Danse Erotique

They had spoken at length of their needs; online at first, that safe bubble of anonymity permitting; no, insisting upon candour, feeding that focus. Firing their imaginations to dream up fantasies, to deliver dark shards of need unbidden, disturbing in their intensity. That typed paragraph flashing up like a thought bubble causing a fillip of joy that both knew reality could not match...had not yet matched.

Phone calls followed, the next logical step; ironic that logic should be a factor in the most illogical of worlds that is cyber power exchange. Their voices pleasing one another, a soothing balm each to the other; so reassuring that on screen erudition was replicated vocally. Cyranoic misgivings appeased and real emotions borne witness to; experienced. The searing highs and raw hopes conveyed in syllables heavy with lust and depravity; creamy undertones of empathy painted in thick eroticism.

They decided to meet, both knowing that their perfect bubble may rupture, that they could fall, tumbling from the pinnacle of perception into a mire of disappointment and despair at reality found wanting; into a deeper trough than ever before. Disabused forever of belief in utopia; that perfect amalgam of desire, respect, need and intellectual parity that paves a solid foundation for deep love sliding further away. Wavering on the cusp of paradise promised, the delicious prospect a reality only as long as the spell holds. Yet both knowing that they can't not do this.

She waits in the coffee shop that he has chosen, near to the railroad station, a strange town to them both. Neither willing just yet to break the reverie and allow the mundanity of the familiar to tarnish the shining phantasm of their optimism. She is dressed just so, that he may recognise her, sitting alone with her back to the entrance as they had agreed. Her gaze resolutely forward and yet all other senses attuned to feel the cues of his arrival she grips a glass of iced water, grounding herself in it's cool solidity.

A rush of air then a sense of enclosure, strong hands rest lightly on her shoulders, the vibrating heat of his engorgement pressed firmly against her spine. Her heart races and her mouth dries, such an introduction; their first touch a reinforcement of the dark thread of need that runs through all they are to each other. Ten fingers tightening momentarily against yielding flesh and cold glass, he releases her, moving swiftly to sit opposite. Her eyes downcast, unable to voluntarily break the spell, unwilling to risk defeat.

She knows he approves of her appearance, their arrangement being that if he was disappointed in her physical presence he would leave without making himself known to her and thereafter not contact her. Her act of fateful cowardice seen by him as a gift. Yet she clings tight to the fantasy him and gazes at her glass, following intently a single bead of moisture sliding down the exterior. His hands on the table, fingers splayed; those slim strong fingers she has imagined, pictured in her mind's eye a thousand times as the consummate tools of her pleasure, her undoing, her becoming.

He orders tea, his voice so familiar to her and yet sounding fresh to her ears outwith the filter of telephony. A rounded resonance, previously undetected, warming her. His tea arrives, the waitress silently retreats and she watches as he engages in the ritual of making it to his taste. Her eyes risk roaming a little higher now taking in his strong forearms, tan and sparsely thatched with dark hairs as he deftly pours his drink.

"Look at me little one" a command not a request "the time for trepidation is past, give me this last piece."

Slowly she shakes her head, a fearful tear splashes onto the table echoing the beads of condensation on the glass she still grips; afraid to let it go. Frightened to lift her eyes and break the enchantment, to be the one who tears asunder the delicate construct of their perfect chimeric world.

"Raise your eyes to me girl or I shall leave and this will all have been for nothing."

His thick growl thrills her, fans the small flame of lust she nurtures deep within the kernel of dread into a bright fire; her pupils widen, her blood vessels dilate, nipples tightening, a low buzzing tickling her sex and she knows she must raise her eyes, is compelled to...

Silent tears streaking her cheeks she raises her chin, her eyes screwed tight shut; hyper aware that she has obeyed his wish in only the very loosest sense, a matter of semantics. Right now the risk of him leaving is secondary to the danger of seeing an imperfection that may dismantle the construct of perfection she has built for them. Such conflict, her heart feels close to breaking as she battles these demons.

His displeasure throbs palpably between them, she can almost smell it, but tinged with a softer edge as her tears spill hotly down her face.

"What ails you little one?" he asks softly, the edge of annoyance barely disguised in his voice.

She sobs deeply, her misery fuelled by his impatience, knowing she must speak or risk losing everything,

"I...I cannot look Master, not yet..." she hears him shift in his chair, letting out a sigh of exasperation. Needing to clarify she continues, "I am weak Master, shallow, not worthy of You...frightened to break the charm, destroy the world we have created with my deficit of character. In my mind You embody perfection and I fear I may have elevated You to an illusory position that the physical reality cannot match...I am a fool."

Listening to her his heart leaps, such a rare gift this woman, so loving, witty, intelligent; highly sexual yet so needy. His own emotions running parallel with her expressed doubts, fully aware of the perils interwoven in this meeting; fervently hoping that this is a beginning not an end, warming to her as a physical being more and more as she speaks.

He weighs her words carefully, aware of their surroundings, her distress, his instinct to soothe her dueling with his need for her. A profound yearning to bring to life the scenarios they discussed to chase and hopefully find fulfillment in each other, to explore the visions they have woven together. He realises he needs her to be happy, his thoughts racing he takes out his cell phone and types a text message.

"I hear you little one, I understand your distress," he whispers across the table, "I have a deep ache to touch you, to claim your flesh as we have claimed each others' psyches. Sitting here I am satisfied that the risk we have taken is worth it and want to demonstrate my worth to you. I have messaged you the details of my car parked outside and will go there now and unlock it after settling the check. If you feel your need for me is strong enough for you to take one more risk then you must find the car and get in the back seat; I will place a blindfold there and will only enter the car once your eyes are covered. Then I will take you to the motel I have booked where you may remain blindfolded for as long as you wish while we explore the physical chemistry."

Her heat hammering hard enough to break free of her ribcage she hears his chair push back as he rises, the flutter of paper money; feels air gust her face as he strides past. Taking a napkin from the table dispenser she dabs at her eyes, finally opening them to see his abandoned tea cup, a $20 bill trapped under the sugar pot. Her face is aching from the effort of clenching her eyes so tightly shut, taking out her phone she stares blearily at the text message, knowing she can't resist; loving him for not abandoning her.

In that moment, as the earth turns relentlessly and time crawls in the mote filled sunbeam that frames her the ghosts of his fingertips and rigid shaft burn her flesh, the hairs on her neck and scalp risen again as they did when he first touched her. She aches for him, missing his words, his aura, his proximity.

Striding out to the parking lot to find his car she realises that she no longer cares what he looks like. The dark parts of their souls had reached out to each other in the brief interlude they sat together and each had spied its twin; she is his and he is hers.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

this has been a brain itch for a while and today it had to break free. I hope you enjoy it, if so please vote, comment and favourite.

Please also check out my other Stories. London Underground Ch 5 is almost complete and should be submitted soon for those waiting patiently.