Kathy had expected him to be nice to them because of her association with the Wainwright's, but he treated Jill and her exactly the same way he always did when they were with the wealthy couple. "Welcome to Kemoll's. It is very nice to see you again," he greeted them. "I trust that the Wainwrights are well?"Kathy smiled at him. "They're just fine. Uh, Margaret sends her greetings. I'm afraid we're a little early..." but François just smiled and ushered them to their table.After seating them, he offered the wine list. They both declined and ordered soft drinks, instead. If he thought anything of it, it didn't show in his demeanor. "Martin will be your server tonight, and I will return occasionally to make certain your evening at Kemoll's is a good one."Kathy caught his eye. "There is one more in our party, a Ms. Eileen Murray." Yes. Mrs. Wainwright has informed me. I shall escort Ms. Murray to your table upon her arrival."Their drinks came, and with both women tense, they sat sipping. A gentle sigh as slowly she succumbs, and the world merges into the murky depths of sweet darkness – anesthetized dreams. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Surreal. Surrounded by the rustle of black velvet. The faces are cloaked in cowl draped shadow, taunting her with their mystery. Slow steps, anxious eyes look into the darkness, trying to see… trying to know. Each step drawing her closer – burnished wood, icy stone. She can not escape the circle of souls surrounding the white draped form. She struggles inside as she realizes she really does not wish to. Emotions filling her soul, calling to her in a dance of ancient desire and the emergence of restless anticipation. Guiding hands – urging fingers – sibilant whispers. A reluctant awareness as the leather slides over wrists… ankles… neck… and the dip of her waist. Standing against the vertical poles, the polished stone pressing gently into the curve of tender ass. Heavy eyelashes fluttering downward in a silky dance of purest jet.
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