One mid-Friday afternoon, Lauren encountered him while window-shopping in the mall in front of a lingerie store. She should have been at work. Instead, she’d taken a late lunch, which somehow continued on in that lazy fashion of all guilty pleasures. Her boss would certainly be wondering why she hadn’t returned. She should be concerned. Like most everyone, that job was a necessity. But, eyeing a lacey black thong hung about the hips of a revealing mannequin and displayed in that store window left a profound longing.
Why wasn’t that on
her? And when was the last time she had felt her man’s breath pulse through
something so light and so beautiful and so sexy before he slowly pulled it down
her legs, swept it by her knees, brushed it past her ankles, and removed it
over a pair of black high-heeled stilettos? Why hadn’t her man, her husband, found and bought this
delicate thing, and, in the privacy of an intimate setting, had her wear it so
he could greedily tear it off at just the right moment? How long had it been
since she had felt his touch in that way? Much, much, too long.
It was enough to make
a horny girl cry.
A flash of movement along
the window reflected an unrecognized shape. She turned as a gentleman wearing a
smart business casual tan suit and good handmade shoes lightly brushed past
her, bumping an elbow.
This minor event yanked
her back to reality. Giving the man a harsh stare, she marveled at his lack of
reaction. Most men would have shrunk from such a nasty gaze. But not him. No, he
was steady and calm and regarded her with a raised eyebrow.
“Excuse me,” he said
with unwarranted confidence.
Lauren’s jaw clenched
in annoyance and frustration. She continued that piercing look, as if by doing
so he might wilt away like an unwatered daisy. But he smiled wryly back,
cocking his head to the side with measured curiosity.
The staring contest
persisted. Who the fuck was this man to invade her privacy as she lingered in front
of a lingerie shop? Why did he not simply leave after she had commanded him to
do so with that deadly gaze? How rude!
“You have beautiful eyes,”
he said.
Something melted deep
within her core and as her eyes lowered, those conservative and respectable
black mid-heeled pumps came into view.
“Thank you,” she
whispered in reply.
“You seem to like
that garment in the window," he said, his eyes glancing at the lace underwear.
“May I buy that for you?”
“I can buy it for
myself,” she said with consternation, as their eyes met again.
He examined her smart
business attire from top to bottom, eyes lingering where they should not. She
wore a cashmere-wool business jacket, white button down blouse, and black skirt
down to her knees. Proper attire for the department she managed at a nearby
insurance company.
“Of course you can,”
he replied. “The question is, may I?”
The man leaned
forward with that cocky grin and his nostrils flared. Embarrassed, she examined
her shoes again and felt a strange electricity develop. It was as if the entire
mall had emptied and no one but the two remained. Her breath quickened and
palms went damp.
She knew what she should say. Appreciated how her husband
might react had he known the way she felt right now. But when was the last time
a man’s presence had stirred such emotions? This realization gnawed at her.
His hand reached
toward her and brushed a strand of hair aside. She gasped. What had he done?
Who was this stranger to invade her space and touch her in that way?
His finger trailed down
her jaw line to the tip of her chin, and with a knuckle he lifted her head
until they were once again eye to eye. Her belly clenched in a way that makes
women sigh and her thighs fidgeted back and forth.
“Yes,” she whispered.
They went into the
store. His expensive shoes click-clacked confidently against the marble floor as
he strolled up to a sales woman. Lauren followed behind, hands clasped behind
her back. He said something and pointed to the lace underwear. The clerk sized
her by eye and walked away to find the merchandise. He paid at a register as
she stared at the floor ashamed and excited.
“Would you like a
bag, sir?”
“She’ll wear it out,”
he replied.
What? She thought. How presumptuous!
Lauren’s face
revealed the anger of that inner voice. But once again his gaze destroyed that
composure indignation had engendered. Holding the lace panties out to her, she
took the clothing. And, after a deep breath she composed herself with a nod and
went to the changing room.
Behind those closed
doors there was a moment of sanity. She resolved to somehow sneak past this man
and rush back to work, where she was supposed to be anyway. But that lace thong
thrilled her. Reaching under her skirt, she slipped off an old pair of sensible
underwear perfect for a boring day at the office. As she stuffed those old panties
in her purse, she found the clothing damp from anticipation. It startled her
just how powerfully she had been affected by this illicit exchange.
Committed to the act,
she spread out the new thong and stepped into each hole one by one, then pulled
it up underneath her skirt until it fit snuggly around her waist. She found the
lace unbearably sexy against her skin. Her fingers roamed across its bumpy
surface and she felt that tuft of pubic fur underneath. Stroking, she explored
up and down and around and around and her knees immediately buckled. Her heart
skipped a beat, then pounded in her chest, and she knew she’d stroll out and
meet that man wearing the sexy undergarment he’d bought her.
Lauren stepped out of
the changing room. There he stood by the sales desk, confidently waiting, hands
in pockets, thumbs looped around his belt. His dress jacket was open and she
marveled at the trim shape hidden under a white button-down dress shirt. She
sucked air through teeth at the sight and strolled toward him. He took her
elbow. They exited the store and sauntered down the main hall arm in arm. Nervous
of being caught, she glanced back and forth and up and down searching for
anyone she might recognize. But it was off hours and nobody seemed to recognize
her. Then they were finally outside, and he directed her toward the parking
lot.
“Where are you taking
me?”
“To my apartment,” he
replied nonchalantly.
She gasped. This
stranger she had just met intended to take her to his apartment and she was
following his lead? What the fuck was she thinking? What if he’s dangerous? A
serial killer? A woman beater? A scoundrel?
Well, by definition he's definitely a scoundrel, Lauren wryly noted.
Then came the most
frightening thought of all.
What if I fall for him?
They weaved around
cars until reaching a convertible Mercedes something or other. She didn't know
much about cars. Then he opened the passenger side door and helped her in, like
a true gentleman should.
He got in and they rode
out of the lot onto the street. Grasping her hand, their fingers intertwined,
as her hair freely billowed about in the wind. She examined objects passing by
to avoid his powerful gaze. But he yanked her hand and she peeked out of the
corner of her eyes. He brought her palm to the inseam of his pants. His bulge
nearly burst through cloth and as she fondled him her mouth parted to release a
slight whimper.
After a few miles
they were downtown. They arrived at a large apartment building and he drove down
into the depths of its parking lot. The car weaved around until he found a spot
and the engine went off. Reaching out to stroke her cheek, their eyes locked
once again.
“Take me there,” she
panted.
He stepped out of the
car with a smooth and gallant motion and opened her door, lifting Lauren out by
the hand. They walked to the elevator quietly, their steps echoing in the
darkness. There was a ding and its doors opened. They stepped inside and he
pressed a button.
As soon as the doors
shut, he shoved her against the wall with ferocity that was both frightening
and exhilarating. Pinning her hands above her head, he came in closely and they
kissed. The violence of it had shaken her but his lips were gentle. She parted her
mouth for his tongue and he probed inward and caressed. Their lips locked in a
rhythmic embrace, smacking and pecking and licking. His mouth trailed down,
nibbling her neck until in that wantonness she lost all sense of reality. Then
the bell rang again and those doors opened to a hallway.
Everything slowed to
a crawl and it seemed she had left her body. As if she were watching a movie
about some woman who had met and followed a stranger to his apartment for a
carnal rendezvous. The kind that always ends in disaster. He and that woman sauntered
arm in arm until they reached a door and entered an apartment. It was a large
two-floor loft with French windows overlooking a beautiful city skyscape. The
man in this movie was well off. But then, good production values in film always
demands that - leading men are never without means.
Once he closed the
door, she was pinned against it and they kissed once again. The force of it
shocked her with a snap back into awareness. It was she, not some actress, who
had stepped into that apartment. She was here, looking out her own eyes. And this
was not a celluloid fantasy projected on some screen in a dark room to an audience
of spectators. She was letting this stranger do these things to her. No, she
was doing these things with a stranger. It was a dizzying realization.
