They had wandered, leisurely, in from the shiny wet streets of New Orleans and ensconced themselves in the front window table. The zebra-skinned bench was just big enough for two and they sat so close to one another, that it was difficult in the dim light to see where she ended and he began.
Dinner had been at one of those classic restaurants that required a degree of respect and their clothes reflected it: he was in a classic button-down oxford with a red stripe and khaki pants and she wore a halter sundress with a floral pattern that grazed the top of her knees in the front, but hung down to her sandals in the back.
As they waited for the waiter to take their drink order, he leaned down to kiss the bare shoulder closest to him and felt her damp skin react under his lips. Her left hand brushed against his thigh, and her eyes smiled up at him.
A polite, softly spoken "Good evening" from the tuxedoed waiter broke the affection only long enough to order an Old Fashioned for him and a Sidecar for her.
He brought his right hand up to graze the spot he had kissed, continuing to trail his fingers up her neck and then running them through her hair which fell in waves on her shoulder. His eyes looked intently back into hers.
While the fingers of her left hand continued to trace circles on his thigh, her right hand sought his left and she brought it to her mouth to press her lips against his palm before their fingers clasped and unclasped, caressed, and entwined, as if dancing.
The bar was not quiet. Other tables were full and the bar was lively. Edith Piaf was singing "je ne regrette rien" overhead. There was the general clinking of glasses and rattling of ice. Because they were in the window there was the occasional noise from the street.
They heard none of this. All she could hear was the sound her red nails made as they traced patterns on his khakis. He was only interested in the sound her lips had made on his hand, the soft puff of air as her skin had separated from his.
The bar is famous for its decor, for its lavish attention to detail, for its clientele. Locals, celebrities, and tourists rub elbows in the opulent setting enjoying the conversation and strong drinks of the head bartender, himself a celebrity in his own right. It is a place to see and be seen.
They saw none of this. All he could see were her eyes, dark brown pools framed by long, thick lashes that reflected his face when they caught the light. She was only interested in staring back at him, memorizing the lines of his forehead, nose, and lips.
Drinks had appeared in front of them, but none of their hands were free, or willing, to reach for them. She licked her upper lip as her eyes passed over his mouth, indicating a thirst that could not be satisfied by the liquid in her glass.
She tilted her head slightly as fingers wrapped around her hair and pulled gently so that when he lowered his head to her, his mouth was just below her ear.
"What do you want?" he whispered before placing a soft, small kiss on her neck, followed by one on her ear.
"For you to do that again."
He obliged and let his lips linger a little longer against her skin. Her fingers pressed firmer against his thigh and their clasped hands stilled for a moment.
She turned her head so that her cheek met his, relishing the warmth of his skin against hers. And she slowly pulled back so that as she continued to turn her head, her lips grazed his cheek and finally found what she sought.
Kissing first the corner of his mouth, almost chastely, before the hand in her hair took control and moved her mouth fully over his. Two sets of lips parted and pressed as one. Slowly, firmly, they explored and tasted. A tongue would lick a lower lip to be followed by another reaching out to meet it.
That slow burn was beginning to ache.
She slid her hand up his thigh.
He lowered his hand from her head to her waist and pulled her closer.
Her lips pulled away, to breathe, and she trailed kisses up his cheek to his ear, breathless, wanting.
"Do you think..." kiss
"they'll mind..." an earlobe sucked into her mouth
"if we ask for a go-cup?"
She felt him smile against her neck and her body flushed with excitement.
The waiter was not surprised they asked for their drinks to go.
They stepped out into the liquid air that is New Orleans in summer, one hand holding a drink, the other holding a hand. The tension of wanting to walk fast versus the wanting to walk slow to savor their time made them smile at each other.
She stopped to sip from her drink and he took the opportunity to gently push her against a brick wall. When she lowered the cup, his mouth replaced it and his body pressed against her. She held her drink away from them but wrapped her other arm around his neck and fisted her fingers into his hair, pulling him to her. She liked the weight of his body on her and she moaned against his mouth. His empty hand splayed along her hip, fingers reaching between her and the wall to find the flesh of her ass.
There were no more questions. They walked fast, moving away from the noise and light of the tourist-filled streets of the French Quarter. The sound of her heeled sandals on the flagstones grew louder as the other sounds faded and he looked down to catch sight of her slim ankles and painted toes trying to keep up with his long strides. He smirked and the image in his head of those ankles on his shoulders while his teeth grazed a painted toe made the blood rush to his cock and he groaned.
"We're almost there, love," she whispered eagerly as they reached the corner and she turned right towards the hotel. She gasped and stumbled slightly when he surprised her by pulling her to the left and across the street, away from the bedroom where she knew her new lingerie and their favorite toys were laid out.
"Where are we going?"
"I have a surprise for you, kitten," and he stopped and looked down at her, his hands on her shoulders, thumbs rubbing up her clavicle.
"Do you trust me?" he asked, and his eyes searched her for resistance or questioning that her words might try to hide.
"Of course," she said, "but I was so hoping we were heading back." her voice soft and her hands wanting as she ran one up his chest and the other down his torso, over the zipper of his pants and around to his hip.
"I know, but I promise you," and he tilted her chin up as he brought his lips to her left ear, "great pleasure."
He nipped at her earlobe and kissed the side of her neck as his hands moved forward to caress her breasts, his thumbs pushing over her nipples before he pulled away, smiled, and took her hand.
"Shall we?"
Even if she wanted, she could never say no. She loved him and trusted him like no other. Since they had met (a story for another time) they had been inseparable and those who knew them could not imagine a time when the two of them weren't together. In social situations, they exuded class and kindness and were pillars of their community. Both had experienced personal tragedies that had played out publicly and they had met, as if the universe was granting them both life preservers, shortly thereafter. In private, however, their lust for each other was insatiable. The electricity that flowed between them was undeniable and they had left more than one party or event early because she had given him a look or he had flashed a smile and their need to touch, to taste, to be consumed by the other took precedent over any social norm.
They walked another block and he stopped them in front of a dark blue door with a gold knocker in the shape of a female bowsprit above a peephole. He knocked twice and smiled at her.
"I love you," he said, "and we can leave whenever you want."
"Where are we? What is this place?"
Before he could answer her, the door was opened by a couple who smiled at them both and welcomed them inside. The man was wearing a smoking jacket the same color as the door. The woman was wearing a silk robe, tied at the waist and the same deep blue.
"Welcome to Le Ciel. We're so glad you made a reservation and are joining us tonight. The club has three floors. On this floor you'll find a locker room to leave your belongings and get a robe. There's a staircase in the back that goes up to the second floor. There you'll find our bar and entertainment, as well as some private rooms. The third floor is our playroom where you're welcome to use our equipment or any of your own. You'll find condoms, cleaning cloths, and restrooms on all levels. If you have any questions at all, I'm Marco, and Paulette and I are always available."
They were shepherded into the hallway and saw that there were signs indicating the locker room. Marco and Paulette left them there and made their way towards the staircase leading upwards. Murmurs of music and talking floated down from above them.
"I booked us when we decided to make the trip here. We've been talking about this fantasy for some time, and I thought it was time we try it out. How are you feeling?"
His eyes didn't leave hers. He wanted this, but he'd walk out right now and take her back to the hotel if she asked. He knew she was unsure, but he also knew that her sexual desires and drive belied her professional and modest outward appearance. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer.
