So as I sat, I wondered which of my men would try and pull off this kind of encounter. M? Not a chance. E? Perhaps. H? Without a doubt, but it's been years. S? Oh, that would be amazing. He has that kind of mind, and would know precisely just how hot I was getting, waiting. Wondering. Anticipating. Getting flushed.
I felt a breeze on my neck. The fan? Or his breath?
Still nothing.
Every sound seemed magnified, the scent of a clean hotel room pronounced. Could I smell cologne or was it in my mind?
I heard foil rip. Aha, I wasn't alone. A pop. Oh, yes, please, champagne. And clearly somebody who knew my weakness for bubbly. I wonder where he (she? wouldn't that be an odd surprise, weird where my mind goes...) had been, or had he come in that stealthily? My hand was caressed, then placed on a glass.
I sipped, feeling the bubbles, tasting the fineness of the wine. Definitely not M.
Now I could smell, ever so faintly, men's cologne. I shivered. I finished the glass and it was taken away. My foot was touched, taken, one shoe removed, then the other. A hand ran up my shin, over my knee and thigh, and slipped under my dress, checking. I wonder what would have happened then if he'd found tights and not a lacy band around my thigh. I flashed on something H had ordered me to do, 2 years ago. “grab on to the rails behind you, and don't let go, no matter what, or I will leave.”
I had been obedient then.
