He was always so elegant. The way how he dressed in that sleek, black jacket made him look like he was in motion, coming or going to an important event. The fabric was so smooth and pitch black. She had looked at him from a distance the night they met at a bar. She was standing against he back wall, holding her drink to show the fancy cocktail she was drinking. He was a notch above everyone else in the medley of people in the blue light. His hair was so perfectly groomed. She could see the short hair at the back of his head as if it had been cut fresh before the night. He was looking around like he had a purpose.
He had walked up to her. She had felt smitten that he had taken an interest in her - in her above all the other women! He had walked straight up to her across half the bar. The goosebumps on the back of her neck kept rising higher and higher as he got closer. She couldn't fathom that he was coming for her. When he was up close, she saw the finery of his clothing, the crisp, white shirt, the golden cuff links. He later let her hold his watch, some fine machinery that cost way more than her annual salary. With awe, she let it roll around her hands to feel something that had so much gravity and expense.
So when he did stuff to her, he let him do it. She was in awe of his world and to be allowed into it. What they talked about had been a blur, all she remembered was waiting her turn politely to answer his questions. "What do you do for a living?" "Oh, I'm a nurse - just saving lives!" "Do you live by yourself?" "I have three roommates." Suddenly out of nowhere, his hand reached out. She was curious about what he was going to do. Speaking to someone from his world of high-class deals, business, and power felt so unreal. She didn't want to fall out of it. She wanted to experience more. His fingers crept up her neck like rakes - spread out. She got a tingling. Her knees went weak. His fingers dug into her hair, then girled into it, and, with a firm shake, he grabbed her hair. He had control of her head and pulled her off balance off her high, white heels. She felt a daze of submission to let him do what he wanted. Her whole body went slack. She surrendered to him to let him do as he pleased. He had a satisfied smile on his lips. He was toying with her. He was watching her face. She felt herself oozing into submission. Her face must have gotten that sub space glare because the corners of his lips went higher.
"I'm going to make you mine in all the ways," he whispered into her ear.
"Yes, please, sir!" she moaned back to him, surprised by how raunchy her voice had gotten.
That had been two weeks ago. Now, she was riding in the back of his Jaguar with him. The nightlights reflected in the car and ran around as the car dove through the honking mess of cabbies and cars trying to make turns into near impossible traffic. She felt the firmness of the leather upholstery. She eyed the driver in front, who sat with a rigid formal posture, sternly focused ahead to give them privacy behind. He never even glanced up in the rearview mirror. She was wearing a dress made from impossibly light material. It felt like it was the weight of air.
When had walked from the store to the waiting car, the fabric had floated in every little breeze. She could never tell where or in which shape it was because it was so light on her skin that it was hard to detect. And it had so many sharp cuts that revealed flashes of her skin as she moved. There was an underboob cut that was usually covered by the drape of a fabric. However, when she leaned forward or turned too fast, the fabric drape lifted up to expose it. There were deep cuts running up the side of her legs from the ankles to above her hips. Two layers of fabric covered the slit, but when she walked strutting her legs long, the cut revealed her skin all the way up to show that she wasn't wearing any panties. She was constantly self-conscious, feeling almost naked because she might be exposed somewhere. The dress had the feel of a cheery summer, perhaps laundry draped on a clothesline outside and dancing in the wind.
He never let her bring a purse. She felt a bit insecure, knowing that she had to depend on him, not even a metro card to get home on her own. She had wanted to hide on in her bra, but he didn't let her wear a bra. He was always the gentleman and treated her to oysters and mimosas. However, she also felt like that whole world could disappear so easily. The car pulled up to an awning extending from the entrance. Before she could see what the building was about, the door already opened and a gloved hand extended towards her to help her out. A doorman in classical uniform with a hat helped her out, an old jolly man with a reserved facial expression like he was only there to serve his function with discretion. Her heels walked over the red carpet towards the door with the golden handles. She had been used to dodging rain-melted dog shit, homeless piss, and broken garbage bags on the NYC sidewalk.
The lobby looked like a gilded place of old money. Receptionists in suits nodded at him. There was evidently a whole hierarchy among the receptionists to handle the various needs of events. He led her to a marble staircase that was wide and had railings like that of a big, old opera house. The whole atmosphere spoke of being hushed. There were heavy drapes all over the place. A giant six-foot weight chandelier hung over the staircase. The different floors seemed to lead to banquet halls, restaurant rooms, and club house lounges.
He led her down the hallway and straight into the restroom. It was a beautiful restroom: bright light, tiles everywhere. Each sink had ample space and a carefully curated buffet of creams, bottles, and grooming tools. A bathroom attendant stood near the entrance and bowed as they entered. He didn't blink an eye that she was walking into the men's restroom. He was wearing a tuxedo. The white sleeves extended past the tuxedo jacket. He was wearing white gloves.
They walked into the last stall. There was ample space. The tiles had a beautiful texture on the surface, kind of like the ripples of a raindrops falling onto a lake. There was even a chair, a richly carved, painted white, upholstered, antique-looking affar. There were hangers for clothes. The toilet opened as they approached. A happy chirp emitted from it, and then a mist of Irish moss floated out of the toilet. It felt very clean.
"Take off your dress. We don't want to get it dirty. Hang it there!" he ordered her.
