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Mark fell into the tufted chair like an obedient boy, which sent Angela’s fist to her hip. Oh, please
don’t blow this, I thought. If you blow this, no Jesse for me.
“Yes, ma’am,” he added.
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” Angela scolded. “That is not going to turn any woman on.”
“Sorry.”
He examined the room, his eyes stopping on the mirror for a second. Angela followed his gaze.
They were both looking directly at me. No! I sank in the chair, my hand to my throat, which was now
closing in some kind of terror-induced anaphylactic shock. Angela snapped her fingers to bring his
attention back to her. Whew. They can’t see you! They cannot see you, Cassie! I reminded myself.
Exhale.
She strutted up to him, stood close enough to almost touch his knees with hers.
“Remember, we only pair you with women who want what you want, who crave what you crave,
who want to do what you want to do, or who want to try what you want to try.”
He put one hand to the muscles in his neck to give himself a stretchy massage. Wow, he was
nervous too.
“So, Mark … how shall we play today?”
How shall we play today? That was sexy. I tucked that phrase away. He looked down at her white
pumps, regarding them thoughtfully. I followed his eyes as they made their slow way up her long legs.
“I’ll play however you want to play.”
That’s my boy! I wanted to yell. You can do this, Mark. Angela moved her hand across the front of
her dress.
“Why don’t you take your clothes off, Mark?”
“I can get into that.”
He stood, a full six inches shorter than her, to strip.
“You’re a goddess,” he said, kicking his shoes off, looking up into her face looming over him, her
breasts level with his eyes. “I don’t care if I’m not supposed to say that. It’s what you are.”
She cupped his chin, but instead of kissing him, she let go and turned to make her way to an
ornately carved writing desk. She opened a drawer and took out of it something that looked like a
tangle of rope. The only way to describe how she moved was feline. She was a woman who loved
being in her body and she was used to being watched. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her. Nor could I.
She stood behind the desk now, watching as he ripped off his clothes, pants first.
“Mark, Mark, Mark. You’re stripping like a frat boy. Put your clothes back on and start again,
honey.”
He did as he was told. Once dressed, he started again, this time removing his belt more slowly.
“Now you’re a Chippendales dancer? Not sexy.”
“Fuck,” Mark said, clearly pissed at himself.
“Start with your shirt. Just use one hand to undo the buttons. Try that. Look at me the whole time.”
He did, and it was much better. She held the rope in her hands.
“Now the cords,” she said, as he casually undid his belt, leaving it in the loops, and dropped his
pants and boxers to the ground.
He lightly kicked them aside. He was clearly ready, but she didn’t draw attention to that fact. She
pushed him back into the chair and dangledtwo ropes in front of his face.
“You should be naked too,” he said, nervous laughter escaping.
“I don’t like that word,” she said.
“Naked?”