Authors' Note - 'Mind Games' - is a series of stories that are a collaboration of SkywriterXXX and Manda Tori. The series was intended to give the reader a his and her view point of the character's relationship. Each chapter will change the narrator's gender and reflect the author's individual style. We appreciate any feedback, and hope you enjoy the combination of our writing styles.
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The subject line of the e-mail read 'Meet me?' My breath catches and my breasts start to tingle. The body of the text gave the name of a hotel downtown with Friday's date and instructions to go to the bar at 7:00pm. Nothing else, not even a signature.
This is part of the game. He picks the place. I pick who I'm going to be. Each message contains a different place and I change my look for each meeting. I get to be someone new, someone different each time.
Friday is two days away. I hit the reply button and tap out, 'See you there!' Then press send. Anticipation is also part of the game.
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When Friday evening rolls around, I find myself in the section of downtown that is experiencing a 'rebirth'. City officials are pressing renovation and revitalization. Resulting in pristine new office buildings rising side by side with crumbling old buildings that have been made into delicatessens and dress shops with their second floors rented out to lawyers. The outside of the hotel has been renovated to look the way the architect fancied it would have a hundred years ago. Standing on the sidewalk you wouldn't realize it was a hotel. But once you walk inside the marble tile, deep carpet and crown molding make you think of bellhops and room service.
Off the main lobby near the revolving door is the bar; an open doorway framed in dark wood marks the entrance. The décor suits the richness of the hotel with a subdued atmosphere that lends itself to the business crowd. The people are in suits and ties and the drinks of choice are martinis and scotch. The music is soft and the conversation is a quiet murmur; even at seven on a Friday. Looking around I'm satisfied that I dressed appropriately.
At first glance my clothes look like I just came from the office. A second glance takes in smoky stockings with seams running up the back of slim legs. The black skirt isn't tight but caresses my hips then tapers down falling midway to my knees. As I walk toward the bar, a tease of a slit opens with each step exposing another three inches of my left thigh. The blouse is white; tailored so that it dips in at the waist then flares out to lie over the top of the skirt. A hint of lingerie is visible through the filmy material. The first two buttons are undone exposing my neck and a strand of pearls that match the studs in my ears. My auburn hair is up in a twist with soft curls falling to frame my face.
I order a glass of white wine and turn to look down the length of the bar. Pivoting on my stool to glance around. The room is open with windows looking out the front of the hotel and booths along the wall opposite the entrance. Tables with groups of people are scattered around the room. Some with couples, others with numbers of four and five sharing commiserations about a hard workweek. The crowd isn't very large and the elegant atmosphere borders on intimate.
"Here you go Miss." The bartender says, "The gentleman paid for it." I look in the direction of his nod to see a familiar face among the shadows on the other side of the bar. I let out a deep breath; my eyes take in his business attire as he walks towards me. His jacket molds around wide shoulders. The color emphasizing beautiful eyes set into a ruggedly handsome face. My pulse picks up a notch as he moves close. The slow simmer I've been in since I first opened the message heating up to the point of steam.
"You made it" he says, "and right on time." I feel a flush of heat and a tightening low in my belly at the sound of his deep voice stroking over me. My libido remembers how his voice can turn gentle to caress like a feather or go strong and firm with a command, each inflection bringing pleasure.
My reply is breathy with suppressed excitement, " I wouldn't miss seeing you."
"Lets find a table", he suggests. Taking my elbow, he guides me toward the sidewall of booths. We find one that is tucked behind the hall leading to the phone and bathrooms. It is the last in the row, secluded, with only enough room between the table and wall to squeeze into the booth. I slide in before him. Letting my skirt ride up my thighs enough that a glimpse of the lace at the top of my stockings is visible. He notices but doesn't comment.
"How have you been?" he says politely. Staring into my eyes. Purposely not looking down.
'So it's to be small talk,' I think to myself. I slip into the role of long time friend. A little disappointed that his eyes aren't traveling down to my exposed legs. I spent a lot of time getting ready for tonight. I wanted to be sexy and beautiful for him.
Keeping my voice light and casual, "I've been busy. I always am this time of year. Work picks up and I can hardly see straight. How about you?"
As the conversation progresses, his eyes never leave my face. I slowly move around trying to hitch my skirt higher and higher until it frames my bare pussy. Smiling to myself, knowing he can't resist touching a smooth, soft cunt. He looks down. My breath stops and my nipples tingle. 'Finally,' I think. 'He's going to touch me!' A small, pleased smile plays around his firm lips. He lifts his head and the look in his eyes is almost enough to scorch me. But he continues with his story about a cab ride. Pretending not to notice.
Getting a bit desperate. I lean closer to him, brushing my breast against his arm and placing my hand on his thigh. His leg tightens at my touch, the muscle tensing then relaxing under my hand. He continues talking as if he can't feel me stroking his leg. My confusion and frustration are almost enough to strangle me. This isn't like any of our other encounters. He has never waited this long to touch me. In hopes of sorting out what's happening I excuse myself to the ladies room.
I don't understand. Usually all I have to do is walk into the room and he's touching me. Small teasing touches on my neck or brushing the back of his hand across my breast. The sight of my shaved pussy normally would have been enough to send him to his knees. But tonight he hasn't tried to touch me once. He's acting as if he doesn't even see me.
Going through the girl routine on autopilot. I check my makeup and apply fresh lipstick. My mind playing back over every thing that he has said and done since we met at the bar. Trying to figure out what exactly is different this time. He's acting distracted. As if his mind is somewhere else.
Then I remember his smile. That very male satisfied smile, when he realized that I didn't have any panties on. He didn't look distracted then. He looked interested and pleased at what he saw. Then there was the way he tensed when I touched him. It was like he was waiting for something or waiting for me to do something. Could that be it?
In all of our rendezvous, he has always been the aggressor. He had a plan for how he wanted things to go. He picked the place; setting a scene for whatever fantasy he wanted to play out. I would show up dressed for whatever role the place dictated. I have been everything from a meek preachers wife to a wild biker babe. He always made the first move - showing me which direction to take. What was different about tonight? He chose the place - just like always. I came dressed to fit the part - just like always. The difference is that he isn't orchestrating things this evening. He's watching me and waiting. But waiting for what?
A smile spreads across my face as the answer comes to me. I take one last glance in the mirror, looking for any flaws in my appearance. Satisfied with what I see, I head back to the bar. After a brief conversation with the bartender and a short wait, he slides me a slip of paper to sign and hands me a stack of what looks like credit cards. I jot a brief note on a napkin and place everything in my purse. Feeling a little quiver of excitement low in my belly.
When I reach the table I notice he has hung his coat up. Before he can stand to let me in I slide in next to him. Apologizing for the delay, "I'm sorry that took so long." Looking a bit mischievous I say, "I asked the bartender if he could send over some fresh drinks and appetizers. I'm feeling a little hungry tonight."
"No problem," he says with a polite smile. Looking at me curiously
"Actually, I'm starving," my voice a soft purr. I place my hand on his leg feeling his muscles tighten a little. I stroke his thigh from knee to groin as I start the conversation where we left off. Keeping things casual. Trying not to show how nervous or excited I am. Wondering if he can smell my arousal. If he knows I'm getting wet just thinking about what I'm going to do.
Hoping that I've judged the situation right. I watch his expression closely for signs of awareness. He continues talking as if nothing is happening. I lean closer to him resting my breasts against his forearm then brushing back and forth so that he can feel my nipples through his sleeve. I give off a little hum of pleasure at the friction. The muscles in his thigh twitch and his expression heats up. Before I can go further the food arrives.
Keeping my left hand on his leg to gently squeeze and stroke his thigh. I make a display of trying everything. Frowning a little after each bite then searching the plates of food as if wanting something different. I make a small-dissatisfied sound as I bring my hand up to rest over the bulge in his pants.
