Red Ribbons and Scripture

I arrived to work early and discovered a sticky note on the door that said, "Come in and lock it," I did both to find him waiting in his office. "Good morning, Mrs. Foster," he greeted, walking over to me, "You look lovely and elegant with your hair up." "Thank you," Sir." "Any questions, Mrs. Foster?" "No, Sir," I replied, "The second laptop is your work computer, the cellphone for the same purpose.

He removed a key ring from his pocket with two keys and a USB Flash drive hanging on it and put it in my hand. "The keys are for the front and back door, and the flash drive goes with the computer. Your detailed instructions for the day are on the drive. I have an appointment for a haircut. Any questions?"

"No," I replied. "Use this credit card, and don't worry about the prices; buy quality.

I notice you don't wear jewelry. Please give me your red ribbon. Without saying a word, Mr. Cain wove and tied it cleverly around my neck, like a chocker. "One more thing, Mrs. Foster, Tom Nelson had flowers delivered here for you, they're in the kitchen, and it was his idea. I go back aways with Tom, don't think too badly of him," he then turned and left.

I found two dozen yellow roses in a vase and an apology card. The card's cover had a watercolor print of a bluebird on a branch. Tom's cursive writing was surprisingly legible. "I said a small prayer, and I forgave Mr. Nelson, and then began my duties for the day.

Mr. Cain's home is austere in how he furnished it; I noticed a lack of clutter as I went room to room. His kitchen and office are the most used. After checking the size of the beds, I spent the morning buying winter and summer weight-down comforters and linens for his home, including sheets and pillowcases for the three bedrooms. In addition, he wanted two dozen spa-quality extra-large Turkish bath towels and washcloths.

Mr. Cain looked handsome when I met him in the restaurant for lunch, clean-shaven with a neat, longish, and full-on top- shorter side and back haircut. He, Mrs. Barton, and the architect went over the blueprints for an addition to the restaurant. The architect would oversee the contactor to ensure materials and dimensions were exact to the contract and code.

Things may have started fast and furious, but the following months were routine and primarily business-related. Mr. Cain had a silent partnership with a cleaning service; he fronted the seed money. They came in three times a week. Every room was scrubbed, cleaned, dusted, and polished from top to bottom, particularly the bathroom and kitchen.

I looked forward to going to work. My duties included purchasing Mr. Cain's groceries; he had a well-stocked and organized kitchen for a bachelor, including the best cookware. He stressed all the dry goods, canned goods to be well away from expiration dates, and especially the spices.

I ran the Bosses' errands and delivered documents. I screened his phone telephone, greeted visitors, relayed messages, and took notes, regardless of whether we were in his office or driving. His business interests are diverse and interconnected, and I went to most of them with him. After these meetings, when alone, he asked for any ideas, comments, or suggestions, and I did have a few.

When Tom Nelson's father died, Mr. Cain and I attended the wake to pay our respects. Tom Nelson thanked us for coming and introduced us to his sisters.

The Boss and Tom stepped to one side, away from everyone, conversed quietly, did the half-hug men do, and slapped each other on the shoulders before solemnly looked each other in the eye as they shook hands.

Before we left the funeral home, Mr. Cain left a sympathy card with a check enclosed for five hundred dollars as the family requested to support the hospice that cared for Tom's father.

I must mention, the Boss is scrupulously honest in his business dealing. I also learned Mr. Cain has an idyllic memory, especially for names and people, knowing every one of his employees, all one hundred-three.

As always, he thoughtfully studies me with his intense green eyes, noticing every little change in my appearance I did to see if he noticed. He had many suggestions that weren't suggestions that surprisingly I agreed with about my clothes and makeup, including learning various updos and braids styles. I had several red ribbons now and was required to wear them in some visible manner, in my hair, as a choker or bracelet, and I incorporated them as my unique style. Mr. Cain also preferred stocking and lace garters rather than pantyhose, and I complied.

In consideration, we had lunch together most workdays, our schedule allowing, and occasional late-night dinners; perks of the job. On occasion, the late-night dinners were at Mr. Cain's home, steaks or chops, seafood over charcoal-marinated grilled salmon that is heavenly. He has logs delivered to the house, and he cuts, splits wood the old fashion way; saw, ax, wedges, and maul. The wood is for his fireplace and his grill.

Mr. Cain is always the gentleman in public. He is slow to anger and never raised his voice to me or lost his temper if I made a mistake. Instead, he corrected me quietly but firmly. I was also very attracted to him, and I tried very hard to please him.

I looked forward to Mr. Cain's hand lingering on mine or his callused hands brushing the nape of my neck when I sat close to him in a restaurant.

Late one Saturday afternoon, my day off, he called me and said, "Mrs. Foster, I've never seen you dressed casually, and without makeup, make it so" I wore white cross-trainer sneakers, snug blue jeans, and a teal peasants blouse.

He took my hair down when I arrived and then pulled me close, crushing me to him. He kissed my lips long and deep, sending thrills down my spine, and he said, "I like what I see. You look lovely, this way, with your hair down. Good news, I explained your idea to Johnson. He's going to sign a two-year contract.

There are five-one-hundred dollar bills under the newspaper for you, and as a bonus, I'm grilling us chicken breasts and scallops. You're in charge of the Caesar salad and the corn on the cob. It is going to rain today, but it should hold off until later this evening. There is a box for you in the office."

On top was a full-size black umbrella from Italy with a duck head-mallard handle. Inside was a yellow Gortex rain parka, and LL Bean Boots-both fit perfectly. I was hoping for more than just dinner; shall we say, a frolicking naked in the bedroom? We frolicked, to be sure, but not in the way I hoped. We went for a lovely and romantic long walk in the rain.

I went home and pleasured myself under the sheets, thinking about that random walk in the rain, his wet kisses, and the scent of his cologne when he stands close to me, and how he crushed me to him in his strong arms against his hard body.

I smiled when I thought of Mr. Cain with his black umbrella standing under downspouts, jumping in puddles, and dancing around streetlamps while singing like Gene Kelly in the Hollywood classic "Singing in the Rain."

It was bitterly cold and wintery Friday in February and snowing hard with fierce winds. It was that day he claimed me as his lover.

He sent me to the wine cellar for a bottle of Graham's Vintage Port and instructed me to meet him in the bathroom with two wine glasses. I returned to find him naked and very well hung. The tub was filling with hot water. Erotic scenarios flashed through my mind when he said, "I'm going to taste your delectable flower," his eyes telling me what he wanted.

As before, I made an erotic show of stripping for him. I'd been practicing in front of the antique full-length mirror on my bedroom door. I left my hair up in a braided bun to let him take my hair down when he wished. Then, Mr. Cain handed me a wine glass and said, "I have an affinity for fine Port. Did you notice anything on the label?" He held the bottle like a sommelier for me to view.

"No," I admitted, wondering why he asked. "It is a 40-year-old vintage," he explained. Mr. Cain opened the bottle and poured two glasses, "Take a sip?" and I did, and then another. It was delicious. He took a sip and said, "It's a complex harmony of well-balanced flavors; black currant, raspberry, and strawberry with a full-body, juicy texture with a medium finish-In other words, not bad." "It's delicious," I agreed."

How old do you think I am, Mrs. Foster? Can you guess correctly, or do you know from looking at my Driver's License?" I smiled, flustered, and sipped my Port. He was smiling, and his eyes were warm and full of good humor. I was curious on my first day when I looked at his driver's license; he is thirty-five.

He put his finger in his glass and wetted my lips. He kissed me. "Your lips taste complex and sweet, the reason I kiss you." We lounged in the bathtub for half an hour or so, refreshing the tub with hot water, and finished our second glass of Port. Again, he was enjoying this and entirely at ease.

He helped me out of the tub, handing me a towel to dry myself; he did the same finishing first and then put on his briefs; his eyes were studying my naked body. "Enlightening, although not unexpected." Then, he commented, "Your nipples are hard," and he pointed to the vanity mirror.

I turned to look, and Mr. Cain stood behind with his hands wrapped around my waist; I could feel his huge hard cock pressed up against me through his briefs. He kissed my neck and face and whispered, "Keep your eyes open, Mrs. Foster," and he blew on my neck, his warm breath giving me goosebumps as he caressed my breasts and nipples with his callused hands.

I watched us in the mirror and saw the woman there, me, my mirror image having her breasts caressed. She was horny and wet, pressing against his hard cock, rotating her hips from side to side, and softly moaning with guilty salacious pleasure. He slid one hand down to her mirror image plump and dripping pussy lips, pushing them aside, and inserted two fingers, making her gasp when he touched her quivering clitoris. "Do you want to come, Mrs. Foster?" He asked, "then turn around.

Mr. Cain took my face in his hands and kissed my lips long and deep; it was me he was kissing and not my mirror image. His lips were hot and demanding. I was forty years old, and I've never been kissed like this before or felt so deliciously feminine or vulnerable. Mr. Cain picked me up as if I weighed nothing, put me on the vanity top, and partially filled his glass with Port.

He played and strummed my moist and welcoming flower with his fingers like a Guarneri del Gesù. His Maestro's fingers moved in and out of my wet and dripping cunt while rubbing and tapping like a vibrator on my smooth hairless mound with his other hand, playing all the right erotic notes on my swollen clitoris.

He deliberately prolonged my orgasm, teasing, withholding, and denying me frantic release, as he kissed my lips long and deep, pausing to drizzle the sweet wine on my breasts and sensitive erect nipples to lick them clean. Then, he finished using his tongue, tasting me as he continued the nirvana, fueling my ravenous desire until he allowed me a crescendo of multiple orgasms, the like of which I've never experienced.

I was crying when he helped me off the vanity top, and I pressed myself against him with my head on his chest, as he gently held me, to assure me as I composed myself. My thoughts were like a rollercoaster of twists and turns, climbing to the zenith and then plunging to a final stop. "Are you alright?" he asked. "I'm fine." "No, Mrs. Foster, you're not fine; you are magnificent," he praised.

"What are you going to do with me now?" I asked, assuming he was going to ravish me in the bedroom "Nothing at this moment," he replied, continuing to hold me in his strong arms.

"Why," I asked, confused and a bit annoyed, "have I displeased you?

"No, you please me very much; however, you were crying. You needed to be comforted from what you'd been through, perhaps starting with your first day with me, and, no doubt, other things you were thinking about," he answered logically and reasonably, "For the record, I'm not making you, Mrs. Foster. However, I'm intrigued by the fact you are so, shall we say, inexperienced and easily aroused; a sexual blossoming describes it best.

You have submitted to me of your own free will. It denotes imagination and intelligence, and I am not referring strictly to book learning, although I realize you're educated and well-read.

Moreover, you are a charming and modest lady, and I'll never lie to you. So answer me truthfully; have you ever in your lifetime, given or received oral sex?"

"No, I haven't," I replied, wondering how he guessed that. "Were you a virgin when you married?" "Yes," I admitted. "Interesting, I appreciate your honesty; it explains much."

The weather is terrible but should clear up tomorrow. Do you want to spend the night?" "Yes, Mr. Cain," I answered, "Yes, I do, that will be so nice." "It's settled then," he said, he walked to his bedroom, and I followed. He started to get dressed. "There is a surprise for you in the guest bedroom. You may sleep there if you wish, or you may join me. Fair warning; I often read in bed for an hour and like quiet. I have lamb chops marinating, and I'm going outside to fire up the grill. There is a cold pasta salad in the fridge."

I picked up my clothes and went to the guest bedroom. When I opened the door,

I discovered a robe laid out on the bed for me. It was a gorgeous red knee-length kimono with peacocks and white peonies. I held it up and rubbed it against my face, and it was pure and luxurious silk. There was also a white silk camisole, with narrow shoulder straps, the neck and hem trimmed with lace, and last, my red silk panties, his trophy from our first day.

I put them on, and when I went downstairs to the kitchen to help with our dinner, I heard soft jazz music playing. Another present on the table was a pair of sheepskin slippers; warm, practical, and comfortable. Maybe, ten or fifteen minutes later, Mr. Cain came into the kitchen, took off his insulated rubber boots and double-cape grey wool mackinaw while I was setting out the plates and tableware; he said, "There will be coals in thirty minutes or so. "Thank you, they're lovely, Lucas," I thanked him as I dried my hands. "Ah, I see, after all this time, now I'm Lucas?" Yes, Boss," I teased, "may I kiss you?" "You may, Sarah."

"I have something else in mind; I'm going to suck on your cock." I put my arms around his neck, kissed his lips, long and deep, and was so bold to run my fingers through his hair, feeling the contrast between long and short. I was in charge now, and soon he would be vulnerable and exposed to my womanly wiles, or so I thought, so I kissed his warm lips, lightly and teasingly.

Lucas studied me intently. He nodded knowingly and took my small hands and kissed them. Lucas then let me undress him. When he was gloriously naked, my hands were all over his buff and muscular body as I kissed my way down until I was kneeling at his feet. I rubbed my face against his hard cock, and then looked up at him standing over me.

"I want to see your eyes when you suck on my cock, Sarah. A woman's long hair enhances a man's pleasure and control, as you shall soon learn." Lucas's hard cock was twice the size of my lying husband's. Moreover, Lucas was naked and was not at all self-conscious about it.

Lucas would be at ease in a primordial jungle, with a flint-tipped spear, loin cloth optional, and he watched me, untamed and unabashed as if I were his prey, and the thought frightened and thrilled me. I was aware of the moisture between my legs, stoked by and further inflamed by the restrained savage masculinity standing over me.

Lucas slid his hard cock into my mouth while he took the hairpins out of my bun, letting my long braid hang like a thick silky hair rope on my back. He then took my braid, wrapping it partially around his hand as I looked up into his eyes, and he tugged warningly and said sternly, "When I ask for, or gesture, like so." Then, he pointed to the floor at his feet, "fellatio from here forward is non-negotiable. So when I ask for sugar, it will mean the same as pointing to the floor at my feet.

I began licking and sucking on his cock with selfish pleasure as my thoughts wandered to what I wanted. I was going to swallow his virile hot seed, knowing it would please him. I was so horny and aroused with his cock in my mouth.

I wanted Lucas to dominate me, fuck me hard from behind doggy style, and pull my hair when he fucked me. I wanted to be on top for once and for Lucas to make love to me, slowly and gently, and hold me afterward until we fell asleep together, and most of all, I wanted him to tell me that he loved me. "Slow down, Sarah," he warned, "and watch your teeth," Lucas tugged on my braid. "Better; yes, slow and sensual.

Use your tongue on the tip, good; flutter your tongue, excellent, and now lick in a circular motion, yes lick. Now, lick the shaft, yes, perfect. Next, lick and kiss my balls. That feels wonderful, keep it up; keep on sucking use your tongue while you are sucking. You are on your own, now."

Lucas closed his eyes when he orgasmed, growling softly in his throat, the dam of his virile masculinity breaking with crashing torrent waves of rushing cum in my mouth, flooding it with his hot delicious semen. I swallowed all of his sweet-salty seed greedily, licking my lips and savoring every last drop. He brought out the woman in me, his woman, as far as I was concerned. I claim him. He would have me on his terms, and I would comply.

Yes, Lucas has his ways. Some days we barely talk; when he gets involved with a complex problem or issue. He is a man of relentless focus; he's a problem solver and a leader by example. Lucas is not afraid to pitch in and get his hands dirty. I watched him help replace transmission-bull-work for a tow truck-one that could tow a semi-truck when an employee was injured, and they were short-handed at that location. That is how a true leader shows his grit and gets respect for the people working for him.

Oh, my goodness, yes, Lucas can be annoyingly blunt and frustratingly reasonable. I've spent eight hours a day, five days a week with him over these past five months. But I've also seen him in unguarded moments. When he gets his newspapers off the porch in the morning, the neighbor's chocolate lab comes over to see him. Lucas rubs Toby's head and body vigorously.

The priceless look of joy on Lucas's face, and after, his canine pal Toby, goes home wagging his tail happily with a dog treat; it's a daily ritual between them. He likes to walk in the rain at night when the streets are quiet and deserted. He says he can almost hear the distant sound of the ocean.

Most importantly, Lucas's heart and lips are truthful. Nobody who kisses with such passion can fake such a thing.

Lucas took my hands, helped me to my feet, and said, "The fire should be ready by now," and he kissed my hands and began dressing. "It sounds like the winds have died down," he commented, "the storm should abate by tomorrow. You look lovely, by the way, Sarah.

I want you to learn more variations or styles when you wear your beautiful hair down for me," and Lucas finished dressing and went outside. I brushed my hair and fixed it in a half-up, half-down style by pulling the front section back away from my face, making a cute ponytail in the back, tying it with my red ribbon. When he saw me after, he nodded, and his eyes showed his approval.

We had a cozy diner that evening, and darn it, I wasn't going to sleep alone in the guest bedroom. So I joined while he sat up against pillows on the headboard, reading where I snuggled up close. The warm bed and down comforter was a pleasant refuge from the frigid cold weather outside. He continued reading for a few minutes while I rubbed his hard chest, "Lucas," I said softly; he sighed and put his book on the nightstand, turned off the lamp, and lay down next to me. "May we talk? I asked." "Yes, what's on your mind?