I smiled back and chuckled to myself. I knew she hated heels. Only she could find a way to make flip flops work in silk at a formal party. I made my way slowly over to her, pausing to speak to someone now and then. Her eyes never left me. I was dressed in black Hugo Boss, her favorite. My hair was loose, also her favorite with a bit of stubble just to tease her. "I see you've made acquaintances, Alisandrea," I said as I walked up behind her. I casually placed my hand on her shoulder and greeted the few men and women standing around. As they continued the conversation I slid my hand down her arm, raising goose bumps. I let my hand travel down her bare back and skim down her left buttock. No underwear, good. The silk was soft but the woman underneath it was warm, alive and ready. I could smell her arousal. It was a particular scent to her skin, a certain heat that emanated from her body. Three months of fucking each other relentlessly will let you discover the subtle nuances of each. Her friends giggled over meaningless chat-room antics, she said nothing, they would not understand, she did not understand, not fully, not enough to explain it, but she felt it, felt his influence, that deep calm voice that once a week made everything worthwhile.She had expected sex, feverish fingering whilst typing, or the phone to her ear, one shoulder holding it whilst she moaned and touched, pinched and cried out. He never asked, never hinted, he wanted more, she wanted more. Little by little he flexed his control, never to fast, never too much. The girl accepted his lead, let him guide her, obeying him.Often she was frustrated, impatient for the next step, the next task. Always he controlled the pace, never revealing the next step, never promising anything more, always she understood there was more, much more, but only at his pace, only if she earned it, only if she completed the current task. The current task, the open box, the task.The girl sat watching the open box, eying it.
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