Buy the Ticket...

I heard a low buzz, heard the door handle to the suite being turned.

Decision time.

It had to be Yes.

It would in any case have been hard to have said No bedecked in nothing but the silk and sapphires he himself had provided.

Which of the three men was in the other room now? Who had gone to all this effort? Jasmine had said they were all nice.

It was time.

I sat on the edge of the bed, held the blindfold over my eyes and tied it behind my head, then sat up straight, my hands on my knees. I tried to smile a welcoming, happy smile.

The carpet was soft enough that I did not hear him approach. I jumped a little when a fingertip softly touched my cheekbone, stroked down along my jawline and off my chin. A hand slowly caressed my arm, took my hand, pulled a little in invitation. I rose and let him guide me to stand in the main room. He released my hand. I could feel a slight movement of air as he stepped back, heard a gentle woof  as he turned on the fireplace. The warmth of the flames felt pleasing on my almost-bare skin.

The only sound was the soft hissing of the gas. Oh, and my heart pounding. I hadn't realized that I was this nervous.

Then there was a strong, gentle hand on my waist from behind, warm breath on my neck, the softest of kisses behind my ear. I felt shivers down my spine, felt my thighs clench, my nipples spring to full attention.

It wasn't your normal Valentine's date, but, equally certain, it wasn't simply lust. This was romance in its highest form. I mean, a wealthy and invisible lover -- it's almost a fairy tale trope in its own right, isn't it?

His hands swept slowly, ever-so-gently over my body under the thin robe. It felt good, very good. I leaned back, laid my head on his shoulder. It seemed so right and I found my initial worries melting away.

There was a knock at the door. Instantly, he took my hand, led me into the bedroom.

"Wait here." he commanded as he left.

Standing there, I heard the hall door open, soft voices, the sounds of a cart, of plates being laid on a table. A few more words were spoken, a door closed and he again stood behind me, warm hands on my shoulders.

"Have you ever heard of blackout dining?" he asked, softly.

I tried to place his voice against one of the three men from the party, found I couldn't. I shook my head.

"No."

I felt his hands at my neck, felt the blindfold release, come away in his hand. I opened my eyes. The lights had been turned out and the room was as dark as if I had still been wearing it.

"It's dining without being able to see. The lack of sight heightens the other senses." His hand carefully led me into the other room, to a table by the tall windows, helped me sit.

I could indeed smell food, warm and tempting. There was just enough light from the city outside and below to be able to - just barely - see the outlines of plates, of glasses, of... of his silhouette against the window. Clearly-defined, handsome, it told me nothing about his identity. All three had been clean-shaven, all three had had broad shoulders, short hair.

I noticed blue lights below us on the streets and surrounding buildings. My hand raised itself automatically to the sapphires.

He sensed the movement.

"Do they please you?"

"Oh!" I said. "Oh, very much! They're just lovely. Thank you."

I paused. "But I can't keep them."

He chuckled. I could see his chest and shoulders were lighter than the space around him and guessed he was wearing a light-coloured shirt.

"Why not?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"They're too expensive. It's too much. Thank you, but no, I can't."

To cover my embarrassment, I fumbled for silverware. My searching fingers found only a large spoon. I picked up the spoon and found the plate in front of me was actually a wide bowl, holding some sort of bean soup or stew.

He had been right. Deprived of sight, my senses of smell and taste had been amplified. It was delicious.

"This is very good," I said.

He was silent for a moment, then, "'Too expensive'? Is that still a thing?"

Like I had a reputation to think of after last night...  He was, I noted, kind enough not to say that. I found myself blushing and was glad of the darkness.

I started slightly when I felt his hand on my arm. There was the silhouette of a wine bottle against the night sky.

"It's a rather nice Chablis," he said, "but if you'd prefer water..."

Uncertain, I hesitated. It was more than risking further embarrassing myself with alcohol. He waited for a second, poured, set the bottle down.

"Sasha," he said slowly, as if trying to stress his sincerity. "Sasha, you're free to go now if that's what you want. You may take the robe and the jewellery if you wish. There's no obligation, truly. Your being here has paid the bet."

Now that set me back.

"You can't be serious," I said.

"Very serious." He gave my arm a squeeze, released it.

I found myself totally confused.

"That wouldn't be right," I said. I found his hand, held it tightly. "Look, I made a fool of myself last night and...'

He cut me off. "If so, Sasha, it was a fool among foolish friends. Nobody got hurt, nobody got shamed on Facebook." He squeezed my hand briefly. "And you're still free to go - with or without the sapphires."

I couldn't think of what to say.

"But I hope you finish your stew first, please. It's not often I get to dine so intimately on St Valentine's Day with such a delightful young lady."

"You mean that?" I challenged. "You'd let me just walk out of here wearing a bazillion dollars worth of gems?"

He chuckled again, more deeply this time and I could feel his grin. "You know, Sasha, I'm tempted," he said, "tempted to say yes, but on the condition that you leave your other clothes here..."

I was speechless, thought of making my way through the polished lobby and all the way home wearing nothing but a twist of silk and too many dollars worth of jewellery. I couldn't see his expression in the darkness. Was he serious?

Then he began to laugh. It was a deep belly laugh and I knew it had been a tease. I found myself joining in.

The laughter gradually died out. He still held my hand; I found it comforting.

"Who...." I started to say.

"'Who?' Who am I? Is that what you are asking?"

"Yes."

"Does it matter?" he asked. His hand pulled away from mine, rose to come to rest behind my head. Gently but irresistibly, he turned my head to face his, pulled us together.

I felt his lips touch mine, ever so tenderly, before they moved on to softly nibble my earlobe, next to the long earring. I felt a flame light deep within me, a sort of desire I'd never felt before.

"Does it matter?" he repeated, very softly.

This time, it was me who seized his head, pulled him with both hands into a deep, extended kiss. My tongue swept across his lips, probed for an opening. I was delighted to feel them part, feel his tongue tip meet mine, trace its way through my mouth. He tasted of beans, of wine, of male hunger supremely controlled.

I pushed him away then, my heart pounding.

"Yes," I said. "Yes. It matters."

"Why?" he started to ask, then, "No, never mind. How about this? I'm just Me right now, hopefully a man you want to be with. If that bothers you," and here he in his turn pulled away slightly, "If that upsets you, then you are free to go."

I surrendered. The night wouldn't last forever. I would know.

I leaned in towards him, squeezed his hand. "I'm staying."

"Thank you," he whispered. "But, since you are staying..."

I felt his hand turn mine to face palm-up. His other hand came down into it and I felt more silk -- the blindfold.

"Put it on, please."

My hands reached behind my head, refastened the ties. Around the edges of the blindfold, I could see sudden brightness -- he had obviously turned the lights back on. His hand took mine, tugged gently and I rose to my feet, turned to face him.

He took one of my hands, raised it high over my head.

"Turn now," he commanded. "Turn for me. Like we were waltzing."

I spun, twirling slowly under his hand. I could feel his eyes on my neck, breasts, bottom, legs. I could feel the silk flow over my skin as I turned, brush and gently rub my now-swollen nipples. There was a heaviness in my loins.

He had so definitely won the bet -- and me.

His grip tightened and I stopped turning. His hand released mine and I felt it slowly brush down my arm to my shoulder. Both hands now, slowly sweeping down my sides before coming together at my waist. Large hands cupped my breasts as strong thumbs gently caressed my nipples. I reached out, found his shirt. I thought of asking, decided not to. My fingers felt for his buttons.

I felt a fire begin to grow within me as his hands softly squeezed and mounded my breasts. Strength and gentleness together were so special in a man.

His shirt had a collar but was buttonless, the slash of its neck held closed with a pair of ties, almost like pyjamas. Pulling at them, pulling the garment over his head and throwing it to one side, my fingers became my eyes, stroking the chest now open to them -- large pecs, sharply-defined abs. I felt desire surge within me, wetness on my ladybits. I ran my hand through his chest hair, found a nipple, pulled on it gently, moaned as his hand's movement mirrored mine.

His lips brushed my cheek. I turned, ground my lips against his as my hands ran over his upper arms and back. I leaned against him, felt his chest hair on my nipples. With heightened senses, I could smell him now -- clean, oh yes, but with a masculine odour that resonated ancestrally deep within me. I leaned down, found his nipple again and licked it with the tip of my tongue. I heard him growl deep in his throat, felt his arms pull me in. His hands slid over my silk-clad body, trailing lines of fire on my skin beneath.

I sucked his nipple into my mouth, nipped it gently. Laughing, I wriggled out of his arms and knelt before him, fumbling for his belt. Again, his trousers were held with only a fabric bow. It fell to my fingers and the garment slithered down his legs. I heard it pool around his ankles, felt him step to free his feet, one leg tossing it aside.

I leaned forward again, inhaled his scent, felt my pulse in my ears. His hands were in my hair as I ran my fingers up his thighs. My hands met, fingers enfolding the base of his rigid organ, my thumbs behind his sac. My lips felt for his tip, missed. I felt it graze my cheek, turned my head, found his engorged head, took it between my lips, sucked gently, flicked his slit with the very tip of my tongue.

His breathing stopped. Smiling inwardly, I leaned forward, took more of him in. Further, further still until it probed the back of my throat and I pulled back slightly.

I left one hand below, rolling and teasing his twins. With the other, I reached up; I was surprised to find how much of his shaft remained outside my lips. I backed up a little, took a firm grip on his length and began to pump, velvet skin over oaken core. He hissed as I began to suck deeply, bobbing up and down over his head, my cheeks hollow, my hand pumping faster and faster.

I stretched his sac away from his body, dropped it, began to run my free hand over his legs and belly.

I could feel his crown under my tongue swell more, sensed his growing need.

On impulse, I pulled back, let his hardness fall from my mouth. I caught it with one hand, leaned forward and, raising myself higher on my knees, placed it between my boobs.

I began leaning forward and back, felt its solid weight slide between my breasts, my nipples taking fire as they were teased by the hair of his belly and thighs.

Still blind, without stopping, I looked up towards him.

"Girls like to look, too," I said with what I hoped was a brilliant smile. "I want to see you."

He was close, his voice almost ragged. "No, not yet. But you are so beautiful, Sasha, so very good at that."

"You like?" I laughed, pushing my softness together with my hands to increase the pressure on the rigid thing sliding between them.

He didn't reply, but his hands clasped my head.

I was surprised when he pulled away. He lifted me to my feet, picked me up bodily in his arms and carried me into the bedroom.

I love to be carried by a strong man. Without any weirdness, it reminds me of being carried by my father when I was a little girl -- a substantial, affectionate figure holding me safely above all the cares of the world. It felt -- it feels - comforting, caring, loving. I allowed myself to relax against him.

He stood me on my feet, by the bed I thought, then kissed me deeply.

He let go, stepped back and I could hear the sheets being pulled back. I felt his hardness brush my hip. I reached for it, but missed.

"I'm going to get a drink now," he said. "Would you like something?"

"Yes, please," I replied. "Surprise me."

His lips again found mine, softly, tenderly this time. I quivered as warm palms covered my breasts, squeezed gently.

He took my hand, moved it just to one side, to where I could feel the mattress.

"I'll be back in a minute," he promised. "You can get into bed if you wish. If you're warm enough, take off the robe." He paused, chuckled softly. "I will when I get back, in any case."

He kissed my forehead and I was alone.

I thought of taking a quick peek, lifting the blindfold, maybe peering around the corner into the other room. I smiled, discarded the idea. It had worked out very well so far, I thought.

I stood there by the bed, listening. He had been right about how taking away one sense boosted the others. I could just hear the soft sound of a cork being removed in another room, the continued hiss of the fireplace. I don't think I've ever felt the air on my skin that way before, softer than nearly-touched kitten fur. I could feel the earrings and the necklace against my skin; fondled them with a fingertip.

Such an extraordinary experience!  I thought to myself. I let the finger roam, touched one nipple, then the other, shivered at the sensation, smiled with both pleasure and anticipation.

I heard a bottle being put down in the distance, turned toward the sound. This time, I heard his bare feet on the carpet. I smiled more broadly, held out my hand. A wine glass was put into it. I sniffed -- something bubbly. I raised one eyebrow, sipped - something... not alcoholic. Something with lime.

"Perrier," his voice said, closer than I had thought. I heard a click as he set his own glass down. I felt the silk robe shift slightly, then again as he tugged on it.

"I decided to let you take it off," I smiled.

My glass was taken from my hand; I heard it too being set down before his hands again settled on my hips. He pulled me towards him. I felt his hard member against my stomach and wiggled a little to rub it between our bodies.

Whoever he was, I liked his laugh.

I liked his lips on mine, so soft at first, then firm, insistent.

I liked his hands as they rose up over my flanks, dragging blue silk under it.

I liked the way the robe flowed down over my shoulders and arms when he released it.

I liked his hand exploring the sapphires he had given me, the body they were displayed on.

I liked it all. I said so.

"You are an amazing lover," I whispered. "I like your ways, sir."

His hands settled on my now-bare bottom, pulled us together again. I ran my hands over his own bum, ran my nails lightly over his back, felt his body shift with pleasure.

"I like you, like this," he whispered back. "So very beautiful, so very desirable. I want you."

"You have me," I replied. "You would still have me if..."

"If?" he said, not ungently. "If I let you take this off?" I felt a finger touch my forehead.

"Yes." then, "Please. I want to see you."

"Not now," he said gently. "Maybe soon, but not yet."

I felt his arms go around me, lift me, carry me two steps to be bed before they lowered me to the mattress.

"Lift," he said. Feeling the pillow shift under me neck, I lifted my head and let him adjust it.

Then he was in my arms again, his lips on mine, his tongue probing, searching for my soul.

I put my arms around his neck, pulled him down onto me and delighted at his weight.

He shifted slightly to one side. His hand ran through my hair, slid over my face. I gasped slightly as it slid lower, covered a waiting breast, squeezed softly. He bent and I felt his mouth on my nipple, eager now, demanding. I moaned as he seized it with his lips, pulled back slightly before releasing it to begin swirling around it with his tongue. It felt astonishing. It felt like magic. It felt worthy of sapphires.

I felt for his body with my hand, swept over his back, dug between us to again find his manhood. Finding it with a fingertip, I shifted, seized his head, solid with his desire. To my delight, he shifted to my other breast, allowing me to grasp his shaft half-way down. He chuckled as I squeezed it, began to stroke it, thumb its head as my hand came near. There was a sticky wetness on its slit.

Then his other hand found its way to my mound, pushed down on it, shifted it under his strong fingers. My button and lower lips were pulled back, forth, up, down. My breath caught and I groaned deeply in delight. The groan turned to a soft whimper as a finger slipped lower, found my sex, traced my lips, over and over.

I tried to shift, tried to get better access to the stiffness in my hand, but he resisted. Instead, his lips moved from boob to boob, setting fire to already smouldering nipples. Below, his finger slid knuckle-deep into my dark wetness and I hissed with pleasure.

I squeezed him, tried to pump his length, but he was lying against me and I could only do tiny strokes. I clutched him harder and shifted, again thumbing his crown, pressing, circling.

Slowly, persistently -- expertly -- his finger slid in and out of me, swirled slowly around my clit, traced places I hardly knew needed attention.

I felt a rising ball of fire in my belly. Somebody was roaring, shouting meaningless words into the darkness. I realized it was me.

With two fingers now deep in me, he twisted, stroked my G-spot in a come-hither gesture, gently nipped one nipple with his teeth.

I exploded.

Writhing under his gentle, powerful, skilled hands, shrieking in my joy, I shook, trembled, gasped.

"Stop!" I begged. "Just for a moment!"

To my broken-hearted disappointment and utter relief, he did. His weight came off me, his head moved to lie in the hollow of my shoulder. He left one long finger inside me, scarcely moving at all.

The orgasm continued, enfolded me into its depths. A week, a month, a year later, it faded. I caught my breath, or tried to.

I felt a gentle hand on my cheek.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Good," I panted. "No, too good. That was too good."

He laughed aloud.

His hand came up, pulled at the blindfold. The room was hardly bright, but I could at last see him.

His smile was brilliant, but I hadn't time to really see his face before strong hands seized me by the waist, lifted me and placed me face down the mattress. Stepping away, he seized my ankles, pulled me back, half-off the waist-high bed.

I felt the edge of the mattress against my tummy as he dropped my legs. He knelt behind me, spread my cheeks and gave a long, tantalizing lick along my ladybits. I shivered with pleasure. And again, with the full breadth of his tongue. I felt my pussy clench. And again.

He rose, taking me by the hips now. Standing behind me, between my legs, I felt his cock brush between my thighs, probing, seeking. I shifted my bottom to help and his hips eased forward.

I gave a happy squeal as his swollen head found my entrance, pushed forward, stretching my lovelips. He paused, shifted his stance, then was sliding in, deeper and deeper, stretching my walls to their limit with his stiff-rimmed crown.