The Loft:
Rhea mulled over the events of the recent past as she drove towards her destination. More so than yoga, it was driving that gave her a sense of tranquil. Especially when she was driving her black Porsche Cayenne, which she affectionately referred to as The Pearl. She turned off the main road and sped down an almost empty inroad towards the old industrial park outside of the central city.
The day that had passed was certainly uneventful, and yet, laced with excitement. Soon after she received the present, Rhea set about fulfilling her commitments for the day and wrapping things up by late afternoon. The lack of activity after that did little to curb her desires to call the rakish photographer and speak to him about the plans for the evening. Her desire, however, was cut short by a call from her husband. She smirked at the memory of the brief but colorful conversation she had.
"You and your FAT ASS can go to hell for all I care. You hear me?"
Rhea listened to the rantings of her husband via the speakerphone as she selected dresses for the evening.
"I see, and where are you currently my love?"
"Oh! so it's 'My love' now is it?" her husband mocked, "Well, you can forget about trying to figure out where I am because you're not the boss of me."
Rhea sighed and looked at the speakerphone with both disgust and sympathy. (The alliances we make to get ahead in life) she mused and resumed trying out dresses.
"Well, wherever you are I hope you're having a good time."
"I'm having the time of my life. I always have and I always will, you hear me?"
"Loud and clear my dear. Just go easy on the booze and take your pills on time. Oh and try not to get another infection. Spend some extra money and get a proper, clean whore for yourself."
The call ended abruptly, and Rhea shook her head and chuckled. She finally selected a simple black cocktail dress that both complimented her figure and subsequently, her car. After having cleared her head of her husband's phone call, she finally called the number on the back of the card.
Driving down the empty road, she glanced around at the bleak surroundings. Abandoned buildings, old factories, busted street lamps, the area, was, but a shadow of its former self. Strange location for a residence, but then again, the man was not exactly someone who would be comfortable with what people considered 'normal.' The barren surroundings lent a bit of flavor to the evening, as a desert does to an oasis.
She found the address that was dictated to her over the phone. On the outside, it looked like an old abandoned warehouse unit. The length of the building took up an entire block. (Ideal for a photo-studio), Rhea thought and slid her vehicle into the spacious parking lot. Looking at how crowded the parking lot was already, she concluded that she was perhaps the last guest to arrive, and then smirked at the possibility that it was perhaps by design.
As she entered the party, the sheer expanse of the place awed her. The interior decorations were both tasteful and functional, and not a single space was left empty or unadorned. For tonight's little soiree the bulk of the studio was converted into a make-shift gallery, showcasing various erotic and semi-naked nude portraits positioned upon easels and hung on the dry brick walls.
Rhea floated through the party floor with practiced ease and precision. Speaking with men and women, that exuded a certain aura of intelligence and importance. The combination of her wit and beauty ensured that she was allowed entry into almost every little circle of conversation that took place in the party. Her real interest, however, lay in locating the mysterious host, who thus far remained elusive from her sights.
She was held under siege by an unusually loud and ill-mannered patron when suddenly she felt a smooth but firm hand upon her shoulder followed by a soft greeting, "I'm glad you could make it."
She turned around to find the rake from the night before standing in front of her. Dressed in an immaculate black suit, without a tie and two buttons open to show a tuft of blonde chest hair.
"I'm glad I was invited," Rhea answered with a relieved smile and gladly allowed the host to cut in between her and the rather annoying guest who was moments ago boring her to death.
Her host handled him with ease, "Ah! Dr. Gupta, so glad you're enjoying the party, I must tell you, however, that your wife has been asking after you for some time now. Perhaps you'd like to meet up with her at the exit?" he led the man away and returned to Rhea with a flute of champaign.
"An excellent customer Dr. Gupta. He's bought four pieces this evening."
"Pity they can't purchase some manners," Rhea quipped and sipped her drink.
"Sounds like you say this from experience."
"Something like that.", she sipped her drink and continued to peruse the gallery, with the host at her elbow.
The host's eyes once again were captivated by her gait. The subtle sway of her hips, and the gentle bounce of her ass cheeks. The artist in him would gaze at her with admiration and awe. But tonight, he was not an artist, but a rake. His mind swirled with images of the two of them locked in a naked and sweaty embrace. The flutter of her eye lids, the marks of his hands on her hips and asscheeks, the guttrual and almost feral grunts that would accompany their night of pleasure. He was shaken out of his dream when he realized that he was standing several feet away from her as she continued her slow and sensuous stroll down his gallery.
He made his way back to her elbow and adjusted his crotch, which had thickened significantly in the last few seconds. Rhea's walk came to a halt as she turned around to face him. The champagne flute hovering close to her blood red lips, "You realize that I don't even know your name?"
