The room was enveloped in a dense, velvety darkness, the kind that seems to have substance, as if it could be cut with a knife and reveal a deeper, more profound blackness beneath. The air was still; only the scent of the woman who slept every night in that large bed lingered, a sweet, seductive scent that clung to the very fabric of the sheets like a ghostly embrace. It was a reminder of what should have happened, a promise of the moans of pleasure that would normally have filled this space, but where silence reigned supreme.
In this void, a silhouette sat unmoving on the edge of a plush, queen-sized bed, their eyes glued to the screen of a phone that emitted a soft, cold glow. The digital map on the screen flickered with a single blue dot, tauntingly stationary despite the time that had passed since the figure's last consultation...a few seconds earlier.
Yet she had meticulously placed the GPS tracker in Sandra's favorite bag, a bag she knew she would never leave—until tonight. The bag lay abandoned on the floor, its contents spilled like the entrails of a sacrifice to a capricious deity of love and betrayal.
The figure's eyes narrowed into slits as she stared again at the unchanging blue dot on the GPS tracker's screen. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of Sandra's absence. "Sandra, my sweet Sandra," she murmured to herself, her voice barely a whisper in the heavy silence of the room. "Where are you when you should be in my arms?" Her thoughts grew darker, a brewing storm of doubt and anger. She had been so sure Sandra would be here waiting for her.
The room grew warmer as the tension mounted, the darkness thickening like a blanket of unspoken secrets. The shadow clutched her head in both hands, a searing pain piercing through her brain. It was a pain she knew all too well, a pain that felt as if millions of tiny, venomous insects were feasting on the delicate tissue of her brain, burrowing deeper with each agonizing pulse. Her eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught, as if that could somehow hold back the flood of doubt and anger. Her breathing grew ragged, her chest rising and falling in erratic waves.
The doctors had tried to explain it before, using words like 'obsessional disorder' and 'erotomania' as if they could neatly categorize the tempestuous maelstrom of her emotions. They had talked of 'histrionic personality disorder' and suggested pills that would dull the sharp edges of her love into a blunt, unfeeling emptiness. But when she first saw Sandra, she knew they were wrong. This wasn't an illness, a mere mental malfunction. It was a passion that burned with the intensity of a thousand suns, a love so pure between them that the whole world envied and wanted to destroy it.
She threw her phone on the bed and grabbed a pillow. Her hands clenched and unclenched on it, and the sweet scent filled the room, a bewitching promise that seemed to dance just out of reach. It was a fragrance that had haunted her dreams every second for years, a siren song that had drawn her right here, and now it felt like a cruel trick played by fate… the one of Sandra.
Sandra, with her golden hair that flowed like a river of sunlight and eyes so blue they seemed to hold the secrets of the universe, had captured her heart from the very first glance. Today again, she had watched Sandra from afar, memorizing every detail of her, from the way she laughed to the way she bit her lower lip when she was lost in thought. She had studied her like a sacred text, learning her every move, every preference, and every secret. And she knew Sandra felt the same way. The way her eyes lingered on hers during the coffee break and the accidental brushes of skin that seemed to electrify the very air—those were not the actions of someone uninterested. No, they were the unmistakable signs of a love that could not be denied.
Yet, there were moments when the cruel hand of fate seemed to wedge itself between them, moments when Sandra pushed her away with a coldness that was like a dagger to the heart. Like the day Sandra had told her that she needed space, that she didn't want to feel suffocated, and that she needed to be free. But the silhouette knew the truth. She understood the fear that lurked behind those eyes, the fear of what society would think, of what her family would say if they knew what kind of love burned between them. It was a love so fierce and so powerful that it could not be contained by the flimsy walls of social norms.
The shadow took a deep, trembling breath, letting Sandra's scent fill her lungs, calming her racing thoughts. She knew that Sandra was just playing a game, testing her, pushing her to prove that her love was unbreakable, that it could withstand any obstacle thrown in its path. And she would pass that test. She would wait for Sandra, no matter how long it took, because she knew that today was the day.
Today, Sandra would finally return to her, her resistance crumbling like sandcastles in the face of a relentless tide.
Because today she had decoded the messages sent by Sandra, the silent plea that only she could understand. It had been a dance of desire, a tango of unspoken words that played all day at the office. Closing her eyes, she replayed the elements of the day that had brought her here, like flashbacks in the romantic movies of her childhood…
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I had felt the electricity in the air as soon as I had walked into my workplace this morning, stronger than the other days. It was a palpable force that seemed to crackle around me, raising the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. And, like every day, I went to the photocopier to collect the latest reports, waiting for her.
It was a dance we had performed countless times before, Sandra and I, a silent ballet of desire that played out in the mundane theater of our professional lives. Each day, we would find ourselves drawn together by invisible threads, our bodies moving in a choreographed routine that spoke louder than any words could. I had long ago memorized every step, every pause, every beat of our secret dance. However, today Sandra was late.
Sandra had often been late, except never this late, although I knew it was no mere coincidence. It was a test for me, for my patience, a challenge to my resolve. The tension was in the very air, thick and potent like the scent of rain before a storm.
Fortunately, as if fate were on my side, the photocopier had chosen this day to be particularly temperamental, its usual reliable hum replaced by a series of irritating beeps and whirs. Yet, I had remained calm, my eyes never leaving the door with the small sign "Sales Director" on it, waiting for the moment Sandra would appear.
I had felt the heat of anticipation building with every second that ticked by, my thoughts racing like a wildfire out of control. I remembered the whispers I had overheard, the hushed conversations about the new sales director, Mr. Blackwood, and his... hobbies. The thought of Sandra with him, as every day since he was hired, was a knife twisting in my gut, a vision that brought bile to the back of my throat. But I held back, knowing that Sandra was torn between her thirst for freedom and her love for me, that she was biding her time before inexorably returning to me.
Alas, while the photocopier had finally spat out the last report, I had felt the urgency of the situation like never before. My eyes had been glued to the clock on the wall, its hands moving with a maddening slowness that seemed to mock my very existence. Sandra was supposed to be here, sharing in the sweet agony of our secret dance. Yet, she was not.
My heart had plummeted to the pit of my stomach, a cold dread creeping up my spine like an icy serpent. The silence of her absence was deafening, a cacophony of unspoken words that screamed of betrayal and heartache. I had to find her; I had to ensure she was okay.
Abruptly, the door opened. And suddenly, like a vision from heaven, she appeared—Sandra, the most beautiful creature to ever walk this earth. Her golden hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of pure light, her eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. My heart leaped, the sight of her bringing comfort, my anger and doubts melting like snow in the sun.
But there was something different about her today. Her usual sharp business attire was slightly disheveled, and her cheeks were flushed with color, as if she had just run a marathon. Sandra turned her head toward me and absently scooped the remaining cream from the corner of her mouth with a finger. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead as she brought it to her mouth, her tongue flicking out to catch the sweet treat.
The sight was so intimate, so personal, that I felt as if I had been slapped. This was why she was in the sales director's working room every morning, to taste the 'best whipped cream' in the entire office, in her own words. And here she was, flaunting it before me, her eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. It was as if she knew the effect it would have on me.
I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in my chest. "You're late," I said, my voice even, my eyes never leaving hers. Sandra smirked, her teeth catching on her bottom lip. "Mr. Blackwood had some... last-minute instructions."
And that's when I saw them, streaks of bloody red in Sandra's wonderful hair. Streaks that didn't exist yesterday—I was sure of it. They stood out like crimson ribbons against the golden curtain that framed her face.
It was a message for me; that was for sure. Because only she knew how much I hated that color. I had once revealed to her the dark childhood traumas of my father's explosive rages, the color of his necktie, a vibrant crimson that seemed to throb ominously before my eyes every time he took his anger out on me. Sandra had listened to me, her eyes wide with empathy, her hand gentle on my arm. She had promised never to wear red, aware of the pain it caused me.
Yet, as she turned on her heel, her hair flying behind her like a golden tornado, she had the audacity to leave without another word. My eyes followed her, tracking her every move like a hawk until she was lost in the sea of office drones heading for the coffee machine. The sound of their chatter was a dull buzz in my ears, a cacophony that couldn't drown out the thunderous beating of my heart.
My body tensed, my muscles coiled like a spring, as I watched her sashay over. She moved with the grace of a gazelle, her hips swaying in a way that was both mesmerizing and infuriating. Each step she took was a silent declaration of war, a challenge thrown down for me to accept or ignore.
As I joined her, the whispers of the accounting girls grew louder, their eyes darting between us like a tennis match. I could almost hear their thoughts, a symphony of jealousy and curiosity playing out in their minds. They knew about our history, about the dance we had been performing for years.
"Very nice hair color," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Sandra's smile froze, the warmth in her eyes turning to ice. She knew what I meant. She knew I had seen the crimson ribbons in her hair, the silent declaration of her betrayal. The room grew colder, the air thick with tension as she turned to face me fully.
"I don't see how that concerns you," she said, her tone that of a mother reprimanding a child who had just said something stupid. "I do what I want with my body." Her words stung; however, I knew she was baiting me, pushing me to the brink. I took a step closer, our bodies almost touching. The heat between us could have melted steel.
Her smile was mischievous, almost cruel, as she added, "But if you must know, I did it because of a lost bet." The revelation was like a sucker punch to the gut. Nevertheless, I kept my face neutral, refusing to show the turmoil brewing within me. A bet? With whom? The thought made my blood boil as I forced myself to remain calm.
Obviously, Sandra immediately saw through my game. She turned languorously to the youngest of the accountants, a brunette named Anna who was now blushing furiously, her eyes cast down to the floor. Sandra said with the voice of the most seductive succubus. "I bet that this shy gazelle wouldn't be able to make me come with her tongue." And she added, gently caressing Anna's now crimson cheek. "Though, she surprised me with her tenderness, her audacity, and her... dexterity."
I almost choked on my laughter. It was impossible. Because I had researched Anna as soon as she arrived at the company, as I did for anyone who might speak to Sandra. Anna was pious, a devoted wife who had married her high school sweetheart just a few months prior. Her social media was full of scripture verses and love notes to her husband. But there she was, the picture of innocence, with that same devilish glint in her eyes I knew so well. A glint that could have passed for lust in anyone, except Anna. In hers, it was just professional admiration; I was certain of it.
The office buzzed with excitement as the rumor spread faster than wildfire. The whispers grew louder, the glances more pointed, until everyone in the vicinity was aware of the bet and its outcome. And all the while, Sandra remained unfazed, her eyes never leaving mine, her smile never wavering. It was as if she was daring me to react, to lose control. Luckily, I was made of sterner stuff than that. I had seen her play this game before, and I knew she liked to win.
As Sandra disappeared into the throng of employees, the heat between us lingered like a physical entity. I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, of being discarded like a forgotten toy. Still, I knew better than to let it show. Instead, I turned and walked back to my office, my steps measured and calm, my expression a mask of indifference.
Two hours later, as if on cue, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number, the screen flashing with a simple word: 'Restroom.' I knew it was from her, the anticipation sending a thrill down my spine.
I couldn't believe it. The dance was back on, and Sandra had just played her next move. I took a deep breath, my heart racing with excitement. I had been waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity, craving the feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth, and the scent of her desire. I knew she felt the same way; she was as addicted to me as I was to her.
Without a moment's hesitation, I got up from my desk, my legs feeling like jelly. I made my way through the office maze, my eyes locked on the distant restroom sign like it was a beacon of hope in the storm in my mind since our morning interaction.
My heart hammered in my chest as I made my way to the designated spot, my eyes scanning the corridor for any prying eyes. The office was a minefield of potential witnesses. Fortunately, the office was a ghost town; everyone was either at lunch or in meetings.
When I arrived, Sandra was quietly coming out of the bathroom. She raised her doe eyes towards me, and then, very slowly, a mischievous smile appeared on her lips. The sight of her standing there, looking like a naughty schoolgirl who had just played hooky, sent a thrill through me. She looked... delicious.
Without losing her smile and looking me straight in the eyes, she slid a piece of fabric around her index finger and then gently twirled it. It was a pair of panties. They were crimson red, the same shade as the streaks in her hair. The color was bold, almost taunting, and the delicate lace trimming was stark against her pale skin. My breath hitched in my throat as I took in the sight of them, my body responding in a way I hadn't anticipated.
Her eyes never left mine as she approached, her hips undulating with a practiced confidence that had me transfixed. Each step she took was a deliberate tease, a silent promise of what was to come. The air grew thick with desire as she was mere inches away, her warm breath fanning my face. The panties continued to swirl around her finger, a mesmerizing dance that had me rooted to the spot.
Suddenly, she was closer, so close that I could feel the warmth of her body. My eyes fell to the crimson fabric in her hand, the color a stark contrast to her pristine white blouse. The fabric was damp with a darker shade in the center, and I knew it wasn't from the humidity. Her scent enveloped me—a heady mix of sweet perfume and the faint musk of arousal.
Sandra's shoulder brushed mine, so casually it could have been an accident, but I knew better. She knew exactly what she was doing. She had always been a master at playing hard to get; however, today she was pushing the boundaries, taking the dance to a level I had...
