"This is an unusual request," said Rachelle, her eyes flicking an appraising glance over the eager student. He had warm, brown eyes and a wide smile. He looked a little out of place in this stuffy university library; his shoulders were broad and he had a look of open enthusiasm. "These artifacts are priceless. We are quite particular about who may see them. This is a private collection."
"I know it seems strange but my thesis is burlesque’s influence on modern dance. I have a letter from my professor."
"Hmmm," Rachelle took the large ring of keys out of the desk. "No pens, no cameras. Leave your backpack here." She strode toward the elevator, her D'Orsay Pumps clicking on the cold marble library floor. "Are you coming?"
He chased after her, and she could feel his eyes on her pencil skirt.
The elevator to the sub-basement was a small, open cage. As she reached up to pull down the gate, he caught a glimpse of a Red Bra Strap under her starched white blouse. He smiled at the secret knowledge that beneath her prim, all-business, librarian’s outfit, there was an unexpected sexuality.
>>>"Why burlesque?" she asked as they rode down into the sub-basement, where the air was cool and stale.
"I’ve always been fascinated by women who know the power of their sensuality, who dare men to watch, not shrink under their gaze. So much dance is about overcoming and taming the body; burlesque, to me, is about celebrating women’s bodies."
"Hmm."
"Let me," he said and he pulled open the gate.
"Thank-you" she said.
"My mother raised me right," he said, extending a large, smooth hand to help her down the step.
"She sure did," Rachelle said despite herself, gripping his arm. "Most people do not know about our collection. It was part of the estate of Sir Alfred Thoreau. I hope you’ll agree with me that his tastes were as impeccable as they were eccentric."
His eyes went round in awe. Ancient costumes and photographs of lush women in glitter and gauze lined the room. "Wow."
She smiled at his reaction. "I am still in the process of cataloguing all of it," she said proudly. "Soon, they’ll all be behind glass."
"That will be a pity."
"Let me show you something." She climbed a step stool to pull down a book from high on the shelves and he saw a flash of where the top of her Stockings met bare, caramel thigh, revealing the tiniest hint of what else her skirt hid. "This book is one of my favourites," she said. "It is the scrap book of some of the most famous costume designers."
"The Moulin Rouge," he sighed, fingering the lace cover. "This book is priceless." They poured over the pages of designs, fabric swatches, and photographs of the daring dancers together in silence and she watched his fascination play across his features. Sparks danced across her skin when their hands brushed as they turned the pages.
His eyes fell upon an old black and white photograph with painted highlights at the back of the book. A dark-haired woman with great, round breasts spilling out of a waist cinching corset and a soft, beautiful face smiled back. His jaw dropped. "Now that’s a real woman.” He turned to Rachelle. “She looks just like you."
Rachelle blushed. "You found the secret reason I love this collection. She was my great grandmother. No one else has noticed a resemblance."
"How could anyone miss it? She’s beautiful."
Rachelle smiled and looked into his face.
"You’re beautiful," he said, lifting his hand off the page and placing it onto hers.
She nodded and he ran his finger up the soft skin of her inner arm, leaning into her, and pressing her against the table. He pressed his soft lips against hers.
He unbuttoned her blouse and slid his hand over the lacy fabric of the of her Red Bra. Her breasts rose and fell quickly as desire sped her breath.
"My God, you’re beautiful."
He pulled her shirt, loosely pinning her arms behind her, and kissed a path from her mouth to the heat of her cleavage as his hand slipped up her skirt, over the stockings to where they met her soft skin. He fingered the tension of the garters.
"I want to see you," he panted.
She knew what he meant. He stepped back to watch as she unzipped her skirt. It fell to the ground and she stepped out of it, her heels clicking on the floor. She pressed him so he fell back into a chair and he smiled broadly as his eyes took in every detail of her voluptuous body in her Bra , Panties , Garter Belt and Stockings. With a shake of her head, she pulled out the clip in her hair and it poured over her shoulders. Running her fingers over the racks of feathers, lace, sparkles, and gauze, a slow smile spread over her lips. "Why don’t we give these girls one last dance?"
"Yes!" he said, reaching out to stroke her smooth, round bottom.
"Shhh," she whispered hotly, pressing his ear to her mouth, "This is a library."
By:
Sara Satin
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