A Stringed Instrument

By now she was close up to the wall, elbows propped against it, and my legs were straddling hers. "The first moment I saw you," I whispered, "I wanted you." I punctuated the sentence with another tweak and she squeaked into the hand that covered her mouth. "And here you are."

Her dress had some sort of fancy catch at the chest. I didn't fancy trying to work it out one-handed in the dim light, so I just bypassed it and popped the next three buttons below it. That was enough to grant me entrance and after that the front-fastening on her bra gave me no trouble at all. Soon enough my hand was playing over soft warm skin, just as music started up from the lounge.

There's something exhilarating about touching a woman under her clothes, a shared secret quite different from open nakedness. I could tell she felt it too, from the way she arched back against me, body pressed against my hips and my lips.

I released her mouth and she sucked in air while I explored her body. With my left hand I traced down the line of her spine, down to her tailbone, then around to her hip, pulling her against me hard as my right hand — fingernails digging into her — repeated the message.

"By the way," I murmured into her ear, "I love the dress." And I started to gather it in my hand, drawing it upwards fold by fold, trapping it against her hip as my fingers reached for more. It seemed like far too long before I reached the hem and then there was nothing left below my hand, except Phoebe's underwear. And Phoebe.

She knew what was coming, I could feel it, but I made her wait. My fingers skirted the edge of her underwear, brushed her belly and the tops of her thighs, touched everywhere but there, until she started to whimper in frustration. My fingers drifted closer, as I planned a slow crescendo...

Footsteps in the hall, two voices approaching "...discuss this in private."

"Shit." I pulled back, looked around for options. Yanked the wardrobe door open, dragged Phoebe in by the wrist as they came into the bedroom. The light clicked on just as I pulled the door closed behind us. If they'd been looking in the right direction they would have seen me, but they were too busy with one another. RJ and another voice I couldn't place — one of the regional office heads, I guess — talking business.

"Not tonight, Mike, but if things don't pick up you're gonna have to make tough calls. It's what I pay you for."

"I know, RJ. I don't like it, but it has to be done. Even with rates down, nobody wants to buy when GFC Two might be on the way..."

I'm sure I could have learned something useful by listening, but I had other priorities. I dragged Phoebe to the back of the wardrobe and crowded her against the wall, this time facing me, with her back against a long fur coat (her mother's perhaps?) My hands were busy tugging the straps off her shoulders, working the fastenings, pushing the dress to the floor, swiftly followed by her underwear. My knee, shoved in between hers, opened the way for my right hand.

"Oh!" Phoebe moaned as my fingers slid between her thighs, as I found her wetness, and I felt her stuff her knuckles in her mouth lest Daddy hear. He was still talking, and that suited me fine. I was in just the mood to enjoy his daughter in his bedroom, while he stood oblivious not ten yards away. I had my left hand in the small of her back and my breath was hot as I whispered in her ear.

"Gotcha." And my fingers came up, thrusting inside her, warm and tight and alive.

"Oh!"

She must have left tooth marks on her hand as my fingers curled to stroke her, my thumb snug against her clit. She arched her hips against my hand, I felt muscles grip my fingers, and I pushed her hand from her mouth so I could kiss her as I worked my fingers inside her.

(RJ and Regional Guy were still talking.)

Phoebe set the rhythm with her hips and I matched it, fingers filling her and stroking that glorious bundle of nerves, thumb strumming her clit aggressively. I can be slow and gentle, but this wasn't the time. It was urgent for both of us, that I play her to —

I'd expected her to cry out loud (what a way to get fired!) but she came in total silence, spasms wracking her whole body, breathing in fits. She had both arms around me, clawing at my back and my hair. With every wave I triggered her again, each shock stronger than the last until at last she melted into my arms.

(Still talking.)

I held her as she recovered, softly stroked her hair and her sides. When she was coherent enough to respond she cuddled me back. After a while, when her breathing was almost back to normal, she leant forward and tentatively kissed me.

Neither of us noticed when RJ and Regional Guy finally went back to the party.

***

Afterwards we found the light-switch in the wardrobe, straightened our clothing, tidied our hair as best we could and managed to locate an earring Phoebe had lost somewhere in the middle of things. She looked out into the corridor, making sure the coast was clear, and we returned to the party. I dare say we still looked rather hot and flustered but nobody seemed to notice; things were starting to wind down, and most of my colleagues were too tired or squiffy to pay much attention.

I was trying to figure out the etiquette for this situation when Susan (shit, forgot all about Susan!) tapped me on the shoulder.

"Yvonne! I thought you'd gone, looked everywhere for you."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was, um, in the ladies' for quite a while."

"Well, I was hoping to talk to you this evening. Is now a good time?"

I looked to Phoebe. She nodded at me and answered, "I'd better leave you two to it then. Lovely to meet you, Yvonne."

Susan led the way outside. Everybody else had drifted in by then, except the caterers collecting a treasure-hoard of dirty plates and bottles. We walked some way from the house and then she turned to me with the same unhappy look I'd seen before. I braced myself; being fired would be a pain, but even so I was feeling better about the evening than I had when I walked in.

"Yvonne, I hoped you could give me some advice. My daughter said she thinks she's gay..."

It was a long conversation. I reassured her that the world hadn't ended, it was nothing to do with her parenting and lesbians still love their mums (well, if they deserve it) and then I gave her some tips that might be useful to a fourteen-year-old trying to survive Catholic school. She had a lot to process, but at the end of the conversation I felt I'd achieved something.

And tired. God, so tired. By then almost everybody had gone home. In a sleepy fog I made my last good-byes and drifted toward the door, having looked around for Phoebe without success. I was halfway to the front gate before she caught up with me.

"Are you going to be safe to get home? There's a guest room if you want to sleep it off and go home in the morning."

"Thanks, but I think I'm okay, I only had one —"

"It's next to mine."

I took the hint.