Her cell vibrated against her hip in the middle of the foreman's explanation on beam support structure and how its development made safer hospitals and schools. Relena glanced down just to verify which it was, but knew by the feel it was her special phone. Catching her guide's attention, she excused herself from the small group, and found a secluded niche.
A text message requesting her presence, and hoping for an all night appointment for that night. The day had been harrowing, if not particularly long. It took her less than a minute to confirm with time, place and key word to enter the facility. With a quick call to her secretary, she cleared her schedule for the morning. Feeling better with the anticipation of release, Relena rejoined the tour.
The drive to her special loft wasn't long; the list of things needing to be accomplished in a short period of time ran through her head. Dinner she dismissed out of hand. At some point, Relena was sure, food and drink would become part of the game - all nighters usually included it. By her watch, she had almost two hours before her guest would arrive.
She wondered what he'd be like.
Once in the loft, Relena entered the walk-in closet, stripped completely, hanging her things on hangers and racks. She walked nude to the bathroom, pulling pins and clips from her hair as she went. A full wash, a complete clean. Hairless had been requested, hairless he would get. Relena took her time, for it was needed. The water washed scents from the day, people she'd touched, food ingested, fluids secreted. Fingers in her hair, rinsing shampoo suds, stripped with it who she was, who others expected her to be.
Out of the shower, she was naked and left with nothing of her former self.
By long practice, she toweled herself dry and moved about without dressing. She checked the equipment, and all was still in fine condition. A glance verified the bed was clean and ready if needed; the night stand drawer was well stocked with condoms, lubricant, and enhancers.
Her special feature, she spent time drying and brushing her hair. She let it fall as it would, the only covering she'd wear that night. With another time check, she was in the closet, opening drawers and readying her items. Leather was buckled and snapped. Light chains were clipped, threaded from collar, and attached with links from her twin rings. Another chain circled her waist, connected through another hoop, and snapped to a final ring. She tested the pull and was satisfied the tension was good without being too tight.
A soft chime let her know her guest was in the elevator and on his way up. Without rushing, she flipped a switch to dim the lighting just enough to be unobtrusive, but still bright. In the middle of the bare floor, she went to her knees, adjusted her mask, and lowered her face to the carpet. She concentrated on breathing, on letting it go, on relaxing her muscles.
He was at the door.
Focused to the point nothing could reach her, the startled gasp had. She almost looked up. Decades of control kept her head from lifting, her body from moving. Footsteps drew closer and stopped just in front of her. Boots, she decided. Not too heavy, more of a heel than not. She pictured black to just above the knee over the top of cream colored pants.
Her breath in shallow whispers, she listened as her guest circled her, paused at her feet and completed the circuit. A soft rustle, tread headed away from her, and she realized he had removed a coat - long and red - tossed over one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, and headed back.
By the slight creaking, she imagined he had squatted down to study her. She touched her tongue to her lips, they were dry. The urge to twitch, to draw attention - good or bad - was strong. She resisted. Another rustling noise; form-fitting white shirt, cuffs undone, sleeves being turned back, rolled to mid-arm.
A bare stroke across her cheek. His thumb, she thought. A palm touched her head, slid itself down her hair, lifted its length and dropped it. Another soft creak, and quiet shuffle told her he moved on. The touches were light, almost casual – a brush here, a stroke there – maddening with their lack of substance. But then, it might be his intent. She wouldn't break.
His hand was warm on her rear. First cupping one cheek and then the other. Slim, long fingers Unexpected, moist lips pressed to skin elicited a short cry. She received a pinch to the inside of her thigh and bit her tongue to keep the moan at bay. This was a game she played well and was determined to win.
Up along her spine, he ran his hand. At her neck, he smoothed her hair away and planted another kiss, a quick touch of dry lips. Something brushed her arm, and for the moment, she thought a feather or a paint brush, but it didn't seem to fit the mental imagine she'd gotten so far. Her thoughts deep on what he might do next, she nearly missed his sigh.
He rose to his feet and once more stood in front of her. For the first time in the years since she'd begun her game, she wished she could see; she wished she could watch this guest as he put her through the paces, through both pleasure and pain.
"Perfect," he said out loud. She couldn't contain the gasp as she recognized the voice.
Fingers were on her chin, raising her head, lifting her into a kneeling position. A tug on her mask, freeing her sight, granting her wish. As her guest came into focus, he continued to speak.
"Shared secrets should be seen." He moved his lips over hers, papery soft, almost tender. "Wouldn't you say, sister dear?"