From Penthouse A: A Wine Tasting

It was a good choice for wine.

I should start with that.

When the phone rang, it took me a moment to process what the concierge had just said. I played the words over in my mind: "Sir, you have a guest who says she is expected."

I had sent no invitations. There was no date set for the evening, and I noted the concierge had said, "she."

It could only mean one thing. The woman in the window in the building over there.

I looked on the screen showing the lobby, and there you were, looking familiar and fabulous and, unusual for us, fully clothed. I noted that you had brought wine in a gift bag and I smiled. It was a promising sign: wine is a good omen.

"Yes," I answered. "She's expected. You can send her up."

I had been away for on a professional trip for almost a month and had only arrived from the airport late the previous night. As is always my practice, I had unpacked first thing in the morning, and, after sending the laundry to the service, I sent the luggage down to the storage floor. Thankfully, the cleaning service had visited while I was away, and so the penthouse was immaculate.

Without having to do any last-minute tidying up, I could spend the moments when you were coming up wondering what was about to unfold.

I heard the bell in the hallway announcing the arrival of the elevator, and then the sound of your footsteps (She's wearing heels, I thought) before three confident taps at the door sounded.

As I opened the door, we both stood for a moment in silence, just looking at each other, the smallest hint of mischief hiding in our respective smiles.

"A pleasure to meet you," I said.

"Oh, the pleasure is mine," you replied.

And then we our smiles opened fully, radiating a joy of being in each other's presence for the first time.

"I brought you some wine," you said, placing the bag in my hand

"I hope you brought US some wine," I answered.

"Well, yes, I believe I'll have some too. I somehow thought that you would like reds."

"If it's wet, I'm sure I'll enjoy it very much," I said.

"Well, it's certainly wet," you replied without acknowledging the double entendre.

"What did you bring? I think the wines we choose are like a biography," I said as I pulled the bottle from its bag. A Rhone Valley Syrah emerged.

"Spicy," you began, "...with notes of cocoa and blackberries, and it has a great finish that stays with you. At least that's what they said at the wine store. I liked that description, so I thought we might explore it together."

"That's quite a bio!"

"Well," you answered. "I'm spicy, but I suppose we'll have to find out the rest for ourselves."

"Why don't you join me in the living room. I think you'll find that it has a lovely view," I offered with faux innocence.

"Really?" you asked with asked with equally unconvincing naïveté. "I'd love to see it."

"I'll pour you a glass while you have a look out the window. I'm pretty sure you'll see what I mean."

"Thanks," you said as you walked into the living room."

When I entered the room with the two glasses you had chosen my favorite swivel chair, the one facing the window.

"Mind if I sit here," you asked.

"Of course not, my house is your house."

"You must love to be in this chair, looking out at that view." We were both looking through the window and there, in the center of my window, was your apartment. It was completely exposed and yet the design of the building and the height of my penthouse ensured that whatever I could easily see in the interior of your apartment was completely hidden from the lower floors.

"Yes, I confess, it has brought me much pleasure to look out that window. It's quite a sight to behold."

"Mmm hmm.... I'm sure that's true."

"This wine IS spicy," I said after my first sip. "Shall we drink a toast?"

"What should we toast to?"

"To the views," I said.

"To the views," you replied.

As we drank there was a silence that fell between us. Not awkward at all, but it was clear that we were both inside our heads, remembering scenes, realizing how much history we already shared, and yet all without really knowing a thing about each other.

As our glasses were slowly emptied, we made small talk that gradually eased into sharing our life stories. You were coming out of a relationship and your recent move was a chance to spend time on your own rediscovering yourself and creating a healthier, more complete version of you.

As for me, I spoke of my work, an amicable divorce some years ago, and the travel that inevitably comes with my profession. The apartment was a refuge after the trips abroad. A quiet, private space, I explained.

"Perhaps not so private," you said with a smile.

I smiled back.

"Well, not recently. Sometimes things take an unexpected turn."

"So, your...recent experiences with our window here are uncommon?"

"Quite!" I said. "It isn't that I wouldn't allow myself to be seen by someone; I've enjoyed many a walk on Lucy Vincent Beach wearing only a suntan, but ... at home ... that's a bit dangerous, no?"

"Dangerous is an interesting word."

"Well, you ... you know where I live. I'm not an anonymous person walking down a sandy beach. I'm...."

"You're the man in Penthouse A, and I'm the woman who lives in that apartment right over there."

Now there was a different kind of silence: this one was charged with an implied challenge. I liked this aspect of you; not weak, a woman with a strong will. That thought triggered a memory.

"In your ... reply to my letter, you mentioned that you 'willed' me to wake up. I found that word very interesting. Do you think you can 'will' someone to do something that you want them to do?"

"You woke up, didn't you?" you answered.

"Yes, I did and then I ..."

"You did what I willed you to do."

"That's an interesting way to think about it. Maybe I would have done it without your willing anything to happen."

"Well, we all do that when we're alone, but, you yourself said that you don't typically show yourself in front of someone from your own window. In this case to a woman who's looking at you from another apartment."

"What was there left to do? You had already seen me in the buff. Remember how my towel had fallen off, and in my awkwardness the only thing I could think to do was to take a bow as you clapped and laughed at me? It was quite an icebreaker."

"I still love that moment. It really was perfect!"

"They say that when you can make a woman laugh...."

"You can make a woman cum," you responded.

We both chuckled quietly.

"And apparently it's true."

"Did you enjoy that?" you asked.

"You know I did. Honestly, it's one of the most erotic things I can think of."

"A woman cumming?"

"A woman showing me that she's cumming," I answered. "I don't know why, but it is so intimate, vulnerable, revealing. I feel like there's nothing hidden in that moment. It's something shared in a different way than anything else I can think of."

"And you prefer this to making love?"

"No. I didn't say that. But...before becoming her lover, she can show so much. What she likes. What her pace is."

"Ah, you're studying her pleasure. You're a student of her body?"

"Well," I answered, "I'm certainly focused on it, and, yes, I learn things about her. Things I'll remember at the appropriate moment."

"What kinds of things?"

"For instance, you like to take your left hand and cup your right breast. Not at the beginning, but in the middle of the ...."

"Well before I cum," you answered with a smile. "You're right. I'm impressed that you noticed that."

"So I made a note to myself: Remember to touch her there... not at the beginning, but a little later."

I noticed that your breath was changing. Shorter, higher breaths.

"What else did you notice?"

Just before you came," I ventured, "you were rocking on your hips. I realized you were riding on the plug in your ass while you were touching yourself. That was amazing, because you were completely lost in yourself by then. Everything was focusing on creating that last wave. I could have cum right then, just by seeing you like that. I memorized that moment, and ... went back to it when I came for you. That was what I was thinking about."

With the smallest laugh you said, "Is it me or is it hot in here?"

"Oh, it's definitely getting warmer."

"What do you want right now. Tell me."

"Would you let me pour you one more glass of wine?"

"Just two fingers worth."

And so, I reached for the Syrah and poured the wine to the depth of two fingers, and handing you glass, I said, "Two fingers it is."

You smile was broad now.

"You didn't answer my question. What do you want right now? Who knows? Maybe I want the same thing."

"I want to experience seeing you pleasure yourself without a courtyard between us."

"You want to watch?"

"I do."

You took the glass to your lips and took a slightly larger sip.

"Wish granted," you said. "Come over here."

I stood up and walked toward you and you swiveled the chair so that you were facing toward the window.

"You can kneel in front of me," you suggested, and I lowered myself down, my face at the level of your knees.

The power of your gaze is the next thing I remember because you looked me directly in the eye as you stood up. Silently, you very carefully began to undress yourself. First you undid the buttons on your blouse and then, after it fell off your shoulders, you meticulously folded it and placed it on the end table next to your glass of wine. Then, still holding my eyes, you removed your bra and carefully putting one cup into the other, you set it, just as carefully, on the blouse. Your hands moved down and to your left side as you began to unzip the size of your skirt, letting it open so that it could finally fall down gracefully onto the Persian rug. You didn't flinch from my eyes as you ever-so-slowly lowered your panties and when they were below your knees you bent down and, in one brief gesture, removed them from below each shoe. With perfect balance, continuing in the same motion continuing you took your skirt from the floor and stood back up, slowly folding it, and then placing it over the bra. The panties were then gently lain on top of your skirt. Not once, during that entire scene did your remove your eyes from mine. I was captured by you, and I knew it. It was a remarkably powerful experience.

"Is this what you mean when you talk about willing something to happen."

"Watch me," you said, as you sat back down in the chair.

It was an incredible scene. You facing your own apartment, me with my back to my window. You had turned the tables. You were performing for me and for the window of your own place. I remember that, even before you began, my heart was racing and my breath shortening and speeding up.

It was then that you took two fingers and dipped them into the wine.

"God," I said.

"I'm afraid He can't help you now," you answered.

And then you raised your wet fingers to your lips and tasted the wine. Again, you dipped your fingers into the wine glass, but this time your hand moved toward me, and you pushed your two fingers into my mouth.

"Taste it" you said firmly.

I felt your fingers enter my mouth and the wine on my tongue had a different flavor now. Mixing the drink with your fingers. A little salt or soap or something added to the effect. It was wasn't just Syrah anymore...it had become Syrah and you.

"Spicy?" you asked. And then immediately you opened your legs and my eyes lowered to face what I had desired to see for so long.

The third time, you dipped into the glass but now you brought your hand to your tummy and drew a line vertically.

"Lick it," you said.

Almost automatically, I moved forward and, using the tip of my tongue, I followed the line you had drawn until I had tasted the entire area. Again, the wine was mixing with your skin. It was becoming you. I was becoming drunk with desire.

You opened your legs wider and for the fourth time, put your fingers into the glass, but now you brought them to the convergence between your legs and you drove them into yourself. As you did so, I heard your breath expel itself. Your eyes closed for a moment and then opened again, finding mine.

As you withdrew your fingers from your pussy you repeated, "Taste."

By now, my mouth was already open, and I was expecting for you to again push your fingers into it, but instead, you drew the wine and your own fluids onto my lips. I could feel your moisture as you brushed your juices on me.

"I said 'taste', didn't I? Lick your lips."

Looking into your eyes, I did as I was told.

"This is all so ... unexpected," I said. "Usually, I'm the one...."

"In charge?" you interrupted. "There's a time for everything, but this moment is for me to direct."

Gently you took your hand and placed it on the back of my head. I felt you pulling me forward until my mouth was on your pussy.

"Taste me," you whispered, and I relished the sensations, fragrances, saltiness. It was a feast of your body, and I reveled in our intimacy.

Here I should tell you that there is almost nothing I love more than giving pleasure to a woman with my mouth. The connection is, at once, so visceral and deep. I'm very patient at such a moment, just allowing time to open itself up and not hurrying anything along. So, I was settling into what I thought was an oral journey toward your first orgasm when I heard your voice again.

"No, my dear, not yet."

"But...."

"Shhh. You still have a wish that I haven't yet fulfilled."

You pushed me away, and again dipped your fingers into the wine.

"Okay, now.... You can watch me, just as you would if you were in my apartment, only with a much better view from your current position. That will allow you to see and, whenever I want you to, to participate. You said you wanted to learn about me. What I like. What I need. Are you ready?"

My mouth was suddenly dry, and I rasped out a half-whispered, "Yes."

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes!" I said, and you smiled because it was a bit too loud. Suddenly speech lacked the nuances I'm accustomed to. I wasn't quite in control of myself.

"Do you want to touch yourself while you watch me?" you asked.

"I do. Yes. Very much so."

"Then undress for me."

I stood up and I forget myself. I wanted you so baldly that I began to rush as I started to unbutton my shirt.

"No, sweet man from Penthouse A. Slowly! I'm going to watch you first. You're undressing for ME." And you began to touch yourself as I methodically unclothed myself. As I removed each article of clothing, you received and cared for them. You took my shirt and trousers, folding them up and placing them upon your own clothes. Then I removed my boxers and you placed them, again folded, on the top of the pile. Then your returned your attention to your own body, with your first two fingers making small circles on your pussy. Although I couldn't see your clit, I knew you had found it and your half-closed eyes told me you were enjoying yourself.

"Do you have some lube?" you suddenly asked?

"Yes, in the bedroom side-table."

"Bring it to me."

Quickly I hurried into the bedroom, opened the drawer and pulled out a bottle of lubricant. I returned to the chair and you were still rubbing your clit lightly looking out the window.

"Put some lube on your cock and on your right hand," you said. "You can stroke yourself more easily, right?"

I nodded.

"Now, give me your left hand," you commanded, and I brought it toward you. Taking the lubricant, you put a few drops on my left thumb.

"You remember the plug?"

"Yes, of course," I answered.

With a gentle pull, you placed my hand on your ass...right at the opening.

"Rub me there," you said. "Gently, with a small, circular motion. Just on the outside. Don't enter me until I tell you to. I didn't bring it along, so I've decided that today, you'll be my butt-plug."

It was in that moment that you closed your eyes. I realized you were allowing me the pleasure of watching everything without having to connect to your eyes. As if you were "willing" me to look at your motions, your body's shapes, curves, crevices, perfections and imperfections, you were allowing me to meet you at a new, much more intimate level. Throughout those short minutes I edged myself with my right hand while continuing to encircle your hole. The lube was making it easier for each hand's tasks, and I had to remind myself to maintain self-control. I wanted this to last a long time.

For a whiles, there was silence between us. The room disappeared to me, and I forgot about the window behind my back. Instead, what I saw was your hand, its language of pleasure and you used it for yourself. The small motions of your wrist and then how you would change direction, or begin to use your palm and then return the point of touching to your fingertips. After some time in this silence had passed, you took your left hand and moved it toward your pussy. While your right hand continued on clit, the index finger of your left hand moved toward your pussy lips. I watched you open yourself using your thumb and first finger and then you pushed your finger inside. You began to stroke your pussy with that finger, and I remember listening to the sounds of your glistening lips as it disappeared and reappeared over and over.

I noticed that the pace of your stroking was not fast, but it was very steady and unrelenting, and what had been in silence only a few minutes before had the sound of a stronger breath now. The in and out motions had distinct sounds, and I got lost in the music of a woman's body in complete pleasure. Your eyes would sometimes open for a moment, to look at me and be sure I was watching you, and I would always meet your gaze, only to see you smile ever-so-slightly before closing them again.

After several minutes had passed, you moved your left hand upward as you cupped your right breast. I smiled, remembering the last time you had done that. We were well on our way by now. I saw began your skin begin to flush with a light pink color. On your chest, and on your face, there was a new kind of glow emerging. Your nipples were erect. You returned your left hand to your pussy and stroked with two fingers now.

"Put your thumb in me," you said almost inaudibly. And I moved the tipped of my thumb to your opening and gently pushed. You were ready by then and your body received me without hesitation. I noticed that it was warm inside your ass, and it felt so close and intimate to share that warmth together.

"That's it," you whispered. "Be my plug. Fuck me in my ass while I touch myself for you."

I moved my thumb further into you and then outward. I didn't remove it comletely of course, but allowed it to create motion for you - a gentle friction to add to the sensations. Soon your pace quickened and I matched my thumb's penetrations to your own tempo, coordinating my "in" with your "out" motion. That seemed to move everything to a new level, and before long your hips began to grind hard against my left hand, riding on my thumb as you undulated in motion with your hips.

I realized that in my focus on you I wasn't even edging myself now. Everything had become about your pleasure. I didn't care. I wanted you to experience something incredible, and there was plenty of time for me afterwards. Your pleasure had become all that mattered.

"Do you want to cum?" I asked with a low voice.

You didn't answer, but you stroked faster.

"Do...you...want...to...cum?" I repeated. Slower this time and more empathically.

I saw you nod while you continued to rub yourself.

"Say it." I insisted, but still you didn't reply.

"Say, 'I want to cum for you.' Say, 'I want to fucking cum for you.' Tell me."

"I wa...t...c..f...y..." I heard you trying to comply.