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Review This Story || Author: Katherine English

Small Mercies

Part 2 Him

Part II

Him

I take your hand and lead you to the car, apparently all sense of
distraction at our earlier encounter erased. We walk with easy strides to
the door, and then you take my arm as we head outside. Our chariot awaits,
a new purchase with the signing bonus from my new company, a gleaming black
Mercedes, luxuriously appointed with a leather interior, something that
made your mouth water last night as I mentioned, oh so casually, what that
leather might feel like against certain elements of your anatomy, should
they come into direct, bare contact one with the other.

Always the gentleman, I open your door, and stare directly at the leg
briefly exposed to my view as you quietly seat yourself in the car, your
hands running along the seat beside you. Knowing your weakness for the
touch of leather on your skin, in fact the touch of any material on your
skin if properly applied, I smile to myself, knowing that such information
may yet come into greater use in our future.

I walk to my side of the car, proud of the woman I take with me tonight. I
smile wider at my choice of words, since taking you is ultimately my goal
for the evening, to see your body shake and tremble as your control
crumbles and the remnants are mine to devour. Voracious is a word you used
to describe me once, then I reminded you that my appetite knows
satisfaction in only one dish, at which point you laughed, a sound quickly
turning to a groan as my...but such a reminiscence is not yet ready to be
savored.

We have an appointment to keep.

I get in, starting the car and we pull from the driveway. I look over at
you as we go along, and we smile at each other, until I raise my finger to
my lips and lick it gently, and your eyes flutter as your hands move
involuntarily to the front of your skirt.

Then you feel my hand grasping your wrists as I speak.

"Not now. Wait."

You groan at this, and I see your knuckles whiten slightly as you grip the
seat next to you, wanting to do more, knowing that yes, indeed, waiting is
best.

We arrive, and the gathering is buzzing with the predictable smattering of
wit nearly smothered by the obvious posturing of my colleagues. Hired as a
creative director for their public relations and communications department,
I know that this will never be a world entirely to our liking. But the
contacts made here will serve us both well, as the draft of your first
novel is nearly complete, and the work has begun on our collaboration on an
anthology sure to be a bestseller. We mingle, two creative minds veiled in
our proper attire and polite conversation, as dinner is soon served.

One thing that can be said for this company is that it is not entirely
bound by traditional dining experiences, as each couple is seated in fairly
private booths around the restaurant hired for the evening. They wish their
new employees to feel welcome, but do realize that allowing them to be
somewhat separated from each other will make them more comfortable. There
will be times to meet with clients at mass gatherings of nearly anonymous
people, but now is not such a time.

We sit side by side, perusing the menu, as I lean in to gently place my
lips at your neck. You blush, muttering something about the people around
us, but you know you enjoy it completely. Regardless, no one except the
waiter can really see us in this little nook. Then you feel my hand reach
for a button on your skirt. You place your hand over mine, saying no, but I
look in your eyes.

"Trust me. The tablecloth reaches almost to the floor...no one is looking,
and they could be standing right there, you could be naked from the waist
down, and no one would be the wiser."

You relax, but only for a moment, as the first two buttons from your knee
are undone, and my hand does not stop its work. Soon they are undone to
just above the bottom of your panties, and your breathing has quickened
considerably.

I see our waiter a few tables away yet, taking orders for wine, and stop,
but my hand is cupping against the front of your panty clad entrance, and
my middle finger slides down and presses them in gently. Then our waiter is
here, and I remove my finger, but my hand stays in place. I order a bottle
of Zinfandel, knowing your penchant for a Mexican vintage of slightly more
intoxicating properties, but also aware of the possibilities yet to come.

You glance around nervously, but your legs, instead of closing against my
ministrations, have somehow opened wider, and I slip the tip of my finger
around your panties, as at last they touch the heat that I have been
feeling for the last few minutes.

You gasp, quietly, as I slip into your wetness, and begin to gently stroke
you. Another finger slips within, and you grind against them a little.

I whisper caution, as we don't wish to cause any undue disturbance here. I
look at you, my right hand casually raising a glass of water to my lips,
talking to you all the while, as you struggle to maintain a statement of
normalcy. But you nearly fail, as the pressure of my fingers has stoked
once again the barely banked fires of passion that we crafted before
leaving the house for this evening. The wine arrives, and the waiter hands
me the cork for my approval. I take it in my left hand, extricating myself
from your panties, and sniff it. My fingers grasp it, and the scent of your
moisture is wafted toward my nostrils along with the product of the
vineyards.

"Excellent," I declare, and he pours 2 glasses, replacing the cork in the
bottle as he goes.

I sip from my glass, and you do from yours, until I take the cork from the
bottle in my left hand and slide it below the table again. You look at me,
eyes widening as you begin to suspect my next destination. I nod gently,
and your legs open beneath my touch again.

You know I have no interest in placing anything but me inside you, but that
doesn't mean I won't tease you at all. The cork moves inside the nearly
non-existent panties, as I slide it against your lips, now nearly flooded
with your anticipation. Up, and down, you feel it rasping against you, then
it is removed, and I place it under my nose again.

"Delicious. A heady bouquet that could overpower, but yet remains
intriguingly subtle."

You smile, and then our dinner arrives soon after. Throughout the meal, I
look at you, and you glance around nervously from time to time. Without my
touch, you have recalled your state, and the others around us. I decide to
distract you once more. I take from my plate a slice of chicken breast,
and, taking it from my fork, it begins its journey once again to your
waiting center. You look at me, a half smile on your face, knowing that
such as small piece of meat will barely register sensation, but you still
breathe in sharply as it brushes your lips again, as my fingers coax your
moisture along it.

I raise it again, and, placing it on my fork, I stare at it, noting the
glistening "sauce" that now coats its surface. I take a bite, and close my
eyes, savoring the taste of you mingling with the chicken in my mouth. I
offer it to you, and your mouth opens, but then I smile, and finish the
last of it myself. I tell you to button your skirt again, as it is about
time for us to leave.

You do, but leave a couple buttons undone...our dinner has left you a bit
more daring than when we arrived, and so a bit more of you will be obvious
to anyone noting our departure. And they will, as you and I together make a
rather striking couple, one in which onlookers are aware of our shared
passions and joys. You take my arm, and we stand for a moment as you adjust
your breathing, as the teasing through dinner has left you a bit breathless
with both the efforts and the anticipation of what yet is to come.

We drive home, our hands locked together, and you seek to bring our joined
hands to the front of you again, but I shake my head, pulling you away
again, and you moan, nearly whining, until I remind you that the waiting
draws the beauty out of passion.



Review This Story || Author: Katherine English
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