Tease to Please

Author's Note: This chapter was revised significantly in January 2014. I hated the original version. As several readers helpfully pointed out, I had misused my characters and corrupted the theme. I have invested serious time in this re-write, so hopefully it is much better. It begins the same but there are big sections that have been replaced as well as new scenes. I have also made the underlying subtext around Arthur's character far more obvious than originally planned (another great suggestion), and will continue to do so in future chapters (which are in the works).

I hope you find this new Ch.7 delicious. Please let me know either way.

If you've never read the earlier chapters, do so if you appreciate a slow tease. Chapters 1 through 5 of this story appear in the Exhibitionism & Voyeurism category. A lot of inventive, stimulating fun happens in those chapters. Chapter 6 appears in the Erotic Couplings category and has been described as the best of the series so far. Perhaps this new Ch. 7, or the coming Ch. 8, will surpass even that. You be the judge.

Also (it should go without saying) please don't republish any of my work anywhere without my permission. Thanks.

*

Sunday June 9, 2013

Elise awoke on her friend's couch with a brutal hangover. She had convinced her summer apartment-mates to go out clubbing on Saturday night and things had gotten out of hand. She recalled a blurry swirl of crowds, dance floors and thumping bass -- and then her friend getting pissed about something. Elise racked her aching brain: What was it...?

Oh God, that's right: the fight!

Memory rushed in. Elise had been enjoying herself a WAY too much on the dance floor thanks to the Model O and a several vodka shots. Some random dude started manhandling her. She had been too drunk and horny to push him away. Her friend's fiancé stepped in and told the thuggish dude to back-off. Elise was unclear on the details of what happened next. She just remembered being in a brightly-lit waiting room at the hospital for hours, in full clubbing attire, while her friend's future husband received stitches. When the poor guy finally emerged his head was wrapped in bandages like an unlucky war veteran. There had been stony silence between the three of them during their taxi ride back to the apartment at dawn.

Elise sat up on the sofa. Even that small motion made her skull pound. She dared not think what the wounded boy in the next room felt like.

"Fucking disaster," she groaned.

In great discomfort, Elise extricated herself from the sweaty ruins of her club dress and pulled on some yoga pants and a t-shirt. Then she closed the window shutters, hobbled to the kitchen, drank two tall glasses of water and filled a third. She made her way to the bathroom, took two Advil and had a pee. When she returned to the sofa, she found the remote and switched on the TV. She lowered the volume way down.

It was the news. They were announcing the BART strike. It would commence at midnight and continue until Labor and Management reached a deal, which the station's panel of experts said might take weeks. There would be no BART service at all in the interim.

"Dammit..." Elise swore again. She needed breakfast, coffee and a new life.

The very least she could do for her abused hosts was venture out into the blinding midday light and retrieve provisions suitable for hangover-recovery. She killed the television, pulled on her cross trainers, a hoodie and sunglasses. She walked down the building's three flights of common-area stairs to the street and then to the nearest Starbucks. She blew thirty dollars on greasy breakfast sandwiches, three Greek-yogurt-&-honey granolas and three Venti coffees. Thusly equipped, she walked back to the apartment building. Halfway up the stairs, the Model O went off. Elise clenched her teeth. In her present non-sexual mood the little torus' chimes were more akin to dirty jokes than stimulation. She chose not to laugh. After the twelfth 'ting' Elise finished climbing the stairs and returned to her couch.

No one was awake yet. It was going to be a miserable, guilty day.

Elise ate a yogurt, a ham-and-egg sandwich and drank half her coffee. Thinking about her sudden lack of transportation to work, she decided to start by trying to find a cheap hotel near the lab. That would ameliorate her commuting problem. Plus it would give her roommates some space and time to heal. Their forgiveness would bloom faster if she was off their couch for a while. She wondered how much it would cost though, and how long she could endure the extra expense. The BART strike could potentially outlast her meager savings, depending on the hotel's daily rate.

A quick internet search on her old college laptop confirmed her fears. There were few hotels near the laboratory and their cheapest rooms were over $75 per night.

When her friends awoke Elise closed her laptop and tried to make herself as useful and attentive as possible. Her contrition was total. Mr. fiancé would have to go to work on Monday looking battered and bruised. The couple openly fretted about whether the scar above his eye would heal in time for their wedding. It was bad news all 'round.

After Elise had done what she could to salve their misery, she climbed the staircase in the outdoor light-well to the building's flat tar roof in order to use her cell phone privately. With her sunglasses on to protect her headache from the white daylight, she dialed and waited. There was no answer, so she left a message:

"Hi, Doctor Peters. It's Elise. I'm sorry to bug you on a Sunday, but... I'm sure you saw the news about the BART strike. I, um... I'm working on alternatives. I think I'll take the train out your way this afternoon before they shut it down. Hopefully then I can find a hotel out there. Anyway, please give me a call as soon as you get this, okay? Thanks. Bye."

Arthur was out grocery shopping. He had never given Elise his cellular number. She only had his office line. When he returned to the lab he was surprised to see the message light blinking. He generally received few calls on Sundays.

Arthur had spent the prior thirty-six hours trying to re-nestle himself into his solitary, boring and comfortable life. Only through this effort had his sense of guilt (and the vision of Elise's spanked bottom) begun to fade from his mind. He felt sure he had taken things too far on Friday.

On Monday he intended to let Elise opt out of the whole Consequence Game. It had been a silly, crazy idea. There was no way he could get away with paddling his intern every night after work, even if she enjoyed it. He needed to be the responsible one. He was her boss. And for some reason he longed to be trusted by her.

From now on he planned to help Elise have as normal a summer internship as possible, notwithstanding the candy striper outfits she had to wear for Doctor Yamamoto.

When Arthur listened to Elise's message, however, his nobler instincts waivered. Her subtext was clear: she needed a place to stay, he had a sofa bed, she had seen it, and his home was located exactly where she needed to be every day. Nothing could be more obvious.

Arthur picked up his cell phone and dialed Elise. Within the first two minutes of their conversation she asked if she could crash at his place for the duration of the strike. He said yes. Elise thanked him profusely and then started to cry.

"Doctor Peters, the truth is," she began, "It's not just the stupid BART strike. I did something horrible, and I need to get out of here for a while."

"Oh?" Arthur responded. "What's happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. But my friends, the ones I've been staying with... hate me right now. Last night I got really drunk ... we were out at this club. It was awful. A fight started because of me... and, and, now his face is all beaten up. They're supposed to get married soon, and..."

Elise's voice trailed off into a series of blubbering gasps.

"Okay, okay, Elise. Calm down. It's okay. You can stay at the lab for a while, like I said. Let things blow over with your friends there. It makes sense during the strike anyway."

Elise continued to sob guiltily into her cell phone. Eventually she squeaked out a quiet: "Thank you."

"Do you need me to come pick you up? Or can you manage on the train?"

"I can manage. You don't have to do that."

"Well, as soon as you've caught a train, just send me a text at this number. It's my cell. Let me know when you'll arrive at the station here. I can come pick you up."

"Thanks, Doctor Peters... that's great."

They hung up. The sedate pace of Arthur's universe was accelerating once more.

Arthur's next call was to Doctor Yamamoto. His Japanese partner needed to be briefed on this development given its potentially unseemly optics. Trying to conceal it from him would only invite disaster, Arthur knew.

The ensuing phone conversation between the two doctors was in Japanese and barely ten minutes long. To Arthur's surprise, his eccentric colleague was unfazed by the idea that Elise would be sleeping in his living room for a while. Arthur felt so encouraged by this that he decided to tell him about the Consequence Game as well. At that point Doctor Yamamoto became positively enthusiastic, which was really saying something.

Doctor Yamamoto suggested his own involvement was critical to make such a treatment regime as effective as possible. In his view, strict round-the-clock supervision was exactly what Elise needed.

The dirty half of Doctor Peters' mind wanted to agree but something bothered him about the excitement in Doctor Yamamoto's voice. It sounded as though he had plans for Elise that Arthur knew nothing about.

After the two men hung up Arthur forced that concern aside. Instead he did a quick mental tally of the number of red cards Elise deserved; one for getting too drunk at the club, one for causing injury to her hosts, one for running away from the consequences of those errors, one for failing to find a more self-reliant way to weather the BART strike and lastly, just for good measure, probably one per day going forward just to account for his inconvenience in providing her room and board. She would start work Monday with a five-card deficit -- IF, that is, she decided to continue the game.

He wondered how he would break the news to Doctor Yamamoto if Elise said no.

Arthur spent the next two hours furiously cleaning his entire apartment. He laundered sheets and towels, unfolded the sofa bed and made it up with a feather-down comforter, washed the windows, cleaned the kitchen and the two bathrooms, shoved every stray personal effect into his bedroom closet and vacuumed everywhere.

He realized his sofa bed had never been used before. He could still recall the argument he and his ex-wife had had about whether to pay extra for its luxury mattress option. He had wanted a cheaper version since it was unlikely to be used often, but had lost that battle with her like so many others. Now three years later he was unfolding it for the first time as a reluctant bachelor. It seemed poetic justice that his ex-wife's predilection for expensive bedding was about to be enjoyed by a hot little intern.

"At least the money I spent will finally be appreciated," Arthur chuckled.

Back in San Francisco, Elise was packing her suitcases. She had decided it would be best to leave most of her clothes behind in order to minimize her footprint on Doctor Peters' personal living space. She sorted her warmest clothing into her big suitcase, which would stay at her friends' apartment. Outside the city genuine summer weather awaited her. Only her shorts, miniskirts, underwear, gym clothes, sleepwear, candystriper uniform elements and a few t-shirts went into the carry-on suitcase headed for Doctor Peters' place. She would carry all her toiletries and lotions in her backpack.

Once her bags were organized, Elise showered. After toweling off she slathered her skin with moisturizer from head to toe and pulled on a tiny string-back thong. Then she squeezed into her favorite cutoff jeans, a push-up bra and a small t-shirt with three-quarter sleeves and a long line of buttons descending from its wide neckline. She blow-dried her long auburn hair, put on delicate hoop earrings and stepped up onto some tall cork wedges. Subtle make-up around her eyes and a layer of shimmery lip-gloss completed her outfit.

Just as she was arranging her hair, the Model O chimed again. This time it brought on a smile, but nothing more.

With that, Elise bid her hung-over roommates goodbye, carried her backpack and suitcase downstairs, hailed a cab to the BART station and began her 40-minute ride to the East Bay. Doctor Peters confirmed by text that he would pick her up at the station nearest the lab at 3:30PM.

With only ten minutes to spare, Arthur threw his vacuum cleaner back into its storage cabinet and climbed into his eleven-year-old BMW 540i. All that cleaning had left him a sweaty mess. His sciatica was in total flare-up.

Elise, waiting for him under the curbside awning of the suburban BART station, waved with a beaming grin as his car pulled up. Arthur caught his breath at the sight of her. Her slender legs were entirely exposed, subtly gleaming between her steep cork wedges and cutoff jean shorts. The topmost buttons of her tight shirt appeared un-done, revealing a shadow between her small breasts that could only be the result of a push-up bra. Her navel peeked out amid two inches of bare midriff. With her long hair held back by nothing more than a pair of sunglasses, she looked adorable.

Arthur yanked on the BMW's parking brake and leaned across to open the passenger-side door.

"Hi!" Elise exclaimed.

Arthur climbed out to help load her bags into the trunk. Elise politely resisted and together they carried her two bags clumsily to the rear of his car. By the time Arthur got them loaded and the trunk closed, he and Elise were on the wrong side of each other. She squeezed by him, briefly pressing her little body against his ursine mass. He smiled awkwardly and apologized.

Elise lowered herself into the leather passenger seat of his car. As soon her door was closed she kicked off her wedge sandals, tucked one bare foot up under her opposite thigh and turned to face the driver's side. She leaned back against her door.

Arthur climbed behind the wheel. As they drove out into the direct sunlight, Elise slid her sunglasses down over her eyes. Arthur squinted. He willed himself not to glance at Elise's naked thighs or tiny denim shorts. Out of the corner of his eye he could tell she was watching him. She pulled her long hair forward over one shoulder and began playfully twirling the ends around her fingers.

"I talked to my mom on the way here," Elise announced.

Arthur felt his stomach instantly knot itself into a ball and climb up toward his throat. "You... you did?"

"Yeah, I told her how nice you're being."

"You really talked to her? About me?"

"Yeah. She sure asks lots of questions."

"What, um... what kind of questions?"

"Don't worry Doctor Peters," Elise said with a sly smile, "I remembered our deal. I didn't mention your divorce... or where you live."

"Oh..." Arthur said, feeling his stomach relax slightly. "Thanks."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, she was super grateful when she heard you were taking me in during the strike."

Arthur's head snapped around in surprise. "You told her you're staying with me?!"

"Sure. It made her so happy. She never liked the idea of me living in the City in the first place. She was like: 'Ooh, what a sweetie! Give him a great big kiss for me, okay?'"

Arthur brought the car to a halt at a red light. He stared at Elise, eyes wide with incredulity, and said: "She didn't say that really."

Elise pulled off her sunglasses. Her hazel eyes gazed at Arthur above a smile that became subtly mischievous. Wordlessly she pressed the release button on her seatbelt receiver. She leaned over the center armrest and whispered: "Yeah. She really did."

Then she planted a soft kiss right on Arthur's lips.

He was too stunned to move. His heart did a backflip and his bearded face turned as red as the stop light hanging above the car.

"That's from both of us," Elise purred.

Arthur was frozen. His vision flickered between reality and a time long ago when Sylvia, Elise's mom, had begged him to propose. Sylvia had kissed him like that... so many, many times during those years. A lump choked his throat. His eyes grew misty. Seconds slid by, unnoticed.

"It's green," Elise said.

Arthur awoke from his dream. Elise was all buckled into her seat again. She pointed through the windshield at the traffic signal, which was blazing green. Too abruptly Arthur stepped on the accelerator and released the clutch. The BMW's rear tires chirped and Elise's head bounced against the seatback.

"Sorry," Arthur mumbled. He was completely unmoored. The tenderness of Elise's kiss left a lingering buzz on his lips. His head was swimming.

Three blocks later they pulled up outside the laboratory garage's large commercial roll-up door. Arthur pressed a remote to open it. Inside, next to the spot in which he parked the BMW, there was something long and shark-shaped under a dusty car cover.

"What's under there?" Elise asked as they each extricated a bag from the sedan's trunk.

"Oh, just an old front-engined Porsche," Arthur replied as nonchalantly as he could. "It needs some work."

"Oh."

They entered his apartment through a connecting door. Arthur set Elise's suitcase down beside the unfolded sofa bed in his living room. She doffed her backpack and purse beside it. Arthur poured two glasses of ice water, handed one to Elise and then sat down on a kitchen barstool.

"Make yourself at home," he offered, trying to establish an air of normalcy. "There're some empty drawers in those built-ins if you want to unpack. And help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Later we can order-in for dinner. I, um, unfortunately don't cook too often."

"Thanks Doctor Peters," Elise said with a smile before taking a long sip from her ice water. "I really do appreciate this."

"It's fine, it's fine. Um... listen: I've been running around a lot today, so I'm just going to jump in the shower for a sec, okay? There's a remote for the TV over there and just, you know, help yourself to anything."

"Okay, thanks."

"I'll be right back."

Elise shooed him off toward the master bedroom with another big smile, telling him not to worry.

As soon as Arthur shut the door to his room he slumped against the wall and let out a long sigh, grateful for the privacy. He slid down the wall into a crouch. His eyelids drooped and his hands gathered in front of his bearded face. He could still taste Elise's flavored lip gloss.

Something about that moment in the car with her had made his penis fat with optimism. He was terrified to admit it, but he felt as though Elise had morphed somehow into a kind of mini-Sylvia; returned across decades of time to offer him a second chance.

"Damn," he muttered. It was either a blessing or a curse, he knew not which, but that one kiss had evaporated his contentedness and apathy. Year after year of his wasted adulthood replayed like a movie inside his mind. He felt as though he had been breathed upon by a ghost.

Elise unpacked her small supply of clothes and re-folded them into two empty drawers. She tucked her toiletries away in the half-bath off the living room. Then she kicked off her wedge shoes, hid her empty suitcase beneath the fold-out bed and curled up in the middle of its plush down comforter. It was the first bed she had been on since leaving home eight days ago.

Despite the room's bright lighting she was asleep within five minutes.

When Arthur returned from his shower, wearing dark jeans and an old Tommy Bahama vacation shirt, he found Elise dead asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he dimmed the lights halfway. Then he retrieved a beer from his fridge. He sat down at the kitchen bar and gazed across the room at her peaceful shape.