Pleasure In Control

Chapter 13

I spent the next day trying to concentrate on my work despite the complex set of experiences of the previous few, culminating in finger-fucking my boss after watching her masturbate in front of me. Not quite an 'ordinary day at the office'. In fact, I hadn't had what most people would describe as an 'ordinary day' since I arrived back in England several months previously. I was thoroughly enjoying my work but was looking for more responsibilities and some longer-term objectives. But as long as I was the ‘Mystery Shopper' I could adopt only limited roles within the company so as to not arouse suspicion. I seemed, however, to be arousing almost everything else in sight including myself. So, next week looked like this:

Monday - Mystery Shopping a competitor's new store in Cambridge.

Tuesday - Visit to a national erotic merchandise show in Birmingham.

Wednesday - Photo Shoot with the Passionella contract photographer

Thursday - Visit to an exhibition of 20th century underwear at one of London's great museums

Friday – nothing planned but expecting to have several orgasms

I needed a quiet weekend to recover and to take stock so I didn't see anyone and caught up on some reading and some sleep. And I made a commitment to my over-worked pussy of no-orgasms-for-the-whole-weekend despite a deep desire to experiment with my recently-acquired toys.

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

The Erotica show on Tuesday was enlightening, enabling me to see the latest trends and offerings in the professional end of the lingerie/leisure & pleasurewear/performance wear market. The third prong of Linda's new strategy was going to meet some stiff competition! Everywhere were models on catwalks and stands wearing (or not wearing) the most revealing, concealing, constraining and restraining male and female fun-wear imaginable, the exact purpose or enjoyment of some items I could not fathom. Some was clearly aimed at prostitutes, lap-dancers and strippers although many manufacturers were seeking retail outlets too. I made copious voice-notes and took away vivid images and some ideas too.

Tuesday evening I was becoming restless, having avoided all sexual activity since the previous Thursday with Linda, and my pussy and my hormones were vying for attention. I had promised myself an early night so I would be fresh for a long day at the studio but I slept fitfully and got up at 6 to have time to shower, shave and ready myself. I did not need to take any clothes or accessories, as everything would be provided. I arrived early, buoyed along by the prospect of an exciting new adventure.

I was not disappointed. I spent a fascinating day at the studio during which I was attended to by some very sexy ladies, wore some highly erotic items including some from the new product ranges and experienced things I never imagined. That day was a very significant landmark in my sexual development. I could hardly wait to see the results although some of the shots would be quite shocking and I was nervous about Linda seeing them before I'd had the opportunity to explain.

I kept a low profile after my photo-shoot. I dared not to encounter Linda for fear of what she might say, so I immersed myself in my work. I spent a lot of time in the provincial stores, so much so that I sensed that one or two of the Dems were becoming suspicious so I had to make up ever less plausible explanations as to why I needed to buy so much lingerie.

Then one day, I received a blind copy of an e-mail from Linda:

'I have been making a point of speaking with a cross-section of our clients recently, ostensibly to gather feedback on the test marketing of some new lines. But I've also solicited their views on the performance of you, our highly-valued sales demonstrators. The over-riding message I have received is that the company non-contact rules are unnecessarily restrictive. Many of our newer, younger clients lead more liberal and risk-taking lifestyles and are ready for more intimate experiences behind closed doors.

So, from now, I am leaving the nature of activity and the degree of intimacy in the store changing rooms, and in the Private Rooms at PROM, entirely to your own discretion. Bare-skin contact with and between all parts of the body is now permitted. Up to 3 clients will be allowed in a room with one or more Passionella employees at any one time and up to 3 clients may be left alone in PROM Private Rooms, but not in a store changing room for safety and insurance reasons.

Dems will not be disciplined if they choose to maintain their own level of modesty and discretion. If you feel that this new policy will put undue pressure on you, alternative work assignments will be offered.

You will need to make very careful judgements before offering or allowing increased levels of activity. Client 'Fees' will continue to be levied in the form of supplements added to garment prices and will be set to reflect the specialist nature of the service we provide especially to the more demanding and adventurous clients. You will be more that adequately rewarded.

I want to take this opportunity to thank you for your continued commitment to Passionella UK. If you have any questions or would like some one-to-one coaching, please speak to your responsible Personal Shopper.

Very warmest wishes, Linda'

So, at last, Linda has not just relaxed the LDT rule, she has scrapped it completely!

I'd hardly finished reading the message when my phone rang. It was Rachel. We chatted for a while and she asked if I'd read the new rules. She sounded very excited and told me something else: “The Private Rooms are to be much more widely available to clients outside Launch Events and small invitation-only parties will be organised on a regular basis.” She was obviously reading this.

“And who's got the new job as co-ordinator of all these new initiatives?” she continued.

I guessed right; Rachel herself, and she sounded so very pleased.

Then she told me that Linda wanted to see me that same day, at 3:00 pm, to discuss some new responsibilities and to arrange some training.

When I arrived at PROM, Rachel greeted me with a broad smile and a new hairstyle. She was brimming with enthusiasm for her new role as special events co-ordinator and her inner feelings of greater self-worth manifested themselves on the surface in her facial expression, the way she stood and talked and smiled. In short, she looked even more gorgeous than usual. She wore a burgundy jacket with nothing under it, as usual, except one of her trademark power-lift deep-cleavage bras that pushed together her so, so firm breasts, clearly visible between the plunging lapels of her single-button jacket. She wore matching hipster trousers that showed off plenty of gently-rounded tummy as her jacket parted again below its solitary, straining fastening.

"Rachel, dearest, where has all that lovely hair gone?" I demanded, as she turned her back to me to show off a very sophisticated, sharply-styled bob cut. The massive volume of her hair allowed her to carry off her new hairstyle to perfection. She looked more mature, and even more alluring than before.

"It had to go; it's all on the salon floor now. It was too time-consuming to look after; I'd never have kept it tidy now I'm to be 'Special Events Co-ordinator, Passionella UK'." I thought that she liked the sound of her new job title and was taking every opportunity to use it.

Rachel took me up to Linda's office and showed me in.

Linda greeted me with a Mediterranean kiss-on-both-cheeks and we sat next to each other on the sofa as we chatted. She quickly introduced the central topic of discussion and explained: "You will know from my New Strategy letter to my staff, and from your modelling session at Diane's studio …" Linda looked deep into my eyes for a several long seconds, glanced down at my mouth a couple of times then back up to my eyes, sending and receiving stronger communications than words could ever express. She'd obviously seen the photos.

Then she continued. " … that we are introducing several lines of Fetish Fashion wear.

I nodded.

"Well," she elaborated, "in order to be able to demonstrate these lines adequately, and to attract the right clientele, I want to equip the remaining Private Room in a sympathetic and appropriate style. And I'd like you to take on this, and some other special projects. You must maintain your cover as a valued Passionella client for as long as possible, although I know some of the Dems are becoming suspicious."

I nodded in agreement.

Linda explained what she had in mind. "The room will be called Black and the décor and 'equipment' must evoke restraint and domination, whilst retaining good taste and sophistication."

I nodded again.

"You will need to research the latest trends so you should spend time in and around the better-class fetish clubs and also read up as much as possible on popular practices and on equipment suppliers & installers. You might like to befriend Diane, the photographer, as she is something of an aficionado herself and may have some good tips and contacts. You have a virtually unlimited budget but very little time. Rachel is organising a special invitation-only party as part the launch of Pleasure In Control in 4 weeks. You can co-opt help from my staff if you need some, er, Guinea Pigs, to try out the new room. Are you up for it?"

I agreed without hesitation, but Linda cautioned me. "You will still need to visit the outlets too, regularly. I need you to ensure that the Dems are meeting our high level of customer expectation, especially now I have relaxed the rules of engagement. Do you understand? You need to push the girls, to see how far they will go and what they will and won't do for an important and high-spending customer like you. Do you realise what this means?" I said that I thought I did, but Linda put it more bluntly. "You must go out and fuck them in the changing rooms, and encourage them to fuck you, then send detailed written reports back to me. OK?"

"Er, well yes, sure. Sounds good to me," I shrugged.

What a fantastic way to earn a living. And a very good living too. Doing something I enjoy and getting paid for it. There were some Dems in particular whom I couldn't wait to 'Mystery Shop'.

"I know you'll enjoy yourself, from what I've seen and heard about you."

I wondered just what she'd seen and heard, and how.

"Come and see what you have to work with," Linda insisted, as she opened a door opposite her office. This led to another, narrower flight of stairs and then a small corridor with doors on both sides. I felt uneasy and tried to speak but Linda shhh'd me. Then she opened the last small door and ushered me into … the one remaining unused Private Room. So, Linda had her own back stairs to the rooms. Like a Tradesmen's Entrance, but without the 'men'.

She explained without me having to ask. "This assures complete discretion for clients who do not want to be seen entering or leaving the Private Rooms with Passionella staff or with other clients. Not everyone is so brazen as Yasmin and Zöe." I smiled.

"This is your empty canvas," eulogised Linda.

The room was not completely empty, but contained only a reclining chair, just like the ones in White, Silver and Gold. I walked over and sat in it. It was very comfortable.

"I've already arranged for Charlotte to provide some training, so you get to understand and experience the full range of possibilities that my ‘Chair of Four Pleasures' offers to the more adventurous. Friday at 7:30 p.m. OK?"

I entered the date and time into my organiser and invoked the Double-Undelete function so I could not possibly miss the appointment.

As I left the building, Rachel deliberately stood in the doorway so I had to turn sideways and squeeze past her to get out. I brushed against her breasts and she looked at me. "New job too?"

I smiled; she was making a pass at me.

"Let me know if you need some help, won't you," she breathed in a sexy, Marilyn Munroe voice, unbuttoning her jacket and pushing her half-naked breasts against mine. Shit, they felt so good, I couldn't wait to get my hands on them.

I met Diane outside her studio later that week as arranged. Stupidly, I'd expected her to be dressed in fetish wear as she emerged onto the street but she wore smart casual clothes that flattered her more mature figure. I'd chosen a tight-fitting black satin halter-neck cat-suit and high heels, the nearest I dared get to Fetish and still feel safe walking the streets. We chatted as we walked to the bookshop she had suggested but never once mentioned my photo session.

Diane chose the latest issues of some fetish-wear magazines and three books for me to read; I paid cash. Then we stopped outside a plain black door in a side-street. Diane phoned a number from her mobile and the door opened inwards. The doorman greeted Diane warmly by another name and looked me up and down before nodding us through. We climbed the dimly-lit stairs, which were carpeted in thick, lush black.

Diane led me into a small side room where she nonchalantly slipped off her day clothes to reveal her voluptuous body tightly clad in a one-piece cream leather corset that covered but exaggerated her breasts, matching leather tight-fitting panties and contrasting knee-length light brown boots.

Sitting at the bar sipping soft drinks, I felt I could have been anywhere. Small groups laughed and conversed animatedly and passing folk welcomed me politely. Some made intelligent conversation and others apologised before they spoke to Diane as an old friend. The only difference was that they all wore the most outrageous clothes I could never have imagined. No-one exposed so much as a nipple, let alone genitalia, but their clothes were so very, very sexy.

Some wore impossibly tight corsets that pinched in their waists to half their usual size. Others wore skin-tight outfits in every conceivable colour of leather and latex rubber. Some clients wore masks that covered some or all of their faces but others wore none so their faces were clearly and shamelessly visible. I felt outrageously over-dressed, or maybe underdressed, but Diane reassured me and put me totally at ease. She explained that tonight was just a normal club night with no activities planned, but she wanted me to see the 'equipment'. She led me up another plush flight of stairs and through one of numerous archways into a 'Pleasure Zone'

Here I was confronted by an alarming array of straps, buckles and chains.

"This is the type of facility that Linda wants you to create at her company HQ" she explained. It made sense - to cater for the sector of Passionella's customers who want to experience fetish-fantasy for themselves but who couldn't or wouldn't frequent such a brazenly explicit club as this. Under cover of a respectable up-market lingerie retailer, they can push the boundaries within a safe and trusted environment. Hmm …

Diane invited me to try out some equipment. She showed me numerous ways in which I might be secured, immobile, to the walls, the floor or to wooden and metal contraptions. She attached my wrists, waist and ankles to some leather cuffs and effortlessly lifted me off the floor. Then she invited me to help her into a sling-like small hammock suspended from a gantry, demonstrating how a partner might gain access to her breasts, her pussy and her butt. I was intrigued and asked to try but she looked at her watch.

"Not this time, but just take a look in here," she countered. Through another arch was a large wooden X-shaped construction against one wall, with numerous cuffs and belts along its four arms. Diane showed me how it could be rotated about its central axis; its use was obvious. Also in this area were two benches, each shaped something akin to a horse saddle.

"Fuck-machines" explained Diane. She pressed a green button and a short, thick dildo emerged from the top, near to one end. I shuddered at the thought of what that could do to its passenger (rider?), especially when I read the array of labels under the various controls: Speed, Depth, Rotation, Vibration, Pulse, Ejaculate, and 'Pre-set Programmes'. Diane observed my interest but led me away, advising: "Maybe one day, when you're truly ready."

By now my pussy was ready for something; the thought of all this stuff in full use on a busy Saturday night had me hooked. Diane had to get away so I made my own way home, my mind racing and my pussy glowing in warm expectation. I vowed to save myself and drifted off to sleep with images of belts and cuffs in my head.

At home the next day, I pored over the books and magazines I'd bought as well as the catalogues and portfolios of some of Diane's contacts; manufacturers and retailers of some highly-imaginative 'play equipment.' I made copious notes and started to formulate a plan for Black Private Room. I phoned around and obtained some rough prices so I could put together a budget price for my project

The next evening I was due at PROM for my training with Charlotte. I was looking forward to that so I took an early night, this time finding it even more difficult to keep my hands off my own pleasure-zone.

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

Compared to the experiences of the previous week, my weekend was quiet and mundane, which was exactly what I needed. I went about my everyday activities, cooking, phoning friends and attending to my personal paperwork. I also tried to make sense of the barrage of new experiences and feelings I had encountered, relating them as best I could to my childhood, my previous relationships, my dreams and fantasies and my plans for the future, vague as they were.

I needed to regain my composure and my stamina as I had a busy, demanding few weeks ahead. Usually, Emma and Linda let me plan my own time. But I was under strict instructions to 'mystery-shop' several of the Dems to ensure they were implementing Linda's relaxation of the LDT rule. I figured that Linda had put some of the Dems into one of two categories: Those who would feel inhibited, and therefore unwilling or unable to provide the very intimate services that Linda had vowed to provide to her most valued clients, and the over-zealous who might damage Passionella's reputation for discretion and sensitivity. I went through the same exercise:

Category 1: Fiona, Danielle, Abigail?

Category 2: Stevie, Abigail?? Vikki?

I realised that, in order to report back to Linda, and regardless of which category they fell into, I had to lead them on. I had to establish where their limits were, what they were willing to do for me, with me and to me, in the fragile privacy of a store changing room. I had to provoke them, and to seduce them.

I spent many hours planning my strategy, different for each woman according to her personality and my previous encounters with her. I found the process to be both challenging but also very exciting. I sometimes drifted from planning into pure fantasy, imagining myself in most unlikely situations with these attractive and sensual colleagues, in which their behaviour became erotic in the extreme and absurdly daring as my fertile imagination explored the furthest corners of my desires.

My first visit took me to the Oxford St. store in London where I found mature, red-head Fiona arranging stock. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me and was polite, helpful and professional to a fault. But try as I might, I couldn't persuade her to do any more than to help me undress and to compliment me on my appearance. I tried really hard but I was unable to seduce Fiona into so much as undressing, let alone engaging in close physical contact.

However, by contrast, Monday afternoon found me a mile or so further south in Knightsbridge where I encountered the younger and much more vivacious Stevie. Predictably, she took little persuading to push the boundaries. She was looking more desirable than ever in a short tight corporate-burgundy dress, which only served to accentuate her tall, imposing frame. I noticed that she had lost some weight since I last saw her and she was looking lithe and athletic without losing her sensual charisma.

We talked discretely and Stevie helped me to select some of the most risqué items on show. She had her hands all over me as soon as I had shut the changing room door; without even asking, she undressed me stark naked and complimented me on my own gym-honed figure. She stripped off herself down to a tiny silk G-string and one of my favourite Passionella uplift bras, which pushed her ample breasts upwards and together.

"You would look terrific in one of our new waspies," she remarked. "Wear one under a skimpy cocktail dress and you'd stun them into silence every time you walked into a crowded room." Stepping towards me, she reached out her hands and cupped my breasts, lifting them and pushing them to form a deep cleavage, "See?"

"Mmmm," she commented, as though she was selecting fresh fruit in a French street-market, "your breasts have such a delicious feel, soft and firm at the same time." Ordinarily I would have pulled away, but I had a job to do, and I was quite enjoying the attention. Stevie and I had spent some very intimate moments together at Passionella launch parties and I found her attractive. She invited me to undress her and I savoured the moment as I stood behind her and unclipped her front-fastening bra, watching in the mirror as I set free her 34D breasts. I'd almost forgotten how deliciously large her areolae were. Kneeling in front of her, I pulled down her skimpy panties and admired at close range her shaven pussy. I recalled the evening when she had first shaved me and felt a rush of excitement hit my clit.

Stevie picked up a black vinyl waspie from the selection of evocative and revealing products that we had brought into the changing room. In keeping with Linda's new Passionella strategy, some could hardly be called clothes; playthings would be more appropriate. She wrapped it around my waist and fastened it tightly down my back; I had to breathe in. It pulled in my waist, accentuating the curves of my hips and, as predicted, pushing my boobs upwards and forwards. Stevie chose an even skimpier version, which clinched her waist but stopped just above her hips, drawing attention to her flat belly and her smooth, rounded pussy-mound. I attached the numerous Logo clasps all the way down the front then spun her around so I could pull the lace-ups as tight as I could. Stevie protested vainly and simultaneously admired herself in the full-length mirror. Her breasts sat on top of rather than in the cups of her waspie with their nipples exposed just above the top edge of the pliable yet structured play-wear. They jutted proudly towards me as she stood with her feet slightly apart.

Stevie put her hands on her buttocks and tilted her pelvis, pushing out her bum-cheeks. She pushed her shoulders back, which thrust her breasts forward as they swelled proudly over the top of her black vinyl clincher. She closed her eyes and threw back her head as she let out a long, deep sigh.

I'd fully expected Stevie to push the boundaries but she allowed me to keep control of the situation. Trying as best I could to keep my cool and my professional sense of proportion, I led her on and we embraced each other. She squeezed my narrow waist and pulled my waspie down onto my hips so my nipples emerged from their cups. The fresh air and the friction as they rubbed against the cold, shiny plastic caused them harden. The atmosphere was becoming increasingly sensual and I made more encouraging noises to tempt my locked-room companion to go further.

Stevie responded. Pressing her boobs firmly against mine, she pulled me towards her and our naked pussies met. Falling on the floor, we indulged in her speciality, the Scissors. I fondly remembered the feeling of another bare, shaven mound against my own from that time when Stevie broke the LDT rule we first fucked at PROM several weeks before.

I loved the feeling of Stevie's harshly-clad torso against the soft insides of my sensitive thighs and the evocative sounds as she pressed her legs against the squeaky, glossy surface of my waspie where it pulled my waist in so tight. Once again we rubbed swollen clit against smooth, naked labia. We writhed and moaned and squeezed and ground each other to orgasm, my first of the week.

Yes, Stevie had fully embraced the new, relaxed rules or engagement between Dem and Client, just as much as she fully embraced me as I left with my very expensive shopping.

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

I spent the next 2 days in the provinces, going about my work and occasionally having to stop myself from smiling inexplicably in public places. Here I was, driving around the country in a dream car, spending someone else's money on fabulous clothes, meeting gorgeous women who attend to my every need, visiting interesting cities and staying in high-quality hotels on expenses. I was getting more sex than I ever dreamed possible, of a type and with the gender that I never imagined I'd enjoy so much. I was young enough to stand the pace but mature enough to be sure that I was doing what I wanted to do, no more and no less.

I was not in a stable relationship but didn't feel as though I was missing anything. In fact, the freedom that brought suited me. I'd made several new and very close, even intimate, friends. Especially dear to me was Kirsten, my mentor, who had gone to Italy for three weeks, ostensibly for product and management training but would be back soon. I couldn't afford to become too close with any of the Passionella employees, especially the Dems, but I felt a deeper relationship with Linda was in the making. Lastly, I realised that I might be able to make friends amongst some of Passionella's (other) clients, especially as this would add credibility to my fragile alter-persona.

Back in London and after a well-earned early night, I was planning to call on Vikki who was coving for vacation leave at the Regent Street store on Thursday morning. As a treat for her, as well as for me, I dressed up especially tarty. I wore my favourite cerise bra and panties set under a sleeveless loose-fitting crop-top, a short, flared skirt with side slits in white, and super-high heels. If he hadn't recognised me, I doubt that the doorman would have allowed me into the shop.

Unfortunately, Vikki wasn't on the floor as she had swapped her shift at the last moment. I chatted with the duty Personal Shopper then made my excuses and headed for the lifts. A case of all dressed up with no-where to go.

But on the way out I became aware of someone behind me but thought nothing of it as I stepped into the crowded lift. No-one spoke and no-one made eye-contact, but I felt a warm human form pressing against my back. Not a hard, man's body, but a soft, feminine, yielding shape. As the slow, traditional lift stopped at each floor, people alighted and more entered forcing me back against the curvaceous body behind me.

I froze as a hand reached around my side and rested on my bare midriff just above the top of my skirt, but a husky voice whispered "Relax".

How could I? I was being handled by an unseen person, in a public place, with no means of escape. I could have screamed, or stamped on her foot, but she pulled me back against her reassuringly. I closed my eyes, hoping that I could leave at the next floor. But when the doors opened I remained, held by her tender embrace. My desire to escape had vanished, to be replaced by curiosity and excitement. What would she do now? By staying, I'd sent her a signal, that I did not object to her attention.

As soon as the doors closed, She slipped her hand inside my loose top and caressed a lace-covered breast. I sighed audibly but no-one looked around. Another hand slid inside my top and explored my bare flesh before coming to rest on my other breast. The unseen She squeezed them gently and ran her fingers inquisitively along the lacy edges of my bra, and under and between its decorated straps. Her fingers came to rest for a moment on the back clasp; surely she wouldn't unclip my bra and gain access to my flushed and defenceless boobs?

No. She removed her hands from under my top and I shuddered as I started to breathe again.

The lift stopped at the ground floor and most of the other occupants left; only two elderly ladies stayed, and no-one else got in. My feet were riveted to the lift floor. One more journey, to the basement. Would we then be alone in the tiny descending sardine-can?

As the lift started to move, I felt a hand on my tummy again. It pressed against my flesh and instinctively I breathed in, pulling in my muscles. Immediately, She slipped her hand inside the waistband of my skirt, reaching down as far as the top of my sheer panties. Shit! I thought, who is She? There I was, standing in a public place, with an unseen, uninvited hand within centimetres of my most private place, and I was doing nothing to stop her. In fact, I was thrilled and excited more than I dared to admit to myself and awaited Her next move with eager anticipation.

Suddenly the doors opened and the two ladies shuffled out. She removed her hand and a shiver ran uncontrollably down my spine. Three or four people were waiting to step in and they waited politely for us to alight. I smiled back and shrugged my shoulders, indicating 'Don't wait for me', still unaware of the identity of the warm body behind me.

I turned to face the side wall of the lift and it started its upward journey. Once more, a pair of inquisitive, exploring hands slipped unseen under my top, roaming over my breasts and my tummy. Again I pulled in my abs and fingers slid down to the waistband of my panties. She wriggled first one, then two fingers inside the top of may panties and I contracted my muscles to allow her more room. She slid her whole hand inside and I closed my eyes tight.

As usual in England, no-one looked at me or anyone else. The lift continued upwards but my companion's fingers moved down, down, until they reached my smooth mound. Seeking out my hot, wet slit, two opened me and a third sought my clit.

And found it.

My knees were weak and my breathing shallow and wavering but I dare not make a sound even though I wanted to cry out words of encouragement and guidance. I felt a powerful feeling of raw excitement wash over me, accentuated by the thrill of the illicit, secret invasion of my privacy in a very public place.

I lost track of the floor numbers and our direction of travel, engrossed in my sensual experience, until She slipped her hands from my clothing and pulled down the hem of my top. A voice whispered in my ear: "Get out next time the lift stops but don't look around. Come back 15 minutes before closing time; there will be no-one here as the last minute-shoppers make for the tills. We can be alone. Get in on the top floor. OK?"

I had only a few seconds to think, and almost instinctively I agreed, communicating with a simple nod. As the doors opened I composed myself and strode onto the shop floor, resisting the urge to turn around to confront, or at least identify, my assailant. The voice was vaguely familiar, the experience indescribably erotic, the anticipation of 6:45 p.m. numbingly exciting.

I struggled to concentrate for the rest of the day. I picked over my lunch and stabbed aimlessly at my laptop, thinking all the time about our furtive encounter and my shocking reaction to her uninvited invasion of my clothing. I made some phone calls, including one to the body-piercing clinic that Charlotte had recommended. I made an appointment for Thursday, for a no-obligation consultation.

I must have looked at my watch a hundred times that afternoon until, at exactly 6:45, I pressed the Down button to call the lift to the top floor. The place was deserted and I could hear my heart pounding.

As soon as the doors opened, I stepped in to find … an empty lift.

What did I expect? Would She really want to go through with this? She'd have seen sense, just as I should have, and realised the whole idea was absurd, unappealing and also illegal. I turned my back to the wall and pressed the button for street level and the doors started to close.

At the last moment, an attractive, well-dressed woman appeared in the doorway, turned slightly sideways and slipped through the narrowing gap, showing off her voluptuous side profile to full effect in the process. In fact, her large, pendulous breasts ensured she was not significantly smaller side-on than full-square. The doors thumped shut and we were alone. Xara smiled back at me; I recognised her immediately from recent Passionella launch parties and searched for the right words, but she put a finger to her lips.

The lift probably took less than a minute to reach street-level but Xara's hands were all over me. Thankfully, no-one else summoned our lift and it rumbled slowly past every floor. Xara lifted my top over my breasts and fondled them tenderly, seemingly quite unsurprised that I had already removed my bra. I hoped she wasn't disappointed, or shocked - she made no comment other than husky moans of appreciation. She squeezed my already erect nipples affectionately and bent forward to plant a long wet kiss on each one.

I frantically pulled down my top as the doors opened and averted the stares of the two plainly-dressed women who joined us. Xara and I ignored each other and I tried to breathe normally until the two ladies stepped out at the next floor. Xara immediately hit the door-close button and pulled me towards her again. Our hands were inside each other's clothes within seconds and I explored her overly-filled bra before locating and releasing its front-fastening.

Her stupendous breasts spilled into my overfilled, exploring hands and I enjoyed the feel of their weight and their softness. Xara guided my hands onto her nipples, which were surprisingly small by proportion. I brushed my fingertips over them and they responded satisfyingly, becoming hard but not long.

My pussy was signalling its approval and begged for attention. Xara took hold of the sides of my skirt and twisted it a quarter of a turn. Simultaneously she sunk to her knees and buried her face in my crotch. I backed into the corner of the lift and perched my bum on the brass handrails that ran along the back and sides of the lift. I took my weight on my hands and lifted my spike-heeled feet off the floor in order to rest my thighs on the rails, opening wide the slits in my skirt which were now at the back and the front.

Xara nuzzled her mouth against my pussy and I felt her tongue probing my clit. My juices flowed and mingled with her saliva, soaking the thin fabric of my panties. I reached under my skirt and hooked my thumbs inside the waistband and by precariously lifting first one foot then the other, I slipped out of them and kicked them away.

Xara soon got back to work and flicked tantalisingly at my craving, swollen clitoris as she licked and sucked at my naked pussy. I entwined my fingers in her hair and held her head between my legs, hoping against all hope that she could bring me to orgasm before we reached the ground floor.

She couldn't, and when the doors started to open she pretended she had dropped something, knotting her wrap-over top to cover her large breasts just in time. She looked as disappointed as I was as she stood up. Xara left the lift before me, but not before she had whispered "Same time tomorrow?"

The store duty manageress was waiting to get in and smiled at me as she wedged her foot against the door to prevent it from closing, but I ignored her and walked purposefully towards the exit, hoping she didn't smell the scent of my aroused pussy as we passed. My heart leapt when she called me back: "Excuse me, have you forgotten something?"

I turned around and she gestured towards my damp panties lying on the floor of the far corner of the lift. I could have pretended they weren't mine but it was already too late when I realised my dilemma. My skirt was still on sideways. If I bent forward to pick them up, I would expose my naked bum and slit. If I turned around and squatted, I'd open my thighs and bare my pussy from the front. I crouched awkwardly, keeping my knees together and wobbling dangerously on my high heels. I retrieved my skimpy clothing and stuffed them in my bag. I smiled sweetly at her and tottered towards the exit feeling a little humiliated whilst still hugely aroused by my illicit, but as yet unfulfilling, encounter.

I lay on my back in bed that night, struggling to keep my hands by my sides and planning my next highly exciting lift experience. I drifted sporadically in and out of sleep. In my dream I stood naked in an all-glass lift in the centre of a large shopping centre. The lift doors were shaped like enormous pussy lips and they slid open and closed at each floor, but no-one else got in. Funky disco beat music played loudly over the muzak system as I fucked my cunt with an impossibly huge glass dildo. Hundreds of Saturday shoppers were watching me and they cheered and clapped as I climaxed just before I reached the ground floor.

During Friday I tracked the progress of my Black Room project, inspecting the quality of the work at PROM and phoning my suppliers. All the painting and decorating was finished and the equipment was being installed. I had chosen chrome fittings to augment the provocative black décor as well as numerous tiny lights concealed in the ceiling and the floor to create a sensual mood. Most of the fixed furniture was in place and many of the accessories and free-standing pieces had been delivered, scattered around still protected with bubble-wrap. I couldn't resist the temptation to pop a few bubbles!

I cut the packaging off a particularly large item and immediately recognised it. This was a special commission, made by one of Diane's friends. It could best be described as a cross between a horse saddle and exercise bike. I saw it had stirrups for the feet and hand-holds, each with cuffs to hold the occupant securely in place. The seat looked to be comfortably-shaped but in the centre I noticed a hole through which protruded a threaded metal rod. I remembered Diane's friend telling me that she would supply interchangeable dildoes that could be fixed to the rod and which could be made to oscillate up and down, to vibrate and to rotate. I also recalled that the stirrups were designed to fall slowly under the weight of the rider; I could only imagine the consequences.

I peeped in a large box, which contained a number of rings yet to be fixed to the walls, as well as a satisfyingly wide variety of spreader bars, cuffs, slings & swings. I felt excited at the potential the room held and could hardly wait to see it finished.

But my mind was on other delightful things. Actually, one thing in particular. A certain lift, at a certain time. I left PROM at about 3:00 p.m. and walked briskly back to my apartment in the afternoon sunshine. I love this time of year as the pretty girls on the city streets wear as little as they can get away with, making the most of the last of the seasons warmth by exposing large expanses of luscious tanned flesh. I looked to one side as I waited to cross the road and was momentarily distracted by a woman in her thirties standing next to me, wearing a tight tee-shirt. I caught a perfect side-profile of her small but exquisitely-shaped breasts, with large protruding nipples outlined by the stretch fabric as they pointed forwards and slightly upwards towards the blue sky. Wonderful. I walked beside her snatching quick glances, hoping she wouldn't notice me, but I soon lost her in the crowd.

Already feeling rather horny, I arrived at my apartment and immediately stripped off. I stood side-on to the mirror and admired my own profile. I liked what I saw; those hard hours at the gym were paying off and I was keeping the balance between a slim, sexy shape without the overly-muscular hard-body look of an athlete. My nipples grew and tingled as I posed and I had to stop myself from touching them. I showered and changed into a wrap-over Indian cotton dress in shades of ochres and warm reds with ethnic beads and tiny brass rings stitched to it, held closed with a simple belt around waist. I wore absolutely nothing underneath as I wanted to waste as little time as possible in the lift.

I gulped down a coffee and selected a few items from the box beside my bed. I slipped them into a clutch-bag and headed out into the hot streets. I had planned to take a taxi but changed my mind, exchanging its air-conditioned privacy for the thrill of travelling by public transport. The cool cotton caressed my body as I walked and the warm late-summer air circulated around my bare pussy. Men and women alike glanced my way, blissfully unaware of what I was or was not wearing under my dress. I enjoyed their attention, knowing that I could untie my belt and expose my naked, tingling body to them at any time.

Xara was already waiting alone in the lift when I arrived at 6:45 on the dot and she ushered me in excitedly. As soon as the doors closed she reached into her bag and produced a large roll of heavy-duty adhesive tape, which she stuck all the way down the join in the sliding doors. She also stuck a small piece over the lens of the tiny CCTV camera concealed in the ceiling.

"Now we won't be disturbed" she confirmed, pressed Basement, and pulled me towards her.

Knowing we were alone and could not be disturbed, I had her shirt and trousers off her in seconds but left on her amply-filled crimson satin bra and her matching high-leg panties. I untied my belt and I shrugged off my cotton dress as Xara dropped to her knees, sighing appreciatively with the realisation that I was instantly naked in front of her. Quickly she started where she had left off the previous day, licking my bare, aching, well-moistened pussy and nibbling my hot, throbbing clit.

I clutched my breasts and squeezed my nipples, leaning back against the lift walls with my feet wide apart. Xara hooked her fingertips into my bum crack, grasped my bum cheeks, and pulled them apart so my anus was stretched wide. I still remember the lovely feeling as the cool air circulated around my tight pink orifice. I moaned and cried as Xara attended to my needs:

"Oh, Xara, I've been saving myself for you. Make me come," I pleaded. I was so aroused it didn't take long and I climaxed noisily as she lashed my eager pussy with her long, probing tongue.

I wanted to collapse on the floor but Xara warned me: "The lift alarm will have gone off in the maintenance room, we don't have much time." She guided my hand to the crimson triangle of her satin-shrouded pussy but I pulled away. For a moment she looked crestfallen, but I reached into my bag and pulled out a thick glossy vibrator. I slid a lubricated condom over its sizeable length and Xara squealed with delight, turning her back to me. She leant forward, supporting her weight on the handrail along the opposite wall of the lift, and pushed her bum towards me. I pulled down her panties to her ankles and she moved her feet as far apart as they would allow. She squatted slightly and spread her knees so her pink, wet pussy peeked out at me from her full, curly bush of glistening auburn pubic hair. The temperature rose quickly in the confined, sealed space of our temporary haven and beads of perspiration broke out all over Xara's body, trickling down her taught skin in tiny streams.

I ran the vibrator over her bum cheeks, along her arse-crack, around her anus and slowly along the length of her gaping, moist slit. I stopped when I reached her clit and she ground her hips and rocked her pelvis to accentuate my tiny, teasing movements. "Do it to me, babe," she cried, "oh yes, work my pussy with that beauty. More. more, harder, right there …. slow down …. hold it ………. Oh Yes, Yes Yes, now, faster babe, right on the tip … a - a - a - a - a - a - a - a aaaaaahhhhhh, mmm, ohhhhhhh yessssssssssss"

Attentive to her responses and remembering everything that Kirsten had taught me about giving pleasure to a woman, I adjusted the speed of vibrations to derive maximum effect. Xara's knuckles were white where she gripped the handrail firmly, steadying herself against the swaying motion of the lift and bracing herself against my increasingly forceful movements. I leaned my body on hers, pressing my bare, throbbing breasts against her arse-cheeks and dragging my oh-so-sensitive nipples across her hot, damp skin as I sought to bring myself to a second climax.

When I sensed she was about to come, I rammed the humming object hard into her wet vagina and thrust it in and out repeatedly whilst frigging her engorged, craving clit rapidly with the middle finger of my other hand. Xara cried frantic words of encouragement, mostly only managing the first two words of any sentence, and soon shuddered violently as her climax ripped through her. Her pendulous breasts strained against the barely-adequate constraints of her bra and swayed in unison as she fucked the object of desire I held deep inside her, prolonging the final fading moments of her climax whilst I tipped myself over the edge again by thrusting several fingers of my free hand into my pulsing fuck-tunnel thereby mixing their thick, sticky coating of Xara's cunt-juices with my own.

We dressed quickly and smoothed the creases out of our clothes. Xara removed the sticky tape and the lift doors juddered open at the ground floor.

We walked out to find an anxious group of onlookers gathered behind a 'lift out of order' sign and a puzzled repair-man who stood holding a tool box. But Xara waved him away, adding: "We're OK, thanks, my friend brought her own tools today.

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

Hi, I hope you're still enjoying my story! Congratulations if you've read every chapter so far. Stick with it, things really hot up in the next chapter as I enjoy myself at a select private party with some of my favourite Dems.

Please write a review if you've enjoyed reading this chapter. Or send me an e-mail and tell me what you like – it's easy, just click on my author link above (Julie<->Julia) and I'll reply to all mails. I'll also let you know when my next chapters are posted. If you prefer, send me a BDSM Library private message – just click the same link. Thanks to all of you who have already posted reviews or sent messages and to all of you who are following my story as it unfolds.

Note that the BDSM Library story codes apply to the whole story (about 150,000 words) not just this chapter. Be patient, take care, stay safe, have fun.

x Julia