"Just go with it, bae," she tossed over her shoulder as she rummaged through the junk drawer in the front room.
It was 2 in the afternoon and I had been standing in the middle of our loft blindfolded, naked, and holding a glass of red wine for 10 minutes. I would argue I was going with it.
"I know I interrupted your lunch with that tramp Taren but I just wanted some alone time," she tapered off as she left the room again. "She's been trying to fuck you or take your job since we met her so I'm not going to be apologetic," she laughed from what sounded like the kitchen.
She was right, though. Taren always appeared in my office when a celebrity client was in the studio. Occasionally she'd land a conversation in my doorway with them, but they'd quickly assess her shovel was out for gold and dismiss her. So she'd move on to her role at the clinic hoping they'd see her professionalism as a cardiac practitioner - which was quite true. If only she hadn't thrown her cleavage into the ring first.
"Taren is just trying to find a man," I shouted in the direction I thought Vic would hear me. "She just needs a little help on her game. Maybe you can coach her?"
"You need to quit lying to yourself," she noted from a direction I didn't expect. "That girl is positively enjoying her freedom as an adult. I have no problem with that. I just don't trust her near my man's dick or my man's money."
I laughed because it was funny and the wine was starting to loosen me up. By now I had no idea which way I was facing. I thought I could feel the August sun hitting my left shoulder, but that could have been the reflection from one of our two floor-to-ceiling mirrors by the bookcase.
Being naked in our loft wasn't out of the ordinary. We'd long gotten over the open windows on the street side because we were up higher than all of the neighboring buildings. We practically lived in our underwear last summer because Vic was product testing a new line of couples lingerie for her Fall article. Clothing optional was a given, but blindfolded was a new wrinkle.
"Well you know where all my money is - this damn loft - and I'm pretty certain she's too scared of your ass to go after my dick," I shouted toward what I thought was the kitchen.
"Whatever, Mr. Charles," she shouted from what had to be our bathroom because of the echo. "Whatever."
I could hear her moving from one task to another with an ease that understood that my afternoon schedule was open. She'd probably called the office and booked the rest of my day with Elliot. If she knew she only had an hour, she would have finished me, showered me, dressed me, and taxi'd me before I knew what hit me. But that day was different.
I never peeked from the blindfold. Sure I was curious, but I know how to enjoy Vic's whims. My life would be variants of beige khakis and sensible meals if it wasn't for Victoria pulling me into HER comfort zone. It's not that it makes me uncomfortable to join her Sex Museum tour, but I don't think I would have come up with the idea on my own.
"Have you finished your glass yet?" she hinted from the kitchen as I heard the refrigerator door open. "Or are you full from lunch with Taren?"
So I guzzled down half a glass of red wine and replied, " Fill'er up!"
I could hear the wine bottle being placed on our oak table and the fridge closing. "In a sec," she shouted. I wasn't certain if the other noises I heard were from her, our downstairs neighbors, or the open window in the bathroom. Just as I started to make out a motorcycle throttling in the distance she cleared her throat and casually explained, "I've got two rules for the rest of our afternoon: no touching and no peeking, got it?"
"Whatever you say," I answered with a nervous smile.
And that's when I knew it was serious. I heard our wood floors being delicately tapped by a pair of black Louboutins - her only heels. She had five pairs of the Patent Pigalle because of an article she wrote on how high heels are simply tools for objectifying women. So their marketing team sent her 2 pairs with a hand written note asking that she kindly "shut the fuck up and go please her man." She bought the other 3 pairs herself.
Her pace was slow yet clearly headed toward me. The sounds of the city were mute as each meeting between leather and wood cleared the room. Usually, there's fun in the air, but with each step I could feel the ease of the wine leaving my body. My blindfold and empty wine glass were my only means of self defense. I was prepared for something. But what?
The steps continued closer to me and then circled me. I didn't move. I barely breathed. Like a panther's prey I was motionless as if the steps would soon pass me by. But unlike that jungle prey, my camouflage was poorly designed and I was hoping to be unapologetically mauled.
Then, after a couple of trips around my station, the heels stopped behind me.
I could feel my dick begin to swell, but I didn't want the distraction. So I raised my wine glass to my side hoping to indicate my need for a refill.
The steps came closer and a hand was placed on my hip while my glass filled. Once the pouring ceased I put the glass to my lips and took more of a taste than a sip. I hadn't mentally recovered from the green smoothie she served up a month before that was supposed to cleanse my insides. That shit tasted like it WAS my insides. So I wasn't rushing a blind tasting here.
As I began to take a real sip I heard the bottle placed to my side, her hand still on my hip for balance. Then I felt her kneel beside me as her hands caressed my thighs, breath crossing my skin. I anxiously sipped from my glass as her fingertips traveled further north with each stroke. My dick tingled.
Then she stood and circled in front of me, heels gently defining her pace and distance. She stepped closer. I could feel her slowly inhaling me. I could smell her so vividly. The scent always reminded me of the hike we took near her parent's home. She didn't break a sweat, but it was the first time I smelled the animal in her. No perfume or lotion. Just her.
I was frozen. Smelling her and waiting for her next movement. Unlike her usual self, she was taking her time. Elliot must have told her I was free for the next week, she was moving so slowly.
Then I felt the back of her fingers on my dick. Not a shock to me, but he reacted by pushing back hastily.
"Does that count?" I joked, referencing the first rule. My answer was a not-so-gentle grab of my growing dick. I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it was followed by a teasing lick of the head. The grasp was tight, but careful, as I continued to grow in her clutch. Her licking continued until she had my full attention.
Then she began to suck me slowly. I honestly can't focus when I'm in her mouth. My brain travels from "Make It Last Forever" to "Let It Flow" with every lick. And the sound of every lip smacking stroke makes my knees weak. After reading "Sex at Dawn" she always played with my auditory senses by vocalizing her likes and amplifying the sounds of our movements. Slurping at the dinner table is frowned upon, but in the bedroom it is all good. Those vibrations through my body were magnified by my lack of vision and desperate imagination.
'Was she naked or dressed?'
'Was her hair natural or straight?'
