The Reader

He was now fully naked before her. His body was old but in decent shape for a man of his years. She wondered for a moment what he must have looked like when he was younger. He eased back into the leather chair, then motioned gracefully with his hand for her to begin reading. She used her fingers to trace where the bookmarker had been set, opening the book to where they had left off on the last reading.

Forty minutes into her reading of The Secret Sharer, the man interrupted her. "Excuse me," he said softly, tone begging forgiveness for the intrusion. When she lifted her gaze from the type on the page she was surprised to see that he was fully erect. His circumcised member was of surprisingly decent size. He had very little pubic hair, and what there was, was very sparse, due the years having slowly evicted it from his body. "Will you undress, please?"

As if summoned by some mystical siren, Elery set the book down and stripped before him with a little more urgency than usual. She had no idea what the next act would be. When she had completely disrobed, she stood before him (in a new pair of black stilettos, which fulfilled immaculately the definition of 'fuck me pumps').

"Turn around and get to your knees on the floor, and open the book on the chair."

Elery didn't hesitate, collecting up the old volume and turning around to crouch on the floor, her heels pointing directly at him. She then rested her elbows on the velvet pad of the chair and opened the book before her, her ass fully on view to him. There was a delightful vulnerability of having her backside to him, where he could fully devour with his eyes the hourglass shape of her body; from the dimpled small of her back to her round ass, which led like a beacon to the exposed lusciousness of her pussy. A new sensation of arousal swept through her as she began to read. She hoped she would next feel his presence close behind her, followed by the feel of his cock entering her. The visuals she attached to that wish aroused her and a visible, glistening wetness came to the lips of her vagina.

As she read aloud, Elery became aware of an ever so slight stir of movement disturbing the stillness of the room. It quickly became apparent that he was playing with himself. The thought of him masturbating while gazing at the curves of her ass, the pointed sharp black heels directing his gaze into the wonderful and beckoning mystery between her legs, was almost too much for her. She was desperate to turn around and suck him. Despite her mind being wild with vivid thoughts of him gushing into her mouth, onto her breasts, and into her ass, Elery remained composed enough to not act on impulse and continued her reading, afraid if she were to suddenly abandon their agreed upon arrangement, it might well disrupt some sacred bond of trust they held between them and she would have ruined it all.

As she read she enjoyed the increasing tempo of his movements, understanding he was bringing himself to climax. To lure him deeper into his ecstasy Elery gradually spread her legs, as if she were receiving him from behind, and arched her back, the bend accentuating the curve of her ass. She was now fully exposed to him, aiding his arousal with the visual allure of her wet sex.

During this, Elery regaled in the new knowledge that the man was in fact capable of an erection. She reveled in the notion that there was hope—if she could be certain of how to proceed—that the two of them may well find themselves in a beautiful canopied bed with satin sheets, or, perhaps, right here on the hardwood floor, making love with a passion so strong it would supplant the pain of the hard surface and make light of their bruises and scratches until after the wave of their orgasms had passed and they would laugh at their youthful, reckless impulsiveness.

After a few minutes of this aural torture; Elery listening to the frantic movement in the leather chair behind her, the man let go with the unmistakable moan of coming. She imagined what the texture of his semen was like as it streamed down the shaft of his penis and bathed his fingers. She could almost feel the hotness of it, the consistency. In that rapidly waning moment, Elery felt that given a little more time, she might have been able to climax without any physical stimulation whatsoever, merely the engrossing mental sensations of imagining his pleasured state.

Elery remained posed, bent against the parlor chair with legs spread, her nakedness on full display. She listened carefully over her own heightened breathing at his movement. When she braved a turn to look at him she caught his backside as he exited the study, clothes bunched up in his arms.

She sat there a moment longer, hoping against hope that he would return and save her from getting dressed. She wished for him to come back and gently fondle her breasts. To reach his semen soaked fingers up inside the folds of her, to use his ejaculation to lubricate her anus and accept his fingers. She wanted the wonderful contrasts of gentle kisses along the nape of her neck with the animalistic pull of her hair, whipping her head back in a firm bridle hold of absolute control over her. Her body screamed for these myriad touches but Elery slowly came back to Earth in harsh realization that their time today was over.

Stiff from being on her knees against the hardwood floor, Elery slowly rose, shaking out her sculpted legs. She closed the heavy tome of A Conrad Argosy. She then got dressed with an air of somberness, taking the opportunity to feel her wetness with her fingers. The room had lost its magical air of tempered arousal. It was now merely a well-appointed study occupied solely by her. The room, and she, begged his presence.

There was an added feeling of isolation between them as he held the front door for her. As Elery descended the cement steps toward the waiting black Town Car she cringed at the sound of the heavy oak door closing behind her, followed by the cruel sound of the dead bolt drawing across, locking him and the great house and the playful reading away from her. When she reached the car the driver was standing dutifully at the opened back door, welcoming her into the plush leather confines of the Lincoln. As Elery settled into the seat the driver shut the door and slid behind the steering wheel. As the car pulled away Elery looked up at the imposing house, wondering about the man, and the day that stood between their next visit. Elery hoped she'd not done anything inappropriate and that there would, in fact be, another visit. She wondered if the man thought about her in their sweetly brutal absences as the car sped her home across town.

That night Elery lie awake in bed, tracing occasional shadows cast by passing cars that ambled across the wall, bending the patterns of the window frame, accompanied by the lonely peel of tires that faded off into the barren streets. Their last encounter had confused her. She wondered why he had disappeared after climaxing and retreated to some other place in the large house to compose himself, reappearing fully dressed and completely devoid of the lingering sensuousness of climaxing. Eventually, though she could not recall when, sleep finally overtook her confusion and she slipped off into dreams that would be squandered to the dawn.

On Friday, the third day of their weekly routine, the reading had progressed well past the allotted two hours. They were now enjoying Jack London's South Sea Tales, from which Elery was partway into The Whale Tooth. So deeply engrossed in the prose the time had gotten away from them both, so much so they each had been unaware of the chiming of the grandfather clock in the other room. They both were suddenly pulled from their sweet reveries at the same time, for no apparent reason, like lovers who have fallen asleep after love who then stir simultaneously.

Today had seen a return to the familiar routine of her undressing before him, revealing yet another new garter, of dainty lavender and frivolously adorned straps that held sheer stockings. The lingerie was augmented by a pair of steep black heels with straps that ascended her calves in shades of bondage.

After getting dressed, Elery met the man in the foyer. He pulled back the drapes of the front window that looked onto the street to reveal the Town Car patiently and dutifully parked at the curb, the driver discretely waiting for the princess concubine to appear and slide into the back seat of her carriage.

Crossing the threshold of the old house Elery was tempted to break from protocol and address him directly, to suggest going out somewhere, for a drink, or dinner, or perhaps just a walk. She felt her body about to stop, her mouth about to address him, but found herself still in motion, unimpeded, and then crossing the porch with things unsaid.

She cringed at the horrible sound of the heavy door closing behind her, followed by the un-retractable sound of the dead bolt sliding into its hole to lock out her temptation. She thought to herself; there would be more opportunities in the days and weeks ahead to suggest such things as men and women who care about one another do together. Yes, definitely, she thought to herself, she would gather her confidence and suggest a date. Perhaps an outing together to the lingerie store, where she would try on various articles of sexy underwear for him to lust after. For a fleeting moment she imagined him reserving the entire shop for just the two of them to hold a private fashion show of tantalizing lingerie.

As the Lincoln combed the back streets headed toward the little apartment across town the sun was lower than usual, due the fact that the reading had gone well past the allotted time, the two of them pleasantly consumed in the moment. The sun had dipped below the rooflines of the passing brownstones, the gaps between the buildings creating a picket fence effect that cast the interior of the car in a flickering of shadows, like spokes of a spinning wheel. Elery didn't bother to open the envelope in her hands. She could feel that it held the thousand dollars. Her mind was still ruminating on the afternoon. There had been a deeper sense of closeness between them, an intimacy that had affected them both, as evidenced by their losing track of time. What stirred her most was the look on his face when she raised her eyes from the pages of the book and saw in his eyes the unmistakable look of love. For all the charged energy of their previous experiences, the various detours into kinky sexuality and savoring of private fetishes, he wore the expression of deep longing, as if he simply wanted to kiss her, to hold her. Elery thought to herself, as her fingers handled the envelope, that she would gladly trade the contents for just one kiss from him.

The weekend passed slowly. Despite sunny weather, warm temperatures and clear skies, Elery spent the majority of it indoors. She napped a little more than usual, absently thumbed the pages of a new book she was reading, and went for several walks, dreamily recounting the previous weeks, remembering with clarity the various ventures into exhibitionism to appease his voyeuristic whims.

On Sunday, the eve of their next visit, Elery decided she would take action. She could easily and happily continue with the erotic trysts, pleasing him in all his most lavish fetishes, explore as many variations of arousal as he so wished, but what she couldn't bear was to be without the simple intimacy of touch that came with love. He'd unwittingly worn her down by sheer attrition. By allowing her to come to this on her own, without the all too familiar pushiness of men, he had defeated her normally protected disposition and iron will. She was in the throes of a deeply profound longing for his attentions, to consummate with words and actions an affirmation of mutually shared caring. She wanted nothing more now than to finally feel his hands on her, on her breasts, her ass, between her legs. She wanted his scent to be entwined in hers and to feel those strong hands of his over her entire body. And that face. She wanted to crush him in kisses. To smother the breath out of each of them, close to suffocating, and then recover to smother again, to be engulfed in everything that had been kept from her these past weeks. Sitting naked and vulnerable before him she had flawlessly performed the ritual, entertaining his whim. Now, though it meant a betrayal of their agreement, she was going to touch him, and have him touch her.

Mid-day Monday, as she dressed, Elery took special attention with the application of her perfume, walking her naked body into the spray of clouded mist, letting it fall over her. In dressing she took a certain joy in rolling her stockings up over her taut calves and up around her thighs, then clasping the snaps of the garter. In the mirror was the reflection of her neatly trimmed pubic hair framed by the straps of the garter. She savored with determined mind the private little joys of these simple tasks, as they were all a foretaste to the grand encounter she was orchestrating in her imagination.

Descending the steps of her apartment building to the Town Car idling at the curb, the sheer stockings and lacy garter were her little secret beneath her clothes; each move of leg and swing of hip sent stirring sensations from the pleasant rub of the garter up her spine. She hadn't bothered with panties, wanting to be naked beneath her skirt when she pressed up against him.

The familiar routine of the climb up the cement steps to the porch of the grand house was followed by the ringing of the doorbell. Elery was brimming with nervous anticipation for his imminent arrival at the door and his gesturing arm that would welcome her once again into their secret netherworld where ordinary, banal life and its dull imitations of love could not touch them. As the chimes rang through the massive house it introduced the familiar sound of his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

When the door was unbolted and swung open, standing there was not the man, but a stranger. He looked at her quizzically. "Yes," he asked, "may I help you?"

An uneasy feeling coursed through her. The upset in the balance of their practiced routine confused her. Her mind quickly surmised that this disruption in routine carried an ominous foreboding.

"I'm..." her words ended there, replaced by a new and pressing thought. "Where is Mr...." again the words were stifled. Elery had to search her mind for the man's name, as she had only uttered it once, upon their first meeting. Before she could sort her thoughts and place them into words, the stranger spoke.

"I'm sorry, but the man of the house has passed on."

"Passed on?" Elery heard herself saying, as if the words were coming from someone else... "but...?"

"A heart stoppage," the stranger came back, with vague hint at compassion.

"When?" Elery asked, dumbfounded, the excitement of her planned seduction of the man cruelly replaced by a somberness that descended on her like a thick fog.

"This past Saturday evening," the stranger spoke, standing in guard of the threshold, which had suddenly grown cold and unwelcoming. "Pardon me for asking, but what was your relation?"

Elery was still digesting the windfall of information. It took her a moment to compose her thoughts. "I worked, I... read for him," her voice labored.

"Are you Elery?" the stranger asked with a kind of recognition.

"Yes," she answered, voice cracking and unsure, as if her name was just some hollow thing, like a borrowed coat, or one of the unused coffee cups in the back of a cupboard.

"He left something for you." On that the stranger disappeared into the house she knew so well but was now apparently barred from, given that no invitation had been granted, her duties here now terminated. In her mind she saw the stranger entering the study to retrieve whatever it was the man had left for her. The stranger would be unaware, as he crossed the room, of the lovely hours she had spent naked before the man. To him it was merely a room with cherry wood shelves filled with books.

When the stranger returned he was carrying three books in his hands. They were warmly familiar, the three novels she'd read to him; Herman Melville's White Jacket, A Conrad Argosy, which held The Secret Sharer, and South Sea Tales by Jack London, from which they were partway through The Whale Tooth.

She took the books from him, their weight requiring both of her hands.

And on that the stranger said, as politely as he could, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

Elery didn't bother to inquire any further, about the man, or to ask what relation the stranger was to him and the house. A lawyer perhaps? An accountant? It didn't seem to matter. All she knew was that the man was gone.

The driver of the Town Car had watched the interaction on the porch and knew something had happened. When she turned and began retreat to the car he got out and waited for her.

As she went down the cement steps for the last time, the books held close against her chest, Elery's mind was flooded with images of her time in the study. Just a few days previous they had enjoyed such a perfect afternoon, losing track of the time like children playing, unaware of the goings on in the world outside the safe sanctuary of the old house.

As the Town Car somberly maneuvered the streets, absorbing the potholes and uneven pavement, Elery gazed out at the city with its pedestrians in perpetual, hurried movement. The three books were cradled in her lap and she absentmindedly stroked them with her fingertips. They weighted her lap with a comforting reassurance, like that of the man resting his satiated body across hers.

It then dawned on her, the unusually intimate moments she had shared with this man, had been deeper and truer than that of the lovers that had come and gone from her bed, their declarations of devotion and forever-lasting love having all proved empty and erroneous. She then realized that in all their times together, posed naked before him, they had only touched but once, when they first met and exchanged that cursory handshake.

"Pardon me," Elery softly spoke. The driver craned his head slightly, his eyes observing her in the mirror. "We won't be needing the car service any longer."

On hearing herself say those words, Elery began to cry.

The Town Car slipped through the streets, past all the people unaware of the great love that had unfolded in their midst, unaware of such lovely and simple moments that were capable between a man and a woman.

The End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Endura Glass was born in Pittsburg, PA. to immigrant Indian parents. Having earned teaching and writing degrees she taught 4^th grade for more than a decade in two different New England counties. Endura abruptly left America and moved to Amsterdam where she worked as a nude model for sculptors and photographers. Another dramatic leap of faith saw her enter the sex trade industry as a high-end escort with a respected reputation for discretion that introduced her to politicians and the world's elite. Her experiences in the field of human pleasure led her back to her first love of writing. The Reader is one of her most published works in Holland. She lives in Amsterdam, writing erotica inspired from true experience, and still maintains a very exclusive list of clients.