. With her full sensual lips coated in a gloss a few shades lighter and brighter than my own, she had done as I had done by presenting hers as the 'perfect cock-sucking mouth'.

I shook off my coat, handing this and my purse to her, which she placed in the closet to the right, thus giving me a full view of the beautiful gown she wore. The ivory silk of her dress flowed simply over her body, presenting new lines and surprises as she moved back and forth before my eyes. Dual triangles, little more than strips of cloth, hung down from the halter-top just barely covering her nipples and areola. The plunge of her gown exposed much of her flat, toned abdomen, the twin V's of her dress and the pearl necklace serving to accentuate the length of her body. Turning her back to me, I noticed the tie of her halter-top, long silk strings dangling between her shoulder blades, leaving her back fully exposed down to the supple curves of her ass. The open slit on the right side of her gown extended past her hip, completely revealing her leg as she moved back into the gallery.

She walked past me into the living room, setting herself down on the left side of the couch facing the gas lit fireplace. Bejeweled open-toed sandals covered in a silk matching her gown adorned her feet, ankle straps holding them firmly in place. The length of her heels matched mine, meaning she still had an inch on my enhanced height. I followed her into the living room, moving around the coffee table to take my seat on the other side of the couch, setting myself down like her on the edge of the couch with knees pressed together. On the coffee table stood a bottle of very expensive vodka, three tumblers, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and an ashtray. She pulled two cigarettes from the pack as I busied myself pouring us a couple of liberal drinks, she lit both cigarettes at the same time, handing me one as I passed her drink to her. We clinked our glasses together in a silent toast, both of us taking long drags on our cigarettes after, letting the exhaled smoke add to the room's atmosphere. We were alone, for the time being.

"I love your dress," she started our conversation, "something new?"

"Yes," I answered, "I got it just this afternoon at a boutique I found in the Village."

"Is that also where you got that?" She asked, nodding to my satin choker.

"Yes and the shoes." I said, nodding down to my feet.

She took another drag from her cigarette, perched it on the lip of her ashtray, and then leaned back into the deep plush couch. She crossed her left leg over her right, letting the silk of her gown slide over her legs. Her legs shined, her pearls lustrous between her breasts, and her eyes sparkled, all from the light of the fire. I smiled as I set my cigarette next to hers after matching her drink for drink.

"And your dress?" I asked, turning my body to face her.

"A shop in Madison" was all the answer I got from her. She switched subjects, "I'm pleased you're here."

Shooting her a look, I asked her "Pleased I am here or pleased with yourself that you got me here?"

She threw her head back and laughed at that one. "Both, of course! You want to be here as much as I want you here." She pulled her right to behind her head, resting back against her hand. With her gown cut from a single piece of silk, meeting at a point just above her left hip, her right side almost completely exposed to me. Her gown was as long and flowing as mine was short and form fitting, hers displaying her lithe and supple body while mine served to accentuate my curves, even the fabrics and colors we chose contrasted and complimented each other. That and we have very similar taste in shoes.

She was right, in a way, with her comment about me wanting to be there. I could not deny that once I decided to accept her invitation, I jumped in with both feet. "And who else is coming over tonight?"

"He'll be here later. Right now is just about us." She extended her right hand to me, holding my hand as we talked. I envied her ease in this, how she created this scene, how it matched her mood; and how she made things open and inviting, letting me evaluate things before I committed further than I already had.

"I almost didn't make it" I admitted, "I sat and thought I could just not be home when the car came for me."

If this surprised her, her expression betrayed no outward sign of this. "What made you want to come here?" She asked while looking away and taking another sip of her drink.

"Just that I wanted to make a choice," I said, "to decide for myself what would happen; I don't like avoiding things. I've never regretted what I've done, but I have regretted what I've passed up. Does that make sense? Besides, we're just holding hands and having a drink. We haven't done anything besides that."

"Yet" she finished my sentence for me.

"Yet" I agreed and laughed.

"And yes, I know what you mean. For years, the houses, the vacations, the clothes were enough. Then suddenly they weren't and I wanted out." She explained, surveying her surroundings. "I wanted to be single again, and I told him I was leaving. He threw a fit." She grimaced, remembering the fights while drowning the bad memories with another drink of vodka.

"Obviously you resolved your differences." I led her on with my statement.

"In a way, yes. He reminded me that our pre-nup would leave me single, and broke. I didn't want to be another middle-aged woman selling perfume or shoes at Bergdorf's that I couldn't afford," she sniffed at the thought, "so I stayed. He told me he didn't care if I had another life, so long as I was discreet and was there when he needed me. Having a social wife for charity balls and the like helps his career."

"What do you get out of this?" I asked, knowing she is smart enough to take care of herself.

"Isn't that obvious?" She laughed at my question, yet again answering my question with one of her own. "I get the houses, the vacations, the clothes, and I have my other life. He doesn't know, doesn't want to know, and I make sure nobody ever finds out. That was over 10 years ago, Susan, and I haven't regretted anything since."

I lifted my glass to my lips; it was my turn for a drink. While not the first married lover in my life, I marveled at how she came into this arrangement before creating her other life. I imagined her first tentative steps, placing discretion over enjoyment, until she established her own rhythm and discovered her own tastes. I smiled at her, bowing my head to her signaling both my understanding and admiration.

"What about you?" She asked, my turn to share.

"Nothing so dramatic as that," I said, "I didn't marry well and I married too young. We divorced when I was 25 after three years waiting for each other to change. I had 'bought' into what everyone else said I should do, and avoided making my own choices, until like you I wanted out. There wasn't a gilded cage keeping me there," I said with a sweep of my eyes, inferring that I recognized hers for what it is, " and I did become single, broke, and alone. But, it was my life to lead."