A Wind Blew Through Me Pt. 04

I managed to come far enough back into my head to start removing my own clothes so that I could join her. My cock bounced playfully as I freed it form my underwear, rock hard after her pre-shower display. I walked over and entered the shower with her as she was lathering soap onto herself.

She looked up at me through the water and smiled in greeting, running her hands down my chest and gently grasping my hard-on in her hand. "This little troublemaker is the reason why we are both so dirty, Greg, can't you control him long enough for us both to get clean?" She smiled at me knowingly and went back to cleaning herself.

I found the soap as well and set to work cleaning my own body, trying to ignore the arousal surging through my veins. I wasn't trying to make this a sexual encounter, but seeing her like that I just could not help it. She pressed her ass into me as she bent over to wash her hair, making the situation worse. I gave up on my own shower, hopelessly enthralled with Amy's movements.

I began to touch her, rubbing her shoulders and sliding my hands over her breasts as the water poured down. She continued cleaning herself studiously until her hair was thoroughly rinsed and the soap was cleansed from her body. Finally, she turned her attention back to me, sliding her arms around my chest, pressing herself against me and looking up into my eyes. I was hopelessly hard now, my cock throbbing with desire as she pressed it into her navel.

I could see in her eyes how much she enjoyed the trance she had cast over me as she wordlessly dropped to her knees and slid her hands over my desperate cock. She wasted no time with foreplay, having thoroughly aroused me with her routine in the shower, and she plunged my cock into her mouth greedily. I was already shaking with arousal and my knees almost gave out at the pleasure of her mouth enveloping me.

She slid in and out rhythmically, now stroking my balls gently with her hand. I grasped her wet hair and pulled her into me decisively, pushing myself into her throat. She welcomed me into herself effortlessly and obeyed the guidance of my hand. It did not take long before my legs began to shake violently, and I had to brace myself against the glass wall to avoid falling over. I came into her mouth and she welcomed my ejaculation with a soft moan of her own.

When I began to recover, she drew herself up to her feet and looked back at me with a smile. I saw her swallow my cum and then she licked her lips playfully saying, "That was quite an appetizer..." before turning and exiting the shower without another word.

She grabbed a towel and dried herself off as I stood, still breathless in the shower. She smiled back at me and walked off, closing the bathroom door behind her.

Eventually, I remembered how hungry I was and finished cleaning myself off quickly. I turned off the water and found my own towel, drying myself off. When I emerged back into the bedroom, Amy was already slipping a lavender cocktail dress over her head.

She adjusted the garment, the waist a tight fight over her bust, and arranged the deep v-neck of the gown over her bra with a set of practiced movements. She looked up at me, spun around playfully and looked back with a 'how do I look' raise of her eyebrows.

"You look stunning, Amy." I told her with sincerity. "I'm not sure I have much to compete with that..."

"Oh, don't be silly. Men are so much easier." She began to fasten a pair of matching lavender heels to her feet. "You brought a blazer didn't you?"

Thankfully, I did, although I wasn't sure what kind of shape it was in at present.

She continued, "All you have to do is throw that on and you'll look right at home walking down those stairs with a ravishing beauty on your arm..."

I wasn't sure I believed her, but the ravishing beauty bit was absolutely true. Nobody was going to be looking at me, except to wonder why. She grabbed a bag and went back into the bathroom.

I pulled out the most appropriate outfit I could muster. The cream-colored blazer I brought was thankfully in decent shape after the journey. I did have a pretty nice lavender shirt that evoked Amy's dress. Finally, some simple black slacks completed the improvised ensemble. My wardrobe could really use some work.

"See? That's perfect." She said, emerging from the bathroom with touched-up makeup. My clothes were now laid out on the bed. "Now, get dressed. I'm starving."

Chapter 14 - A Frightening and Violent Intimacy

I put on the outfit as quickly as I could, pausing for a moment in the middle to dig out a belt. I put on a pair of black loafers and stood up, finally ready for our next adventure. I pocketed one of the ancient-looking keys while Amy gathered an array of items into a small bag she had produced from one of her suitcases. We looked at each other as I opened the door to the room and ushered her out, her pace now governed by the high heels she wore proudly.

When we had exited the room, I offered her my arm. She looked at me slightly amused but took it, wrapping her own slender arm around mine and grasping my bicep with her hand. We walked slowly down the stairs together, enjoying both the formal closeness of our bodies pressed together and the imminent prospect of food awaiting us at our destination.

I led her back through the labyrinth of the second floor as best I could. Thankfully, I did not get us lost, and before we knew it, we stood at the top of the grand staircase.

We walked down in concert as if presenting ourselves to a formal ball packed full of people. No one was immediately visible as we emerged into the lobby, but the finery of it's decoration bolstered the illusion. As we descended the last steps, Michael appeared again near the door, bustling in from an unseen section of the Lodge.

"Ah!" he exclaimed when he caught sight of us on the stairs. "It is so good to see you both refreshed! Please, follow me and we will get the meal started..."

He motioned to a door on his left and we sauntered toward him, eager to see what awaited us in the unseen room. Michael led us through a short series of turns on the interior of the building.

"We have a number of dining rooms available, but..." he looked back at us briefly, "I took the liberty of preparing the wine cellar this evening. It is a touch more intimate than the others."

He stood now at the top of a flight of stairs leading down into a basement, motioning for us to descend. As we did, we found ourselves in a surprisingly spacious room, quite different from the rest of the Lodge. It was darker than we had become accustomed to upstairs, but the gloom had a romantic quality to it. The entirety of the far wall was covered by a sea of wine bottles resting in individual alcoves. There was an oval table set away from the wall, big enough for probably 4 guests.

Upon the table were 2 ornate silver candelabras each containing 5 tapered white candles which had already been lit. Two places were set across from each other at the table, silver and flatware already positioned before each setting. The flames of the candles cast a faint shimmer across the array of polished silverware.

Presently, we became aware of an unfamiliar presence in the room. On the far side of the table stood another man, dressed in similar fashion to Michael, but he loomed substantially taller over the table.

"Ah, yes..." Michael started when he noticed the other man. "This is our Kitchen Porter, Ralph, he will be assisting in serving your meal tonight."

Ralph stepped further into the light and took a respectful bow at our acquaintance. He was built more like a football player, broad shoulders and wide chest fitting less naturally into his black suit than Michael's more conservative frame. Ralph's facial features were as large as the rest of him, his most striking feature undoubtedly being his large, striking green eyes.

He turned those eyes upon both of us in turn, lingering considerably longer over Amy than myself. He pulled out the chair on the far side of the table and said to Amy, "Would it please the Lady to take this seat?"

Amy released her grasp on my arm and walked over to the chair Ralph held out for her. I took my own seat across from her and we both sat down at last, facing each other across the array of implements covering the table before us.

Ralph took several steps back, now positioned perpendicular to us at the far end of the oval table. He started again in a quiet, confident voice, "The Chef sends her compliments and wishes to express her pleasure at the opportunity to prepare this meal for you..."

These people were either the nicest people I had ever met or completely full of shit. I was more inclined to believe the latter, but under the circumstances I made a conscious effort to believe the former.

"She has prepared a selection of dishes and hopes you will find each to your liking." He paused for a moment, to give us time to process that information, I supposed. I guess we didn't need to worry about ordering anything.

"Our Sommelier has prepared a selection of wine pairings for each course. I will pour each vintage when the appropriate course is before you." Ralph paused again. I looked over at Amy. She looked as hungry as I felt, just ready to see some sustenance set before us. It took some serious confidence to parade this meal before a pair of famished Americans without even the illusion of choice. I found myself hoping the confidence was warranted.

Ralph continued, "The first course will be ready presently. In the meantime, may I get you any other refreshments?"

"Water?" Amy shot back without a second's hesitation.

"Certainly." Ralph responded, disappearing into a hidden corner of the room and returning with a pitcher and a towel draped over his arm. He plucked a glass from in front of Amy and filled it with iced water before replacing it to the table. She immediately picked it up and drank deeply.

"And for the gentleman?" he addressed me directly for the first time.

"Oh, yeah... Yes, please." I stumbled over my words.

He filled my own glass deftly before taking a step back and replacing the pitcher to its' hidden home. "Excuse me." He said with another small bow before climbing the stairs and disappearing from view.

I looked over at Amy, who was already looking back at me. She was more enchanting than usual, hunger or no. The flickering candles played their games of light on her face, flashing naturally in her amber eyes. Her dress looked much darker in the light of the cellar, although most of it was now obscured by the table. The candlelight danced against the skin of her chest, deepening the swell of her cleavage as she drew breath slowly.

"Is this..." I looked up into her eyes, a little overwhelmed with the entire set of events, "...normal?"

She laughed at me, the candles lighting up her smile beautifully. "Not for me." she answered.

Before we had the chance to continue, I heard footsteps on the stairs behind me. Ralph appeared, resting a large tray on his shoulder.

I looked back at Amy and we exchanged a 'thank god' look of desperate hunger.

Ralph set a cloche-covered plate before Amy. As he removed the cloche, he explained, "A bright salad to start; arugula and spinach dressed in champagne vinaigrette, topped with a seared bass and garden-fresh cherry tomatoes."

He set my plate before me and pulled away the cloche dramatically, the delicious aroma of the seared fish wafting up to greet me. He put the tray down against the wall and picked up a bottle of wine which had been staged on a small table behind me.

Neither of us had patience to wait for the wine at this point, immediately taking up the salad fork from our place settings and digging greedily into the beautiful plates before us. I gathered up a forkful of greens and a morsel of the bass and shoveled it into my mouth.

It was fucking fantastic. The bitter greens fought for dominance with the bright dressing, and they both came together to balance the succulent fish. Amy already had a bite in her mouth as well, and when I looked up at her, a look of relieved pleasure radiated over her face as she chewed.

Ralph continued, almost forgotten, "...Paired with a local favorite Chardonnay. The subtle sweetness should relieve the bright salad and enhance the sear on the fish."

He poured us both a modest measure of the wine, replaced the bottle, picked up his tray, and walked back up the stairs without further explanation.

The salad only got better as I tried various permutations of its parts. The tomatoes were exquisite, popping in the mouth and exploding in beautiful, bright flavor. The only complaint I had was the disappointingly small portion of bass, which I did not have the self-control to preserve for long.

The wine performed as advertised, foiling the acid in the dressing and causing me to long for more of that spectacular fish. The portion of both the salad and the wine was perfection, even to my starved palate. I polished off the salad just as I began to wonder if I could take any more of that war between the bitter and acidic. I took the last sip of the wine immediately following the last bite of salad.

I suppose we were too hungry to say much at that point, but it was clear that Amy was enjoying the meal at least as much as I was. She had saved the small cohort of tomatoes on her plate for last and was now popping them into her mouth one by one, smiling to herself as she popped them in her teeth.

Ralph emerged again with another tray. He set this one on a stand before setting to work clearing the empty plates before us, careful to take the accompanying utensils and expended wine glasses along with them. With a neat stack of used dishes on the tray, he plucked two new plates up from the tray and placed them before each of us in turn.

He removed Amy's cloche first, then mine, explaining "Next, we have a pastry of quail with sage-infused cream sauce and fresh peas."

A little more adventurous this time, but after the first course my doubts were a thing of the past. This time, we managed to control ourselves long enough for Ralph to explain his wine pairing.

"We have paired the pastry with a full-bodied Merlot, which will soften the richness and cleanse the palate." He took another moment to refill our water glasses before taking up the tray and returning up the stairs.

We took our next forks in concert and dug into the delicate pastry. It was large enough to relieve any fears I might have had about the portions failing to sate my hunger.

The first bite was, unsurprisingly, wonderful. The light pastry provided a satisfying crunch. The rich cream was satisfying, but the assertive herb contrasted it beautifully. The morsels of quail provided a tender chew while the peas popped brightly and added their own sweet charm.

It was more repetitive a dish than the first, each bite delicious but more or less the same. I found myself needing the wine before long, which really did an impressive job at cutting through the fat and cleansing the palate. By the time I had finished it, I was pleasantly full.

Occasionally, I would look up from the meal and remember with a shock who I was eating with. It was so delicious, I was prone to lose myself to the act of enjoying it.

With my food gone, I found myself admiring her enjoying her own food. She appeared to be in a similar frame of mind, focused intently on the plate before her and occasionally letting out a soft moan of pleasure as she chewed.

"How do you like the pastry?" I asked after a moment, pulling her eyes back to me.

She looked back down and finished the bite she had been chewing, pace unchanged. "I think you can probably tell what I think..." she started mysteriously.

She took a sip of the wine, closing her eyes to enjoy it. When she looked back at me, she continued, "It's perfect- light, heavy; crunchy, creamy; rich, herbaceous; created as an elegant implement of satisfaction for a pair of weary travelers."

I could have guessed something along those lines, but her words were a beauty unto themselves. They left me wanting more. Something about the sights and smells of this cellar made it feel natural to wax poetic about anything at all. The impressive array of wine bottles arranged in a perfect matrix behind Amy gave me the feeling that this underground room had a long memory of its own. I wondered at how the two of us measured up against the century of comings and goings to which it had borne witness.

I was looking over the wall of bottles when I said to her, "The closer I find myself to you, the more distant everything else in my life seems."

She looked back intently now, her own plate clear.

"This day... or days... or however long it has been since you pulled up in Herchel's car in front of my apartment, has been so long, and wonderful, and awful... It is hard to believe I'm really here with you... looking like that; so alluring in the candlelight. I feel like I could die with a stupid smile on my face right here and now with no regrets. I feel so engorged with beauty and inspiration at this moment that I could pick up a pen and a Dickensian novel would pour directly out of my heart onto any scrap of paper I could scrounge from the hidden corners of this room."

Any other time in my life, I would have been mortified to say anything like that to anyone. Especially a beautiful woman. But it was true, every word, or at least it felt true. The wine had begun its' work on my mind, dizziness dancing between my ears and my normal barriers to self-expression nowhere to be found.

"Most people in my life," Amy started back in a pensive tone, "myself usually included, tend to undervalue the special experiences they afford themselves every day. A Chef's choice meal, set in a mysterious, candle-lit wine cellar, in a Victorian manor on a far-flung island... how often are we going to find ourselves sitting across from each other experiencing all of this?"

"And if this were our normal, then we would lose the capacity to appreciate the wonder of this moment." She was a little sad as she said it. I wasn't really sure what she was getting at, but what she said felt as true to me as what I shared with her a moment ago.

"So, cherish that feeling, Greg. All the beauty of this place, and the people in it, might remain exactly the same tomorrow as they are right now, but you will never be as open to appreciate it as you are right now." She looked at me with great intensity, the edges of a tear forming in her eye.

Ralph snapped us back to the table with a clear of his throat, startling me. He had come back down stairs without my noticing. He restarted the routine of clearing the remainder of the second course, gathering the plates, silverware and wine glasses before us.

"So happy to see you are enjoying the meal so far..." he said as he cleared the table. We both mumbled our assent to him, eyes still on each other.

He set before us a third plate and explained as he removed the cloches, "For the third course, we have a Burrata cheese encircled by a selection of fresh vegetables, drizzled with a 57-year Balsamic and a light crostini."

I had never seen anything quite like it. The orb of delicate cheese sat in the middle of the plate with what appeared to be a garden of miscellaneous vegetables arrayed around it in chaotic order.

"...and we have paired this dish with a light, crisp, Moscato, which will play nicely with the Balsamic drizzle." He poured the wine into a pair of new glasses and topped off our water glasses again before moving back toward the stairs.

This was not a dish to satisfy a starving guest, but a collection of tasty curios to tease the mind along with the palate. It was exactly the right selection for the moment. The cheese was beautifully creamy and a tinge sweet, and the bracing intensity of the aged Balsamic deepened the desire for the smooth relief of the creamy cheese. The vegetables provided a wide range of variation, each bite feeling like a different experience unto itself. The crostini provided a welcome and occasional crunch against the backdrop of the cheese.