The Slumber Party Ch. 12

"Now put the nightgown over my head," she ordered.

He did so. She raised her arms straight up so that he could slip the garment through them; and because she remained in an upright position, the lower parts of the gown became bunched at her waist.

"Now take my skirt off," she said.

Again a dizzy feeling came over Rod. He couldn't imagine how he would not be able to see at least Isabel's panties, if not something even more intimate than that.

But she had other ideas.

The skirt was fastened by a button and then a zipper. Isabel had now scooted down so that she was lying flat on her back, and as Rod slowly slid the skirt down her thighs, she was careful to drop the hem of the gown in such a way that very little of her flesh or undergarments was revealed. Nevertheless, Rod did sneak a peek—how could he not?—at a bit of surprisingly skimpy white cotton panties.

As he helped Isabel drape the nightgown all the way to her ankles, he was hugely relieved—although also in some indefinable way disappointed—that the procedure was over. He had already turned around without a word and was about skedaddle out of the room when he was again brought short.

"Wait a moment," she said peremptorily.

For some reason a hot flush shot through his face. "Um, yes?" he croaked.

Isabel didn't speak for some seconds. Then, in a curiously softer voice, she murmured, "I do not care to have my underwear on while wearing my nightgown. Please help me remove it."

Oh, this is too much!

He turned around slowly. "But, ma'am, how am I to . . .?" How am I to do that without getting a close-up view of your sex?

She seemed to read his thoughts. "Come over here and I'll show you."

He trudged back to the bed.

She said, "Now fall to your knees at the foot of the bed." He did so. "And close your eyes." He did as ordered. "Now extend your hands out toward me."

When he did that, she didn't seem to do anything at first; but then he heard a faint rustling sound that he eventually figured out was Isabel raising her nightgown up at least to her waist. He of course couldn't be sure, for he had kept his eyes tightly shut.

"Now, I am going to take your hands and place them on my hips. You will be able to find the elastic of my panties without too much trouble. You will slide them down my legs and remove them, making sure not to injure my ankle any further."

This really isn't happening, is it?

To this day he can't believe that he obeyed her orders so slavishly—but what else could he do? When she put his hands on her hips, he indeed had no difficulty coming upon those sheer and bikini-like panties—not to mention the warm, soft flesh they covered. Heart thumping, he peeled off the panties sightlessly, and he could tell that Isabel was slipping the nightgown down over her legs as he did so. Only at the very end of the process did he open his eyes fractionally to make sure that his removal of the panties didn't affect the icepack on her wounded ankle.

As he remained on his knees before this inscrutable woman, she did one last thing that startled him.

She took her hair—still wrapped in that tight and severe bun—and released it, letting it cascade down over her shoulders. The act transformed her whole expression, and Rod could tell that here was a woman who was really strikingly attractive, perhaps—with a little makeup and a skilled styling of that lustrous, flowing black hair—even beautiful.

"Are you all right now?" he whispered.

"I'm fine, Rod. Thank you for your help," she said evenly. It was the first time she had spoken his name.

Without being consciously aware of it, he bent his head down so that it rested inches from her face. He couldn't believe he had the temerity to do what he was about to do, and any second now he was expecting her to scowl with outrage, slap him in the face, and order him out of the room. But she did none of those things; instead, her expression slowly metamorphosed from bland assurance to a curiously girlish hesitancy, as if she was about to undergo a procedure she had no way of stopping.

And what Rod did was to fasten his lips, with exquisite delicacy and grace, on to Isabel's for a kiss that lasted perhaps five or six seconds.

When it was over, he again expected her to be in a towering rage. Instead, he could have sworn that her eyes filled with tears and that she let out an infinitesimal sigh. Then, to his amazement, she extended an arm to the back of his head and made him kiss her again. This kiss was longer—twenty, thirty seconds—and much firmer. He could feel her strong, even teeth and perhaps the flick of her tongue as it shyly eased itself out between her lips.

When they broke off the kiss—something neither party seemed inclined to do—Rod saw that Isabel's complexion had become flushed, and her breathing was irregular. But she fought valiantly to regain her composure.

Looking quickly down at his hands, she remarked with a trace of amused cynicism, "You can let my panties go now, Rod."

All through both those incredible kisses, he had been clutching and twisting those panties maniacally. As he realized what he was doing, he dropped them as if they were on fire.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered.

"That's all right," she said amiably. "Now please let me rest."

"Yes, ma'am," he said and staggered up to his feet.

He didn't turn around as he left the room, and so he didn't notice that she was already raising her nightgown up to her waist and letting a hand drift down in the direction of her groin.