And then Malcolm’s hand moved back up her side up to her shoulder It pushed down her arm, sliding the crop top with it. Alison felt the air on her chest, and the thrill of being exposed, even in this private booth. She shuddered. Malcolm’s hand continued pushing at the material and she lifted her hand obligingly as he pushed the sleeve off. Then, with his other hand, he pulled at the other sleeve, tugging it downwards, all the time teasing at her lips with his tongue. He felt her tremble in the seat and he broke off the kiss, pulling at the sleeve of the crop top as he sat back. Alison felt it slide over her hand and Malcolm crumped it up beside him, out of her reach.
She tried breath steadily, slowly, but she could see her bare chest shuddering. She longed for something to cover herself, but she longed to be touched too. She jumped as Malcom replaced his hand on her thigh. He took another sip of his drink.
“Do you think…” Alison was surprised she managed to even start a sentence, “Do you think you’ve got many more business trips lined up? Maybe I could recommend some stories for you.”
Malcolm smiled. “Next month, I think,” he said. And then, as if absent minded, he slid his hand along the top of Alison’s thigh and over her waist. The fold of fabric fell to one side. He stroked the other thigh, pushing the last piece of her skirt away as his hand moved. She trembled again, willing him to move his hand between her legs, although she might explode even without that touch.
“My favourite party outfit was rather minimal, but very cheap, and always popular.”
“By the time we returned home I was never clothed; always bound. Now it was my duty to please her until she could take no more.”
“I fantasised about having the courage to walk naked into a room full of people. I played it out in front of the mirror over and again. I just needed someone to give me the push that would make it happen.”
“It seemed like a good place for a dare, but I’d forgotten about the security monitors.”
I turned around, and found myself, rarely for someone of my small height, even in my two inch heels, looking straight into the eyes of Natasha.
Natasha was petite, she was blonde, and she was smiling and offering me her hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Natasha,” she said, her eyes fixed on me all the time.
“I’m Rupa. Pleased to meet you,” I replied, taking her delicate hand in my own and trying to appear confident as I shook it.
“Oooh, I love your English accent,” Natasha said with a smile. I had heard that plenty of times tonight already and I wondered if Americans were taught to say that at school.
“I love your, er,” I said as I looked her up and down, desperate to pay a compliment in return. “I love your tattoos.” Natasha had a magnificent set of multi-coloured tattoos: on her arms, on her shoulders, on the tops of her feet and her ankles, spiralling up her leg and thigh and across her stomach. Oh yes, now I remember the important part of describing Natasha, and why I was surprised, or even shocked, at meeting her. I’m able to describe Natasha’s tattoos in such detail because Natasha was entirely naked.
“When a man bets you that he earns more than you, make sure you really make him pay for being wrong.”