Invitation

It arrived in the mail in an ornate envelope made of parchment so thick it felt heavy in her hands. This weight, too, may have been a product of the things that weighed so mightily on her mind.
Heart drumming as her feet padded against the floor into the livingroom, she came to a halt in front of him, breathless. "It's here" she said in almost a whisper.

His attention instantly shifted from the book in his hands, his laser gaze boring into hers made her shift her feet. She wondered madly if he could glean her thoughts from the pulse pounding in her neck. Suddenly his features soften, the book set aside, an invitation to sit in his lap issued in the patting of the proffered space. Tension easing out of her, as a sudden weight sliding off, and she curls into his arms.  He knows her. His ultimate pleasure comes from the pleasure he brings to her. He is in tune, connected, a part of her.

A soft sigh stirs the delicate hairs by her ear. "We don't have to go, you know? If for a moment, I had thought that it would cause you this much apprehension and not excitement, I never would have sought out the invitation in the first place."

She wilts, slightly ashamed, mostly confused. That envelope, that simple, construction of ink, paper, glue... It was so much more. Especially because all the time and trouble was undertaken at her instigation...

About two months prior to it's arrival, the path to this choice she was facing was embarked upon on a steamy summer night. Bodies damp from the sweat of vigorous sex and moisture in the air, they laid talking, enveloped in each others arms and whispering secrets, fantasies, forbidden longings in each others ears.

"Tell me, you can, don't be ashamed lover, I want it, every thought, every piece that makes up you. Tell me." A simple request, one she was not against.

Heart pounding, she licked lips that had suddenly gone dry, then began to tell him about her fantasy. Voice trembling at the start, she quickly warmed to her subject upon seeing the desire being rekindled in his eyes at her words. She wanted to be used, on display, caressed by many hands. She wanted him to see the outside perspective of her being brought to her pleasure. She wanted to see women lavish their attention on him and spoil him as she felt he deserved.

She wanted sensuality, sex, pain, bliss. She didn't want a dirty hotel, a shameful or awkward swap. Elite. "If we were ever to do this, it would have to be right, perfect."

She continued to speak of tantalizing things. She wanted to stare into a strangers eyes as she swallowed his orgasm. She wanted to grip the hair of an unknown man as she ground her hips against his eager mouth. She wanted to kiss her lover sweetly as another man pounded her into another world. She wanted to taste another woman on his tongue and be flogged by power of several arms.
Each moment and scenario she dreamt and disclosed made his mind race more and his body grow stiff. He'd heard, vague whispers, allusions, to a very elite house where those with an open mind could go and play and be free. This woman, this tempest of passion in his arms, meant the world to him, and to think of the pleasure she could have in one night, more ever, than he could even begin to bring to her at one time. He began to think of ways he could inquire, to make this fantasy a reality. There was a favor owed, one he'd been holding for something important. It seemed it was time to call it in. He'd heard invitations to these particular parties were exceedingly hard to come by.

Thought fled though as it was impossible to ignore the naked temptress in his arms and her shyly whispered, dirty desires. His body releasing tension the moment he slid into her warm sheath, he didn't realize just how much of an effect her words had been having on him.

As they writhed in the pleasure of each others heat, the momentum building to an almost blinding crescendo, they had no idea of the path they had started on that night, or what wicked delights were to come of it...

Speaking of wicked delights...