Pleasure In Control

Chapter 3 (Wednesday)

I woke to find Kirsten placing her last few items into her overnight bag. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I must dash. I need to catch the 9:15 from King's Cross. I haven't had time to make you any breakfast. I had a restless night and overslept this morning." "Don't worry," I replied sleepily, and looked at the clock.

I sat bolt upright. "It's 8:30 and I need to be at PROM in an hour!" I leapt out of bed in time to blow Kirsten a kiss before she left. Stripping off, I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed myself quickly under a cold shower.

I wandered around the bedroom wondering what to wear, as I really did not know what to expect from my 'training days' at Passionella. I wanted to make a statement should I be asked to undress so I settled on the navy basque that I had chosen the previous day, with matching hipster briefs. I slipped on the basque and was glad that Fiona had recommended a front-fastening style - "they are much easier to put on if you are alone." I carefully attached all of the small hooks, choosing the looser of two settings for comfort, and breathing in to make it easier. I settled my breasts into the smooth, deep cups which came up high between them. I looked in the mirror to enjoy their shape; neither aggressively pushed together nor spread wide apart. Not that my boobs need much shaping, thank you very much, but I was fascinated by even the small changes that my new lingerie collection was having on my appearance. I pulled on the matching navy blue hipster briefs – they were a little more brief than I had remembered - and dressed in a bright blue blouse and black skirt.

Quickly I looked in the mirror as time was getting short, almost as short as my skirt. Hmm, I really needed tights but they would spoil the effect of the basque, so it will have to be stockings. I didn't buy any but Kirsten had said I could borrow anything in the apartment so I searched through her drawers. Most were brimming with silk, lace and some of the most beautiful fabrics imaginable that felt so soft and sensual to my touch. Others contained papers, books and odds and ends, but no stockings. Then I opened one drawer beside her bed and found a few items of toiletries, several sets of batteries and two carved wooden boxes each about the size of a small shoebox. Just the sort of box in which a girl might keep her tights & stockings. Strangely, one was secured closed with a tiny padlock but the other opened easily.

I gasped when I saw what was inside and sat down on the edge of the bed. I felt so ashamed that I had intruded into a very private part of Kirsten's life, as the box contained several vibrators and dildos in differing sizes and finishes. Against my better judgement, I took out a couple and held them in my hands. The first was a long, slender vibrator in smooth, shining gold, tapering almost to a point at one end and with a knurled ring at the other. In my other hand I held a very heavy dildo, obviously made from solid translucent rubber making it slightly pliable and soft to the touch. It was a little longer than the vibrator but considerably thicker.

I quickly put them back and closed the lid of the box, trying to put out of my mind the images of what I had seen. I continued my search and in the next drawer down I found what I was looking for. I chose a pair in sheer black and slipped them on. Lifting up my skirt I attached the suspenders that came with the basque and fastened Kirsten's stockings to their catches, feeling rather flustered.

The time was now nearly 9:00 so I dragged a coarse comb through my curls and put on a minimum of jewellery. I slipped my feet into 2½" heels and swept up my bag, remembering to take the spare key before I closed the door behind me and vowing to tidy up when I got back. I hailed a taxi in the street and we wound our way through the back streets, stopping at a coffee bar so I could pick up a drink and a croissant, which I consumed eagerly in the back seat of the cab. We arrived outside the smoked-glass fronted building with a minute to spare.

I walked though the front doors, eager to see what the tanned young Rachel might be wearing today only to find her desk empty. I stood for a moment and noticed that the waiting area now also contained two lifelike mannequins dressed only in sheer bodystockings. As I admired them I heard footsteps and heard Emma's familiar voice. We greeted each other warmly and made small talk as I followed her upstairs.

She passed a piece of paper to me across her desk. "This is your agenda for the next 2 days. As you can see, you will spend the first 2 hours with me; we will cover some more of the practicalities of your new employment. Then I'll hand over to Charlotte who performs the role of Passionella UK's Training Manager. She will explain more about your job and what we expect from you. After lunch, Charlotte will take you through the product range. We think it is important for you to be an expert so you can better judge the skills and knowledge of our in-store Sales Demonstrators. Tomorrow, Charlotte & Rachel will continue your training and before lunch I can answer any questions before you leave. OK?"

As always, Emma was very efficient and left nothing in doubt. She is a very organised lady with a strong personality. "But Rachel isn't here today, or at least I didn't see her downstairs." Emma explained to me. "She will be back tomorrow; she was here very late last night, entertaining clients."

Emma showed me around the premises. "On this, the first floor, we have my offices and Charlotte's suite over there. Here are the meeting and presentation rooms." She opened the door to a large room with blackout blinds and a digital projector mounted on the back wall. "On the next floor are Linda's private penthouse apartment and her office, which you have already seen. Follow me." We walked downstairs to reception.

"On the ground floor are the Private Rooms, you have already been in the Blue room. There are eight in all: Blue, Red, Green and Yellow are all identical. Then there are Bronze, Silver, Gold and Black. They are increasingly large and luxuriously appointed, for select clients and, er .., 'special events'." Emma rarely pauses when speaking.

Emma showed me into Bronze and my jaw dropped. It was beautiful, like an up-scale hotel room. "Bronze has an en-suite shower-room here … and as you can see, is well furnished." There were two large sofas, a glass-topped coffee table, several chairs and a table with a long, low padded bench in front. There were vases of flowers, pictures and large mirrors on all four walls, three large wardrobes and two additional doors. "This is very impressive for a changing room." I mused. "To our clients, this is much more than a changing room. It is an escape from the pressures of London life where they can be anything they want to be. They come here to be made to feel very special." Emma smiled broadly.

Clattering down a long flight into the basement, Emma continued. "Downstairs is our own private Catwalk where we stage fashion shows for our best clients." My eyes took a moment to refocus as we walked into a large dark room. Emma hit a switch and a dazzling array of spotlights smoothly increased in intensity to reveal a smallish but fully fitted show-room with a runway surrounded on 3 sides with small tables and chairs. The models use the Private Rooms upstairs to change; there is a back access staircase." "Really, do you hire professional models too?" I enquired.

"Well," Emma explained, "yes and no. Our employees model all the clothes. But some of our Dems are ex-models. We recruit only the best girls, and models most often meet our criteria. We can train them to sell our products but we look for striking faces of course, well kept and attractive bodies and the confidence & ability to stand, walk and move in a way that shows off our products to full advantage. We recruit a variety of shapes and sizes of girls so that our clients can identify with them. We are not trying to portray the unattainable dream – this is not pornography you know. I saw you admiring the pictures in reception; all our photographs feature our own employees too."

"Occasionally we allow a valued client to take part in the fashion shows. Many of them are as attractive as our Dems and carry the part well. These are confident, outgoing ladies who love the thrill of showing off. As a surrogate client you could walk the runway too, I think you would enjoy yourself." I thought so too.

Then Emma then took me to Charlotte's office where she welcomed me and had a pot of hot coffee waiting. "Come and sit down, I've been so looking forward to meeting you again."

I felt embarrassed after our experience the previous day but Charlotte soon put me at ease by confronting the issue head on. "I can't apologise for what happened yesterday as I needed to test you to your limit to find out how you reacted. You were great and I had no hesitation in recommending you to Linda. By they way, I enjoyed the time we spent together immensely; I hope you did too."

"I'm glad you enjoy your work" I commented sarcastically. Charlotte laughed.

With that out of the way, Charlotte and I chatted endlessly about what I could expect to happen when I visit each of the retail outlets for the first time and on my repeat visits. The Dems are trained to behave in a particular way that has been found to bring the best results. I need to make a mental note of the way they approach me, what they say, their tone of voice, facial expressions, how close they stand, their ability to listen to me and quickly understand what type of clothes I am looking for. They should be able to offer me a range of items in the right sizes that suit my age, colouring, figure and personality. They must be discreet but warm and approachable, friendly without becoming over-familiar too soon.

"By your third visit they should be offering some of our additional services."

"What, like modelling clothes for me?"

"Yes, that's where it starts. At first you should act cautiously, we need you to gauge the Dem's ability to break though the confidence barrier whilst being ready to retract at the first signs of refusal. We can't appear too pushy, and the services we offer might offend our more conservative clients so we must know when to back off. Clear?"

"Perfectly." I relied. But I was intrigued by these extra services. "What will I be offered?"

"Basically, what happened between us. The Dem will offer to model some lingerie for you and allow you to choose. At first she will undress and change very discreetly but if she senses you are interested she will become progressively more bold and provocative; they can be exceptionally sexy. She should encourage you to follow her lead and to dress, undress, pose and move as she does. In our changing rooms, many of our clients find a new sexuality latent in themselves. But there is a limit to what you can do in a small room. That's where PROM can help. Once you build a relationship with a Dem she should invite you here for our shows and for 'private viewings' where the rules are more relaxed. But, remember that at all times, discretion is essential and Linda's ultimate rule still applies."

"LDT?"

"Yes, even here behind closed doors. Lastly, there are some girls who we believe are overstepping their brief. We may ask you to provoke them to deliberately catch them out. You could call this 'agent provocateur'. But mostly we are trying to refine our methods and identify training needs where we can further improve the skills of out girls. I think you will enjoy the attention, especially when you win the confidence of one or two Dems who will bring you here and make you feel like you have never felt before."

Wow.

We chatted more until lunch of tasty sandwiches on Italian breads, washed down with fruit juices and herb teas. "We encourage all employees to keep fit and trim. Did Emma tell you that you can use your Passionella credit card at the local gym, and at selected beauty salons and hairdressers too? We need you to look your best. You can also draw cash to use to reward the Dems for their services."

Ah yes, the 'tips'.

"It's expected and encouraged. Some of our best clients are exceptionally generous, considering they are also charged for the Dems' special services thorough their credit card."

I'm seeing the picture unfold now; this explains the apparent mismatch between income and expenditure within Passionella UK. The profits from product sales are augmented by the special services. What an excellent basis for a business, and it all sounds legal too.

After lunch, Charlotte ran through the basics of lingerie design. I learnt about every popular style of bra, and some more unusual deigns. She told me about push-up, push-together, stretch, moulded and seam-free cups. Full cups, ¾ cups, ½ cups and less. We discussed the problem of protruding nipples (a subject dear to my heart) and which styles conceal and which accentuate. She explained which bra types are suited to the many different sizes and shapes and firmness of clients' breasts. I learnt the differences between basques and corsets, waspies and clinchers, and between bodies and camisoles. We shared thoughts on back fastening, front fastening and lace-ups, straps, strapless and halter-necks. I saw pictures of panties in cuts that I have never imagined and several different ways of holding up stockings and Charlotte took me through the numerous fabrics and decorations that are used. I became an instant lingerie expert that day and felt much better equipped to shop knowledgeably for what I want. I'll give the Dems are hard time.

I left the offices at about 5:00, my head full of ideas and images of the day. I was looking forward to a quiet evening on my own after the excitement of the first days of my new job. I put my feet up and ate Chinese-style ribs with stir-fried mixed vegetables in front of the TV. Fancying an early night I showered and slipped on the short satin nightie I had bought the day before. For a moment I thought of sleeping in Kirsten's bed but chastised myself for taking advantage of my new friend's hospitality, my mind flitting back to my feelings of guilt when I opened her box of 'toys'. Instead, I climbed into my own sofabed and fell asleep immediately.

I woke suddenly in the middle of the night and tried to orientate myself. I must have been dreaming and in the darkness I imagined I was back at school in the dormitory and I felt incredibly sexy. My head was full of images of the last 3 days during which I had been doing my best to suppress my sexual feelings and had enjoyed the excitement of denying myself the gratification of sexual fulfilment. But not now. My short satin nightie had ridden up to my waist and I was laying flat on my back, my pulsating pussy pointing skywards trying to draw attention to itself. My slightest movement caused the duvet to rub across the curls of my blonde pubic hair and my tight belly. My nipples were so aroused they felt like they were on fire. I lay still with my arms by my sides, trying to put out of my mind the beautiful women I had watched modelling sensual lingerie.

Grasping the bottom edge of my short nightie I pulled it up over my head in one fluid movement and discarded it on the floor. The sudden rush of cool air caused my nipples to pucker and harden, the fire replaced by an intense, delicious throbbing.

Foolishly I wondered if, maybe, if I just touched my nipples a little, that would be enough to ease my heightened state or arousal? I moved my hands to my breasts and cupped them at the sides, lifting them so as to ease the tension and I heard myself let out a soft moan. Allowing my middle fingers to slide slowly upwards, I started to circle my areole. They were small and tight as most of the dark skin had pulled taught and upwards to form erect buds that craved my caress and I was unable to resist.

With shaking hands I touched my nipples and a bolt of energy shots through my body. I gasped out loud, grateful that Kirsten is not in the room to hear me. Slowly and deliberately I rolled my teats between my middle fingers and thumbs and wave after wave of tingling, stimulating, pulsating passion washed over me.

How I ever thought this would satisfy me and help me sleep I do not know! My whole torso was alive. I felt wide awake and alert to my intense arousal, more intense than I could ever remember, as my head swam with images of gorgeous women dressed in sumptuously sexy underwear.

I couldn't stop my hands from leaving my aching breasts and sliding down my smooth, tense body, rib-by-rib and then inexorably down past my navel. As I neared the seat of my fire my breathing quickened and I kicked off the duvet. I felt the first curls of my pubic hair on my fingertips as they started to climb the prominent hill of my rounded Mound of Venus.

I spread my legs wide in the vain hope that the cool night air might quench my desire but instead I heard the glorious, squelchy sound of soft, moist flesh parting. Attempting to dull the sensations I pulled my knees up to my chest and clasped the soft insides of my thighs with my hands.

I realised that an orgasm was now inevitable. Subconsciously I had already decided to masturbate myself to a climax even though I could not pinpoint the exact moment when I made that choice. Maybe there never was such a moment or maybe I had already passed that point even before I woke up. I'd never before enjoyed such intense, powerful feelings of arousal, not even with a man and not certainly on my own. So, was it being in the company of sexy, gorgeous women? Kirsten, Rachel, Charlotte, even the slightly older, fuller-figured form of Emma, I found them all attractive in different ways. My mind swam luxuriously in the deeply erotic feelings that washed over me as I focussed on the faint beginnings of the orgasm that was quietly beckoning, promising untold pleasure and then total, sleep-inducing relaxation.

But I was enjoying myself too much. I was in no hurry to reach my now inevitable climax. I wanted to enjoy the journey. In fact, I wondered if it would indeed be 'better to travel in hope than to arrive". 'Just how long could I stretch this out?' I wondered. Just how intense could my arousal become, before I would lose control and come? For how long could I both stimulate myself and yet at the same time, deny myself sweet release? What if I lost interest became tired and lost the moment: a frustrating anti-climax? Or might I actually pass out first?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I felt so horny! Still holding my knees up to my chest, I made small circling movements with my fingers on the soft flesh of my inner thighs, causing muscle spasms to tighten in my legs. I could feel the heat of my sex as I slowly moved my fingers onto my outer labia. I was shocked to find how swollen they were. I pulled my pussy wide apart and felt my inner lips peel open. In the dark silence of the room I heard the sticky moistness of my cunt-juices as my gash opened, allowing the air to lap at my tunnel.

I moved my fingers up a little onto my Mound-of-Venus, level with the top of my slit, and pulled upwards. I felt my hood slide over my clit, exposing it to the imagined stares of an appreciative audience, the absent women who had recently and so unexpectedly entered my life. The nub of my clit hardened and grew as my fertile imagination slipped into overdrive. It seemed to take on identity all of its own as it throbbed between my legs and begged for me to touch it, but I resisted, wallowing in the beautiful sensations of agonising arousal. My breasts were hot and I could feel the hardness of my nipples pressing into my knees. I rubbed my legs over them, sending delicious sensations through my upper body. The lighter I grazed across them, the harder they grew until the heat of my blood pulsing through them became almost unbearable yet shockingly enjoyable.

I hooked a long, manicured fingernail over each of my inner labia and parted them further. My juices ran over my fingertips, down into the sensitive clefts where my fingers meet and then onto my palms. I massaged my wetness into my thighs then poised a single, probing finger just above the entrance to my open, waiting vagina. Simultaneously I positioned the corresponding finger of my other hand within reach easy of my tingling clit, ready to deliver the stimulation that would bring me to climax within an instant.

And I waited.

The anticipation was electrifying and I cried out in frustration as I denied myself the release I craved. My clit ached so much I thought I might come just from those sensations alone but in reality, I did not want to come. Not yet. I was intoxicated by the feelings deep inside as my body shook uncontrollably. I was on cloud 9.

I stretched out and straightened my legs, parting them as wide as possible and found that, by alternately tensing and relaxing the muscles in the groin I could intensify the sensations in my pussy. I desperately wanted to squeeze my breasts and rub my nipples, but prevented myself by clasping my arms above my head. The sensations were indescribable as all of the most sensitive parts of my body screamed for finger-contact, but my mind said no.

My nipples burned with desire. Even without touching them I knew they were harder than they had ever been before and, looking down at them in the faint glow of the street-lights outside, I could see how hugely erect they had grown. Almost obscenely, abnormally so. Shit! How I wanted to suck them into my mouth, to lick them with my tongue and bite on them. I could have if I had cupped my breasts and lifted them to my face with my hands. But I didn't. Instead I focussed on the unbelievably powerful sensations as my teats continued to throb and grow even more erect, such that I could hardly stand the intensity of their arousal. But I didn't touch them.

The sensations in my pussy were at least as strong, competing for my attention. Cunt juice oozed from my vagina in pulses and trickled down between my arse-cheeks as I voluntarily contracted and relaxed my muscles. Rocking my pelvis slightly I found I could stimulate my clit ever so slightly as its hood slid over its engorged protégé; enough to keep me perilously close to orgasm but insufficiently to tip me over the edge. Fantastic.

Slowly, the feelings ebbed a little, enough for me to dare to touch myself without fear of coming instantly. I lifted and spread my knees and brought my feet together so my pussy gaped wide, exposing my clit and causing it to beg for attention. Steeling myself, I resisted the temptation to frig my aching bud and instead I moved my hands only as far as my breasts. I jumped as my palms grazed over rock-like nipples as large and long and hard as the tips of my little fingers. I allowed myself to pinch them and roll them, then I pulled them out and let go, enjoying the rush as they returned to shape and stood to attention like soldiers obediently awaiting their next mission. It didn't come, and neither did I.

Placing my hands between my parted knees, I started a slow upward journey towards my mound. When they reached my perineum they encountered a slippery pool of my seeping, warm juices that moistened them and made it even easier for me to slide them onwards and upwards, slowly but steadily.

I spread my legs as wide as I could, using gravity to help open my labia wider than they have ever opened in my life. I moved my fingertips as far as my gaping vagina and found that I could easily slip both of my index fingers into its soft entrance. I moved them apart, stretching my hot, supple flesh, opening wider the door to my inner self. I felt absolutely, totally immersed in the anticipation of my self-induced pleasure.

I quickly slipped my fingers out of my tunnel entrance and massaged my hugely swollen inner labial lips, rubbing my juices into the smooth, fascinating and complex layers as I explored their soft, warm flesh. Then I moved on. I slid them up and around the outside of the delicate hood that tried in vain to protect my clit from my fingers' slow, inexorable advance. Then, shaking uncontrollably, I squeezed my fingers down and together, pressing my wet, slippery hood over my engorged, erect clitoris. I cried out like I don't remember crying out before as I felt my climax approaching. My mind was thinking of only one thing now as I desperately craved the release and fulfilment that I needed so badly.

I paused.

During the last 3 days I had actually enjoyed the thrill of denied orgasm and had spurned the quick satisfaction of casual masturbation. But now I was frantic. Just how long could I hold off my final release? I moved my hands away from my clit and concentrated hard. My throat was dry, my breathing was harsh and shallow and my mind was a blur. "Shit! Oh NO! Please, Please PLEASE!" I cried out in the dark. My pussy pulsed and quivered as the sensations rose, plateaued, then subsided just a fraction.

Again and again I pressed my hood down over my clit, the warm, moist flesh teasing the aching bundle of nerve-endings between my thighs, and each time I pulled back from the brink. Once I almost left it too late, bringing myself perilously close to the edge of the precipice of orgasm. I lay perfectly still and teetered on the brink. I could have let go and, in a fraction of a second, have plunged into the deep canyon of total pleasure and satisfaction, but I fought back my most powerful primal, animal instincts.

How long could I lie here, motionless? Have I gone so far that the feelings would not subside? Maybe never! Will the rest of my life be lived permanently on the edge of orgasm but cruelly unable to climax? Or could I take myself the rest of the way just by my thoughts alone? Yet more images of the fantastically attractive women I had met, dressed in the most supremely and impossibly sexy underwear imaginable, flashed through my mind's eye as I managed my arousal.

Delighted by my ability to take total control of my sexuality, I rubbed my clit frantically with the middle finger of my right hand. Every few strokes I slipped my finger back into my vulva to draw fresh lubricant back up to my clitoris so that I could slide my finger ever more lightly and excruciatingly over its swollen, aching surface. As I approached the climax that I deserved, I slowed almost to a stop one last time and savoured the delightful tease as I extracted maximum enjoyment from the perfect moment. The crescendo that welled up inside me seemed to take forever to peak until, finally, I allowed myself to tip over the edge into a massive, crashing, screaming, quivering orgasm. Brilliant!