āAngel, thereās Fedex for you.ā
And for a second you are numb. For a second the office fades away, and all of the world reduces itself to the envelope being held out to you. It is Him. You just know it. He needs you. With a less than steady hand you reach out and take the envelope, signing for it.
When the courier has left your desk, you sit for a moment, staring at it. Finally, with a deep breath you open it. Inside is a note, handwritten on an elegant laid linen card.
āAfter work, corner of 8th and Main. āDrewā
Your heart pounds in your chest. He is going to have you tonight. You know you shouldnāt go, but you know you will. Glancing at the clock, you realize that there is only a half hour left in the day. You make phone calls, begging excuses. Sister sick, going to take care of her? Working late, staying in the city? You settle on the sick sister, as it will give you the entire night and all of tomorrow.
You gather your things and shut off the computer.
5:10 PM
A limo glides up to the corner or 8th and Main, and you have no doubt that it is for you. The elderly English chauffeur steps out and opens the door for you with a tip of his hat. āGood evening, Missā āGood evening.ā
The door closes, cocooning you in a world of soft leather and light cool and filtered by the smoked glass windows. You close your eyes, wondering what the evening will bring, and knowing that certainly, you will be made love to. Perhaps gently, perhaps wildly, but definitely completely. His hunger for you is a flame that burns between the two of you, a warmth you carry through your day, knowing how completely, how totally he adores you. You are surprised to find that one hand has drifted to your thigh, bare under your sensible office suit skirt, and is lightly tracing up and down the soft white skin.
5:22PM
The limo glides to a stop. A second later James opens the door, and you step out onto the tarmac of a private airport. A few yards away stands a private jet, black, sleek, engines running at idle. The pilot approaches.
āGood evening maāam, Iām John Diehl, Iāll be your pilot tonight. If youāre ready, we can get going now?ā
He escorts you onto the plane and seals the hatch.
āMake yourself comfortable, flight time should be just about an hour. Drew asked that I give you this-ā he hands you an envelope in the same elegant linen the note was written on. And if youāll take a seat weāll be off.
The interior of the plane is simple and elegant, the seats wide, soft, upholstered in cream colored leather.
As the plane takes off you open the envelope.
āAngel,
So glad you could be here. Do not worry, you will be back at home by morning tomorrow. Everything you need, I have arranged for you in advance. Go through the aft hatch, and you will find a surprise.
Drewā
You walk to the rear of the plane and find a doorway. You open it, and step into a small bedroom done in maroon and chocolate brown, Tiffany lamps cast a warm glow on the space, and there on the bed, you see the outfit laid out.
The lingerie by itself would be a gift from God. French, and handmade, the stockings are elegant, black, sewn for you and you alone. The shoes are Manolo-open toed slingback pumps in black velvet and winking with what are either rhinestones orā¦diamonds? The dress is sin itself, again black and laced with stones, but so sheer it is little more than a thigh length sheath of glittering smoke. The jacket that goes over it is short, in crushed black velvet, lying there on the bed like a dream of midnight. And above are the boxes, in that marvelous pale turquoise, bearing the logo Tiffany & Company. A bracelet and necklace, both in diamonds set in black steel, and several dozen hairpins in white gold, each with a diamond trailing from the top by a fine chain. In the last box is a Keycard for a hotel suite: Bellagio Penthouse One.
Unable to take your eyes from the bed, you undress in a daze, letting your workday clothes tumble to the rich red carpet around you. And there, seduced by your situation, toes curling in the thick, soft rug, you stand, naked, in this wonderfully warm bedroom, hurtling through the cold night air six miles above the earth.
Dressing is a dream, a promise of the night to come. The stockings, the dress, each garment seems to embrace you like a gentle hug as you put it on. Each conforming perfectly to your body, soft, teasing, an awakening for each perfect alabaster inch of your skin.
When the last hairpin is in place you look at yourself in the mirror over the dresser. Beneath the jacket, the sheer dress makes your body look more like adorned nakedness than anything else, your nipples visible through the sheath when the jacket shifts to reveal one. Below the jacket, the swell of your hips and the cleft of your sex is a whisper to your eyes in the mirror. Looking at yourself closely, you thin that you look more naked than naked, but stepping back just a foot or so, the elegance of the outfit and the glitter of the diamonds makes you look dressed.
The captainās voice comes over the intercom. āMaāam, we will be landing in about 10 minutes, if you would please take a seat.ā
You stride out to your seat, reborn in a dream of elegant sexuality, and stare out at the lights of Las Vegas rushing up to meet you.
7:39 PM
The limousine door opens and you step out into the foyer of Bellagio. As you cross the lobby, your heels clicking cleanly on the white marble floor you can feel the eyes of a hundred men on you. Hot, hungry, roaming everywhere, from your ruby red nailed toes in the sheer stockings, up every curve of your legs, on the cheeks of your ass. More than a few stare openly, with a raw animal lust that tells you in no uncertain terms how completely you are desired.
7:48 PM The elevator ride up is incredible, beneath are the fountains, and the strip fades into a river of twinkling light until the discreet bell overhead chimes once and the doors behind you open.
Your hand is shaking as you reach out and insert the keycard into the door of the suite. The light on the lock winks from amber to green, and with the softest of clicks, the lock disengages.
You step into the suite with a slight gasp. The room is immaculate, done in contemporary Italian, with rich drapes and upholstery in beige silk. The drapes are drawn fully, and not a hint of the electric light of the strip invades the space. Everywhere there are candles. On the bar, the coffee table, the end tables by the sofas, over the fireplace mantle. A low orange fire burns in the fireplace, further warming the space.
āHelloā
Startled, you turn to see me standing by the bar in a black silk suit and French shirt with diamond studsāobviously chosen to compliment your dress. Your sweet, wet, trembling lips curl into a slight smile and you come towards me.
You walk into my arms And we embrace, the soft silk of my suit teasing your body through the sheer dress.
āIā¦.Iām glad I cameā¦ā you say.
I pour a glass of champagne for you, and gently turn you by your shoulders, so that I am standing behind you by the bar. I remove your jacket, kiss the nape of your neck gently. With a slight sigh, you bring the glass of ice cold wine to your lips and sip it as my hands roam over the sheer soft dress, taking in the warm suppleness of your skin beneath. Then I begin taking the dress down, over your breasts, the soft material dragging over your nipples, your tummy, your hips and thighs, and finally pooling around your ankles in a soft hiss of fabric.
From your stockinged legs to your shoulders and back, again and again my hands roam lightly over your tingling skin, stopping here and there to appreciate a curve, or hollow, as my hands acquaint themselves with you.
āMmmmā¦ā I mumble āeven better than I had imagined. ⦠ā
Again I roam over your skin, this time not just with my hands, but my lips also, gently kissing you all over as you stand at the bar in your heels and stockings. The back of a knee, the inside of a thigh, The sweet mound a few inches above your sex, The small of your back, the tender white flesh of your breasts, just around the areola, but not on it. The back of your neckā¦. All the while, my hands continue to explore, caressing everything but those few places, where you are now burning to be touched.
And I am back up and standing behind you again, my breath warm on your neck, my lips at your ear. And I whisper.
āI want to touch . I want to touch you between your legs, on that sweet little pussy. I want to play with your nipples, I want to touch inside of you, and feel the heat and wetness you have waiting for me there. ā
You nod with a little moan, ready to be touched NOW.
My hands go down to your legs again, sliding to the dress pooled at your feet, and begin sensuously dragging the fabric back up your body, over your hips, finally over your breasts, letting each soft thread trail over your now hard nipples. And again I whisper in your ear.