Retreat

"It's a retreat, honey," he said. "We're supposed to get in touch with our inner beings or something."

"I know," she said, "But I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," he answered. "But it's just for five days."

"I don't understand why you can't at least have a telephone."

"No phones. No computers or email. The whole idea is to commune with nature. You know, take walks in the woods. Contemplate spiritual things. Listen to inspirational messages and such. 'Celestial music,' the memo said. And if it rains we go back to our little rooms and look at uplifting videos of the earth's wonders."

"You mean there's going to be a CD player in your room? A video player? That doesn't sound all that rustic. I still don't see why you couldn't have a telephone. What if I need to get a hold of you? What could be more inspirational and uplifting than a message from me?"

"I know, honey" he said. "I feel the same way, believe me. But this is supposed to be good for business."

Three days later she kissed him goodbye at the airport.

He discovered the little package in his suitcase under his underwear, but he didn't open it until after orientation. "Miss me?" the card said. It was her writing. There was a happy heart dotting the "i." There was a video tape. And something folded up inside a cellophane freezer bag. A pair of panties. White cotton panties, he discovered, drawing them out. Hers. With her special scent at the damp center. He drew the aroma into his nose and closed his eyes and stiffened suddenly.

During dinner thoughts of those brief panties wouldn't leave his head except for the moments he wondered what was on the tape. He didn't taste his food at all. Excusing himself before dessert, he hurried back to his little room and briskly drew the curtains. Carefully he slipped the cartridge into the video player.

The screen was dark. "Hi, honey." It was her voice. "I hope I can get this auto-focus to work right. There."

But the screen was still dark. Just something shimmering. And then he made it out. Black satin. The special sheets they used on special occasions, but seen close up. The black looked almost liquid.

And then there was white. The white of her creamy skin, her long legs, her tender inner thighs. The white of those cotton panties. The very panties he had now in his hands, white and smooth and cupping the contours of her sex, those sweetly swollen outer lips, the snug dent of her pussy.

"Oh, honey," she said. "I'm excited already. So excited. Can you tell how wet I am? How wet and open under here?"

Her slim fingers appeared. Tentatively they touched the center, smoothing downward, easing the material into the slot.

"Mmm," she sighed. "Mmm." The fingers pressed harder. A small circlet of wetness colored the cotton. "Mm, that's so good," she said. "Are you watching? Are you watching close? Are you watching me get in touch with my inner being?" She chuckled. The fingers worked. The chuckles turned to coos. Slowly the wet spot widened. He could hear the shy friction of her fingers against cloth. The slight squeak of juice. "Ah," she said, "I'm almost ... almost. Oh, love." The fingers stopped. Went away. He was hard. Hard as could be. He watched intently, breathlessly. Beneath the cotton cloth he could sense the tremors. He willed her fingers to return. To resume their work. A long moment later they did, from the inside this time, creeping lower, knuckles straining the fabric as the fingers stretched and hunched, then dipped and delved, dipping and delving in deeper, slower circles. She was sighing now, sighing and mewling, and he knew it wouldn't be long before the spasms began. "Oh, hon," she said in a tone which told him she was close. Along the edge of cotton, a crescent of cunt lip curled into view. He watched it wobble with each slow stroke. He watched the hue of it deepen from pink to puce to almost mauve. The suck of her breath swelled. "Oh, hon," she gasped. Her body bumped, shuddered, wrenched against itself. And then her other hand covered the first. The palm pressed. Thigh flesh trembled. He stared at the screen, at the spot he knew her pudgy clit would be, if only it weren't covered by her hand, a film of cloth, another hand. He could almost taste it, that clit; he longed to touch it with his tongue, to take it between his lips, to suck on it as she came. Oh, sweetie, he said to himself, longing for her clit, longing for her cunt, longing for the sucking and clenching and milking that was going on in there. Oh, sweetie, he said, longing for her. He took a deep breath. She was quieter now. Ebbing. A fingertip touched the tender lip, toyed with it, then tucked it back in. "Mmm," she said, a smile in her voice. "I didn't mean for you to see that. Did you see? Did you like?" Then she laughed. "Anything good going on in the woods?" After that there was only static.

Next morning he was on the first plane home. He took a cab to the house.

"What happened to the retreat?" she asked.

"I guess I re-retreated," he said, scooping her up in his arms. They hugged and kissed.

"I'm so glad to see you," she said. "I missed you."

He wasn't saying anything, just stripping off her clothing.

"Did you like my little package?" she said. "My little nature study?"

"Mm," he said. She was naked in his arms, and he was smiling and kissing at the same time. "I did. I really really ..." And then he stopped. "Oh, dear," he said, setting her down.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"The tape. I left it. I left it in the video player. I was in such a hurry to ..."

"You're teasing me, right?"

"No," he said. His face was glum. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"Can you forgive me? Should I go back? Maybe if I hurry I can ..."

"Oh no you don't," she said, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs. "We've got important work to do."

"Work?"

"Yup," she said. "The sequel. We should start making it right away. This is going to be one sequel that's much much better than the original."

And it was.