A short tale of a new relationship,
a stand-alone story, but building on Chapter 1.
Have fun!
+
The path was easy, soft sand under my bare feet. The walk was relaxing, the countryside pretty and morning-fresh.
"You're sure we're alone?" I asked. I was still nervous.
He squeezed my hand. "It's Saturday morning. The crops aren't ready to harvest and the locals have no other reason to be here. Trust me, it's just us."
I'd met Tony when we'd been put together as lab partners in university. While initially puzzled by his standoffishness, I'd been very impressed with him overall. In his mid-to-late 40s, with blond hair going white, he was really good-looking, fit and exceptionally well-dressed. He'd patiently helped a totally unscientific Stephanie with my homework and reports. To the extent I could trust anybody these days, I trusted Tony.
Beside me on the path, he was dressed in sandals, a pair of L.L. Bean shorts and a deep tan. I was wearing that, minus the shorts and the sandals.
I was however wearing the silver necklace he'd tried to give me.
It was more than I could or would accept as a gift. Hand-crafted, thumb-thick, intricate and weighty, it made me look more beautiful than I could have imagined. And it probably would have paid for my tuition next year, but a girl has to have some pride. This one, anyway. After some argument, he'd agreed to my wearing it whenever I came to visit.
In point of fact, that necklace was all I had worn since Tony had 'invited' me to spend the weekend. I phrase it that way as I'd annoyed Tony by trying a bit of juvenile feminine intrigue on him after class on Friday. Irritated by my school-girl conceit, he'd flatly rebuffed my suggestion that he might have the privilege of buying me a coffee at Starbucks.
It had been my game, my cards and, intrigued by him and trying just a bit too hard to coax him into inviting me out, it had been me who'd dealt the hand. He'd seen through it in an instant, called me on it without a blink.
"No, thank you, I don't want a coffee, Stephanie. And I don't think you do, either, not really."
"If you wish however," he had continued, his grey eyes locked on mine, "we can do something less predictable, less adolescent. I'll wait in Starbucks while you go to the residence and pack a bag for the weekend. Actually, don't even bother doing that. Just fetch your flute and put whatever it is you think you simply cannot live without in your purse."
It was a small purse.
Shocked and humiliated by the brusque suggestion and its implications, mortified at having been so transparent, I was about to loose a blast of affronted feminine fury, but he cut me off, dropped a final bombshell, won by giving in completely to the terms of what I'd suggested originally.
"Of course, if it's
really
coffee that you want, Stephanie," he'd said, "I'll buy you one and we can work on your lab report for an hour. Then I'll see you in class next week."
He stared at me, his eyebrows raised in challenge.
Go do your homework before you and Barbie and Teddy have your tea party; there's a good girl.
Twenty minutes later I was in his convertible, flying out old Highway 22 towards his farm west of the city. Arriving, he'd carried in my laptop and books, leaving me with the rest of my luggage, meaning my flute and my purse. Ten minutes later, scrupulously polite, without the slightest threat, without laying a finger on me, he'd shamed me into following through on my agreement.
"The deal, Stephanie," he calmly reminded me, "is that you agreed to do whatever pleases me at the moment until such time as either you or I decide it's time for you to quit and go home. You came here knowing that, didn't you?"
Yes, I had, but having it put that directly had been darned hard on my already-bruised ego. To add to my distress, he'd then shown me an empty closet and told me to join him after leaving my clothes there. With that, he'd turned and gone back to the kitchen to start making us dinner.
In the end, too stubborn to give up, too proud to escape into his offer of a taxi to take me home, I'd stripped, tidied myself up and then spent half an hour playing my flute for him while he cooked us a gourmet meal.
Here's the thing. I'd been outraged by Tony's bluntness back on campus and humiliated by his quite open expectation from the very beginning that I would shed my duds on arrival. Once I was undressed however, what had
really
frosted me was his essentially paying no attention to my timid nudity until he'd finished cooking. How
dare
he ignore my sweet body now that it was so openly displayed?
I was pretty sure he wasn't gay. Why would a gay man invite a long-legged knockout blonde to spend the weekend
sans
clothes? If he were gay, I could see him bringing an attractive guy to the farm, but this made no sense.
His glances had however become more and more frequent. His smile grew gentler. His eyes lingered on my breasts and sex. He'd got up and walked around me on my stool, his eyes taking in every detail. Throughout it, he hadn't laid a finger on me and that was outside my experience and expectations; it had me almost unnerved.
It was hours before he touched me and even then, it had been just gentle, friendly. By that time, each touch left me tingling.
Finally, after doing the dishes together, we went outside to watch the sunset paint itself across acres and acres of farmland. Watching the colours unfold, entirely without guile or pretense, he'd done what my body had by that time been yearning for. His hand slipped between my thighs and gently, with exquisite, excruciating slowness, drove me up into the most incredible orgasm I'd ever had. He took time, built it layer upon layer, showed the most amazing patience and I darned near died when it hit me.
Then he'd carried me in his arms into his bedroom and, finally taking off his own clothes, lifted me into second orgasm that nearly took the top of my head off.
+
I was awakened the next morning by somebody poking me lightly in my ribs. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and discovered Pi, the farm's feline owner. She was doing that cat treadmill thing, walking in place on top of somebody, preferably somebody trying to sleep.
I acknowledged her right to my side of the bed and, leaving she and the still-sleeping Tony, went out into the kitchen. The sun was warm on the deck and I took a tea outside. It was warm enough that I wasn't tempted to reclaim my clothes.
No clothes was central to my being here and I was surprised to find myself becoming more comfortable with being on constant display for him. I was discovering that the open and candid admiration of my beauty by a handsome, well-spoken man was curiously pleasant, even for a modern lass like me.
I closed my eyes, smiled happily. Today, I anticipated more of the same.
"Good morning," he said from behind me. I jumped a bit. The man moved like a cat; I hadn't heard him at all. He was wearing a pair of white cotton pants, a drawstring knotted at his waist. There was a soft but suggestive bulge.
Hey, after last night, I was entitled to notice.
"I hope you don't mind," I said, holding up a mug, "but I made myself a tea."
"Not a coffee?" he grinned.
