Flowers were delivered on Saturday, and he texted her several times over the next few days. Sometimes funny, sometimes damn sexy, but always keeping her thinking about him. As soon as her phone chimed with an incoming message, she felt her pussy twitch. It was starting to feel Pavlovian; she felt both confused and exhilarated by their - uh, intercourse.
On Wednesday, he'd dared her to not wear any panties to work. Well ordered her, but it felt like a dare she had to accept. She wore the same A-line navy skirt she'd worn on their first date, a silky white tee and fitted jacket, and no panties. She had underestimated the effect wearing this particular skirt and his dare - it was a dare damnit!- had on her. Her whole body was alive and she couldn't believe how sticky her thighs got. It was embarrassing and distracting, and she loved it.
"Bing!' went her phone and her pussy dropped more honey.
It was 10 am as usual for his first text.
"How's the day going?" he texted.
"Good. I accepted your dare." Olivia texted back.
"Are you wearing panties? That was what you were told to do, not a dare," the characters appeared on the screen.
"Well it felt like a dare, so yes I'm not. And its damn distracting." She hoped an aggrieved tone carried through her words.
"Are you wet thinking about me then?" She could all but hear the seductive purr of his voice in the words in front of her.
This rather personal question increased the wetness between her legs. She hoped he had a similar reaction on his, um, end when she replied, "Oh god yes. My thighs are sticky."
"Meet me at 7:00 at the Sky Club for drinks." Then another line appeared, "And stay sticky for me."
She almost came on the spot when she read those words. How did this man make her so hot with his dares..., no, they were commands, she admitted to herself. Commands that gave her intense pleasure to obey. Just then work intruded on these perplexing thoughts and she turned her mind to business which was necessary as her Wednesdays were busy and filled with meetings that tested her ingenuity and her temper.
"If that idiot Beckwith 'suggests' another change in the font size I'll have to stuff his head into the shredder," she snarled to her PA, Laura.
"That would be messy," Laura absently noted, "Here look at this layout."
By 5 pm, Olivia had just finished a report and was about to go to the next pitch meeting for a new client, when her phone pinged.
"Running late. Sky Club at 7:30. Wear something sexy. Are you still sticky?" Shocked out of her work mind she smiled and a little tension left her shoulders. At odd moments throughout the frustrations of the day, she was made aware of her naked ass under her skirt and the ever-present wetness on her thighs. She couldn't wait to see him again.
Sky Club was a wildly popular club known for its inventive cocktails and tasty tapas. Her meetings took her until well past 7 so she didn't have the option to change. Her dove grey jacket with a silky white tee to set off her statement necklace was her usual attire at work but was still suitable for cocktails if not as sexy as she would have liked. At least her hair looked good as it flowed around her shoulders in soft waves of warm autumnal color. Her taxi dropped her at the club at 7:30 exactly, more by good luck than good management.
Alistair was watching for her and he stood up to watch her approach. His height made him easy to spot and a feline saunter entered her walk. The soft lining of her skirt had never turned her on before but every slither and slide of the fabric against her skin seemed more sensuous, more silky, making every step she took a subtle torture, an awareness of her nakedness.
His dark hair was precisely styled and his beautifully cut charcoal gray suit with royal blue tie emphasized his strong shoulders. He smiled when he saw her and when she reached him, his warm hand slid into her loose hair to the back of her neck for a deep but not-quite-satisfying kiss. 'Of course, what would be satisfying can't be done in a club' she mused as they sat down.
He had found a nicely secluded table in a corner, two high bar stools and a small table. Not luxurious but as private as they could be in in such a busy club.
"How are you?" he inquired after their drink order had been described, discussed and finally ordered. "I couldn't get away from the endless meetings of this case, but I was thinking of you for the last three days."
"I could tell from your texts!" she laughed then admitted, "I was thinking of you too. Especially on Saturday and Sunday!"
"And did those thoughts bring you, pleasure?" he purred with the slightest emphasis on 'pleasure'.
Olivia felt her face flush and she studied her Lemon drop martini intently. His finger lifted her chin and he looked at her with those green eyes, waiting for her answer.
"Yes," she finally said.
He laughed and leaned in close to her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine, "Little slut." Her trembling increased and she began to worry about staining the back of her skirt.
"Were you bruised?" he asked, leaning back, concern in his voice.
"It wasn't too bad." In fact, it had been insanely arousing. "Mostly gone by Tuesday."
"I see. I'll have to do better next time," he mused as he sat back. She wondered what he meant by that. Alistair regarded her intently over his glass. "That is if you would like to play like that again?"
Her breathing was affected by every word from his perfect mouth. God she'd been hoping he wanted to!
"Yes," she breathed. Alistair pulled her close and kissed her lips, softly at first, increasing the pressure slowly until she opened for him. His warm palm cupped the side of her breast, his thumb just brushing her nipple which was already at attention as he fondled her. His mouth moved from her lips to her ear which he bit delicately before sitting back. Olivia lifted heavy lidded eyes to his, amazed again at her volatile response to him.
He took a sip of his cocktail and savoured the complex flavours as he studied her flushed face. "I am so glad you said yes. I was a little worried I had been too hard on you."
"I liked you hard on me," she replied cheekily, sipping her on drink thirstily.
He laughed and sat back. His eyes studied her and she felt warm and breathless.
"Go to the ladies' room and take off your bra. Are you wearing panties?"
Her gaze fluttered down again and she felt her cheeks flush. "No Sir." Olivia looked up again. She was a grown woman, damnit, not a girl to get so turned around by sexy talk. She smiled flirtatiously at him, "You would like that?" she asked.
"Oh yes. I want to see those gorgeous breasts moving and your nipples poking through your shirt. I want you to know that you are naked for me."
She gulped; all her woman-of-the-world bravado evaporated as her mouth went dry at his words. Nothing else was dry and she was really concerned about the back of her skirt.
"And you can leave your jacket here." His eyes held her.
After only a moment's hesitation she stood up, removed her suit jacket and whispered, "Excuse me, I'll be back in a moment."
She walked through the crowded club to the ladies' room. Amazingly she didn't have long to wait. Going into a stall and she took off her bra and massaged her freed breasts, an automatic action. She actually hated the damn things but with breasts of her size, social convention demanded they be rounded up and restrained. Her hands stilled and changed as she thought of his hands on her, his hands that made her catch her breath. They were large and well-made and a flash of remembrance of how they felt on her body made her even wetter. Predictably, her nipples became instantly hard. They had been doing that almost constantly for the last three days. Instead of pressing flat this time, she rolled and pinched her nipples to even harder points, then pulled on her shirt again.
Stashing her bra into her purse, she came out to check out her reflection. 'Whoa!' she thought, her blue eyes widening. 'I look...hot and kind of slutty'. She felt so naked even fully covered and so wet that she could smell her own arousal. She turned to go just as another woman entered. She smiled and walked out, noting the slightly startled look as she passed her.
His eyes were on her as she wove her way through the crowd toward him; the feeling of her nipples rubbing against the silky fabric as her breasts moved was incredibly arousing as was knowing his eyes were on her. Olivia slid into her seat and took a sip of her drink flicking her eyes at Sir flirtatiously.
"Better?" she asked.
"Oh yes," he stated definitively. "Never wear a bra when you're with me," he told her.
"I could do that," she assured him.
"Good," he said his fingers stealing over to her and pinching a provocatively pouting nipple.
A breathy sigh escaped her.
Just then their oysters arrived. Served with mignonette sauce and fresh lemon they were succulent and tasty. Alistair speared one on his fork and quickly ate it, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time. "Mmmm, delicious," he said, spearing another and after dipping it lightly into the sauce and held it in front of her lips. "Open," he murmured. An explosion of sweet salt and creamy brine filled her mouth.
"Oh God! That's good!" she exclaimed, licking her lips. She took another sip of the cool tartness of her Lemon Drop Martini, but almost choked at his next words.
His smile turned into an evil grin. "Almost as good as you taste." He leaned in close, "Pull your skirt up," he breathed into her ear, "and turn to face me."
She drew herself up and her eyes grew a little wider. "Um, here?" she asked.
He nodded and looked at her as he ate another oyster. She felt her brain melting into a desire to do anything he asked. All other thoughts disappeared and the tension in her shoulders melted into a tension that coiled in the pit of her belly. She wriggled as discreetly as possible to pull her skirt up to her thighs and reposition herself. She could smell again the sweet scent of her dripping wet pussy. He leaned towards her, casually dropping his hand below the table top and insinuating a finger between her thighs. To anyone looking at them they were a couple in a very intense conversation with his back to most of the room. Nothing looked unusual except for her slightly widened eyes.
"Have another oyster," he told her.
She speared one with trembling fingers and the briny taste of sex once more filled her mouth when she felt his fingers slide easily between her wet slicked thighs and just touch her clit, running in lazy circles around and around, before ever so softly flicking across the top. A small whimper escaped her.
"Shh," he whispered into her ear, "you don't want everyone to suspect that you're such a needy little slut, now would you?"
