The Reader

"The other way around," he said.

Elery obliged the request, unhooking her left leg and settling the heel to the hardwood floor, then lifting the right leg over the other. His placid face held a mystical expression of contentment. For a fleeting moment Elery thought to herself that she had only just laid eyes on this man not but fifteen minutes ago. And now here she was, completely naked before him. She thought to herself that some seven billion people were presently on Earth, and here they were, the two sole participants in this secret little endeavor. She was to be the keeper of his personal desire, entrusted with this private fetish. Elery was now engaged in a mutually titillating and non-physical tryst.

Opening the heavy tome in her lap, the spine of the old novel fit perfectly into the valley where her smooth stomach disappeared between her crossed thighs. Elery carefully turned the opening pages, arriving at the opening chapter, and began to read, her soft voice spilling out over the room and intoxicating the older man. He savored the sound of her voice and the simple beauty of her face, as much as he did the elegant, youthful curves of her slender figure and perfect white skin. The man's admiring of her youthful body was oddly welcome. He didn't see her own perceived flaws; the slightly too wide hips; the disproportionate breasts; her numerous moles. He simply looked at her with awe, reminded perhaps of his own youth and the passing of years, fascinated with her smooth skin, as yet untouched by the harshness of time. Elery felt comfortable in the appreciative embrace of his eyes.

Two hours later, with the heavy book becoming more balanced against her naked thighs with each turn of page, Elery arrived at the end of a chapter. So engrossed in the story Elery had actually forgotten she was sitting naked before the older man, who had been gazing at her exposed body the entire time.

As if on cue, the chimes of the grandfather clock reverberated through the empty house. Her eyes met his. He had the vaguest hint of smile, like a young boy engaged in a private mischief. "Well," he said, masculine voice breaking the serene atmosphere she had set them both adrift in, "that was quite captivating." He sat up and handed her an elegantly painted bookmarker, taking in the sight of her to satiate his mind for the coming day without her, and said, "You can get dressed now."

She placed the bookmarker between the pages and reached out for her panties. Whereas when she undressed the man had focused unnerving intensity on her every move, tracing the way the fingers peeled each item of clothing off to reveal the skin beneath, the man now seemed occupied with other concerns, and Elery dressed relatively unnoticed.

A moment later Elery found herself on the threshold of the old house, the man holding the door for her, ushering her out of the serenity of the study and back into the harshness of the real world.

"Were you able to find parking?" the man asked.

Elery, stepping from the house onto the porch, stopped and turned to him. "Oh, I don't have a car, I took the subway."

The brow of his forehead furrowed slightly and he came back, "Well, I shouldn't like to think of you taking the subway. I'll arrange for a car on Wednesday." There was a pause between them, then he asked, with a hint of uncertainty, "You will be coming Wednesday, won't you?"

Elery relieved him of his concern with an affirming smile and a nod of the head. She then turned and descended the cement steps. As she went she heard the large oak door close, followed by the latch of the dead bolt. It was the period on the end of what had been a surprisingly tranquil and utterly new experience for her. Her shoes clapped the cement as she reached the walk and started for the subway station.

On the subway ride home Elery forgot to crack open All the Pretty Horses, choosing instead to analyze the past two hours. She didn't necessarily feel ashamed. Quite the opposite. She was rather proud of herself for having stepped outside her comfort zone. It had been, without question, after the initial surprise and question, actually quite exciting. If she had been told beforehand on the phone of the man's intentions, she would have never gone there in the first place.

Elery considered how many things in one's life are left undiscovered due erroneously preconceived notions that are too often listened to. Well then, she thought, so I have been hired to undress before a man three times a week, and then read to him completely naked. Elery found herself staring out the train window at the rush of tunnel lights. It was their little secret. She was tickled at the notion that no one on the subway car had any clue they were in the vicinity of a professional concubine. It was Monday. Elery would repeat the routine day after tomorrow, only this time she would entertain his whims by wearing taller heels. And they would be black. As he so liked.

The next morning, as Elery stood in the doorway of her closet sipping at her coffee, she studied the shoe rack sitting beneath the hanging clothes. She was still mulling the previous day's experience over in her mind, recounting the hours she had spent naked before a virtual stranger. She pushed the clothes aside and studied her cache of high heels. With a seriousness of task, she considered the shape and style of the various shoes, settling on a pair of tall, black, soft suede heels that she felt would satisfy the man's request.

The day that intervened the next reading went by without much fanfare. Elery visited one client and helped copy edit an essay for another. But throughout the day she was continually sidetracked by thoughts of what had transpired, with a kind of tantalizing anticipation of the appointment looming for the following day.

Come Wednesday, Elery took care of several reading tasks for clients during the first half of the day, but the impending second visit to the man on the edge of the city was what was capturing her fancy. She continually checked the dainty gold watch on her wrist to track the passing hours as she went from errand to errand.

Back at her apartment, as Elery was readying herself for her visit with the man, the doorbell rang. When she answered it an older, tall, thin black man was standing there, dressed in a black suit and black tie set off against a perfectly laundered white button down shirt.

"Ms. Shore?"

"Yes," Elery came back, wondering what the man wanted.

"I'm ready whenever you are." When he stepped back and clasped his hands before him, she saw a black Town Car double-parked out front her building.

As the Lincoln breezed along smoothly and quietly through the streets of the city, Elery ran her hand over the plush leather of the seat. She felt a rush of indulgence at the thought of a private car having been procured to deliver her to read in the nude to the man in the big house. She smiled at the provocative liaison she was en route to; several titillating hours of words, of reading, of wondering.

When Elery rang the doorbell of the grand house, she listened as the muffled chimes rang through the vast home. The faint sound of approaching steps on the other side of the ornate door stirred her, raising her heart rate slightly.

The big door was unlatched and swung open to reveal the man standing there. He was wearing a dark sport coat over an opened white shirt and black slacks. When he saw she was wearing the black heels he smiled approvingly. He stood to the side and made a welcome gesture with a sweep of arm.

As Elery entered he closed the door behind her. Hearing the latch of the dead bolt shot an enticing aspect of sublime capture through her. She was now in his home, away from the prying eyes of the public, locked away here now with a provocatively clandestine duty to perform. The world outside and the banal aspects of daily life were effectively shepherded away upon entry into the timeless environs of the old house and the simple erotic nature of her presence here.

When the man ushered her into the study Elery saw the bentwood chair had already been placed in the center of the room, facing the leather reading chair. With little more than a perfunctory inquiry as to how she was doing, the man settled into his reading chair, placing his elbow on the arm and resting his jaw against his knuckles. His face carried a commanding expression of expectation. It was a pleasantly nasty look that spoke of sex and deviant scheming as to the desires of the flesh.

Knowing her purpose here, Elery wasted little time. She approached the chair and turned around to face him. A mix of anxiousness and eagerness swept through her being. She slowly unzipped her dress and let it fall gracefully to the floor. Demurely stepping out of the pile of material on the floor she let the movement linger to emphasize the soft suede heels. She then unfastened her lace bra and peeled it away from her breasts. In slow, sensual movement she slid her fingers down over her body and ran them inside the elastic of her panties, pushing them down over her thighs and lifting the black-heeled feet out of them. Nude before him, she then pulled her hair up and fastened it, drawing out the appropriate strands on either side of her face. She then took her glass case from her purse, withdrew the wire rim glasses and in calculated movement opened the ears and slid them on.

Retrieving the old volume of Melville's White Jacket she settled into the parlor chair, the bentwood frame creaking as her lithe weight settled onto the crushed velvet pad. She then crossed her right leg over the left in a beautifully choreographed feminine display of obedience. She then fingered the bookmarker set between the pages of the old book and opened it across her naked lap, like a butterfly spreading its wings over the wonderful mysteries of the hidden valley between her legs.

The room was then gently intoxicated with the mellifluous rhythms of Elery's sweet voice as she continued from where they had left the story of a young man aboard a Man-O-War. In relatively short order Elery slipped from her self-consciousness and was able to concentrate on the beautiful language of the old novel, easing into a shared enjoyment of the story from long ago.

Elery was never far from understanding that as she read his eyes were drinking in her nakedness, the voluptuous curves of her hips, the definition of her calves. She never took her eyes from the text as she wondered where his gaze was focused and what perhaps he was thinking. She dared to consider if at some point the scenario would prove too powerful and he would be moved to primal action, taking her right there on the floor of the reading room in a savage explosion of raw, animalistic impulse. That thought came and went as she turned the pages, the grandfather clock chiming out the passing of the time. She quashed her little whimsies, reminding herself that he had assured her he wasn't interested in sex, or even oral copulation—a practice which Elery had been told by more than one boyfriend she possessed a genuine gift for. He had made his intent clear; he simply desired to have her read to him in the nude.

Over the course of reading White Jacket, Elery often stumbled over a word, unfamiliar with the myriad nautical terms which Melville infused his writing, such as afterguard and futtock, binnacle and garboard. At these moments, when her voice lost its sensual confidence and stalled momentarily with pronunciation, he would intervene, repeating the word properly and then describing for her, in his worldly way, what it referred to, often with a thorough description of the working aspect of the old tall ships Melville, and the man, were so enamored of.

It was during these frequent discourses, delivered with the eloquence of his mature voice, she would fall into a kind of trance listening to him, enjoying his knowledge of such things, which he made wholly interesting to a landlocked woman such as herself. Often, he was so engaging in his descriptions that she would innocently forget for the moment that she was fully naked before him. After his explanation she would take up again reading the prose from the pages of the book. The man especially liked when Elery became so engaged in her reading, enraptured so with Melville's words and the evolving tension of the story, that she became completely unaware of her nakedness before him. It was those precious moments where he could fully enjoy the titillation of his voyeurism.

When the grandfather clock chimed, announcing the end of the allotted two hours, Elery took a breath, sliding the bookmarker into the pages and closing the old volume. She then lifted it from her lap, exposing the crevices that the juncture of thighs and pelvis created, and placed it on the table.

As before, as soon as the time was up and the book closed, the man got up out of his chair and wandered off into the house, leaving Elery to dress alone and unobserved. It was a direct contrast to the intensity of his audience when she undressed. She thought to her herself, as she pulled on her panties and fastened her bra, if perhaps the act of dressing didn't carry the same excitement of undressing. Maybe the notion of dressing was indicative of an encounter having ended, a forlorn farewell, as opposed to the heightened emotions of anticipation associated with the act of undressing. As she drew her dress up around her she studied the empty reading chair. She took off her glasses and placed them back in their case.

Elery made her way through the austere house toward the front door. She saw the man standing there, his hand on the brass knob, ready to turn the ornate handle and return her to that staid world beyond, so sadly devoid of secret intimacies. The sweet reverie of being here in the great, naughty secret with him, suspended in the dream, was at an end for now. She would pass through that door and be swallowed up into the unemotional diatribes of daily routine.

As she passed within a whisper of him, close enough to catch his scent and a momentary return to the dream, his stoic face and disposition was suddenly contradicted in asking, "Do you have stockings?" His words stopped her on the threshold of the grand doorway. "And a garter?"

Elery was reassured by the question, as it revealed his desire to continue with their wonderful secret.

"What color?" she asked.

"Whatever you like." He smiled—well, as much as he managed to smile, which was more a slight bend of the mouth at the corner of his lips.

As Elery descended the cement porch steps the door closed behind her. She heard the dead bolt drawn across. She made for the Town Car where the driver was standing at attention with the rear door open. It was all so adolescently fairytale-ish; the coachman awaiting the princess to alight in the fine coach sent to fetch her by royalty in order for her to fulfill her concubinary purpose. As she settled into the plush leather confines of the Lincoln, Elery looked up at the imposing house, wondering what the man was going to do with the rest of the day, and the day between their next visit. She wondered if he thought about her in those absences as the car pulled away to speed the concubine home.

That evening, after completing the various chores of life, Elery pulled open the drawer of her dresser where her silk and satin panties and lace bras were kept. She swept the garments to the side to reveal a stash of garters and wadded up stockings that had not had the pleasure of her thighs and waist for some time, those frivolities having laid dormant due the departure of physical romance from her life. She playfully sorted through the various items, pursing her lips with decision, collecting them into matched pairings of stockings, garter and bra. It tickled her that she was doing this for the indulgences asked of her by the admiring man.

Lying in bed that night, reading in the soft light from the lamp on the nightstand, Elery was finding it difficult to concentrate. She was feeling a bit amorous. The limitations of physicality in her new duties as a reader in the nude were creating inherently powerful, if somewhat delayed, arousal. To have been twice now bared before the man as she read, his eyes devouring every inch of her nakedness, and her, immaculately vulnerable before him, was inviting a pleasant uneasiness into her being.

Folding away her book and turning out the light, Elery sank into the bedding. Her hands went beneath the covers, fingertips trespassing her warm skin to arrive between her legs. She quickly revisited the sensations roused earlier in the presence of the man, her tongue moistening the edges of her mouth as her fingers pressed apart the lovely lips of her vagina, instantly sticky with wetness, finding their way inside to fondle the fleshy walls of her womanhood. The initial, delicate explorations turned to gentle stroking in small, circular rotations of varying degrees of pressure against her clitoris, the faint teasing of touch progressing into deep plunges, taking her to the tantalizingly elusive brink of satisfaction. When at last it came, in that wonderful abandonment of self-control, when the natural impulses of the body take over and the climb to orgasm becomes inevitable, there was that accompanying unleashing of total primal immersion in unrestricted convulsions. The orgasm broke, resonating through her like an electrical current of rapidly reversing polarity in a wonderfully mad tingling of the senses. The climax passed over her like a diminutive, warm and crystalline wave in the shallow depths of some far off south sea island. As the orgasm passed it left delicious ripples of sensation that coursed her entire body in gradually diminishing tremors. As her body sank into the indentions of the mattress her breathing slowly returned to normal. After the wave of pleasure had passed it gave way to a kind of confusing sadness. Elery grabbed her pillow from under her head and wrapped her arms around it, desperately in want of his arms to be engulfing her. And with this pathetic, stuffed replacement for the living being she wanted, Elery cried herself to sleep, exhausted as much from the shudders of a powerful orgasm as that of emotional longing.

Friday. The third visit now to the house on the edge of the city. The car, her coach, had delivered the concubine once again to the castle. The man had welcomed her in and she had proceeded to the reading room, their little haven segregated from the worrying troubles and the empty, vulgar lusts that permeated the world outside.

Today, as he sat, awaiting the show to begin, she took extra care in removing her blouse, teasing the ritual unbuttoning with slow deliberation, each maneuver of fingers pressing the little white buttons through their respective holes with agonizingly wonderful slowness. After she unfastened and unzipped her skirt, she carefully slid it down over her waist, revealing a black lace garter belt. Continuing the deliciously slow progress she eased the skirt down over her thighs to reveal the thin black straps of the garter and the sheer stockings. She wore no underwear, the garter and straps framing the trimmed forest of pubic hair. His response was subtle; raising his chin slightly in salutation, affirming his pleasure at her careful study and delivery of his want.

After properly laying the skirt and shirt and bra across the arm of the couch to keep them from wrinkling, Elery settled into the bentwood throne of her domain. She took the novel from the table and after crossing her legs just so, carefully placed it in the lovely crevice that held her womanliness. With a push of finger to set her glasses back on her nose, she found where she had left off previously and began again the reading. Her sensual voice flowed the words into the admiring man's ears like honey, his eyes wandering the beautifully smooth canvas of her body. Elery enjoyed the sensations that were ebbing up through her at the thought of his eyes on her.