(Not) the Third Date

The heavy, cast-iron garden door snaps shut behind me. Quickly, I walk along the meandering cobblestone path towards the stately mansion. Suddenly, I stop. My heartbeat increases. Swiftly, I slip my hands under the hem of my short cocktail dress, grab the delicate waistband of my skimpy panties, and pull them down over my smooth, hairless legs until they reach my ankles. After stepping out of them, I pick up the thin, sheer fabric, and continue mincing towards the dim light of the mansion entrance.

On my way, I scrunch up my panties and am about to stuff them into my small clutch but suddenly change my mind. Instead, I slip my right hand through the leg hole, wrap the fabric around my wrist, and fix it in place by hooking the other opening on my middle finger. Just as I am satisfied with my improvised lingerie gloves, I reach the end of the pathe and stand in front of the plain but elegant high glass door.

A moment later, the room behind the door lights up, and a woman who could be my mother struts towards me on high heels way higher than mine. Through the glass, I take in her sight. Her womanly curves are emphasized by the tight, strapless evening gown that hugs her sizable breasts and pushes them together and up, forming a deep, sensual cleavage. The black dress reaches down to her ankles and is slit high on one side, ensuring that every other step would reveal her long leg, covered in black, thigh-high silk stockings. Her mature, discreetly made-up face is framed by a bob of straight silver hair. As she approaches the door, her piercing green eyes fix on me and my heart drops.

Who is she?

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as she pulls the door open, curving her dark red into a subtle smile.

"Welcome, darling," she says, her voice smooth and sultry. "We have been expecting you."

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I hesitate for a moment before stepping inside, my improvised lingerie gloves still wrapped around my wrist. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I find myself standing in a well-lit foyer that is only decorated by a simple but elegant white leather bench and a huge oil painting, depicting an ancient bathhouse with several scantily-clad or naked women. As my eyes linger on an especially lewd part of the painting, the woman's steady voice startles me. "Do you like it?"

I turn to face her, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "Um... yes... it... it looks great!"

"Would you like to pose for it? I could paint you next to Trisha," the mature lady says, pointing at the spot I had just stared at.

I feel my heart skip a beat as I look back at the spot she pointed to. I imagine my naked likeness being captured and exposed there for eternity. I feel a shiver run down my spine and unconsciously push my thighs together.

"I... I... don't know," I stammer, trying to find the right words. "I've never done anything like this before."

"And still you came here today, darling," she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement, "to do something you have never done before, right?"

I swallowed hard and lowered my gaze at the sudden reminder of why I came here in the first place.

The elegant lady steps closer to me, her hand reaching out to gently touch my arm. "There is no need to be nervous, darling. You are in good hands here... I promise! And in return," she pauses to put a finger under my chin and direct my head to look her in the eyes, "you promise to pose for me if you have not left the premises before dawn."