1. Today My Name is Caprice


    Date: 10/25/2017, Categories: Exhibitionism, Author: Verbal, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    to the young man next to her and he can clearly make out the words on her lips: “Thank you, that was lovely, you may go now.” He follows her instruction like an overeager puppy and bounds quickly away. Well, that was new. You did very well, pet. Thank you, Sir. She finds his gaze from across the room, meets it and rewards him with a smile as warm as skin, as cryptic as moonlight. He feels as if can see her thoughts, her memories, her desires, hidden within the folds of her mind. It is as if the whole room, the whole world has fallen away. Just his eyes, just her eyes. Just the two of them, the bond of their gaze holding them together. Finally she looks down to his keyboard, places his fingers on the keys. It is time. I know. I don’t want to go. It’s the rules. It’s time to go home to your wife. Yes. Will you be thinking of me when you fuck her? Yes. You know I will. Yes. The resultant pause fills with something neither of them can quite name, a little like joy, a little like remorse, a little like the half remembered bits of a dream fading the instant you awake. Will I ever talk to you? You know the rules. Will I ever touch you? The rules, dear. We made them for a reason. You made them for a reason. They are your rules. I know. Sometimes I tire ...
    of rules. I know. Will you at least give me your name? You have asked me that question a hundred times. :) What can I say? I am a man of habit. You are a man of wonderfully dirty habits. They look away from their screens one last time, the same way they did last week, the way they will next week. His hands move toward the keyboard. Your name, dear? I asked you your name. Today my name is Caprice. She walks out blinking into the harsh light of the world outside the walls of the room, enters the crowds on their way to jobs or stores or home or school. She blends in with them instantly, vanishing as if she is part of a magic trick, a rabbit in a hat, a girl sawn in half. He turns off his laptop, stares at the unlit screen, and his reflection on the glass. His eyes stare back at him blankly, as if they were the eyes of a stranger, watching him. Behind his reflection sit the people in the coffee shop, and beyond them, framed in the window, the mirrored crowd who has just swallowed her up. No one watches him now except himself. She is gone. He folds his screen down, tucks the laptop under his arm and stands. He passes through the doorway onto the street, absorbed effortlessly by the same crowd that has absorbed her moments ago, and heads toward home.
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