Scent of Violets
The Scent of Violets
A short story by Brian Feenan
Having taken her final nibble at the last stick of celery from the starter platter Susan repositioned herself central and upright in her late eighteenth century reproduction dining chair and slid her plate to the middle of the table. She sipped from the crystal glass held in her left hand and concealed the dry bitter taste of the overpriced but albeit expensive wine behind a lonely expressionless face.
“I’d kill for a glass of Tesco’s special reserve”, she thought, “God, my feet are killing me”.
She leaned discretely over the right hand side of the chair and stretched her hand down to message her foot which she had slipped from the tight clasp of those damn new black heels. Glancing around the restaurant at the other tables she noticed that the conversations had become closer and more intimate as the night grew on. Couples drew near as candles grew smaller and dinner plates were replaced with coffee and wine. Conversations, which began loud and light-hearted, were now low, deep and intense. The couple seated opposite her were unable leave each other alone. When they were not touching hands she was sucking his fingers or he was feeding her from his fork.
“I know she walked in unaided” Susan mused to herself, “but there’s definitely only one leg visible below that table. Susan had been caught staring a few times already and dare not risk a third. She felt so uncomfortable and was sure that others in the restaurant knew as she had felt the looks and sensed some of the whispers. She corrected the hem of her black satin dress to ensure her stocking tops were not visible and lifted her handbag from the floor to sit on her lap. Inside were a chequebook, one deep red lipstick and a small vanity mirror. The cord of the price tag was still attached to the strap but the tag itself had been shoved to the underside of the zip. Susan had been in such a rush that she had only noticed that the tag was still there when she was making her way down from the room nearly two hours ago. There was a substantial red trace on the outside rim of the wineglass prompting her to correct her appearance. She removed the lipstick with her right hand, flicked open the lid and with her left hand held the vanity mirror close to her face, set at a slight angle to catch the light from the dying candle at the centre of the table. She raised the lipstick towards her face but stopped short as she caught a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror. “Four weeks, three phone calls and one cold letter”, she summarised to herself, “Sixteen years of marriage and this was one too many business trips.”
Philip had been setting up a new plant on the outskirts of Edinburgh and one disaster after another had kept him away from home for far too long. A romantic weekend in one of the Royal Historical Hotels could maybe go someway in making this up to her but things never seem to go as planned. He had let her down again but this time was different. This time it was in public. This time was the last time. That special wee black number, a new hair style, underwear which would send the most broad minded vicar to drink and a two hundred mile car journey is certainly not the pre-requisite to a lone started. Susan understood the pressure that Philip was under but its difficult not to feel second down on the totem pole, especially at a moment such as this. She quickly returned the lipstick and mirror to the handbag and feigned preoccupation as the waiter approached. He softly cleared his throat and presented a small folded piece of blue paper on the saucer at her left.
“Excuse me, message for you madam”, he apologised.
Susan smiled disheartedly, lifted the piece of paper and held it close to her chest. The waiter lifted the starter plate from the centre of the table and nodded his departure. Knowing what the message would say she hesitated in reading it until the attention on her from the other patrons had ceased.
“Sorry. Held up. Be there soon as I can. Philip.”
“Oh, he has such a way with words”, she thought, hiding her hurt with sarcasm.
Finishing off the glass of wine with one large gulp, she lifted herself from the table and paced with caution to the entrance into the hotel lobby. The same waiter nodded his sympathy on her exit but Susan felt more like a double gin with a vodka chaser.
“Now you’re talking”. This thought gave an endearing but discrete smirk to her face. She turned to smile at the receptionist and made her way up along the dark oak staircase following its many curves and rises to the second floor balcony. From here she could see the white panelled door of number 213. “Appropriate number”, she whispered, “twice as unlucky”.
She gazed out through the expanse of the grand bay window to the gravel car park below, drew a deep mellow breath and headed to her room.
“I didn’t leave the light on”, she confused herself, “I’m sure I didn’t”.
Entering the room she was overcome by the sweet aroma of violets. Her favourite flower, colour and would you know it, sweet. Parma that is. She closed the door behind her and stood amidst a glow of candle light and naked flame. There at each side of the enormous cream lace cloaked wrought iron four-poster bed stood two large gothic candleholders with nine burning candles in each. At the far end of the room roared a glorious log fire which cracked and snapped with such veracity and if that wasn’t enough, at the foot of the bed sat a silver ice filled cooler cradling a bottle of Tesac’s special reserve, of course. Amidst the confusing excitement rose as she approached the fire, dropping her handbag to the floor. Standing as close as the heat would allow she wrapped her arms around herself and slowly caressed the goose bumps rising on her exposed skin as the heat rose smothering her body. Lifting her eyes slowly the reflection in the gold trimmed mirror above the fire surround stopped her breathing and jolted her heart to a race.
There, at the doorway to the bathroom, stood Philip to his full six foot two, broad and adorned in a black tuxedo, red silk bow tie and what was most definitely the largest gathering of violets this side of Hadrian's Wall embraced across his left arm. His four-year stubble gone and his hair was meticulously set cloaking his shoulders.
“Hi”, his deep crisp northern voice broke the air, “I….am……tried”.
Susan sharply raised her hand and placed her finger across her pursed lips to silence him. She turned, took hold of the back of an oak chair at the side of the fireplace and with precision paced to the centre of the room, dragging the chair behind. There she stopped short of Philip, placed the chair square and firmly at the foot of the bed, turned to face him and slowly lowered herself onto the seat whilst staring directly into his wide brown eyes. Susan's heart pounded against her chest as she felt the blood surge through her body and the saliva rush from beneath her tongue. She tugged at the hem of her dress and slowly parted her legs revealing the black lace patterned top of the stockings which squeezed the soft light pink flesh of her thighs. The red lace of her underwear drew tighter as her hand continued upwards across her skin, sliding her index finger behind the lace and easing it inside herself. Her mouth opened slightly as she cautiously gyrated her pelvis and raising her right hand into the air she extended her finger to beckon Philip forward.
Philip stood numb and transfixed at the woman he could see before him. He could feel the muscles in his legs tingle and the heat rise in his face. He was going flushed a combination of nervousness, excitement and a slight uneasiness. This was a side of Susan he had never known and it was turning him on so much. He dropped the violets to the floor, slid his jacket from his shoulders and walked across the flowers, hands trembling with anticipation. He stood between Susan’s legs, glared at her right hand whose finger was still sliding back and forth behind the red lace. The edge of the underwear, which ran, between the top of her soft thighs and bum glistened moist with the reflection of the candlelight. She snatched hold of the buckle and unhitched his belt with one single rapid motion, unclipped the button and ripped his zip open with such a force to drive his trousers to his ankles. Philip gasped as his body ran rigid and his eyes drew wide. Susan ran her fingers up along his right leg from the back of his knee, across the front of his thigh and up the inside of the tight white silk shorts which clung to every line and curve of his groin. She removed her finger from inside herself, ran it along the tip of her extended tongue and into her mouth, from nail to knuckle, closing her lips and moaning softly as the warm taste filled her throat. When she was sure that none was wasted she removed her finger and ran it up along his left leg and across the front of his shorts. Unclipping the small pearl button at the front she sank her fingers deep inside. Philips legs began to tremble as the fingers of the first hand appeared out through the opening of the shorts. Susan stared straight deep into his eyes, a sleeked smile, one he’s never seen before, grew across her face. She raised her elbows into the air, drew a deep breath and ripped the shorts from his body. Fragments of stitching floated to the floor as she tossed the mess of silk across her left shoulder into the flames. She grabbed his solid buttocks with both hands and drove his groin forward engulfing his penis with her full deep red lips.
Philip’s back arched as he threw his head back and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. His hands thrust into the air frantically searching for something to maintain balance, his composure lost as the warm, wet, force of Susan’s mouth sent his body into rhythmical spasms. Dropping his head forward he glared in amazement as he watched her delve again and again into his crotch, each time tightening her grip and driving her finger nails deeper into his buttocks.
Susan could sense his stare and this was the fuel that she needed, she didn’t care. She was doing this for herself not for him. She was driven wide at the feeling of his penis rising and growing inside her mouth, thinking that soon she would be unable to contain it’s length in such a confined space as she drove it deeper to the back of her throat. She pulled her head back and stopped with her lips remaining pursed over the tip and lifted her eyes to look at Philip’s face. His mouth open, sweat sliding from his brow, he found himself hypnotises by what he saw before him. Susan’s red hair had been tossed in all directions; some strands had fallen down across her face. Her eyes were wild and dominating and her skin glowed red from the flames of the fire. Her cleavage heaved as she panted for breath and her lipstick was smeared along the length of his penis, which twitched and teased at the edge of her mouth. This was too much for Philip to handle and he found his legs giving way below him. He fell to the floor with Susan in pursuit, grabbing hold of his throat with one hand and tearing at the buttons of his white silk shirt with the other.
She drove her tongue deep into his mouth whilst her right hand continued to rip at his shirt until his chest and sweat laden ripples of his stomach were exposed. Susan lifted her head, snarled and ripped, tore and clawed the shirt from his back leaving deep purple nail marks across his shoulders and down along his throat. She rose to her feet leaving the red bow tie around his neck and positioned herself, standing directly above his face. With her feet at each side of his head she raised her dress, ran her right hand down the front of her knickers, slid three fingers inside sending her knees into a buckle as she felt the warm fluid ooze across them.
“Oh Christ”, fuck me, please”, Philip cried, begged and pleaded. But Susan just stood there glaring down at him, her ass rotating above his face as she guided her fingers back through the lace and inside. She teased a smile at him and with her left hand unhitched the shoulder straps of her tight black dress and peeled the front down across her naked breasts, leaving it in a fold around her waist. Leaning forward she bent her knees, yanked the crotch of her knickers to one side and lowered her-self onto Philips face. His hands reached high to wrap around her breasts as his tongue penetrated deep inside her, easing up alongside her fingers. Susan grabbed a hand full of his hair, lifted his head from the floor and ground her ass into his face. She could feel his tongue wriggling up inside as his nose rubbed and nudged against her clitoris.
“Yes, oh my god eat me you bastard”, she screamed as her juices poured down over her fingers, his tongue and down to smother his chin and throat. She raised her free hand and overlapping each of his in turn she encouraged him to squeeze her breast harder and harder.
Susan released her grip on his hair, pushed his head back to the floor, forced his hands from her red swollen breasts and rose to her feet. She stepped away from his head place, hooked a thumb inside the waistline of her knickers and slid them over her stocking tops, across her knees and down to her ankles. Stepping out of them she stood straddled across Philip’s chest and lowered her self down on top of him. She slithered down along his hot sweat trickled body and guided her crotch to envelop his rigid penis to the extreme. Philip’s back arched as he felt the soft flesh wrap tight around him and thrust his pelvis into the air to drive himself deeper still. His gasps and groans were quickly cut short as Susan stretched to grab hold of her drenched knickers and shoved them into his open mouth.
Philip bucked his ass further into the air, placed his hands inside the top of each of her stockings screamed muffled screams as his eyes shut tight and the veins rose in side of his strained neck. Susan straightened her back and slid her hand down between her bum cheeks resting her fingers along the path and shaft of his penis. Her hand continued further down and she folded and enclosed his scrotum in her palm. A wild surge of muscle tension raced through her body and her head wrenched back as she felt his penis buck and jolt deep inside. A torrent of his hot fluid poured throughout her vagina with each pump as Philip fingers ripped at her stockings. Her grip on his penis tightened and her muscles spasmed as her orgasm sent her collapsing down on top of his, sinking her teeth into his chest.
They lay there in silence gasping for breath as their bodies tingled jerked to a stillness. The fire cracked and snapped away and the candlelight danced through the streams of sweat running across the curved of there bodies. Susan lifted her head and gazed down at Philip. She moved her hand up to his face and lightly tugged her knickers from his mouth and tossed them to one side. She returned her hand to his face and caressed her fingers across his brow and down along his cheek to his lips. Lowering her head to meet him she tenderly kissed his bottom lip and whispered.
“I think it could have been the violets”.
Philip smiled and softly breathed “take me home”.