Secret Shared

her brown muscled calves to perfection. She ignored the glass, which would look like a mirror on her side of the room. She walked over to the marble mantel of the fireplace and leaned on it provocatively. There was a lot you could envy about Angela, but her calm, cool demeanor was at the top of my list just then.

From a door to the left, off the same hallway I had just navigated with Matilda, Mark slowly emerged, wearing a grin that only grew bigger when he took in his next “trainer.” He looked so cute and clean in his chambray shirt tucked into baggy cords, his hair damp. I could almost smell his green apple shampoo.

“Holy mother of mercy,” he muttered, at which point I realized I’d not only be seeing everything, but hearing everything through speakers.

“Okay, first thing: don’t smile at me so much,” Angela said to him. “You want our girl to feel you’re happy to see her, but enthuse less, smolder more.”

“Got it,” he said, literally wiping the smile off his face with a sweep of his hand.

I laughed. I mean, it was funny—he was funny. But Angela was not amused.

“Take a seat.”

Mark fell into the tufted chair like an obedient boy, which sent Angela’s fist to her hip. Oh, please don’t blow this, I thought. If you blow this, no Jesse for me.

“Yes, ma’am,” he added.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” Angela scolded. “That is not going to turn any woman on.”

“Sorry.”

He examined the room, his eyes stopping on the mirror for a second. Angela followed his gaze. They were both looking directly at me. No! I sank in the chair, my hand to my throat, which was now closing in some kind of terror-induced anaphylactic shock. Angela snapped her fingers to bring his attention back to her. Whew. They can’t see you! They cannot see you, Cassie! I reminded myself. Exhale.

She strutted up to him, stood close enough to almost touch his knees with hers.

“Remember, we only pair you with women who want what you want, who crave what you crave, who want to do what you want to do, or who want to try what you want to try.”

He put one hand to the muscles in his neck to give himself a stretchy massage. Wow, he was nervous too.

“So, Mark … how shall we play today?”

How shall we play today? That was sexy. I tucked that phrase away. He looked down at her white pumps, regarding them thoughtfully. I followed his eyes as they made their slow way up her long legs.

“I’ll play however you want to play.”

That’s my boy! I wanted to yell. You can do this, Mark. Angela moved her hand across the front of her dress.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off, Mark?”

“I can get into that.”

He stood, a full six inches shorter than her, to strip.

“You’re a goddess,” he said, kicking his shoes off, looking up into her face looming over him, her breasts level with his eyes. “I don’t care if I’m not supposed to say that. It’s what you are.”

She cupped his chin, but instead of kissing him, she let go and turned to make her way to an ornately carved writing desk. She opened a drawer and took out of it something that looked like a tangle of rope. The only way to describe how she moved was feline. She was a woman who loved being in her body and she was used to being watched. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her. Nor could I. She stood behind the desk now, watching as he ripped off his clothes, pants first.

“Mark, Mark, Mark. You’re stripping like a frat boy. Put your clothes back on and start again, honey.”

He did as he was told. Once dressed, he started again, this time removing his belt more slowly.

“Now you’re a Chippendales dancer? Not sexy.”

“Fuck,” Mark said, clearly pissed at himself.

“Start with your shirt. Just use one hand to undo the buttons. Try that. Look at me the whole time.”

He did, and it was much better. She held the rope in her hands.

“Now the cords,” she said, as he casually undid his belt, leaving it in the loops, and dropped his pants and boxers to the ground.

He lightly kicked them aside. He was clearly ready, but she didn’t draw attention to that fact. She pushed him back into the chair and dangledtwo ropes in front of his face.

“You should be naked too,” he said, nervous laughter escaping.

“I don’t like that word,” she said.

“Naked?”

“No. Should. It’s not popular around here.”

She moved behind him, firmly tying his wrists to the chair. Then she came around the front of him and nudged his thighs open. Keeping her eyes on him, she untied the side knot of her dress. She opened it up to him like an envelope. She had nothing on underneath.

“Let me put it another way,” he said, taking in the whole of her body. “It would be great if you were naked all the time. For the good of mankind.”

She flung her dress off her and stood in front of him, wearing nothing but her white pumps. I watched him taking her in. Then with one hand she squeezed a breast, while her other traveled all over her torso. I was spellbound, feeling her arousal as she gave herself a stir with her own middle finger.

“You’re hard, aren’t you? What are we going to do about that?”

“Holy shit!” he murmured, throwing his head back, his eyes riveted to her hands, her fingers. He wanted to touch her, to reach out to her, but he couldn’t. Even I felt his frustration, his arousal arousing me. I had never felt that before; I hadn’t seen much pornography and I was no voyeur. But this … this was intense. And hot. I sank a little lower in my club chair, slack with desire.

Both feet still in heels, she straddled his legs, leaned over and put her hands on his shoulders, her full breasts touching his chest as she bent to kiss him. She started slowly, languidly, arching her taut body, her ass high in the air. She moved her lips down his neck, stopping every once in a while to gaze into his eyes, to gauge his reaction. He was desperate.

“Do you think you can untie me?” he asked. “Fuck, I’d really like to touch you.”

She thought about his words for a second. Then, kicking off her pumps, she lifted her leg and placed a bare foot carefully on his thigh. One leg propped up like that, she spread herself to him, keeping him an agonizing foot away from what he craved.

“You want to touch me?” she asked. He nodded, trying to keep his eyes on her eyes, but he couldn’t help himself. They traveled down the length of her perfect body to watch what she was doing to herself with her hand.

“I like when a man does this to me,” she said, the muscles in her arm flinching with every circle. “But I also like doing this for myself.”

He made a sound, something between a grunt and a moan.

“You think you could do a better job than I’m doing?”

“Yes …” he said, straining against his ropes; this was killing him.

I felt myself heating up, surprised when my hand rose to my own chest, then dipped into my bra and found my right breast, squeezed slightly. This was so new to me.

I watched as Angela bent her knee more, drawing her cleft closer to his face. She put her hands in his hair, guiding his mouth forward towards her, almost lovingly. The top of his head moved as his mouth found her, and he lapped at her, his eyes gazing up every few seconds over the top of her thigh to check her reaction, his hands still tied behind his back. He was all mouth, only there to please and serve her.

Angela threw her head back. “That’s good … That’s very good, baby,” she cooed, her hips lightly thrusting to match the rhythm of his tongue—and I remembered his mouth on me not so long ago, his hands …

“Holy shit, yeah,” Angela whispered, grinding her hips into his face, his tongue. “Oh … mmm … you’re going to make me come and then … I’m going to fuck you.”