Around 8:00 that evening, I showered-- at my own dorm-- and decided what to wear. It was a daunting decision, considering what I figured was going to happen. I decided to wear pretty much the same thing I did that day, except I chose a black sweater to replace the ivory, a fresh pair of black tights, and I left the panties behind. I wore the same skirt. He seemed to like it enough earlier, that afternoon.
His car was there, in the parking lot, the only one there. He got out, opened the door for me, and got back in on his side.
He looked over at me occasionally as we drove across town to his house. "You look very nice," he said. "I do like that skirt." He smiled, but kept his hands on the steering wheel, gripping the vinyl like a new driver.
We passed the coffee shop, the infamous one. The lights were bright inside and I could see people in there, like miniature figures, so much like an Ed Hopper painting.
When we got to his house, he opened the door for me. At the bottom of the stairs leading to his studio, I waited for him to go first, but he waved me ahead. "Please," he said.
As I got closer to the landing of the second floor, there was a warm glow easing into the darkness, the opposite of the way the light shone through the windows of the studio that fated morning. Finally standing at the door way, I was able to figure out why.
The fabric that was draped along the top ledges of the windows had been dropped down, flowing in smooth, curving lines, calming the linear strain of the windows. They lilted as I entered the room. He had lit candles, sometime before he came to get me. They were standing in various post-modern designed metal contraptions, in plates on the tables where the paint cans and brushes had been. A small, old fashioned lamp with a tasseled shade sat atop the bookcase and gave off a dull glow that reminded me of a scene in a movie from the 1940s. So much light given off by such a simple things, gathered en masse. It was a gorgeous thick, dull luminance that lingered somewhere between darkness and light.
The big red velvet air mattress was in the same place, the pillows neatly arranged, fabric folded in neat rectangles at the foot of it, and scattered on the mattress and all around it were flower petals, what I assumed were roses, but they were actually petals of magnolias. Mason stood behind me, and asked, "You like?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Like the lady before me," he said.
I thought I was dreaming, and stood in the haze of candlelight, swooning with the lilt of the fabric streaming from the windows. I stood there for quite some time until Mason said, with a quiet, musical chuckle, "It's not a still life arrangement. We are
meant
to go in."
We walked in and I didn't know quite where to stand. I felt incredibly underdressed for the display--although I think the intent was that I feel overdressed.
He sat in the plush armchair and unlaced his boots. I started to do the same, but he blurted out, "No, don't."
He walked up to me in his stocking feet. He was still taller than me, about 5'8, with his boots off and my boots on. "I love your skin," he said, while looking into my face, his eyes glazed over. He was holding my face with both hands. "I've never been with a black woman before," he said, smoothing his fingers over my forehead, my cheeks, and chin. "To be honest, I didn't think race mattered until I met you."
He brushed his fingers against the back of my neck and put his arm around my waist, pulling me closer until were pressed against each other. We kissed. He moved his hand under my skirt, rubbing the palm of his hand along my ass cheeks.
"Ah," he blurted out, noticing that I was wearing tights, but no panties. "Just how they were meant to be worn," he added with another soft chuckle. He reached inside my tights and continued rubbing my ass. I felt his breath quicken against my ear. He groaned softly as his hands began squeezing my ass, hard, until It almost hurt.
I felt the rigidness of his cock against me, through our clothes and I thought about it -- the moderate length, the thickness of it...the way it bent upward slightly...all things I'd caught quick glimpses of when we were first together. I felt the nerves tingling in my pussy, and felt the pores beginning to release fluid. Mason continued squeezing my ass in that way that hurt and stimulated me at the same time. I wasn't sure what excited me about it-- the urgency, or the absent-minded of his touch; That lack of presence that made him not realize it almost hurt me, or the soft ache that pulsed through my ass cheek and my inner thighs once he released. Either way, it provoked me to grind against him, as much as I could manage. But my moving against him that way took him out of his reverie.
He stepped away from me, and shook his head. His eyebrows furrowed, and he said, in a voice that was stern but quiet, "Not yet. Go lie over there," he said, pointing to the mattress. "Lie on your stomach."
I went to the air mattress and laid on my belly as he'd asked, with my boots still on my feet. I tried to position my feet so the soles wouldn't touch the mattress.
Lying on my stomach, with my head on the pillows, kept me from seeing him at all. I heard him walk over to me, his feet brushing the hardwood floor. I felt his hands on my waist and he pulled me up so that I was kneeling, with my head facing the pillows. He lifted my skirt, and again, his hands moved over my ass. His fingers bent under the elastic band at the waist of my tights and pulled them down so that my ass was totally bare, and the elastic stretched and retracted, cinching the middle of my thighs. I gasped.
He moved his body so it was hunched over mine, in a position of a doggy-style fuck. His clothing felt scratchy against my bare ass and thighs. His hair was falling over my head, dangling on either side of my face and tickling it. He whispered in my ear. "You're a good girl...but you can be such a
naughty
girl."
