Trivial Pursuits Ch. 16

Alessa took a deep breath as she followed behind. Perhaps alcohol would help to cut the acute, sharp pain of her sex and soothe the disquiet in her brain. The light above the stove was on and provided a soft, glowing illumination to work by. As Denny hadn't turned on any other lights, they stood in the relative dark, with only sound of a wine cork popping and the liquid filling a glass and then another. Without ceremony, he handed her one while he took his and drank.

When Alessa paused in between sips, Denny reached out and cupped her cheek, looking over her face adoringly. He kissed her again, but with less of the heated passion, though she could feel his lips quiver with restrained longing. It was an effort to not be swept away too quickly, to not kiss him back with the aching fervor she felt expanding in her gut. But the knowledge that more was to come, that the unknown was to happen, was enough to give her strength to resist the pull.

"How was your run?" Denny asked off-subject when they had disengaged again.

"Well, I didn't have a running partner to rescue from self-induced cramps, so relatively uneventful," she replied with a ghost of a smirk on her lips as she lifted her glass for another sip.

Denny gave a grunt to that. When they had both seemed to have sufficiently cooled off, Denny assessed her squarely. "Ready?"

She held a wary expression. "For what exactly?"

"Your gift."

Alessa bit her thumb nail. "And what is this gift exactly?"

He gave her a warm, half-smile. "Like I said, you have to open it to find out."

She let out a shaky sigh. "Fine. Let's have it."

His smile only grew more devilish.

"What?"

"It's in the bedroom."

Alessa sucked in her breath. Deeply. Slowly. And for several seconds didn't let it out. Her mind was racing to every sexual toy she could think of. She hoped it wasn't some sort of anal plug. She didn't think she could go through that. It seemed unlike he would want to give her a vibrator as he should be using his own impressive erection for that. Then again, unless he planned on sticking it in another hole. There were always the thrilling possibilities of hand cuffs or masks. Maybe even hot wax. She had always wanted to try a little pain.

Denny watched fascinated as her facial features displayed ever thought racing through her mind. He saw trepidation, and disgust, cautious interest, and even flashing lust. He wondered exactly what she was thinking.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he urged again, placing his hand at her back.

They shuffled through the dark living room and down the hallway to his bedroom. She felt him guide her to stand at one point in the room while he left her to switch on lights. To her surprise, she heard the click of a lighter and saw the small flame as he lifted it to a large white candle. Once ignited, he moved on to another and another until there was enough illumination to clearly see him, herself, and the large, seemingly flat object leaning against the wall. It stood over six feet and was robed in a black cloth and tied with a giant red bow. It felt sinister. And alluring.

Her eyes slid to him as he stood watching her. "Well, what is it?"

"Like I said. Unwrap it."

She took a tentative step forward, and then another until she could reach out a hand. The red material was satiny, heavy and thick and glossy. She gave a light tug, and then pulled harder until the length slipped free of its own twisted knot and fell gracefully to the floor. She reached out for the black material next and pulled until it too slinked off the large object.

Alessa blinked as she looked back at her own reflection, perfectly illuminated by the dancing flames of the several lit candles. At first, she didn't understand. It was a large, impressive mirror, possibly six and a half feet tall and three or four feet wide. It was beveled and had a sturdy, simple black frame. She cocked her eyebrow and looked at him unimpressed.

"A mirror?" she asked. What sinister thing did he have planned for the mirror? Or had his hints been misunderstood, and he had no black intentions in the gift. Was it a simple present, or was there something more.

"How do you like it?" he asked, coming to stand behind her, his eyes trained on her exposed neck.

"It's a nice mirror?" she supplied, not knowing what he expected.

His lips were softly curved in a small smile. "And do you like what you see?" he further prodded.

"I guess. I mean, it's just a mirror," she answered with a frown, still not understanding his point.

"Not the mirror, Sweetheart. What's in the mirror."

She was silent a moment as she scanned it, looking for what he was talking about. And then her eyes fell to her own, and she looked at the tall, dark figure behind her. "You mean myself?" She sighed. "Denny, is this your way of telling me you think I'm beautiful? We've already established that you're attracted to me. Can we move on? I don't need a giant mirror to look at myself." She sounded exasperated, and she was about to turn around, shut it out when his hands reached out to stop her, forcing her to continue staring at herself.

His eyes finally lifted to her reflected ones. "Yes, we have established that I'm attracted to you. But what I don't think you get is how just looking at you is erotic. All of you. Every inch of naked flesh is sensual and erotic and beautiful." He felt her squirm in his hands as he mentioned naked flesh. "If you truly understand what you do to me, what just looking at you does to me, you'd be petitioning city hall to have the freedom to walk around nude everywhere. Instead, you can't seem to stay out of your clothes for more than a few minutes, and as soon as my eyes are closed, you've slipped them back on." His accusation was clear and somber.

She scowled. "So what? I'm not allowed to wear pajamas? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm cold? Maybe my skin is sensitive and your sheets are scratchy. Maybe after sex you're all sweaty and that feels disgusting to sleep against. Maybe I just don't want to be that intimate," she defended.

He leveled his gaze at her. "I thought we'd gotten past your lying."

She was silent as she scowled at him, her lips pursed and her brow drawn down in irritation.

"Who said I'm lying?"

"If we're sweating, you're not cold. My sheets are top of the line, smooth as a baby's bottom. Not scratchy. And how is laying naked next to someone more intimate than having sex with them? Face it. You have a problem being naked when there is no reason for it."

"Dammit, Denny. There's always a reason for everything," she nearly shouted in frustration.

He was silent as he studied her. Angry, Alessa simply shifted her terse gaze elsewhere, not able to meet his intense scrutiny. After a short time of tense silence, he spoke. "What other reasons are there?"

She simply gave a fuming shake of her head, refusing to answer.

"Alessa," he warned, now certain he was onto something. "What other reasons are there?"

She huffed out. "I just don't like people looking at me. Naked. Okay?" she answered still not looking at him.

Denny narrowed his eyes. "Who else would be looking?" he asked confused without thought.

He saw her mouth screw tighter, but it was the slight change in the slant of her eyes that began his brain to thinking. To remembering. It was a look of hateful shame, of embarrassment and hurt and all things unforgettable.

"Your stepdad," he whispered, a thousand tons falling on his shoulder, digging into his heart. He knew he was right the instant he saw her draw up, her crossed arms tightening around her. She still looked off to the right, still unable to meet his gaze. But he knew he was correct. He knew he had dug out the thorn of her history that caused such lasting scars.

"Oh, Sweetheart," he groaned, aching to pull her close. But her body language indicated she wouldn't welcome his touch. "Fuck, Sweetheart, that's so messed up. You're so messed up."

That drew her livid eyes. She was defensive; it wasn't her fault. After all, she'd gotten by the best she could, protected herself as needed. What had she said? She dressed in the dark? Scoured her bathroom whenever she took a shower, looking for a hidden camera? A life built around protecting her nudity.

"You have no right to tell me what I'm doing is wrong, how I feel about something is messed up. I don't have to take this. I don't need you to judge me." The fat tears sprang up in her eyes even as her mouth held an angry line. She took a step away from him as if to leave, but before she could take a second, Denny had reached out and grabbed her, twisting her around to crush her to his chest. Her hands were between them, pushing against his embrace.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, you are messed up. And who wouldn't be?" he whispered gruffly into her hair with angry emotion coating his voice. "It's so wrong, so wrong what happened to you. And you're right, you don't need my judgment. But that's not what this is. Me seeing how you've been hurt, understanding why you carry this baggage and wanting to help you unload it, that's not judgment, Sweetheart, that's friendship. It's what we do when we care for each other; we share our burdens."

He felt her finally soften against him, melt as the strength of her anger dissipated. As her shoulders began to shake, her hands grasped and knotted in his shirt, pulling herself tighter into him. He merely stood there, holding her as she cried old pain away.

Denton gently rocked her to and fro until the furor of her torment seemed to settle, her body once more simply lax against him. He pulled away slightly in order to cup her wet cheeks and draw her gaze up to his. His thumbs mindlessly stroked the wetness away as he stared at her, her eyes blue pools, shining and bottomless.

"Sweetheart, what happened to you was wrong. And at the time, your only recourse was to hide, to protect yourself. I understand that. But that isn't your reality any-more. You're a grown woman, in a relationship. Safe. And the gaze of your lover on you is a good thing, something to embrace, and if at all possible, to use in your favor," he said with a soft, teasing smile. "And just as you learned to hide, you have to learn to be free, to embrace the good possibilities."

Alessa's brow was drawn as she held back the discomfort and attempted to assess his words for the truth they held. She didn't want to be afraid, she admitted. She didn't want to be ashamed or scared or nauseated. She wanted the freedom she knew was normal, but was so frightened of doing as he suggested to find it.

She drew in a shaking, cleansing breath. "Okay," she whispered, looking from his lips to his eyes, needing some sort of strength to carry her through.

His smile was heartbreaking, and for a flashing second she felt safe, felt as if she were home. He kissed her then, tender but sensual, full of breath and tongue and gentle nips on her lips. When Alessa seemed to warm back up, Denny instructed her to turn and face the mirror again.

Slowly, with some amount of trepidation, she turned in the glow of candles to face her broken, persevering form. For a moment, Denny let her quietly assess herself, not speaking as her eyes looked over the features of her face, now blotchy and red, the length of her neck, the outline of her body in her clothes, the shape of her calves and point of her feet. Unhurriedly, her eyes drifted back up to meet his staring intently at her.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked with a warmth and quiver to her voice. She waited with a nervous stomach for his answer.

"I want you to remove your clothes," he instructed solemnly without further explanation.

She knew that was what he was going to say, knew the purpose of the stupid mirror, and yet, it felt like a shocking splash of acid through her stomach to actually hear the words. She swallowed and then slowly lifted trembling fingers to the buttons at the collar of her cream blouse. With aching deliberateness, her fingers began to undo them one by one, the edges of her shirt slowly falling open to reveal her beige bra beneath. She reached the bottom, which was tucked into her skirt. Pulling it out, she undid the last three buttons, and then looking him in the eyes, she let the shirt fall free from her arms. Her skirt was next, falling around her ankles and then kicked off to the side.

For a moment she thought she was going to be sick as she witnessed his intense scrutiny of her every action. When his eyes met hers, she felt the gentle encouragement to carry on, to remove the last pieces. Her hands slide down her thighs to snag on the edge of first one thigh-high stocking and then the other, taking them off while balancing on the opposite foot. And then she stood staring at herself again.

Denny could see her beginning to freeze, the panic setting in. He lifted an affectionate finger to stroke the flesh along her spine. Her stomach quivered at the contact, parts of her melting while other parts reared in protest. But she stayed unmoving until she allowed the comfort provided by that soothing finger to settle deep and calm her nerves. She reached back, her eyes now focused on Denny's, and unclasped her bra. It was slow in coming off, but eventually it slid free and was tossed carelessly to the floor.

Denny wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of her exposed, smooth flesh with his lips, to rub them along the feminine curves now perfectly on display. But he held fast, motionless as he waited for the last divestment of her clothing.

Alessa was fast melting under the fire of his fixed stare, a kindling of desire despite the coexisting discomfort that was engrained from years of shielding herself. She closed her eyes, closed herself off, for just a moment, just a second in time to gather to her the last remaining courage left floating inside. With a deep, centering breath she opened her eyes, though they looked down her body and not at him, and slowly slipped her thumb in the band of her panties and began tugging them down.

They were off, and she was naked, standing bare before him. Somehow, even in the dim and warmly lit room, she felt more exposed than ever before.

"Sweetheart," Denny purred, watching the fast rising of her chest. Her eyes finally drifted up to his, apprehension in them, but also a seeking for something to trust, something to cling to and believe in.

Holding her gaze, he brought his finger back up to slowly trace the curves of her back, drawing lazy, abstract patterns, feeling her rib cage expand beneath his exploring fingers. Eventually, his hand trailed around her side, coursing over her hip bone and over the planes of her stomach, down to the top of her sensitive groin and up and around the curve of her breast. Her breathing was more rapid and her eyes fluttered as she watched his eyes watch his hand. She could feel her body sway back, feel the tickling whisper of his dress shirt graze the skin of her back.

Dissolving as she was, Denny leaned forward to run slow and reverent kisses along her neck. She leaned her head to the side, offering him greater access. When her body slowly fell against him, the arm that held her up continued its caresses while Denny's other hand stroked the sensitive skin of her neck and shoulder. Alessa had no thought to stop the groan of pleasure that slipped past her parted lips.

And then he was gone. Alessa opened her eyes as she felt her support leave her, stumbling back a step before looking behind her. Unconsciously, her arms covered her body as she gazed out into the dark of the room that the light of the candles could not reach. She could see him barely as he seemed to pick up something large and walk back to her. She stepped out of the way as he silently maneuvered her over in order to set the long, large bench down directly in front of the mirror. Her lust-coated mind was slow to grasp the implications of his actions until he stood and held a hand out to her, inviting her to take it.

When she did, Denny guided her to step a leg over the bench so she straddled it, facing the mirror. At first, Alessa twisted herself about as if to escape, but Denny was behind her immediately, his hands on her hips holding in her place.

"Ah-ah-ah, Sweetheart, we're not finished. Not by a long shot," he murmured as he prompted her to sit down on the bench with her thighs splayed to either side. Her hands immediately dropped to cover her groin as he settled fully clothed behind her. "There," he said, almost casually, a darkness in his voice that warmed her despite her unease. For a moment, they sat, staring at each other's reflections, one silently prompting the other, while the other warily watched the first.

"Look at yourself, Sweetheart," he coaxed gruffly, but tenderly. "Look at how beautiful you are."

With a small amount of reluctance, Alessa turned her eyes to herself, staring at her face and silently wondering what she had gotten herself into, wondering if she was insane or finally discovering what she had always wanted. And then she allowed her eyes to drift down her body, once again taking in her form, now completely nude. She took in the line of collar bones, the slight ridges of her sternum and then the firm slopes of her average breasts. She watched as her ribs expanded and contracted with each tormented breath she took. She followed the length of her arms until they joined at the apex of her thighs, covering her hidden, but certainly aching sex.

As she stared at the hidden mystery there, she felt Denny's fingers glide gently down her arms to lace his fingers with hers. Though she knew it was happening, she couldn't quite keep his hands from separating hers, pulling them apart. The moment her flesh was revealed beneath, she quickly turned her face away, casting her eyes off into the dark. He laid their joined hands on either of her thighs.

Now fully exposed, she could feel air invade and brush against her wet folds. She drew in a sharp, tormented breath.

"Alessa," he murmured. She only screwed her eyes shut and gave a small, denying shake of her head. "Sweetheart," he continued to entreat, "look. Open your eyes and look."

There were several more deep and shaky breaths before her eyes cracked open and then slowly, begrudgingly, she turned her head until she met his eyes. "Look," he whispered once more.

He could feel her strained breath and then watched her eyes part from his and trail down her body, taking in the fullness of her sex, the completeness of her femininity. He watched her brow draw down and her lips part with a small snarling curl. She swallowed, and as she continued to study the folds of delicate skin, her features slowly changed from subdued disgust to guarded interest.

Denny watched the appealing blush on her skin slowly deepen and spread down her chest, covering her in sensual rosiness. Her breath was evening out, and though apprehension still shaped the corners of her eyes, he could sense the slowly burgeoning appreciation for the erotic vision she created.

At length, her eyes flicked back up to his. "Okay, so I've looked. Now what?" He could tell she attempted to cover her desire with an acerbic tone, and so only returned her sardonic words with a wolfish grin.

"Now, my Sweetheart, you are going to watch while I make you come." His words had the desired effect, causing her to take a deep breath in.

He released the hands that were still intertwined with his own and brushed his palms up her arms, one hand slowly encircling a breast, the other falling back down to ghost over her parted sex. The sensation was light, almost tickling, but it caused an ache that demanded a firmer touch. Alessa held back the movement of her pelvis, closing her eyes to avoid watching the intensely erotic site of Denny's hand snaking down her body.