“You’re getting all too poetic about this.”
“Well, you do look lovely. Perfect.”
The skirt wafted long and transparent, hanging loose from a velvet tie under her breast. “I think this will do.”
“Do indeed. Too damned right. It’s gorgeous. Just gorgeous. Now, wasn’t it worth coming, Miss Misery?”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Mary said.
“It’s just me.” He entered and stood admiring Barbara. “Lovely, she looks. So she does.” As if remembering the reason for him coming into the room he said, “The leather will be a little time. Perhaps Miss Ceruti would want to leave and you wait? We need to do a bit of a patch-up. Some of the stitching has come undone. About a half-hour. Sorry about that but I wasn’t happy about the pants. They had done a bad job before cleaning them and it wasn’t right. Needs to be re-stitched. Our seamstress is working on it right now.” He left.
“I’ll wait’ ” Mary said. “You go on. I know you have an appointment. No need for us both to hang about here, is there?”
“I have to get to the bank before it closes and do some bills.”
Barbara removed the angel costume and dressed in her street clothes. “You sure you don’t mind me going?”
“No, of course not. Get on with it.”
“I’ll just take this back to the front. I suppose… they want it in the office.” She lifted her costume and left the room.
Mary was quite happy to be left alone for a half-hour or so. She settled with a book. She was trying to get through The Brothers Karamazov and carried a paperback in her bag all the time. It was a challenge and what else was there to do in waiting rooms or on train trips? She should have read it. Its important. Its necessary for all good women to have read it. If only it wasn’t so long and so… so boring. No, she would never admit to anyone she found it boring. Never.
The brass door handle turned and she looked up. Good, that didn’t take long. No, it wasn’t the man with a costume for her. A man stood at the door. About six foot, thin and rangy. He had bushy hair and hot black eyes and was wearing a riding habit. Tight jodhpurs and black boots up to his knees. A fitted beige riding jacket. He carried a whip. The jodhpurs were like a second skin but for the crotch area where a surplus of materials accentuated the bulge. His skin was that shot silk purple black which just begs to be stroked.
“You’re in the wrong room,” she said sharply.
“I don’t think so. In fact I’m sure I’m in the very right room.”
“What do you want?” The room boiled as if someone had turned on a sauna. Even in her bra and pants she felt as if she was melting. She wished she was dressed but was not prepared to let this man see that she was uncomfortable in her underwear.
“Wondered… who was in here. What you were like. I hear you’re getting a similar outfit. We’re both going to be in black leather.” Leather and flesh and skin. His lips were full and glistening and soft. “I have to wait for something and it seemed a good idea to wait with someone.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Well… Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. It depends who that someone is.” Just a little she resented this intrusion. Having made up her mind to read the stupid book she thought she should be left in peace to read it. Well… the book wasn’t stupid. Not stupid. She was stupid not appreciating it and being quite relieved that she was stopped from reading. She decided that the relief outweighed the resentment. She studied him. His thighs were all rock. Solid. His legs went on forever and forever. The room filled with the smell of his body.
“Your angel was sweet. Sexy.”
“How do you know? And how do you know about my black leather?”
“I know everything.”
The heat in that outfit had to kill him. So hot. So very hot. He had to be suffocating. Sweat stuck her thighs together.
“Well… do you want me to wait with you?”
She shrugged. “It’s up to you.” No, she can’t read this now. She turned over a page and placed the book in her bag. She smiled. What the hell.
He shut the door and slid a bolt. He knelt before her and kissed her knees, stroking the inside of her thighs. He followed the knee kisses with tiny feathery kisses right up, up, up to her panties. He spread her knees and folded her panties to one side. The narrow crotch of her French panties was soaking wet. He slid a finger along the wet silk and sniffed it. “Lovely. Lovely. And soaking wet. You seem to have been a busy lady.”
He gazed at her sex. She had never had a fully kitted-out horsy stranger before. In fact, she had never had a stranger before or even a man in riding gear. Time to let go and be free. He had the kind of thin face where she couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not. He spread her lips and slid a finger up until he touched her clit and then down and then up and down. He circled it and licked his fingers so that he had them glistening and silver.
He looked into her eyes. His eyes glittered dark and crinkled. It was unreal to be sitting there; she semi-naked and he dressed from head to toe. He danced slow and delicately round her sex as if wishing to find out about every inch of it. He rolled her panties down and off. He circled and stroked and rolled and investigated. Now his tongue was right on the spot and he expertly rolled, licked, circled and sucked, so much a master she was nearly climbing the walls.
As if he knew she was nearly coming he stopped and stood with his crotch in her face. “Yes,” he said. She unbuttoned the six buttons and exposed his hard, thick cock which sprang out to meet her. She pressed her nose against it. The only sound in the room the sigh of her breath.
She looked up. “You smell of leather and sweat and musk.”
“Been riding before coming here. Friends in Biggar have a farm and stables.”
She ran her tongue along the tip of his cock. Gently. Gently until she felt him move, oh, he was almost touching his edge, but he withdrew from her, stood still as a statue. So he thought he could drive her mad and leave himself in control, did he?
No, she was the boss this time and this dance would be at her pace. She was so ready she could come and come. Come and come. Yes, that’s how she saw it. No, she would not let him come this way. She took a cognac-flavoured condom out of her bag and opened it and slid it onto his cock. It crackled and crinkled as she unrolled it. He moaned gently.
She debated sucking him or shagging him and decided that she needed that beautiful, now golden, cock inside her. She bent down and took him in her mouth and gave him a couple of large long slow sucks, holding his balls in both hands. The taste of brandy tickling her palate. She turned and knelt on the floor, supported by the chair. Gently he slid it into her, at the same time stroking her clit. Tender at first and then harsher, harder, firmer, longer, slow and deeper and deeper until she couldn’t stand it any more. With thundering final thrusts he came. She had just missed him but the polite man made sure he stayed in and stroked her to an equally fine climax.
“Goodness,” he said as he drew away and draped the full condom off his cock, tied a knot in it and deposited it in the waste basket. “That was something. Amazing.”
He pulled a large ironed handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her with it then carefully slid her panties up her legs. He placed the buttons of his jodhpurs into the holes. Just as he did this there was a knock at the door.
“Good timing.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Yes,” she said. He opened the door and left the room.
A young woman entered with a black leather outfit on a hanger.
Tomatoes: A Love Story in Three Parts by Claire Tristram