Authors: Tara Crescent
His expression was rapt as I slowly came down. “I could feel every little pulse of that pussy, every twitch of your muscles…” His cock moved inside me, pushing, insistent.
“Again,” he said, as he held his fingers to his mouth.
I didn’t protest. I was his to command; he would decide when I was done.
I screamed my way to another orgasm; Patrick watched with pleasure as he pounded into me. He finally came after my third orgasm, groaning as he erupted. We lay silently next to each other after.
Patrick:
I lay awake in the dark as she slept next to me.
I’d been more or less honest with her.
Everything I said about what I wanted was true. But there was a lot I left out, about Andrea and our relationship. She had said that there hadn’t been much to her relationship apart from the dominance and the submission, and that was as effective a way to summarize the disaster that was Andrea and me as any. Except her relationship had ended after eight months. Mine had lasted eight years.
I liked Lisa. I’d enjoyed dinner with her immensely; she was easy to talk to, funny, intelligent and entertaining. She swore like a sailor and blushed like a little girl.
I would tell her everything eventually; I had to. But we were just pushing the two-week mark; and it was too early for the major bombshells.
I finally fell asleep, but my dreams were filled with a sense of unease.
Lisa:
Monday morning, and I woke up with a smile on my lips, and soreness in my pussy. I’d been fucked more times than I could count that weekend; I’d been tied up and taken; I’d been caressed and cuddled and cherished.
Hard and soft. Pleasure and pain. Patrick played the contrasts like a pro; and I had been reduced, time after time after time to a ball of pulsing, quivering need, until he granted me release.
We showered together Monday morning; he had spent most of the weekend at my place. His hands ran over my body, soaping me, lathering me,
slowly building up longing within me until I couldn’t take it anymore. “Come for me,” he said finally, his eyes filled with warmth and pleasure, when I was overwhelmed with fevered need, and I exploded into his fingers and his mouth on cue.
“What are you doing Thursday evening?” he asked me as we ate breakfast. I’d darted out sometime over the weekend, and stocked up my normally empty refrigerator. He made the coffee while I rushed around making pancakes. We were so domestic, the two of us.
I reached for the maple syrup. “Not sure, why?” I asked.
“There’s a reception at the AGO. A donor thing. Want to go?”
“You get invited to donor receptions at the art gallery?” How much money did surgeons make, anyway? Not enough to donate to the AGO, I would have guessed. Clearly, I had been wrong.
“Sort of. My parents are donors; I’ve been told to go represent them.” Slight resignation in his voice. “It’ll be filled with boring and rich people.”
“You make it sound delightful,” I laughed. “I might work the room, trolling for rich clients,” I warned. Rich bored people were the bread-and-butter of the designer trade.
“As long as clients are all you are trolling for, I’m good with that,” he grinned. His eyes moved down my body, openly checking me out. I took a sharp, inward breath as pleasure filled me.
“Patrick,” I protested, but only faintly. My pussy flooded as he watched me; like a predator watching its prey. “I have to go to work.”
His phone beeped; he looked at it and made a face. “Me too, and I have to leave right away,” he said with regret. “I’d like to see you mid-week, but it’s a bit of a crazy week. See you Thursday?”
He leaned forward to kiss me good-bye, and he left.
***
He called Monday afternoon. “I forgot to tell you,” his voice was a sexy drawl on the phone. I’d reached the office; and in a frenzy of productivity, I’d caught up on billing and invoicing. Natalie and I were tearing into the new sample packs that the textile makers sent us, trying to see if there was anything that caught our eyes.
“The AGO thing is black-tie,” he continued. A pause. “Do you need to go shopping?”
I laughed. “Are you offering to take me to a mall?” I teased.
I could hear his grimace on the other end of the line. “I’m going to screw this up no matter how I say it, basically, but I’m wondering if it would be helpful if I bought you something to wear…”
I stiffened slightly. “What the heck, Patrick?” I asked.
He sighed. “Can we start with the premise that I don’t mean to offend?”
“Okay,” I said carefully.
“Good.” I heard the crispness back in his voice. “It’s black-tie. I’ve no idea if you have something suitable to wear. I’d love for you to go with me, but I don’t want to cause any financial hardship.”
I breathed out. It made sense when he put it that way, but I couldn’t help feeling offended. “You have some weird issues about money,” I said, doodling on a pad of paper.
He laughed, a humourless sound. “You have no idea, baby,” he said.
“I’m good about the dress,” I replied, in answer to his earlier question.
“Okay,” he said. His tone changed. “I’m going to buy you some lingerie,” he said, his voice a growl now, a growl that set my heart racing. “That’s not up for negotiation.”
“Okay,” I whispered. I clutched the pencil in my hand, as arousal snaked through me at his tone.
“I want you to wear it to the AGO,” he ordered.
“Okay,” I said again, my voice compliant.
I could hear his smile. “You are such a good girl, Lisa,” he said, warmth and pleasure in his voice. “See you Thursday.”
***
I called Mandy as soon as Patrick hung up. “Go shopping with me,” I told her.
“Tell me more,” she replied. I tended to avoid shopping like the plague.
“Patrick invited me to a donor reception at the AGO, it’s black tie, I need a dress,” I said.
“Ooh, he’s taking you out in public,” she said. “Sounds like it’s getting serious.” Her voice was gleeful.
I didn’t comment. It wasn’t like that thought hadn’t occurred to me, but I didn’t want to spend a lot of time thinking about it; it was better to let things unfold as they would; it was too early for expectations.
“Wednesday evening?” I asked. I was leaving finding the right dress to the last minute, but if I was supposed to wear the lingerie he was getting me, I needed to make sure the dress would work with the lingerie.
We agreed to meet at the store.
Lisa:
Natalie, my assistant had a parcel in her hands when I came in Wednesday morning.
“More sample books?” I asked her.
“Don’t think so,” she replied, grinning knowingly, handing it to me. I checked the sender information. Patrick.
“Umm,” I blushed, “I’ll open it in my office.”
I fled to the retreat of my office and shut the door; her giggles following me the entire way. Once safely there, I eyed the parcel with more than a hint of curiosity.
I opened the FedEx box, took out the gift box underneath. I gasped when I saw it; the gift box bore the name of a French lingerie company that only lingerie fetishists like myself would have heard about. They didn’t advertise; they mailed out a catalog once a season to a very select group of clients, and all their sales came through that channel. No internet site; no Twitter feed; no Facebook page. But they made the most beautiful lingerie in the world; they used the softest of silks and satins, the finest of lace, and each piece was designed to make you look like the most beautiful creature in the world. I’d tried to get on the catalogue list for many years, but I’d tried in vain. I had no idea how Patrick even knew of the existence of this company.
My hands were shaking as I opened the box, took out a red confection of lace and silk and rings and ribbons that was more magical than any garment had a right to be. My breath caught at the sheer beauty of the pieces.
There was a card in the box; I opened it. It was from Patrick, a brief note.
“Wear this for me.”
I giggled a little, part excitement, part nervous tension. I could guess how much this thing cost, and it was probably more than one of my mortgage payments. I didn’t like how much money he was spending on me; the examination room set up, the fucking machine, and now the lingerie. He was obviously wealthy, but this was getting a bit ridiculous.
I pulled out my phone and called him. He picked up on the first ring. “Lisa,” he said, his voice a caress.
“I got your lingerie,” I told him. “You are very unexpected.”
He laughed, more than the words warranted.
“Okay,” I said, “I’m curious. Spill. Guys don’t know anything about lingerie. What’s the deal?” I was smiling as I spoke, my fingers caressing the fabric of the panties, imagining the look in his eyes when I wore them for him.
He laughed again. “You’ve got me,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. My insides clenched, hearing the timbre of his voice. When I first met Patrick, I found him attractive; I definitely wanted to
sleep with him. But the more I hung out with him, the more potent and dangerous the appeal. At this point, he was utterly beyond my capability to resist.
“My friend Alison helped me pick it out,” he said.
Whoa. He had a female friend pick out lingerie for me. I tried not to be offended by that; tried not to be jealous about this mysterious woman that he entrusted with this intimate task.
My discomfort must have come through in my silence, because he spoke again, and his voice was more careful. “To clarify, Alison is happily married to one of my best friends. Also, she’s a bit of a lingerie freak, and I didn’t have the faintest idea of what to buy.”
I was soothed. “She has very good taste,” I said. “Also, this thing probably cost more than a mortgage payment. Can we talk about that?” I continued.
He was silent for a bit. “No,” he said finally. “I’m not going broke doing this. Beyond that, you are going to have to let me spend my money the way I want.”
I exhaled; frustrated. “Patrick, this is ridiculous, you can’t spend this kind of money on me…”
His voice was level. “I want to see you in this. Are you denying me that?”
“No,” I whispered. I wanted this too; I wanted to see the heat rise in his eyes as he looked at me in the confection of an outfit that he had bought me. I wanted to see his hands reach towards me as my underwear came into view; something I wore only for his pleasure.
He could hear my breathing change. “Good,” he said, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “I’ll pick you up at 6pm tomorrow evening, at your place. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” I whispered again, as I gazed at the phone.
***
The confection in the box separated to be four separate pieces; a silky bra that pushed my breasts up and out, a pair of panties, a garter belt and lace stockings that came up to mid-thigh. Everything was tied together with ribbons; pulling on them would steadily reveal more and more of what was underneath. I was a gift wrapped up for Patrick to open.
Mandy’s eyes widened in the dressing room of the very upscale department store we were in. She laughed at me. “I like your guy’s taste in lingerie,” she drawled. “You look very
fuckable.”
“Thanks, I think,” I said wryly.
We had both wandered through the store, and grabbed anything that caught our eyes. I was a designer. I didn’t like to shop, but I had a good eye for proportion and colour. Mandy was there to ground me, to make sure I didn’t get too carried away. “Not too much Lady Gaga,” she giggled, as I tried on one dress after the other.
“So, spill. How are things with the two of you?” She handed me a dress to try on; a sleek column of understated bronze, close fitting around the bodice, but flaring out into a skirt that twinkled and glittered discreetly as I moved.
“Hmm, what do you think?” I asked her about the dress, ignoring the bit about Patrick for the moment.
“Possibly,” she replied. “Here, try this on, your guy seems to like red.” She handed me a red dress of the softest silk, and I stepped into it and caught my breath.
“I’m pretty sure this is the dress,” I said. I looked at the price tag and winced slightly. I tried on some of the other dresses, but my gaze kept coming back to this one.
“Buy the damn dress,” Mandy said to me finally, impatiently. “Your business is doing well, isn’t it?”
I nodded. It felt strange to spend a lot of money on a dress. For the longest time, establishing my business had been my priority, almost everything else falling by the wayside. Shopping for a pretty dress to go out with a gorgeous guy was a fun part of my life that I’d missed.
“Then treat yourself for a change,” she said.
I grinned. “Done,” I announced. “Now let’s go grab a drink, and decide what I’m going to do with my hair.”
Patrick:
She was a vision.
I balled my hands into fists; if I didn’t, I was going to reach for her, and mess up her hair or makeup or something. Women got cranky about shit like that.
She twirled for me. “What do you think?” she asked. Oh, that voice of hers. I wanted to take her back to her bedroom and fuck the living daylights out of her; AGO reception be damned.
“That if we don’t get out of here in the next five seconds, I’m going to fuck you senseless,” I replied.
She laughed, but she had flushed, and I could see the lust in her eyes. “After the reception?” she said hopefully.
I grinned. “Maybe after, maybe during. I know a couple of secluded corners at the AGO.”
“Patrick,” she yelped, shocked, as I laughed at her, watching the colour rise on her face. She blushed like a little girl; it was one of the things I found adorable about her.
“Come on, baby, let’s go,” I said, holding out my hand. She was glorious, and I was seriously infatuated.
***
The AGO did a ton of fundraising parties through the year. Some of them got crazy crowded. Not this one. This was for the donors that gave hundreds of thousands of dollars; the kind who got galleries named after them. There were fewer than a hundred people at the party, and all the AGO bigwigs had shown up to schmooze as well.
“Matthew,” I greeted the director.
“Patrick,” he said, “so good to see you, how have you been?”
I shrugged. “Can’t complain,” I said. “Matthew, this is Lisa Preston.” I held her hand in mine; our fingers were laced together.
“Ms. Preston, good to meet you,” Matthew said cordially. He started to say something else, but then an old, familiar movement caught my eye, and I swore inwardly. Crap. Andrea. I hadn’t thought about it, but it was not surprising she would be here; her father owned half of bloody Toronto.
“Patrick,” she came towards me, all grace and cool elegance.
Fucking Andrea.
***
Lisa:
She was perfect, the woman who greeted Patrick. She was tall; her hair flowed in red, cascading waves off her face, and she had the body of a Grecian goddess. I felt completely inadequate.
“Andrea,” Patrick greeted her. “It’s good to see you.” His voice was expressionless.
“Patrick,” she said. “Always a pleasure.” The words were a pleasantry, but her voice betrayed her. This was more than simple courtesy; she was genuinely happy to see Patrick. I moved away slightly, to try to give them their space, but his grip on my hand tightened.
“We haven’t met,” the Grecian goddess turned to me and bestowed a cool smile on me. It didn’t reach her eyes.
“This is Lisa,” Patrick introduced us. “Lisa, this is my ex-wife, Andrea.”
The pain shot through me, hot and fierce and unexpected. He’d been married to this vision? I felt like a teenager again, ugly and awkward.
“Good to meet you,” she said, smiling. For some reason, it felt like she was baring her teeth at me instead. I mumbled something back, something polite.
“We just got here, Andrea, we are going to find a drink,” Patrick said firmly. “See you later?” He didn’t wait for an answer, a slight tug of his hand, and I followed him to the bar.
***
“She’s beautiful,” I said. I was trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. Seeing her had brought all the normally hidden insecurity out to the fore. I wondered what I was doing, letting myself enter this thing with Patrick.
“Is she?” His voice was indifferent. He looked at me, handed me a glass of red wine. “I did want to fuck you earlier,” he said, his voice softening, “but I should have also told you that you look incredible.”
“Do I?” I couldn’t keep the hated self-doubt out of my voice.
He raised his eyebrow at my tone; pulled me towards him so that I was pressed up against his side. “Lisa,” he said firmly. “I’m here with the woman I want to be with. Okay?” His eyes were on me, steady and warm, and I nodded, my heart cracking a little, pleasure filling me.
“How long were you married?” I asked. I realized I didn’t know anything about him.
He sighed. “Eight years,” he said tonelessly.
Eight years. My longest relationship had been eight months. If I could even call it a relationship.
“Wow,” was all I said.
The mood had turned pensive between us; I just stood there, sipping my wine in silence. Finally, he sighed. “This is not really what I wanted tonight to be,” he said. He grinned, though I could see that it took effort. “I was supposed to watch you troll for rich clients; I know most of the room, who can I introduce you to?”
I laughed. “Do you actually know most of the room?” I asked him. There was a story there, but I didn’t want to know it. I was done with revelations for the night; meeting his ex-wife had shaken my confidence.
He nodded wryly. “If you play your cards right, some of them might even tell you stories of things I did when I was a toddler,” he said, lips twitching. “Senator Norton, for example, will tell you I peed on his lap. It happened when I was two. I’m still hearing about it.”
I laughed again, my mood lighter. “In that case, let’s find the Senator, I want to hear this story.”