Do you know what I’m talking about?  The Look.  The glint in His eye that silently says —  “When I get you home…”

I’m out to dinner with friends.  It’s been a lovely evening.  The wine is flowing, the food delicious, the conversation comfortable and easy.  I am laughing softly at an anecdote, and glance across at Him to share the smile.  Without warning – there it is.  The Look

My pulse quickens.  The butterflies spring to life.  He locks my eyes, silently promising, “When I get you home…”  Instantly I am filled with a  burning anticipation.  How does he do that?  The magic he wields sparkles across the table. I shiver, feeling a delicious, warm chill travel down my spine and land between my legs. Did anyone see what just happened?

Normal.  I must act normal.  How can I possibly act normal when I have just been told – told …. what exactly?  I can’t say.  Only the magician knows what happens next.  What rope, crop, shackle or other manifestation he will pull out of his bag of tricks.

The conversation continues to swirl around me, but the words have transformed into meaningless sound.  I’m fidgeting, unable to stay still.  Have they noticed?  My panties are moist now, and I squirm, staring at the tablecloth, where my eyes fell moments after seeing The Look.  I’m afraid to glance back up, afraid the Conjurer will cause a deep blush to move up my neck and across my face, betraying my hedonistic hunger.

His fingers have begun to tap the table.  He knows I’m staring at them.  He knows I cannot stop my mind from recalling how his hot hands make my skin sizzle.  I can feel The Look now, his unseen energy wafting through the air like an erotic, spicy aroma.  

Now the fingers have stopped their dance.  He has become quiet and still, and his polite comments that had contributed to the flow of conversation, have ceased.  I know what that means.  He is thinking, creating, planning.

I can’t stand it another minute.  I need to leave.  I need to get out of here.  I need to be in the car next to him, his hand on my thigh as he weaves his way through the streets.  I finally risk the glance.  My eyes travel upward, he catches them.  I am trapped.  The Look  holds, me,  teasing me, tempting me, telling me it’s only short drive away.

Oh to be home.   To be at his mercy, bound by the invisible shimmering hex only he can summon.  I am filled with impatience, aching to be home so the Sorcerer can cast his spell on me.  But then I  realize – he already has —

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