tagLoving WivesSilk Scarf Ch. 7: The End

Silk Scarf Ch. 7: The End


It came as always, unexpected, just as you had thought he was gone. Spirits lifted, hands trembling, fighting with the seal. Sitting at your desk, glancing around to see if anyone is taking notice of your behavior. Like a child on Christmas you tear at the wax held linen paper. The script the same, the thrill of reading still there. Turning away from the openness of the room you devour the words. The note short, the time even shorter. Glancing at your watch, you know you will comply. By now, with the experiences that you have shared compliance is not a question.

Changing the voice mail message on your phone, explaining that you will be out for the rest of the day. Drawers closing after replacing files that you have been working on. The sounds making you wonder if everyone around is watching you. Purse in hand, you rise to leave.

The elevator is slow, but this time only going up. Four floors to be exact. The floor that was once occupied by an up and coming internet based computer company, now vacant. Door opening stepping out. Room numbers, hall dimly lit. Walking slowly in the quiet empty hall, you find yourself a little apprehensive. Memories of that first corridor in that hotel, so long ago, yet so recent, assail you. A timidity that you thought had passed causes a tremble in your hand as you reach for the knob on the door of the room number you had been given. The door opening, the squeak echoing in the large open room. Empty save for a few dozen chairs strewn about in roughly a circle.

This room must be thirty to forty feet in all directions you realize. Ceilings at least twelve feet high. Placed in the middle of the sloppy circle, a small silver pedestal. Another note laying atop a bed of roses. A blue silk scarf adorning the silver stand as would a doily at Grandma's house. The blue so well known to you.

Winding slowly through the jumbled chairs, you make your way to the note. Again, the same script, the same paper. Looking around you hold the note close, as if trying to hide it from some unseen observer. Reading carefully, not fully understanding, you re-read. This cannot be. Now he has gone too far. To this you cannot comply. Heart racing, cheeks blushing at the thoughts running rampant in your mind. Searching for the shortest way back to the door. The chairs a maze are blocking your path. Senses reeling, have I really come this far? Note replaced on the bed of roses. Slow steps through the maze. Each one in turn harder than the last.

What can he be thinking? How could he even suggest? Yet a yearning from deep within. Taking its time to surface. Each step away from the pedestal the request less foreboding. Others have done that. You wouldn't be the first. Another step toward the door. Slower than even before the hesitation evident. Could you? Really could you? Cheeks flushing again, embarrassment washing over you. Movement stopped. Mind going blank. Senses being drawn inward. Body responding surprisingly to the thoughts. Is this something that I can give? After being given so much how can I deny? Turning back, looking at the so well remembered blue scarf, the roses laid upon the silver stand. Mind screaming no, heart screaming yes. This gift you can give. This moment, this small window, repayment for so much. A step back. Another, and mind blanking again. Senses return as you realize you are holding one of the many roses in your hand.

Roses placed gently aside. Fumbling, fear, embarrassment, submission, moving through you. One fold, then another. Your thinking that this is the first time that you have had to fold the scarf. Is that part of this. Did he want me to know that? Another fold, the fabric cool against your fumbling fingers. A last look around as the scarf returns to its place so well known.

Standing still, statue like. Ears working overtime. Head turning at each creak in the building. Listening, absorbing sound, like sand does water. A click of the door latch like a gun shot in your ear. Body stiffening. Shoes shuffling. Chairs moving. Another click more shoes, more chairs. What was going on? Body trembling. Nerves on edge. More sounds, surrounding you. Head swiveling at each new one. Trying to discern location. More sounds, more sounds, senses overwhelmed.

Not knowing how long, finally silence falls. Not a sound anywhere. Fading into your senses a soft compelling music. Barely there but growing. Now just heard for sure. A little more, the volume increased. The signal spoke of in the note. Still you stand. Who what surrounds you. The music re-starting a signal? Unable to move you realize tears are flowing. Body frozen time standing, waiting. Again, re-started.

A sigh, resignation, relief, a giving in. You concentrate on the music. Nothing but the music. Slowly you turn inward, finding yourself alone in there. The room fades from your mind. The dance begins.

You wonder from that place you have gone to, why all dancing seems to emanate from the hips. Jerky, no fluidity to your movements you try to find the tempo. Praying that your racing heart will calm enough so that you may really be able to hear the soft mutterings of the recorded sounds. Slowly over time, you find yourself less tense. The music becoming a handle that you can hang on to. Letting it envelop you, moving through you as if searching for that center that will calm you. Movement easier now, the feeling of the hem of the flared skirt that you wore today bouncing on bare thighs. Hips moving slow fear of the effect of the blouse moving across unbridled breasts, and the exposure it would cause.

The music becomes more sensuous. Hips moving in more animated ways. Focusing on your dance, you have always been proud of. Turning completely. Flared skirt blossoming cool soft breezes on your thighs. Blouse moving now, causing the effect that no longer concerned you. Music slipping in deeper. Taking control. The turns more frequent, the language of the dance more erotic. Hands and arms added to the skimpy repertoire. Hands outlining the contours of your body. Music settling in, the center of you coming alive. The thoughts contained now, only the dance perceived.

How long had this been going on, you knew not. Fingers reaching for the top button. Hesitant but excited. Never had a button been so difficult. The fabric opening releasing your heat, the coolness felt on the tops of your barely exposed breasts. Turning, become bolder, if it's a show that they want then it's a show they will get.

Another button a little more exposed. Your inhabitation's melting away. A thrill coursing through you. The dance continues, you moving in small circles, occasionally bumping gently against the silver pedestal, giving you a location to guide yourself by.

Blouse tugged gently from the hem of the skirt, tails hanging down. Thinking gladly that you hadn't worn the tight fitting crotch snap blouse today. Turning again, you open another button, and then immediately the last. There its done. The currents of air passing over exposed flesh, the thrill of being here doing this, combines to make your flesh seem alive. Blouse billowing out with each turn, surely they must see. Nipples almost painful so taunt. Full and erect. Proudly displayed here. First one shoulder then another, the blouse flutters to the floor. Stomach unconsciously drawn in. Hands locked behind head, back arched. The display proud and total. Body quivering with excitement. How can I do this? How can this feel so exquisite?

Your hands move, down your sides, then across the lean flat stomach. Hands searching upwards, warm flesh felt. The full weight carried in your palms. Breasts held out, hands massaging. Fingers moving to the tips. A small tweak, a groan escapes your lips. Still touching, still turning. The thoughts of the audience overpowering. The self milking, twisting, touching, caressing. Hips locked in the beat of the sounds. Fully involved now you realize what this has done to your body. Still caressing, turning again and again, fingers plying the soft warm flesh. You feel the sensations wash over you. You realize that you are there. Both hands full, thumbs and forefingers rolling, hips jutting, another firm pull, and you feel the release inside. The wetness the warm wetness between your thighs. A moan escapes, the sound awaking you to the visions the audience must be witnessing.

Embarrassment washes through you. Never before have you reached that place this way. What is happening to you? Never mind, another calling, your body in control now. Hips gyrating hands fumbling with the small tab on the back zipper. Not wanting to go further, unable to stop, the tab moves down. The skirt travels down, slowing at your hips. Another turn affords it movement and gravity wins out. Skirt on floor, hands covering breasts you realize how wet you really are. You can feel the fabric of the panties clinging to the folds of your body. Your cheeks turn red as you realize the light blue panties show your excitement to all. Still your hips move, your body enjoying the release.

Bold now, overcoming hesitation fingers moving over the band. Hands clenching the fabric at the sides. Thumbs in waist band, fingers curled through the leg opening, you pull them tighter. Teasing now, playing with the moment. Higher your hands travel following the shape of the material. Hands together, in front, fabric pulled firmly against you. The material outlining all that you have held most secret. The hips moving, fabric sliding over you. Another level reached. The need calling out to you. The desire overpowering. You rock slowly to the beat against the material. The silk pulled into a thin band, and held tight. Each movement another assault on you. The sensations growing, the music thumping deep within. Orgasm close, audience forgotten.

Waves falling, warm trembles throughout. Hips moving. Your entire being focused on the feeling of silk against you like that.

Head thrown back in abandon, another washes over you as you call out unintelligible words. Passion overcomes and the muscles inside scream. The total relief as you open the gates. The level new never experienced before. Silk, and thighs, wet. Hips slowing, to sensitive to move. Heart racing, music barely heard. And then you realize that you are not alone. Cheeks turning crimson. Hands releasing fabric. Palms covering nipples, the touch electric. Breathing begins to return. What have you done here? How has this happened?

No where to go, nowhere to turn. Exposed unable to run. Hands felt on your wrists. Pulling them away from their protective position. Releasing responsibility, your body relaxes. Giving control to whomever. You do know that there is a trust, a bond developed.

Hands gently moved behind your back. Cuffs placed on wrists. Cuffs joined together by something stretchy. You move against it and find it quite easy to get free from, should you so decide. Hands, not yours this time, caressing your back. Your body's immediate reaction surprising, heat welling up from inside. Same hands, moving lower on your back. You arch your butt up, the feeling so needed right now. What is going on with you?

An arm around your waist hand moving up your back, bending you forward. Only a little bit. Back still arched butt held high and proud. Panties slowly passing over flesh bare cheeks exposed. Guiding you in a slow turn, your ass flaming with the embarrassment. Smooth hands kneading the exposed flesh. The touch cool and exciting. Bent further forward, turned again as if on display, You know what all are seeing. Breasts, their own weight pulling them from your body. Nipples hard erect even still. Panties rolled down further, now you are sure it is plain to all that you have shaven. Panties falling past thighs, over calves. You make no struggle. One foot then the other removed, the panties grazing your body as they are lifted. Hands guiding, feet, separated until almost uncomfortable. You stand before all, naked, shaved, your mind screaming to run, your body winning, you succumb.

Hands strong and smooth inside of thighs, moving up. Your legs part more on their own. A tickling at the uppermost thigh, fingers gliding through the wetness you left. Circling in the moisture, covering your thigh, then the other. Your heat rising, betraying you again. Knees bending slightly. Your most wanton self displayed. The touch firm, lips parted. The scent of you in the air. One finger playing, just barely in and out, a rhythm created. Your need a focal point.

Now one hand in the front, another reaching in from behind. Finger still just barely popping in and out, but the other, the one in front, fully stroking you. Your clit too sensitive to touch too sensitive not too. Your hips thrust against the frontal intruder, you try to change the pace. But the tempo is established. You stand bare to the world no longer caring of witnesses. To move now would be torture to yourself. Another crescendo building. You hear your self, chanting to the touch "Don't stop" "Don't stop", nothing more than a whisper.

Building climbing, almost there. It stops, frontal assault denied. Hips crying out, moving on their own. Finger still popping in and out slower, penetrating deeper. Still you climb. Aware of others and not caring. Maybe even enjoying it. Body tensed, muscles trembling. Climbing. The ladder unending. Band in cuffs removed, hands free, you assail the area left alone. Fingers moving, climbing even more. Knees crouching in rhythm to the digits movement.

Hands, bending you forward further. Butt fully in the air now. Your own finger stroking wildly. Soft kisses, tongue trailing across uplifted flesh. Gentle tickling between the two entrances. What a site you must be. One hand on your breast, another between your open legs. Another finger barely penetrating. Blindfolded, wet, hot and in need. The popping stops. Upraised cheeks separated. The removed finger tracing firm circles there. Oh God that feels good. Never before that entrance toyed. Its pleasure silent. Wet tracings evaporating slowly, the sensations new, forbidden, fantastic.

Finger probing deeper, you push against it. Your own finger never hesitating. Let them see me this way, anyway, just don't stop. The first joint felt. Muscle closing tightly. Finger withdrawn, and re-inserted. You try to resist. The sensations too strong. Your desire reaching new peaks. The sounds emanating from you low and continuous.

A zipper overheard. The sound penetrating your senses. The male hardness felt between your legs. Sliding in the damp. Soft hard silky, throbbing against you. Maneuvering the head parting your swollen lips. You feel the entrance. Cannot wait, finding a balance, you thrust hard on it. Deep deepe, all the way in. The thrill the feeling of fullness. Something for your crying muscles to clasp. The explosion, the relief, another thrust, another explosion. Your own wetness felt moving down your thighs. Hands holding hips from behind, a withdrawl a long slow every inch felt thrust. The grinding deep, your own finger clawing madly at your clit. Calling out, the waves wash over you unending. Another thrust, and another. The head felt as it burrows in, opening you, spreading you wide with its onslaught.

You scream within, a match for your own quivering voice, as the penetrator explodes within you. Hot inside, the pulsing bringing you finally to the top of the ladder. No more, you bend forward at the waist totally spent. Your own hands clasping your ankles attempting to find balance and strength. Your senses slowing, breathing rapid, but returning, heart still racing. Bent there your thoughts return. The fullness within you passing, slow withdrawal.

Guiding yourself, you move to the floor. The fetal position the only comfort sought. Silence, how long asleep. Memories, ecstasy, joy, pleasure, sensations, all wash over you. Your movement slow limbs stiff, and sluggish. How long had it been? Your travels through this maze of pleasure, a few short months, a lifetime. Chilled, you try to focus. Blindfold still in place.

Fingers stiff, sticky, the scent of you still there fumble with the knot. Giving up, the scarf simply lifted from your eyes. The glare harsh eyes in pain. Closed you open them slowly, easing into the light. At your feet, clothes, yours, and a single red rose atop.

Dressing, you move toward the door, finding a path somehow through the chairs. The knob in hand a turn to examine the room. Disbelief making this all seem as a dream. Hand turning the knob. A lone figure in the corner shadows. Sitting quietly. Turning away from the unopened door you approach. Slowly, timidly, closer yet still unable to make out the features. Closer, still hidden by the shadow.


Closer, the face just out of view.

"Grandma" the voice soft feminine.

The scene before you fading. "Grandma" more imploring than requesting.

"Grandma, are you all right?" The query.

Eyes opening, recognition. Young and beautiful beside you, your granddaughter. Twenty two, no twenty three now.

"What is it"?

"Grandma, I was so sacred. You wouldn't wake up. Where did you go."

"Just a dream sweet one, a memory of a gift your Grandfather gave me one time. A long time ago."

"Tell me!"

"No, this is something that I cannot share with you. Stacey, my time to leave you is now. I am happy, content, and ready to be with your grandfather again. "

Tears forming in the young ones eyes lower lip trembling.

"Please don't cry, it is my time. I love you sweet one with all my heart. Remember this. Your father and mother gave you my name. I pray they have also given you my heart. Follow it where it leads you. Enjoy all that passes take nothing for granted. Cherish those around you, and remember I loved you."

The young girl, tears flowing watched silently, a glaze passed over her Grandmothers eyes, a gentle smile came to her lips, and her Grandmother's clutch to her hand softened.

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