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Don't Turn Around

10/12/2009

She came out the front door of the office building and stood
for a moment squinting against the noonday sun. After a
brief pause, she strode purposefully down the sidewalk,
unaware of the eyes intently following her form. The eyes
glittered with fascination and a hint of playfulness.
Perhaps it was a wisp of a cloud blocking out the sun, perhaps
some dark thought from within, but for a moment a shadow
flickered across his face. He ran his tongue languidly
over his lips, as if her taste were already on them. He'd
watched her these last couple of days, knew her movements,
knew she was headed to that Deli that was two blocks down.
Following behind her in the press of people out for lunch,
he paused as she stopped to look in a shop window, then closed
the distance between them as she approached the alley.
Just before she reached it, he drew up behind her and placed
his hands on her shoulders. She started to whirl, but he
pressed his body firmly against her back used his cheek
to prevent her head from turning. She stiffened - gave a
startled gasp - but his anticipation outmatched her reaction
- his mouth moved instantly to her ear. "Don't
turn around, " he growled softly, huskily. The voice
sounded familiar, but it sent shivers down her spine. A
joke to be sure, but she never expected him to play it out.
How far would he go on a dare? Passers-by were giving them
strange looks. He obviously didn't care. What if one
of her co-workers saw them? What would they think? She flushed
in embarrassment. She tried to turn, again, but he was standing
too close and still holding her shoulders. He reached up
to brush the hair aside from her neck. She felt his breath
hot as he planted kisses up the exposed length of her neck.
She heard a low groan escape from his lips as they traveled
slowly up to her ear. He stopped and gripped her shoulders
again to emphasize his words. "When I nudge you, I
want you to walk straight ahead and then turn where you feel
my hands guiding you. Don't turn around. Do you understand?"
She nodded, and he gave her a small but insistent push. She
started forward, legs wobbly in the excitement. She did
not know what he had in mind, how far he would take this. At
the entrance to the alley, he directed her into its depths.
About halfway in, there was an alcove and a doorway. He urged
her into the alcove. She stopped in front of a weathered
wooden door, and he shifted his hand to grip her firmly by
the back of her neck. Holding her immobile with one hand,
he slipped his other hand under the bottom of her sweater.
His fingers touched the side of her waist just above her
skirt, a delicate touch on her bare skin, then moved, slowly,
spidery up her ribs. She shivered, and he chuckled low in
her ear. Although the voice sounded familiar, she had never
heard this tone before. Her breathing contracted to shallow
gasps as she felt his hand exploring further, touching
her through her bra, cupping her breast in his palm, gently
rubbing the nipple. He stood close to her for a few minutes,
manipulating her easily, stroking the bare skin above
and below the bra, then returning to her sensitive breast.
His breath was rolling thunder in her ear. "Very nice!"
he grated. "Satin...Smooth tender skin...aching
NIPPLE!" As he said it, he grasped it sharply between
his fingers and twisted. Her back arched in response, but
he drew her quickly back to him. She felt herself unable
to move, held by the firm grip on her neck, and the hand on
her breast. Her jaw fell open, her body trembled, her hands
reflexively opened and closed as they hung at her sides.
Held immobile, she stared straight ahead, hardly seeing
the rough surface of the door in front of her, but in her peripheral
vision, she could see the movement under her sweater as
his fingers worked at her breast. He slipped the hand from
under her sweater and gripped her shoulder slightly. "Don't
Turn Around!" His voice rasped suddenly in her ear,
anticipating her deepening desire to see him. He squatted
and she felt his hands on her ankles. They crept with definite
intent, up her calves, tracing lines over her smooth stockings.
Her knees were shaking as his insistent hands reached her
thighs. The fingers moved higher and she felt them hesitate
when they reached the lace tops of her stockings. Damn,
when she wore them this morning, she had thought how sexy
it was to wear something illicit under her skirt. His voice
penetrated her private musings. "Stockings and
garters, at work?? How very naughty. How very delightful."
He probed the soft flesh with his fingers, and her thighs
parted imperceptibly. He dropped his hands and spoke admonishingly,
"Raise your skirt at the back. Show me those sexy things
that you put on this morning, thinking no one would know
you were wearing them. Show them to me." Now her face
flushed with embarrassment and she wondered how he knew
her thoughts. She didn't move. He grunted, then reached
down and swept up the hem. She felt the sudden cool air on
her thighs above the stockings. She shivered and closed
her eyes, pulled her buttocks tight against the chill,
and prayed no one would see her. He bunched the skirt up and
into her waistband, then kneeled again to peer closely
at the delicate lace. Oh, God! She felt his breath warm on
her ass, then his nose urged under her exposed backside.
"Mmmmm..... what a delicious. *hot*. *wanting*.
smell." As he placed a hand on her inner thigh, and
slowly eased it up, she knew he would feel the wet panties.
Her breath seemed frozen in her chest as his fingers probed
through the delicate underwear. She shivered in embarrassment,
but her clit was so erect it ached. He chuckled softly. He
stood and gripped her ass cheeks and once again his voice
was in her ear. Her breath hissed out as he breathed soft
words of desire, and brought his hand round to cover her
mouth. The pungent smell of her own sex invaded her nostrils.
His musky fingers pushed between her lips, and explored
her mouth. His other hand ran lightly over her ass, and she
found herself sucking his fingers in rhythm with the strokes.
He nudged her forward. She stumbled forward a half step
to come face up against the rough wood of the door. The grain
was pressing into her cheek. From far away, she could hear
the sounds as her hands scrabbled on its surface. She was
losing control, almost willing to be fucked right here.
In the open. Where anyone could see. "You know what
bad girls deserve, don't you?" Her head shook
almost imperceptibly. "I didn't hear you."
His voice became darker, more demanding. His hand held
her chin, and his finger traced the line of her lips. "No."
It was a breath of a whisper. Oh god? What was he going to do?
A short, tingling smack brought her out of her mental meanderings.
She let out one startled cry, and his hand covered her mouth.
Another smack on the other ass cheek and a torrent of wetness
escaped her pussy as she jerked. He continued with his open
palm a few more times. The spanking was not severe, but it
served its purpose. "Now your ass is nice and warm.
Mmmmmm. I like a hot ass." Her eyes widened to the sound
of a zipper coming down and then his cock was springing against
her stocking tops. He stood square behind her, grinding
his hardness against her, his hands with an undeniable
grip on her shoulders. She didn't resist, didn't
struggle, began wishing and hoping that he would give her
what she now desperately craved. But it was just teasing.
He pulled her away from her wooden support. "Open
the door." Her shaking hands fumbled with the knob
as she complied. He urged her inside. Her skirt was still
tucked up in back. They went up a flight of stairs, his right
hand again holding the back of her neck, fingers just under
her jawbone, his left hand up under her sweater, stroking
her breast, her side, her back. At the top of the stairs,
he directed her to the right, and she found herself facing
another door. He handed her a key and she opened it. She still
could not turn around. Could not see his face. Inside was
an apartment. Sort of an artist's studio-type of place.
It was big, open and airy. A north-facing window stretched
from floor to ceiling, and warm light spilled across the
hardwood floors. There was a leather couch with two over-stuffed
chairs facing, and a big bed off in one corner. He directed
her towards an area rug on the floor. He unbuttoned her skirt
with his free hand, and tossed it to one side. Then he pulled
her sweater off, and tossed it too. She tried to turn in that
instant, but he caught her, and twisted her face away from
him. He produced, from a pocket perhaps, some sort of thinly
rolled black scarf. This he tied over her eyes in a blindfold.
"So you don't peek." She moaned softly.
He took his hands away and she could hear the sound of his
clothing being removed, the familiar tearing sound of
a package being opened, latex being stretched... Then,
suddenly, he was pressing his face into the side of her neck,
kissing passionately. His body pressed hot and hard up
against her back. She gasped, and instinctively pressed
back against him, in that age-old rutting motion. Both
his hands now ran up and down the length of her sides. Her
hands came up and tried to direct his to places more wanting,
but he was in full teasing mode, and would not be diverted.
Slowly, sooooo slowly, the hands beneath hers worked their
way round to her stomach, her chest, to her breasts, and
nipples, now both achingly erect. One hand continued to
play with her through the satin and lace, while the other
slid down into the wet recesses between her legs. She now
had a burning need to be fucked, and he knew it. His fingers
danced down her front, squeezing, tweaking, sliding in
the slippery juices, seeping from the satin panties. His
hardness prodded her from behind, nudging easily between
her legs. In one deft motion, he pulled the crotch aside,
and thrust up inside of her. She moaned and gasped, and pushed
back against him, feeling the full length of him pressing
up into her. "Aaaahhhhhh..." It was incredible!
That first moment of entry, that first thrust, that at once
scratches the itch and yet makes it more intense.... But
he was only teasing. He pulled out just as suddenly, and
she groaned in frustration. He pulled the panties down
and off. He unclasped her bra and removed it. He slid off
her heels and left her in nothing but the garter and stockings.
"Lie down. On your stomach." His voice was hoarse
and insistent with longing and lust. She wanted nothing
more than to comply. She laid down on the rug and impatiently
awaited his next move. She was stretched out before him
but the tension in her body curled her back to an arch which
raised her pelvis off the rug. The shag threads brushed
her, teased her, excited her further. Sensing this, he
placed his hands on her hips, raising and lowering her ever
so slightly until the shag tips of the carpet became dewed
with expectation. "You're tense, " he
said, with a short stressed "t" and a long drawn
out "s". "I can help." He knelt over
her thighs. His hands worked from her hips to her shoulders.
Alternating between soft and hard pressure, his hands
kneaded her body. Then he hesitated - in thoughtful contemplation
of his next move. He repeated the pattern. A little here,
a little there. She exhaled each time. He could almost visualize
her eyes - an unfocused glaze. She relaxed completely,
flowing to the carpet like a pool of water. "We can't
have you too relaxed, " he said with laughter and
a hint of the wicked in his voice. He stretched his legs out
behind him until he was laying flat on her back. His hardness
stretched out along the valley between her ass cheeks.
He continued kneading her back, her shoulders, her arms.
Each soft knead was accompanied by a soft stroke below,
teasing her. Each hard knead brought a hard stroke of want.
Each hesitation sharpened the blade of anticipation.
She squirmed beneath him. Wanting to feel him inside again,
but he was taking great delight in this teasing - this slow
torturous pleasuring. This total control over her. The
ministrations on her shoulders, back and arms were no longer
having a soothing effect, since his hardness was now taunting
her so wantonly. He pulled back further and stroked the
wetness of her slit with the head of his cock. She gasped
and tried to push back onto him, to feel him inside. But noooo,
he pulled away, teasing, teasing, using his hand now, to
guide it in slow circles around those swollen, succulent
lips. She gritted her teeth in frustration and groaned.
He was merciless, prodding her more, just barely slipping
inside of her, a few millimeters, then pulling out and sliding
up and down the length of her crease. Her nails made frantic
scratching sounds as she raked lines in the pile of the carpet.
Finally, he could stand it no longer himself, and he plunged
deep inside, delighted by the startled gasp it elicited
from her. He withdrew slowly and then thrust into her again.
She couldn't see the mottled flush that had painted
the taut chest muscles pressed into her back. His hands
slid beneath her, fingers curling into the giving flesh
of her inner thighs. He drew her legs farther apart. Together
they became a wave of undulating motion accentuated by
gasping breaths, soft moans, and guttural groans of pleasure.
He stopped. He held her quivering legs to him, and whispered
softly, "Don't move! Relax... shhhhh... relax...."
She knew that this slowing down, this halting was just another
form of teasing, another form of torture. He gently eased
out, and rolled her onto her back. Her thighs were slick
- glistening like fresh-buttered bread. As his fingers
traveled along the garter straps and stockings, he admired
her inviting body. He cupped her hand under his balls so
she could feel his approval as his low growl was accentuated
by a further tightening. He lowered his head next to hers
and spoke in a low, soft voice, "Now something special,
-- its called -- the 'flutter'." Her lips
pursed perplexedly but then quickly drew into a devilish
grin. "Show me, " she said. While kneeling
he spread her legs wider, and pressed the back of her legs
with the front of his. Her ass rose slightly from the carpet.
He licked the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and reached
between her knees to slowly roll her tubular left nipple
while spreading her legs wider with his elbow. The fingertips
of his right hand softly, barely caressed her stomach in
descending circular motions. Soon the fingers of his right
hand became entangled in the snarls of her hair. "Coarse,
but wetly lubricated, " he thought to himself, "nice
contrast". He then turned his palm facing upward
and inserted his index and middle finger into her. His thumb
started to quiver on her exposed button while his fingers
rapidly fluttered inside her. The wet became wetter as
her breath whistled from her throat in a near-scream. She
arched her back involuntarily at the intensity of the orgasm.
Her hips bucked and writhed for a considerable length of
time. As her motions subsided, a soft moan escaped her lips...
"Oohhh god..." He chuckled, his voice turned
soft and inviting, "I see you still have things to
learn. And I have so many things I can teach you...."
He could tell by the way her hips were undulating, in soft
smooth motions, that her lust had not been fully sated.
Then again, nor had his. He was aching. This game of teasing
also had the benefit of intensifying his own arousal. He
placed his hands on either side of her chest, leaned forward
and kissed her full and wet on her slightly open mouth. She
responded hungrily. Her hands slid up his smooth chest.
Her trembling thumbs found his nipples, and worked them
in agitation. The small nubs stiffened immediately. There
was something about them, something unexpected and different,
but she couldn't quite place it.... She reached a hand
down to grip his cock, meaning to slide it into her. But he
would have none of that. His voice was thick syrup, mockingly
admonishing, "Ah, ah, ah. No! Naughty girl. You get
it when *I* say you do...." The small stinging smack
on her hand shocked her. She was even more surprised by the
juices that flowed as a result. He rose and pulled her to
a standing position. She was disoriented, trying to remember
the layout of the room. For a moment, she was alone, swaying,
unsupported - then he was back. She heard a squirting sound
and his hands began sliding all over her body. Slippery,
slick, and cool. The scent was musky, heady. He was rubbing
oil into her. His hands washed over her clavicle, her breasts,
her belly, her inner thighs. He purposely avoided her wet
and aching snatch. The ass! The hands went away, and then
came back again, replenished with the cool liquid. This
time he administered it to her back, her buttocks, the crack
of her ass. His fingers lingered a long, teasing time there,
between her cheeks.... She pushed back against his hand,
cheeks clenched in tight uncertainty. He manipulated
gently until her muscles relaxed. Then he withdrew his
hand and slapped her lightly on her bum. He began pushing,
guiding her forward. She held her hands out in front of herself,
tentatively. After several steps, they came in contact
with a wall. No. Not a wall. It was smooth, cold. A mirror?
She couldn't be sure, but the next thing she knew, he
was pressing her cheek, her chest, against this suddenly
cold and unforgiving surface. His knees pushed between
her legs, and she nearly buckled trying to regain her balance.
With one hand entwined in her hair at the nape of her neck,
he pressed her cheek securely to the mirror. Was it a mirror?
She didn't recall seeing one in the room... He began
biting up her neck. Soft, insistent bites, that grew harder
as he reached her ear. His other hand had been caressing
her back, her ass. Now it slipped between her cheeks again.
She could feel his long fingers probing her, pushing at
her. "Oh! Ohhhhhhh...." she moaned uninhibitedly.
He growled in response, his finger slid easily in and out
of her slippery ass. He pressed his chest up against her,
his lips brushed her ear. "My god, but you're
horny, aren't you?" He said it quietly, but his
voice was a growling roar in her ear. Vaguely menacing,
enticing. Her splayed fingers convulsed on the mirror.
(god, it was a *big* mirror) Her response came out in shallow
gasps, "yes.... yesssss.... YES! Ugh!" At
that moment he stuffed his cock up her cunt, and groaned
at the exquisite feel of it. His entire body pressed against
her, nearly crushing her against the mirror. She gasped
and writhed with each long, slow thrust of his cock. He pushed
so hard up inside of her, that it nearly raised her off the
floor. Her mouth opened and she heard her voice in a scream
of pleasure as he took possession of her body. His lips were
back at her ear again. Hoarse words were accentuated by
bites to the edges, the lobe, "God! I love the feel
of a wet cunt!" He began telling her all the things
he was doing to her, all the things he was planning to do with
her. Her pussy gushed wetter, juicier, with every word.
He reached around in front, and began tweaking and teasing
her clit. Rubbing side-to-side, gently squeezing, pulling,
pressing. Her legs began to tremble ferociously and her
moans took on a fevered pitch, "Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! oh!
Oh! OH!!" Her hips bucked and ground into his hand,
mashing it against the mirror. He cupped her mons in his
hand, as her orgasm subsided. As the last shudders coursed
through her body, she shoved hard back against him and begged,
"Oh, please, please, please...." "Please
what? What do you want my sweet little cunt?" "Fuck
me HARD!" "Uh Uh! You forgot the magic word."
He held her tight to the mirror. "Please fuck me HARDER!"
then softer, "Please?" He was too close to the
edge to resist. He dug both hands into the flesh of her hips.
His slow, deep fucking changed and took on a new, and frenzied
pace. With every jabbing thrust he jammed himself to the
hilt, grinding and then backing off to thrust again. She
slid and jiggled against the mirror as he pounded into her.
Her mouth went slack, as sobbing moans escaped on each deep
penetration. Then he reached round to her inner thighs,
pulled her tight to him and pumped his load into her delicious
recesses, his spurts accompanied by guttural groans.
Her sobbing eased to gasping, shallow breaths. His lips
whispered anxious kisses up the back of her neck. He gently
removed the blindfold. When she opened her eyes, she had
to squint at the sudden brightness of blue sky and birds
whirling close by, on the other side of the window. Her first
reaction was to cover herself, but he anticipated, and
gripped her wrists, spreading them wide so her body was
laid bare against the glass. He used his own head to force
her cheek to the window. He kept her thighs wide with his
hairy legs. After a few seconds she opened her eyes again
to look out. If anyone had been watching from the tenement
across the courtyard, they were not to be seen now. She relaxed,
and held his softening cock with her muscles. "What
a delicious fuck you are, " he crooned in her ear,
licking her just below the lobe with the flat of his tongue.
Her body shivered in response to the tension. He was still
moving slightly inside her. She could feel the swelling
as his erection renewed itself, and she wondered what more
he had planned... Surely, he'd had enough? She really
should go back to work! The thought flashed through her
mind. The director wanted her report that afternoon, and
here she was plastered to a window, sweaty, smothered in
oil, juices painting the inside of her thighs, her hair
a mess, and his thick cock keeping her cunt open. He sensed
her stiffening, and released her hands. She looked at her
watch and pushed back against his belly. Her garters and
hose would be a mess, stained with lube and her own juices,
possibly torn or tattered. How in hell was she going to get
cleaned up and back in five minutes? He stepped back, and
just as she was about to turn, she felt her ass twinge crimson
as his hand delivered a sharp reminder smack. "Don't
turn around!" She complied with building ire. "Look, "
she said, with her back to him. "You've had your
way with me, but now I have a meeting to go to." "You'll
never make it." His voice was implacable. "But,
you could conference them in. Say you had an urgent call
to a client site, got stuck in traffic and will make the presentation
over your cellular phone." He frog-walked her over
to one of the chairs and thrust her over the arm. The blindfold
reappeared, and darkness descended. The leather warmed
quickly under her skin. "The number., " he
insisted. She stammered out a response. He bent her forward
over the arm of the couch and thrust his cock back in her warm
cunt. As he shunted his half-hard member back and forth,
she heard the sounds of dialing, then a hard angular object
was thrust into her senseless fingers. She heard the ringing
and her mind whirled. The Director's assistant answered,
and her throat went dry for an instant. "Francine, "
she blurted. "I've had a problem. I got held up,
and I won't make it back for the meeting. Can you conference
me in on speaker phone, then get the slides off my desk and
hand them out." Businesslike, she had forgotten
where she was, forgotten what had just happened, just barely
aware of the cock moving slowly inside her. She breezed
through the presentation from memory and was just wrapping
up, when she froze. Suddenly, the enormity of the situation
blazed through her mind like wild fire. The voice, the hands
guiding her, the alley, the door, the window. An involuntary
gasp escaped as she came back to the studio, to her body lying
naked over the arm of a leather chair, blindfolded, an unknown
cock working her pussy, making a presentation to the Director.
She listened in a daze as her proposal was accepted. Numb,
the phone slipped from her hands, and she struggled unsteadily
to rise. His hands pressed down her head, and she became
aware of a pressure in her bladder. The phone made tinny
noises until he snapped it off. Then his hands came back
to touch her. Her skin prickled as his fingers traced her
ribs to her backbone, then down each vertebrae to her hips.
"Good job!" he chuckled. "Nice presentation!"
She wondered if he were referring to her business proposal
or to her ass that was raised up in the air. His fingers inched
along and softly pinched the hemispheres of flesh. She
squirmed as he trailed his fingers up the inside of her thighs
and tickled her clit. She felt herself lubricate and open
to him. A moan escaped her lips. Not for the last time that
afternoon she wondered just how far he would take her. She
wondered what he would do when she told him, but she couldn't
stand it much longer. She stated flatly, with a touch of
insolence, "I have to go to the bathroom." "I
think you'd better ask me nicer than that..."
His tone was tinged with the suggestion of severity...
Contrition crept into her voice, "Please can I go
to the bathroom?" He withdrew and pulled her to a standing
position. He turned her and gave a small slap on the rear
to get her walking. Walking behind, he directed her across
the room. She felt him reach past her and open a door. He pushed
her inside and turned her around. She could feel cool porcelain
against her calves. "Sit." She sat down slowly,
feeling behind her with her hands.... She listened to the
sound of a condom being removed, and waited. She could hear
him breathing, just inches from her. Good god. She had to
go pee in front of him too? Her bladder was saying one thing,
but the rest of her anatomy was not cooperating. She tried
to relax, breathe slow breaths.... She heard the sound
of water running, felt the increasing humidity lick her
skin pasty. Finally, her stream of urine started, and she
sighed. She heard the tearing of toilet paper, and was strangely
aroused when he blotted the urine and secretions from between
her legs. He raised her up by her arm and directed her to the
source of the running water, a shower. The thick heat of
the air prickled her skin in a way that made her itch to rub
her body against his. A faint smile of satisfaction appeared
on her face as she heard him unwrap another condom. The hands
on her shoulders urged her backwards to the wall, and she
held out her hips in an open invitation. He groaned at the
provocative curve of her belly, the pouty labia visible
beneath her thatch, the tight quadriceps drawing lines
down her legs. He splashed the water briefly against her,
then noisily lapped up trickles that dribbled off her nipples.
He looked down again at her waiting, out thrust pussy. His
hand penetrated her in unrestrained eagerness. His finger
slid up inside her, swirling and groping, sometimes pressing
that delicious spot, just behind her pubic bone. She sighed
to herself. Oh, there certainly was some pleasure in long
fingers! He continued to work her with his hands as she sloped
against the tiles, hands flat on the wall beside her hips.
Her knees opened willingly as he nudged between them. He
gripped his cock and swung it upwards against her pussy,
making a wet thump that sent shocks through her from her
swollen labia. He swung it again and again until she was
used to the sensation. Sometimes, he held it against her
clit and drew backwards in a delicious sensation of rasping
between her lips. "Use your fingers, " he said.
"Spread your pussy lips for me. Guide my cock inside
your hot, juicy cunt. Spread your legs wide, and rub your
clit against my cock. I'm going to slide up inside you
now." He bent his knees and pushed up, once again entering
her. Now it was flesh against flesh, bone against bone.
She reveled in the sensation of being stuffed and filled
and rubbed and scratched. He humped her against the wall
for a very long time until eventually her pussy was starting
to feel sore. She wondered at the stamina of this man who
fucked her so relentlessly. She felt far away, remote from
the sounds and sensations, and realized that she must be
getting weak with hunger and exhaustion. He slowed and
then rested against her, breathing hard for a moment. Then
holding the condom with his hand, he withdrew slowly. She
sighed as he pushed back. Sweat was running between her
breasts, mingling with the oil. She could taste the odors
of their rut in the humid air as she felt herself slipping
into a semi-conscious state. The stream of water from the
shower splashed and splattered enticingly nearby. He
traced a finger down her neck, across her sticky chest,
and down her belly to the top of her matted pubic hair. He
helped her stand upright, and turned her to the side. She
stood forlorn for a moment, looking like a small, lost child.
His hands deftly removed her garters and stockings. She
clung to him in an effort to maintain her balance. Then a
gentle warm rain caressed her flesh, in conjunction with
the tingling rasp of a soapy cloth. With soft stroking movements,
he washed her body from fingertips to toes. Her legs began
to give way, so he sat her down on the floor, back to him, removed
the blindfold and shampooed her hair. She closed her eyes
and relished the sensuous feel of his fingers massaging
her scalp, playing with her hair. She did not attempt to
turn and see him, for fear he might stop these delicious
ministrations. In time, though, he did stop, and rinsed
her hair fragrantly clean. "Wait, " he said
gently. Seconds or minutes passed as she gazed uncomprehending
about her. She was sitting on the floor of a tiled bathroom,
the Italian-style shower was just a hand-held nozzle in
one corner of the room. No curtain, just the floor gently
sloped to run water into the drain by her feet. She slowly
swung her head around to gaze at the nozzle spraying warmly
over her legs. She started to turn to look at ...him, and
found no one there... She closed her eyes again, and slumped
against the wall, too exhausted to move. Some time later
her eyes fluttered open. Through the bathroom door she
saw the vague outlines of the darkened studio. She arose
and walked on uncertain legs to the door, fumbled for the
light switch. Her clothes were folded on the chair. Her
stockings hung drying by the kitchen sink, but otherwise
the studio was empty. She took a huge cotton towel from the
warming rail, and dried herself as she padded about the
studio. It was anonymous. Magazines, a stereo with a few
tapes of classical music. No TV. The fridge was bare except
for some butter, and a loaf of bread in the freezer. She made
toast and ravenously devoured it slathered with peanut
butter the only condiment besides mustard that she found
in the cupboard. Yuck, she hated peanut butter. But she
needed food. She struggled into her clothes, stuffed her
stockings into her purse, and looked around for her garter.
No sign. Not in the bathroom, not in the main room, or under
the couch or in the corner, or under the bed. Nowhere! Damn.
It was a nice one, too. As she stood by the door, she realized
that there was no sign she had ever been here. No sign of anything
that had happened that afternoon. She rushed into the bathroom,
and checked in the garbage pail, nothing. The toilet had
been flushed. The shower was quickly drying. Only some
crumbs on the counter, and the butter knife. Compulsively,
she cleaned the knife and wiped the counter. Then switched
off the lamp and closed the door behind her. Her entrance into the apartment was greeted by the enticing
smells of dinner wafting from the kitchen. Mmmmm. Something
spicy and Italian, by the smell of it. Great! The toast had
only taken the edge of her hunger. She was *starved*. She
flopped down in the big overstuffed chair in the living
room, and took off her shoes. He came in from the kitchen,
oven mitts still in one hand, shirtless under the cooking
apron, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "You're
late tonight... Jeeze! You look exhausted." He sat
down and started to rub her feet. "Dinner's almost
ready. Rough day?" She nodded in assent, "Incredible."
She sighed, long and low. "How about we have a bath
later, and I tell you about it?" "Sure."
He smiled, got up, leaned over, and kissed the top of her
head. She laughed. "You are a messy cook, you know?"
She extended her finger to swab up a stray dollop of sauce
that had landed on his hairless chest.






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