Isabella - Strangers in the Night

"Yes. To us. I like that idea. To intimate strangers."

"But I've known you twenty-four hours now. That's a long time."

"And I suppose I was rather forceful, in the auditorium, forcing myself on you." He touched the tip of his finger to her fingertip, and pushed ever so gently against it. "We could almost be lovers."

Her belly bloomed, the deep dark depths of her arousal pounding like drums.

"Only our fingertips," she replied. The rest of me is waiting in line.

He looked down at their fingertips still touching, then quite deliberately stroked the whole length of her forefinger, from the knuckle back towards the fingertip. "Only our fingertips," he said softly, as if he were yearning for more.

"But tell me, Isabella, what did you do today, passing time?"

She told him everything she and her guardian angel had done: the late morning, the gallery, the boat and the parasol lunch. She didn't mention her shopping trip at all, but the vision of herself, in the mirror looking back, lingerie clad in that deep, primal colour, the image was fixed in her brain. The velvet gusset would be dark blood red now, she could feel her own heat between her legs. She was wet.

"Unfortunately, I had a private consultancy." Adam brushed his hand through his hair, the same gesture he used at the conference, but here it seemed... tired. "Excruciatingly dull, but I was able to rob them blind with my rates. This dinner's on them, truth be told." He looked at her, to clarify. "Don't even think of offering to pay your half. You're my reward."

"First of class?"

He smiled. "Definitely first of class." Definitely a fine piece of ass.

Isabella couldn't believe the way her mind was running. Here was Adam, being a perfect gentleman; ah but is he? her devil asked, I'm not at all sure about that; and here she was, thinking filthy innuendo into everything he said.

"What's your preferred food?" he asked. "You'll have to forgive me, but I have an absolute weakness for tataki beef, and this place serves the best. I can't do without. It's like sex on a plate."

She held her hand to her mouth in pretend shock. "Adam! You wicked man. My tastes though: I'm not a fussy girl, although I am a vegetarian." But she held her finger up to note, "But you go right ahead with your meat. Don't deny yourself on my account."

Although I do eat meat, she thought. I just don't bite and swallow. She smirked inside - swallow, yes, but only when it's cream. Her devil settled in closer on her shoulder, whispering into her ear.

"Shall we order?" Adam asked.

The waiter was quick and efficient, taking their entrée and mains orders, and promising they'd pine for dessert if he didn't tease them with it later.

Isabella deferred to Adam's choice of a Barossa Grenache Shiraz.

"Fragrant violet with a burst of red berry fruits lingering softly on a velvety texture. If it tastes like it's described, that's almost sexual," he said, lifting the glass to her, salut.

"This meal," Isabella commented, "sounds like it might be a substitute for sex. Would that be a disappointment, do you think? If it was. A substitute, I mean."

"The thing about an epicurean feast is to enjoy it one course at a time, because at any time, that might be it, the last taste, the last breath, the last dance." Adam looked at her steadily, and with the darkest eyes. The man was like a storm on a distant horizon, a brooding change in the weather.

But I'm sheathed in lingerie the colour of my cunt, thought Isabella, and you don't have a clue about that. How do I get to that course? Even her devil was momentarily silent.

The first course came, and Adam's tataki was blood red, sliced thin. "It melts," he said, "it melts in my mouth. Will you try some?"

Isabella shook her head, no, but she slid the plate in front of her, and, taking the fine pointed chopsticks, re-arranged the finely cut pieces of meat into an tidy array of vulvae, five in all, each made up off outer lips, different shaped petals, and five different clitorises, five tight little buds, not quite life size but exquisitely presented.

"There," she said. "Sex on a plate. Six sexes on a plate."

"But there's only five," he said, delicately lifting a petal from a clitoris to his lips.

Isabella smiled. "Did I say six? I meant five."

"It's so easy to mix up one's words," he replied, taking another succulent slice. Isabella knew, when that plate was done, there was only one sex left at the table. Good girl, said her devil, your filthy cunt, he can probably smell it.

She lifted a butter drenched asparagus tip from her own plate to her lips, delicately biting off the little pronounced head. "It's a real delicacy, and look, a perfect length." She trailed another stem through the pussy on his plate, before putting it to her lips, biting it delicately with her sharp teeth. She saw his pupils enlarge as she did it.

The main courses that followed were more sedate, and she noted the way that he paced himself with the wine. She wasn't used to the smooth velvety taste, and it wasn't until she'd finished her second glass that she realised, he was still on his first.

I think he measures himself carefully, Isabella, said her devil, and keeps firm control. But of course, that's what you want, isn't it, my sweet darling? Firm control.

Isabella saw her reflection in the long glass of the window, hovering out there over the city's lights, and she wondered who the woman was, sitting across from Adam. She felt disembodied, the sole focus of her being the relentless heart-beat deep in her belly, a deep yearning, aching to be filled.

"I'm not usually forward like this," she said, "but can I tell you, your command over your audience yesterday, your control over me, was absolute. I'm soaking wet, right now, sitting here with you, and I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

* * * *

"That, my dear, is what I call 'turning the page'. Waiting to see what comes next."

He called for the bill, and without looking at the amount, added a hundred and placed his credit card into the folder.

"No dessert, sir?" asked the waiter, solicitous but deferential, having seen the generous tip.

"Later," replied Adam. "Room service."

He turned to Isabella, "Come, let's go upstairs to the viewing platform. There's something I'd like you to see."

Isabella nearly did as instructed, but quickly remembered where she was.

At the top of the building Adam was solicitous, holding Isabella's waist in both his hands when she was eager to lean forward towards the plate glass windows, but at the same time nervous of the long drop to the river below.

"You're perfectly safe. You could hurl yourself at the glass and you'd bounce back. Anyway, we're a good metre back from the edge."

"I know," she said, "but I feel much safer you holding me like this." I can't remember when you took possession of my body, but please, please, please don't let me go.

In a silent reply Adam moved right behind her, one hand slipping around to rest over her belly, cradling the small mound of curved flesh. His other hand came up to her throat, lightly clasping just under her jaw, stretching her head up with the slightest, slightest tension, like a wolf might clasp its prey in its mouth, lightly. His body pressed against hers, and she felt a thickness up against the crack of her ass. He shifted a little, lodging himself there.

"I'm going to fuck you tonight, Isabella." His voice was whisper soft, his breath hot in her ear. Her cunt dropped; fuck, she was so wet, she was sure she could smell her own rising scent.

He's an animal, Isabella, said her devil. Your taste will be on his tongue already. Oh my lord, your bare armpits, fuck fuck, they'll be like two succulent cunts, so easy to reach; go on honey, lift an arm, see what he does.

Oh my sweet fuck, you did.

Isabella had indeed exposed an armpit, reaching out towards a wall to keep her balance, and oh sweet fucking Christ she could smell herself, hyper-aware of her pheromones, hyper-aware of her pulsing pussy, shamelessly pushing her ass back to the solidity of his body.

Her nipples throbbed hard and tight, a hot ache deep within her big, proud tits, connected straight to the holy trinity of her clitoris and those hard thick buds. She ached for his tongue.

Adam cupped her armpit in the palm of his hand, holding her soft, warm flesh like a puppy; a young animal, hot and alive.

"You're a slut, Isabella, giving yourself to me like this. You're the empress, the whore."

He evoked her sex fuck tarot, how did he know that? She didn't care.

Fuck your fuck slut then, in your room. Strip me naked, force me to my knees, lift my ass up to your tongue, my cunt to your cock. Fuck me till I scream, my tits dragging on the rough cover of the bed, dragging their weight from my bra. Fuck me harder than you've ever fucked a woman before. Fuck your fuck cunt of a woman, make me nameless, make me forget my name.

"Isabella, honey, come back from the edge. You're too close." His hands were on her hips to prevent her leaning too far forward. "I've got to confess, I don't really like heights. Vertigo and I don't get on."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I get so excited, seeing views like this. Put me in a Ferris wheel, I love it."

"I'll wait at the bottom. With pink candy floss on a stick."

Well, said her devil. I didn't expect that.

He's only human, thought Isabella, defending him.

She dragged her attention back from the edge, and stepped back against Adam, who enclosed her with both arms wrapped around her, holding her tight back against his body. Was he hard? Isabella couldn't tell, but his heat was palpable, his hot breath on her throat exquisite.

"I don't usually do this," he said, "a one night stand with a woman who has to fly to another city in the morning. But will you come back to my room? I..."

Isabella's angel leaned forward on her other shoulder, I think you should, my darling, I think you're very safe with this man. Besides, she said, looking across at the devil who was grinning, you know we're in cahoots, she and I. Why do you think we chose demure black lace, hiding everything in clear sight?

"...will. I'll come back to your room. There's something I want to show you."

Isabella blushed, and he ran his fingers over her cheek, accepting her bravery for exactly what it was, shocked and brave and unusual.

"I don't do this, either," she said, "but sometimes..."

"The thought becomes unbearable, and it's easier to give in?" Adam looked at her, his blue eyes intense under the strange neon of the viewing platform and its reflected sky.

"It's not giving in. It's doing what you've always wanted, but could never say."

"No regrets?"

"No regrets."

The angel and devil looked at each other, and swapped places.

Isabella leaned her head against his, temple to temple. If she'd been shorter, she'd have rested her head on his shoulder, but somehow, being the same height... she was his equal. She looped her arm through his, and they went back inside, to stand side by side in front of the elevator door.

Isabella was so very wet, her knickers sticky and hot against her crotch, her nipples hard pebbles in her bra. But she held herself with such decorum, and anyone seeing them standing there would have thought, such a handsome couple. I wonder what they're like in bed?

# # # #

They went down to his room on the fifth floor. His suite overlooked the river where there was a ferry wharf on the opposite bank, served by small river boats chugging a steady timetable up and down the water. The river's surface bounced the light of four big floodlights over the facade of the building opposite, in a shimmering, constantly moving pattern of shadows and light.

Adam left the curtains of the main room open, and again, like the restaurant, floor to ceiling windows commanded the astonishing view. He turned two column lamps on in the corners of the room for a low ambience and, when Isabella visited the bathroom, he turned a single soft light on in the bedroom.

He shucked off his shoes and socks, enjoying the soft luxury of the carpet on his bare feet.

"Do the same, honey, feel the warm carpet on your toes." In her stockinged feet, he was an inch or so taller, not much, but enough to look down into her soft eyes.

"Isabella," he asked, "is there anything I should, shouldn't do?"

He's asking permission, said her angel. He's asking consent, said the devil.

Everything. Do everything. "Anything, do anything," she replied. "I'll say 'don't' if I'm out of my comfort zone." You can drive me out of my mind, and I'll buy the gas, I'll drive the car.

"It's important," he said, "to establish the basics. After all," he said, drawing her close to him with his hands on her hips, "you could be a crazed killer. Although, with that little dress clutch of yours, with a small and impractical knife."

Isabella giggled. "Do you really think so? I mean... I didn't think I was that kind of woman.

"And what about you? Am I safe?"

"Oh, I'm a Cain, from a long line of murderers."

It was only later, her throat arched in ecstasy, calling out his name, that Isabella realised he'd not really answered her question.

Adam pulled her closer, their lips perhaps three inches apart. He reached for the clips in her hair, unclipped them, and her hair fell, long and thick, the ends of it falling level with her breasts. "Oh, beauty," he whispered, running his hands through it. "I have such a thing for long hair. You'll find me touching..."

me a lot, oh god fuck, he loves my long hair. She took a fall of it in one hand and placed it around his neck like a noose.

"...you a lot, your hair, your skin, your..."

His words stopped as his lips touched hers, tentatively at first, tasting her lipstick, tasting the faint breath of wine from the meal, scenting her on the back of his tongue. He pulled her closer to him, his legs against hers, his body pressing against hers. She swayed, caught her balance, and he had an arm around her, holding her firm in his arms. His kiss became stronger, she felt a thickness against her thigh.

She half turned against him, placing a thigh between his. Her hands went to the back of his neck, cradling the back of his head in both hands. Slowly they intertwined, and slowly he moved her towards the window. He pushed her back up against it, she had no further resistance, no place further back she could go, except to dissolve in a dream and float out through the glass, disembodied, and look back at herself pushing forward into this man.

For long moments they pressed each other into their flesh, cloth against cloth, fingers entwining, and his face buried in her hair.

He took a step back. "Take my shirt off, Isabella, undress me."

He gave her the gift of trembling fingers on the buttons, gave her the gift of the shirt sliding off his shoulders to reveal silvery hair on his chest, gave himself the gift of her palms rubbing over the tight points of his nipples, the jab to the base of his cock. Her hands were warm, and his flesh was hot. She ran her arms up and down his back, testing the width of his shoulders.

"Turn around, face the window."

She did so, and he slid the zip of her top down the length of her spine. He undid the single looped button at the back of her neck, and slid his hands around inside it, down to her bare belly, around to her bra covered breasts, testing their weight, their firmness. He covered the velvet and lace cups with his hands, squeezing her breasts to her chest. Her hips bucked, once.

He slid the black lace garment off, and it fell in shapeless shadow at her feet. The angel smiled, its purpose done, undone. Adam took a step back from her, to imprint the curves of her waist and her hips in his mind, and into his hands. He curved his hands down the sides of her torso, fingers lingering as they passed down the sides of her breasts, to learn her shape, to know the ins and outs of her curves. He found a delicate place, just inside her hip, given away by a sigh and a shiver.

Isabella remained silent, the only sound the shudder of her heart in her chest, the pounding of waves in her belly, and, crystal clear but faint, the warning sound of a klaxon from a departing ferry across the river. She looked down and saw a myriad passengers departing like Japanese travellers on a fan. She was floating above their world, looking down.

"Your lingerie,"

is the colour of my cunt, I've sheathed myself in my channel

"is beautiful, such a glorious colour. I'm keeping this on you," he said, "until I take it off."

Isabella sighed, "Please keep it on me as long as you like. I especially like..."

She fell silent, a blush rising high on her cheeks.

"You especially like?"

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Her devil said it for her, "My tits pressed up, the cups pulled under, underneath. My nipples - "

They're hard nubs already, throbbing, aching for your tongue. Her hips bucked again, and Adam's grip tightened.

"I'm beginning to learn your connections," he whispered, pressing her once again up against the window, her breasts flattened against the glass. The deep burgundy of her brassiere contrasted with the white cream of her flesh, and from the waist down, she was tight black skirt and lace stockings.

Across the river, a balcony door slide aside.

"Stay there," he said, taking four steps back into the centre of the room. "Can you see my reflection, in the glass?"

Isabella changed the angle of her look and nodded, seeing him there, hovering out in the dark. She watched him as he undid the belt buckle, and lowered the zip. He was wearing the same suit pants he had at the conference, and her mind flashed back to the way he'd stepped aside from the podium, his hand in his pocket, to give her a promise for the afternoon break. She gripped the glass, her focus intense on his reflection.

In the room, his silence was uncanny, the soft carpet absorbing every glimmer of sound. She saw him bend, tug the ends of the pants from one lifted foot, and the other, and she saw the firm cheeks of his ass, his narrow hips, as he turned away to fold the trousers, place them neatly on the back of the couch.

He turned back to face her, and she gasped. His cock hung long and thick against his left thigh, the nested weight of big, heavy balls a cushion behind the thick shaft. Even soft, he was longer than many men she had known. He came towards her and pressed himself to her, the centre of his pubis once again finding the cleft of her ass, even if the tight skirt remained a barrier. He circled his body into her back, her backside, holding her hands against the glass, her fingers laced between his. He spread her fingers wider.

Across the river, Isabella could see the silhouette of someone on the balcony opposite, someone watching. She saw a faint orange glow, tiny like a firefly, and she realised the person was smoking a cigarette on the balcony, watching the apartment opposite, watching her.

Isabella continued to look across the river, as Adam continued to caress her back and bra covered breasts. He placed his erection up between the cheeks of her ass.

The damn skirt, honey, said her devil. Don't you wish he'd take it off?

He won't, not yet, said the angel, not while that cigarette over yonder is lit. He's waiting.

Isabella wondered just how far apart she and this other woman were. Her eyes had adjusted to the light, and she could see the woman leaning against the balcony, the ember going regularly to her mouth in long, slow drags. She thought the woman's legs were apart, and she thought she could see heavy breasts and a deep cleavage. Then the ember was extinguished.

Adam took that as the sign. He slid the zip on the side of her skirt down, and shimmied the lace and the under-skirt down over Isabella's thighs, to reveal the high waisted knickers clinging to her hips, high on her waist. The garment, like the bra, was made up of soft velvet panels over her hips, with an intricate lace triangle over her belly and mons. Cut higher at the back, Adam could finally nestle the weight of his cock up between her cheeks.