A new submission: the last rampart

Lukeinsh

Her left hand on the door handle, her right hand a closed fist around her thong, she posed and took a deep breath. She was shaking. Was it excitement, or was it apprehension? She recalled the events that had led her here, in the women's bathroom, with no pantie under her tight red dress.


She was, as many other women of her age, exploring the many possibilities offered by technology in all the aspect of her life, including dating. She had had a few flirty experiences with men on these digital mediums, but none of them ever could convince her to take things further than a few evening conversations. They all were so... shallow. She was not a prude, but you need to win a woman over before she can offer herself to you. Until, that is, she met Him. Where all these previous interactions had been done with men, behaving like youngsters sometimes, He, was a gentleman. He had been entertaining, respectful, and had seemed to know exactly what to answer, when, but also when to give her more space and not pressing her to answer messages or do anything she wouldn't have done by herself. She had felt extremely comfortable and in control with Him; He was somebody with whom she could be herself, and with whom she could imagine share a dinner, and maybe more. That is when she started to feel that way that He, after a smart and elegant conversation to which He started make her feel used to, proved once again that He was sharp-witted in understanding what she was not verbalizing. He had invited her to dinner, to a restaurant of his choice, and she had accepted without hesitation.


However, a few days passing before the expected and feared encounter made her more and more nervous. He was so entertaining, cultivated, well-traveled... How would He look at her? It was one thing to exchange short text messages, but an other entirely to hold a several hours conversation around the dinner table. What if she wasn't up to His expectations? What if he found he dull? Proving once more His sagacity, he had asked her if she felt uncomfortable in any way, saying that He felt "a strange reserve" on her side. She had been more than happy to explain the matter to Him, and felt immediately relieved after his answer was all the more caring:
"Meeting somebody new is always a stressful experience and a delicate exercise. What you feel, I have felt before. With practice comes perfection and you must not punish yourself on the account of your lack of experience. I propose you a game, that will I hope ease your anxiety.
Especially being a woman, there are a lot of decisive choices to make in the most harmless situation. What to wear, what to order, how or where to sit? I can take these choices for you and lift the weight from your shoulders. I will do it for you and for me: you will be at ease, and I guarantee "that your choices will please my tastes."
She had accepted wholeheartedly this innocent game, thinking that indeed, it would make her feel better to be certain to please him, and it would put her at ease to avoid the most obvious faux-pas.


There she had been, a few days later, in a red dress chosen by Him, wearing a necklace at His suggestion, in high heels He had approved. He was wearing an impeccable black suit and a blue tie. She felt wonderfully comfortable, and she didn't even look at the menu before he ordered, the only question He asked her to answer being if she was allergic to nuts, which had made her laugh. he put her in a more and more agreeable mood, and the few glasses of red wine he ordered for them both contributed to smooth the conversation. Toward the end of the dinner, right before asking for the dessert being served, he had leaned toward her and whispered in her ear.
"I know you enjoyed me telling you what to wear, eat, and drink. And I also know that you have one last point of discomfort, and that is how to behave, what to do after this dinner. When this dessert will be over, and I will have paid the check, what shall you do? I would like to ease this decision on you even right now, before you have to think about it. I want you to go the the ladies' room, right now; and when you come back to this table, I want you to hand me over your pantie. Nothing difficult, only one lore thing you won't have to decide."


She had looked at Him for a moment, silent, and then had risen from her chair, and walked an uncertain walk, in a gaze, toward the bathroom. She had taken a few moments to clear her thoughts from the spirits, and considered her options. She knew at that moment that acceding to His demand was engaging to something bigger than a simple underwear handover. It was an invitation, a path drawn before her to walk on, and He was expecting her to make the first step on it. On the other hand, not doing it meant losing Him. He would not be offended, He would not make a fuss of course, she knew that much. But He would probably look at her with some disappointment, and the last thing she wanted now was to disappoint Him.
Therefore she had removed her red thong, which she had matched with her dress "just in case"; she had tighten it in ball as small as possible in her right fist, until the garment almost disappeared in her grip, and had walked back to the bathroom entrance.


She turned the knob and, adjusting her stance, started to walk toward their table where He was waiting. His gaze was fixed on her. She knew nobody in the room could possibly see the red cloth in her hand, nor anybody in the room could imagine that her crotch was now unprotected from the outside world. However He seemed to know, as a charming smile drew under His forever piercing eyes. How embarrassing, how dreadful it would be, if she tripped over a fold of the carpet, or by a trick played by the wine! But she was now at the table, now near her chair, now sitting. He extended his arm, palm toward the sky, and He didn't need to speak for her to know what He expected. She locked her eyes into His and slowly, although not reluctantly, brought her right fist above His hand, releasing the pressure of her fingers. She could see that He made sure that His hand, much bigger than hers, covered the whole operation in order to keep this transaction a secret between them both. Ultimately, He closed His fist around the garment, and catching her fingers with His, He brought her hand to his lips, and kissed it softly.
"You see, an underwear is a futile, yet ultimate protection of one's privacy. By ceding yours to me, you have proven me that your are worthy of my unreserved attention, time, and carefulness. I will also prove by my actions that I, am worthy of your devotion and trust. You just handed me the key to a secret garden in which even you have never set a foot yet, and I will help you to explore it. It is not my place but yours, and I glad to be a guest within.
And now that you made your choice, and that you are relieved of this heavy post-dinner responsibility... Shall we order the dessert?"
Then, by a curious attrition of her will, she felt unable to sustain his gaze anymore. She blushed, and reported her attention on the plate in front of her.
"Yes. Please. We should. You should".

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