The Midnight Silk
Elena Cruz arrived at the sewing shop after ten o’clock at night. The October rain fell with that Madrid insistence that seems to have no end. She pushed the glass door that still kept her sign discreet: «Atelier de Costura · Isabel Navarro». The bronze bell sounded exactly like twelve years ago.
Isabel appeared from the bottom of the place. She wore a black fine wool dress that clung to her silhouette without exaggerating. Her hair, now with silver strands, wore it picked up in a low bow that exposed the curve of her neck. She was fifty-three years old and kept moving with the same serene elegance that she had taught Elena when she was a nineteen-year-old.
"I knew you would come," said Isabel, without asking how she had gotten the key or why it appeared now. She closed the door with a smooth twist of the bolt. The sound of metal against metal resonated long in the silent workshop.
Elena took off her coat. Underneath she wore dark grey wool pants and a white silk shirt with the first button unbuttoned. Her mid-heeled shoes (no more than seven centimeters, no less) made a precise beating against the antique wood floor.
"I brought what you asked of me," said Elena, delivering a package wrapped in black silk paper. Isabel didn't open it. She left it on the cut-off table and just passed the fingertips over the surface of the paper. The brush produced a whisper so mild that Elena felt the sound on the skin of the forearms.
"Take off your shoes," Elizabeth asked, unordered, without demanding it.
Elena obeyed. She untied the fine leather laces with slow movements. The smell of rain-wet wool was mixed with the scent of cedar wood pervading the workshop. She covered her feet, wrapped in eighteen denier black silk stockings. The contrast between transparency and deep color made the skin seem lighter.
Isabel pointed to a chair upholstered in grey velvet. Elena sat down. The wood creaked softly under her weight. Isabel knelt in front of her with the same naturalness with which she would stand before a mannequin. She took Elena’s right foot between her hands. Her fingers were hot and dry. She did not caress. She simply held. Her thumb rested on the instep, just where the average ended. Elena felt the precise pressure, neither strong nor weak, as if Isabel was measuring the texture of the silk against her skin.
"Breath more slowly," Elizabeth murmured.
Elena had not noticed that she was holding her breath. She breathed out. The air came out with a slight tremor.
Isabel looked up. Her eyes were the color of dark honey. She didn’t smile. She just watched.
- Now the other one.
Elena offered her left foot. Isabel repeated the gesture: bra, pressure, pause. This time she kept in touch longer. The thumb climbed an inch through the tibia, brushing just the seam in the middle. Elena noticed how the skin responded with a wave of heat that went up to the knee.
"Take off your pants," Elizabeth said, incorporating herself with that grace that seemed to defy age.
Elena got up. She unbuttoned the button and zipped down. The sound of the metal teeth was clear in the room. The pants slipped down her hips and fell into a grey puddle around her feet. Below she wore black lace panties that covered as little as necessary. Her blouse reached to half her thighs, leaving her legs exposed from the league to the instep.
Isabel took a step back to observe it. She did not look at it as a body looks. She looked at it as one looks at a composition: the shoulder line, the hip curve, the ratio between the length of the shirt and the length of the leg.
"Stay there," he ordered, and crossed the shop to the shelf where he kept the cloths. He returned with a meter of midnight blue silk shining under the light of the work lamps. The cloth weighed in his hands like thick water.
"Extend your arms."
Elena obeyed. Isabel unwrapped the silk and let it fall on Elena’s forearms. The contact was immediate: cold, soft, almost liquid. The silk slipped through the skin with deliberate slowness. Elena felt the cloth rubbed almost imperceptible hairs on her arm, how she fastened for an instant to the moisture of her palm and then continued its descent.
Isabel picked up the silk before it reached the ground. She put it back on her shoulders this time. She dropped it on the back, outside her blouse. Elena felt the light weight of the fabric against her spine. The rub went down to the bend of the buttocks, covering them without squeezing.
"Close your eyes," Elizabeth asked.
Elena closed her eyes. Darkness amplified the rest of the senses. She heard the silk rub against herself. She felt Isabel’s smell: sandalwood soap and a hint of vanilla that seemed to come from her skin.
Isabel surrounded Elena. The fabric passed ahead of the chest, over the blouse, without touching the skin directly. Elena noticed the soft pressure of the tissue against the nipples, which had already hardened by the contrast of temperature. It was not a touch. It was a suggestion of friction. The silk passed through the abdomen, through the hips, always above the clothes, always about to go further and always stopping just before.
"Now take off your blouse," said Isabel, with her voice lower than before.
Elena opened her eyes. The light seemed more intense to her after the darkness. She unbuttoned the remaining buttons. The silk slipped from her shoulders along with her shirt. It remained in panties and garters, with the black average going up to the middle of her thigh.
Isabel approached. This time she did touch it. She placed her palms open over Elena’s ribs, just under her breasts. Isabel’s skin was hot. Elena felt the pulse of her fingers, the heat that was transmitted through her palm. Isabel did not move her hands. She just kept them there, feeling Elena’s breathing going up and down.
"Now it is," said Elizabeth, and her mouth came to Elena's ear without kissing her. Her warm breath brushed over her lobe. Elena felt a chill that ran all the way to the coxis.
Isabel put her hands down. Her fingers rubbed the bottom of her breasts, barely brushing, then going up to the nipples with a slowness that seemed calculated. Elena arched her back without realizing it. Isabel caught the nipples between her thumb and index, not pressing, just holding the pressure just so that Elena felt every millimeter of contact. Then she released them and repeated the gesture. Increasingly with less hurry. More and more attention.
"Go back to the table," said Isabel.
Elena turned. The cutting table had the rounded edge. Elena leaned against him. The wood was cold against the back of the thighs. Isabel placed herself behind. Elena felt the cloth of Isabel’s dress rubbing her back. Isabel raised her right hand and passed her fingers through Elena’s spine, from top to bottom, following each vertebra. The touch was firm but not invasive. When she reached the base of the spine, her fingers turned toward the waist curve, then towards the hip. Elena felt Isabel’s breathing getting deeper.
Elizabeth knelt again. This time behind Elena. Her hands went up the back of her legs, from her ankles to her corves. Elena felt her fingers stop in the league, her thumb scouring the seam where the lace was attached to her skin. Then her hands continued up, on the buttocks, covering them completely with open palms. Isabel exerted a gentle pressure, holding the weight of the buttocks in her hands, feeling the elasticity of the skin through the lace.
"Breath," Elizabeth recalled.
Elena released the air she didn't even know she was holding.
Isabel got up. She turned to Elena to stay in front of her. She looked into her eyes for several seconds without saying anything. Then she took Elena’s hand and took her to her own neck. Elena felt Isabel’s hot skin, the beating pulse under her jaw. Isabel lowered Elena’s hand to the neck of her dress. The cloth in her dress was wool, but underneath Elena guessed another layer: something softer, lighter. A combination of textures that aroused her curiosity.
"Unzip my dress," Elizabeth asked.
Elena found the pearl buttons that went from the neck to the waist. Each button she released revealed more skin. Underneath the dress, Isabel wore a black lace body that covered the torso and joined to stockings identical to those of Elena. The difference was that Isabel’s body had strategic openings: one on each chest, leaving nipples exposed, and one on the crotch. Elena saw Isabel’s dark and hardened nipples, surrounded by the lace that framed them.
Isabel allowed Elena to look. She didn’t cover herself. She let Elena’s gaze run through the body that the body revealed and hidden at the same time.
"Now you," said Elizabeth, and pointed out Elena's panties.
Elena took them off. The lace slipped through her thighs and remained on the floor. She was completely naked except for the garters and stockings. Isabel took a step back to observe. Elena felt her gaze as a physical weight: on the breasts, on the abdomen, on the area between the legs where the trimmed hair allowed her to see the skin.
Isabel approached again. This time the contact was direct. She placed a hand between Elena’s thighs, with her palm up, without pressing yet. Elena felt the heat of that hand in millimeters of her sex. Isabel waited. Elena, without being asked, opened her legs a little more. Isabel raised her hand until her thumb brushed her outer lips. The contact was so light that Elena was not sure if it had been real or imagined. Then the thumb descended, separating her lips with deliberate slowness. Elena felt the cold air of the workshop touching the wet skin Isabel had just discovered.
Isabel introduced a finger. Not deeply. Only until the first phalanx. Elena felt the soft intrusion, Isabel’s finger moving only, exploring the inner texture. The finger went out and re-entered, this time a little deeper. Elena felt how the body responded by producing more moisture, facilitating movement.
"Stand on the table," said Elizabeth.
Elena sat on the edge of the table. The cold wood against her bare skin gave her a chill. Isabel placed herself between her open legs. She lowered her head. Elena felt Isabel’s breath against the inside of her thigh. Then her lips. Isabel kissed her skin just where the league ended. The kiss was wet, with her tongue barely touching. Then she ascended. Elena felt Isabel’s mouth approaching her sex without touching it. The anticipation was so intense that Elena had to hold on to the edge of the table.
Isabel lamió. The first contact of the tongue against the clitoris was so soft that Elena released an involuntary groan. Isabel licked again, this time with more pressure, tracing slow circles around the swollen clitoris. Elena felt the heat concentrating at that point, how the rest of the body looked secondary. Isabel introduced two fingers while continuing to lick. The movement of her fingers inside Elena coincided with the rhythm of the tongue. Elena felt the tension accumulating in the lower belly, stretching through her thighs, climbing up her spine.
"Tell me when you're near," Elizabeth asked, moving her fingers.
Elena nodded. “I couldn’t speak. Isabel’s rhythm was constant, precise, as if she were measuring each reaction. Elena felt orgasm approaching. Internal muscles contracted around Isabel’s fingers. Elena arched her back. The groaning she released was long and low.
Isabel did not stop. She continued licking at the same slowness until Elena relaxed. Only then did she pull out her fingers. Elena saw Isabel take her fingers to her mouth and suck them, savoring Elena’s moisture.
Elizabeth joined. She took off her body with fluid movements. She was naked, with the skin that reflected the light of the lamps. Elena came down from the table. She approached Isabel. She placed her hands on Isabel’s breasts, feeling the weight, the softness, the nipples that hardened under her palms. Isabel closed her eyes. She allowed Elena to explore. Elena lowered her hands through Isabel’s abdomen, to the short hair that covered the pubis. She inserted a finger between Isabel’s lips. She was wet. Elena picked up that moisture and spread it through Isabel’s clitoris, tracing circles with the same rhythm that Isabel had used with her.
Isabel opened her eyes. She looked at Elena directly.
"Quicker," he asked.
Elena obeyed. Her finger moved faster, pressing more firmly. Isabel separated her legs more. Elena inserted two fingers into Isabel as her thumb continued to stimulate the clitoris. Isabel let go of a long sigh. Elena felt Isabel’s muscles contract around her fingers. Isabel ran with a moaning content, her muscles shaking, her hands holding Elena’s shoulders to maintain balance.
The two women remained silent for several seconds. The workshop was in dim shadow. Only the two work lamps were still lit. Elena realized that her stockings were wrinkled and that the lace of the league had left a mark on her skin. Isabel picked up the midnight blue silk from the floor. She spread it over the table. Then she sat on the silk, inviting Elena to do the same. The two women sat next to each other, naked, on the cold cloth. Elena felt the silk sticking slightly to the moist skin of her thighs.
"I will return," said Elena, breaking the silence.
"I know," answered Isabel.
Neither moved for a long time. The rain continued to fall outside. Inside, the workshop kept the heat of the bodies and the smell of silk, lace and skin.
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