The chime announcing the arrival of new e-mail has sounded minutes ago and now the room is quiet. She is frozen in place, watching the little envelope, mesmerized by its slow turning motion. Glancing at the subject line, she re-reads the single word again. "Instructions" is all it says. Her hand trembles as it guides the mouse pointer to the blinking icon and opens the message.
- - - - - - - - -
Thursday dawns clear and bright. After a week of rain it seems that everyone is out enjoying the warmth of the sunshine. As dusk begins to settle, people are still milling around the large outdoor mall where she's meeting him. She parks the car and tugs at her skirt nervously. His warning voice telling her not to fidget flashes through her mind and her hands fall by her sides as she imagines him watching her and being displeased.
Slowly, she crosses the parking lot to the large book store where they arranged to meet today. Her mind conjures up a snapshot of their first meeting, at this very book store. The image is of herself, curled up in a chair in the corner, warily watching and waiting... and hoping. She smiles to herself, thinking of how anxious she was; waiting for him, waiting for the unknown.
A sense of delicious anticipation rushes through her at the thought of the evening ahead. She doesn't know what he has planned, but she's eager to find out and her step quickens as she reaches the heavy wooden doors and slips inside the store.
She sees him immediately, he's sitting at one of the tiny round tables dotting the café area of the book store. He's leafing through a magazine and for a moment she hangs back, watching the changing expressions on his face. He's frowning at something he's reading and she briefly considers walking around the store to approach him from behind.
Suddenly someone bumps into her and the unexpected flurry of movements alerts him to her presence. He raises his eyes and for a space of a breath both are motionless until he closes the magazine and folds his arms across his chest, waiting for her to come to him. She weaves her way between other tables and a couple of book stands and comes to a halt in front of the spare chair at his table. As her hand grips the chair back to pull it out, he gives a little shake of his head and motions her to his side.
She steps around the table gracefully and stops next to him, her knees level with his left thigh. She raises her eyebrows slightly in silent permission, asking if she may kiss him hello and he gives a little nod. As she leans down and rests her right hand on his shoulder, she feels his left hand on the back of her knee. Just as her lips touch his in a gentle kiss, his hand moves swiftly up her leg, sliding under her skirt and coming to rest on her bare thigh, just above the lace top of the thigh highs she wore. She freezes and feels his fingers tighten slightly in warning that should she move, his hand's presence will become quite apparent to anyone who may be watching them. She whimpers softly against his mouth but holds still.
"Stand up straight," his tone is mild but it does not invite arguments.
She straightens out, keeping one of her hands on his shoulder and using the other to lean slightly on the table to her left. The hand under her skirt moves slowly along the column of her leg toward the front. She feels the breath catch in her throat and the tell-tale warmth of a flush spreading over her face.
Determinedly, she looks down at his chest, refusing to meet his eyes or the eyes of any curious on-looker who may have noticed the slightly unorthodox greeting.
"Look at me," his voice is harsher now, filled with determination and a hint of impatience.
She raises her eyes to his and bites her lip nervously as his hand continues its journey. She can feel his thumb reach out and trace a gentle circle along her shaven mound. The desire to step back and get away from his exploring fingers is overwhelming and she can feel her legs trembling with the strain. He's watching her eyes, judging her reaction and sees her pale slightly.
He can guess the thoughts running through her mind, knows how easily embarrassed she is. He wonders how long she'll meet his gaze as he watches her swallow convulsively, her hand squeezing his shoulder reflexively, almost without thought.
Finally he decides it's enough and the hand descends back to her knee. Almost in a fog, she hears him say softly,
"You may sit down."
On shaky legs, she moves away and sits down across the table from him, folding her hands on the scratched surface and watching him warily for a couple of seconds. He's smiling at her and she relaxes slightly.
"I'm pleased you followed the instructions I sent," his voice is quiet and she flushes with pleasure at the praise.
He notices the blush and continues, "did you follow all of them?"
Her voice shakes slightly as she lowers her gaze and responds, "Yes..."
"Excellent..." she can hear the smile in his voice and looks up to catch the wicked gleam in his eyes. A delicious shudder of anticipation touches her skin as she watches him.
They chat about everything and nothing, enjoying each other's company. To a casual passer-by they appear to be a couple of friends sharing a coffee and a chat. The only clues to a deeper connection are the occasional gleam in his eyes as he watches her laughing face and the way she absentmindedly grazes his hand with her fingertips as she talks.
Finally he remarks that it's almost time to head to dinner but just as she's about to rise, he leans toward her and motions for her to do the same. Her hands are still on the table and he covers both of them with one of his. His warm breath brushes her ear as he speaks softly but clearly,
"I want you to get up, walk to the restroom and insert your pink toy..." he feels her hands jerk under his and tightens his grip to let her know he's not done yet.
He can practically feel the indignation and embarrassment welling up in her and smiles inwardly as he continues,
"You will then return to the table and hand me the remote control."
She moves back to meet his eyes and the torrent of words rushes out,
"But aren't we going to dinner? What about... I mean, why..."
He raises an eyebrow and the words die on her lips as she draws a shaky breath and stands up from the table. He beckons her to him just as she's about to walk away and taking her hand, kisses it gently, grazing her knuckles with his teeth, enjoying the tremors of pleasure running through her palm at his touch. He hears her exhale and then the hand pulls away and she walks off without looking back. He wanders idly if she will just circle through the store and leave, but he knows she won't.
Time seems to stand still as she emerges from the restroom, clutching the tiny remote control in her hand. Briefly, very briefly, as she clutches her purse to her side, she considers walking out the door and not returning but then she squares her shoulders and makes her way back to the table. He's watching her approach and her step falters as she nears the table. His hand is on the tabletop, palm up, open and waiting to receive the remote control.
She feels the tell-tale heat of a blush as she lowers it in his hand and prays that he hides it quickly. Not that anyone can tell what it is, but in her discomfort, it seems as if everyone is looking at her and knows exactly what is taking place.
He accepts the tiny offering without comment and drops it in his pocket. Her inner muscles twitch nervously as she imagines him using it. The thought is both distressing and disturbingly arousing at the same time. She looks away and waits for him to get up so they can head to dinner. Instead, he beckons her toward him and when she leans forward, asks,
"Did you make sure it works?"
