Pleasure In Control

Chapter 5 (Friday)

I strode confidently through the main doors of the up-market department store on Knightsbridge (no, not that one, more sophisticated) and headed straight for the lingerie department. I had a clear plan. Evaluate the first visual impression that the Passionella display projects, seen through the eyes of a prospective customer. Are the clothes attractively displayed? Are the staff alert? Am I given enough time to browse before being approached? I made some mental notes, using simple aide-memoirs to help me to recall the key points later

"Good morning, have you noticed that we have three colour themes in each of our day-wear ranges?" Much better than 'can I help you!' The owner of the voice, a subtle but noticeable American accent, was easily 4" taller than me (and I'm not short), giving her an imposing but not overbearing presence as she stood next to me. "No I hadn't, thanks for drawing that to my attention. Please, tell me a little more about these bras."

Miss nearly-six-feet-tall bleached-blonde full-lipped brown-eyed too-much-make-up from California gave a pretty accurate but rather ordinary description of the range. She didn't sell them but this was my first visit; she didn't know I was a card-carrying Passionella client and perhaps was trying too hard to be pragmatic.

I picked three scenarios from my rehearsed repertoire, choosing comfortable daywear for the office, racy hen night & something sophisticated for a special weekend away. Stevie asked my size and selected several items from the rails. I gave her a hard time, rejecting most of them and developing my character as I went along. "I prefer to draw attention away from my breasts when I am interviewing, it can be a distraction for my recruits. Do you have something with less uplift?" Finally we settled on a white cotton bra with no underwiring and matching briefs, a bright red halter-neck string bikini bra and thong with tie straps and a low-cut lemon-yellow lacy balconette bra with wide-spaced straps, matching high-leg panties and suspender belt. Appropriately, Stevie allowed me to try them on alone in the changing rooms.

Pity, I thought, I would have loved someone else to have seen me in the red racy set – I hardly recognised myself when I looked in the mirror. The bra was made from thin stretchy Lycra/polyester and it clung to my curves. My nipples poked out confidently through the material and the outline of my bush was clearly visible. I had tied the halter neck straps tighter and they'd pulled my boobs upwards and together making them look as sexy as they could ever be. When I pulled the bows of the thong's side straps onto the tops of my hips and wriggled by bum the narrow web disappeared into my bum-crack, sliding against my arsehole. It made me feel so young and horny that I dared not look too long in the mirror as I was unusually aroused for this time in the morning and here would not be a good place to have to 'relieve the tension'. I promised to show Kirsten at the weekend instead.

I purchased with cash so as not to expose my Passionella status on my first call and strolled to the Sushi bar on the top floor. I tapped notes any comments into my laptop, taking care to be objective and to make positive suggestions, not letting the feeling between my legs influence my thinking. I headed for the tube, stopping by at the station luggage lockers to leave my new purchases so not to give the game away at my next call, Regent Street. I acted out a similar performance and came away with two more pieces then headed to Oxford Street and more familiar surroundings.

As I approached the Passionella display, I saw Fiona serving another customer. I rustled through the rails and she looked over and smiled an expression of instant recognition. As soon as her customer left she headed over to me and welcomed me almost as a friend. By now I was clutching two distinctive Passionella carrier bags with huge lips logos emblazoned on both sides so it was easy for me to decline to buy anything else. But Fiona still made me feel important and valued. She even offered to model some clothes, 'no obligation', but Fiona is not my size and is much older than me. I declined politely but made a note of her perfect timing and discreet but persuasive style. Stevie, despite my early misgivings, was much more my type. I decided to put her to the test and headed back to Knightsbridge.

Stevie was rearranging some stock but stopped as soon as I approached. I handed her my Passionella credit card, which surprised her, then picked out a particularly striking bra I had seen earlier. I asked Stevie for my size; she was unable to locate one in the store but turned to the computerised till and identified one in another outlet, in Scotland. Offering to order it for me, she then suggested that as her size was on the rail she could model it for me to help me to deicide. I agreed, recognising that Stevie was following her Passionella training to the letter, concealing my excitement that I was to spend a few minutes locked in a dedicated Passionella changing room with a tall and assertive woman.

With the door closed securely behind us, Stevie handled the bra, pointing out a few details that I had failed to notice. Then, in a single well-practiced movement, she pulled her jumper over her head.

The thick knitted top had done a pretty good job of concealing her figure but now I was left in no doubt. Stevie has large breasts, which sit low-ish on her chest. But because she is so tall, they do not appear droopy. Instead I found the large area of upper rib cage to be alluring, leading my eyes on a journey from her neck down to the outward curve of her boobs. But I wasn't ready for what came next. Stevie reached behind her back to unclip her bra and quickly removed it; I stifled a small gasp as I caught sight of her nipples. Small in themselves, they sat dead in the centre of enormous, well-defined round areole that all but covered the fronts of her full breasts. Size 34D I guessed, making her areole between 2½ and 3 inches in diameter. A beautiful and slightly mysterious dark brown; I was captivated.

Stevie appreciated the attention I was giving her and was in no hurry to encase her proud breasts in the bra she was supposed to be modelling. Instead, and to my great pleasure, she cupped her breasts in her upturned hands and invitingly pushed them upwards, making an idle remark about freedom. They were nothing like as firm as Rachel's but I was spellbound as her huge, dark areole changed shape subtly as she moved her hands. I needed all my self-control to prevent myself from leaning forward and drawing each nipple seductively into my mouth.

To my delight, Stevie had to lean forward to pick up the bra in which I had expressed an interest; her boobs hung down from her chest in elongated shapes best likened to the ends of a small rugby ball - wondrously sexy. She guided them into the bra cups and stood upright. Then, to my further delectation, she invited me to fasten the clips behind her. But instead of turning her back to me, she moved nearer so the only way I could complete this delicate operation was to press myself against her and reach behind her. I spent much longer than I needed to, enjoying the feel of her fabric-wrapped breasts against mine; Stevie made warm, encouraging noises.

When I stepped back, she twisted her tall and impressive body from side to side so I could now appreciate the feature that first attracted me to this bra. The sides and back were formed of open webs of narrow black elasticated fabric with no infilling, as were the shoulder straps. As a result, there was a striking contrast between Stevie's smooth, tanned skin and the black of the rounded, deep satin cups held together with only the most fragile spider's web. Her boobs were lifted and held slightly apart to form a rounded, wide cleavage, her huge areole only just concealed by the plunging cups. I just had to get one of these!

Somehow I had failed to realise that Stevie had also brought a matching bottom-half into the room. Without warning, she unbuttoned her trousers and stepped out of them. She pulled off her sensible panties and stepped quickly and neatly into the devastatingly sexy g-string. It was made in a similar way to the bra so the tiny triangle-shape of satin, that barely covered her pubic area, was held in place by several narrow straps on each side, which she organised carefully over her muscled tummy. They converged as she wrapped them around the sides of her hips with her professionally-manicured fingertips and met high over her coccyx, stitched to an even smaller triangle of fabric. Finally, a narrow strap disappeared down between her firm buttocks ending its journey at a place I couldn't see, until Stevie delivered the unrequested and unequivocal finale of bending forward with her back to me. With her hands on her parted knees, she wriggled her tight, peachy bum-cheeks at me, showing the pink edges of her clean and hairless arsehole peeping either side of the single narrow culmination of the most erotic spider's web of sensual black fabric I could imagine that then continued down to join a skimpy triangle that barely covered the enticing shape of her rounded, proud and excruciatingly-inviting pussy-mound. I sank slowly onto the padded seat and just shook.

"Like it?" she asked.

I couldn't answer. My mouth was dry and I knew where the moisture had gone as my own pussy flooded with delicious warm juices.

Stevie was loving every moment. She didn't need an answer. She stood tall and turned once more, asking "Would you like me to ask the Edinburgh store to send one down?" Composing myself, I explained I was going to Scotland next week (I was) and asked if they could keep a set in my size. Stevie then undressed in a matter-of-fact way and put her own clothes back on. I doubted that mine was the only wet vulva in that locked room and I hoped she wasn't going to put that thong back on the display rail.

Sensing correctly that I was just the sort of customer that Passionella had trained her to nurture and develop, she invited me to come back at any time when she would be happy to model for me again. Finally, she casually mentioned that Passionella sometimes put on private showings. "Are you interested in coming along?" she enquired, treading cautiously so as not to offend but probably in little doubt that I was.

When I eventually left the store, I was clutching my two Passionella carriers, several other bags of designer clothes and items I knew I would need for my apartment, and a personal invitation, as a guest of tall and confident Stevie, to the product launch at Prom the following Thursday. This was all working out so well!

I was really pleased with the way my first working day had gone and when I arrived back at Kirsten's apartment I sat down and typed up the last of my visit notes. I hooked up my laptop to the phone-line and e-mailed in my reports to Emma. I sat back and relaxed, my working week at an end.

It seemed ages since I left Paris early on Monday morning; so much had happened. I had encountered some seriously sexy ladies and had experienced some of the most erotic events of my life. I had bought some beautiful clothes, which I was not paying for, and I had invented a new me. I'd masturbated to one of the best orgasms of my life in someone else's apartment and I had shown off my body in ways I never imagined.

Now I was looking forward to telling my new and exciting friend about it, and showing her some of my purchases. Kirsten had promised to help me move in the next day; in some ways I knew I would miss her but would also enjoy the independence.

I heard her key in the front door and Kirsten tumbled into the room looking tired and dishevelled after a long journey home.

"Kirsten, it's great to see you again," I greeted her. "I've got so much to tell you. But I suggest you sit down whilst I pour a couple of beers from the fridge and give you the chance to relax," I continued, even though I really wanted to babble on endlessly about my day.

Kirsten looked grateful, for the beer but also that I was not going to bombard her with my news like a kid home from her first day at a new school. Adopting the maturity of Julia, I enquired after her trip and listened attentively, nodding and encouraging her at all the right moments.

"The provincial stores are trading really strongly and there is a huge untapped market in the north. I've just agreed a franchise operation at a well-known department store in Manchester. We will need to put our own Personal Shopper in place – no, it won't be me – to train up a team of new Dems."

I took the opportunity to ask Kirsten more about how Passionella goes about recruiting new girls. "We have our ways. Some are ex-fashion models"

"Yeah, Emma mentioned that" I reinforced. "For example, Linda recruited Fiona and Charlotte from the agencies when they got too old to model the top collections. Yes, you are already too old at 23! Fiona did mostly studio photography work after that and she's put on a bit of weight since those days but she is still gorgeous. She's popular with our older clients.

"I thought I had recognised Fiona in some of the product publicity shots, she is so photogenic" I remarked. "Isn't she just, and she hasn't forgotten how to strut her stuff at our fashions shows either" I looked forward to seeing her 'strutting'. Kirsten continued: "Charlotte joined straight from the catwalks as a Dem but soon progressed to where she is now – Linda picks winners. Oh, have you met Stevie?" I nodded. "Charlotte found her in the windows of the Amsterdam Red Light district whilst on holiday there. Don't ask me what C was doing in the Red Light District. Stevie was working her way across Europe and was totally wasted there; she moved to England and has never looked back." "I can imagine. She's fantastic. In the changing rooms she …" Kirsten held up her hand. "Don't tell me yet, I want to hear it all, but later."

"Where did Rachel come from?" I enquired, "I think she is terrific."

"So does Linda. Rachel spent a week in our photographer's studio as an assistant for her school work-experience placement. Linda saw some shots of her wearing our products after one of our studio sessions and offered her a job straight after she left school. She trained her and sent her out to the stores as a junior Dem. She learns fast and was soon one of the best. I'm not sure where some of the other girls came from and Emma is a bit of a mystery. I think she may be an old friend of Linda's."

I couldn't wait to ask the next question. "How did you come to join Passionella, Kirsten?" She smiled. "I'll tell you one day" "No, come on, tell me - did you just answer an advert or something?" "Sweetie, Passionella can't just place adverts. What would they say? 'Join Passionella and sell the high-class lingerie to the world's most successful and glamorous women. Generous rewards package; get paid extra to fuck your clients."

After a long pause, during which I must have looked totally shell-shocked, Kirsten explained. "These women don't just shop at Passionella to buy clothes. They are looking for something else. They want to feel very special and receive close personal attention. Passionella employees are not allowed to actually fuck the clients but it can get pretty close sometimes, even in the store changing rooms." I urged Kirsten to explain in more detail. "When the Dems model the clothes - we call it 'demonstrating' - the clients are encouraged to masturbate themselves."

"What?! – Right there in the store?"

"Yep, the risk is part of the fun; they have to be very quiet! We have had some close calls with the store managers and complaints from other customers about our Dems spending too long locked in the changing rooms. This is why L then created the concept of the Private Rooms at PROM. They are soundproofed and very discreet. They open up even greater possibilities; clients can indulge all kinds of pleasures and fantasies behind closed doors. Often, the Dems join in too and bring themselves off."

I found all this difficult to take in.

"There are limits though, and we never allow 2 clients to be left alone together. And, remember the rule, Look, Don't Touch; but it is surprising what some Dems manage to do to, and with, their best clients without actually touching them."

"There is another rule too. Dems must not come before their clients, unless the client gives permission. It can be quite a challenge to hold back in what can be a very highly charged sexual encounter."

Thinking hard, I put more of the pieces together. "So this explains the exceptional profitability of Passionella? C hinted at this earlier in the week."

"Oh, yes, the clients pay very well for the services of the Dems and they have to rent the Private Rooms too. It's highly lucrative. Linda can afford to pay generous bonuses to the Dems for the extra 'demonstrations', and the clients look after them very well too."

"In what ways?" I mused.

"Oh you know, presents, holidays, even bundles of cash in plain brown envelopes. All part of the game, sweetie." (I wished she wouldn't call me sweetie).

It was then Kirsten's turn to look puzzled. "Didn't Emma explain all this to you before you accepted the job?"

"Well, sort of" I replied.

"You do realise, don't you, that to keep up your pretence of being a valued Passionella client, you are going to have to act the part. Fully, in every way, just as I've described."

All kinds of images were flashing through my mind, of frigging myself off in a locked room with a rich and fantastically attractive woman posing in luxury Italian lingerie? Fantastic! My pussy was sending strong messages of approval to my brain.

"But you'll be great, from what I've seen and heard. You are a very sexy lady and you are going to love it. You have a lot to learn, though. But don't worry – I'm assigned as your mentor, I'll show you the ropes."

"Where are they kept?" I joked. But Kirsten only smiled and winked at me.

"Come on." Kirsten changed the tone and became more relaxed and animated. "Tell me what Stevie did. She's great, isn't she! I trained her when she first came over from Holland."

I started to unfold the full story of what had happened in the changing room with Stevie in graphic and increasingly explicit detail. Kirsten sat forward on the front edge of her chair. I described the way she undressed so confidently then cupped her breasts in her hands. I told Kirsten that I had wanted to suck them; she was not surprised. I went on to describe how she compelled me to press myself against her body to secure her bra straps.

"Hey, I taught her how to do that!" exclaimed Kirsten with a satisfied grin. Then I told her all about the bra and g-string she wore and how she showed it off by moving and turning so provocatively. Finally, when I recounted how she bent forward to show me the thong-strap between her arse cheeks, Kirsten squealed: "That was my trick too. She learns well, does our Stevie!"

I explained to her how all this had made me feel, and asked with some trepidation: "Should I have frigged myself, there and then?"

Kirsten reassured me. "No, it's too early. You have to build a relationship. Your Passionella card is programmed to show you are yet to experience the full package. However, now Stevie has invited you to a showing, your level of access will be upgraded."

Sounded good to me. But all this talk had brought back the sensual feelings I'd experienced in sexy Stevie's presence and I sensed Kirsten was getting hot too. Suddenly she stood up.

"Hey, show me what you bought, glamour girl" she demanded, and tipped my shopping bags out onto her bed. She rustled through the mounds of tissue paper, admiring my new clothes.

"I'd love to see you in this" she drooled, holding up the purple bodystocking similar to the one that Rachel had modelled for me during my 'training'

"Did you realise this is the new product that is being launched next week at the private show? You're very lucky to have these," she continues, finding the grey one too.

I explain how Rachel had come to give them to me. "Go on, show me how Rachel 'demonstrated' hers," Kirsten demanded.

I protest weakly for a moment, then gave in. "Oh, OK, but I'm not as well practised as Rachel, and my body is not as firm."

"How do you know how firm Rachel's body is? She didn't let you …Oh, she did. The scheming bitch. She knows how everyone wants to feel her boobs,. I bet she enjoyed it more than you did."

"I bet no-one could have enjoyed that experience more than I did," I retorted, looking at Kirsten coyly out of the corner of my eye.

I took the bodystocking with me into the bathroom and, to howls of protest from Kirsten, dressed in my day clothes over the top before emerging. Then, I went through the 'I can't undo my buttons' routine with Kirsten and she revelled in undoing them for me. I wouldn't let her pull open my blouse though, to reveal the purple Lycra and lace bodystocking. I wanted to do this, and I wanted to do it slowly. Very, very slowly, facing K as she perched on her chair.

She fidgeted and panted as I revealed my sheathed boobs; the Lycra flattening them a little more than it had Rachel's, but my exquisitely erect nipples poked delightfully against the fabric forming two long conical points. I cupped my breasts momentarily, allowing my nipples to extrude between my thumbs and forefingers.

Kirsten smiled and nodded her approval.

From here, and still facing her I slid my hands slowly down my chest and my abdomen making small circles on the way and, as adeptly as I could, released the five buttons down the front of my trousers. Taking my cue from Rachel again, I invited Kirsten to pull them down.

To my amazement and pleasure, she crawled towards me, tiger-like, and pulled them off with her teeth! I kicked them away and pirouetted across to the other side of the room. Kirsten, still on all fours, followed me. Then, sitting back on her heels, she watched spellbound as I put on the best show I knew how, twisting, tuning and gyrating seductively in front of the long mirror. I couldn't believe it was really me as I watched myself, in a detached way. Which Julie, or Julia, was it I was watching?

I simply couldn't resist when Kirsten asked to feel the firmness of my breasts through the thin fabric of the bodysuit. After all, that's what I did to Rachel. So I turned to the mirror and allowed her to reach under my arms and close her warm hands onto the fronts of my boobs. I felt a surge of tension in my nipples and they pushed even harder to meet the pressure of Kirsten's hands as she moulded and caressed my breasts. Then, she slipped her hands under them and cupped them tenderly. Lifting them slightly, she caused them to press even tighter against the stretch Lycra that encased my torso, and the most exquisite bolt of sexual energy shots through me. I closed my eyes to better savour the glorious feelings and I went weak at the knees.

Kirsten released her hold on my breasts and I opened my eyes. She was looking at my reflection in the mirror, smiling a wistful, dreamy smile of satisfaction, and her eyes were dewy.

"Kirsten," I said, commandingly, "get your fucking clothes off, now, and let me have some of the fun."

She didn't need any more persuasion and she started to undo the gold buttons of her high-necked jacket. No tease this time, more a sense of urgency. Pushing out her chest, she pulled her jacket apart and slipped it down her arms, allowing it to fall in a heap on the floor behind her.

Under her corporate-burgundy-coloured jacket, Kirsten was wearing a white silky camisole top and the only shoulder straps I could see were its narrow lacy supports. Was she, maybe, not wearing a bra? Puzzlingly, I couldn't see her nipples through the camisole so I suspected that she was. But still I hoped that, this evening, I'd get to see her naked breasts.

Kirsten pulled down the zipper on her trousers and allowed them to join her jacket on the floor. I could now see that she was wearing a pair of white panties set high on her hips at the sides and which plunged in a deep vee at the front. The smooth flesh of her abdomen peeped from below the lower lace-trimmed edge of her camisole and that delectable triangle of white skin ended just above her mound.

In a single swift movement she lifted her camisole by the hem and pulled it over her head. Now I could see, to my great delight, that she was wearing a white strapless bustière that I soon realised was identical to the russet brown one that I borrowed, except of course that it fitted her perfectly.

"Do you like what you see?" she enquired – a rhetorical question! I'd turned my back to the mirror now and was gazing in wonder at her physical form. "Kirsten, you look fantastic. Come on," I pleaded, "give me a show, just like when you were a Dem."

To add to the tension, Kirsten walked deliberately and seductively to the music centre and put on a slow, jazzy instrumental track that I didn't recognise, and started to move. Slowly, erotically, she blew my mind with her display. She looked at me tantalisingly out from under her eyebrows. She tossed her head back and from side to side. She thrust her breasts forward, then pulled them back as the leaned her shoulders forward towards me. Turning and gyrating, she traced the shape of her neck and body with her hands, and then made small movements in time to the music, almost like an Indian dancer. Her bustière was fastened on its tightest setting, accentuating the shape of her slim body. She pulled the sides of her panties high on her hips and caressed her own covered breasts. She is unbelievably sexy and she knows it.

"Kirsten, you are tuning me on like no-one ever has before, I exclaimed, "You're the best."

Absent-mindedly, I had been running my own hands over my own body and Kirsten reciprocated: "And you are the best audience I have ever had. Go on, J, turn me on more."

I obliged and, facing Kirsten, I ran my hands down my sides and on down the outsides of my thighs, then slowly ran my fingers back up the insides, stopping just before I reached the edges of my purple Lycra second skin. The look of ecstasy on my face was real. Feeling weak, I dropped to my knees and spread my legs, continuing to describe small circles on my inner thighs. I rocked back and forth, tilting my pelvis and momentarily lifting my bum off my heels, then dropping back. The alternating tension in my abdomen gave me an extra thrill and my whole body tingled, elevated to a higher level of excitement.

Then I really went wild. I swivelled round on my knees so my back was to Kirsten, who by now was sitting on the edge of a chair, and dropped forward onto all fours, pushing my bum towards my audience so she got a really good look at my crotch. Panting and moaning, I gyrated my hips, causing my pussy to rub against the inside of the tight bodystocking that was stretched between my legs. The feeling was wonderful and I wanted, I needed, desperately to rub my clitoris.

Gaining confidence and aware of Kirsten's heightened attention, I stood slowly, turned and looked her straight in the eye.

"Help me, Kirsten, please help me," I asked, trying to conceal my weak and wavering voice.

I walked to the long bench in front of her dressing table and lay back on it. With my head supported at one end and the other end under my coccyx, I tensed my tummy muscles and lifted my feet off the floor, pulling my knees almost up to my chest and spreading my inner thighs. I felt so very, very horny and the feeling of unashamedly exposing my barely-covered pussy to my friend and mentor was driving me crazy.

"Kirsten," I then said with difficulty as my mouth was so dry (unlike my pussy which, unsurprisingly, was by now soaking wet) "there are three small buttons between my legs. Undo them, please."

Without hesitating, Kirsten smiled and walked slowly towards me. She knelt at the end of the padded bench and looked down.

"No," she said, "You are wrong. There are four"

"I only remember three," I replied, puzzled by her contradiction.

"No, definitely four," she countered.

"Are you sure, Kirsten? I think you're wrong," I protested, unsure quite why we were arguing over such an unimportant detail as the exact number of buttons.

"Let's count them," Kirsten suggested, and began.

"One."

She touched a fingertip on the outer left button that secured the crotch of the bodystocking over my aching, pulsing pussy. I heard myself gasp quietly.

"Two."

She pressed lightly on the button at the other side of my swollen mound and my muscles spasmed at her touch. After a longer pause she continued.

"Threeeeee."

Kirsten lightly touched the small white button in the centre of the gusset, located just over the entrance to my moist vagina. My legs quivered and I moaned, clutching at my lycra-clad breasts and squeezing my nipples, hard. Only then did I realise what she was planning to do next.

I released my hold on my aching breasts and clutched tightly to the sides of the padded bench as I steadied myself for what I had (correctly) guessed was to come next.

After a long, long pause - the longest, most excruciating period of cruel anticipation I had ever known, during which tears welled up in my eyes as I held my breath - Kirsten purred "Four," and simultaneously flicked her fingernail across the taught fabric directly over the swollen, sensitive bud of my clit.

I screamed. Then, trying to control myself, I swallowed hard, feigning (unconvincing) self-composure.

"Kirsten, please undo the first 3 buttons for me." I asked, trying my best to sound calm, just as if we were together in a store changing room. Kirsten obliged, taking care of course not to touch the hypersensitive flesh of my inner thighs. She undid the two outer buttons. Then she unhooked middle one, releasing the tension in the Lycra. As the fabric snapped away from above and below my pussy I felt a rush of cool air hit my gaping, engorged cunt.

I let out a long sigh of relief and looked down between my knees at Kirsten. She was sitting on her haunches, smiling a sensuous, dreamy smile. She flashed her eyes momentarily to meet mine before returning to feast them upon my wide-open, dripping-wet vulva.

"Here, let me tidy you up," she offered, and neatly, caringly she tucked the front and rear webs of the body-stocking up inside its narrow waist so it now looked and felt more like a skin-tight vest. The whole of my body, from my hips right the way down to my glossy, high-heeled shoes was totally naked and exposed to Kirsten's gaze, and I was loving every single highly-charged moment.

I wanted to return my hands to my breasts to stimulate my hugely-erect nipples but they were needed somewhere else. I had never masturbated in front of someone else before. Not even a man, let alone a woman, but I was past all rational thought. My hips and knees were starting to ache from holding my debauched position on the padded bench, but I pushed those feelings aside, realising that Kirsten could not frig me off so I was going to have to do it myself.

Leaving my nipples to point achingly skywards (in my mind, they called to me in protest as I ignored them), I ran my hands slowly down my taught, straining abdomen and over the edge of the bodystocking onto warm, smooth skin. Onwards I tracked, down to the edge of my mound until I reached the first curls of my pubes.

I pulled my knees closer to my shoulders and slid my fingers between my thighs and around my mound. They met again at the spot where Kirsten found the third button instantly becoming wet and slippery with the slippery natural fluids that exuded in copious pulses from my open hole.

I glanced at Kirsten and she nodded in approval. "Go on, you've got to do it. If you don't come now, in front of me, you'll never be able to do it in front of a Passionella Dem. You know you need to, to keep up the deception. Remember, you are Julia, successful and wealthy recruitment executive. You'll expose yourself as a fraud, an impostor, if you can't masturbate in the private rooms; all Passionella's inner circle of valued clients do it. It's what they pay for."

I knew she was right and in my present state of heightened arousal, I needed little convincing.

"Yes, Kirsten, I know. I can do it and I'm going to do it for you." I sighed.

I went in for the kill, sliding the long middle finger of my right hand deep into my open, well-lubricated vagina, then moving it slowly up between the gaping folds of my swollen inner labia lips and under my hood.

I touched my clit,

… and cried out,

… loud.

… Very, very loud.

Unable to hold my position any longer, I dropped my feet flat on the floor and pushed my pussy mound high into the air. My nipples pressed hard against the tight Lycra that restrained them and as I thrashed my head from side to side, my damp hair fell across my eyes. I gasped and panted and I gulped huge mouthfuls of air. My lips were dry so I moistened them with my tongue, tasting salty perspiration on my face.

Frantically I rubbed my clitoris. Up and down, round and round and from side to side until I quickly exploded into a deep and powerful orgasm, releasing all the pent-up excitement of masturbating in front of another woman for the first time. And no ordinary woman. The gorgeous Kirsten.

I extracted every last gramme of pleasure from my oh-so-public climax. The feelings went on for ages and my heart was thumping, I pulled my knees back up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my shins, pulling my inner thighs together to exert pressure on my still-pulsing pussy. As the sensations slowly subsided, I relaxed and lay back on the bench, exhausted.

Kirsten broke the silence. "Julia, sweetie, I have never seen a client, or a Dem, or anyone else, masturbate in such a provocative and sensual way as that. You are fantastic, you are wonderful. You make me feel so horny and you turn me on like I can't remember ever feeling before. You, you, oh Julia …"

I sat up and only then realised why Kirsten's had voice trailed off. She now had her right hand down the front of her panties. I could see the outline of her knuckles pressed tight against the inside of the material as she held it away from her pussy. Her fingers were between her legs and she was kneeling up.

"Oh, Kirsten, oh, Kirsten." is all I could say as she frigged herself wildly. First she leaned back and thrust her pelvis towards me. Then she leaned forward, supporting her upper body on just her left hand as she continued to masturbate her pussy with the other, moaning and pleading with herself.

I wanted to help.

I stood astride her waist and leaned over her. To help support her weight (and for no other reason, I told myself), I reached under her torso and grasped her breasts, still trapped in the white bustier, and squeezed them. I moulded their shape with my eager hands and I rubbed her nipples through the fabric of her bra-cups. As I squatted astride her, a small stream of sticky cunt-juice oozed from my vagina and trickled down onto Kirsten's bare back, between the edge of her bustière and the top of her panties. I saw her muscles twitch as she felt my wetness on her skin.

My tormented, and now glistening, friend looked up over her shoulder and pleaded with me.

"Julia, I need to come, now. I'm desperate. Release me. Tell me I can. Please, oh please tell me I can come. Let me come … sweetie … please say I can ..."

Her voice tailed off and there was a hint of real urgency in her request. This was not an act.

Frightened by the sudden realisation that, as 'client', I had to give her permission to come, I experienced - in a fleeting moment - feelings of both power and passion.

"Kirsten, for fuck's sake, come now, you sexy bitch, let it go! Come on, come on! Come!" I yelled.

Kirsten immediately growled a deep, animal growl and convulsed as her orgasm flooded through her body. She collapsed on the floor between my feet, ground her pussy into the carpet and let out a long, deep moan before rolling over onto her back.

Kirsten looked up at me from between my legs. My pussy was still twitching as my fat, wet, engorged cunt-lips protruded beneath me, exposed to her fascinated gaze. She held up her fingers invitingly and I smelt her musky scent. I bent forward to suck on them but she pulled them away at the last moment, putting each one in her own mouth and licking them clean.

"Thanks, sweetie, that was absolutely glorious!" Kirsten sighed, exhaling deeply. "I think we had better look at the rest of your shopping another time."

*************************************************

Sitting opposite each other in our nightclothes, I clutched my cup of tea and pondered. "Kirsten, I'm not a lesbian. I'm not. Truly."

"Of course you aren't, if you don't want to be," she reassured.

"I never touched you. I never touched your skin. I stuck to the rules."

"I know, and I didn't touch yours."

"That makes it OK then. If I were a lesbian, I would kiss you, and lick your cunt and do all the things that real lesbians do. But if I don't touch you, it's all right, isn't it" That wasn't really a question, I was just trying to make sense of my situation and what was happening to me, but Kirsten answered anyway. "Yes, Julia, it's alright."

I slept well that night, safe in the knowledge that I had not discovered a latent and powerful lesbian sexuality deep inside me.