The Glass Butterfly

I leaned back in the chair, my eyes fixed to the computer screen but watching his reflection anyway as he busied himself on the shelves behind me, transferring one stack of books (Modern Classics) to one section while bring another (Erotica - although that had nothing to do with my thoughts) to another. I sighed; after all these years, he was the only man who had ever got close to me, the only man I trusted and... the only man who was so off limits that he might as well have been a Martian.

His reflection was coming closer. I refocussed on the screen, tapping in the orders that were the store’s lifeblood, but I knew he’d seen me pause for long moments and I knew he’d be over to check. It’s why I did it.

“Is everything okay, bout 'choux?” He still called me that, even though I was more or less the same height as him, and had both High School and college firmly locked away in my past. I turned and smiled, nodded. “Fine. I was just thinking....”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

“Very good,” I answered and I went back to correct a few typos. He always made me mistype when he stood this close, and he was close... close enough that I could feel his body heat, close enough that I could smell his aftershave, close enough that I could have reached behind me and...

His hands fell on my shoulders. The familiar familiarity, gently massaging either side of my neck, softly, sweetly... sensually? I blinked the word away and concentrated on the page; then, abandoning the attempt, made light conversation. How is business today? Did Renee come in to pick up her order? Should we get pizza or sandwiches for lunch today? And will you do that just a little bit harder, a little more firmly.... a tiny bit slower... I gasped at the boldness of that thought; chased it back to whatever place it came from, then rolled my chair back against his body, stood and glanced across the store.

“I need to doublecheck....” My voice faltered and I coughed to camouflage it, while his eyebrows raised themselves curiously.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

I nodded. I’m fine.

Fine except for the fact I want to....

Want to what?

My Instant Messenger chatbox chirruped and I turned back to the computer, grateful for the distraction; he seemed relieved too, and he stepped away, allowing me the privacy to at least say hello. But moments later he was back, leaning on the back of my chair with one hand, while the other toyed with my hair... casually, almost absent-mindedly, and I wondered what was going through his mind, as we repeated this ritual day in and day out, without even a word to acknowledge that it was a ritual.

Did his mind wander like mine did? Did his thoughts rebel as his body reacted? Did his body even react? Yes... I knew that already, from the bulge I once saw as he turned back to his work once; a bulge that I blushed to even acknowledge, but which rose fresh in my dreams on many nights since then, a Biblical serpent to tempt and torment me, but not so much that I did not daydream as well. It’s length, its thickness, its shape, its texture.

He would not, I knew, be like the boys who I’d been with; the young men my own age with their arrogant enthusiasm; the belief that everything they did was all I could ask for. He would be calm and methodical, gentle and knowing, experienced and exquisite - but he would be excited as well, in the best possible way; balancing patience with the power that he knew he had over me; and never letting go until he knew that I had as well. And I would...

What? The voice in my head was drowned by the voice in my ear. He was asking a question and for a moment I panicked... “so what do you want to do,” he was saying, and his words dovetailed so perfectly with my own roaming thoughts that, for a moment that felt like a month, my face burned red and my heart pounded loud enough that it drowned the traffic outside the store.

“... for lunch?”

I answered without thinking, and he pulled on his jacket, to walk the six doors to the store. I watched as he walked, my mind’s eye mesmerized by the ease of his movements, the fluidity of his stride... he would love like that as well, said my heart, and I felt an answering pulse in my already damp pussy, a pulse that pushed its way to my throat, a lump that rose to meet the thought of what I would do if only I could... because of course I knew the answer to the question that hung there; had answered it in my fantasies so many times before; kneeling or crouching or flat in my back, holding him tight while his hands played my hair, my eyes fixed on his as I danced in his ballroom - I smiled at the pun as though I had invented it, and my tongue swept my lips as I played with the words.

I looked at my watch; he’d be back in five minutes, unless there was a queue. Boldly I walked to the door; pushed it too and turned the latch, put up the “back in a few moments” sign, then back to the bathroom at the end of the office.

Slipped out of the panties that clung wet beneath my skirt.

One foot on the ground, the other on the wall, bracing myself for what I knew would come next. The shock of my finger as it slipped to my clit; the sensation of flight, airborne and laughing; the lightheaded whirl as the butterfly took flight, the fragile glass butterfly that rose so slowly from my cunt... rising, rising, higher. higher.... until I could hold it no more and it shattered to pieces, as I cried out....

In surprise as the stall door flew open.

In shock as I watched his eyes drink in my pleasure.

In amazement as he knelt and gently moved my hand.

And in ecstasy as his tongue replaced my wet fingers.

I spoke.

“Hello, papa.”