It took a while, but she eventually recovered her wits somewhat and pulled the plug on her bath, standing and wrapping herself in a towel, drying herself, and slipping into her bathrobe for the ten-pace journey to her closet. She opened the far door of her closet, the one which contained the clothes she rarely wore, and drew out a daring black dress. It was tight, satiny, and much too short, with a neckline that made her feel as though her breasts were fully displayed. It was backless, save for a narrow felt cord which criss-crossed her back and seemed somehow to emphasise the bareness of her skin beneath. She paired the outfit with sheer black stockings and suspenders, a brief black thong, and strappy, delicate shoes with just enough of a heel to show off her calves. She looked great – and what was more, she felt great.
Bethany took a moment to remind herself that she hated Valentine’s Day, and laughed. She didn’t believe herself any more. Instead, she took baby sips from her wine, and settled to wait for whatever was to come next.
She didn’t have too long to wait, until another knock announced the next phase of her Valentine’s mystery. She was met at the door by a tall, uniformed man who bowed as she opened the door. He handed her yet another card.
Are you ready, Valentine?
Come to me. Come now.
I await you.
By the roadside she saw a sleek white limousine, tinted windows betraying only the most faint hint of the luxury within. Yet again, any thought of not complying melted, and she fumbled her key in the lock, then followed the chauffer out to the car. He closed the door behind her, and she settled onto the leather seats, heart pounding in her chest. She was on the way to meet… someone.
Peter, surely? But what if it wasn’t? For the hundredth time she ran her mind through a catalogue of other men – and women – who might be responsible. Anyone who had ever shown the slightest interest. The list was regrettably short. She also reflected on her compliance with this mysterious valentine’s instructions. Most unlike her. And if it wasn’t Peter? She realized with a shock that she would still comply. Even if it meant cheating on Peter, this mysterious valentine was going to receive what he had worked so hard for.
Lost in thought, she had hardly noticed the trip, so she was taken somewhat by surprise when the chauffer opened her door. They were outside the Royal Jonquil hotel, easily the most impressive hotel in town… with easily the most impressive rooms upstairs. She swallowed softly, and made her way from the car to the restaurant, where the door opened as she reached for the handle. The Maitre d’ smiled and beckoned her inside. “Welcome, Madam,” he said. “Your host is expecting you.”
He turned as if to lead her away, but she stopped. “Tell me, who is my host, exactly?”
He smiled in return. “Why, he is the man who tipped me generously so that I would decline to answer that question, Madam. Perhaps, though, if you were to come this way?”
Resigned, but somehow pleased at her valentine’s attention to detail, she followed the Maitre d’ to a private dining room on the mezzanine floor. She took a deep breath as he knocked, turned the handle and ushered her in. Was it Peter?
It was Peter. He smiled, somewhat hesitantly, and held his arms out to her. For the first time in years, she did not hesitate to respond, and flew across the room to him. He held her tightly, noting with satisfaction the faint aroma of the bath pearls, and the oh-so-sexy way she had chosen to dress. She kissed him, her mouth opening against his and allowing his tongue to gently probe its way inside as his fingers played across her all-but-bare back, keeping her close but enjoying the smooth touch of her skin. Eventually, though, they were disturbed by a knock at the door as their entrees arrived.
Ordinarily, Bethany would have been furious had Peter ordered for her at a restaurant, but this was somehow not the Peter she knew. Confident, self-assured, in control. She liked it – for tonight, anyway. Dinner was perfect. An entree of prawn cocktails, followed by whole baby rainbow trout on a bed of jasmine rice. Dessert – chocolate profiteroles, her favourite – arrived, and Peter dismissed the waiter with a twenty dollar bill and instructions that they were not to be disturbed.
Now, Bethany decided, was the time for her to seize some of the initiative – and pay him back for the efforts her had made on her behalf. Peter returned to his seat, intent on further small-talk until dessert was gone. To his surprise, however, Bethany smiled at him, a knowing, naughty, nasty smile, and she slowly slid beneath the table. Moments later, looking down, he felt her crawling between his legs. Urgent fingers found his belt buckle, took down his fly, and tucked the tails of his shirt out of the way. Was she going to blow him? Bethany, who had not performed oral sex on him in nearly two years? The evening was going better than he could have hoped for.
She drew his penis from the gap in his boxer shorts, and slowly, tenderly, licked it from its base to its tip, diverting occasionally to run her tongue over his balls. Little by little she felt the cock grow, inside her mouth and against her face, until with one last long, happy lick she found him standing fully erect. Now, she took the head of his dick into her mouth, and swirled her tongue gently against the head, tickling its underside with the very tip of her tongue, guiding herself by his reactions.
He reached down and ran his fingers through her hair, half-caressing and half-restraining. He need not have worried – she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. Having teased the head of his cock sufficiently she now began to dip her head up and down on his cock, mouth-fucking him, taking in a little more and a little more with each stroke until she had taken all she could. Her lips sealed beautifully around his cock, and her constantly-moving tongue caressed and inflamed any tiny part of his dick which her lips missed.
Finally, nearing the point of no return, he whispered, “Baby, it’s going to be soon. Real soon.” He released his grip on her hair to allow her to move of his cock – she had never swallowed, and he was so delighted by the blowjob that he wasn’t going to push her – but to his surprise, she kept right on working his cock, if anything increasing her intensity slightly. He took a shallow, rasping breath, moaned, and bucked his hips slightly, fucking up into her mouth as he came, pumping cum into her mouth. She continued sucking as hard as she could, swallowing his load down, and not stopping until the sensations became too much for him to bear.
She grinned impishly, then disappeared back under the table for a few seconds, finally popping back up in her place. Elbows on the table, chin resting in her hands, she licked her lips an a very slutty – and completely out of character – manner and murmured, “Well, Peter, I’ve had my dessert. Do we have a room upstairs?”
He smiled and stood, moving around the table to offer her his arm. Suddenly switching from her slutty persona to her ladylike one, she laid her fingers on his arm and allowed him to support her with one hand as he drew out her chair with the other. She stood, and left her arm on his as they left the room and made their way out of the restaurant. The elevator took them most of the way to the top: not the presidential suite, but a very good room nonetheless. Peter opened the door and ushered her inside, where she took in the expensive, tasteful furnishings, then smiled back at him. He had done well.