Four

Four

Lover likes to tease me about how I am on a never-ending search for that which is sexy and tasteful. He believes the two are mutually exclusive. Most of our discussions on the topic come from the lack of lingerie that I own.

Instead of corsets or teddies, I opt for lacy bras and panties. My breasts, natural to a fault, require underwire to make them perky. So, unlike the usual French babes who can run around braless until they die of old age with their barely there A cups, my D cups require more structure. And I'm afraid no one company has really cornered the market on really untrashy, underwire lingerie yet.

Lover and I do most of our interaction over the Internet. We're separated by several hundred miles, so we do what we can, when we can. It had been a while since we last had a chat of a sexual nature. So when he proposed a date and time for one, I was excited. He was branching out and doing some organizing of his own. I took this as a sign that he missed me.

As the usually submissive member of our relationship, I believe wholeheartedly in positive reinforcement. Therefore, I had three hours to find something special to wear in the tiny, non-urban town that I live in.

"Come on Macy's, don't let me down," I whispered to myself as I rode the escalator up to the lingerie department. I wasn't shocked that I found nothing there. But I also found nothing at Bergner's, Victoria's Secret, Gap Body or the independent undergarment seller in town. It was obviously too late for the Internet to be of any help, and borrowing friends' underwear was out of the question. Mostly because, I know where it's been.

I was walking back into Macy's to go home defeated when a pair of shoes caught my eye. They scared me to death, so right away I knew they were perfect for Lover.

They were a pair of red and black strappy sandals contorted to fit onto a stiletto heel. These were the kind of shoes that had to be designed by someone with an aeronautical engineering degree and decades of experience and market research with people who have shoe fetishes.

I took a chance that they'd have my size and asked the sales associate for them. She looked me up and down in my jeans and converse sneakers wearing a t-shirt and seemed confused. "What size was that, again?"

"9 and a half, please," I said again. It's true. I'm not dainty.

She wandered into the back to begin her great search, while I took off my grubby tennis shoes. Truth be told, I'm not a complete fashion moron. Just because I don't wear it, doesn't mean I don't appreciate design. I'm a huge fan of Elie Tahari's line. She's sexy and simple, but she also comes with an outrageous price tag at Nordstroms, which I have to order online. And let's face it, as a young mother, where would I wear such lovely things?

The sales woman comes back and hands me the box. Once upon a time, long ago, classy, service-oriented departments store employees would get down on one knee like the were proposing to you as they slipped shoes on your feet like you were Cinderella. In the 21st century, you're lucky if you don't go look for the box in the backroom yourself.

I put the shoes on and tried to stand up, but failed and fell back into the chair laughing at myself. An older woman, in her fifties, was trying on a pair of shoes across from me. She was dressed impeccably in a short, black A-line skirt and a revealing, smooth ice blue blouse. She wore her own pair of sky-high shoes. Clearly being covered in squashed bananas wasn't part of her morning.

"Those are hot shoes," she said smiling at my wobbly legs.

"On you, they would be. On me, I just feel like a dolt."

"You've got to practice. They look good. Take them home and walk around the house in them. When you get good on flat floors, try doing stairs to work on your balance. They're not meant to be in all day. They're meant to attract men," she said, and then she whispered, "Men who only want you on your back as fast as they can possibly get you there."

"Then they're the right pair," I said smiling at her.

I took my purchase home and strapped them on and tried to do a Marsha Brady in my high heels with a book on my head. I got two hours in and my feet started to ache, so I took them off. It would have to do.

That night I curled up in my bed and waited. Lover was on the west coast, so the time change worked in our favor a bit. It was 11 p.m. when he rang me. I hit the button and then ran into my closet. I had pointed the camera down closer to the floor in anticipation. When he said "Hello?" I walked out of the closet wearing only the shoes.

He shook his head in delight on the screen. "I like them," he said. "Move the camera back, so I can see all of you."

I followed his instructions and stood back.

"Breathtaking," he said after a few moments of taking in my body. "How do you feel?"

"Tall," I answered. "I'm like almost six feet in these puppies. It's like I'm seeing the whole world from a different viewpoint."

He nodded his head. "Turn around for me."

I spun slowly.

"Stop!" he commanded. I was facing backward. "Bend over, please."

I bent over at the waist, pushing my bottom backwards and put my hands on my legs for support. I was completely on display.

"Do you have any toys?" he asked.

"Two vibrating eggs."

"Get them."

I disappeared into my bathroom for the toys and the KY Warming Gel. When I came back, I stood in front of the camera waiting for instruction.

"I want you to bend over again but lean against the door frame."

I put the extra vibrator on the ottoman of the chair next to me and leaned against the door frame with my ass facing the camera. Then I put the vibrator to my clit.

After a few minutes, Lover spoke. "Don't neglect your lips," he said. I bent over further and touched the egg to my opening. "That's it. How does that feel?"

"It's nice, but it's no substitute for you," I said looking over my shoulder. A small smile crossed his face but he didn't say anything.

"Are you turned on?"

"Your name comes up on AIM and I get wet," I said. "You know that."

"Put some lube on the egg," he said.

I put on a generous dab. "Now what?" I asked.

"I want you to put it somewhere it's never gone before," he said.

My arms fell to my sides and I looked at his face on my laptop. Could he mean the last virginal spot on my body? The area that has always been considered exit-only not only by me but by the only other person I've slept with besides Lover.

He sees the recognition on my face. "Yes, there."

"How do I keep it in once it's there? I mean, I only have two hands and they're each attached to a controller by a thin wire."

"It'll stay in by itself," he responded.

I had to take his word for it. I added extra lube, just for good measure, and began massaging my asshole with the vibrator turned off. I was intimidated. Lots of people do this all the time as part of their normal sexual routine, I said to myself. It was like I was part of the anal sex lobby reasoning away as I worked up enough courage to explore uncharted territory. I pushed the egg in a bit. There was pain, so I pulled it back again.

"Relax, ma biche."

I closed my eyes and thought about Lover. I thought about his hands moving over my body and about his mouth on mine. I felt my body melt at the fantasy, and the egg slid right in.

"Turn it on," he said.

I flipped the switch so that it was on at a gentle pace. Then I bent over and kept working the vibrator to my clit. As I got more and more excited, Lover would throw in comments about how he enjoyed seeing my ass and would like have me from behind.

His words sunk into my brain where my imagination was in overdrive. I pretended that he was in the room with me. I fantasized about him sinking his penis into my ass. I could feel the pressure of him pushed up into me, and my muscles clamped down harder on him (or in reality the egg).

"Put it on high power," he requested. I upped the egg in my ass and the egg on my clit.

"If I was there right now, I'd have my hands on your hips, and I'd be making love to you, so that both places were attended too. So that all you could feel was complete pleasure."

I came hard and fast. I fell off balance immediately into the door frame when my knees shook and gave out. Ejaculate ran down my legs, over the ridge of my feet and dripped into the arch of my new shoes. Panting, I turned off my clitoral egg and dropped it onto the floor. Then I reached around behind me and turned off the anal egg.

I peered over my shoulder. Lover's camera was on his erection. It was swollen and alert as he pumped it.

"Feel me come, Lover," I said. "It's all over us. It's all over you."

And with that, white semen spilled over Lover's penis and dripped down his dick over the back of his hand.

We stayed quiet for a little while recuperating. Finally, I tried to give the vibrator in my ass a little tug. It wouldn't come out.

"Um, Lover? How do I—"

"Push," he said gently. "Push, not pull."

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply to calm down. Then I pushed. The egg came out easily and ended up in my hand.

"Did you like it?" he asked.

"It was good if it was stationary. I think if something was moving around in there, it might be really uncomfortable."

"Practice, ma biche," he said. "Practice."

In that moment, I was pretty sure anal play was going to require more time and effort than walking in high heels.