A Tale of Sensory Seduction
"At the Conference," Erotica by Tyler LaSiandra
The
elevator bell rang. Behind them, through the glass, the slot machines in the
casino below flashed, the din of the floor faint in the distance. Both of them
stepped out and, in concert, looked at the envelopes holding their hotel
keycards in their hands. Steven laughed. She looked from the envelope to the
arrows on the wall and pointed to the left and smiled, brushing away her long
black hair from green eyes. Steven nodded. They walked down the hall in
silence. She stopped first and Steven walked past to the next door.
“Huh,”
he said, “I guess we’re neighbors.”
“If
you have a need for a cup of sugar in the next two days, I will do what I can
for you.”
“It’s
Steven, by the way.”
“Nadine.
And I’d shake your hand, but I’m a bit burdened.” She shrugged at the luggage
that hung off her.
“No
problem.”
“Are
you here for analytics?”
“‘The
Future of the Future’?”
“What
an unfortunate name,” she said distractedly. He shrugged.
“It
doesn’t really mean anything, does it?”
“Deliberately
vague, as always,” she paused. “I guess I’ll be seeing you at the conference.”
She slid the keycard into the lock and disappeared into her room, giving him a
wave before disappearing behind the door before he could say goodbye.
That
night, Steven sat on the edge of the bed with its rough sheets, the room lit by
the uncertain light of the television. He had pulled the heavy curtains closed
against the neon and road noise. It was already eleven and he knew that he
would need to be up early for the next day’s talks. He turned off the TV.
In
the dark, he heard the creak of bedsprings through the wall. He lay back and
covered himself, falling immediately into restlessness. He pushed at the sheets
and rolled, pulling his feet away from the tangled pile that formed at the foot
of the bed. He sweat in the too-dry, air-conditioned room. Something hummed at
the edge of his consciousness, not letting him sleep.
He
rolled again on to his stomach and then his back. Suddenly, it seemed, every
stitch of the sheets, every sound in the night, demanded his attention. The
hairs on his arms stood up and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the minute
sensations around him.
He
was hard without warning. Hidden in the darkness, he imagined Nadine smiling at
him. The fingertips that had revealed her green eyes, pressed against the
glass, and ran up his chest. He felt like he could hear the sound of
skin-on-skin, the rustle of sheets as she straddled him. She spoke to him, in
between sighing breaths, in round, warm half-formed sentences, as if she could
not finish one thought before the next required her attention. “Your mouth, there — yes—”
Just
as his hand reached his cock, he heard, though the wall, an electric hum and a
gasp. Steven groaned and held his
own breath. Could she hear him? He
thought so, since he could hear her vibrator.
The
buzzing paused, but only for seconds and then, a low, long exhalation that
ended in a question-mark upturn. Steven stroked himself and let out a bass
sigh, surprising himself with the sound.
The
darkness around him pressed his body into the bed. It tasted him, it asked for
his teeth and his tongue, his fingers and his cock. It gave back to him. It
spoke in Nadine’s voice, her alto hum that echoed the sound of the vibrator.
The
wall fell away and he could hear her, unobstructed. The hum changed; it was no
longer continuous, but a sycophantic beat, a jazz rhythm accompanied by her
increasingly high-pitched gasps, stretching them into aaahs. Steven matched the beat with his hand,
letting out a quiet, “Oh, god,” and his own querulous groan.
The
dark turned to light and he came. He let out a deep groan that mingled with the
muffled but audible soprano moan that flowed through the wall. He could hear
her ragged gasps.
He
lay still, in the dark again, and reached back to the wall, feeling its cold
roughness under his palms. He heard an unfamiliar sound, a scritch-scritch and then realized what it was. She was
running her fingernails against the wall, inches from where his palm was
pressed. The hairs on his arms stood up. He knocked gently, once, twice, and
then fell asleep.
The
day was long. Nadine and Steven saw each other from across auditoriums at
random moments during the day. She waved at him, just wiggling the tips of her
fingers. She smiled the same half-smile she wore in the elevator as a balding,
bespectacled man used terms like “virtual water cooler” sincerely.
Nadine
was wearing a cobalt blue blouse, its sharp lines of stitching crossing in an X
that outlined her breasts. Steven wondered if she was wearing a bra, or if each
step rustled the cool fabric over her bare nipples; he wanted to feel her body
against his, the water-cool silk against his skin. He watched her finger trace
the hem of the blouse, where it flared away from her and over a skirt that
hugged her hips.
Steven
would see flashes of blue as he walked between sessions. Sometimes it was a
splash of color on a wall or a flashing light on a slot machine seen out of the
corner of his eye. Each time the color raised a rush in his ears. When it was
actually her, his
balls tightened.
They
walked by one another, but did not speak. Nadine blushed the first time they
saw each other, over coffee in the morning, but when she looked up, she held
his eyes. Steven asked, as he
walked by, “Later?”
“Yes.”
He
wanted to reach out to her then, but she disappeared into the crowd, into the
white-noise murmur of people talking in the language of demographics and
trends, disparaging the thin bitterness of the free coffee drank from Styrofoam
cups.
In
the late afternoon, Steven saw Nadine leaned against the wall of the conference
hall, her eyes closed. When he was in ten feet of her, she said, without
opening her eyes, “I need a drink.”
“Sounds
like a plan.”
The
Double Down Bar was dark. Steven felt like Nadine’s eyes hung in the darkness,
like the Chesire Cat’s smile. Nadine had a cloudy martini in which three
peach-pit sized olives were impaled on a plastic spear. Steven’s scotch was his
third-choice preference of brand. Outside the bar, the casino blared and
flashed. They had chosen a pair of stools on the end of the bar farthest away
from the entrance, but despite that, the darkness would be periodically
interrupted with the flash of a machine in the distance.
Nadine
and Steven had settled in an attentive silence; they studied each other. Steven
had been on dates this quiet before, and they generally ended with a hug and no
further contact, but the way that Nadine’s eyes would meet his and slide away
with a smile was free of the stumbling awkwardness that characterized those
outings.
“There
is a certain amount of skill required in making a martini that is more water
than gin,” she said.
“I
think he just waved the bottle over my ice.” They paused, looking in each
other’s eyes before their gaze flit away.
“This
place amazes me.”
“This
bar?”
“Vegas. This place has been trying to sell itself
as wicked and sinful, but it seems to me that it’s a childhood wickedness, more
like a Daddy’s-away-for-the-weekend experience.”
Steven
considered this. “Drunk on crap liquor, staring at waitresses’ short skirts,
okay. What would be real
wickedness, then?”
Nadine
ran her fingers along the edge of her glass, which began singing a high hum.
She stared into the glass and Steven thought she was avoiding his eyes. “I’m
not sure.”
The
red drink appeared out of the dark, followed by a waitress stumbling into Nadine. “Oh, oh, oh,” she said, putting a hand
on Nadine’s shoulder, as if that would clear up the splash of pink and ice that
was sliding down the blue of her blouse.
“You
can stop that,” she said to the waitress.
Five
minutes later, with drinks comped, they were outside of the bar. She turned to
him and took a breath. “Why don’t you come up with me to my room? It will only
be a moment.”
Without
a moment of hesitation, he followed.
They
stepped into her room as the day outside faded in the twilight. She paused to
turn on the light. She stood, one arm on the wall, one leg cocked up to pull
off her shoes, looking into the bedroom. Steven followed her gaze to the mirror
that stood over the dresser on which the TV sat.
Two
faded easy chairs on wheels sat around a scratched table across the room, near
the window. She pointed at one. “Why don’t you sit?”
He
sat, kicking off his shoes, and hung his head back, pressing the heels of his
palms over his eyes. He could hear her rummaging through her luggage. He raised
his head and saw her, in the mirror, standing in the alcove by the bathroom.
She was bent over the open suitcase, her round ass highlighted in her black
skirt. It rode up her legs, revealing the muscled lines of her hem.
Nadine
straightened, back to him still, and ran her hands along her hips, tugging at
the hem her skirt. She reached back to the ties on her blouse, pulling them,
the tan skin of her back revealed under the silk. She had a mole on her left
shoulder, a single blemish. She paused and turned her head slightly to ask,
“Still there?”
“Yes.”
The
silk whispered to the floor and she turned, her eyes avoiding his in the
mirror. Her nipples, dark and tight circles on orange-sized breasts, looked
hard to Steven. He could fit them just in his hands, he thought. The skin over
her tits and stomach was paler than the rest. His breath was heavy in his ears.
She raised her right hand to her breast, running a thumb over the nipple and
sighing. She smiled and her green eyes rose up to meet his. She laughed, her
lips slightly parted, as she brought her hand up to her mouth, as though
surprised at the sound.
She
reached behind her, blinking once slowly. Her zipper hummed and her skirt
followed the blouse to the floor. She stepped forward in lace panties, blue
briefs that matched the color of her blouse. Stephen could see the triangle of
black hair under the lingerie. He reached for his own zipper, but she shook her
head.
Nadine
ran her hands down her outer thighs, pulling them back up. She stepped out of
the alcove and leaned against the wall, spreading her legs. Her hand slid under
her panties, her fingers reaching down. Steven swallowed raggedly, his cock
hard, almost painfully pressing against his pants. Her fingers moved up and
down in a slow, steady rhythm. He looked up her body to see Nadine’s green eyes
watching him, fluttering but never closing as she masturbated. His hands
tightened on the faded fabric of the chair.
Relaxed Relief by Mick Payton, available at Obsession Art
“How
much,” she said, the words falling between deep breathes, “do you want to fuck
me?”
He
opened his mouth, but could only groan. Her fingers stopped. “No answer?”
“More
than anything?”
She
stepped away from the wall, and walked into the room, pulling the twin to
Steven’s chair behind her, between him and the mirror. Steven’s eyes followed the curves of
her hips as they rose and fell with each of her steps. She hooked her fingers
on the panties, tugging at them lightly. Black pubic hair appeared over the
panties.
“‘More
than anything,’ seems a bit vague.”
Steven
swallowed as Nadine pulled a little further down.
Steven’s
mind raced. “I’d do anything you said. I’d… suck your toes, I’d….”
Nadine
cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.
“I’d
do what you want,” he sighed.
She
smiled what Steven thought was a sad smile. “And if I want you to sit there?”
“Yes.”
“And
not touch?” She pushed down her panties.
“Yes.”
“And
if I need you to just watch?” She was bent forward, with her panties on the
floor. Steven felt his whole body shake at the sight of her. He half-swallowed
his last, “Yes,” as he almost came.
She
sat in the chair behind her, draping her right leg, lightly muscled and tan,
over the arm. Steven could see how wet she was, how the lips of her pussy
glistened. Her right index finger slid over her labia in a slow circle, opening
herself up.
Steven’s
fingers dug into the chair, straining its thin, faded fabric. He looked down,
concentrated on the paisley, thinking to himself, They chose that pattern so
that they can hide stains.
But he could not keep his eyes away from her for too long.
Nadine
slid two fingertips into her pussy, then out over her clit, moving in a one-two
circle before sliding back into her, her body twitching. The rhythm of it was
deliberate. She was pushed forward
in the chair, her head back. In the mirror behind her, Nadine’s hair hung in a
dark curtain that Steven wanted to tangle his fingers in, so he could cup the
back of her head and pull her mouth to his. I wanted to guide her mouth down to his cock and over it. He
could see her tongue running from its base, wrapping around the tip of his dick
before her mouth enveloped it, her fingers stroking his balls. He closed his
eyes, letting out a small groan.
“Please,
watch me,” she whispered. “Watch me come.” When he opened them, he saw her
fingers sliding deeper into her pussy, her muscles tensing across her stomach.
She moaned a low sigh that tightened Steven’s body.
He
watched her, as she asked. Her green eyes widening and falling into a
half-closed ecstasy, with flushed pink skin exposing her wet pussy. Her body shook and she gasped, the same
gasp he had heard last night. He felt his body drop away from him, a rush of
heat from head to toe, but somehow kept himself from orgasming with her.
She
curled forward in the chair, elbows to her knees, before sitting back up. She
brushed the hair from her eyes and stood. Steven could see a stagger in her
step, as if her legs were not trustworthy.
Nadine
walked back towards the bathroom. Steven heard a rustle, but kept his eyes from
the mirror. He forced his breaths into a slow, calming rhythm. She stepped back
around the corner in a red dress, cut low on her breasts and flaring away from
her legs. Her nipples were hard against the cotton.
He
could still see the pink glow of her skin in the curves of her cleavage. She
walked to the mirror, turning to face it as she adjusted her hair, checked her
lipstick. She turned and smoothed the skirt against her body and looked down at
his crotch.
“I
was going to suggest that we go back downstairs, but I’m really not sure you
can walk,” she laughed.
Steven
started laughing with her, and then both were lost in it, he in a near-silent
chuckle, Nadine in a giggle that she eventually covered with her long fingers.
“I
think I may just leave you here for a moment.”
“And
where should I find you?”
“Find
me?”
Steven
hesitated. “For dinner?
“Well,
if the job is to find me, maybe that will be something you have to figure out
yourself.”
“Are
you planning to hide?”
Nadine
stepped back and perched on the edge of the dresser. She turned to look out the
window. The light was changing, but the blue neon of nearby signs came through
and drowned out the reddening of the sun. The light, Steven now noticed, was
washing over her body, framing her in technicolor.
“I
might.”
“Just
disappear?”
“Maybe,”
she said, quietly.
“Then
maybe I’ll find you anyway.”
“Just
maybe?”
He
almost said, No, definitely,
but he stopped himself. “Just…maybe.”
She
smiled the half-sad smile again but followed it with another laugh. She stepped
off the dresser, her breasts bouncing, and walked over to him. Nadine put her
hands on either side of him and bent forward. Behind her, he could see a
reflection of her ass, bare under the skirt, and peeking out from between her
legs, the pink edges of her labia, still moist. When his eyes came back to hers, she shook her head.
“Hmm…right
now, you want to pay attention.”
It
was the closest they’d been to each other. Her face was inches from his and it
was all he could do to not lean up to her, to kiss her lips, to nip lightly at
her neck. But when he breathed in, he knew he could find her.
She
smelled of honeysuckle if it grew on the edge of a blue, clear ocean. The scent
of her sweat brought a tinge of saliva to his mouth. His lips opened and he
inadvertently moved forward in the chair. She shook her head again and
whispered, “Wait.”
He
drew her smell into him: floating in flowers and the sea, the warm pink scent
of sex, the clean blue smell of her shampoo.
“I’ll
even help you out.” She stepped away from him and went back to the bathroom and
returned with a bottle.
“Hold
out your hand,” she murmured and then corrected him, “Palm up.”
A
mist of perfume landed on his wrist and the cool sensation of it evaporating
was a bright circle on his skin.
Suddenly, she was moving to the door, bottle in hand, and she was gone.
He raised his arm and could smell her on him. “Find me.”
Steven
stepped out in the hall and stood still. He could smell the air where she had
spritzed the perfume in the corridor and followed it to the elevator. He
guessed that she had gone to the casino floor, where most of the restaurants
were. He pushed aside the Southern drawlers coming from a higher floor to press
himself against the glass, looking down into the lights and the crush of
people.
Stepping
outside of the elevator, Steven felt himself lurch. The air was stale and
recycled, as if it missed the days where the entire hotel was filled with
cigarette smoke. He couldn’t smell her.
He
lifted his wrist to his nose and breathed in her remains. Her fingers slid from
the back of her neck into his hair, gently tousling it. His eyes closed and he
felt her turn his head. Left. The
path she had left him through the casino was clear.
He
followed the spring-scent of flowers, the saline of sweat and pussy. He walked
undeterred through the crowd, people stepping out of his way, to let him by.
The smell of her was a singular, bright line. Steven found her in a restaurant
called Rome, sitting under the dim lights at a table for two in the back
corner. Her legs were crossed, her expectant gaze opening into a smile as he
stepped into the doorway.
“I’m
with her,” he pointed, when the hostess walked up to him. The smell of her
surrounded him as he stepped forward.
“Surprising,”
said Nadine, as she raised a wineglass.
Steven
sat down, roughly, drunk on her smell and the sight of her lips opening, the
sight of her eyes closing slowly as she sipped the red wine. He tried to steady
himself.
“I
don’t think you are.”
“Maybe
not,” she whispered. She gestured to the table and Steven noticed the glass in
front of him, already full.
“But
I am impressed.” He picked up the glass and steadied his hand before bringing
it up. The wine slid off his
tongue, leaving behind raspberries, blackberries and a mineral edge.
She
leaned forward, close enough that her breath brushed his skin. “I am also,” she
said, “extremely wet.”
His
voice was lost, and his eyes closed, but only for a moment. He looked into her
emerald eyes. “Prove it.”
“And
how shall I do that?”
“Touch
yourself.”
Nadine’s
hand made a languid movement away from her wineglass. Steven felt the
tablecloth brush against his pants as she jostled it, sending a ripple of
sensation through his body as it tickled his cock through his pants. Steven
pursed his lips against the groan that almost escaped him.
Her
back straightened and she gasped, but her eyes never left his, even as they
unfocused. “And now what?” Her
voice was higher pitched, lighter. Steven put his hand on the table, fingers
splayed across the base of his glass. He pushed it forward.
She
laughed, then nodded. Her hand reappeared and reached forward. Her fingers,
long, and brown, slid around the lip of the wineglass.
The
taste of her pussy mingled with the fruits of the wine. The mineral edge of it
turned into a salt-and-sweet nectar. He was lost: wanting to push her down to
the floor, to run his tongue over her skin, to inhale her, to feel her nipples
harden in his mouth, to curl his tongue in her pussy, to taste her and nothing
but her. He gripped the sides of the table.
He
took another sip while Nadine watched. He wanted her to stand up and reach for
the zipper on his pants, to slide the tips of her fingers along his cock from
base to tip, to straddle him in the restaurant, with the rest of the patrons
looking on, and slide herself down over his dick.
Her
hands would steady her body by grabbing the back of the chair behind him while
he moves his own under her dress. He would squeeze her bare, round ass forward,
pressing her down onto him, his back arching into her as she purrs a long oooh.
The guests around them
would turn to look.
They
wouldn’t writhe in the chair, but just press into each other, then loosen
themselves, then towards each other again. They would move with their breath.
Her pussy would gracefully ride his cock, barely moving but he’d know that each
slight shift was pressing him deep into her, her body against her clit. He
would feel every pulse of her body: her fingers moving from the chair to his
hair and she’d pull him to her. He would kiss her neck, tasting sweat and
smelling flowers. Then, he’d move one hand up to her back, to keep her close
while they kissed, their tongues meeting through their moans, biting her lip,
gently. They would grasp each other more forcefully, fingers digging into each
other, their rhythm getting faster, uncontrolled. He’d finally feel her come
with him.
Steven
abruptly fell out of the reverie. He said the only thing he could think to say
to her through the red haze he was in: “I want you.”
Nadine
nodded. “And I want you, but I’m afraid that—”
He
shook his head. They sat in silence for a moment. “I know.”
She
smiled sadly. Then she said, “Perhaps it’s my way of being wicked.”
As
she left the table, the last time he saw her, she touched his face, brushing
her fingers along his cheek and smiled.
Originally published April 2010