There it was, blinking and blinking. Vibrating incessant. Wanting and needy. That it was in my lap, tucked in between my thighs, far too high up to ignore the spreading vibrations with its rhythmic hum-hum-humm, wasn’t helping.
The missive was simply stated: Show me.
Not a please. We were far past that point. Not a demand, either. I had started this and I reminded myself that all this, the distraction and fluster, how my blood raced and pulsed-pulsed-pulsed to the point of heavy breathing and muffled sighs, was my own fault.
The drive home was distracted, to say the least. I had prepared and made a list, a few things added to the usual sundries, but last minute, as the seconds tick-tick-ticked by, my imaginings grew and it was better to have and not need than have not and be left wanting. I wasn’t going to be left in a state of unfulfilled distress. Not tonight.
I’ll admit, I’m not sure I needed the extra bath oils, or the small flickering lights that mimicked candles without the chance of setting one’s hair on fire, or the flowers whose petals would be plucked and left to float atop the bathwater. But when one is setting a mood, the little things are everything. Massage oil for later, perhaps. Beeswax candles returned for paraffin just before arriving at the counter. Chocolates, I don’t know why, because, chocolate. And last, a pack of batteries, just the right size for my …
It was then, standing at the counter with all the assembled items on full display for the cashier to see, the cashier whose cheeks reddened as a smile grew upon their face with each beep-beep-beep of their scanner, that I really wished I’d opted for the self-checkout. They held the Lavender Aromatherapy Sensual Massage Oil for Couples far too long for my comfort before they leaned forward, face pressed to their microphone to speak over the PA system, and declaring PRICE CHECK. My breath caught in my chest as I’m sure my own cheeks became as colorful as a ripe cherry atop a sundae. They paused. They furrowed their brow before turning the Lavender Aromatherapy Sensual Massage Oil for Couples over in their hand to find the tag, folded in half on itself and sticking to their finger. NEVERMIND, I GOT IT.
“Have a good night.” She said, with a smile that knew more than it should.
I finally took a breath, only after the bill was paid and I returned to the cool air that greeted me outside.
There were no near misses or swerves upon the road as I drove, only mildly above the speed limit, back to my home. The place where everything would be laid out as it had been in my mind. Bath drawn and warm. A glass of wine chilled with the bottle on ice and waiting. Fragrant oils added to the bathwater with flower petals drifting atop.
There had been one other request. Something that seemed silly and impractical at the time but now playful and filling my imagination. After everything had been brought inside, returning to the car five minutes later to shut the door that was left wide open in my haste and fluster, I found myself with dresser drawers open and lingerie spread out across the bed. There was red silk and black velvet. There was the new green set that I’d sent photos of less than a week ago. But it was the blue, the lace and sheer blue, that stood out to me today. No pushup. Nothing more than a simple floral stitch in a few opportune places to conceal for imaginative effect. The bottoms of which fit low on the hip and narrow in the back and with just enough stretch to pull and play to feel the soft lining tense against my body but not slip and give too much of a show before it was time.
The phone remained silent. No call. No text. Not even a smoke signal or white flag or pebbles pinging upon my windows for my attention.
In that time, I had tried on the blue lingerie, shimmying and spinning before the floor length mirror and taking in how the light and lingerie moved across my waist and chest. Of how it would appear later and if it would bring pleasure at first sight. Next, I threw on a hoodie and thigh high socks. I had snacked upon red and orange cherry tomatoes with oily hummus and soft pita. I had checked my phone a dozen times as I imagined that there had been messages missed despite the thrum-thrum-thrum of the ringer. There had been two unknown calls, a text from a friend about dinner plans the following night, but nothing regarding tonight’s plans. With a huff and a sigh, I plucked the flowers from their stems, drank a glass of wine, and listened to music.
There it was, hum-hum-humming, as the screen glowed with the name and message.
Twenty-eight minutes. The bath is running hot. Oil, fragrant and slick, is poured in to shimmer upon the surface.
Twenty-two minutes. Little electric, flickering, candles line the base of the tub and all along the back and sides.
Eighteen minutes. The laptop is set up on a small folding table just beyond the edge of the tub, powered up and logged in. Lighting checked and angles played with, sliding the table and computer left and right, imagining how I’ll be seen, lying or kneeling within the bath as the oily water drips down and sticks wet lingerie to skin.
Fourteen minutes. The wine is drunk and refilled with the bucket of ice and bottle placed nearby.
Ten minutes. The bath is filled, water turned off, steaming into the air as I breathe in the fragrant mist and feel the warmth of the room.
Nine minutes. Wondering if it’ll start any sooner.
Eight minutes. I dip my toes into the hot water, let myself glide down into its warmth.
Seven minutes. Shit. The flower petals!
Six minutes. I slide back into the tub, with less grace but now with flowers dancing upon the ripples of water.
Five minutes. I sip wine.
Four minutes. I wait for the computer screen to blink to life.
Three minutes. I’m waiting.
Two minutes. I’m so warm and ready to begin.
There’s a ding. The screen goes from black to a hazy reflection of the scene before it. The video on the other side is still black. As was expected. As was planned. This is what I asked for, to be watched and to listen to their voice upon the other end.
The words came. There’s a soft gravel to the voice and I swear I could hear the smirk behind them.
I smiled and obliged, rising from the bath, wine in hand, flower petals sticking to my skin, as I drank and stretched up with a deep breath and tits up. I looked good in this light, flickering and soft, as did the lingerie that hugged and deepened in hue with the bathwater.
I winked and obliged, turning slow, hand upon the lip of the tub as I spun to give him a view of the other side, of how the small fabric clung to my hips and the curve of my ass. Sitting on the edge, the lingerie bottoms stretched with the pull of my fingers, teasing, imagining his face in this moment. I gave a little shake before slipping back down beneath the water.
I imagined him sitting there, lips parted, only able to ask. To see but not touch, not yet.
The wine was sweet and cold to my lips. I imagined him watching as they part and him wanting to slide his fingers across my wet lips, after he would bring them to his own mouth to taste. I imagined him wanting to slide a finger inside. Wanting to slide his tongue in next. Wanting to slide something else in deep, back and forth across my tongue, as my lips held soft around him.
Without seeing, I knew I had his full attention. I took another sip, slow and with pleasure.
This was all my fault. If I hadn’t told him about the bath, how the jets of the jacuzzi were positioned just right if I lay a certain way, and how the showerhead sat upon a long snaking hose that I could use to apply the necessary pressure… If I hadn’t shared how I missed being touched, missed being kissed, missed the feel of his tongue exploring and probing and sliding and flicking…
There was a quality to his voice. As if the words caught in his throat and for a moment he forgot how to speak.
I wanted him to be unable to look away. I wanted him to want so much that his voice went from what sounded like a request, a command, to that of a beg. I wanted him to beg me to continue. To let him watch. He was starting down that path, voice softening with heavy breaths, already and it filled me with a warmth that the swirling, lavender scented, bathwater couldn’t compare.
With a hand moving slow before the lens of the camera I flicked on the waterjets. I could hear how his breath stopped just before I hit the button.
He watched as my back arched, mouth open, with the glass of wine tilting in my grip. He watched and listened as I began to moan, as the wine tilted further in the glass and small streams fell down over the edge.
The glass of wine was left to fall into the bath, mixing with flowers and oil.
Show me where you want my hands to be.
One upon my waist, trailing and weaving its way under the bra to cup my breasts, fingertips to pinch my nipples. The other against my cheek, fingers upon my lips before descending towards my throat.
The water began to sway, flowing back and forth, across my body like a tide. Below the surface, below where he could see, my hips rocked in rhythm with the jets of water. I could hear his breaths, the excitement in his voice as he made his next ask.
The water subsided and I felt like whimpering, just for a moment, as the rising tide ebbed away from the waterfall of sensation that had been growing between my legs. As the jets were turned down to a gentle flow.
I want you to show me more.
I wanted him to ask. I wanted him to beg.
The lace was drawn down over my nipples. I kept them covered as I teased with fingers slick with lavender scented oil.
There was a sound just outside the door. A shifting of weight and the house responding in kind.
My hands drew down, flickering light glowing in the shine of oil on skin, to delve under the water, and under the blue lace to slide in long gestures up and down.
Imagine my hands are your hands.
A finger part the lips above and below.
Imagine I’m there with you now.
Close your eyes. Show me.
There was only the sound of water lapping upon the edge of the tub, of my own exhalations of pleasure and rising moans. I imagined him here with hands roaming where lips would follow next. I imagined him inside and pulsing with desire. I imagined feeling the warmth of his touch as water dripped from his fingertips like an anointment of lust.
The voice was no longer tinny through the speakers of the laptop.
The words were warm across my cheek, his lips touching the edge of my ears. His hands were cool only for a moment as they found my own, fingers interlacing and following the rise and fall, merging with my own as they found their way across and inside.
The wine glass was retrieved from between my legs. The jets returned to their prior settings. Once more the bath bubbled and swirled.
His mouth found my own, lips parting once more as our tongues danced a slow tango, as our fingers continued their own dance across my thighs.
I felt his hands wrap about my waist, lifting me from the water and onto my knees, my hands upon the edge of the tub, eyes still held shut. I could smell his cologne as it mixed with the lavender and wine. He slid his hands along my hips as the lace fell down, back into the bath, to my knees. And then I was spun once more, water splashing over the edge, to rest back down, properly placed before the streaming jets of water.
With hands that slid beneath the lace of my bra, that wrapped gently over my neck, I began to ride the wave of sensation.
