The evening had been just what we'd both needed. I'd been putting in day after day of working on my novel for every waking hour, typing away behind a closed door and neglecting my wonderful wife Bonnie, and doing nothing to help with chores, bills, or decisions. She was ready to scream, I knew, but had restrained herself somehow. Meanwhile I was beginning to burn out, and needed a break if I was going to add a single worthwhile word to my manuscript.
So we'd primped and dressed, and seen a play about a couple whose fierce but illicit attraction had touched off a blaze that burned their lives but left them clean and pure. Then we finished up with a late, rich, delectable meal. Finally we had returned home, changed into bedclothes, and taken a dram of fine scotch to the comfy couch in front of the fire. One in the morning had come and gone, but we did not want to sleep.
"Tell me a bedtime story," she said with a purr in her voice and a rub of her cheek against my chest.
"A bedtime story, eh? You seem a little old for Mother Goose. There once was a writer who was crazy about his wife..."
"No, nothing real. I want a fantasy."
"OK. Hmmm. Bonnie pulled up her unicorn mount as they reached the top of the ridge, and peered down at the village resting in the arms of the valley..."
"No, no. Not that kind of fantasy." She slipped a slinky arm around my side and wiggled against me, walking fingers up my arm. "I want a naughty fantasy."
"Aha. Naughty? I can write naughty."
"Oh yes. I want really naughty. I want something you would never write into one of your stories. I want you to light a fire in the naughtiest corner of my wicked soul."
I thought for a moment. I didn't want to take any chance of ruining a fabulous moment. I didn't want to go too far, and throw cold water on that fire. But she was asking for naughty, and not just a little bit naughty.
"Well," I began, "I know about something that was never meant to be shared. I swore I would never tell anyone what happened."
"Tell me!" She slid down and onto her back, her head on my lap, and got ready to listen.
"Well, you have to keep this to yourself. There could be real trouble if this ever got out past you and me. This friend of mine, you don't know him but let's call him Joe, he was a sharp poker player, and after one long session, this other guy, Phil, owed Joe $10,000 more than he had any way to pay. When Phil failed to fulfill the IOUs that Joe had generously let him throw into the pot, Joe got pretty mad. Ten thousand is a lot of money, but since Phil could not ever pay it, it was in some sense not real. Joe began to think about alternative sorts of payment that he would accept. He thought of some ideas for barter or services, but they all were pretty unexciting, and half of them were also things Phil would not really be able to provide. Even though Joe's superior position in their company meant that he could make a lot of trouble for Phil, Joe couldn't come up with anything worthy of the leverage he held. So he began to think a bit outside the box.
"Finally, because Joe was a man with a certain kind of mind, and because any time he thought about Phil his mind ran to this subject, he began to think about Holly. Holly was Phil's twenty-year-old daughter. Joe had lusted after Holly since he first saw her at Phil's house, wandering around in incredibly short shorts and a ponytail, her perfect, innocent young face sucking on a lollipop, her spectacular, long, tanned legs occupying enough of Joe's mind and imagination that he had bet stupidly twice and lost a bundle. Holly still lived at home while she attended a local community college, and Joe enjoyed frequent opportunities to steal long looks and entertain filthy thoughts about her.
"So he formulated an idea. He figured it had no chance to fly, but it would cost nothing to find out. He went to Phil and told him he had an idea that might help to solve their little dilemma.
"Phil was eager to hear. And after a brief period of consideration, he accepted the suggestion. He'd been wracking his brains, and he had a pretty good idea that nothing better was going to come along, but a whole lot worse could, if he didn't figure out something. There might be some unpleasantness afterward, some loss of trust, but he calculated the odds and figured this would be more repairable than what could happen if he did not go ahead.
"The next Saturday evening, Joe knocked on Phil's door. Phil led him down to the den and handed him a bourbon on the rocks, then went over to an easy chair across the room and switched on the TV. A movie was showing. Joe found a seat on the couch. It looked just like two pals watching TV and passing the time. But they were not going to be alone.
"Down the stairs came the daughter, in a longish nightgown cut straight and low across her bust, and with her light-brown hair pulled into a long ponytail. She descended slowly, hesitating every few steps. Her feet were bare. Her long legs were out of view. She reached the bottom of the stairs and stood there for a minute. Her face was tan and lovely in a young-girl way, with flawless skin, tempting pink lips, long lashes, dark irises. Her expression reflected her tentative state.
"Joe assessed her with appreciation. Her breasts were not large, but had reached that size that showed she was no longer a little girl. Her shape was a bit hidden by the nightgown, but Joe knew it quite well and his imagination thrilled him with a vision of what lay underneath. She was a ripe peach, fresh, adorable, tempting, luscious.
"'Please go ahead, Holly,' said Phil. 'Just as we talked about. It's important that Mr. Hunter feels welcome.'"
Sensing that the story was about to enter new territory, Bonnie sat up and curled next to me, watching me, her legs folded under her.
"Holly crossed the room towards the couch where Joe waited, her step partly uncertain, and partly trying, it seemed, to be sultry. Clearly her father had explained what had to happen: that she needed to cooperate and leave Mr. Hunter feeling like he had got what he had bargained for.
"Holly reached the couch and sat down to the right of their guest. The TV was set to a rather low volume, but Kevin Spacey and Mena Suvari could be seen maneuvering around a kitchen. Phil in his chair was facing the others on the couch, and not the TV. 'Go ahead, Holly,' Phil said. 'I'm here, so you don't have to worry.'
"The girl took a breath, let it out, and with a flat expression, bent forward and down towards her ankles. As she did so, Joe got a view of most of the side of a young, smallish, but firm breast, as the front of the nightgown sagged down a bit."
With those words, Bonnie reached up, almost as though it was involuntary, and slid her left nightie strap down, then shrugged her shoulder skillfully, so that the nightie slid down the beautiful rounded top of the breast and only her nipple was holding it up. And then with one more little wiggle, she let that fantastic firm breast escape. I couldn't continue with the story for a moment. I had to give that view its due, and marvel at nature's perfection. The story's the thing, I reminded myself, but I couldn't help myself: I reached over and petted that perfect orb.
"And then what?" Bonnie prompted.
"And then Holly grasped the bottom hem of her long nightgown with both hands, and began to draw it slowly up her legs, over her knees, and up towards the tops of her thighs."
Bonnie now chose this moment to slide her left leg over my lap, which caused her own nightie to ride up, leaving her leg completely exposed, and creating unbearably tempting shadowed recesses where the nightie still hid her other leg and what lay between. I couldn't help myself: I lowered my hand from her breast to her thigh, and began to stroke it, long and slowly.
"Soon Holly's gorgeous legs were stretched out next to Joe, and the hem of the nightgown was sliding up her splendid thighs, just as high as what he had been able to see when she had worn those summer shorts. And now the hem was rising close to where those thighs came together. This was the first part of what he had bought with the forgiven debt. No, it wasn't really worth $10,000, when one could hire several top-flight call girls for that. But the $10K was never going to be in his pocket anyway, and the sheer wickedness of what he was seeing, and what he was being allowed to do, was worth a great deal indeed.
"Joe savored the view for a significant while. God, she was incredible. A masterpiece. Holly turned to him with an expression both anxious and inquisitive. Was he going to get on with it? She didn't want him to, but she also didn't want this weird ogled feeling to last all night.
"So Joe reached out and touched her knee, and then put a flat palm on the outside of her thigh, and rested it there. Here it was, the other half of what he had bought. She was to sit next to him while they watched TV, and she would have nothing on her legs, and he would be allowed to touch them. As much as he wanted. Now he was collecting what he had coming. No one was watching a lot of TV, but the rest of the deal was "the nuts", as a poker player might say. This was going to be a better feeling than hitting a single out on the river – winning a hand by the longest shot at the last possible minute.
"Now Joe placed his hand higher, on top of the girl's thigh, and gripped it, squeezed it, felt the firm young muscle. She put her hands out to her sides on the couch, as though to anchor herself from moving away. And now Joe moved his hand over to the inside of her thigh, where he stroked and drew circles on the soft and perfect flesh."
