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Peter looked askance at her, smiling, and said, "Yes, Mistress. Now, what's this about a job?"
And she told him all about Suzy and the store. Then she told him about everything that had happened in the last couple of days—except for Chrissy, of course: getting her hair cut, what had happened with her mother, getting the braces off; the conversation with her father (which Peter had overheard parts of); her parents going on the retreat; how they were all going out to dinner that night...
By the time they'd reached her driveway Peter was shaking his head in amazement.
"My gosh. What is happening to you?" he said, pulling her into his arms.
"That's easy," she replied, kissing him. "You are."
Dinner with her parents was even better than she had hoped: They had gone out to a nice Japanese restaurant, eaten mountains of food and talked about everything under the sun. Her parents told her stories about when they had been going out together in college and got each other laughing so hard that people at other tables were turning to look at them.
They listened approvingly when Jane told them about her summer job and hugged her in turn as they told her how proud they were. They talked more about their vacation plans. Jane just couldn't believe that they were all together and having such a good time.
Nevertheless, she was glad they were going away for the weekend.
All through the next day she mentally planned the menu for the evening meal and directly after school she raced downtown on her bike to pick up the things she'd need. She knew it couldn't be anything too elaborate, given the time constraints, so it would just be pasta—though she would use her mother's special recipe for the sauce—and salad.
Besides, she wanted to have enough time to prepare herself, as well.
She'd given almost as much thought to what she would wear as to the meal. She wanted this meal to be romance and candlelight and wanted to dress the part. But none of the new clothing she'd bought in recent weeks was fancy enough and she couldn't really afford to buy a whole new outfit just for the occasion as she'd spent most of her stolen money and wouldn't have more until she started working.
She fantasized about serving him dinner wearing just the bra and panties he'd given her; maybe even sitting on the dining room table in front of him with her legs apart so he could look at her while he ate. She knew he'd like that, and she knew she would too, but she wanted this night to be romantic, not just sexy.
Finally she settled on wearing the same velvet dress, along with the lingerie and everything else she'd worn the night of the school dance. The memories associated with that outfit would be more than sexy enough, she thought.
It was a scramble getting everything ready in time: getting the dining room table nicely laid out with place-settings and candles and a bottle of wine, getting the sauce simmering, making the salad and slicing some crusty bread and, when everything was complete except for the pasta itself, getting herself ready.
She showered quickly. Then, in her bathrobe, she put up her hair—it looked different without the bangs, but still very nice—and did her make-up and put on her earrings.
When she was ready she went to her closet and retrieved the beautiful bra and panties he'd given her. Being a little more fastidious than Peter she had cleaned them afterwards, though she hadn't worn them since that night.
She had, however, taken them out sometimes just to look at and remember. More than once she had arranged them on her bedroom chair, hanging the bra from the top and placing the panties on the seat, and imagined herself wearing them while tied there, with Peter standing in front of her and looking at her as he had that night.
And now, actually putting them on, feeling them against her skin again, brought back the memories of that night in a rush, and even though she knew there wasn't time, she ran to her parents' bedroom, stood before the full-length mirror and raised her arms to place her hands behind her head.
Looking at herself, she knew that standing in that position would always make her feel sexy and desirable; it was submissive and yet in some way it also made her feel powerful as well. She wished Peter were here now, standing behind her and looking at her in the mirror as he had the day they'd made love. She felt a shiver of pleasure and anticipation, knowing that he would be there soon.
She allowed herself a few more seconds before the mirror then hurried back to her room to finish dressing. This was really only a matter of slipping the velvet dress over her head and zipping it up, but it had to be done carefully. She again considered a belt, to accent her figure, but decided she wanted to look exactly as she had before.
She sat down to put on her sandals and immediately remembered Peter kneeling in front of her that night, his eyes shining, his hands warm and smooth on her thighs as he slowly pushed up the hem of her dress...oh god.
The doorbell interrupted her reverie. He was here!
She leaped to her feet and hurried down the stairs.
She opened the door, stared for a moment...and burst out laughing.
Peter stood in the doorway for a moment, looking bewildered, then began to laugh too, when he noticed that they were both wearing the same clothes they had worn to the dance. He was even wearing the same tie—with the same tear-stains, apparently.
He was holding a bouquet of flowers and a small, gift-wrapped box but he simply dropped them to the porch floor and took her in his arms, still laughing.
And even though they were dying to make love they both pretended they wanted to eat dinner first, wanting to enjoy the anticipation.
So Peter followed her back to the kitchen and sat straddling a turned-around chair while she tied on an apron then put the pasta in to cook and found a vase for the flowers. He put the gift-box on the kitchen table but said nothing about it, so she didn't either.
They talked easily about other things, but the current of sexual tension was keenly felt by both of them. Jane thought the way he was sitting in the chair was very sexy, with his legs apart and his waist framed by the back of the chair. Was there already a bulge behind his zipper? She couldn't tell without looking too obviously. But she wanted there to be.
She could feel him looking at her when she turned back to the stove, and she reached down for something she didn't need from a bottom drawer, deliberately keeping her legs straight so the back of her dress would ride up. He had been speaking as she did this, and she smiled to herself when she heard him stumble over his words.
The phone rang. She walked past Peter to where the phone hung on the wall behind him, and picked up the receiver.
"Hello? Oh, hi Mom, did you get there alright?"
She turned and leaned against the wall, smiling at Peter, who had swiveled in his seat to watch her. She pointed at the stove to indicate that he should keep an eye on the pasta. He nodded and got up to check.
As she listened to her mother relate a small adventure they'd had on the journey, she watched him dip a fork into the pot and pull out a strand of spaghetti, blow on it for a few seconds, then lift it and let it drizzle delicately into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds, then looked at her and nodded as he turned off the heat. She pointed to the sink, where a colander was waiting and watched him pour out the pasta and set the empty pot back on the stove.
Her mother was now explaining some new thoughts she'd had about their vacation plans, so Jane hardly noticed as Peter returned to her, dragging his chair up to where she was standing, then sitting in front of her with his knees almost touching the wall on either side of her.
She did notice, however, when he began to massage her thighs with the palms of his hands, gradually slipping them under her dress.
He smiled up at her, and the message was clear: finish the phone call quickly, or face...feel the consequences.
This was somewhat distracting, to say the least, and Jane was glad that her mother was doing most of the talking. But there was no way to simply end the conversation so she did her best to focus on what her mother was saying and reply in the right places, even as Peter leaned his head against her stomach and his hands traveled up the backs of her thighs and began caressing her behind.
She felt as though she had become two people: her mother's little girl and Peter's lover, divided neatly above and below the waist.
Cradling the phone in her shoulder, she used both hands to lift the hem of her dress, pulling it free from where Peter was leaning against it, and placed it over his head before taking the receiver back into her hand.
Almost immediately she felt him turn his face toward her and begin to kiss her just in the place where her ribs came together, his lips seeming to leave little glowing spots on her abdomen as he moved slowly downward and his hands continued their work. She felt his thumbs slip beneath the elastic of her panties at the top of her thighs and gently begin to pull them upward as his kisses continued downward. She could feel the fabric tightening between her legs as he pulled.
She must have missed a question from her mother because she was suddenly asking if Jane was still there.
"Yes, Mom," she quickly replied. "Sorry—I have some pasta cooking and I think it's done."
Her mother began to wind up the conversation with some small things that needed to be done around the house, but she might as well have been speaking in Japanese. Jane's attention was totally taken by the huge shape beneath her dress. Peter was now pulling her panties extremely tight, then partially releasing them, in an excruciatingly slow rhythm, as his tongue traced its way along the waistband in front.
"Ohh...kay, Mom, I will." Whatever she'd said.
Peter sank to his knees, now kissing his way down the front of her panties, which he now began pulling and releasing in a faster rhythm.
"Oh, yes... Yes, I'll be fine."
His tongue and the fabric of her panties were now pressing between her legs in the exact same place...and rhythm.
"I love you too, Mom. Okay, good-bye."
As soon as she heard the click of the phone being put down at the other end, she simply dropped the receiver, which fell to the floor with a loud clunk.
It was good that her mother had hung up just then. Otherwise she would have heard Jane making several small whimpering noises, followed by several louder ones, and finally a kind of muffled scream.
Peter pulled his head out from under her dress, his hair sticking up comically in several directions, and smiled up at her, his eyes twinkling.
"Can we eat now?"
Peter carried the salad and the plates of pasta into the dining room while Jane, her knees still slightly weak, went into the living room to put on some music. None of the records she usually liked, the Beatles and Dave Brubeck, seemed right for the romantic setting, so she put on a stack of her parents' favorites. Sinatra, Johnny Mathis, Billie Holiday.
As the sound of a hundred violins filled the air she smiled to herself. Corny, she thought. But just right.
When she returned to the dining room she saw that Peter had placed the vase of flowers on the heavy oak table and lit the candles. Not only that but he had opened the French doors which opened onto the small patio where her father had once barbecued some of their summer dinners (and, she hoped, would again). The smells and sounds of early summer drifted in and the candle-flames danced delicately in the slight breeze
Peter turned from where he was pouring the wine, then came to her and took her in his arms. They swayed to the music for a few moments, then he kissed her—a sweet, lingering kiss—and said, "This is so beautiful."
They sat down. The table was a long one, with seating enough for a dozen guests, but Jane had placed herself at the head, closest to the kitchen in case she needed to run back for anything, and Peter at her right.
As she sat she noticed that Peter had set the small gift-box next to her place. She looked inquiringly at Peter, who just grinned at her. She decided to wait until they'd finished, and picked up her fork. But as they ate she couldn't help glancing at it and wondering. More lingerie? Possibly, although the box was small, even for a pair of tightly folded panties. What, then? And always when she looked back at Peter he would be grinning that same grin.
They spoke little during the meal, just bathing in the lush music and the summer sounds and smells, and enjoying the food and wine and each other's nearness.
Once, he'd asked, "Are you going to tell me what's happening on Sunday?"
"Nope. You'll see. What's in the box?"
"You'll see."
"Stinker."
Sometimes one of them would simply lean over and kiss the other, lightly at first, then more and more hungrily as the meal progressed and the level of wine in their glasses diminished and was replenished. Soon they were spending more time kissing than eating, their tongues probing deeply into each other's mouths.
Neither one of them was much used to wine, and Jane found herself becoming a little tipsy, as well as aroused again, and she suspected that Peter must be even more excited, seeing as he hadn't had a climax earlier in the evening as she had.
She decided, somewhat drunkenly, to check.
She picked up the cloth napkin from her lap and, holding it up so Peter could see it, dropped it to the floor by her chair. "Whoops," she said, smiling foolishly, "Dropped my napkin." Then she bent down as if to retrieve it...and crawled under the table.
Peter, fortunately, was sitting with his legs somewhat apart, and although the light was dim under the table she could tell that the familiar bulge was there, even though it was half curtained by the tablecloth.
She decided she would kiss him there.
She placed herself in front of his knees, and in one motion pushed them further apart as she leaned forward to kiss him. Unfortunately, the wine had affected her judgment more than she'd realized and she wound up bumping her nose rather hard there instead.
"Ow! What in the world..."
Jane collapsed in giggles as the tablecloth was raised and she saw Peter peering down at her.
"A fine way to treat a guest," he said, reaching under the table and pulling her up by her shoulders.
She wobbled a little as she stood, and sat down quickly, finding herself straddling his lap, facing him. For some reason this struck her as funny as well, and she started giggling all over again.
"Oh Peter, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"
Still giggling, she leaned forward to kiss him. "Oh, the poor thing," she said, reaching down and stroking the front of his pants. "Is it all right? I'd better check."
She started to unfasten his pants, but he removed her hand and pulled her to him and kissed her.
"All right, you, settle down for a minute." He reached around her and grabbed the gift-box from the table and handed it to her.
She quickly slid the ribbon from the box. She was dying of curiosity. She remembered the night he'd brought her the corsage. But he'd already given her flowers, so what could the box possibly contain?
She lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled on a bed of white cotton was...a packet of condoms.
She burst out laughing. "Oh Peter! And here I thought it was going to be something, you know..."
"Romantic?" he finished for her. "You mean something like..." He reached into the box and pulled up a corner of the cotton. "...this?"
Beneath the cotton was something shiny which, as he pulled the cotton away, was revealed to be a slim silver bracelet.
"Peter!" she gasped, her face lighting up.
Then, as she lifted it from the box, she noticed that it was delicately engraved with a pattern of large and small hearts.
"Oh, it's beautiful," she cried, hugging him and laughing.
She kissed him on the ear as she slid the bracelet onto her wrist, and whispered, "You must really like those panties!"
"You mean these?" he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled them out and handed them to her, and for a wonder they were clean and folded.
"Yeah, I do," he said, smiling at her a little sheepishly. "Well, not them, exactly, though they are pretty cute..."
He looked away for a moment, searching for words. "But because of that day in the library...remember?"
She nodded. As if she could ever forget!
"Even though I'd been so mean to you before, you know, in the bathroom, and scared you and everything—that day in the library, you trusted me. You let me... You could have gotten me in real trouble, or even just got up and walked away, but you didn't. You stayed there and let me... At first I thought maybe you were just doing it because you were still afraid of me--"
"I was, kind of," Jane interrupted. "But when you started rubbing my foot it felt so nice, even though I was terrified someone would see you and we'd both get in trouble. I guess I knew right then that you weren't really bad."
She looked lovingly at him and smiled. "Besides, you said I was a good slave and I wanted my reward."
She reached behind her for her glass and took another drink. The wine and the warm, sensuous music were making her feel very uninhibited. She put her glass back, then leaned forward and kissed him again, this time pressing herself to him and moving her hips slowly up and down, rubbing her loins against his cock, her breasts against his chest. He seemed to melt under her, surrendering, his head back, his mouth open to her.
Then she felt his hands reaching behind her, fumbling open the catch at the top of her dress and pulling the zipper down as far as it would go. She sat up to let him pull the dress away from her shoulders, then quickly pulled her arms out of the sleeves and let the dress fall to her waist.
She sat up as straight as she could then, and placed her arms behind her head so he could admire her breasts in the lovely brassiere. After a moment she reached down and took his hands and cupped them around her breasts before placing her arms behind her head again, looking directly into his eyes as she re-began her rocking motion.
"Oh...god... Jane...oh god..." he gasped, fondling her breasts, his thumbs seeking out her nipples through the shining fabric.
Once again she felt the electricity passing between them as their gazes remained locked together. She loved straddling him this way, in a chair, the wine making her feel like a goddess or an angel, some kind of pure incarnation of sexuality.
Without removing her gaze from his, she slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulders, then reached behind herself to unfasten the clasp. The bra seemed to crumple like flower-petals as it fell away under his hands and was dropped to the floor. She arched her back then, bringing her breasts to his mouth, now rocking her hips slowly side to side against him.
Oh god, his lips, his tongue! Their slightest touch on her nipple sent heat and desire arcing through her. Unable to help herself, she tore her gaze away from his as she threw her head back, giving herself over to pure sensation.
She felt the fire rising to engulf her. Oh god, she was going to...
No. Not yet.
With a supreme effort of will, she pulled away from him and stood up, her legs still straddling his. She reeled slightly as she did so and reached behind her to steady herself on the table.
Peter's eyes had snapped wide open as she stood. "What...what's wrong?"
What indeed? Why had she stood up? She wasn't sure. The wine had befuddled her.
But it didn't matter; in fact she liked it. She felt as though she could do anything she wanted to tonight: she was the Goddess of Sex. Even if she was having a little trouble staying upright.
