AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s not really a question.
“Y…yes,” I stutter, my throat suddenly as dry as the Mongolian steppe.
“Be ready then,” he says, and slips away. A few moments later, I hear him in the dining room, helping our older son with his algebra homework.
My hands go through the motions of loading the dishwasher, but my face feels hot, my pussy tingles and my mind is already busy planning for tonight’s journey on the Silk Road. That’s how I like to see it: an endless length of translucent silk, fluttering over craggy mountain passes, across golden deserts, through cities ruled by turbaned tyrants. And just as the real Silk Road beguiled travelers with perfumes, fine carpets, spices and jewels, we, too, will visit strange lands and enjoy exotic pleasures.
On ordinary nights, I use the evening hours to wind down, relax and prepare for refreshing sleep. But my husband’s simple whispered words mean this is no ordinary night. Already my senses are on high alert. When Julian sits next to me on the sofa, I’m keenly aware of the scent of him, a masculine fragrance of leather and cumin and sun-toasted grain. I glance up at his face and he smiles, his eyes sparkling like emeralds.
He’s thinking of the Silk Road, too.
Finally, it’s time to kiss the kids good night and settle them snugly in their respective bedrooms. Julian changes into his bathrobe and mumbles that he has a few emails to take care of in his office. With a knowing look, he leaves me alone in our bedroom to make the necessary preparations.
My pulse quickening, I pull open the top drawer of my dresser and snake my hand behind the control-top panty hose to my secret stash of lingerie. I carefully pull out a package of opalescent silk stockings. Placing it on the hope chest at the bottom of our bed, I head for the closet and take my white marabou mules from their shoebox. The five-inch heels are so slender, I can barely stand in them, much less walk more than a few steps. But the Silk Road is not for walking. I set the sexy slippers next to the stockings.
Then I undress and put on my Japanese kimono, knotting the belt loosely. A moment later, I hear a faint knock at the door. Julian has the timing down just right. Not wanting to raise my voice, I hurry to let him in. He flips the lock behind him with a metallic click that resonates deep inside me.
Julian glances over at the stockings and high heels, then back at me, a faint smile playing at his lips. He gives me a deep, knee-melting kiss.
And so the journey begins.
When our lips finally part, Julian takes my hand and guides me over to our bed. As I watch, he peels back the blankets and arranges our two pillows at the center of the headboard, as if readying the place for a pampered guest.
Who, of course, is none other than myself.
Julian settles me on the bed then gestures to the belt of my robe. “May I?”
I nod, suddenly too shy to speak.
He unties the belt and pulls my robe open, arranging the flaps around me. It’s an odd, and exciting, effect—to lie totally nude on my outspread garment like a virgin sacrifice. Julian gives me a final onceover then picks up the package of stockings and lounges on the bed at my feet, one knee bent, the other leg stretched toward me. I have to admit he looks a bit like a sultan, especially with his robe falling open over his strong chest.
“May I put on the stockings now?”
His tone is respectful, even subservient, and yet that simple question makes my body feel weightless, lifted up out of time and completely subject to his whim.
“Yes, please,” I say softly.
He slides one stocking from the package but pauses, rubbing the silk gently between his fingers. “I’m always amazed by these things. They feel so cool and light. Like a whisper.”
“They feel good on my legs, too.” I smile.
Julian lifts his eyebrows. “I wonder if they’d feel good on other places, too?”
I feel a flutter between my legs. “What other places did you have in mind?”
“Close your eyes and you’ll find out.”
I fight my natural urge to resist, mainly because Julian’s naughty little detours have never disappointed me. So I obediently close my eyes, aware of my quick, shallow breath and the prickle of expectation on my naked skin. I gasp at the first touch of silk sweeping over my belly. The sensation is cool and impossibly subtle, yet it stimulates my nerves in the most beguiling way. I arch up and sigh. Humming approval, Julian trails the end of the stocking in sinuous shapes over my rib cage then circles my breasts, finally teasing each nipple to a hard point with a silk stocking pendulum. By now I’m struggling to keep my composure.
“Feel nice?” Julian asks, rather gratuitously.
“Yes.”
“I could do this all night, but your bare legs are looking jealous. Keep your eyes closed. I’ll tell you when to open them.”
I love to watch him sheathe my legs in the luxurious silk stockings, but blindness brings unforeseen pleasures. I’m exquisitely aware of his warm fingers easing the bunched stocking over my toes, then rolling them up over my ankle all the way to my upper thigh, just a few short—and yet excruciatingly distant—inches from my swollen cleft.
“They do feel nice on your legs, don’t they?” He runs his hand over the silk. “One more to go.”
