The following story was inspired by this image. PJW2017
He watched as she trotted backwards and forwards and all around the house. Naked, except for her shoes and the small gold pendent dangling between her breasts.
Those stupid four-inch stiletto heels, tapping an irritating Morse code each time she passed him by and, this was even more annoying, leaving dimples in the linoleum and the parquet flooring.
She knew he disliked her flitting about wearing nothing but those ridiculously expensive Christian Louboutin. Which is why she was wearing them now.
It was her way of saying, ‘Fuck you’.
Her way of saying, ‘I’ll do what I want, when I want’.
He gritted his teeth. It was not worth attempting to speak with her, especially when she was in this mood.
She stood a few feet in front of him, eyes fixed on his, challenging him.
He stared back, trying not to show any emotion on his face. ‘Let her think what she will’, he thought.
A flick of her head sent the mane of golden blond hair from her face, over her shoulder. She tipped the small bottle of perfume, letting a droplet onto her finger tip. Slowly, seductively she dotted the scent behind her ears. Another finger full ran from under her chin, down her throat and between her breast.
She never took her eyes from his. The next trail of perfume was teasingly spread along the crease where her legs joined her torso, her fingers dabbing the scent in a line alongside her smooth, freshly waxed virginal mound.
Two more dots. One behind each kneecap, completed her task. She walked closer, smiling. Not a happy smile, not a loving smile, just a smarmy grin.
“He likes this one” she said, sniffing her wrist, breathing in the aroma of the perfume. “He says it compliments my own smell, especially when I get… hot”. Again, the sickly smile spread across her face. “Oh, I forgot to say, he is coming here this time. You’ll get a chance to see him after all”.
With that, she turned and sauntered out of the room. Not looking back Not even an over the shoulder glance.
He was sickened by the way she treated him. Yet what could he do? This was her revenge, her punishing him for all his misdemeanours and lies and dalliances of the past.
Some might say he was lucky she did not kill him when it all came to light. But he knew this was a fate worse than death. Something few believe possible.
He clung to one hope; this situation could not go on for much longer. He was sure she would become bored by the whole thing pretty soon. Nothing and no one held her attentions for long, not even him and that was then, let alone how they were now.
This had lasted much longer than it should have. To continue would be, at the least, inhumane. Although her knew that fact would not bother her. Boredom was his only hope, the only true conclusion he could wish for.
Two hours of hearing glasses tinkle with ice, soft music and constant chatter, followed by giggles and laughter. He wished he could move away, out of earshot. Even with his eyes closed he could not sleep.
It was the noise, the music, their voices. Mostly it was the expectation. The images of imagination playing in his mind which prevented sleep.
Not much would be left to his imagination now the door to the lounge was opened. Their voices becoming louder.
“No, no.” He heard her say. “In here”.
The door, which was ajar, swung open and they came staggering in. Glasses of red wine in their hands.
They should not be in here, in his study, his private sanctuary, especially drunk and with red wine. He knew there would be spillages. The bitch.
She plonked herself down on the large leather foot stool. He noticed her steal a surreptitious look at him, a flashing, covert glance.
“I want you, now” She said to the young man kneeling beside her.
“Here?” He asked.
“Right here, right now”.
“I need to… um …go…first” He said leaving the room.
She stood and walked over to him, bending slightly so her head was level with his.
“You can watch this. You had better watch this. If I see your eyes closed, even once, I’ll cut your fucking eyelids off”.
The young man came back into the room. “who are you talking too?”
“No one, silly. I was singing” she said. “Now, this is for you” She deftly unzipped the back of her frock and let it slither to the ground.
Underneath she was totally naked, except for her four-inch heeled Christian Louboutin, which she crossed over the young man’s back, pulling him closer and the small gold pendent nestled between her breasts.
He watched her, watching him. Besides closing his eyes and risking his eyelids, he had no choice. After all, his head was not joined to anything. It was not as if he could move it.
She gasped. Finger nails digging into her partners back, white teeth biting down into the flesh of the young man’s shoulder. Yet, only for one small insignificant moment, as her body jerked with pleasure, did she glance away, did her own eyes close for a moment.
Laying these few feet in front of him, her eyes fixed on his, she was challenging him.
It was her way of saying ‘Fuck you’.
Her way of saying, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”.
© Paul White 2017
© Paul White 2017