57 - Invisible Touch

“Tonight we’re playing another game.  Of sorts, anyway,” he amended, reaching into his pocket as they arrived in the upstairs hallway.   Withdrawing his hand, he produced a black satin sleep mask, allowing it to dangle from his fingertips by the elastic band.  “I want you to put this on.”

“You want to blindfold me?”  Petey was a little apprehensive, but Jon was quick to soothe her.

Cupping her jaw in the palm of his strong hand, he firmly held her gaze and promised, “Only pleasure tonight.  No spanking, no restraints.”

She didn’t look away when accepting the mask and quietly stating, “The spanking was just a different kind of pleasure.”

A soft groan escaped and his hand fell away before Jon told her, “You kill me when you say shit like that.  Just put the mask on.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“No.”  His hand lifted again and he captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking at her meaningfully.  “It’s Jon, baby, honey or any other kind of endearment you feel like using, but not Sir.  Not this time.”

Petey swallowed the golf ball that mysteriously appeared in her throat.  Talking about killing somebody.  “Okay.”

He released her and took the mask, sliding the elastic band over the wild waves of her hair.  “If you get freaked out for some reason, just take it off,” he instructed before settling the black satin across her eyes.

The world became a soft shade of ebony and a shiver of trepidation coursed through her.  Last night, she thought she’d come to understand the concept of giving up total control to someone else, but this took it to a new level.

“When you deprive yourself of one sense,” his heated breath tickled her ear.  “The other ones will become more acute.  Tonight I’m going to give you a different perception of sex.  Hold your hands out for me.”

Panic welled within her and she tried to control it without words, by concentrating on the way his hands enveloped hers and gently prompted her to walk.  Thankful that she was wearing flat shoes instead of heels, she stumbled slightly as they turned away from the bedroom and proceeded down the hall.

“Four score and seven years ago…”

It wasn’t a fear of him.  Not at all.  It was the fear of the unknown.  She’d given him full control before, but always with the ability to see.  That had at least offered her a brief opportunity to realize what was about to happen before it came to fruition.  Blindfolded like this, she was nothing but a sitting duck, as it were.

She strained to identify a sound or a smell that would feel familiar.  Something that would let her know what lie ahead.  Something that would give her some idea of something.

“Jon?” Petey despised the tremor in her voice, but he must not have noticed, because their steps didn’t falter.

“What is it, Sugar?”

“Talk to me.  Say something.”  She needed a distraction from the unknown or she was going to melt into a full-blown anxiety attack.  That could not happen.  She wanted this last night.  She needed this last night.

Now he was aware something wasn’t quite right and stopped.  Petey felt him abandon one of her hands so that he could stroke her hair.  “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” she forced out with all the conviction she could muster.  “Could you at least tell me where we’re going?”

He laughed softly, recapturing her other hand and resuming their trek down the hall.  “I told you.  We’re going to defile all of New York.”

The upstairs living area.  It was surrounded by the same glass walls as his bedroom.  His cryptic comment now made sense, but, never having actually seen the room, she still had no feel for what was in store.

He drew to a halt, gripping her hands in silent instruction to stop.  “Step out of your shoes.”

Using his steady presence for balance, she easily stepped out of the black ballerina flats and kicked them to the side. 

“I’m going to let go of your hands,” he warned before allowing her to stand, unaided.  “Just stand still for me.”

A pair of wide, searching palms encircled her waist and pushed up under the tee she was wearing, gliding slowly over her ribcage before continuing upward to sweep the shirt from her body.  Expecting to feel a cool draft at the loss, Petey was surprised to find heat warming her right side.  Concentrating, she could make out a faint crackling noise.

There must be a fireplace.

His hands didn’t slow, now moving to cover the lace cups of her bra, the touch causing her nipples to pebble.  Jon didn’t pause, his mission clearly not to arouse her yet, but to divest her of clothing.  He expertly manipulated the front clasp, and the warmth reached out to caress the additionally exposed flesh.

There was a muted swish as the bra was tossed away, and his hands pushed into the waistband of her leggings.  Shoving them downward, he couldn’t seem to help himself and gave a quick squeeze to her butt before working the leggings and her panties down to her ankles. 

A silent tap on her left ankle was all that let her know she should lift her foot so that he could finish removing the garments.  The procedure was repeated on the right side, and she stood before him, naked and blindfolded.  Heat warmed her right side sufficiently enough to temper the coolness on the opposite side.  Her body was warm, but the sense of aloneness chilled her.

“Jon, please talk to me.”

“Relax, Baby.”  Warm lips brushed her left shoulder.  “I’m going to turn on some music.  Stay right here.  It’ll just be a second.”

True to his word, within seconds quiet music flooded the room, and he lightly stroked her arm to announce his presence behind her.  There was a slight breeze and another swish, followed by a heavier, muffled plop.  She could only assume he was now as naked as she. 

“Drop down to your knees,” he instructed, skating an open hand over her bare bottom.  She would have made the logical assumption that accompanied that position if he hadn’t been behind her – and if her knees hadn’t come in contact with…

“Ohhh…  So soft.”  There was a fluffy rug beneath her knees and, like a small child with a stuffed toy, it calmed her.  A rug this soft couldn’t lead to anything but pleasure, just as he’d said.

“Lie on your back and get comfortable.”

Crawling slowly forward, she felt for the edges of the rug and tried to position herself roughly in its center.  Placing her arms at her side and crossing her ankles, Petey reveled in the decadence of the furry rug erotically cradling her nudity.

There was a ‘snick’ and ‘whoosh’ above her that she was unable to identify, and then he was there.  Rough calluses scraped the length of her left calf, escalating the warmth sparked by the fire and she inhaled his distinctive scent.  She was confident she could find him in a darkened room just by that scent, it had become so familiar in the last few days. 

“Remember the night in the kitchen?”  His voice was directly in her ear, and she jumped with the surprise of it.  “You couldn’t really see me then either, but you trusted anyway.  That’s all I’m asking you to do.”  The barest hint of his touch pimpled the flesh on her arms.  “You won’t regret it.”

Petey nodded silently.  Each of their encounters had been singularly memorable.  He’d made sure of it.  There was no reason to believe tonight wouldn’t live up to the precedent that had been set.

The faint scent of vanilla wafted into her nostrils and she hummed appreciatively.  A candle must now be burning.  It made sense with the odd sounds from a moment ago. 

He rustled around quietly while Petey squirmed. 

When he returned it was to bring a tickling sensation fluttering along her legs, as though he were barely touching her with… something.  The faint caress was doubled when he touched her other leg with the same something. 

It felt as soft as the rug beneath her, lazily gliding up the inside of her left arm, then down the outside all the way to her fingertips.  The pattern was repeated on her right arm and then he ever so casually brushed back and forth across her neck and delicately roamed her upper chest, until her nipples were beaded with expectation. 

To their – and her – disappointment, he skipped down to glide around her ribcage and petted her thoroughly across her tummy and lower belly.  The eroticism had become torturous, and she was now breathing shallowly, unsure whether to blame her arousal or the fireplace for the scorching. 

He traced around the edges of her breasts, dipping indolently into the valley between them, one fuzzy object after the other.  They danced independently across her nipples, teasing with their downiness at first, then softly cradling the full bounty of her breasts reminiscent of a fur bikini top.

The effect was so sensual that she thought she would go mad.  Petey arched her back to push herself into the softness, and he allowed it for a moment before completely abandoning the upper half of her body.

“Bend your knees and put your feet on the rug.”  When she had complied, he further instructed, “Now part your legs.”

The downy fuzzballs took their own sweet time working over the tops of her feet, circling around to her ankles and up the outside of each leg.  They snuck around, tickling the backs of her thighs from buttock to knee and finally hit the satiny surface of her inner thigh, where they spent what felt like hours dancing along the sensitive skin until she was writhing in agony, and this time her hips rose in search of a firmer touch. 

“Lie still, Baby.”

The only way she had a chance at that was by concentrating on listening instead of feeling.  The lyrics of Jackson Browne occupied the forefront of her mind, and she was grateful for his choice of music.  It was soft without being romantic.  Romantic would have been completely out of place in this setting. 

She could hear his soft breaths as he tickled the delicateness at the juncture of her thighs.  The faint, recurrent swishing back and forth against the smoothness of her shaved skin incited, and she moaned fretfully, trying to clench her thighs together.

“No,” he chastised quietly, nudging her knees away from one another.  “Open yourself for me.  Show me that you’re ready for what’s next.”  The rough texture of his fingertips chafed the frail tissue of her inner labia.  “You’re so wet already.  I love how responsive you are to me.”

Her nerves sizzled at his sultry words, and she felt as though every inch of her flesh was quietly burning.  She wanted him.  All of him.

“Jon.  Don’t make me wait.  Please.”

“Wait for what?”  Random touches lit across her body – tummy, toes, bottom, thighs.  “To fill you with something hot and hard?”

“Yes.”  God, yes. 

He parted her lips and speared the heat inside her.  “Ohhhhh!”  It wasn’t him, it was something else.  Something on the verge of being unbearably hot.  As he guided it in and out of her body, she writhed, not really certain if she were trying to escape or get closer.

“Getting a little warm, Baby?”  His breathlessness made her think she wasn’t the only one.

“Yes.  What is that?”

“A glass cock,” the deliciously dirty words rasped against her eardrums.  She’d heard many of the countless speeches and interviews he’d given, and Petey knew he was an eloquent speaker.  That civilized wrapper made his raw Jersey boy coarseness all the more devastating.

Petey squeezed her eyes tightly shut and zeroed in on the searing slide as he worked it, driving deep into her already molten core.  Her head rolled from side to side, and she was on the verge of asking to go out on the terrace, the heat was so intense both inside and outside of her body. 

In the next instant, he abandoned her, yet left her full with the heated glass implement.  There was a quiet rattling beyond the edge of the rug and the next sensation she identified was... 

“Ohh!  That’s cold!”  The drastic temperature change startled her, and her nipples pebbled in reaction to what felt like ice cubes rubbing the area of her aureoles.   Icy rivulets of water warmed themselves as they raced down her chest, courtesy of her body heat, and it took no time for her arousal and the fireplace to return her temperature to sizzling. 

Her hips bucked faster, riding the glass phallus toward satisfaction when it was abruptly snatched away.  She was bereft at the emptiness inside her eagerly clenching womb and she cried out with disappointment.  “No!  Jon, baby, fuck me.  Please!”

There was another rattling, similar to the first, and Petey was incrementally impaled with what felt like an icicle.

“Oh, God!”

Her first reaction was to slam her thighs together and shiver at the chilly intrusion into her womanhood, but Jon gently, yet firmly, kept them parted so that he could continue to impale her with the stiff frigidness.

“It’s okay, Baby,” he reassured her.  “You’ll have the glass warmed up in no time.”

He was right.  It seemed like no longer than three or four strokes before it felt as scorching as the first one.  The inferno built again and she writhed against the rug, keenly aware of its texture scraping her skin from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.  The softness tickled, heightening the sensation throughout her body.

Then, once again, she was denied completion and found herself empty without warning.  She could only hope that meant she would get Jon instead of a hard, impersonal object. 

“Jon.” She gasped.  “I want you. Inside me.”

“I want you too, Baby.  Turn over and get up on your knees.”

Oh, thank God.

She scrambled to do as he instructed, as he rustled around beside her.  That only lasted seconds before she felt his unmistakable presence behind her, and his palms were roaming animatedly over her bottom.

“Your ass is perfect,” he murmured appreciatively.  “So round and firm.  It was made to fit my hands.”  

Jon squeezed each globe for emphasis before lightly skating his hands up the length of her back.  His wide-spread palms were all over her, barely grazing the skin of her back, butt, hips and thighs with their sensuality.  His touch teased her.  It promised of things to come. 

“Drop your chest down so that your titties are just touching the rug.”

The fluffy softness of the fur brushed against her and she moaned with pleasure, and then he was there, filling her the way she’d come to crave.  Perfectly stretching her body so that it would accept him.  He fit her flawlessly, and when he plunged deep…  Jon held himself there and slowly rotated his pelvis. 

“Jon!” 

 “Just feel it, Sugar.  Feel me pulsing inside you.”  He pumped his hips hard.  “Feel the rug tickling your nipples, the heat of the fire.  Nothing exists but how you feel right now.  Get lost in it.  ”

And she did.  With each stroke that filled her, the exhilaration shot through her center and her breasts drew even tighter with the feathery touch of the rug.  Petey had no idea how long it lasted.  It could have been forever.  It could have been only seconds.  Whatever the time, she was caught up in a vortex of sensation like nothing she’d ever experienced.

There was nothing in the world but Jon and the way he made her feel.  

☠ ☢ ☠

Jon and Petey lay together, spent, the scent of sex and vanilla enveloping them as they recovered their breath.  His arm was curled around her, and he lazily stroked her ribs while she lay on his chest and fingered the hair there.  Petey was memorizing his scent, the way he felt against her, the sound of his breathing… the way he made her feel. 

Jackson Browne was asking, “Oh won’t you stay, just a little bit longer?” when Jon’s arm tightened around her.  He slid the mask away and tossed it aside before dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“You’re staying the night aren’t you?”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded silently against his chest. 

Don’t be maudlin.

The night was still theirs, she told herself.  For just a little while longer.

Enjoy it.  Enjoy every last minute of it.

Because in the morning her kinky fairy tale would be over and she would turn back into a freaky pink and black pumpkin.  That’s when Petey would have to walk out his front door with a smile and a pleasant goodbye, pretending as though she hadn’t done the single stupidest thing in her entire life. 

She had to pretend that she hadn’t fallen in love with him.