It was another night of firsts.
For one, I realised that because I was heading to Mel’s this was the second working day in a row that I was leaving the office in nothing but a coat and boots! At least this time nobody tried to drag me out for a drink first.
When I got there she buzzed me in and I went up to the seventh floor, stood outside her door, took my coat off and knocked. At least I was getting used to waiting outside in the nude by now, but it still felt like an age before she opened the door and let me in. I’m hyper-sensitive to every sound from the lift shaft or stairs while I’m waiting.
Mel was wearing a black cat suit that almost looked like it had been painted on, so sculpted was her figure, and somehow I felt incredibly frumpy as I followed her into her apartment, put my coat and back to one side and awkwardly took my boots off. It was only when I made it inside and stood opposite Mel, feeling very powerless in my nakedness, that I realised she was wearing a pair of ankle boots. They were black and polished with about an inch of tiny stiletto heel and she absolutely towered above me.
She still seemed annoyed at me and we went straight into the workout, although instead of Mel sitting cross-legged beside me as usual she pulled up a chair and directed me from on high. It made me feel even vulnerable as she looked down at me, occasionally correcting my position, as she did, with a nudge of a hip here and a tuck of the pelvis there. Every piece of minimal contact felt sent a jolt of electricity through my body and I realised just how much I craved being touched by another human being. Yet Mel was being very meagre with her caresses.
And then came the second first (if you know what I mean).
I was lying on the floor, stretched out with my arms above me and my toes pointing, in a futile effort to reduce the inevitable DOMS (which apparently is delayed onset muscle soreness) that I’d be feeling tomorrow. And as Mel loomed over me, her knees spread wide with her elbows on top and her chin resting on clenched fists, all I could think about was how much I really wanted her to touch my body, as she had so many weeks before.
Instead she said something like: “You haven’t progressed as quickly as I’d hoped.” Which was a blow to my moral to say the least.
Yet I had a one-track mind, and because tension had been the thing that had triggered her close attention last time I said: “Sorry, I just feel like I’ve got a lot of tension in my body this week.”
She looked me up and down, and I really couldn’t tell what she thought of my body, which, it has to be said, will always pale in comparison to her own figure (as well as being distinctly pale in contrast to her beautiful brown), but I also wouldn’t care if she’d just give me what I wanted.
Instead she asked: “Do you masturbate?”
I was a bit flabbergasted by the question, because it’s just not something we English talk about. Instinctively I wanted to say “no”, but we’d both know it was a lie, which begged the question as to why she’d asked. So I just nodded and said “Sometimes”, which I hoped hid just how often I did masturbate.
I was hoping that would be the final trigger for her to do something, but she just said: “Show me.”
I think if I wasn’t flat on the floor already I might have collapsed, because I just didn’t know what to do. I said “What, now?” and she just said “Yes” and continued to stare down at me.
I mumbled something about “well, I,” and drew one hand down from above my head, slid it over my pelvis and between my legs and I can’t really tell if it felt pleasurable because I’ve never been so self-conscious.
I stopped after a token rub and Mel said “Is that it?”
I said: “If I’m in the mood then I don’t need much else.” I could feel my cheeks burning.
She said: “Then carry on, because I can tell from looking at you that you’re in the mood.”
I asked: “Now?” again, and she just said “Yes” and stared at me.
And that in itself was enough of a turn-on to get past the embarrassment. I slipped my fingers back between my legs, and this time it definitely was pleasurable. It really doesn’t take me much and I think I have a very easily accessible clitoris (sorry if that’s too much detail), and without realising it my breathing was already much faster.
Mel just sat there with her head on her chin looking down at me, watching my hands, and usually I’d have my eyes closed, maybe imagining that someone, or more than one person, was watching me, but this time I didn’t have to imagine it.
I put my other hand on my breast and squeezed, and tried to imagine it was Mel’s hands on me rather than my own. But even having her eyes on me were enough and I think it took me maybe two to three minutes before I felt the orgasm coming.
My legs were half parted now, no longer stretched with toes pointing, and I was rubbing faster, stroking my breast with my free hand, and all the while watching Mel as she stared at the hand between my legs, watching my hips pulsing gently against the floor.
I came a few seconds later, and as it happened I couldn’t help but close my eyes, but I knew she was still watching me and that made it even more intense. Then, as it faded, embarrassment took over, and opening my eyes now seemed terrifying, because I feared looking up and seeing a look of disdain at how I had subjugated and demeaned myself so easily.
Finally I did open my eyes and there was even the hint of a smile on Mel’s lips, and I couldn’t have been happier, despite my undignified position on the floor, still breathing deeply and with my legs slightly parted.
“Feel better?” she asked. I nodded.
“Good,” she said, “But just like your Pilates, and your running, I think we’ve got things to work on.”
Now that I’m home I’m still wondering what she meant and what might happen next week.