by LSF Publications
by Abigail Armani
The first time she saw him he was leaning against a shop window on the opposite side of the road; and he was staring at her, eye catching in his black leathers. She put down her coffee cup and looked at him. The busy road separating them belched exhaust fumes, and the noise and clamour of traffic and pedestrians and coffee shop customers was a constant racket, only fading into a hum of insignificance as she began to focus on him.
Though his frame was angled into a casual slouching position against the shop window, she could see he was tall - tall and broad shouldered and mysterious looking in his dark shades and long coat of shiny black leather. The coat fitted him perfectly, like a second skin, emphasising his broad chest, flat belly and narrow hips. His shoulder-length hair blew in thick black strands over his face. She wished she were closer to see the detail. She wanted him to remove the dark glasses so that she could see his eyes.
It seemed at that precise moment, that his lips curved into a semblance of a smile. Languidly he raised his right arm to his face and removed his glasses, slipping them into his pocket. His eyes glittered. He most definitely was staring at her. She shivered and stared back.
In one fluid motion he stepped away from the shop window and stood by the curb. Expertly judging a gap in the traffic, he ran lightly across the road. He moved with the speed and grace of a predatory panther, and in seconds his dark form shadowed her table. He slid onto the vacant chair facing her, and he smiled. It was a slow, confident smile of both invitation and assurance, and his dark eyes brimmed with untold secrets and promises of hidden delights. For long seconds he gazed at her, and then he spoke.
"I know what you need."
His voice was deep and smooth and mellow; a dark chocolate kind of voice, resonant and rich and irresistible. Her eyes widened. She felt gauche and confused.
"You do?"
He nodded, and clicked his fingers. The waitress scampered over eagerly.
"Two coffees. Latte. No sugar."
The waitress blushed, scribbled the order down on a pad, and scuttled off to get the coffees.
"I am Bryn. And you are?"
"Catrina."
Catrina blushed. One part of her wanted to tell him that she didn't want another cup of coffee, and that even if she did, she would have ordered cappuccino, with sugar. But she said nothing, and wondered why.
"Catrina." He repeated her name, and it fell from his lips like strands of honey. "It is a beautiful name."
"Thank you. Bryn. Is that Welsh?"
"It is. And I am." He smiled, revealing a row of perfect teeth.
The coffees arrived, and the waitress moved despondently away, peeved she didn't get a smile from the sexy handsome man. His attentions were elsewhere. He pushed the cup and saucer towards Catrina. His hands were large and well formed with long tapering fingers, perfectly manicured.
"Drink."
She obeyed, and wondered why. The coffee tasted bitter without sugar, but she sipped it, grateful for a lull where she could gather her poise. Her heart fluttered and butterflies jumped about in her tummy in a dance of mounting excitement. Bryn raised his own cup to his lips and drank the hot liquid quickly, draining the cup. Then he leaned back in his chair and regarded Catrina speculatively.
He saw a woman in her thirties, neither beautiful or ugly or exceptional in any way. But there was an aura about her that attracted him. He had seen her sitting here on previous occasions and had observed her undetected, noting the sense of yearning and vulnerability that emanated from her expression. It was clear she wasn’t used to his direct approach; it was apparent in the way she sipped coffee from her cup, demurely lowering her eyes from his gaze, her face colouring prettily under his scrutiny. Once again, he sensed her inner longing for something she had not yet found. He smiled in anticipation. She had found it now. She just wasn't aware - yet.
"What did you mean, when you said you know what I need?"
He rose from the table and extended his hand towards her.
"Come. Come with me and I will show you."
She hesitated. It was quite preposterous, this chance meeting with a stranger. But he was so compelling. His presence excited her. She teetered on the brink between caution and recklessness, and then reached out and took his hand. He left some coins on the table and then hauled her to her feet. Hand in hand they left the pavement café and wandered through the busy city streets. As the crowds thronged and jostled, he put an arm round her shoulders protectively, drawing her close.
They were in a part of the city she had never ventured into before. It was a mix of shops, pubs, and light industrial premises. A large grey building loomed on the right. It looked ordinary and nondescript. From the depths of his pocket, Bryn produced a key, inserted it into the lock of a side door, and stepped inside.
"Come in, Catrina."
His voice held an invitation and a challenge. Catrina stepped inside. She looked around, wonderingly.
"What is this place?"
"A former warehouse. It is now my home. Let me show you."
He steered her further inside. They were in a long corridor which had three doors on the left. All were open and revealed empty rooms, bereft of furnishings. The paintwork in the corridor was cracked and faded. Shabby broken tiles graced the floor, and a lone light bulb dangled on a wire, casting a dingy glow. Bryn led her towards a broad staircase. It spiralled ever upwards, and at the top, it emerged into a vast space. Catrina gasped, for it was truly breathtaking.
The entire surface area was covered with a light oak hardwood flooring, punctuated by dozens of oriental rugs, thick piled and luxurious, in opulent shades of rich claret, burgundy and plum. Three huge crystal chandeliers were suspended at intervals from the high ceiling, complemented by several standard lamps and pairs of double arm wall torcheres made of cast bronze and gilded. A range of mirrors adorned the length of one wall. There were flamboyant scrolling framed gilt mirrors in Rococo style with pierced shell crests and serpentine panels; and a selection of late 19th Century French wall mirrors crested with ribbon and foliate gesso work and cornered with shell fans. The heavily mirrored wall reflected the light pouring in from the huge windows opposite. Each window was framed with floor-length brocade curtains in burgundy and gold, with fringed tails and swags.
The living space was furnished with antiques from all corners of the globe - tables and chairs and coffers and sofas, book cases, paintings and indoor statues of bronze, marble, copper and plaster.
"This place is incredible." Catrina ran her finger lightly over a plaster cast figure. "What is this?"
"A 19th century Italian Neoclassical plaster cast of the Apollo of Belvedere. I am a collector. I appreciate beauty in all its forms."
He moved closer and began unbuttoning her coat. It was a strangely intimate gesture. Bryn slid the garment off her shoulders and placed it on the back of a chair. Then he stood before her and cupped her face in his hands.
"Are you afraid of me, Catrina?"
"No." It wasn't exactly a lie. She was a little apprehensive and nervous, but not afraid. "Should I be?"
"A good answer." He regarded her quizzically. "What is fear? Most of our fears are neither instinctual or wise. We can experience fear on many levels. Our lives are filled with fears of every conceivable colour and form. There is the wild uncontrollable fear generated by something extremely unpleasant. Then there is the fear that can motivate us to live more intelligently in order to survive in this dangerous world of ours. To transform our fears, we need to let go of our concepts and expectations. I can help you to let go, Catrina. By trusting in me, I can help you relinquish all your unhealthy fears and harness the type of fear that tingles your spine and makes every nerve ending scream in terrible and beautiful pleasure. I can give you such pleasures that you have only imagined in your wildest dreams."
Bryn stooped and brushed his lips over hers in a fleeting kiss. His hands caressed her shoulders and moved down her back.
"Would you like me to pleasure you, Catrina?"
His hands traced the swell of her hips, cupped her buttocks, and moved down to caress the expanse of her thighs through the fabric of her skirt. Then those large hands moved back to stroke the firm globes of her bottom.
"What a delicious bottom you have," he murmured, and kissed her neck.
Catrina arched her neck, shuddering in delight as his lips touched that special sensitive spot at the base of her throat. She felt a rush of sweet wild desire that she had not experienced for years.
"What a delicious charmer you are," she responded, her eyes glinting.
Bryn laughed and led her to the nearest sofa. He sat in the centre and pulled her down next to him. And then, much to Catrina's surprise, he grasped her arms and pulled her so that she lay over his knee. She was about to protest, but then felt his hands on her calves, the back of her knees, and up over her thighs. It felt good. She relaxed and closed her eyes, giving in to the sensations. He stroked her bottom and then lifted her skirt, to be greeted by black hold-up stockings and red satin knickers.
"Mmmmn, red - my favourite colour." He gave her bottom a playful little swat.
She squeaked and giggled. He did it again. And again. It wasn't at all unpleasant. In fact it was quite...
"Nice?" asked Bryn, slapping her cheeks a little more forcefully.
"Oh. Yes," breathed Catrina.
It was more than nice. It was deeply erotic and wildly sensual. She found herself thrusting up her hips to meet his hands. And when his fingers toyed with the waistband of her knickers she raised her hips obligingly. Bryn drew the flimsy garment slowly down, exposing her creamy white bottom. He showed his appreciation by stooping to kiss each perfectly sculpted cheek.
His hands came down vigorously on her bottom, slapping harder, in a volley of spanks, covering every inch of her cheeks which were rapidly turning a pale pink. Catrina began to squirm and wriggle and yelp. Her bottom was stinging. It hurt more and more and yet she didn't want him to stop.
"Your bottom has a lovely pink glow. Stand up - let me show you in the mirror."
Bryn helped her up, and positioned her in front of one of the wall mirrors. He raised her skirt and showed her the reflection of her pink bottom.
"You liked that, didn't you?"
"I must confess I did. I didn't want you to stop."
"Oh we haven't stopped, my love. We have barely begun." His fingers unfastened the buttons of her blouse. He slipped his hand inside and fondled her breast, then bowed his head to tease her engorged nipple with his tongue. "Come. We shall retire to the bedroom. I have work to do."
The bedroom was sumptuous, elegant and yet masculine. A large carved armoire with mirrors stood opposite the huge finely carved Italian renaissance bed, covered with midnight blue linen shot through with gold. Bryn led Catrina to a second armoire in the corner. It was a beautiful piece with two doors, carved with birds, vine leaves and fluted columns.
"Do you know what this is?"
"A posh wardrobe?" It was a lame response, but she didn't care.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.