Pandora's Panties

I finished dressing, slipping on the stockings, then hooking them into the garter belt. I pulled on a very short, tight skirt that, even with objectively critical eyes, outlined my curves very nicely. I then slipped on my black boots, smoothing the supple leather around my calves as I zipped them up, and admired the way the heels lengthened the line of my calves and thighs. Not for the first time I thought how good an investment the gym had been. Not bad, not bad at all.

As I turned around in front of the mirror, making sure everything hung correctly, it seemed as if a pair of hands molded to my ass and gripped my cheeks firmly, the finger tips just reaching into the crack, pulling the flesh just slightly apart. The sensation was so realistic that I irrationally looked behind me to make sure no one else was in my room. What the hell? Maybe I was so keyed up to be going out that I was particularly sensitive to every stretch of fabric across my body.

I quickly put on a bit of eyeshadow, a light sprinkling of powder, and brushed on some mascara, then carefully put on the dusky pink lip balm. Done, but not overdone. I grabbed my room key, credit card, driver's license and some cash, shoved them all in the hidden pocket of my light black coat, took one last look at myself in the mirror, and headed out.

The club I'd picked hosted BDSM nights twice a month, but this was not one of those. Still, some of the decor reminded me of its use as a dungeon. Loud industrial and electronic music pulsed from the speakers and near-naked dancers in make-shift cages undulated sinuously in time with the thrumming bass. I walked up to the bar and ordered a Jameson's on the rocks, exchanging a few words with the bartender, then picked out a table to nurse my drink while taking in the people swarming around. The club's tables were clustered in two areas, each raised on a low platform on either side of a broad walkway that had the dance floor on one end and the bar area at the other.

I was enjoying looking at people letting go of day-to-day cares, bodies writhing to the music, letting the throbbing bass flow through their veins. Their inhibitions were dropping with each thrust of hip or pelvis, each swing of hip or knee. As the night went on, I felt my tension from the day slowly drain away and the music and ambiance took its place. I found myself musing about Jack and our past, our relationship that had started and seemingly quit unresolved. I thought about my career, the reason Jack had given for our split. Yes, I'd become successful. Yes, I earned a good salary, traveled all over the world, owned a beautiful condo in an outstanding location. And I'd paid for it in working long evening and weekend hours spent in an office or at home, making sure I stayed on top of the game. Making sure that I was taken seriously, and more - that the men working alongside me respected me. I'd built my reputation based on my work, not on my pretty smile or long legs and shapely boobs. I suppose none of those attributes had hurt. It was tough not to notice how the "beautiful people" rose up the ranks and got the corner offices and the status symbols, the extra push up the ladder.

But here I was, a glass of Irish whiskey in front of me, alone. Did I really want to be here alone? Certainly I wouldn't have invited anyone I shared an office with to join me tonight. But even had I not wanted to be alone, whom would I have picked? Whom among the men I'd been with in the past, some fewer than two weeks, others - like Jack - for years, would I have chosen as my mate for life? Or at the very least to share a bedroom with every night, breakfast in the morning, and willing to share laundry and cooking duties with? A good question indeed...

As the night went on, I let those thoughts drift away from me on the sound waves and returned to watching the dancers. With the advancing hours the music was more throbbing, the dancers writhing more lewdly, the accidental touches becoming more purposeful, more lingering - the hand that had earlier casually brushed against the curve of a breast or a hip now rested on a waist, traveled down the curve of buttocks. The legs of partners intertwined, pelvises grinding intensely against each other.

I realized the cleft between my legs was drawing attention to itself: my thighs were slick with the seeping moisture. I pulled forward to the edge of my seat, crossing my legs tightly, my thigh muscles clenching and putting pressure on that inner cluster of nerve endings. Paradoxically, increasing the pressure without relieved the pressure within. As I did so, a tongue seemed to emerge from somewhere, from nowhere, slick and wet and firm. It slid around my outer lips, then squirmed its way in between my crossed thighs. I was so startled I uncrossed my legs.Again, what the hell? The tongue burrowed deeper inside and swirled around the inside of my channel, punctuating the swirls with a dragging motion from back to front, right over the rough patch along the upper wall. The sensation was so realistic, so arousing that I sat up and arched my back into it.

As if on cue, a mouth closed over my outer lips, tightening into an "O" over the top of my clit, the tongue coming out to meet the lips and licking upwards. The tongue differed from other tongues I'd had the pleasure to feel, closer in texture to the rougher tongues of cats. It covered, however, a much larger area, and the pressure it brought to bear made me arch towards the table, so hard that I moved it forward a notch.

I heard the moan escape me as if it wasn't my throat releasing it but someone else's, some wanton, greedy woman in the throes of passion. I wanted to scoot back in my chair, but the mouth and tongue worked together, sucking and fucking me so thoroughly that I simply gave in to them and let the swiping and suctioning motions take me over. Too soon the inexorable build in sensation spilled over and I felt my muscles spasm in that familiar rhythmic pulse I craved, but felt too rarely. As the seconds passed and the pulses subsided, the mouth released slightly and, with something like a lingering kiss on my lower lips, disappeared.

I opened my eyes, realizing that I had scrunched them closed. My whole body was straight and clenched on the edge of my seat. I looked around, relaxing very slowly to not draw attention to the change in my posture in case anyone might be watching me. No one in my general area was looking at me; all had their eyes forward on the dancers still grinding and pumping into each other on the stage.

I pushed back my chair and looked under the table as casually as I could. "Fuck me," I let escape a whisper, "what the hell was that?" Discreetly, I reached between my thighs and felt my panties - they were absolutely drenched, the sticky fluid coating the insides of my legs and, as I moved the panties aside to feel my labia out of curiosity, the copious juices that had pooled there dribbled over my fingers and down my hand onto my thighs and skirt and chair. I used some of the napkins I'd grabbed along with my drink and, trying to make it look as if I was washing away a stain, tried to sop up the wetness as much as possible. Then I slumped in my chair, completely spent, exhausted.

What hadthat been about? Looking around me yet again, I saw nothing out of the ordinary — the club was the same club, the dancers as lewd and fluid as ever, and no one seemed to take notice of me. Did I just hallucinate? Daydream?

I took another sip of my drink, thanking the alcohol for its smooth warmth coating my throat as it went down. It had started with those panties...

I finished my drink and made my way out of the club. I hadn't seen anyone tempting enough to play with, and the orgasm I'd just experienced had completely unsettled me. It had been one of the strongest orgasms I'd ever had; few of the men I'd been with had been able to elicit that strong a response from me. This had been... out of this world!

As I reached my hotel and my room I wondered again if and when Jack would show up. A twinge of sadness hit me as I considered the possibility that something may have happened which would keep him from attending. That would truly be too bad.

I stripped off my skirt and kicked off my boots as I walked into the room, leaving the corset and panties on for now, parked my phone and my iPad on the night table, and sprawled carelessly on the bed, closing my eyes. Tonight had been strange and bizarre and yes, unsettling — I couldn't think of enough appropriate words to describe what had happened at the club. Still, that orgasm had been "out of this world" good. Instead of being sated, my pussy was demanding another.

The phone's vibrations startled me out of my doze.

"Hey, Amy! I just got here, from another conference. Barely made it back."

"Jack, hey there! I'm sorry! Turbulence?"

"Not bad weather. I came from Spain. They held us up in security so long in Atlanta we nearly missed our flight! And my luggage is still AWOL."

"Oh, no. You OK? I'd invite you over for a drink but I just got back to my room and I'm bushed."

"You? Bushed? What'd you do, run into a herd of twenty-somethings?" he quipped, sounding very like Jack.

"Cute! No, those days are over. I did, however, have the weirdest experience ever."

"Invite me to your room and tell me about it. And let me empty you mini-bar. I could really use it."

"I'm really, really tired, Jack. By the way, you didn't leave me anything at the hotel, did you?"

Several seconds passed.

"Sorry, had an itch to scratch. Leave you something? Like what?"

"A package? From a lingerie shop, perhaps?"

"A lingerie shop? Hmmm, do you have some admirers lurking about, dearling?"

"It's been a long time since you've called me that, Jack. You're the only one who's ever used that term. Your very own made up word..."

Silence again, for 20 or 30 seconds.

"Jack? Still there?"

"Yes, I am..."

"What's wrong?"

Again, a pause, though shorter this time.

"Ask me over and I'll tell you."

"Is it appropriate for a married man to be visiting an ex after midnight, Jack?"

"Only technically married, dearling. Not for much longer."

Now it was my turn to pause. Jack getting divorced? He didn't talk much about his marriage, I presumed because he wanted to be careful of my feelings. I'd always assumed it was heaven-sent.

"All right," I relented. "Come on over. Room 312."

"I'm in 315. Pretty much across the hall from you!"

He was here, at the hotel? "I thought you'd be staying at your house. You still live here in NOLA, don't you?"

"No. And yes. Tell you soon."

"K then. Since you're here, bring a glass. I'm otherwise well-prepared."

"What happened to your second glass?"

"It's filled with my toothbrush and vibrators!"

That silenced him.

It took about fifteen seconds to hear a soft scratching sound on my door. I'd barely had time to wrap my short silk travel robe over myself. When I opened the door, Jack was standing there, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair wet and a bit disheveled from, I presumed, a shower. I'd caught him with his hand in mid-air, curled up like a cat's when it scratches to be let into the house.

"One drink, Jack. I'm sorry it was such a harrowing flight. Why are you staying here?"

"I decided it would be easier, since I'm helping host the meeting, to stay here with everybody else. And I moved out of my house, anyway. I'm renting a place temporarily."

"It's great to see you. Take a load off."

I pointed him to the armchair in the corner of the room, near the floor-to-ceiling windows. I had pulled the curtains aside - someone would need binoculars to look in and actually see anything, and the view of the street lined with three- and four-storied houses with their shallow wrought iron balconies was nice. I took the glass he'd brought with him and poured us both a healthy dose of the Balvenie single malt Scotch I'd picked up at a liquor store near the hotel.

We sipped our Scotch in silence for a minute. I enjoyed the warm, slight tingling as the amber liquid slid down my throat, a hint of the sherry cask it had been finished in. They hadn't named it DoubleWood for nothing.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Livvie's taken up with someone else. It's been going on for some time, I think, but she... ummm... sort of confessed about a year ago."

"Ah. Do you know him?"

"Her. It's a her. She's one of Livvie's protégés from work. Been to our house countless times. Of course, I was oblivious. Didn't even enter my mind."

What a blow it must have been to him, I thought. "How did you find out?"

"Caught them in flagrante. Came home early one afternoon, after I'd sent in a manuscript. There was Livvie, on her back in our bed, with Melinda - that's her name - stretched out buck naked and butt in the air between Livvie's legs, eating her out."

I looked at him a little to gauge his mental state before saying, "Sounds hot as hell. I'm twitching already."

He smiled at me, a quiet, rueful smile. "Yeah, well. It sort of was. And sort of not. She was so close to her climax she didn't even acknowledge me. Just groaned and ground and rutted. I'll never get this out of my head: her eyes half closed, holding on with both hands to the slats of the bed board behind her, arching into Melinda's face. And when she finally realized I was standing there, she moaned louder and used one hand to push Melinda's head harder into her cunt while using the other hand to leverage her butt off the bed. She was nearly smothering Melinda. God, the noises they were making..."

He took a gulp of his Scotch. "I was just rooted there, staring. And when Livvie came down from her orgasm, she invited me to join them. Melinda just looked over her shoulder at me and said, "Taking lessons, Jack? I hear you could use some." The fucking bitch! Her lips were stained red with blood, and Livvie had blood all over her mound and thighs. Livvie used to make such a production whenever she got her period. I couldn't touch her for days before or after. Said she was too sensitive."

My own experience was that sex was great medicine for menstrual pains, but who knows? Everyone had their own idiosyncrasies.

"So... that was a year ago?" I asked him.

"Yeah. She tried to make things better by getting me to join them. She wanted me to agree to her and Melinda seeing each other. I wasn't willing to put up with it - if she had asked me before, maybe I would have acquiesced. But she never thought to tell me that she wanted to be with a woman. It was a done deal, and the choice was never mine to make."

"But Jack, that would be pretty hard for her, don't you think? Telling you that's what she wanted?"

He shrugged. "Maybe so. Anyway, I moved out and filed for divorce. It's a good thing the girls are pretty much grown. One's a junior in college, the other one's in her last year in high school."

"Did you tell them?"

He shook his head. "No. We told them mom and dad just needed to do their own thing. Had their own priorities now, or some such bullshit."

"When exactly did this happen, Jack?"

"About this time last year. A little before we had this same gathering."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought about it. But I didn't know whether you would feel, I don't know, weird. And it was too fresh, I was too unsettled..."

I hadn't meant to do what I did, but I couldn't watch his pain and not comfort him. I reached around him in the arm chair and, bending over him, I gave him a hug and rubbed my cheek against his. I felt my silk robe and corset-clad breasts press into him, but decided that Jack needed the comfort more than I needed to protect myself. He reached his arms back around me and, turning his head, his lips found mine. He had always been a good kisser, and he reminded me of it now.

"Amy."

He pulled me around and into his lap, and as he did so, my robe gaped open, revealing the tops of my breasts pushed up by the corset. He groaned at the sight and I felt the stirring underneath me. He buried his nose in my cleavage, his whiskers chaffing against my breasts. Despite the sting, he felt so good I squirmed, and felt him swell even more under me.

Placing my hands on both his cheeks, I kissed him, first brushing my lips against his, then fitting our lips against each other's.

"Livvie was always incredibly jealous of you. She held it over me, said I should have stayed with you. When I refused to budge to her pleas to stay together, she claimed I never loved her like I'd loved you."

I looked in his eyes, remembering how overheated Jack could make me feel. His kisses intensified and his eyes, pupils already wide with desire, widened even more, hunger spilling out of them. He pushed my robe off my shoulders and placed his hands just above my hips.

"She might be right," he said. "You're gorgeous, dearling. You make me hunger for you like I've never hungered for anyone else. You bring an animal out of me, every time. I thought I was over you, but all of it came roaring back last year. You have no idea how I've waited for this meeting."

He swept his hands upwards, sliding them while squeezing me at the same time. His tongue reached for the swelling breasts that spilled out of the top of the corset, the pink flesh of the nipples having escaped its confines and peeking out indecently, shamelessly. He took one between his teeth and squeezed, the pressure sending a twinge directly between my legs, while he stroked the other one with the pad of his thumb. When he switched his attention from one breast to the other, he pushed his thumbs down into the top of the corset, bringing out more of the breast, and ran his tongue along the overflowing flesh under the nipple. It felt heavenly.

Just then a newly-familiar feeling awoke in my crotch.

I felt Jack's hand slide farther down, feeling me through my panties. As soon as he touched the thin wet satin, he groaned and ground his crotch harder into me. He rubbed my mound with the heel of his hand, sliding it down onto my clit. Sneaking his fingers around the panties' crotch, he sank them into the wet folds underneath. He pumped in and out of me, his fingers dragging against my G-spot the way he knew I liked. As he did so, I felt a new sensation, as if another finger reached below and parted my butt cheeks, sliding the viscous juice from my pussy down to my puckered opening and smeared the fluids around it. Jack pushed another of his fingers into my cunt, moving in and out, filling me deliciously. As he did so, and in time with his movements, that other finger continued to slip and slide my cunt juice around my small opening, and finally breached the ring of muscle just slightly at the same time Jack's fingers scraped against my G-spot. I moaned and arched into his hand, and that other finger took advantage and pushed farther in, rotating around the inside of that tight ring of muscle and nerve endings, sliding ever so slightly in and out.

I was so close to cumming, but I wanted something more. I slid away from Jack's hand and crawled on the bed, propping myself on my hands and knees and backing up close to the edge of the mattress, arching my back and looking over my shoulder at him.

"I want you to take me this way."

His hands wrapped around my waist, squeezing me and feeling the stays of my corset. His hands were so large they almost encircled me. He swiped his hands down to my hips and I could feel his fingers sliding into the elastic band of the panties. I felt an odd twinge of alarm. I couldn't say why, but I didn't want him to take off the panties.

"No, Jack," I said, "leave them on!" I blurted, impatiently. "Just move the crotch aside."

"Mmmmhmmm, yes dear. You are so hot, dearling."