It hung there, unopened, creamy white and expectant in midair. An unmarked envelope tied to a string over the kitchen counter. She sat down her work things, piled her keys and purse on the counter, slipped off her blazer and placed it over the dining room chair. With a smile that betrayed her prudence, she took hold of the envelope and detached it from the string that held it. Placing her finger under the flap, running it along the length, she split the paper slowly and gently, exposing a folded card, which she dislodged from its encasement and flipped open. Take off your clothes, right where you are. Leave them…
Story originally published as “Traffic Stop” on the Lustful Literate website, Feb. 13, 2012.