The Floating World

She pondered her flirting with him. Was she leading him on, teasing him with her youth, her innocence, her freshness? She knew she was a girl with all of those delights. If he was too old, was she too young? Amanda didn't know what to think. She remembered an earlier afternoon, after she got home from dreaming on the train. Oh my, she thought, he calls me honey, and I tasted myself, and I was sweet as honey. A deep heat flooded into the base of her belly and oh sweet Jesus, the tips of her breasts ached and tightened. Oh fuck, the ache of that memory, that sweet coming, flooded into her cunt and she opened there.

She was rescued from the intensity of her reaction by the woman serving their coffee. "Sir," she said, "your latte." Turning to Amanda she placed the cup precisely. "M'mselle, yours. Please enjoy. It is a day for it."

Amanda looked up. That was a curious comment, so precisely spoken. The woman looked down at her, gazing straight into her eyes, then looked down just a fraction. Amanda immediately realised the woman was looking at her mouth, at her slightly opened lips. The older woman smiled just a little, an unsaid message. Amanda felt like she was in some kind of a conspiracy, but she wasn't sure who was conspiring with who.

She glanced at Adam, knowing that he would have seen the exchange. He too was looking at her mouth. She clenched her thighs, keeping the heat there. Amanda wondered whether he would know the state of her. She wanted to be eaten, taken, possessed. Heat flowed through her veins. Damn him, she wasn't in control here. But Amanda, she thought, do you want to be in control?

Slowly, making sure she didn't show nerves, didn't seem rushed, Amanda lifted the coffee to her lips. It was a perfect temperature, and a perfect froth. Her lips were slightly parted and blooming redder with the heat. She knew too that she was opening between her legs, even if her knees were primly together under the table.

"So, Adam, does the coffee compare?"

Amanda knew Adam watched her walk from a table after serving, and expected him to do the same here, to follow this other woman with his eyes. But no, his gaze was on her, only her. Amanda saw a slow shift of his eyes from her mouth to her own eyes, and his eyes were the darkest blue she had ever seen them, almost steel grey.

"Ah, a comparison." He paused. "Yes, the coffee is good, well made." He looked over to the woman, and held his gaze on her for a long moment, before looking back to Amanda. "But no, there is no comparison. Every one is different, every one has some unique thing, some special thing."

He smiled at her and then, quite deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers, he dipped just the tip of his fore-finger to the froth on the side of her cup and lifted it to Amanda's lips, so close but not touching, poised there. Amanda had no choice - he was claiming her once again and she allowed herself to be claimed - she opened her mouth ever so slightly to allow the red tip of her tongue between her lips, and took the taste from his finger, her lips brushing his finger tip.

"Damn you, Adam," she whispered, "what gives you the right to do that?"

"You do honey, you give me the privilege of touching your lips, because you don't look away. Your pride is your magnificence, it's your best feature."

Sweet Christ, thought Amanda, he calls me honey and magnificent, and I've tasted my own honey thinking of him. The idea of her wet sex sent a jab of pain to her clitoris and her cunt felt wet and full. Her legs parted. How on earth was she going to walk through the exhibition beside him, with her hot cunt and her clit tight? Every step would be sweet friction, sweet pleasure, sweet torment. Oh God....

"Come, let's get through the exhibition, while it's still light."

You bastard, she thought, you're reading my mind. I could come in a second, and you've only just touched my lips with your finger. Is this what you do, every time you buy a woman coffee? Your arrogance is astonishing. Fuck you, Adam, I won't be wrapped around your finger. Her eyes darkened, a black passionate fury narrowing her eyes.

***

Ah good, Adam thought, her passion is rising, she's going to fight me every step of the way. She doesn't know how beautiful she is when her heat rises, her wild beauty.

He looked at Amanda as she finished her coffee, and she was no longer the little coffee girl who took his money and smiled at him in the mornings. She didn't know it, not yet, but Adam would crawl on his hands and knees just to be near her. His old, jaded heart could beat again, if she would let him get near her. Her vitality flowed from her, and ripped through him. Adam imagined the tension that would be rippling through her slender body. He loved to see this slow awakening in a woman, as they came to him of their own will.

"Amanda...."

"Yes, I'm listening, Adam. Please, let me finish my coffee, and when I'm ready...."

Her words were fierce, but her body betrayed her. Adam could see the flush of her arousal at the base of her throat, and he had seen her pupils dilate when he said the word 'come.'

His own nipples were hard with a tight, sharp pain behind his breast. He knew himself well enough to know that his arousal was heightened by her closeness and her subconscious reactions to his actions; so if his nipples were tight, hers too would be hard and pleasurable, aching for a touch. He quickly glanced down, but her coat was wrapped tight, hiding her breasts.

"OK. Now I'm ready, Mr Impatient." Amanda gathered up her bag from the floor. Before she could push her chair back, Adam stood and quickly moved behind her, so that he could give her the old-fashioned courtesy of easing her chair back. It disarmed her, as he knew it would. "Oh, no-one's done that for me before," she said, "I could get used to that."

"It's my pleasure," Adam replied, and they were friends again. Amanda looked up at him and lifted two fingers to his lips. He kissed them, and this time she claimed him, on her terms. They smiled at each other, each knowing what the other was doing. She had never been courted before, and Adam was a patient man. Adam loved being with her, she was so alive.

They made their way to the gallery, and because it was a weekday and late afternoon, they had the exhibition mostly to themselves. Adam was content to place himself in front of each tableau and to soak in the luxury of it all, the flamboyance. He loved the genius of the couture, the brilliance of the colours and the superb embroidery.

In contrast to his stillness, Amanda circled the exhibits, seeing the clothing from all sides, even crouching down to see it from different angles.

"Adam, they're so beautiful." She'd return to his side with a breathless joy, as if to momentarily anchor herself, then dart off to another place, another time.

"Yes, they are beautiful clothes, aren't they. I can see why you like them." He looked down at the vivacious creature beside him, restless like a cat. "I've always thought that women dress to impress women. He paused, "...and undress to impress men."

She looked up at him, taken by his comment. I wonder if I could impress him, she thought. She shook her head. No, don't be silly. He'd want someone older, surely.

"Oh look, I can imagine myself wearing that, dancing in an old smoky club!"

Adam sensed she was working off the nervous energy of her earlier arousal, and she would soon slow down and stop. Sure enough, after about twenty minutes, she found a bench and dropped herself onto it. "My poor feet, they're aching."

"Oh Amanda, I'm so sorry, I should have thought. You've been on your feet all day, and here I am, dragging you round an art gallery. You poor darling. Here, let me."

Adam sat a little distance from her, and tenderly lifted one of her feet to his lap, and took off the practical flat shoe. Amanda stretched out her toes in pleasure, leaning back at the same time to keep her balance, even before she realised what he was doing. He massaged her foot between his strong fingers, kneading the base of it.

"Oh God," she sighed,"that's wonderful. Please, don't stop."

Adam didn't stop, he kept massaging her foot, until suddenly she became self conscious. "Adam, no, stop. My foot, surely it's all hot and sweaty. You can't."

"Honey," and the endearment came so naturally to Adam, "if I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't. Surely you don't mind." It was a statement, not a question, and he didn't stop. "Your nylon stockings though...."

"They're not stockings, just plain, practical pantyhose. You don't like them, do you?"

"Well, they're not soft silk, and they're not warm skin, so I'll ...."

"You'll do nothing. Stop, let go my foot." Amanda swivelled her feet to the floor and stood. She looked around, but they were alone in the gallery, and the bench was in a dark corner of the room. "Don't look."

Amanda quickly turned and raised up the hem of her plain black waitress' skirt, put both hands up to her waist, and peeled down the hose and her panties. Adam, not knowing what she was going to do, didn't look away, and was rewarded with a quick glimpse of a pale thigh.

Turning back to him, she quickly rolled the flimsy garments into her hands, plunging them deep into her bag before he could really see. She primly smoothed down the fabric of her skirt, and was once more the neat, tidy, coffee girl in a simple black skirt. Slit cunt naked underneath, she was two girls in one; hot heat and slow arousal, pretty coffee girl and sensuous woman, both.

Her eyes sparkled as she looked down at him. Adam was pleased, she's playing seriously now. She sat beside him on the bench, her back against the wall, and placed both feet in his lap. "Now, Adam, what were you saying about warm skin?"

Adam met her look. "My, you are a forward young miss, aren't you. What would your mother think?" His hands were warm and enclosed her foot like a cunt does a cock, gripping tight and not letting go.

"I'm not sure about my mother. But my old Gran always used to say, 'Amanda, always wear clean knickers. You never know when you might fall over in the street.' A wise old woman, my Gran." She grinned at Adam. "She'd always tell me, 'make sure you meet a nice young man, Amanda, but if his mother hasn't taught him manners, send him back home.'" She paused. "Did your mother teach you manners, Adam?"

"Hmmm, manners. I suspect not. Anyway, you're safe with me." He took her other foot into his hands. She didn't resist.

"Oh really, why is that?" She didn't want to resist.

"We're not in the street." Adam paused. "And I'm no longer young. I was a nice young man, once upon a time, or so I was told. But now, I'm just getting old."

Adam held her feet in his hands, and her skin was soft and warm. He caressed further up Amanda's calves, but even though he knew she was now bare under her black skirt, he wanted to wait, to draw out their teasing, to tantalise both himself and her. He was also intrigued to discover what Amanda might do, if left to her own devices. He was a patient man, and could wait to find out. He waited for the seduction, it would come, he was sure of that. He just wasn't sure who would seduce who. Amanda was learning fast, and had ideas of her own.

***

What in God's name am I doing, thought Amanda. I've taken my panties off in an art gallery, and a man who I sell coffee to is massaging my bare feet. That can't be right, but my feet feel sooo good, and Adam is so kind, buying me a ticket to the exhibition. And he's such good company. He pampers me. I love it, and he seems to enjoy it. But what am I doing?

Amanda laughed inside to herself, both at her conundrum and also in astonishment at herself for doing what she was doing. What would her old Gran think, indeed! She could imagine her shaky old voice: 'Amanda you really shouldn't take your knickers off in public. What would your mother think? Really, girl.' She giggled at her imaginary granny.

"Oh, I see," commented Adam, "there's something to laugh about now, is there?"

"God no, it's delicious, your hands on my poor tired feet. No, I was just imagining what my old Gran would be thinking, if she saw me now."

"You'd be surprised," Adam replied. "She'd probably say to you, 'if you're not in bed by eleven o'clock, go home.' That's what my old Nan said to me, when I was a teenager." He shuddered. "God, that's too long ago, to even think about."

Amanda looked at him and wondered if he fully registered that he was talking about beds to a twenty-two year old. Surely he did? She'd tried to work out his age from things he had said, and from his appearance; and figured he must be somewhere in his fifties, with his silvery grey hair. She wondered at herself. An older man? His daughter could be my age.

Can it be right that I've taken off my panties and I've got my feet in his lap? I want him to touch my cheek again, and brush a tiny coil of my hair away. I want to touch his lips again with my fingers, I want to see his eyes narrow as they look me up and down, glancing at my breasts (does he like small breasts?). I want him to adore me.

Amanda looked at Adam, her eyes dark with passion, her mind slowly making itself up. She had her pantyhose and knickers in her bag, and was calculating how long at this rate it would be before all of her clothes were on the floor, in her bag, falling off her body. Shoes and underwear already; skirt, blouse, bra and coat still to go. Good God, she realised, that's four garments taken off already, four to go. Five, as she looked at her watch and included it in her calculation.

"Adam, how long have we been together this afternoon?"

He looked at his watch. That's curious, thought Amanda, he's right handed but he wears his watch on his right wrist. "Oh, I'd say an hour and a half, two hours. Why?"

"I'm just calculating how forward I am, given I've got my panties off and bare legs already, and it's still light outside."

"How forward you are?" Adam looked at her, and she melted. The smile in his eyes caught her heart and she adored him, then it tugged hot and cold behind her breasts and into her nipples and she craved for him; and his eyes narrowed and a silver thread wound around her clit and she lusted for him, her cunt blooming open between her legs like a dark, fragrant flower. She couldn't do her maths fast enough.

"The question isn't how forward you are. The question is how forward I might be...."

Amanda tilted her head into the perfect angle for coy. "I hope..." and cleared her throat to make sure the words didn't falter, "I hope you listened to your Nan."

Under her feet she felt a slow shift as Adam's cock thickened. He looked at his watch again. "I did," he replied, "And I always paid attention to the time."

Adam kissed the tips of his fingers and put them to Amanda's lips, sealing a promise. "We've time for dinner, but not a movie." He said it as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do, to take in a movie with a friend after a long day at work.

"I don't want a movie," said Amanda, I want you. She left it unsaid, but hoped he heard her. She thought Adam was probably seducing her, but even so, she seemed to be making a lot of the moves. Is that the difference, she wondered, between someone who's probably done this a dozen times, and someone who's never done it even once? Finally, Amanda thought, I've found a man who knows what he's doing.

Poor Antony, he's not got a chance against Adam. The idea of her boyfriend, and what she was doing here, flickered across her mind but she thrust it away. Nothing's happened to feel guilty about, she thought, knowing full well it had. Like Scarlett, she could sort that out another day.

They got to their feet, Amanda reluctantly putting her shoes back on, and smoothing down her skirt. As she turned, Adam admired the way the cloth followed the tight contours of her bare ass. The crease between her cheeks and the long line of her thighs were unbroken by a panty line, and the skirt clung enticingly to her curves as she walked.

Amanda walked ahead of him, knowing he was watching the sway of her hips, her taut calves. She turned once to look over her shoulder, her long hair swirling, and beckoned him with her finger. "Come, Adam. Haven't you seen a girl's ass before?"

"Well yes, but can't I admire yours? It really is delectable."

"I know. Walking around all day really keeps me toned, don't you think?"

Amanda enjoyed their flirting back and forth, at the same time wondering what would happen when he got really serious. She imagined his intensity would overwhelm her, that she would be way out of her depth and swept away by him. Deep in her belly a pulse throbbed but she managed to keep her walk steady. Take a breath, Amanda, take a breath. How on earth am I going to last through dinner, she thought.

As they walked out of the gallery, the woman in the café watched them go. She saw there was a perfect distance between them, not too close so that the girl was fawning on him or he was controlling her; and not too distant that they were remote and disconnected from each other. That's lovely, she thought, they are going into wherever they are going as equals. She had no doubt that the electricity between these two would surge like a storm before they were done with each other.

Amanda touched her hand to Adam's arm, wait. She turned and looked straight at the woman behind the counter, on the other side of the room, straight into her distant eyes. Some tiny bit of the witch in Amanda was drawn by the more practiced witch in the woman, and across the ether there was a silent exchange between them both. Amanda now understood the strange comment the woman had made earlier. It was indeed a day for it.

***

Adam took her to a discreet low key restaurant in the basement of a city hotel. At first, Amanda was self conscious about her simple attire, until Adam re-assured her.

"You're fine. When you're sitting, anyone else will see just a young woman in a white blouse, the rest of you is hidden under the table. It's early evening, so you could easily pass for a young staff officer on an interstate visit, being taken out by a manager from another company."

Adam sat across from her, so they were formal, close but not intimate. Discretion was a simple thing to arrange.

"Besides," Adam went on, "I've only ever seen you in your work clothes, so if I'm to undress you later I'll find out whether you are as lovely as my imagination says you will be. Tonight, I can't imagine you in anything else."

He said it as if it was the most straightforward thing in the world, that she would be undressed later. Amanda had gone well beyond her original reaction to his confidence, which she had thought was arrogance, and now she just wanted to be the centre of his slow, steady seduction as he teased it out.

She replayed his words in her mind. I'm to undress you later. She loved the idea of Adam slowly, carefully removing her clothing, one item at a time, revealing her young body as a prize. She could imagine the look on his face as she was exposed in her lovely, naked glory. She would turn slowly around in front of him, so he could see her from every angle. She would pull the band from her high ponytail and let her hair fall. He would touch her bare skin with his lips and worship her.

The meal was wonderfully prepared, perfect sized portions leaving her comfortably full. They shared a single bottle of wine, which meant Amanda was warm and relaxed, but not at all drunk. Good, she thought, I won't do anything embarrassing. She was nervous though. What if he thought she was too young, too inexperienced? Even if she was young and fresh, might he want someone older, more knowing? Sometimes she felt like a silly school girl, terrified that she would say something so stupid, so naive, that he would just walk away.