Rendezvous With a Stranger by Lizbeth Dusseau Read Free Book Online Page A

I imagine his would be.   Furtively watching his expression, I move from one breast to the next and back and forth as if I’m making love to my body.   He must see my lust, but his face remains unchanged.   I see only the power that resides in him, some infinite expanse of reserve behind the vibrancy that pulses at his essence.  
           “Are you wearing panties?” he asks.
           I shake my head no; just stockings and garters and a wet thatch of hair at the middle.  
           “Good.   Lift your skirt and masturbate.”
           I twitter nervously.   My hand trembles.   But as the skirt crawls up my thigh, I have my hand where it’s hot so quickly, I should blush at my anxiousness.   I think he’s forecast the truth about me and is merely pointing out his knowledge so I’ll understand how easy I am to figure.  
           He watches me play, and I’m instantly within myself, going straight to the finish line—the climax just simple strokes away.   If he stops me before that, I’ll regret it, but I will stop.   There’s no other choice in the matter since he’s in charge.   Until he does halt my play, however, I’m getting myself off right here.
           The toying is desperate, the flushed veins of my pubis are full, at floodstage.   I can’t get enough of my fingers and this man’s eyes.   The connection between them is obvious, so uncanny I think he’s doing magic tricks with my pussy.   The blood-filled clit is ripping at me, so I rub it hard, right at the edge beside the swelling sensitive end.   The hurt’s crazy with even the simplest touch.   My hips jerk like a whore enticing a john on the street.   They play for the stranger’s eyes and they play for me, luring me on.
           I close my eyes because I can’t stand to look at his anymore, there’s enough sensation in me for a dozen orgasms.   More is torture.  
           Maddening, seizing, spiking jolts bolt sharply. Feeling as if I’ve been shocked, the climax breaks free, though I struggle from one wondrous burst of fire to the next, knowing that as intense as this is I’m still holding back some of the raw fire. I finally fall back in a thoughtless bliss, drifting to wherever my mind goes to repair.
     
           Shattering my peace, the elevator jerks back to life.   Going down, not up, I’m quick to realize that we’ll be in the lobby in seconds.   Letting my skirt drop back around my hips, I quickly put on my blouse and then run my fingers through my tangled hair.
           “You obviously don’t have enough sex in your life, Ellen Laurey,” the stranger whispers in my ear as the elevator doors open.
           With that comment he leaves me gasping for a fresh breath of air as the stifling box reappears at the main floor.   I’m joined by two men waiting for a ride to the top of the building.   They look at me oddly.   With them so close, I can’t collapse properly until I’m back in Isaac’s safe nest.   Stepping from the elevator, I only realize when I exit that I’m still holding my bra in my hand.   I smile to myself amused by the embarrassing oversight.
     
           All I think of all night is the scent of the elevator as I walked out, the body heat and the musk of a woman lingering in the air. The last whiff is one memory that won’t leave me until my hand can play at my crotch again and bring another orgasm to life, fueled by the stranger’s fire.   I sleep well.
     
    g
            
           The stranger’s at the bus stop the next day when I plan to take a trip downtown.   I’m surprised to see him again so soon.   As I get on at 16 th Street, he silently follows me inside as though he doesn’t know me.   Sitting behind me, I feel his eyes at my back until we’re nearly at my stop.   Then he leans over my shoulder and whispers, “I’ll buy you lunch.”
          
           With the day as wet as the ones