Chapter 1 (Monday)

I felt a warm glow of familiar pleasure as the Monday morning Eurostar train from Paris pulled effortlessly into the terminus at 9:50, 5 minutes early. It was going to be great to be back in London after so long, even if it was only for a couple of days. Things had been getting progressively worse between Claud and me as he became more and more overbearing, placing ever more absurd expectations on me. I dreaded sex with him to the point where eventually I couldn't even bear to let him touch me at all. It made my skin creep. I needed to get away to have time and space to myself and found the perfect opportunity, or shall I say, excuse. I had answered a job advertisement for a position where I could use my marketing skills and my qualification in textile design. But most important was the offer of paid return travel expenses and an overnight stay in London.

I grabbed my leather overnight bag from the luggage rack, brushing away the offer of help from the kindly gentleman sitting opposite. 'I don't need a man anymore' I confidently said to myself, shocked to realise that it was probably true. Stepping off the train with my new-found self-assurance I walked down the long platform with my head held high. At 5 feet 7 inches tall, with shoulder-length, naturally curly honey blonde hair, high cheekbones and a world of opportunities ahead of me, how could I fail? By the time I reached the ticket barrier I had already decided to stop by the fashion stores to buy a couple of items to better match my mood before I could approach the interview in the right frame of mind. Brussels is a fascinating city but in the 5 years I have lived there I have missed the high-quality clothing stores that I know so well in the main streets and small arcades of London's Bond Street area.

Emerging from the 'tube' station I strode to that landmark department store on Oxford Street, delighted to find it had been recently refurbished so that the centre of the store was filled with cool natural daylight, so important to show off the true colour and texture of the clothes. Now, what better to boost a girl's ego than a new bra? Heading to the large and comprehensively stocked lingerie department I became temporarily bewildered by the array of items on display. Here was everything any woman could need, from plain, functional but exceptionally well made everyday wear to the most glamorous and exquisitely fine silk and lace garments from the top designers.

I needed something that would not show under the plum-coloured knee-length dress I had brought with me and which would hold my breasts in place so as not do draw too much attention to themselves. Not that they need much control, as they are nicely firm and well proportioned. An English size 34C, they stand as prominent and high on my rib-cage as they did when I was at school and the other girls would cat-call and jibe out loud in the showers whilst secretly half-whispering comments of jealousy and admiration to each under their breath. Absent-mindedly my mind drifted back to those school days when I became deeply aware of my own body and the pleasure it gave me when I would stand admiring my blossoming teenage curves in the mirror. I would cup my breasts and feel their even, balanced weight on my hands, allowing my fingers to stray onto my dark nipples, the pleasure enhanced by the certain knowledge that I was breaking one of the boarding school's stuffy rules. Yes, there was even a rule that forbade the girls to even so much as to touch themselves, on the breasts or genitals except whilst washing or showering. How the school's founders ever planned to enforce such a rule I could not imagine, but judging from the moans coming from under the sheets at night, I was not the only one to break it. And we definitely were not allowed to touch each other, anywhere or any time.

My mind was brought sharply back to reality by the strong but polite voice of a store employee standing behind me. "Are you looking for anything in particular or would you like me to make a few suggestions?" Even if I had known what to say, I could not have spoken at that moment as I was totally enthralled by the short but striking woman I saw as I spun round. She was slim with jet-black hair in a precision-cut, short straight style. She wore a dark burgundy jacket buttoned high up to her neck, a matching calf-length skirt and black, high-quality shoes. My marketing experience told me first to read her name-badge: 'Kirsten – Personal Shopper', engraved on a platinum-coloured badge bearing a discreet but unfamiliar logo.

"I'm Julie and I need a nice bra to wear under a plummy-ish coloured sort of dress type of thing, nothing too racy, er ..., if you know what I mean". All of my new-found confidence had drained away as I looked into the clear, blue eyes of Kirsten - Personal Shopper. "I am sure I can find just what you need – follow me". The way she spoke made me feel so inadequate; so powerful yet polite. I wish I knew what assertiveness course she had attended.

Kirsten led me to a rail of mid-priced lingerie in plain colours and a variety of styles. Amongst them was a bra in the perfect colour, my size and in a cut that the label described as Balcony. "This looks OK", I said, feeling more relaxed now as Kirsten put me at ease with words of encouragement, speaking more softly with an underlying Irish accent. Without even asking, she picked up my overnight bag for me and led me to the luxuriously-appointed changing rooms. Expecting her to wait outside, I was surprised when Kirsten stepped into the large cubicle behind me and quietly closed, and locked, the door.

"Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm Kirsten (I knew that) and I'm your personal shopper (I knew that too). If you would like to try on the bra, I will help you to adjust the straps for a prefect fit. I'm happy to bring other sizes for you to try. But more than that, I can advise you on the subtle differences between the styles and cuts, which items are most suitable under your clothes and which will give you the shape you want." Whew! This is exactly what I need. I love lingerie but I have always wondered at the range and complexity of bras, panties, basques, waspies, bodies and more that are available. Now I have an expert to help me. "But don't worry, I wont actually touch you – it's against the rules here." Hmm, where did I hear that before?

We moved into easy and relaxed conversation. Some of it small talk interspersed with much helpful advice. The plum bra fitted perfectly. It was made of a smooth, satin fabric, with narrow straps, lacy edging to the cups and perfectly-stitched details. I noticed it had unusual metal rings to adjust the straps. The under-wiring came up the centre between my boobs, holding them slightly apart, with a small metal stud in the centre in the shape of delicately pursed lips, shaped just as if they were blowing a kiss. Kirsten explained: "A Balcony bra lifts your breasts slightly and holds them, but does not push them together so you don't get a jaw-dropping cleavage. It's a bit like cupping your hands under them to feel their weight. You're lucky; your breasts are very firm for their size, so you don't need a lot of support. Look how they don't bulge over the edge of the bra-cups, they just continue to follow the shape and curve of the fabric."

"You could wear almost any style of bra, just according to your mood. A push-up lifts your breasts and pushes them together too. They are bought mostly by women with small, wide-spaced breasts who want to make the most of them. But a push-up would give you a very deep, fascinating cleavage. You would look stunning in an uplift ½ cup bra as the whole of the top surface of your smooth-skinned breast would be visible above the edge of the cups but you wouldn't 'spill' when you leant forward. You can get away with wearing wear soft, lace bras with no under-wiring as you don't need the support. Only a few makes come in your size as normally only smaller-breasted women like me can wear these."

To be honest I hadn't noticed Kirsten's figure, well concealed under her business-like suit. "So who actually employs you?" I quizzed. "I don't work for the store. I'm paid by Passionella, look, this is their logo on my badge". It was the same Blowing-Kiss design as the stud on the bra. "It's a bit of a con, as customers assume they are getting impartial advice but I'm here to push my products" Kirsten knew all about pushing all right. "You know your lingerie". "It's my job, and my passion too". She pursed her lips, as if to blow a kiss.

The more I spoke to Kirsten, the more I became fascinated by her. Open and friendly on the surface but I sensed a much deeper aspect to her personality and her interest in me that I could not fathom. I decided to buy the balcony bra. Kirsten brought two or three pairs of matching pants and I decided to buy both the 'sensible' deep-sided pair and the high-cut, narrow thong that barely covered my pubic hair and was virtually non-existent at the back. Strangely I was not embarrassed to undress in front of Kirsten. Maybe it was because I knew she would never touch me.

Kirsten led me to the pay-point where I paid cash in Euros. Kirsten noticed. "Using up your holiday money?" she enquired. "No, I live in France, with my boyfriend" Kirsten noticed a small tear well up in the corner of my eye. "Where are you staying whilst you are over here?" she delved deeper; I resented her intrusion into my personal life, and it showed. To relieve the tension, Kirsten suggested a coffee – "It's my break time now". We chatted endlessly about my new job opportunity and when I mentioned the name of the hotel I was booked into and that I needed to get across town in time to change, freshen up in time for the interview, Kirsten looked horrified. "You can't possibly get there in time – it's miles. Look, my apartment is just 3 blocks away, behind Portland Square. It's provided by Passionella and you are a customer. Here's the key. You can use the shower; there are fresh towels on the rail. There won't be anyone there and you'll be gone by the time I finish here. Just leave the key on the table – it's a spare."

Why did Kirsten trust me, a total stranger? How could I argue?

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

I let myself in and I stumbled into the hallway of Kirsten's studio apartment. It is beautiful and is decorated in a modern but comfortable style best described as Cosmopolitan European. The quality of furnishings is entirely consistent with the image its owner – one of Italy's most respected lingerie manufacturers. Kirsten has a large living/bedroom with a king-size bed at one side and a huge comfy-looking sofa under the tall window. There is a state of the art kitchen and I can just see through the partly-open door into her luxury bathroom. I threw my bag on the sofa and made myself a coffee. I stripped naked and dived into the power-shower, which had jets all around my body and made me tingle all over. Drying myself on the thick, soft towels, I felt wonderful. I slipped on my new Passionella bra and pants, choosing the thong - no risk of VPL – and felt on top of the world, except I realised that I desperately wanted to see Kirsten again. The apartment smells of her. It contains her things. I started to look around me and I peeked in her wardrobes. One contains a selection of lingerie, neatly arranged on hangers. Briefly I thumbed through them, noticing some that I didn't remember seeing in any shop. Then I chastised myself for being so rude as to look in someone else's wardrobe.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and liked what I saw. I twisted and turned to see myself from different angles and as I did so, the fabric of my new bra rubbed on my nipples. It fitted perfectly, nestling snugly under my boobs; they looked fantastic and I just had to feel them through the fabric. I turned sideways to see my profile and could clearly see my nipples in silhouette as they pushed through the taught bra. Normally I have large, round dark areole with small nipples sitting neatly in the centre. But when I'm aroused my nipples become long and large; they are parallel with slightly dimpled ends. The areole pucker up as the sensitive skin is pulled to attention. Just like now. I moved with a slow rhythm, enjoying the moment of seductive privacy and the image I saw in the mirror both surprised and pleased me. It pleased me a lot.

I started to become aware of the delicate, skimpily-cut panties between my legs. The side straps are as thin as the bra straps and have the same adjusting rings allowing me to set them high on my hips and pull the straps tight so there is no chance that the matching plum fabric covering my crotch can become loose. I pulled the adjusting straps a little tighter. And a little more. I liked these adjusting rings. Mmmm. The thin web of smooth satin material at the back of my new thong had now wedged itself deep within my bum-cheeks and had made its presence felt against my anus. I noticed that the smooth triangle of fabric at the front only just about covered my honey blonde pubic hair, which I keep neatly trimmed but which I never shave.

I moved a little more in front of the mirror, which reflected back an image of a woman I hardly recognised. My smooth skin was pulled very taught across my flat belly and it seemed to shine in the afternoon light streaming through the window. My waist looked narrower and leaner than ever, accentuated by the narrow straps of the thong, which I had now pulled up as high and tight as I could.

Maybe I should shorten the bra straps a little? Just a bit more lift won't do any harm and if it helps me at the interview ... I threw my arms back behind my head and stretched upwards, the tight bra pushing my boobs up and forward. They looked better than ever. The straps are widely-spaced; they follow a delicate line from my shoulders down the outsides of my proud boobs and are neatly stitched to the outer ends of the under-wiring. They are intended to hold up the bra not my luscious, firm tits and allow a full, uninterrupted view of their upward-facing curves.

As I continued to stretch upwards, the thong really didn't cover my pubes. How could this be – had it shrunk? I realised that my pussy lips were starting to part and my mound was swelling. The stretched fabric had pulled into a tiny fold as it moved into the space now opening up between my outer labia lips, which moved apart some more and gently moistened the material with my personal wetness. I felt wonderful, my throat was dry and I was breathing faster. But, as I posed in front of the mirror I realised that mine was not the only image I could see.

Lost in my own world I did not hear the apartment door open and I was not alone. Still dressed in her smart business-like suit, Kirsten - Personal Shopper - was now standing behind me, just as she did in the store. She apologised. "Don't let me stop you – I was enjoying the show. I should have made more noise when I came in." I grabbed the towel off the sofa and bashfully tried to cover myself. "Don't be so prudish. During my work I see so many naked bodies, but few of them are as lovely to look at as yours". I relaxed a little and caught my breath enough to down the rest of my coffee, which had gone cold by then.

Confused, I quizzed Kirsten. "I thought you said you finish a six-thirty and that I would be gone by the time you got home. It's only 5:15 now and I need to be at my interview soon." "Sorry, but I had reached my sales quota for the day, and I was feeling a little tired and, well, I rather wanted to see you again" came her reply. My heat beat increased just a little and my throat started to become dry again. "Don't get me wrong, actually I am quite pleased to see you too." In fact I had the feeling I was going to see rather a lot of Kirsten.

"What time is this interview anyway?" "Seven-thirty". "We have time to get freshened up then walk down to a bar I know, get a drink to boost your courage and you'll still be there on time. I'll get changed." Once more, Kirsten had taken charge and left me no option, but I didn't mind. Sounded good to me.

Kirsten suggested I put on some make up so I made myself comfortable in front of her dressing table. Behind me, Kirsten started to undress from her working clothes, I could see her reflected in the dressing-table mirror and I moved a little to the left to get a better view. I was not sure if Kirsten knew I was watching her, but I was intrigued to know what she was wearing under her daywear and especially, what type of lingerie a Passionella employee wears. Kirsten unbuttoned her jacket from the top down. Was it my imagination, or was she releasing each gold button from its embroidered buttonhole slowly and deliberately, and was that a coy, sideways glance she threw from time to time, directed at me?

She let the front of her jacket fall open: I was surprised to see that she was not wearing a blouse or camisole underneath. She pushed her shoulders back and allowed the jacket to slip down her arms to reveal an exquisite lace-cup bra, which neatly but completely covered her breasts. It was a warm, cream colour and the lace was applied over matching satin so the bra cups were opaque. The straps were wide with lace trim and nestling between the cups was the now-familiar Passionella Blowing-Kiss logo. Without realising, I had swivelled myself around to face Kirsten but she did not object. Here I was sitting in her bedroom, watching my new friend undress with the style and confidence of a professional, totally captivated. I couldn't wait to see what else she was wearing and I didn't need to. Kirsten pulled the zip of her skirt and let it fall to the floor, revealing matching lacy panties and to my delight, not pantyhose but delicate ribbon suspenders in co-ordinating cream lace. Intriguingly, her suspenders had three straps each side; I had only ever seen designs with two. These in turn were stretched taught to hold up the sheer flesh-coloured lace-topped stockings that encased her firm, slim legs. At the end of each ribbon strap was a small catch to hold the top of the stockings, decorated with the Passionella Blowing-Kiss design.

Kirsten detached the clips one by one and gently pulled the ribbon straps from inside her lacy panties. To my great embarrassment, I realised that I was now sitting astride Kirsten's dressing-table stool and I was slowly but obviously tilting my pelvis back-and-forth, sliding my satin-encased pussy along the padded top of the stool. I was becoming turned on by the sight of a small and very attractive young woman, I guessed at 24 years old, undressing seductively in her own bedroom. As her finale, Kirsten turned her back to me, set her feet squarely on the plush carpeted floor about half a metre apart and leant forward. Keeping her legs straight, she bent low from her hips and scooped up her stockings. I absorbed the most evocative view of her legs, her still-covered bum cheeks and what lay between. It was stupendous and I ground my pussy into the padded stool. Kirsten must have noticed but said nothing; she stood upright and headed to the bathroom, calling back over her smooth shoulder. "Help yourself to make-up and perfume, I'll be ready in 10 minutes. Hurry up or you will mss your appointment". I watched as she walked out of view, placing one foot in front of the other and rocking her hips from side to side like a catwalk model.

I composed myself and opened my overnight bag. I slipped into the plum-coloured dress and changed my shoes, deciding I didn't need tights for an interview with a down-market flat-pack furniture retailer. I put on some perfume and waited, musing over the series of events unfolding. There was something about Kirsten that puzzled me. She seemed just too stylish, too confident and just too damn sexy to be a sales assistant in a shop.

Kirsten waltzed out of the bathroom, still wearing her luscious cream bra and panties. She grabbed some clothes from her range of wardrobes and slipped on a thick rib-knit sleeveless top with a high roll-neck, and a pair of fashionable trousers. In moments we were outside in the warm late-afternoon air heading for St. Christopher's Place. We sat at a table outside a small, friendly Belgian restaurant and Kirsten drew the attention of the waitress, just by being there. We ordered beers and water, and we talked. We laughed, we chatted and we questioned each other. I told Kirsten all about myself, my family, my education and my recent life in France and learnt almost nothing about her. The time with Kirsten passed quickly as I became more and more enthralled. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. Hers were always moving, darting from my lips to my own eyes and down to my body. If she thought I was losing concentration she would lightly touch my sleeved arm, but never my hand. For my part, I couldn't help but admire the way her ribbed top clung to her small but tight curves. Kirsten had seen me naked; now I badly needed to discover what her breasts looked like, freed from the constraints of her employer's products.

"Tell me about this interview, who is it for". I gasped and looked at my watch. "I must go soon or I will be late". "Wait, tell me about it." "The vacancy is for a Mystery Shopper for a furniture company. They need someone to visit retailers posing as a bona fide customer to test the commitment, product knowledge and customer-care skills of the sales staff. Then they need written reports and …". "But Julie, I know that Passionella are considering introducing Mystery Shoppers. Surely, a woman with your interest in fine lingerie, your natural poise and your easy style would rather work for us than some back-street bookcase-maker? I can call my Sales Vice-President now and ask her if she has an opening for you." "I thought for a second and was just about to speak when Kirsten pulled from her bag the smallest, smartest mobile phone I had seen. She was through in a moment and talked animatedly. "That's arranged then. You need to be at Passionella HQ in Mayfair at 10:30 tomorrow. Here's the address, just see Rachel in reception, she'll be expecting you. You'll be interviewed and have the company philosophy and rules explained to you. There are no vacancies in France so you'll need to be based in England. When you accept the job offer you will make another appointment for full training." What could I say, of course this sounded much more appealing than chipboard cabinets. What was even more appealing was the way Kirsten had just taken over my life.

I called the hotel where I was supposed to be and cancelled my interview, only realising after I rang off that, in so doing, I had lost my room for the night too. I looked Kirsten in the eye and smiled the most endearing smile I could manage, my legs turning to jelly and a warm but nervous rush welling up inside me. "Kirsten, now I have no-where to go tonight. Can I sleep at your place?" It was unlike me to be so direct. "Of course, that sofa folds out to make a large and comfortable bed." Perfect, I hadn't intended sleeping in Kirsten's bed with her. "Oh, and I don't have any suitable clothes to wear, I was expecting to be going back to Paris tomorrow." "You can borrow some of my stuff. You'll find a stretchy top and some trousers that will fit you in my wardrobes. Borrow some pants, and a bra too – they all belong to the company – but you might struggle to find one your size" she said, flicking a knowing look at my full breasts.

The rest of the evening was free now so we ordered food and eventually headed back to her studio apartment at around 10:00. The atmosphere was highly charged as we entered the room but Kirsten immediately put me at ease. After one last coffee, we folded out the sofa bed and Kirsten produced crisp, clean sheets and a soft duvet. The reality dawned on me that now I was going to undress again, and I didn't feel in the least bit nervous. Kirsten had seen me naked in the store, but she had also seen me getting off on her reflection in the mirror. She offered to lend me a long nightshirt but I declined. I undressed quickly and climbed into bed, enjoying the feel of the clean linen on my naked skin. Honestly, it wouldn't have surprised me if Kirsten had climbed into the bed beside me, but instead, and to my relief, she flicked off the lights and headed to the bathroom.

My mind was racing as I thought about the day. I was unable to contemplate sleep as I thought about the lovely Kirsten undressing in her bathroom, and the warm, moist feeling between my legs. How I hoped that Kirsten would be naked when she walked the short distance to her own bed, so I could make out the shape of her breasts, illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlamps outside. Sadly, when she emerged, she was wearing a camisole and French-knickers set with lace trim and thin shoulder straps. As she turned to climb into her lonely bed, I could just make out the silhouette of her nipples pushing against the silk.

I desperately wanted to masturbate myself to sleep. I felt like I had never felt before and grappled with the dawning realisation that I could be a lesbian. My thoughts went back to school, to the shower rooms and to the old school rules. How could I rub my aching pussy with Kirsten in the same room? I lightly touched my protruding nipples and had to stifle a gasp as I realised how sensitive they had become. If I covered them with my hands, my warm touch intensifying the feelings. If I didn't, they rubbed tantalisingly against the soft fabric of the duvet with my every move. I moved my shaking hands slowly down my rib cage as it rose and fell with every breath, over my perfectly-formed navel (for which I must thank a caring and skilled midwife) and down my lower belly to the edge of my prominently rounded Mound of Venus. My blonde pubic hair was wet with my juices and had become slightly matted. I ran my fingers through it like a comb to free the curls but the feeling was too intense. My breathing had become fast and shallow and my throat was dry. Kirsten was sure to hear me.

Then I decided that I needed all my composure and concentration to face the next day and if I brought myself to orgasm it was sure to be deep, powerful, exhilarating and exhausting. I secretly knew that, sometimes, I enjoy a long teasing build-up, the slowly building anticipation and the self-denial being as enjoyable as the climax itself. The promise of what is to come being as good as the come itself. The satisfaction of knowing I have the self-control to overcome the quivering tension in my body and the aching in my cunt, and that I can resist the temptation to fuck myself to a shattering crescendo.

I moved my hands slowly to my sides and lay still, basking in the warmth of my new friend's spare bed.

In that blissful limbo between waking and sleep I thought I heard, from the other side of the room, a slow rhythmic rustling of bedclothes followed by a quiet, low moan. I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 2 (Tuesday)

"Good morning, Julie, did you sleep well?" Instinctively I sat bolt upright, startled by the voice beside me in the unfamiliar surroundings. "I've made you coffee, orange juice and croissants". My breasts peeped over the bedclothes and Kirsten smiled at me. "It's 9:30 and you have 45 minutes before you need to leave for the Passionella offices. I need to go to work now. Come and see me at the store and tell me how the interview goes. Bye." Kirsten was dressed in a fitted jacket and short-ish skirt in company burgundy, and she had a purple round-neck shirt underneath. Damn, if I had woken earlier, I might have seen the elusive naked Kirsten. The apartment door closed with a click.

Alone in her room, I ate Kirsten's croissants, drank her coffee, and thumbed through her wardrobes, having no option but to take up her offer to borrow some of her clothes. I found a stretch top that just about fitted me and a pair of loose-fitting trousers with a tie waist. Finding a bra I could get into was more of a challenge. They were all so beautifully made and flattering but virtually all of Kirsten's bras were size 32B and even some in 32A. I tried on several, they all looked and felt gorgeous and they all carried the Blowing-Kiss logo in one form or another. But I could not get my 34Cs more them halfway into most of them; some of them I would push my nipples down inside the cups and they would just pop out again. Others I could not even do up! I tried padded uplift bras with the pads taken out. I tried stretch bras with Lycra and I tried bras in all kinds of colours and fabrics. I twisted and turned to admire myself in the long mirror. If I was going to a nightclub or was dressing for a night in with someone very special I might have risked one or two of them. In my state of suppressed sexual arousal, this was all too much for me and I feared that I would at best leave my wetness on Kirsten's undies and at worst I might make myself late for my special interview.

Then I tried the deeper bras that Kirsten had described as Bustières. These were more promising and I found a russet-brown one in size 32C which I could stay in at least whilst standing still. My boobs swelled proudly and defiantly above the lace edging of the cups and their full weight was supported by the reassuringly wide shoulder straps. I fastened the back on the least-tight setting and wriggled my boobs till they felt comfortable. Eventually I found a matching pair of russet panties that fitted me, they sat high on my hips and the front was cut in a broad vee, ending just above my mound. There was no way I could wear yesterday's, they were still damp, and how could I possibly go to see a quality lingerie retailer wearing uncoordinated bra and pants? I don't know why I thought anyone would see my underwear – this was just an interview after all. But wearing matching undies boosts a girl's confidence, you know.

It was now 10:15 and the black cab that Kirsten had so thoughtfully ordered was waiting 4 floors below in the street, tooting impatiently. Grabbing my handbag and one last look in the mirror, I slammed the door behind me, fully prepared to face the day. One thing I had definitely decided – there was no way I was going back to Claud – London will be home again.

The taxi ride took me through some of the bumpy back mews streets of Mayfair as the taxi-driver used his local knowledge to miss the jams. I was already having second thoughts about my choice of bra as the motion of the cab cause my boobs to wriggle slowly but surely out of their imprisoning bustière. After 5 minutes my nipples had broken free and were pushing over the tops of the bra-cups. Every time we cornered, they rubbed exquisitely against the lace edging causing them to grow larger and firmer, only accentuating the problem. It was too late to turn back and I had not thought to bring Kirsten's spare key with me. I looked down nervously to see my twin nipples in their fully-erect glory, pushing purposefully against the fabric of Kirsten's stretch top. By now the cabbie must have noticed my dilemma in his rear-view mirror, in between relaying the latest soccer results to me and solving the worlds political and social problems single-handed. Trying to ignore the luscious feelings all this was creating in my crotch, I reached up inside my top pulled frantically at the uncooperative bra, just managing to nestle my agitated twin peaks back inside as we drew up outside the designated address. To my relief, Kirsten had even pre-paid the cab, allowing me to dive out without needing to make eye contact with its driver.

I walked up to the front door of the Passionella UK head office, identifiable only by its street number and a small but reassuring Lips logs on each door. I could barely see through the smoked-glass windows so I pushed the door open and strode confidently into the reception area, 1 minute early. The décor and furnishings were modern and very striking in their simplicity. The walls were adorned with large, poster-size photos of glamorous models clad in the most alluring and sophisticated lingerie. I paused for a moment to admire the high quality of the photography and the beauty of the subjects.

"Hello, Julia, we are expecting you. So glad you came." As promised, I was met Rachel, sitting at her elegant desk. I stretched out my hand to shake hers but she just smiled sweetly. Rachel was dressed in a corporate-burgundy coloured waistcoat, unbuttoned almost to her navel. Underneath she wore only a glossy black bra that pushed her smooth, tanned boobs into the deepest, firmest cleavage I could ever wish to see. What Kirsten might describe as jaw-dropping. As Rachel wrote my name in the visitors' book, I was enthralled to see how firm her boobs were. They did not change shape in the slightest when she bent forward and they hardly moved when she changed position. I think she appreciated my admiring stare, making brief eye contact as she stood up quickly.

I gasped. Rachel wore a tiny burgundy mini-skirt, which she constantly smoothed down as she walked. She wore black ankle boots with 3-inch heels that only partly compensated for her short 5'2" frame. Her long silky-smooth auburn hair reached almost to her neat 24" waist. It was tied back neatly at the nape of her neck and flowed behind her. "Follow me", she requested in her cheery London accent, as she wriggled her trim hips down the corridor in front of me, pushing the company image, the dress code and her bra fastenings to their limits, I imagined. Visually, Rachel could easily be described as tarty-meets-glamour, but she carried an air of maturity several years beyond her age, which I guessed at 19.

We walked past several identical doors each marked Private Room in a different colour and up a flight of stairs to meet Emma, the Passionella UK personnel manager. Rachel introduced me, and Emma smiled warmly. "Please come in and close the door. I've already heard quite a lot about you and am excited to see you. Take a seat by the window and make yourself comfortable." Emma was at least 10 years older than Rachel and could only be described as voluptuous. She had her wavy streaked-blonde hair piled high on her head, her dark-brown eyebrows and eyes suggesting that her muff does not match her mane. She wore a well-made white long-sleeved shirt that strained as her large, full breasts tried to escape. Her bra created a long and inviting cleavage above the last fastened button.

Emma immediately created a warm, caring impression that put me at ease. She made comfortable flowing small talk like a true professional and enquired about my education, my background and my experience. Her eyes constantly darted between mine and my mouth, picking up my mood from my facial expressions. I couldn't keep my eyes off her curves but she never apparently so much as glanced down at mine. Just as well, because if she had she would have clearly seen that my nipples had once again worked themselves free from my borrowed bustière and were pointing forwards, straining against the stretch fabric of Kirsten's top. Each time I changed position in my leather chair, they rasped against the top edge of their inadequate 34C-cups. This again made my nipples even larger and harder and they made themselves even more obvious. I sat bolt upright, trying to keep still.

Emma then lightly moistened her full lips with the tip of her tongue and began to explain the company background and the new vacancy. "Passionella is an Italian lingerie manufacturer with an enviable brand image that is respected throughout Europe for its high quality fabrics, the latest styles and designs, beautiful colours and a careful and dedicated approach to fit, comfort and total customer satisfaction." "Passionella UK (she swept her perfectly-manicured hand through 180^o to encompass the building in which we sat) is the local sales office and we uphold and exceed the company principles." The UK Vice-President is Linda (no-one seemed to have surnames) and she runs a caring and hugely successful company. Everyone works directly for Linda and she runs a very open and flat organisation. There are only 3 levels of employee. All the Sales Demonstrators - we call them Dems for short - who work in the retail outlets, plus Rachel, are level one. You will, er … would, be level two along with the Personal Shoppers like Kirsten."

An uncharacteristic slip.

Emma continued unflustered. "Personal Shoppers act as guides and supervisors to the Dems and also take special care of our key clients, the high-spenders. The only level threes are myself and Charlotte, our Marketing Manager. Everyone at Passionella UK earns the same salary but the differences are in the bonuses, the extra money the Dems and Personals can earn – let's call that 'gratuities' - and some 'extras' the company provides".

Emma dropped her voice a little, implying confidentiality. "Our clients are mostly successful independent women: businesswomen, media & publishing executives, legal professionals and aristocracy. Others are wives and partners of high profile and wealthy diplomats and politicians. They all come to Passionella because they seek quality and innovation in their lingerie. They also expect first-rate service and absolute discretion, and can afford to pay for it. Many of them live lonely lives – it can be tough at the top - and love to be pampered."

"We have 8 sales outlets at present, all are concessions inside high-end department stores. Key clients can also come here to try and buy. We have very few rules but one you must remember at all times – we never touch our clients. We give them very close personal attention but this rule, imposed by Linda, ensures there can never be any suggestion of indiscretion that could ruin a client if it became public. We call it LDT – Look, Don't Touch. Also, all employees are 100% natural, no cosmetic surgery. Are they home-grown?"

Emma looked down at my breasts and smiled. I nodded, pushed my shoulders back and thrust my boobs forward; Kirsten's bustière pushed them upwards and they stood to attention.

"Yes, they are all mine," I confirmed, proudly, suddenly unashamed of my protruding buds.

Slowly, Emma stood up and walked round behind my chair where I could not see her. Then, to my amazement, she reached round my shoulders and cupped my breasts in her hands, allowing my nipples to nestle between her fingers. She squeezed them and a shock of sexual energy shot through my nervous system and arrived at my pussy with a jolt. I closed my eyes and sighed as the erotic feelings subsided.

"Perfect" she purred, and sat down again. She looked deep into my eyes and saw right in to my soul. I was speechless. "But …" I stammered, "I though you said 'no touching'".

"I only touched your clothes, darling."

'I am going to enjoy this,' I thought to myself.

Emma went on to explain the role. I would need to visit all of the outlets regularly and act as a typical client. My status must not be revealed to any staff outside of Linda, Emma, Charlotte and Rachel, except of course Kirsten who will be my mentor. I would pose as a wealthy customer to judge the sales skills, care and attention of the Dems and Personals. I'd need to take them into my confidence and test their discretion and integrity.

Emma explained further, "The Dems should help a new client to chose her lingerie on her first visits and will be expected to help you to try it on in the store changing rooms. As they get to know you, they will offer to model items for you. They should carefully gauge your mood and your interest and then may invite you to New Product Launches here at PROM."

"PROM?" I asked.

"Passionella Regional Office, Mayfair," Emma explained.

"You should encourage them. Here at PROM you will get the chance to see select fashion shows on our own catwalk and use the Private Rooms to try on our new and exclusive styles."

I nodded regularly to signal my understanding. "Regular clients are given a Passionella credit card with an embedded chip which stores their size, their status as a customer and their, umm …, preferences. We do not try to attract the lower social groups who aspire to our products, like pop singers, lottery winners and wives of used car dealers from Essex. We discourage them from purchasing Passionella products and they certainly do not get a credit card."

The way Emma spoke, it seemed quite likely I had already got the job, but then she changed her tone. "Julia, I will now take you down to meet Charlotte, our Marketing and Training Manager. She will pose as a Sales Demonstrator and you should role-play as a client, just as you would if you were Pasionella's first Mystery Shopper. Let's call it an aptitude test. OK?"

I nodded and followed her eagerly downstairs.

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

Emma waved me into one of the Private Rooms where a slightly-built but attractive young woman waited.

"Good afternoon, may I show you some of our latest lines in luxury Italian lingerie?" Realising that the test had already begun, I drew on my distant memories of drama classes at my all-girls' school. Charlotte showed me some beautiful clothes and I admired them, finally asking to try on a silk bra with delicate appliqué butterflies on the cups and straps together with matching deep briefs. Charlotte guessed my size exactly and brought the items from a hanging rail along one wall. I took the opportunity to look around at the room, which was decorated in the same style as I remembered from the Passionella changing room at Kirsten's Oxford Street department store concession. It was much larger though, and was furnished with two matching chairs, a low sofa and a dressing table. I noticed there were several full-length wardrobes and another door at the other end.

Charlotte invited me to undress and only then did I realise that my breasts had all but completely dispensed with the services of the bustière; I confidently pulled the stretch Lycra top over my head, shaking my shoulder-length hair free. My boobs rose and fell and I caught sight of my side profile in one of several large mirrors. Charlotte looked at me with a combination of surprise and admiration and I made a coy apology for my seemingly debauched state. She smiled sweetly and helped me into the silk bra, which felt cool and comfortable on my naked skin and took some of the sensitivity from my still-erect nipples. My fantasy sales demonstrator was very attentive and caring and I tried to keep up my act of calm sophistication as she helped me to remove my borrowed panties. I slipped on the butterfly-shaped briefs and admired myself from all sides in the mirrors. Charlotte was very complimentary and told me that I looked totally captivating. I did.

Then she surprised me by offering to model some other lines herself, explaining that some women could appreciate the beauty of the products better on someone else. I remember what Emma had told me and go along with the idea; I thumbed through the hanging rail and asked Charlotte to try on a body suit adorned with ribbon ties. She turned away from me, discretely undressed and slipped into the garment. With her back still turned, for which she apologised, she tied each of the ribbons down the front of the bodysuit in a neat bow.

Then she gracefully swung round to face me and stood as tall as her 5'4" frame would allow. I shuddered in excitement. Charlotte looked exquisite as the delicate fabric clung to her slightly-built body, a 32A-22-32 I guessed. She twisted and turned and I complimented her and the product that she showed off so well.

She then explained that this bodysuit was designed specially so it can be removed gracefully, to entertain a partner. Charlotte invited me to sit on one of the armchairs and she started to undo the laces, starting at the top. Slowly, one-by-one she pulled at each bow and allowed the fabric to part at the front. In between each one, she looked at me with a dreamy and tantalising expression that suggested she was enjoying the show as much as I was. I started to squirm on the sofa and make encouraging noises. By the time Charlotte has loosened half of the bows I was starting to perspire and my nipples were straining at the soft silk of my borrowed bra. I desperately wanted her to undo the remaining ties so I could see her naked, but she just kept her cool and teased the hell out of me. I was breathing heavily now and I willed her to let me see the shape of her breasts.

"You teaser. For fuck's sake untie the last ribbons." I pleaded, finally losing control.

I realised that I had just blown my chances of getting the job but I was past caring. I started clawing at my own breasts. I leant forward and pressed my hot pussy into the chair, rubbing it back and forth on the cushion. Charlotte is so very sexy and I had never seen a woman undress so provocatively. She still had three ties to go when she walked slowly towards me, stopping just out of my reach. Pulling on the ribbons, she released another bow to reveal her navel, which is pierced and adorned with a blue jewel. I'd just about had it now, and started to move my hands towards the silk that encased my pussy.

"No, hold out your hands," Charlotte purred, "you have my permission to undo the last bows" and she stepped forward. Shaking uncontrollably, I reached out and pulled the ends of the last two ribbons. Finally, and very, very slowly, Charlotte slipped the narrow straps of the bodysuit off her shoulders, parted her legs very slightly and allowed the suit to fall silently to the floor. I was spellbound. Her tits are small and conical and exquisitely formed, with fiery red nipples jutting upwards. Charlotte ran her hands from her collarbone down over her breasts; her nipples jumped as her fingers ran over them. She continued to caress her skin, down, down over her flat belly, skimming over her protruding pelvic bones and on down her legs, avoiding her Mound of Venus that was delicately covered with dark brown neatly-trimmed curls. She bent forward and planted her hands firmly on her knees and her breasts hung down in small, delectable, perfect cones. She looked directly at me and blew me a kiss; I nearly cried as I sank back into the sofa.

"You'd better get dressed, Linda will want to see you know" explained Charlotte, standing up abruptly. I shook myself out of my heightened state of sexual arousal and grabbed my clothes, trying to cover my nearly naked body in utter embarrassment. I had let my powerful sexuality take over and ruin my chances of getting a great job. I also felt thoroughly cheated by Charlotte who was supposed to be testing me. I dressed quickly and asked the way to Linda's office. Charlotte slipped on a gown and led me up to the top floor of the building, where I found Emma waiting. She introduced me to Linda, Vice-President of Sales, Passionella UK; we entered Linda's office and Charlotte closed the door behind us.

Linda indicated for me to take a padded chair near to the window whilst she, Emma and Charlotte stood close together on the far side of the room and discussed what had happened downstairs. I overheard Charlotte describing the scene in graphic detail, much to my intense humiliation, then they dropped their voices and I strained to overhear.

The three women walked across to where I was sitting and joined me around a low table. I reddened up and started to speak, hoping against all hope that I could explain away my actions but it was going to be difficult with Charlotte, my tormentor and honey-trap, sitting right beside behind me.

But Linda stopped me with a single word.

"Congratulations".

This is no time for sarcasm, I thought.

"You've got the job", Linda continued, holding out her hand. "Welcome to Passionella".

I stared at her for a moment then glanced across to Charlotte. She smiled broadly then made her excuses and left.

"But, I thought that Charlotte told you how appallingly I behaved downstairs and …"

Linda stopped me again and explained: "You carried yourself perfectly, you have all the qualities we are looking for. Charlotte described the way you admired the products and discussed your desires just as a typical Passionella client would. You put on a wonderful act as you role-played a fictitious customer. You have a wonderful imagination and Charlotte enjoyed your performance tremendously. Can you start immediately?"

I was stunned and tried to go along with the plot. "Well, thank you very much, I think I will enjoy the work."

Emma and I discussed some of the practicalities of my new employment, my training and my objectives but I was in a daze and absorbed only a fraction of what she told me. Then I explained that I had no-where to live at present. "You may share with Kirsten for the rest of this week until we can get your own apartment ready. She will be your mentor and will provide some of your training. Is that OK?"

"Yes, that's fine," I agreed, "but how much will my rent be when I get my own apartment?"

"The apartment is provided free. You will also get your own Passionella credit card that will also allow you to buy clothes and items for the apartment and for your other expenses. We'll settle the monthly account."

This was almost incomprehensible, but I dared to ask the unaskable question.

"What will my salary be? Once I am fully trained, of course." Emma smiled.

"You do not need to know, you will find out when you get your first payment credited to your bank account. It will be more than you expect and more than you will need. Passionella is a successful and profitable business and we pay very, very well."

I could hardly speak now, my throat was dry and my heart was thumping but I had one last question.

"Why me? Why have you taken me into your confidence so quickly when I only walked into your retail outlet 24 hours ago?"

Linda interjected. "One of the key responsibilities of the level twos, like Kirsten, is to scout for new employees. As soon as you walked into the Passionella concession yesterday, Kirsten saw your potential. You have the easy, natural charm and the subtle beauty we seek. You have poise and style in the way you stand, walk and talk and I, err … I mean Kirsten, fell for you straight away. Later, in her apartment, you demonstrated that you appreciate fine lingerie and enjoy admiring yourself and others and wearing our products. You are perfect for the new role of Passionella Mystery Shopper."

"I'll take it" I enthused, and a small tear of joy welled up in the corner of each eye. Emma and Linda looked at each other, smiled and Linda walked through to an adjoining room. She soon returned with a bottle of chilled champagne, which she adeptly opened and decanted into 3 glasses, passing one to me.

"Welcome, you will not be disappointed. You may leave now but please be here at 9:30 tomorrow for your initial training with Charlotte and Rachel. Here is your Passionella card." Linda passed me a credit card that reflected the light like brushed stainless steel, with my name already embossed on it. Then she blew me a kiss. "Remember, LDT. You may not kiss Passionella employees or clients. If you want to show affection, blow them a kiss; just like the logo. And do not blow your cover, we are investing a lot in you."

I downed my champagne demurely and moistened my parched lips with my tongue before thanking Linda and Emma profusely for their faith in me and my abilities. "I'll not let you down," I promised, and left.

I almost flew down the three flights of stairs to reception, trying to keep my 'poise and style' intact and wafted past Rachel. I blew her a kiss and walked confidently out onto the bright London streets. I was on top of the world and my mind was racing with 1001 questions. But first I realised I was starving hungry; it was already nearly 2:00pm. I walked 2 blocks to a small café-bar I remembered from years ago and was pleased to find it was still there. I sat outside and ordered mineral water and a char-grilled chicken salad, and sighed long and deep as I relaxed back into the wicker chair.

Why so much emphasis on Look, Don't Touch? Surely these lonely executives would love a bit of close personal attention. A loving caress on the shoulders to ease away stress, a polite peck on each cheek, Continental style, would do no harm? Why do I find Charlotte so damn sexy? Where did she learn to undress like that? Am I tuning into a lesbian? Why was my credit card already prepared, unless they had already decided to give me the job? So why the 'aptitude test'? Why are the private changing rooms at PROM so large? What I am I going to tell Claud? Do I ever want to see him again? How will I get my stuff over from France and Belgium? Do I have any stuff in France worth keeping, now I can restock my wardrobe at Passionella's expense?

Then I started to think more rationally as the delicious, olive oil drenched salad slipped down my throat and started to nourish away my distracting hunger. I used my marketing skills to run a rough-cut business plan in my head. 8 outlets, estimated average turnover €500 per hour each, 50 trading hours per week = €10.4m t/o per year. Maximum gross profit margin 50% on luxury goods like theirs (oops, ours) = €5m. There is no way that €5m gross profit per annum will support PROM, pay Linda, Emma, Rachel, Charlotte and now me as indirect overheads who do not sell anything, plus 8 level-twos including Kirsten and, say, 24 level-ones. Plus massive stocks of product, several luxury apartments, unlimited expense accounts, lavish décor, champagne. It doesn't add up, there must be another source of income.

I settled my lunch bill on my new card; the waiter accepted it without question. Then I walked briskly towards the Oxford Street department store where all this had started only yesterday. I was exited about shopping for some clothes so I did not need to borrow from Kirsten, even though the thought of living with her for another few days filled me with eager anticipation. I waltzed through the huge main entrance doors and adopted my new persona of independently wealthy professional woman. I remembered Linda's last words to me: 'Do not blow your cover'.

As I rode the escalator to the Women's Exclusive Fashions floor I invented a convincing character for my new self: proprietor of a small, exclusive Executive Search & Selection recruitment agency, specialising in placing ambitious women in middle and higher management positions in media and entertainment companies. I smiled broadly and launched myself into a generous but selective shopping spree, buying dresses, blouses, tops, trousers, shoes and accessories. My Passionella card was accepted in each department with respect and the kind of eye contact reserved by the store sales staff for special customers. Lastly, I headed for the lingerie department to make my last purchases and to meet Kirsten, recalling that I did not bring her spare apartment key.

I thumbed though the racks and rails of products from Passionella's main competitors, evaluating the quality of the designs, the fabrics and the standards of manufacture. I was approached by several sales assistants and became more aware then ever of their style, manner, tone of voice, appearance and even their choice of perfume, as I started to form a benchmark against which to compare 'our' girls. Finally I moved to the Passionella sales display and was immediately aware of a striking redhead standing off to one side. I rustled idly through the beautiful Passionella products on display, feeling inadequate as I did not yet understand the subtleties of the many styles and designs but enjoying the cool, sensuous touch of the material, the straps and ribbons.

Then, with perfect timing, Fiona – Sales Demonstrator approached and introduced herself politely. I made some small talk and then handed her my Passionella card to gauge her reaction. She smiled politely and enquired about my prospective purchases. I made up some plausible story about my need to purchase several sets of lingerie for daywear, evenings and nights in. She ran my card through the reader to get my profile then invited me to undress in the changing room whilst she fetched some products.

Standing starkers in the smallish room, my heart jumped when Fiona knocked softly, walked in without waiting for a reply and locked the door behind me. She carried an armful of the most exquisite silk, lace, satin and lycra and laid them out neatly. Fiona was probably in her late thirties, a fraction shorter than me and a little fuller in the figure. She carried her red hair in a short, stylish cut and had not concealed her lovely freckled complexion with overly applied make-up.

She helped me to choose three bras in varying designs and suggested two or three pairs of panties to match each one, but in different cuts. As I tried on each item she helped me to adjust it for a perfect fit and was honest when a colour of shape did not suit me. I admired myself from all sides in the large mirrors and liked what I saw. Every piece was supremely comfortable and made me intensely aware of my own body. My favourite was a deep cerise sheer bra with lace trim along the top edges of the cups that continued up the inner edges of the shoulder straps. I selected deep sheer briefs that all but covered my navel. All the time, Fiona stood close to me in the small room but never touched me once.

Then she showed me some more exotic items and I tried on two basques that came down to the tops of my hips. I enjoyed the sensation created by the tightness around my waist and chose the navy blue one with detachable suspenders and shoulder straps. One sumptuous Passionella garment after another encasing the most precious parts of my tingling body, followed by the fresh air around my now barely-covered pussy, rekindled the feelings that I had suppressed after my experience with Charlotte in the Private Room. I took a deep breath to regain my composure.

Fiona had an easy, reassuring manner and knew her products well. With this being my first visit as a card-carrying Passionella client, she would not be expected to model for me; even with my limited knowledge of Passionella's expectations, I couldn't fault her. In fact, I liked her and she made me feel good about myself. Finally I selected two pairs of embroidered silk pyjamas and a short satin nightie; I authorised the card transaction and looked around for Kirsten.

I had not seen her before I went into the changing rooms but immediately recognised her from behind when I turned away from the pay point. I waited until she had finished talking with a client and approached her. I desperately wanted to throw my arms around her and kiss her right there in the store. I wanted to show her what I had just bought, to tell her all about the interview and I wanted to scream 'I got the job'. But frustratingly I could do none of these. I had a new set of rules.

"Excuse me, could you recommend a good place to get coffee, where I could meet a friend." Kirsten smiled broadly at me and had already smelt the sweet scent of success that oozed from every pore of by body. "The cappuccino bar on three is usually quiet at this time of day" replied Kirsten, followed by a discreetly-whispered "see you there in ten minutes." I was so happy I couldn't contain a girlish giggle of excitement.

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

Kirsten sat down next to me and sipped at the large latte I had chosen for her. We talked endlessly about my interview with Emma and I told her all about what happened in the Private Room. She was not at all surprised; she admitted that she had given me a glowing recommendation. We then discussed our plans for the rest of the day. We would meet at her apartment later; we had to take care not to be seen together so as not to raise suspicions about my status as a Passionella client. I offered to order pizza and Kirsten said she would pick up some cold beers. She gave me her door key, and blew me a kiss. I found the whole scenario very exiting, the subterfuge added to my enjoyment.

I let myself in and dumped all my heavy shopping on the floor. Kirsten would be back in about 30 minutes so I just had time to rest and collect my thoughts. I undressed down to my lingerie (I was still wearing the silk butterflies bra and panties that the sexy Charlotte had put on me) and as I lay back on the sofa, my head filled with powerful images from the Passionella Private Room.

I must have fallen asleep because I was woken with a start by the doorbell. I jumped to my feet and rushed to open the door and Kirsten stood admiring me in my new underwear. "You lucky girl" she mused, "that design isn't even in the shops yet. Judging by how it looks on you, it will be a huge success. You look ravishing."

What, I wondered, would I have said if I had opened the door to find the pizza delivery boy there instead?

Kirsten stepped in and closed the door. I opened my arms to give her a big hug but she moved away. "LDT" she reminded me, cocking her head slightly to one side. "What, even in private?"

"Yes, always – Linda's rules." I felt desperately frustrated.

"Show me what you bought then," insisted Kirsten with a huge smile. I unpacked my bags and laid out my new clothes and accessories on Kirsten's bed.

"Wow", she exclaimed, and I pulled on a long, narrow sleeveless evening dress in dark bronze with a high neckline. "Oh" sighed a disappointed Kirsten; "I can't see your boobs in that." Just as well; the pizza delivery arrived and I opened the door to him. Kirsten and I sat down in a few minutes of quiet and satisfied at least one of our needs. Then I put on some new high-heeled shoes and tottered about with a beer in one hand, chattering endlessly about my new wardrobe. She sat and enjoyed the show, making encouraging noises and giving helpful suggestions on mixing and matching.

I noticed a change in the tone of her voice when she asked to see me in my new underwear. Not wanting to miss the fun, I suggested that Kirsten undresses down to hers too so I didn't feel at a disadvantage. She agreed and stood up, facing me. Slowly and deliberately, she reached behind her back and pulled down the zipper of her burgundy dress. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves she dropped it to the floor, stepping out of it with care so as not to catch the high spiked heels of her ankle boots. She looked stunning. She was wearing a white lacy bodysuit with opaque satin panels at the sides that followed and accentuated the curve of her narrow waist. It had under-wiring to fit the cups neatly under the curves of her boobs and high-cut legs that accentuated the vee of her pussy-mound. What sort of woman goes to work in a shop wearing such sensuous underwear?

I complimented her in return and turned to the bed. Picking up one of my new bras, pale blue satin with light padding, I realised that there was no alternative; I had to undress in front of Kirsten, right here in her apartment. Somehow it felt different from the safe environment of the store changing room. The atmosphere was charged with sexual energy as Kirsten adopted a highly provocative pose, turned slightly to one side and with hands on her hips. She was still wearing her boots, which caused her stand with her pelvis slightly tilted. I reached behind me to undo the clasp of my butterflies bra, a move that pushed my rounded boobs forward. I breathed in deeply then exhaled; this released the tension on the bra catch, but not in my mind. I slipped off the shoulder straps and allowed my silk to fall away from my breasts. I watched as Kirsten's blue eyes flashed from one partly erect nipple to the other and back, finally making contact with my own eyes. She moved edgily to shift her weight onto the other leg and I continued with my show.

Becoming more excited by the effect I am obviously having on Kirsten, I felt more bold and confident and I chose next to slip off my panties before I donned the pale blue satin bra. Hooking my thumbs in the waistband, I wriggled my hips and pushed the silk briefs slowly down my hips one side a little then the other, as if they were a very tight fit. I enjoyed the suspense that this delay created and saw that Kirsten was enjoying it too. Not wanting to give away too much too soon, I turned sideways to the bed before finally removing my briefs, quickly picking up one of the new pairs that matched the blue satin bra I had selected. I slipped them up my legs and pulled them neatly into place on my hips. They were more skimpily cut than those I had just removed and they slipped easily between my legs. I turned back to face Kirsten who was now sitting on a chair a little further away. She nodded approvingly, saying nothing.

My pale blue bra had a front fastening so I put it on like a waistcoat, which again forced me to push my arms back and thrust my breasts forward. Kirsten enjoyed this immensely and broke the silence by complimenting me on my shape as I set the wide decorated straps carefully on my bare shoulders. Pulling the cups over my boobs, I felt the cool fabric against my protruding nipples that, far from defusing their sensitivity, only caused them to stiffen and grow larger, sending indescribable messages back and forth to my pussy. I closed the front catch, which was fashioned in the shape of the Passionella Lips logo.

Kirsten commented on the fit: "Julie, you look absolutely brilliant in that. I love the way it pushes your boobs upwards and together very slightly. Instead of creating an aggressive cleavage, I can clearly see the curved inside surfaces of your boobs. They look great."

Finally, I took a long gold waist-chain from its velvet-lined box and attached it securely around the narrowest part of my body. The remaining few inches of chain led down from my neat navel and continued their journey towards but not quite as far as my briefs.

"Come over here and give me a closer view," Kirsten suggested.

I took a few steps forward and squatted a little so the seated Kirsten could admire my curves. I turned from side to side and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I hardly recognised the woman I saw and the sight of my own body in profile turned me on. My boobs looked prouder than ever before and my tummy was taught and smooth. My legs looked longer too, accentuated by the high-cut legs of my matching pale blue my panties. Forgetting that Kirsten is watching my every move, I twisted and turned some more then stood with my back to the mirror. I looked over my shoulder to admire the way the satin clung to my rounded bum cheeks and nestled warmly into the crack between them. Facing the mirror again, I hooked my index fingers under the narrow side straps of the panties and pulled them higher on my hips.

"Does this look better?" I enquired. I did not hear her answer as I became lost in the wonderful sensation between my legs as I pulled the fabric tighter still. I found that if I rocked my pelvis from side to side, I could pull the panties higher and higher right up to my waist chain. The long end of the chain now reached down inside the front of my panties, leading Kirsten's eyes downwards, like a pointing signpost. The satin enveloped my pussy in its warm caress and the soft edge seams pulled tighter and tighter into the folds where my inner thighs meet the tender flesh of my outer labia. I looked in the mirror and see a damp patch on the light blue as my juices seeped through.

I look down at Kirsten and saw that she was gripping the arms of the chair with her hands, turning her knuckles white. Her contribution to the conversation was reduced to a few Mmmms and Aahhhs of pleasure and her breathing was noticeably shallower. She was moving her own hips in time with my rhythm and I noticed a glazed look in her normally clear eyes.

Kirsten's small breasts only just peeped from the top of her bodysuit and I was still unable to picture their natural form. Nothing that she wore gave away their shape. How I longed to see her naked breasts but she was careful to conceal herself from me. I had to be content with the small areas of flesh visible above their lace-edged support.

In stark contrast, Kirsten's firm legs were splayed wide apart as she sat on the front edge of her upholstered chair. I could see that the narrow strap of her body suit had pushed deep into her crotch and that the curves of her mound had swollen either side of the white cotton. I expected to be able to see her pubes too but the areas of visible flesh were smooth and white. I wondered for a moment if in fact her entire pussy might be shaven but Kirsten suddenly regained her composure. Seeing me admiring her most precious secret, she closed her legs and stood up, making flustered comments about having a busy day tomorrow and needing to make some preparations.

"I think we had better save the rest of you fashion show 'till another time, I need to make some business calls and get an early night. You've had a busy day today and you must be tired too. What's in store for you tomorrow?" she enquired. I explained about my planned training at PROM as we finished the last of the beers.

"I'll be away for a couple of nights," Kirsten explained. "I need to visit a potential new outlet in the North. Take the spare key and make yourself at home in the evenings." Then I told her that I would be getting my own apartment at the weekend and she look a little sad.

"I'll miss having you around, but we can still see each other. I'll help you move in on Saturday." She spoke to me like an old friend.

I undressed in the bathroom and took a long hot bath to sooth my tense body before slipping into a pair of my new silk pyjamas. Kirsten had already changed into a long kimono. We slipped into our separate beds and I fought to ignore the intrusive twitches in my pussy as I ran over the day's events before I drifted into deep, satisfying sleep.

I woke briefly during the night and was vaguely aware of a muffled buzzing sound in the room. At first I thought it might be a large insect, but the pitch rose and fell as if someone was controlling its speed. I looked across at where Kirsten lay in bed but she had her head buried under her duvet so I doubt that she heard anything. I sank back to sleep and thought no more of it.

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!

Chapter 4 (Thursday)

Back at PROM bright and early the next day I saw from my agenda that my morning would be spent with Charlotte in the presentation room; this is my formal introduction to the full Passionella product portfolio. Before we started, the slim and sexy Charlotte asked if I did anything special last night.

"No, not really, a quiet night in, thanks" I replied, wistfully. The projector whirred to life and Charlotte took me systematically through the various lines. Lingerie, hosiery, nightwear and robes were all modelled by the most exquisitely beautiful women and, unlike the pictures in most catalogues and on websites, the girls had adopted sensual and provocative poses and carried smoulderingly inviting expressions on their faces. These girls were obviously getting off on the photo session. I commented on this and Charlotte offered me the opportunity to model some items at a future studio session. "It's another service to our clients. It makes them feel great. Some take the pictures home to show partners, family and friends whilst others keep them for their own enjoyment."

Charlotte suggested going out for lunch and we sat at the counter of a small bar she knew. I perched edgily on a stool; my pussy is still feeling sensitive after last night's activity. Far from satisfying me, it seemed that my first orgasm for over 2 weeks, boosted no doubt by the highly erotic 'product' photos this morning, had rekindled my sensuality.

Back at the offices, Charlotte took me to the Yellow private room where, to my surprise and delight, Rachel was waiting. We exchanged hellos and then Charlotte explained.

"Rachel is gong to take you through a role-play. You must imagine this is your third visit to an outlet and you and Rachel are getting on well. She will offer you clothing and start to introduce the extra services. This is not to catch you out, it is to get you familiar with what we expect. Rachel was one of out best Dems so be brought her in to PROM to share her skills. Afterwards we will debrief and answer any questions you might have." The de-brief sounded fun.

The short but curvaceous Rachel was wearing a fitted white top and burgundy trousers and her long hair was piled into a tight swirl high on the back of her head. Her boobs pushed firmly against her shirt but she had all the buttons fastened so, try as I might, I couldn't see what bra she is wearing and whether she sported Tuesday's super cleavage. In fact, I couldn't see any straps through her blouse and I wondered if she is not wearing a bra at all, but I couldn't imagine her boobs keeping that shape without some support. What I could see though was the rounded curve of her pert bum under her tight trousers.

I threw myself into my role. "Hi, need something that will pull my waist in a bit, as I have just bought a flattering new dress for a dinner party tomorrow evening that's really a little too small for me so I need to fit me to the dress instead. I also want to get something else a bit racy as I'm going to a hen party next week and it might be one of those where we end up jumping in a fountain or taking off our tops." Rachel asked some carefully-crafted questions to gauge just how racy it should be then showed me to the hanging rail by the wall.

"First of all, this should take at least two inches off your waist." She showed me an exquisite strapless corset in shimmering silver satin with stiffening and underwiring in all the right places. "It laces up at the back so you can pull it in as tight as you like. Will you have someone to help you put it on tomorrow?" "No," I replied, I live alone.

"You could meet me at the Passionella UK headquarters, we have a changing room there. I am happy to meet you and help you to dress before you go out; it's a service we provide."

"That would be perfect. I'll look forward to that."

'This is going well', I thought; we looked at each other and smiled a knowing smile as we continued to role-play. Rachel helped me out of my day clothes and commented on my underwear. "That's a very attractive bra you are wearing." It was the plum-colour one I bought with my own money on Monday, carefully laundered by Kirsten's maid.

"It fits you so well and really accentuates the features of your figure. Let me see you from the side, please." I took my cue and posed a little for her then I turned my back and asked Rachel to release the bra-catch. I held the cups over my boobs whilst I turned back and only reveal my breasts when I was sure Rachel would see them clearly.

"I think this corset will suit you very well" complimented Rachel as she wrapped it around my body and started to thread the laces. Keeping my panties on, I stood facing a mirror so I could watch as Rachel pulled in my waist, continually asking if I was comfortable. I couldn't say I was comfortable, but the feeling of being controlled by its tightness excited me. Then when she reached the top she deliberately pulled extra tight on the laces to thrust my breasts higher on my chest so they all but spilled out.

"Oh, yes. Just your size." She grinned at my image in the mirror as I settled into a shallower breathing pattern. I took care to note that Rachel had not touched my skin once.

The Rachel asked, "Did you notice the new line of bodystockings in the foyer as you came in?"

"Yes, they look great"

Rachel adds: "But only on someone who needs very little or no support under the bust. You would look terrific in them."

I asked to see some to try on. "Well, it just happens that I am wearing one today. Would you like to see mine?"

Would I! The thought that Rachel was wearing only a bodystocking under that blouse, and that the shape she portrayed is all hers, filled me with excitement. Could her breasts really be that unyielding? When I saw her on Tuesday I assumed the power of her cleavage was mostly due to the push-up bra she wore.

"Yes, may I?"

Rachel started to undo her buttons but feigned difficulty. "I broke a nail this morning, could you help me?" I needed no encouragement but tried to concentrate on the role-play. After all, I am a 'client' and not yet fully accepted into the Passionella inner circle.

Rachel moved closer to the mirror so the only way I could undo the buttons was to stand behind her and reach round her small frame. I looked over her shoulder and started at the top. Her lycra-encased body slowly emerged like a butterfly shedding its cocoon and soon I could pull apart the sides of her blouse. Her breasts looked fantastic, standing high and proud on her ribcage; I guessed at a size 34B. Not exceptionally large, but perfectly round and only very slightly flattened by the light, sheer Lycra which moulded itself perfectly around the curves of her female form. Her nipples jutted straight out in front making little peaks in the stretch fabric and showing through the pale grey fabric as two dark, inviting circles.

I complimented her by saying: "Rachel, you are fortunate to have such an attractive body. But I suspect that your breasts are firmer than mine so I can't decide if the bodystocking would look the same on me as it does on you."

However, I was caught totally off guard when Rachel threw down an irresistible invitation: "Why don't you feel them for yourself?" and she raised her arms to shoulder height.

I tried desperately to remember the rules. No touching skin, but through clothing is OK. This new bodystocking was so sheer and revealing it hardly counted as clothing but I took a deep breath and reached my perspiring hands under Rachel's arms.

"Sure, I'd love to."

I closed my hands on her boobs and let out a warm sigh. I lifted them a little to feel their weight and I squeezed them. Rachel tilted her pelvis forward and her head back. I felt her nipples harden against my sensitive palms as Rachel pushed her boobs against my shaking, perspiring hands. The stiffness of the corset around my waist restricted my movements and seemed to increase the blood flow to my pussy and my boobs, making me feel light-headed. I was becoming more and more aroused as Rachel provoked me further. She curved her spine and ground her bum into my groin just below the edge of my tight-laced corset. My pussy pulsed and I had to pull away from Rachel; she was making me so hot and horny I began to loose control. I desperately wanted to rub my cunt through my sheer panties; I knew they were wet from my arousal and I so wanted to moisten my fingertips with my juices. I'd never worn a corset before but I knew I'd want to repeat the experience, the wonderfully erotic sensations of being held and controlled.

I had never felt another woman's breasts before. I knew from watching other women, comparing the way their breasts move when they walk, bend and turn, that many women's boobs are softer and suppler than my own. But compared even to mine, Rachel's are just so, so firm. I also remembered the rule 'no cosmetic surgery, 100% home grown'.

"Are they, well, all yours?" I asked in disbelief.

Rachel smiled a broad smile. "Yup, they certainly are. Do you like them?"

"Rachel, love, they are just unbelievable. I'm just sad that I can't see them naked."

"Maybe another day. Love."

I was struggling, in my heady state of arousal, to understand where reality ended and the fantasy that is Julia – Mystery Shopper/Valued Client began. If this was actually happening to me, does that make it real? Or if it's make-believe, why am I enjoying it so much? Can I be whatever I want to be? Where are the boundaries of my new imaginary world, and can I control them?

I continued with the act.

"I'll need to see the rest of your bodystocking before I could possibly decide to buy one for myself," I taunted, experimenting with my new persona to see how convincing I sounded and how far she would go, but Rachel upstaged me.

"I couldn't risk snagging it on my broken nail, you'll have to take off my trousers for me." I pulled down the side zipper with a single strong movement and repeatedly slid my hands down each leg in turn to ease the tight fabric down to her ankles. Finally, as I bent down to free them I caught the unmistakeable smell of a woman's natural scent, a clear indication that Rachel was enjoying our little performance as much as I was. I stood to admire the way that the bodystocking outlined and accentuated the strong curves of Rachel's bum and she cooperated by pirouetting slowly and provocatively, thrusting her pussy mound towards me.

Rachel changed her tone, bringing me down to earth. "This is a brand new line we are introducing. It's only been in the stores for a few days and comes in this grey, in white and in a lovely sexy purple. You'd look great in the fountains in that."

I could only start to imagine how sexy I, or Rachel, would look in a wet bodysuit, clinging tenaciously to every curve. I gave in. "OK, OK, I'll take it in the purple and also in the grey."

"A very good choice." Rachel skilfully brought the role-play to an end. "Now, let me help you out of your new corset; I'll take it to the pay-point with your other purchases. I'll get dressed and meet you there." Clever, I thought. I had not actually said I would buy the corset; she's bounced me into the sale! She slackened the lacing and the blood rushed back to my torso, only to further my arousal which, frustratingly, I could not release.

Emma already had three delicate china cups and a refreshing pot of Earl Grey tea on her desk when Rachel showed me back to her office for the last item on my agenda.

"So, how do you feel the last 2 days have gone, Julia?"

"Really, really well, thanks" I replied. "Charlotte and Rachel have done a great job and I feel well prepared to embark on my new career. I have enjoyed my 'training' immensely," I continued, smiling and squeezing my thighs together as another rush of excitement hit my crotch, "and I just can't believe that I am going to earn a living having attentive and pretty ladies like them papering me."

"Julia, we expect you to work hard and not all your experiences will be good. We strive to continually improve and if we were perfect we wouldn't need a mystery shopper. Rachel and Charlotte are among the best."

Emma pushed a shining, slim silver laptop computer and a small matching hand-held 'palm-top' across her desk. "Here, you'll need these. The computer is internet-ready and pre-loaded with e-mail software and the fully-illustrated Passionella product portfolio, so you can evaluate how well the Dems sell the features and quality of our products. You need to report back regularly the areas where we need to change and improve but you will also have a lot of fun. I miss being out 'on the floor' and I envy you."

Emma looked wistfully out of the window for a moment, then continued. "So, you should start tomorrow by 'working' the 3 London outlets. Next week we expect you to get round at least some of the provincial stores. Then, we have a new product launch here next Thursday; you should be here in your role as Wealthy Client, you'll enjoy it. I'll see you then if not before. OK?"

Again, Emma left nothing in doubt, but then remembered: "Oh, yes. You can move into your apartment on Saturday, here's the address and the keys. I hope you like it" I looked at Rachel then back at Emma. I had no further questions so I finished my tea and left, turning to thank them and blow each of them a Passionella kiss. Rachel called to me: "Your new purchases are on my desk, take them home and enjoy them. Remember, I'm happy to help 'lace you up', anytime." My heart skipped a beat at the thought and once I was sure I was out of sight, I descended the single flight of stairs two at a time. I had become two different people. The Julia I was when I woke up on Monday morning, and a new Julia I was creating. Yes, Julia, who could be anything and do anything I want her to, without guilt or shame.

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

I arrived back at Kirsten's apartment at about 5:00 and was surprised to find the door slightly open. I hadn't expected Kirsten back until the next day. Fearing that she had been burgled, I pushed the door open and called out "Who's there?" A voice I did not recognise called back, in an Australian accent "I am, it's me, Terri, oh, err, who are you, I thought you were Kirsten."

"Sorry, no, I'm …" I stopped for a moment as I struggled to think who I was. Was I Julia, employee of Passionella, or was I Julia, proprietor of recruitment agency, customer of Passionella. "I'm Julia and I'm a customer of Kirsten's. She's letting me use her apartment." We made some easy small talk and I admired Terri's frame. Far from being a short, motherly Philippino in her fifties as I assumed all maids were in London, she is about 5'9" tall with shoulder-length blonde hair. Natural blonde I concluded as she has eyebrows to match and blue eyes. I put her at about 20 years old and could quite accurately guess her size at 34A-22-33. How? My Passionella training, plus the fact that she wore a tight tee-shirt that failed to cover her midriff, tight hipster shorts and sandals. That's all. Obviously no bra, and for all I could tell maybe no panties or just a skimpy thong at best. Her tummy is flat and muscular and her thighs are solid but slim and shapely. These young Australian girls, what kind of gene pool turns out beauties like this who love to show off their bodies? I suppressed a twinge from my pussy that sent appreciative messages to my brain.

Terri obviously noticed the attention I was paying to her barely-covered shape and defused the atmosphere. "Do I surprise you? Sorry, cleaning is physical work and I try to keep cool." I piled my stuff in a corner and sat on the edge of the bed; we discussed Terri and how she came to be maiding. "I'm over here as a student; I'm studying the Dramatic Arts and need to work to pay my fees. I'm happy doing physical labour as it helps to keep me supple and trim for my dancing plus, it's undemanding mentally so I can think whilst I vacuum."

Her chirpy Oz accent amused me, so positive and open. "Do you need more work?" I enquired. Fortunately she did and I soon had her booked to maid for me too. Kirsten had always praised her but never told me how lovely and friendly she was; we agreed a price and that she would start on Saturday afternoon. I gave her my new address. "That's great, it's only two blocks from here. Thanks." Terri finished quickly and left with a happy smile and a wave goodbye.

I hung my new corset in the wardrobe space that Kirsten had made for me and made a coffee. On my way to the kitchen, I pushed closed the drawer next to Kirsten's bed where I had found her box of phallic friends. I was sure it was shut when I left this morning.

Feeling tired after another hectic and stimulating day, I decided to eat in again. I was missing Kirsten immensely but had not had a chance to make contact with any of my old girlfriends, many of whom I hadn't seen in years. Frustratingly, I now realised that my new role meant it would be difficult to socialise with the Passionella staff without arousing suspicions over my client status. I sat and mulled over my new persona, how I was going to approach the girls in the retail outlets, what I needed to buy for my apartment and more besides. I tapped copious notes and lists into my laptop and brainstormed some ways to gain the confidence of the Dems.

Late in the evening, when I was no longer able to concentrate, I climbed into my bed and slept like a baby.

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.

Chapter 6 (Shopping)

I slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open and I stood for a moment, absorbing the excitement of the first apartment I could truly call my own. Kirsten pushed me from behind. "Go on then, go in" she insisted, with an excited girly giggle.

The front door opened into an inner lobby, off which there were only two other doors. One was just a storage cupboard but the other opened into the main room of the apartment. "Wow … Wow … W-fucking-OW" I exclaimed as I saw that the main room is huge and furnished in an ultra-modern Japanese-cum-minimalist style. On the right is a large peninsula behind which I found a small but very well equipped kitchen. The main area of the room is carpeted in light grey and the furniture is all in black and darker shades of grey. Looking around I could see a long, low sofa, two matching chairs and several cubes that looked like coffee tables or could be moved together to make a larger surface. There was no table to eat at but I guessed I could manage with the kitchen bar, which has 3 stools around it. I didn't plan to do a lot of entertaining 'at home'.

Kirsten and I wandered around. The separate bedroom is divided from the main room by a very Japanese-looking open-grid screen with linen blinds behind for privacy. The room it conceals is surprisingly large and contains only a continuous wall of fitted wardrobes with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a very low, wide bed so there is plenty of room to walk around. Finally we found the sumptuous bathroom, which opens off the bedroom. It is also entirely fitted out in grey, black and white with a large bathtub (which later I discovered includes a spa system) and a wash-hand basin set into a large marble surface. The shower is mounted directly over the middle of the slightly-sloping floor. Loads of room to move around under the shower then!

"It's just wonderful," I repeated to Kirsten as I explored further "and the firm pays for everything?" "They do for me so I'm sure they will for Julie, their rising star. Come on; let's start to get your stuff unpacked.

"I didn't tell you, did I? I met Terri, your maid, on Thursday," I called to Kirsten as she busied herself putting food, wine and beer in the fridge. "I've taken her on and she is coming in this afternoon to make up the bed and freshen up the place."

"You lucky girl! T is terrific. She does a good, conscientious job and she's a lot of fun to have around. She told me she wasn't taking on any more work – she must like you. I'm sure you'll be pleased with her. But how can she make the bed, you don't have any linen."

"I thought we could shop together this morning. You can help me choose. Can we risk going to your store? You won't be recognised will you? "

Kirsten and I bought sheets & pillowcases in the most exotic satins and feminine colours, towels and bits and pieces for the kitchen. We talked animatedly over lunch and stuffed our purchases into the boot of a cab back to my new home.

"Kirsten, I'm going to miss having you around," I said pensively as I unlocked my front door.

"Julie, sweetie, we can see more of each other, even though you have your own place." I looked her in the eye and replied: "Kirsten, there isn't any more of me to see. You saw it all last night."

The doorbell rung and the tall, lithe and dramatic T swept in. "Hi, oh Kirsten, I didn't expect to see you here too. Julia, what a fantastic apartment. I like this. Hey, I've always wanted one of these. Look at …"

"Hold on T, whose apartment is this?" I quipped. "Sorry. I'll get on with my chores."

Kirsten took me to one side. "Keep an eye on T, she's so gregarious. Before you know it you'll find her wearing your clothes and sleeping in your bed. But she is great company, and very pretty too."

T finished and I paid her two weeks in advance in cash. We agreed she would come in every Saturday afternoon and on most Tuesday evenings, unless she had college commitments. She would organise all my laundry and dry-cleaning too. Fantastic. I thanked her and she left.

Kirsten also needed to go. Disappointed, I reminded her "I'm travelling to the north and Scotland on Monday. I won't see you until Wednesday evening."

"Can't do Wednesday either, but I'll be at the product launch at the Mayfair office on Thursday – I'll see you there. Bye, love"

We blew each other trademark kisses and I closed the door behind her.

 

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

I settled into my business-class seat on the Monday morning flight to the north of England, striking up a polite conversation with the man next to me. He probably thought I was chatting him up. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

He would never know what I was wearing under my serious suit. Who would have thought that an unattached self-employed recruitment executive on a business trip would be wearing a lemon-yellow bra with matching lacy panties?

Why should she?

How could he also have known that I had a matching suspender belt holding up sheer stockings under my sensible skirt?

But if she knew she was going to spend half her day getting undressed in front of young and very attentive sales professionals in high-class clothing stores she might.

I took a cab from the airport straight to my city-centre hotel so I could drop my overnight bag. The reception desk staffs were polite and charming and they were able to give me an upgrade to a larger room with a balcony and additional facilities. I presented my Passionella credit card, which they accepted; the Lips logo caused a slight smile to rise at the corners of the receptionist's mouth.

Taking the lift to the top floor, I found my room at the end of a short corridor well away from the noise of the ice-making machine and with less chance of noise from other guests returning late and standing talking in the corridor outside my room. That does annoy me so!

I dropped my bag on the bed and hung my clothes. Looking quickly in the bathroom I saw it was enormous, subtly-lit and had a huge bathtub as well as two washbasins, a walk-in shower, a bidet and a big basket full of all those lovely skin-care products. 'I'll enjoy those later', I thought. There was also a wide-screen TV with heaps of satellite channels and pay-movies, the sort that I assume are only watched by sad, lonely men.

The doorman called a cab for me and I headed for the first of 'our' two existing retail outlets in Manchester city centre. I found the lingerie dept. easily but took some time to locate the Passionella display – it was not well signed but I recognised the products. Rustling through the rails, I identified the usual popular lines from my in-depth training with Charlotte but many were mixed and I could not see anything I liked. Finally, a Dem walked up behind me and tried to sell product without asking my requirements and interests and gave me no opportunity to present my Passionella card. If this is Mystery Shopping, my job is going to be easy. Mandy (from her badge, she never did introduce herself) then suggested I try on some items and badly guessed my size at two cups too small and 2 inches too large (my Passionella card would have told her). Mandy ushered me into the changing rooms, and left me. "Shout if you need any help" was all I got. Terrible.

The morning had not been a good experience. I grabbed a quick lunch in a cappuccino bar nearby and typed furiously typed my report into my palm-top so as not to forget anything. I downloaded a map showing the location of the other store and finished my sandwich.

Walking into the lingerie dept. was a revelation and the contrast with the morning's store was striking. The Passionella brand was clearly displayed near to the lifts and the clothing was well displayed. Two staff wearing Passionella badges were talking by the till but as soon as I approached they stopped. The younger of the two introduced herself as Vicky (spelt Vikki on her badge) and immediately enquired about my needs and also how I would be paying. I gave her my card and she proceeded to gush information, and compliments. Almost before I knew it, I was locked in the changing rooms with Vikki and armfuls of underwear and nightwear. I had to smile.

Then, to my great amusement and surprise, Vikki stripped to her panties before me in about 20 seconds. "Let me help you undress" she insisted and reached for my buttons.

I stepped back to slow the pace, but also to get a better look at an exuberant Vikki. She could only be described as 'small but perfectly formed', about 5' 2" tall and no more than 21 years old, and had tousled brown hair. Her waist was so very slim, about 22 inches, her tummy very flat and smooth and her hips were narrow.

Her boobs looked exquisite; small and slightly rounded, set high, high on her chest. Wow. Her nipples cried out to be noticed, perched right on the tips of her boobs, pointing slightly upwards and sitting exactly central on small, raised pinky-brown areolae. Surely they couldn't always look so perky and suckable? I was captivated by the way she stood and moved, brimming over with self-confidence, and I tried not to stare at her breasts.

"Why don't you try this on?" she suggested, holding up a riot of lace and straps. "It's terrific. It looks like a bodysuit from the front but it's a skimpy and strappy bra and thong from the back." It sounded fun so I agreed to let her help me undress.

The already-nearly-naked Vikki quickly unbuttoned my jacket and I slipped my top over my head. Vikki kept talking all the time – she was making me tired! – and complimented me on my yellow Passionella lingerie. Stepping out of my skirt, I turned my back to her and without prompting she unhooked my bra. Her positive attitude excited me.

I turned back to face Vikki who looked down at me and sighed: "I always wanted big boobs like yours, but mine never grew."

"Vikki, yours are beautiful" I reassured her, "Just be grateful for what you've got."

We released one stocking-top each and Vikki slipped the catch on my suspender whilst I pulled down my briefs. I was now totally nude.

Vikki offered up the bodysuit and I stepped into it. She was right. Looking at myself in the mirror, my lower body appeared to be totally sheathed in pretty black lace. The crotch was cut high and narrow and my pubes peeked cheekily from either side. Moving up, the fabric followed the narrowing of my waist and the top was underwired and cut in a deep vee, pushing my rounded boobs high and together and forming them into as deep and seductive a cleavage as any bra I'd owned. I felt proud of my body and hoped Vikki was not too jealous.

"Can you see your back view in the other mirror now?" she enquired. I held up my long blonde curls to see better, and I was amazed. The top of the suit consisted of just two narrow black straps that held the bra-top place. Then nothing right down my bare back all the way to the bottom of my spine where two more narrow straps wrapped their slender way around from the sides of my waist and over my hips to connect at a tiny triangle of lace, with a just single thong strap between my legs. Very revealing. "The Passionella designers have done a great job – they know how to make a girl feel special," observed Vikki. They had, and I did, especially between my legs.

Vikki offered to model some other clothes but I declined; she might get herself into trouble. I decided to buy the body suit. "May I keep it on?" I asked.

I headed for the coffee shop to make some notes. 'Vikki has such a big personality but she is too enthusiastic. Needs reigning in a bit, but has great potential,' I typed. 'Where did she come from?' I wondered. 'I hope she's at the show'. When I got back to my hotel room I downloads my notes into my laptop and filed my day's reports to Emma. The rest of the evening was now my own.

I'd noticed that my new bodysuit was beginning to get uncomfortable so I undressed, stopping to admire myself in the mirror. Uncomfortable, yes, but very, very sexy. I posed a little more then reached around behind me to release the bra-catch. To do this, I had to push my shoulders back; my boobs all but escaped from their cups and my nipples pushed hard against the fabric. The combination of the uninvited nipple stimulation and the crotch pulling tight between my legs sent tiny messages to my pussy that I chose to ignore.

I hate eating out alone so I ordered room service dinner – just a light pasta dish and a cold beer. "With you in 30 minutes, or it's free" was the promise.

I ran a deep, hot bath and luxuriated in the foam. I mulled over the events and justified my feeling of self-satisfaction; a good day's work. After drying myself carefully with the snow-white fluffy towels, I explored the basket of toiletries. First I shaved my legs and underarms with the ladies razor provided, then I rubbed soothing body lotion onto my hands, arms, legs and feet. A dab of cologne in all the strategic places, a clean-up with a couple of cotton buds and I was good as new.

I remembered that my pubes had shown around the sides of my latest bodysuit, so I pulled scissors from my washbag and trimmed around the edges. Is that enough? One way to find out. I slipped the suit back on and tried unsuccessfully to trim the ones that still poked out.

I'd never shaved my bikini line before, but I decided to give it a try. I removed the suit again (my nipples enjoying the feeling even more this time) and pulled the razor over the areas either side of my mound, but leaving a generous vee of neatly-trimmed blonde curls concealing my gash. I rubbed some more lotion over the tender, sensitive and newly-exposed soft flesh between my thighs.

I admired myself in the mirror – I liked what I saw and the sight of my own body made me feel tense and excited. Proud breasts, smooth skin, flat tummy above curvaceous hips (but not too broad). Well-defined legs and now with a neat and attractively-trimmed pubic area nestling between them.

I thought some aromatherapy oil might help me to relax so I opened the small bottle from the bathroom and smoothed some over my neck and shoulders, down over my firm, round breasts and downwards to my upper legs and bum cheeks. Then some more on my thighs, down the outsides then up the insides. Mmmmmm …

My skin glistened under the recessed ceiling lights, smooth and radiant. Turning sideways on, my nipples were now erect but not really hard … until I rubbed some more oil into them. I rubbed the tips of my fingers all around my areolae and over by buds, making them long and hard. I squeezed them; warm, inviting sensations spread to my pussy and little by little I wanted to …

Feeling dreamy, I began to think about Vikki and I lay back on the bed. I massaged my sensitive skin some more then, pulling up my knees, I planted my feet on the edge of the bed and spread my legs. With my head propped up on a pile of feather pillows, I could look down between my thighs and see myself in the mirror. My pussy was beginning to open like petals of a flower and small beads of moisture sparkled under the bright, warm lights, clinging to the edges of my labial lips.

I tipped the rest of the contents of the bottle over my legs and I wallowed in the fantastic sensations as small rivulets of oil trickled down my inner thighs and between my cheeks. As the oil ran slowly and excruciatingly further down the soft fleshy insides of my legs, right to my anus, my sphincter muscles twitched and puckered tight. And I was trying to relax!

I ran the tip of one finger around the rim and gradually my muscles loosened and I could breath again. The feelings were so good; I wondered whether I might just be able to slip a well-lubricated fingertip just inside …

I was suddenly startled by the knock at the door.

"Room Service."

Shit!

I'd forgotten all about dinner. In a fluster, I called 'Coming!' but the delivery boy must have misunderstood and thought I'd said 'Come in.' Horrified, I heard the door began to open and I realised that I had not flicked the dead-bolt.

I grabbed a bathrobe from the bathroom and quickly wrapped myself in its voluminous modesty.

As the door opened, I was greeted by a friendly female smile. "Come in, oh, yes, over there, thanks," I gushed, "Here, here's something for you."

How attentive and perceptive, that the hotel should remember to send a female room-service 'boy' to the room of a single female guest. Actually, a very young, but very pretty female, in a smart uniform. She must have wondered what she had interrupted, as her senses would have been assaulted by the heady mix of lotions and oils, the pile of soft pillows abandoned on the bed, and the sight of an flustered and embarrassed woman clutching a robe around herself (I hadn't had time to tie the belt). Miss Young-But-Pretty looked around the room, probably expecting to see a male companion – 'No Chance!' I thought.

Then, as she was leaving, I (absent-mindedly?) used one hand to pass her a gratuity, and the other to open the door. To my horror, my robe fell open. She stared at me; she must have seen one if not two long bare legs, and maybe more. I felt so humiliated! What if she complained to her manageress? What did she take me for? Why did I feel the way I felt?

I closed the door behind her, uttering lame apologies, and tied the belt tightly around my waist as I caught my breath. Then, in a fleeting, mad moment, I thought of shrugging off my robe completely and calling her back. Just to see what her reaction might be when she saw me naked. Or was it, maybe, because the feeling of intense embarrassment & humiliation might actually hold some attraction for me? But I quickly banished the thought from my mind. Probably just as well. Hmm …

Regaining my composure, I sat down at the desk and realised how hungry I was.

When I'd wiped every last drop of sauce from the plate with my last piece of ciabatta bread, I flicked on the TV. No news on yet. No interesting sport. Old films I'd seen before. Discussion programmes where no-one has an interesting viewpoint or a well-considered argument. I scrolled down to the pay-movies menu:

More old films, and porn. 'Busty Barbara On Top', 'Don't Tell My Wife', 'Deep Down & Dirty'. Who watches this stuff?

'Dream Lesbians/Sheer Luxury' - Double Bill.

I keyed in my room number and sat back, thinking: 'It won't be any good, but there's noting else to watch'.

Well, the 'actresses' were quite pretty, and the acting was passable. Not much plot though. I can undress better than that, and my body is better too. One of the girls has dark hair and is down on all fours, furiously licking a ginger girl's pussy whilst frigging herself off. Their blonde friend is sitting behind them on a chair, also masturbating and moaning convincingly.

I'm not enjoying this; I just want to see what they might do next.

The blonde girl produces a long, slim vibrator from under a cushion and starts to lick it (I noticed that it was similar to the one I found in Kirsten's apartment). When it is thoroughly moistened, she rubs it back and forth along the length of her slit. She's bucking her hips now, and the two other girls stop to encourage her. They drool "Mmm, go on, stick it inside you. That's it, push it up your cunt, you horny bitch.' When the blonde girl pulls it out it's coated with her juices; she slowly slides it back in. The Dark Girl then takes the vibrator and holds it so the tip only just brushes her 'friend's clit. Blonde cries and writhes and wriggles her hips, trying to get more pressure on her clit but every time she moves onto the vibrator, Dark Girl teases her and it moves away. Blonde is really desperate now and pleads with her friend to let her come. Finally she does, fairly convincingly, closely followed by the Dark Girl whose been getting a thorough licking from her ginger friend.

I was feeling warm, and shrugged off my bathrobe.

Now Ginger Girl wants some action. Dark Girl produces a big dildo from her bag – it's totally clear and must be made from strong glass. She rubs some lubricant on it and Ginger lies back on the sofa. Dark Girl rubs loads of lube on Ginger's cunt then presses the tip of the glass dildo against her vaginal entrance. I can now see just how big it is, and it looks like Ginger has a very small pussy. But slowly Dark Girl pushes and twists the dildo and Ginger's pussy opens up. To my amazement, she swallows it all in.

"Push it right in, go on, give her some cock, you horny bitch. Yeah, slide it in and out slowly so I can see her juices all along the shaft. Hey, don't touch your clit, baby, let her do all the work. She's going to make you come. Take it all inside you, bitch."

Shit, I realised that's not the TV sound. That was me, naked, locked in my hotel room, shouting at the actresses on the screen. Taking my hand away from my crotch, I sat back and watched the rest of the double bill. I was mesmerised and I saw girls doing things to themselves and to other girls that I'd never even imagined girls doing.

The second film was less explicit but featured girls dressed in the most gorgeous lingerie and outfits. Some items were made from shiny materials and might be rubber or patent leather, or some kind of stretchy plastic. I'd never seen anything like those in a Passionella store nor during my training. Bit specialised but very sexy to look at.

Eventually the films finished and I was feeling tired. My nipples were hard and sore so I rubbed some left-over body lotion into them, which kind of helped. I noticed how swollen my pussy was and I was shocked that I'd been so turned-on by a couple of trashy films.

I slipped into cool silk pyjamas, climbed into bed and turned off the lights. I had to exercise tremendous self-control to prevent myself from delivering the blissful relief I knew my body craved. But I remembered the feelings of self-denial that I had enjoyed before and I wallowed in the deep, glorious sensations of heightened but unfulfilled arousal. Slowly I controlled my breathing and eventually fell asleep.

But I slept fitfully, dreaming of huge dildos being forced into me, nearly ripping me apart, and of being surrounded by numerous gorgeous scantily-clad and naked girls, some of them rubbing oils and lotions over my entire body and into every orifice, others shouting the most provocative and erotic suggestions.

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

I woke at 6:00 am. My body was cold and damp with perspiration and I'd kicked off the duvet in the night. I pulled it over me and buried my head. I managed another two hours' sleep before my alarm woke me. Croissants, jam, coffee, dried fruit, yoghurt, pastries, fresh fruit, fruit juice, yes that should do it.

I had time to kill before my flight to Scotland. I had intended to catch up on some phone calls but instead I dropped by the Manchester store I had visited the previous afternoon.

Sadly I couldn't see Vikki, but I was approached by the store Personal Shopper. She made some polite conversation then asked if I needed any extra help; I'd picked up a super bright blue bikini in size 12 but declined to try it on. It was made of soft, stretch fabric with no underwiring and had masses of thin straps on both the bra-top and the bottoms so I was sure I could adjust it to fit my curves.

Ms. Personal Shopper must then have recognised me from the day before and enquired if I would be at the Thursday show in London. I said that, yes, I planned to attend and she apologised that she would be unable to get along – she had to run the store outlet alone for 2 days as all her Dems would be there. That meant Vikki would be at the show. I knew all that I needed to know.

Arriving 15 minutes early at Edinburgh airport I walked the short distance to the rental car pick-up point where my priority car was ready and waiting. On the way into the city-centre store I carefully formulated a plan in my head. I should be able to collect my black strappy bra and panties that Stevie had reserved for me. I would then ask to see some really sexy stuff and try it on in the changing rooms. I'd push the limits, to establish whether the Dem really would allow me to masturbate right there in the changing rooms as Kirsten had suggested.

What if she says yes? Do I go through with it or make my excuses? What if she is old and ugly? What if I'm not in the mood? I pondered all these things over an early lunch at a trendy coffee bar on Princes St.

I stood outside the store for a moment to collect my thoughts. As I strode purposefully up to the Passionella sales area I was immediately approached by a stunningly beautiful lady who introduced herself as Maria. I watched her luscious full lips as she spoke and guessed from her accent and her appearance that she was originally Spanish, Portuguese or South American. She was in her late twenties and a little shorter than me although she was wearing very high heels which made her more imposing. They also caused her to stand with her pelvis tilted and her shoulders back, pushing out her breasts. Her eyes and eyebrows were very dark brown but her hair was dyed subtle coppery-blonde in masses of long flowing waves.

"Hello, I am Julia;" I passed her my card. "I've come to collect some lingerie you are keeping for me."

Maria politely excused herself for a moment and returned with a gift-wrapped package. The combination of her stature and her very high heels caused her to walk in a wonderfully provocative way. 'Pure catwalk,' I mused.

"This is yours. Would you like to try on your new purchases, just to be sure they are the correct size?"

"Oh, but they are so beautifully wrapped …"

"No, it's no trouble at all – I can wrap them again. I must be sure they fit you."

10 out of 10 for customer service.

"Yes, of course thanks."

Maria waved her hand politely towards the changing room.

"May I choose some other items, and try them on together?"

"Of course, what would you like to see?" enquired Maria.

"Well," I commenced my rehearsed storyline. "I've been invited to a Murder Mystery evening at a luxury hotel near here and I expect I'll need to change into my costume in front of some other guests who I won't have met before," I explained, my plan working to perfection. "I want some underwear which is attractive and makes a statement about me but which is modest at the same time."

I walked over to a rail full of lace and elastic and picked out a soft, unstructured sleeveless bodysuit in black stretch lace with a deep-plunge neckline at the front. I also found a fantastic-looking glossy gold basque with attached suspenders and matching deep briefs. Maria diplomatically suggested my choices were inappropriate, but I insisted: "I'd like to try them anyway."

Maria led me into the changing rooms and locked the door. She was perfect. Polite and attentive; I soon warmed to her. She helped me to undress and openly admired my lingerie. "That's a lovely bra you're wearing today, Julia. It gives your bust a remarkably dramatic shape." I love to be complimented.

I was wearing the white half-cup bra I'd bought from Manchester Mandy the day before, without trying it for size. If I had, I might not have taken it, but now I was glad I'd taken the risk. It was labelled a 34C but even I had been surprised when I put it on for the first time that morning. My boobs don't so much sit in it as on it. The bra pushes them up high on my chest, creating two prominent, well-rounded and very visible mounds of slightly mobile flesh sitting on opaque undersling quarter-cups, nicely edged with narrow crescents of white lace that just manage to conceal my nipples.

Facing Maria, I released the front-fastening catch and, pushing my arms back and my boobs forward, I shrugged the bra off my shoulders. Maria smiled and nodded in approval.

First I tried the lacy bodysuit. "Look, my nipples poke through the lace – you can see them when I stand sideways!" I enthused. Maria smiled a slightly naughty smile. "And I'll need to be careful if I bend forward."

Maria warmed to me. "You're a lucky lady. Your breasts are quite firm so you can get wear stuff like this that has no support. Try leaning over."

I did, and she was right. Maria squatted down to look at my cleavage and our faces stopped within inches of each other. We made long, long eye contact before I stood up. It was working.

Maria stepped back one pace and remarked: "It fits you really well, but I still wouldn't recommend it for the party. Try the basque."

I peeled off the bodystocking slowly, sending out 'I'm enjoying this' messages to Maria and she sensed my mood perfectly. "My job is so much more enjoyable when my customer appreciates fine clothes and knows how to wear them" she commented. "You certainly know how to dress, and undress too."

Maria was making me feel really good.

She held the basque so I could slip my arms through the shoulder straps. Then she fastened the hooks and eyes at the back and adjusted the straps whilst I settled my boobs into the push-up cups. "Hey, keep still. I can't strap you in if you wriggle," she chastised.

I loved the tight feel of the highly-structured waist pulled tight around me and diverting blood flow to my lower body. "It's certainly a tight fit, as you said. Where are the pants?"

Maria already had them in her hand and I steadied myself on her shoulder as I stepped into them. She pulled them high up on my hips and they pressed against my pussy.

"I like it soooo much," I enthused some more, "Look how it pushes my boobs up and together. It makes me feel really sexy. Do I look sexy?"

"Julia, you look terrific, I'm glad you like it."

"But I can't choose between this and the bodystocking."

Maria took the lead. "Why don't you keep that on, and I'll model the bodystocking? I'm a similar size to you. Then you can compare – we can see which looks best."

I agreed, trying to conceal my excitement. Maria has such an aura about her, mysterious but increasingly open and receptive.

I had been unable to make out her figure under her corporate-burgundy suit but she quickly unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off. To my delight, she was not wearing anything else under it except a skimpy sheer bra in olive-green fine mesh with an appliqué pattern on the cups that only just disguised her nipples. The straps were almost non-existent, made from the same sheer mesh with appliqué petals, and as she stepped out of her skirt and quickly removed her tights, she stood in front of me so I could feast my eyes on her gorgeous slim figure and her skimpy thong. Again, the mesh straps were all but invisible but they held up a sheer triangle of olive-green mesh that covered most of her slightly rounded tummy but barely concealed her pubes.

Acknowledging my obvious pleasure, she proceeded to put on a demonstration of mature, sophisticated and highly-arousing provocation.

"Do you like these?" she asked, not expecting an answer. "They make me feel really sexy when I'm working. Most customers would never guess that I wear such revealing underwear under my sensible work clothes."

"I'd like to tell you something else" she continued, trying not to sound too contrived. "Working here, and especially helping truly sexy women like yourself, really gets me going. I get so, so turned on. I have to wear skimpy lingerie or I get too hot, but that just makes things worse. See? My jacket has been rubbing on my breasts and this thin bra cannot possibly protect my nipples. See how hard they have become."

Maria stood closer to me and cupped a hand delicately under one sheer-clad breast, offering it to me like a small dish of exotic food. "Go on, you can touch it."

Shaking a little, I reached out and pressed the tip of my index finger on the small, pink point that I could see through the pattern of her bra. It was hard and it responded to my touch. Maria flinched, but sensed that I was ready for her next move.

"And I'm moist. Actually, I'm more than moist – I'm wet. You must be able to smell my heat through these skimpy panties."

I could.

Maria adopted a coy, alluring expression that sent a rush of energy to my own pussy. "Julia, just watching you undressing, and wearing that lovely basque set, it's so arousing. How does it make you feel?"

I reassured Maria that I was feeling horny too and she smiled. Then, taking a huge risk and using all my training plus a bit of women's intuition, I made a suggestion.

"We could help each other out. We could sooth away our tension, you know, together. Couldn't we?"

I watched Maria carefully to gauge her mood. Would she agree? Would we actually frig ourselves off right there in the changing room? What if I'd overstepped the mark? Misjudged the situation? What if Kirsten had been joking?

Maria looked at me straight in the eye, for what felt like an eternity.

"Yes, we can," she agreed, and I breathed again.

Now I had to go through with it.

Maria took the lead again and stood confidently in front of me. Her body looked fabulous and I felt a gush of juices flood my pussy. She started to move, slowly at first, changing position a little and rocking her hips. She moistened her lips with her tongue, opened her mouth and half closed her eyes. Then she really got going. She reached high and clasped her hands above her head and, twisting and gyrating slowly, she ground her pelvis whilst all the time looking straight at me with her smouldering brown eyes.

"Come on, it's OK" she encouraged.

The tightness of the basque was exciting me and my pussy was already pulsing. I experimented and found a way to move my upper body so my nipples rubbed on the insides of their golden prisons. I pulled my panties even higher so they were stretched really tight over my pussy. I started to pant.

Maria was so sexy. Now she was grasping at her breasts through their green sheer mesh cages and was constantly crossing and re-crossing her legs at the knees, slightly crouched and with her bum pushed back. She had her eyes tight shut and her mouth wide open now and was breathing fast.

I struggled to think rationally: 'If I hadn't already masturbated in front of Kirsten, I could not go through with what comes next.'

But I was past caring. Maria's performance was so hot and arousing I had no choice. I began to whimper: "Maria, you are turning me on so. You are gorgeous and you really know how to make a woman feel sexy. Maria, I'm going to have to, to ... touch myself."

"That's OK, I want you to" she whispered. This was my cue.

I sank back onto the stool behind me and spread my legs. I ran my hands down the stiffened front of golden basque, onwards over the edge of the panties and down, down between my legs. I then lightly, oh so lightly, I ran one finger down the clearly-visible line of my pussy-gash. I had to stifle my cries of pleasure.

"Quick, get me out of this." I pleaded. I turned on the swivel stool so Maria could release me from the constraints of the basque and I grabbed at my tender breasts the moment they broke free. I pinched and pulled and twisted my aching, swollen nipples. Each time I let go I felt a rush of hot blood flow right to their tips and all the time I was watching myself in the tall mirror.

Twisting round again, I saw that Maria had one hand over her left breast and the other was just a blur between her legs. She was still wearing her sheer bra and panties but she had pulled the side straps of her thong high up over her hips, right up to her waist. The narrow straps were cutting deep into her soft flesh and I could see the edges of her swollen mound escaping from either side of the mesh triangle between her thighs.

"You first, do it. Now," she instructed, with a real sense of urgency in her voice.

I needed no further encouragement. The sight of Maria in the last throes of her own masturbation was arousing beyond words and I pressed hard on my clit through the shiny golden fabric of my pants. I rubbed and circled for just a few moments; it didn't take long. I even wondered afterwards if I might have come just from the incredible sexy sights, sounds and smells of our illicit (but permitted) encounter. I enjoyed a short but highly satisfying orgasm deep inside me and had to fight to stop myself from crying out. I didn't want the whole store to hear. Or did I?

Maria was not far behind as she stood, still wearing that lovely sexy bra, legs spread wide apart and leaning back against the wall for support as she frigged herself through the thin fabric of her matching thong. Right there in front of me. Unbelievable.

Her eyes rolled upwards and she bit her bottom lip. Her tummy tightened and the muscles on the insides of her thighs spasmed, confirming that this was for real. She pulled the most excruciating and ecstatic expression on her face and silently slumped forward.

Neither of us spoke.

We sat and we looked at each other for a while as we caught our breath.

Then Maria broke the silence, saying: "Julia, that was terrific, Thanks. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did."

Then she looked more concerned and continued: "you did realise, didn't you, that there can be a lot more to being a Passionella client than just buying the world's sexiest lingerie?"

I half nodded.

"But did anyone tell you that you will be charged for the, er, extras?"

I looked at her with a quizzical, tell-me-more expression.

Maria explained. "Not directly, you understand, but of course you will need to buy the stuff you are wearing. And I can't just charge the normal swing-tag price. Your card will be debited a rather higher price, to include the use of the changing room, and for the extra time we spent together."

Maria looked at me carefully to gauge my reaction – she had been as delicate and tactful as anyone could expect.

"You must understand. Obviously, I can't charge you directly for our 'quality time' and what we did in the privacy of this changing room," she explained further. "What would it look like on your credit card statement? How could you explain an item called, say, 'personal services' to your partner, if you have one, or to your accountant? It's much easier to explain away if we just charge a premium price for our clothes. Most husbands don't even bat an eyelid if their wife spends €1,000 in one day on lingerie. Excuse me for being intrusive, but are you married?"

I shook my head.

"Some clients have told me that their partners are more puzzled as to why, when they've spend so much money on sexy clothes, they aren't interested in sex when they go to bed that night."

"Yes, yes, I understand completely," I confirmed, "although no-one ever explained it to me like that. I know you're not a tart; but you have just made me feel so very happy, so highly valued and so wonderfully satisfied. Thank you, it's been worth every cent."

Maria looked relieved. I imagine she's had some close calls with women who'd totally misunderstood and hadn't known the rules of the Passionella game. I was very, very impressed by Maria's handling of the whole situation. I had also found her to be incredibly sexy.

"I think I'll just take the black strappy bra and thong as they are, all nicely wrapped up. I just don't feel like trying on any more lingerie just now," I said with a sigh.

Maria laughed. "Can't take the pace?" I laughed too; Maria put me totally at ease. I liked her a lot.

I changed back into the lingerie I was wearing when I arrived and passed the basque set to Maria. We got dressed and tidied ourselves up; the changing room had ample supplies of tissues, hair-care products and make-up all discreetly provided.

Maria unlocked the door and walked out, as though nothing had happened. She carefully packed my purchases in a big Passionella 'Lips' carrier bag and charged them to my card. I authorised €85 for the gift-wrapped black strappy set, plus €680 for the most expensive basque and pants I could have bought anywhere, in London, Paris, Milan, New York or Timbuktu.

Maria also upgraded my card to the next level.

"How many more levels are there?" I enquired. Maria looked at the computer display and then at me.

"Oh," she paused, smiling a knowing smile. "You have quite a few more levels to go yet, Julia."

I started to think that there are many more opportunities at Passionella, about which even Kirsten and E have not yet told me. I left the store feeling emotionally and physically drained. My experiences with Maria had assaulted all of my senses and my head was full of images and ideas. When I got to my car I sat quietly for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts. Then I furiously tapped at my keyboard, trying to be as objective as I could and noting a constructively critical assessment of the store, the displays of Passionella merchandise and 'their' employees. One employee in particular. (E had warned me against becoming emotionally involved).

I drove the hour-long journey to Glasgow and managed to find a parking space in the centre, even at 4:30 in the afternoon. I'd always wanted to visit one of the famous tearooms decorated and furnished in the style of that great early twentieth-century Glaswegian interior designer and artist, whose name escaped me. I just had time, before heading for the Passionella concession area in the central department store.

An average experience all round. Adequate stock, fairly well laid out. Polite staff with a friendly, approachable manner. But I didn't really feel like buying anything and, true to their training, the Dems didn't try to force anything on me either. I found a quiet corner to make some notes in my palm-top and finally left the store just before closing time. I headed back to my car, not relishing the 100-mile drive down to Carlisle for an overnight stop.

I arrived at the small but modern business hotel around 9:00, tired and bleary-eyed. It was tempting to climb into bed and leave my reports until morning but I knew that the detail would fade so I downloaded my palm-top into my computer and tided up my notes before I climbed into bed and fell straight to sleep.

 

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

I was woken by the shrill warble of my alarm clock at 7:30 – I'd hoped to make use of the hotel pool to try out my newly acquired blue Passionella bikini, but I'd slept too long. Pity; I had been looking forward to seeing the embarrassed and licentious expressions on the faces of the pot-bellied sales managers who seemed to make up the bulk (literally) of the clientele at this hotel.

Back on the road to Sheffield, my last store before home. I'd wanted to get round all 8 stores in my first week to start to get a feel for the standard of service I could expect and to get to know a few of the Dems before the show on Thursday.

Sheffield was similar to Glasgow, a perfectly adequate but unexceptional experience. I did take particular note of one of the two Dems on duty though. She had a truly stupendous figure, even though her face was quite ordinary. Her breasts were, well, outstanding, I'd guess she's at least a 38D, and whatever bra it was she was wearing certainly made the most of them. Unfortunately, she was helping another client. Helen, her colleague, was pleasant enough and not unattractive herself. I didn't buy anything and did not reveal that I was a fully paid-up card-carrying Passionella aficionado.

I drove the last leg of my grand tour back to London, my head full of names, faces, store layouts, garments and experiences, some of which I would soon forget and some which would probably stay with me for some time to come.

I arrived at my apartment just before 6:00. Terri had obviously been in. Everything was spotlessly clean and tidy, 'just like home' in fact. In the bedroom I found two large boxes and from the labelling I deduced that these were my belongings from Claud's apartment in Paris. I had now severed all links with my previous life and I felt a huge feeling of relief and pleasure wash over me, confirming I had done the right thing.

I must have dozed off as I was lying on the bed still wearing my working clothes when my phone rang. I looked at the clock – 7:30 pm.

"Hi, sweetie, it's me. Have you missed me?" chirped Kirsten's pleasantly familiar voice with child-like enthusiasm. Kirsten is a real woman, but she loves to put on an act.

"Hi, Kirsten. Yes of course I have, babe." I tried to retaliate by using a horribly sugary term of endearment but Kirsten just lapped it up.

"I haven't been home long and I'm a mess. I've done so much and covered so many miles this week already I haven't had time to gather my thoughts. I'm hungry but I can't be bothered to cook and so the last thing I want to do is …"

"… is to spend the evening alone and sulk. I'll be over in 20 minutes with Chinese. See you, bye." Click. I like a decisive woman.

Chapter 7 (Bodystockings)

We talked and talked and we ate and we laughed and we relaxed together like old friends. I felt renewed and invigorated. Then, Kirsten told me a little more of what to expect at the New Product Launch tomorrow.

“You must expect to get away late,” she warned.

“How late?”

“Well, let's see. The actual show will start at 7:00, to give busy clients time to arrive. Some will come straight from work and can use the Private Rooms to shower, change and freshen up. The formal part of the show will last about an hour with a break. So, expect to leave around 11:00.”

“What? How am I supposed to spend the last 3 hours?”

“Oh, there's loads of time to, well, network. ‘Julia' might pick up some contacts for her recruitment agency. There will be food and drink. And dancing.” Kirsten then looked at me seriously. “And then the individual showings afterwards, in the Private Rooms. You can expect to have a really good time so, er, save yourself for tomorrow, right?”

My mind was racing, full of expectation.

“Whichever Dem invites a client acts as her hostess for the evening. Who actually invited you?” quizzed Kirsten.

“Stevie, at Knightsbridge.”

“Good. She's great fun to be with at these events. Did you meet any other Dems who you know are going to be there?”

“Yeah, I know that at least two Dems from Manchester will be there: Mandy and Vikki. And Maria will be coming down from Edinburgh.”

I paused and winked at Kirsten. “Maria and I got to know each other very well.” She knew exactly what I meant. “You actually came, right there in the changing rooms? On your first visit?”

“Well, yes. Why? What have I done?”

“Well, that's quite unusual, but not totally unheard of.”

”But it all felt so, so right . Anyway, Maria led me on, and we kept our knickers on all the time.”

“Maria is a very, very sexy lady and you've experienced something that I have lain awake at night and only dreamt of doing. You lucky girl, she must really like you. She wouldn't have done that just to make a sale, not the first time.”

Then Kirsten changed her tone.

“This isn't our first time; you never finished showing me the new clothes you bought last week and you've got heaps more now. I'll pour another glass of wine whilst you go and change.”

At first I was reluctant, but it would be fun showing off in front of Kirsten again – she's such a good audience. I looked through my wardrobe and discounted those items amongst my newly acquired underwear that I knew for certain I had already shown to Kirsten. That left a number of things she hadn't seen.

I ran through my delectable new collection. I couldn't wear my lemon yellow set, or that black backless bodysuit, or the gold basque & panties, nor my dramatic front-fastening half-cup white bra, as they all needed to be laundered first. Pity.

She'll see me in my new strappy blue bikini at the health club one day sooner or later. I couldn't wait to show her my red ‘hen-party' bra & thong that I'd bought in Knightsbridge last week, but I wanted to save that for another time. Oh, then there was my silver corset that Rachel gave me – Kirsten would enjoy lacing me up tight in that sometime.

I was planning to wear the cerise bra & briefs to the show the next day, or maybe the navy basque. Kirsten hadn't seen either of them yet; I could try on both of them and ask her opinion. Or maybe the strappy black set that Stevie originally modelled for me, but that was still so beautifully wrapped up.

“Kirsten, I'd value your opinion on what I should wear to the launch party tomorrow. What do you think about this?” I paraded into the room in just my cerise bra and pants.

“Oh, Julia, they look just perfect. Let me get a closer look. Who sold them to you?”

“It was Fiona in Oxford Street. She's very good, isn't she.”

“Fiona is excellent. She's a bit older than the average Dem but the mature clients identify with her. Don't underestimate Fiona. She'll be at the show tomorrow, you'll see.”

“What do you think then? Is it suitable?”

“Depends what you're going to wear on top.”

“Hmm, I hadn't got that far yet. I've got a couple of old cocktail dresses, but they'll be in those boxes from Paris. They'll be a bit crumpled.”

“Oh, just buy something, on the firm. You'd look devastating in a strapless LBD. Get one tomorrow, sweetie. Do it. For me. Will you?”

“OK, but I can't wear this bra with a strapless dress. However …”

Back in my bedroom I stripped off and squeezed myself into my navy-blue basque and matching panties.

“Well?”

“Julia, that's just wonderful. Fiona again?”

“Yup”

“Here, let me help you.” Kirsten insisted on clipping the front hook-fasteners onto their tightest setting and then stood back to admire her handiwork. “Much better. “OK. Next, got some nice stockings?”

Kirsten helped me put on a pair of navy lace-topped stockings. She carefully attached the suspender ribbons and adjusted them expertly. Without touching me, of course. Clever

I looked at myself in the mirror and I saw another woman reflected back at me. Slimmer, sexier and more confident. A woman ready to mix with the best and hold her own.

“So, what will you be wearing?” I asked, without even thinking to put on a robe.

“I, along with all the other Passionella hostesses, will be in the corporate colour - Burgundy. Charlotte has ordered catsuits for us all – we haven't even seen them yet. Underneath we'll all be wearing the new bodystocking range. Some of the Dems will model them on the catwalk; the rest of us will be giving personal viewings to our best clients.”

“Kirsten, will you be providing an intimate special service to anyone?” I asked, loaded with jealousy.

“Kirsten, it's my job and I get paid well to do it. And I enjoy it. You have to accept that.”

“But, Kirsten, I can't bear to think that someone else might see you naked tomorrow, and I haven't even seen your tits yet!”

“Oh Julie. You're getting too emotionally involved. But, I understand and I appreciate your feelings. If that's the issue, I'll make amends. Just sit back and relax.”

Kirsten flicked on my music player and scrolled through 'till she found a track with a thumping bass-line then walked back to where I was perched on one of my furniture cubes. She then put on one of her wonderfully provocative displays.

She danced gently to the music, throwing pouting, evocative glances at me on every fourth beat. She twisted sensually and she swayed. Then, to my delight, she slipped her tight jersey dress off her shoulders and gradually, very slowly, she pulled it all the way down her torso and down her stocking-clad legs before kicking it towards me with a flourish.

Under the dress she wore a skimpy white cotton bra with a floral design and a matching G-string and suspenders. She continued to turn and pose and her movements became ever more sensual. I was getting pretty hot for her by now but she just kept me dangling on a string. She cupped her small breasts and she caressed her body, looking at me all the time from under her dark eyebrows.

I couldn't control myself any longer. “We've got a deal, you teaser.” I called across to her.

Kirsten took up the challenge and reached behind her shoulder blades, pushing her boobs forward. She unhooked the clasp but, annoyingly, she held the bra over her breasts for what seemed like forever. I was getting really frustrated with her now, and she knew it.

“Come on, let me see your tits you sexy bitch.” I cried out.

Finally, and very slowly, she removed the cotton fabric that encased the soft, warm flesh of her breasts and I saw them naked for the first time.

I was not disappointed.

They are my favourite shape. Fairly small but beautifully shaped. Quite firm, but they bounced a little as she continued to move to the music. Set high and quite wide apart on her chest, just as I like boobs to be. And with lovely large, raised areolae that add significantly to the overall size of her breasts; she'd might even be just be an A cup if it wasn't for those swollen areolae that set off her smallish nipples so attractively. Like small rounded cakes with mounds of dark pink icing on top, each with a cherry in the middle – good enough to eat.

“Kirsten, you have gorgeous boobs. Why did you keep them from me for so long.”

“But Julie, haven't you enjoyed the wait? Isn't this moment all the more exciting because of the build-up and the anticipation?” She emphasised the point by running her hands slowly and sensually up her torso before cupping her breasts in her hands.

“Well, yes, of course it is. Kirsten, you make me feel such a slut; I've shown everything I have to you so soon, I have nothing left to give. I'm ashamed.” I replied, feeling quite emotional but still very aroused.

”Julia, don't be. I can teach you so much more about yourself and your body, you'll see. And you are just starting out with some of the Dems. You're going to have such a good time with Passionella.”

“And I'm really looking forward to it, especially tomorrow. I'm feeling so turned on. I used to get by on one orgasm a week on average and could go for longer if I needed. Since I joined Passionella though, even once every two of days doesn't seem to be nearly often enough. I just wonder what's happening to me, I'm in an almost constant state of arousal. I love the feelings but I seem to need more and more stimulation and more frequent orgasms.”

“Are you complaining?” asked Kirsten, then went on to explain: “I find the same thing, I used to be like you. I would make love perhaps once a week and usually I wouldn't come. Sometimes he would frig me off afterwards; he was very good at it too. But now I find I can masturbate several time in one day and I love it. The more often I come the sexier I feel, it's what drives me. It's the same for most of the Passionella girls. Sometimes, though, I like to go for the quality not the quantity. If I abstain for even a couple of days, I get so aroused that I can hardly think. I love to concentrate on delaying my next release and the feelings just build and build. Finally, when I do come, I experience the most wonderfully intense orgasms and I know it's the anticipation that fuels their power. Basically, I like to tease myself.”

“I've noticed. And you love to tease me, don't you.”

“You're learning. Try it. Remember when we masturbated together in my apartment last Friday? Well, I hadn't come for, let me see, three days. That's a long time for me. I was feeling so horny already and then the show you put on for me drove me out of my mind.”

Kirsten then paused and looked at me intensely with her lovely blue eyes for several seconds before speaking again. “Julie, there's something I'd like to try. It's something I have never done and I don't know if it's possible. If there was ever a chance this could work for anyone, you could make it happen for me. Do you want to try something that would be very special? Very special indeed.”

“Tell me. What is it you want me to do?”

“Julie, do you think it is possible for a woman to come, to reach orgasm, just from the other four senses?”

“You mean, without touching herself? Or anyone else touching her? Anywhere?”

“Yes, just by sight, and sound. And smell of course. Oh, but taste is out too.”

“But Kirsten, of course. It must be possible. I've been very close to coming several times just over the last few days. It's taken all my willpower to suppress my feelings of intense arousal that I have experienced watching you, and Rachel and Stevie. Oh, and when Charlotte gave me my ‘aptitude test' I nearly died from becoming so desperately, well, randy .”

“Julie, it might be more difficult than you think,” warned Kirsten. “I've tried but I've never been able to do it on my own. With someone like you, someone who makes me feel so very horny, I think I could tip myself over the edge. I've tried to make other girls come, whilst they've been watching me, but I can't be sure it's ever worked.”

“Didn't you ask them?”

“I couldn't really. You see, I was working in a lap-dancing club. That's how I joined Passionella, that's how I was recruited.”

I didn't know what to say. Kirsten continued.

“I'd had a few different jobs and wanted a bit of excitement. I'd never dream of working on the street but this was a safe, controlled environment. I can't say I enjoyed it, except occasionally”

“So, I'd dance for the guys, but I grew to hate it. Then some of the guys started to bring girls in to watch. They enjoyed my show too. Then, some women started to come along in all-girl groups and some on their own. One of these was Linda.”

“You met her in a lap-dance club?”

“Amazing isn't it,” Kirsten agreed.

“She's so sophisticated and confident. I assumed she was happily married to some really successful guy with beautiful children and …”

“Far from it. Linda is a deeply sad person. She has a sexual problem and the whole of the Passionella UK set-up is her way of dealing with it. It's all connected with this Look, Don't Touch rule.”

I was captivated. “Please go on,” I encouraged.

“You see, she told me once about an incident she had at school that changed her life. She went to a strict boarding school with loads of rules. One of these was that the girls were not supposed to masturbate and certainly were not allowed to touch each other. Not at all.”

This sounded familiar. Perhaps mine wasn't the only really strict school.

“Then, one evening, when she was 17, Linda was caught in a passionate lesbian encounter with the Head of Sport. They were in a 69 or something. The headmistress gave Linda a sound lashing with a leather strap and then punished her in a much more cruel way”

“Do you know what that was?”

“Oh yes, I think that Charlotte and I are the only ones who know. But I can tell you, it's OK. She was watched by a member of staff every minute of the day, especially in the showers and even when she went to the loo. Then, every night for a whole month, Linda was handcuffed to her bed with her arms at her sides so she couldn't touch herself. The other girls were so cruel, they would taunt and tease her. They called her Lezzie Linda. They played out mock lesbian sex acts, they paraded up and down past her bed in their underwear and they made as much noise as they could when the masturbated in their beds.”

“But that was against Miss Grundleton's rules.”

“But they did it anyway. And apparently some stood at the bottom of Linda's bed and frigged themselves off right in front of her. She must have been so frustrated and humiliated. The end result is that poor Linda has never been able to have an orgasm since. She's learnt to live with a permanent state of sexual arousal with no chance of release.”

“What? For 15 years, maybe more? And you can't last more than 3 days!”

“Amazing isn't it. But, you see, she can't bear to touch herself, it makes her sick. And she can't allow anyone else touch her. It's like aversion therapy.”

“I see it all now. That's why watching and posing, and those wonderfully sexy pictures, are such a part of Passionella UK. I guess she's giving to other women what she can't have herself.”

Then Kirsten confronted me. “So who's Mrs Grundleton?”

“She was the headmistress at Linda's school, you mentioned her name earlier.”

“No I didn't. I didn't even know her name until you mentioned it”

I had to confess. “You've worked it out too, haven't you? I went to the same school as Linda. She' already left before I started but the story was legendary. It had been embellished over the years but was basically as you described. I only realised it was her when you were recounting the story.”

I sighed and thought it all through. “Poor Linda. Is that why she went to the lap-dancing club?”

“Yes, she though maybe she could come like the guys did. But it never happened.”

I then looked deep into Kirsten's blue eyes. “Do you think that if we could succeed, together, if we could make each other come, like you said, with no touching, that one of us would then have the confidence to go and do the same for poor Linda?”

Kirsten smiled. “That would make her so very happy. If anyone can, you can. Linda loves you to bits. She's been searching for years to find someone like you and I found you, in that store. Linda's so pleased. She's pleased with me too and she's promised to reward me.”

I was intrigued. Then Kirsten stood up.

“But not now, look, it's getting late. I must go home so we are fresh for tomorrow. After the show we can look forward to our ‘trial run'. Are you up for it?”

“Yes, oh yes. I'd love to. As soon as possible. But it will take some planning, to make the time really special if it's going to work. Look, what about this Saturday? I'm free all weekend,” I suggested, eagerly.

“Don't forget the show tomorrow. I'll have to come at least once with each of my best clients. And you will have to come for sure otherwise you'll blow your cover. All the clients will, that's what the go there for.”

“Yeah, as I thought. No-one actually calls it a brothel though, do they?”

“Don't ever suggest that again,” warned Kirsten, “and especially not to anyone outside Passionella. We'd be closed down and the parent company would be badly damaged. Remember, they don't know.”

“OK, but I think I can be ready again and simmering nicely by Saturday night. You?”

“I'll be raring to go; I'll be glad of the rest on Friday but by Saturday my pussy will be hot and throbbing for you. You'll see.” The way Kirsten spoke had me squirming on my seat and I realised that I had learnt a lot recently about maintaining a constant state of heightened arousal. ‘This is going to be just terrific', I mused.

Kirsten and I had been sitting around half naked for over an hour and I was getting cold. After Kirsten dressed and left I released my aching body from the confines of my basque and took a long hot bath. I climbed into bed, tired but so excited that I almost needed those handcuffs to stop myself from fingering myself off to sleep.

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

As I strolled around the Oxford Street store looking for a LBD, one of the Passionella Dems walked past on her way to lunch; I was ‘on duty' so I caught Fiona's attention and asked her to help me choose something for the show.

Leading me to an area displaying a designer whose name I did not recognise, she suggested a short black strapless cocktail dress in opaque velvet-like material with wide decorative black satin edging. I was delighted to see it also had slits up either side. One of them continued with a zipper right up the side, making it very easy to put on. And to take off.

Fiona suggested I try it on in the Passionella changing rooms where I undressed quickly (I was getting used to this) and Fiona zipped me up. The dress fitted me really well but Fiona was concerned that it was too short.

“You realise you will show your stocking tops and suspenders when you sit down, especially with those side slits.”

“Sounds good to me” I replied and Fiona shrugged her shoulders, then enquired: “Who is your hostess for tonight, do you have a firm arrangement with someone?”

“Yes, thanks, I'm going with Stevie from Knightsbridge, I guess I'll meet her there.” Fiona looked disappointed, shrugged her shoulders and left without even saying goodbye, only: “That's fine, if you like that sort of thing. I hope you enjoy yourself.” She slammed the changing room door behind her.

I grabbed a light lunch in James St. and headed back to my apt. I hung up my new dress carefully then started to unpack my two boxes from France in which I was pleased to find some favourite pairs of high-heeled boots and shoes.

I wanted to be among the first to arrive so I could observe the unfolding events of this unusual and much-anticipated evening. I called Stevie to tell her to expect me around 6:00 then I dived in the shower. I pampered myself something rotten and came out cleaner than a surgeon's hands before a heart transplant op. Then I tidied up my latest pubic-hair-style with a new shaver I'd bought on a recommendation from a particularly enlightened sales assistant in a beautycare department.

With my hair coaxed into my usual ‘rough-and-ready ringlets' style and my finger and toenails polished and shaped to navy-blue perfection I stood in front of my long mirror, totally naked, and admired what I saw.

My buttocks looked as high, tight and rounded as ever and I loved the look of my pussy, trimmed and shaved into a perfect vee-shape. My waist was not quite as narrow as I would have liked it to be and my tummy was slightly rounded – I needed to start going to the gym again and to be even more careful about my diet – but some women like a more rounded shape. Moving further up, my boobs looked terrific as they swelled proudly towards their reflections. I leant forward so they touched the mirror. The shock of the cold glass made me wince a little but my mind was soon occupied by different feelings as my nipples immediately reacted to the cold and stiffened, pulling the dark skin of my areolae into smaller puckered circles and increasing their sensitivity by a factor of ten.

I had to consciously tear myself away from my own reflected image or I would have been late for the show. Self-denial and heightened erotic state were becoming a part of my everyday life. Like Kirsten, I was finding that frequent sexual stimulation and fulfilment just made me want to pleasure and reward my body even more often.

I took my navy-blue basque from its drawer and, wrapping it around my body, I enfolded my breasts in its delicate but firmly-controlling cups. I attached each of the hooks with care so as not to damage my nails and then slipped on my briefs. Pulling my matching navy stockings on one at a time, I secured their lace tops to the long satin suspender ribbons with their trade-mark ‘Lips' motifs over their clips then looked at myself again in the mirror.

I let out a long, satisfied sigh - I looked so very, very sexy. Sophisticated but provocative, both hidden and revealed. A game of hide and seek.

My face carried an expression of pleasure mixed with anticipation. From there, my neck led my eyes down to my upper body where twin boobs rose majestically above the top of the basque in shining splendour. They were lifted upwards and slightly together, the view unobscured by any shoulder straps, Kirsten having removed them the evening before.

Onwards my eyes tracked down over the decorated satin, fine neat stitching and partially-revealing lace panels. Emerging from below the slightly-flared bottom edge, my torso was only visible for about 2 inches before it disappeared again inside the only-symbolic protection of my satin briefs. Then my smooth-shaven legs appeared, only to quickly disappear again into luxurious lace-topped sheer nylon.

I told myself that a million or more men would have given up all they had to see me standing there like that. But I wasn't interested in having any man look at my body, or want to hold it, take it, touch it and defile it. Tonight my body was reserved for a small select group of passionate, compassionate women.

Refocusing on the task, I wound my new dress around me and engaged the zip. I wriggled to get comfortable and it fitted perfectly. My boobs peeped provocatively over the top; twin soft and only very slightly mobile mounds of welcoming flesh. Then I stood sideways to the mirror and smiled. Just as I had hoped. If I stood upright with my legs straight and my arse-cheeks clenched, the side slits of the dress remained closed and became almost invisible. But when I walked, even taking short steps, they opened enough to show lace stocking-tops.

I pulled a chair up to the mirror for the ultimate test. Yes, when I sat down, the dress rode up to reveal stocking-top, suspenders and pale tender flesh. Perfect.

I heard a car horn outside and grabbed a wrap before taking one last glance at myself in the mirror and dashing for the taxi.

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

I arrived outside the smoked-glass fronted building at two minutes after six where my senses were greeted by a riot of light and colour, of atmospheric music and the smell of exotic food and welcoming drinks. Linda greeted me by name: “Hello, Julia,” emphasising the more formal ‘client' version of my name, just to remind me of my role tonight, “so pleased to see you here this evening. Welcome. Come over and meet some people you know. You are the first customer to arrive; I'll introduce you to some other clients later.”

The ‘people I know' were all looking devastatingly gorgeous in their matching burgundy catsuits. Kirsten was first to greet me with a very continental air-kiss over each shoulder. She had her catsuit buttoned up to the neck and it followed the line of the body I had got to know rather well, matching its shape curve for curve until it finally widened from the knees into a fashionable flare. The garment was smooth tight but gave away no secrets about what lay underneath. No visible-panty-line and no bra-strap shadows, leading the viewer to surmise that there was nothing to keep the burgundy fabric from touching Kirsten's Irish-white skin. She passed me a plate of canapés and a warm compliment before excusing herself.

Next to greet me was Rachel, as fizzy and exciting as the champagne she offered to me. Her hair was beautifully slinky and hung down her back, tied tightly at equally-spaced intervals with burgundy silk ribbons before ending, squarely-cut and severe in the small of her back. Characteristically, Rachel had the first five of her buttons undone, showing just a hint of firm cleavage but again no evidence of and underclothes. “Hi, great to see you. This is your first Passionella launch show isn't it?” She too was careful to treat me as a client not a colleague, especially as a couple more guests were arriving now.

I managed to speak briefly to Emma, who was looking ravishing in her snug suit that emphasised her curvaceous body. She too had dared to leave a few buttons undone and I contrived unsuccessfully to get her to lean forward. “I'm worried about Fiona,” I whispered, “She's acting cattily towards Stevie. Do you know why?”

“Yes. Apparently she's lost two of her best clients to the Knightsbridge store and believes they have deserted her for a ‘brazen young American tart', as she put it. Actually, I believe that Fiona needs to work harder on her store displays and stock levels and stop taking it personally. Thanks for letting me know. If her wayward clients are here this evening I'll point them out. I'd like you to try to defuse any rivalry that may surface between Fiona and Stevie; you are impartial. Thanks.” I nodded and smiled and make some small talk.

Some more clients were arriving now and stopped for a drink and snack whilst I saw Kirsten leading another to a Private Room to freshen up. I was pleased to see some other faces across the room that I recognised including the exquisitely slim Vikki from Manchester and curvy Maria from the Edinburgh store. I also caught sight of one particular body I thought I recognised. It was the Dem from Sheffield who I did not get to meet because she was serving, but now she was only busying herself arranging coffee cups. I walked over to her, drawn to her figure like opposite poles of powerful magnets. Her long wavy blonde hair fell over her shoulders as she bent forward but she stood up as I approached her. “Hi, I've not been to one of these evenings before but I think I recognise you from somewhere. Do you work for Passionella?”

She smiled warmly and I desperately tried to keep eye contact as I sought to find any reason at all to look down at her breasts. She introduced herself as Abigail and she asked if I'd visited the Sheffield store. We chatted animatedly about how Sheffield had been regenerated since the decline of the steel industry. I drained my champagne glass and looked down at its empty state.

Her catsuit was far from empty and her magnificently large rounded breasts pressed proudly against the yielding stretch fabric. The positions of her nipples were clearly visible as they poked small peaks in the fabric and cast dark shadows. I just had to get her into a locked Private Room this evening, and I started to formulate a plan.

“Do you get down here very often? It must be difficult to get away from the store.” She agreed; she had only been twice this year. Continuing, I remarked, “They tell me the changing rooms here are much larger than the ones in the stores. Is that true?” Abigail bit. “Yes, there are eight in all. Some are larger than others and are better equipped. Once the main show is over I can show you some of them if you like?”

“Yes, thanks, that would be nice.” I couldn't wait.

“Julia, Hi.” Stevie had arrived at my side.

“I'm really sorry I couldn't meet you at the door. Excuse me, Abigail.” Abigail bowed out gracefully and chatted to some new arrivals she seemed to know well. The foyer was filling up fast and the atmosphere was filled with polite, enthusiastic conversation, expensive perfume and a buzz of electric anticipation. All around me were glamorous, attractive women covering a surprisingly wide age-group, overflowing with exuberance and sophistication.

Stevie passed me more food and filled my glass. “Did you get up to Edinburgh yet, to collect your black spider's-web set I reserved?” I told her I had but that I hadn't got around to trying it on.

Looking briefly over my shoulder, she put her arm around my waist and turned me to meet two other clients who had just arrived. “Julia, I'd like you to meet two of my other customers, Zoë and Yasmin. They are committed Passionella aficionados.” We made our introductions and it turned out that Zoë used to live in Paris and Yasmin is in recruitment – we got on really well. I guessed that these two tall young ladies were the cause of Fiona's disquiet. Seizing the opportunity, I changed the subject to ‘my favourite London store' and it turned out that Zoë's flatmate had recently started working as an assistant manageress in the Knightsbridge store where Stevie was working in the Passionella outlet. Zoë explained, “I used to shop in the Oxford Street store, I like their displays and the Dem there, Fiona is her name, is so polite and helpful. I feel bad about abandoning her but I like to meet my flatmate for lunch when I shop so I go to the Knightsbridge store now.”

I suggested to Zoë that she mention this to Fiona, just in case she had some special items put on one side for her. Without waiting for Zoë's agreement, I called Fiona over. “Fiona, Zoë was just telling me how much she likes your store displays and was wondering …” Zoë took up the lead instantly and soon I left the group of four talking and smiling.

Linda turned down the music and made an announcement.

‘Ladies, please make your way through to the showroom where we will soon be unveiling another exciting new range of Passionella underwear that is not yet in the shops. It is stunningly beautiful and highly sensual, as you have come to expect from Passionella. It will drive you and your partners wild with its subtly provocative styling, fabrics, colours and fit. I can assure you, the lingerie you are about to see modelled entirely and exclusively by Passionella employees feels as good to wear as it looks. I know, I have tried most of the items myself and all of your Passionella hostesses this evening are also wearing products from the new range under their uniforms. If you wish to stay after the show we have arranged some private viewings in our changing rooms where you can try and buy today. Alternatively, the new styles will be in the shops from Saturday where you can try them for size. Now, please, take your seats where all will be revealed.'

I didn't know how seriously to take that last remark.

Stevie took me by the arm and led me downstairs where we at a small table and were joined by another of Stevie's best clients. I looked around to see if all the Dems that I would recognise were there but a few were missing. Linda dimmed the room lights and turned up the music.

For the next 20 minutes we were all captivated by a highly professional display of the new alluring, sensual Passionella bodystockings. The range included long-sleeved, short sleeved, sleeveless and strapless styles. Some styles had high necks and others had deep plunging vee necklines. Several styles had very high-cut legs and a few were what I learned to call thong-back, which concealed nothing of the models' buttocks as narrow webs of lycra-mix fabric disappeared into their bum-cracks. One style I loved was almost non-existent – being sleeveless, deep-plunge-fronted, backless and thong-back all at once. It wasn't not much more than a few narrow strips of fabric and it was modelled by Rachel of all people. Her firm boobs were clearly visible both sides of the narrow front pieces which barely covered just her nipples and their shape remained virtually unchanged as she twisted, turned and leaned from side to side. I could see more of the lovely Rachel's naked skin than I had seen before, even in private, and it was gorgeous. No wonder she was so successful working at the photographer's studio. And she moved so provocatively too.

My mentor took the stage next and was altogether more modestly dressed in a high-necked bodystocking in opaque scarlet with long sleeves but with high-cut legs. She walked and stopped, then she crawled on all fours just as she did for me . She rolled over on the raised catwalk and purred – the audience loved it. I could clearly make out the shape of her smallish breasts through the fabric and everyone I am sure had noticed her swollen nipples.

Stevie asked to be excused but I hardly noticed her leave my side as at that moment the diminutive Vikki exploded onto the catwalk. Her exuberant and over-zealous personality may have been excessive in the Manchester store where she worked but was altogether much more fun here. She was wearing a pure white long-sleeved bodystocking identical to the one that Rachel demonstrated for me. But it looked totally different on her tiny form; it clung to her beautifully and her small boobs made captivating peaks if the lycra-assisted ultra-fine lace. Her pert nipples pointed upwards, straining at the fabric and drawing attention to themselves, also causing my pussy to draw attention to itself by sending signals of appreciation to my brain.

Vikki showed it off to perfection with a highly energetic show verging on the acrobatic. She stood very close to my table and lifted her left leg high in a move of which any ballerina would be proud. But her display was altogether much more erotic and as she held her pose I could clearly see the three buttons that secured the delicate material between her legs, hiding her most precious petals from view. I'd have loved to search for her fourth button. To enthusiastic applause, she darted off the catwalk.

We were then treated to a very entertaining show as four more models walked on stage in perfect step. Two I didn't recognise but the other two were familiar; Abigail and Helen from the Sheffield store. All four were still wearing their Passionella catsuits but soon they started to unbutton them in perfect time to the music. As they reached their last buttons, they helped each other in pairs to remove their suits to reveal four more lovely and flattering stretch bodystockings in a variety of styles and colours, to rapturous applause.

A subtle reduction in the tempo of the music accompanied a change to a more moody lighting scheme as the much taller silhouette of my hostess for this evening appeared at the back of the catwalk. Stevie walked very slowly and deliberately into view and my fellow clients in the audience fell silent. She had her hands clasped in front of her and she put one foot exactly in front of the other, step by step until she stood directly in the beam of a powerful spotlight, centre-stage. The audience gasped quietly and the hush was replaced by a murmur of appreciation that ran through the room.

Stevie was wearing an altogether much more erotic outfit made entirely from fine black see-through mesh. It had long sleeves and covered her completely from her shoulders right down her well-developed body, down her long legs and covering her feet. Her hands were bare and so was her face but not much else except for a narrow plunging vee between her boobs.

But, to my delight and seemingly most of the audience too, Stevie's enormous dark areolae were clearly visible through the sheer mesh of her bodystocking. A big cheer rose from the floor and Stevie lapped it up as she strutted up and down the catwalk deliberately thrusting forward her rounded 34D breasts, straining at the sheer material.

But there was more to come! Stevie moved back to the brightly-lit area on the raised dais and stood for a moment with her hands still over her crotch. She slowly moved her feet wider and wider apart, making eye contact with each client in turn and finally fixing her gaze on mine. Then she slid her hands gradually up onto her hips, half-closed her eyes and pouted at me. The room exploded in a cheer of approval as we all realised that the bodystocking had a neatly-edged opening cut out between the legs, about 2 inches wide and 4 inches long. Stevie's pussy was exposed for us all to enjoy, and it was completely shaved.

I hadn't noticed that she had smooth pubes when she modelled for me in the changing rooms. Maybe she'd shaved especially for this show? Whatever, the contrast of the black mesh and her pale, pale pussy-mound was striking. Stevie was so bold and confident and she walked around the three sides on the raised catwalk so we could all clearly see the piece de resistance feature of this latest Passionella product. I'm sure her pussy lips were slightly parted and the bright lights caught a glint of moisture on their edges. Stevie was enjoying the show as much as we were.

The finale of the show saw Stevie joined on stage by Rachel, Kirsten and Vikki in variations of the black-mesh theme. Rachel's was similar to Stevie's except it had a higher neckline but she was more modest and wore skimpy panties under hers to hide her pussy. Kirsten and Vikki were wearing variations on a high-leg leotard style made from more heavily patterned mesh, hiding their pubes and nipples but creating a more mysterious and tantalising image.

The volume of the music dropped to be replaced by appreciative applause and Linda took the stage. She thanked the girls for the show and agreed to calls for an encore, inviting them on stage again in their costumes to take a bow. Linda suggested that Stevie should bow carefully to ‘avoid any accidents'.

“You are now all welcome to stay on if you wish although I realise some of you need to get away. You may try on any of the products you have seen this evening or we will be pleased to meet you in our stores. If you must leave, please take a small evaluation form that you can fill in at your convenience, giving your opinion on this evening's show.”

“Those who can stay can enjoy some more food and drinks. Our Sales Demonstrators who modelled our new clothes so well this evening (more applause) will be here to give you a more private and personal insight into the new range of Passionella bodystockings. Thank you all for coming.”

After the show I chatted politely to some of the other guests, several of whom soon made their apologies and left. Charlotte was by the door to give out small ‘goodie-bags' that contained the survey form, a thank-you note personally signed by Linda, a small bottle of perfume, a skimpy diamante-decorated G-string and some luxury chocolates carrying the Pouting Lips logo. She also swiped each lady's Passionella card. I wondered what this evening cost them.

I had just reached for a glass of champagne and started to talk with an older but very elegant lady when a hand grasped me by my left arm. It's Fiona. “Hello. Ladies. Did you enjoy the show?”

The elegant lady said she'd enjoyed it immensely and would definitely be buying one of the more modest designs. She said she wouldn't be trying on anything tonight but would make an appointment with her usual Dem at her favourite store, which seems to be Regent Street. Fiona apologised “There's no-one from the Regent St store here this evening but I will make sure you are invited along for a personal viewing.” Elegant Lady departed, leaving Fiona and I together.

“Julia,” she commenced, “I owe you an apology too. I was a little rude to you when we met in the store this morning. I was having a bad day and had a lot to do before the show. I was actually on my break when you caught me.”

“Fiona, thanks. I had forgotten all about it” I replied.

“Oh, by the way, the dress looks wonderful on you this evening. Your judgement was impeccable.”

Fiona then dropped her voice. “Julia, I'd like to try to make amends, in another way.”

”What exactly do you have in mind?” I enquired.

“I'd like you to join me in one of the Private Rooms where I can show you the new bodystocking range and we can spend some more time together. I have the Silver room booked; it's very luxurious and well equipped. What do you say?”

“Fiona, that's very kind. I'd love to.”

Smiling, she took two more full glass of champagne and led the way. We passed Stevie disappearing into Gold with Yasmin on one arm and Zoë on the other

“You haven't been here before have you,” Fiona asked. Not wanting to lie, I replied, “You're right, I have never been to a show at Passionella before. “Then you will not have been in the private rooms.” I avoided the point. “There are four similar smaller rooms but Silver is one of the premium rooms.” She opened the door and waved me in. It is a very special room and is decorated entirely in white. All of the many high-quality fittings & fixtures are finished in bright polished chrome.

”Wow!” I exclaim, “Can you turn down the lights at bit?” Fiona obliged and closed the door, locking it behind her.

Fiona was wearing her corporate catsuit and sat on a long, low sofa. She patted the seat next to her and I sat slightly sideways with my knees firmly together. Fiona fiddled with her glass and seemed awkward.

To break the ice I remarked: “You were right about this dress. Look how it has ridden up.” Fiona looked down at the wide gash up the side of my thigh.

“You mean, when I said it is a little short?”

“Yes, just as you predicted, you can see my stocking tops when I sit down. Like this.” I wriggled back into the seat, feeling more at ease, “and a glimpse of bare flesh too, if I'm not careful. See?”

“Julia,” Fiona hesitated a fraction. “But you don't want to be careful, do you? You are not a careful person, are you.”

Leading her on, I remarked: “I like to take a few risks, if that's what you mean.”

“Yes, and you know you have a very attractive body so you can afford to. I can see you like to show it off.” How right she is, I thought to myself, convinced that Fiona was trying to charm me into an old-fashioned seduction.

“But Fiona, you have a lovely figure too, from what I can tell.”

“It's not quite what it was, Julia. I'm 38 now and it has seen better days. I realise I can't compete with the younger girls that Linda employs. You see, … ”

I interrupted and I wanted to encourage her. “But Fiona, not everyone likes these youngsters. Surely, some of Passionella's most wealthy clients are older ladies who have made their money and can afford beautiful lingerie to keep up their self-esteem and to bring a new spark into their relationships. Right?”

“Julia, you are very perceptive. But I like to think I have something extra to offer, something to offer someone like you.”

“You mean, maturity.”

“More than that, much more.” she purred with a new-found confidence and excited tone I hadn't heard in her voice before. I was just wondering what she had in mind when she stood up and walked to the chrome music system set into the white wall. She selected ‘Heard it through the Grapevine' and looked directly at me.

“Julia, I'd like to present the new Passionella bodystocking range.” And she started to dance.

Silver is a large room and Fiona made good use of the space. She danced sensually to the slow rhythm of Marvin Gaye and soon started to unbutton her catsuit. Expertly she loosened each fastening but kept me guessing as to what lay underneath. When all the buttons were free, she shrugged the suit from her shoulders and wriggled out of it. For a few seconds she stood motionless in front of me. I was speechless.

Fiona was wearing a very, very skimpy and revealing bodystocking. It had very high-cut legs so the sides only reached down only to her waist making her legs look longer and leaner, and a long narrowing web of blue-grey nylon that disappeared between her legs. The top was cut square across her upper body, just above her breasts, held up by two narrow shoulder strops that cut slightly into her soft flesh. The suit itself was made from a very open weave mesh so I could clearly see her nipples through the blue-grey mesh, as well as a large bush of pubic hair that seems to match her Scottish redhead locks.

“My, Fiona. that's lovely,” I remarked encouragingly, “I didn't see that design on stage. Turn around so I can see the back.”

Fiona turned slowly, looking at me teasingly over one shoulder all the time, so I could then see that the suit was cut very narrow at the back, outlining her prominent rounded buttocks.

“I'm glad you like it. Would you like to try on a similar design?

I nodded agreement.

“You'll need to undress so I can judge the style that will suit you best.”

I needed no further encouragement. Fiona slowly and seductively unzipped the side of my little black dress whilst keeping unblinking eye-contact then feasted her eyes on my underwear.

“Julia, you made a very good choice; that basque is perfect to wear under the dress we chose this morning,” she remarked, still in Dem mode.

To add to the effect, I tantalizingly adjusted my suspenders, putting one foot up on the sofa then the other, then I smoothed the basque down over my body.

“Better?”

Fiona was mesmerised by the time Marvin had finished singing. “Can I choose next?” I asked. Fiona nodded and I selected Lady Marmalade (the original Patti LaBelle version, of course). I started to move to the powerful beat but Fiona put her hands on my shoulders to indicate that I should sit down. “No, this is my show tonight.”

She walked to the other end of the room, to two chrome-plated poles I had not noticed before, each about 3 inches in diameter and set about 3 feet apart. To my amazement and intense enjoyment, Fiona then proceeded to put on a pole-dance show the like of which you couldn't pay good money to see in any London club. Fiona had something to prove – that her age was not a barrier, that maturity and experience still count for something, and that she could out-perform the younger girls.

I became really turned on as she twisted and slid down one of the poles. She wrapped her supple breasts around it and she rubbed her groin up and down its smooth shiny surface. I had to shift my bum on the sofa as I was getting really hot for her and I found myself caressing my breasts where they rose naked above my basque. Taking this as encouragement and appreciation, Fiona upped the stakes and sat on the floor. She placed her hands behind her at the foot of the two poles placed her own feet flat on the floor, wide apart, with her knees bent and gave me the most wonderful view of her sheer-clad pussy. She was panting by now as she rocked her hips to the beat.

“Julia, it's your night tonight if you want to have fun. To … enjoy yourself. Go ahead, it's OK.” She must have realised that I'd already begun to stroke my pussy through the thin fabric of my navy panties, but I had another plan.

“Fiona, I want to see you naked. I'd like to help you out of that bodystocking; it's so tight between your legs it must be really uncomfortable. I'll undo the four buttons for you.”

Fiona didn't say no and I guessed she probably knew what was coming. She lifted her bum off the floor and started to shake, partly from the strain of holding her pussy high in the air and partly no doubt from the anticipation.

“One … Two,” we chanted together. Did she know this routine?

“Three,” Fiona exclaimed. Yep, she knew.

“Four” I whispered, as I flicked her clit through the sheer material.

Fiona collapsed on the floor, spread-eagled on her back, moaning and smiling a contorted expression of deep emotion. She clutched the poles above her head and spread her legs even wider apart so I could flick my fingers across her aching but covered clitoris again, and again, and again, causing her to buck and writhe in pleasure and desperation.

“Fiona,” I said, deciding to cut the crap and go for the kill “this one is on me, for all you have done for me.

Fiona protested weakly. “No, you can't, no, the rules ... I have to ... you must … first you … ohhh, please, please, no. Oh yes, please, yes …”

I rubbed her clit in small circles oh-so-very-lightly through the thin mesh of the suit pulled tight between her legs. She cried out again and stretched her arms higher, pushing against the poles and forcing her lower body harder onto my probing finger.

Teasing her rotten, I moved it away.

She wriggled her buttocks towards me as I knelt between her legs and she stretched her legs even longer and wider apart, trying to make clit-on-finger contact again. The combined effect was to pull the suit harder up into the gash of her cunt which gaped wide open so her pussy lips swelled out on either side. The narrow strip of blue-grey nylon and lycra contrasted with her fiery-red pubic hair as it pulled tight over her mound and all but disappeared inside her as her labia enfolded themselves around it.

The sensation against her clit must have been excruciating. I was feeling her pleasure in own pussy but I ignored my own state of arousal; this moment belonged to Fiona. She needed this so badly to boost her self-esteem.

She rocked her hips back and forth and screamed as the stretch-nylon mesh rasped back and forth over her clit. “Oh Julia, please, please. Touch me. Help me. I can't … oh, I need to … I need to come but I can't. I mustn't. Oh shit … help me …”

“Of course I'll help you,” I said, slowly, just to delay the moment a little longer. I was sure that she could come just like this, by rocking and grinding her hips and frigging her clit up and down the tight crotch of her new-product-launch bodystocking. But her face was contorted into a pleasure/pain expression and her knuckles had turned white where she was gripping the poles.

I scraped a long, professionally-manicured fingernail along the web of nylon that had puckered to less than half an inch wide, intensifying the pressure on her clit and her arse-hole. Within moments of my fingertip making contact, Fiona screamed and shouted, bucked her hips and dragged her cunt up and down along the length of my finger before exploding into convulsions as an intense and noisy orgasm ripped through her.

(I was very close to orgasm myself, but I breathed deeply and successfully suppressed the feelings).

After a lying almost motionless on her back for several minutes in blissful calm, and having recovered physically if not mentally, Fiona stood up and rearranged her bodystocking. Her face carried a broad satisfied smile and a ruddy glow to match her dishevelled red hair matted across her face, telling me that she had just experienced something wonderful at my hand.

“Shit, Julia, where did you learn to do that,” demanded Fiona, echoing a newfound confidence.

Honestly, I told her: “From a friend of mine. I can't possibly say who, in case you ever encounter her in the course of your work.”

“Julia,” she continued, “are you sure you don't want to masturbate yourself? You know there's a limit to what I can do to help. I'm sure you've had the Passionella rules explained to you.”

I assured her I had but that I was fine and that I'd enjoyed her orgasm as if it was my own. In reality, I was still feeling incredibly horny and was having trouble thinking straight, but my evening was not over yet.

“Would you like to take a shower then?” she suggested, “there's one in here.”

Behind one of two doors at the far end of the room, Fiona showed me a white-and-chrome en-suite bathroom that would do justice to any luxury home. “Come on, join me. It will be fun,” and without waiting for my approval, Fiona released me by expertly removing my stockings and helping me out of my basque.

“I, erm … I need help with my buttons,” she explained. “Could you? Just the three this time please!”

Fiona leaned against one of the poles for support and spread her legs. I knelt down and met the heady aphrodisiac scent of her vagina that told it's own story. I carefully slipped the three buttons from their loops and Fiona finally pulled the bodystocking over her head. I stood and admired her full, ripe, rounded but still attractive 38-year old body.

I slipped off my damp briefs and dived under one of the twin sprays as Fiona soaped herself under the other. She lingered much longer than necessary on her pendulous breasts, ensuring that she had the cleanest nipples in London. I enjoyed watching her bathe as she sensuously massaged the lather over her skin; it reminded me of showering after sports at school.

We dried off (pure white towels, of course) and talked.

“Julia, you have made me very happy this evening. You see …” she hesitated, “I've been going through a bad patch recently. I'm not in a relationship at the moment, the last one went sour 3 months ago and, to be honest, … that was the first orgasm I have had since then.”

Fiona saw the look of shock on my face. “Really, it's not been that bad. But I've been getting very frustrated and it's been affecting my work. After this evening I shall look forward to meeting clients again. Thanks, Julia.”

Wow. We chatted some more, during which Fiona explained that she never masturbates, then dressed.

But I had a problem. “Fiona, I can't possible wear these navy panties again. I've stained them. Look.”

Fiona offered two suggestions. “I can find some from stock, I've loads to choose from in here.” She opened a drawer full of Passionella products. “Or, since you like to take a risk, don't wear any!”

As I was planning to rejoin the launch party in the reception area, the second idea sounded like fun. Fiona held up my basque so I could slip into it and smiled as I pushed my boobs out. Lovingly she refastened the hooks tightly down the front and helped me with my stockings and suspenders. Finally I encased myself in my little black dress and Fiona zipped me up. I felt fresh, clean, and randier than ever.

“Julia,” F observed, “you look good as new. I'd love to kiss you, but it's not allowed.” Instead she blew me a trademark pout.

Returning to the reception area, I found the party still in full swing. Virtually everyone was there. Emma, Linda, Charlotte and Rachel were all talking and laughing with clients. Of the senior staff, I couldn't see Kirsten but some of the other store Personal Shoppers were gathered in a small group, talking seriously. Of the Dems, Maria and Helen were at the centre of a lively group of clients. Vikki was talking with Abigail, who still had her blonde hair fixed up in a pair of schoolgirl pigtails from the catwalk show. She had most of the buttons of her catsuit undone so her ample breasts looked like they could easily escape from her purple bodystocking. In a corner, Yasmin and Zoë were wrapped in a passionate embrace together and snogging.

I was just about to interrupt Vikki when two strong arms gripped my waist from behind. I spun around to see the statuesque Stevie, perched on her ultra-high heels and looking down on me.

“Oh, Hi. I didn't see you earlier,” I lied. “I loved your performance on the catwalk.” I had forgotten how captivating I find Stevie to be. Now, memories of our session in the changing rooms the previous week came flooding back, how she had modelled that black strappy set for me, and I began to wonder if wearing no panties had been a good idea as warm juices flooded into my pussy. I feared the embarrassment of feeling a trickle of my own lube running down my inner thigh in front of all these people. But the more I embarrassed I felt, the wetter I became – it seemed I was enjoying the humiliation.

“Have you got a few minutes spare?” Stevie asked, “As this is your first time her I thought you might like to see the Private Rooms. Have you been in any?”

“Yes, thanks, just Silver, with, oh, what's her name? We just looked through some of the new bodystocking line, that's all.”

“Silver is one of my favourites but you must see the others. Come on.” I felt a hidden agenda coming on and I was loving it; Stevie was stimulating more than just my imagination. I was sure the ‘Polite & Formal Miss Passionella Dem' was just an act for the benefit of her colleagues and the other clients.

She passed Blue, Yellow and Green, which are all “Unavailable”, and opened the door to Red. “Like it?” she asked.

The room is a riot of bright reds and maroons, very 1960's pop-art style. “It's great, I love the rich warm colours. Red is such a, erm ..., stimulating colour isn't it.” I remarked. From memory, Red seemed to be furnished to a similar level of fittings and furnishings as Yellow where I met Rachel, but in a very different style. I was about to step further inside when Stevie took my arm. “Then you'll love this,” and led me to Gold.

She ushered me in and closed, and locked, the door.

My jaw dropped. If a middle-eastern prince with good taste and no budget limitations were to design a dressing room for his wife, this would be it. Everywhere was lavishly decorated in opulent shades of orange, with gilded and gold-plated fittings. The furniture was sumptuous and plentiful, consisting of three small sofas, a circular gilded coffee table, two upholstered chairs, two more chairs with padded seats and arms and a low upholstered chaise-longe. Against the back wall were two low padded stools and between them a rather complex-looking recliner chair, for want of a better description. All the available wall space was covered with mirrors; there were also two large mirrors on the ceiling and one small one set into the floor, surrounded by upward-pointing recessed lights. Towards one end were two doors and a pair of poles just like in Silver, except of course they were gold-plated.

“Stevie,” I exclaimed, “this is so dazzling, so, well, sexy.”

“Julia, that's why I brought you in here. Because that's exactly what you are. Dazzling, and sexy. And don't forget, we have some unfinished business. Julia, I've been aching to get you on your own ever since last week. I had such a good time modelling for you, and I'd like to take things a bit further, if you'd like to of course.”

I had become captivated by Stevie's personality once I'd got to know her a little, as well as by her body. Now I was alone with her in a locked room that screamed ‘fuck me' from every corner and my pussy was still alert after my time with Fiona. The fresh air circulating around its nakedness was doing nothing to cool my heightened state of arousal and Stevie was now reclining on one of the sofas, wearing her corporate catsuit unbuttoned to her waist. I could see she was still wearing the all-in-one bodystocking from the show and the shape of her full cleavage directed my eyes down her body.

“OK, you sexy little voyeur, so you can see what I'm wearing under my catsuit” Stevie observed, noticing my eye movements, then continued: “You saw everything I have to give, up on the catwalk, and now it's my turn. I want to know what you are wearing under that fantastic dress, Miss Julia my favourite client. Please?”

She was in for a surprise! I decided to milk the electric atmosphere all I could, so I sauntered over to the sofa opposite. I sat down very demurely with my knees together and my feet a little apart facing forward. I looked her in the eye and said nothing as I slowly leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees with my chin resting between my palms. Stevie's eyes darted momentarily to by boobs and back, several times.

Still holding her gaze, I swivelled by bottom on the sofa so my legs were side-on to her. I flicked my eyes down to where the side split in my dress was by now revealing a lacy stocking-top, then back to meet Stevie's gaze. On cue, Stevie glanced down for a moment to see my nylon-sheathed thigh, then smiled at me again.

I was breathing faster now and the excitement of this game of seduction was not lost on my pussy, which pulsed little messages up to my brain. My eyes must have been sending strong signals to Stevie. Slowly, ever so slowly, I shifted forward onto the front edge of the sofa, deliberately causing my dress to ride up and to expose a large area of the pale smooth flesh that existed above my lace-tops. My bum-cheeks were now bare and the side-split in my dress was now open right up to my waist and, had I been wearing even vaguely sensible panties, they would by now have been clearly visible. But I wasn't. I wasn't wearing any panties at all.

My eye-movements gave Stevie permission to glance down, which she did. She took longer than before to meet my gaze again and when she did she wore an excited, disbelieving, quizzical expression that asked ‘are you or aren't you?' But we did not speak.

Not content to simply demonstrate the captivatingly revealing splits in my dress, and the fact that I was naked beneath it, I became overwhelmed with a powerful desire to expose my pussy to Stevie. Totally, completely, openly. I felt so powerful and so uncontrollably excited by the idea. So I sat up straight with my hands on my hips and I slowly spread my legs. I spread them wider and wider apart and as planned my thighs opened the side-splits in my dress and pushed the hem higher still. Engaging Stevie's stare, I wriggled forward onto the very front edge of the sofa.

Stevie hadn't blinked for about two minutes and I made her wait just a little longer before I allowed her to glance down to confirm what she has already guessed. I nodded imperceptibly and she looked down between my legs.

The pale flesh of my inner thighs above the tops of my stockings led her eyes like a funnel to my naked and neatly-trimmed pussy-mound. She didn't look back up at me this time though, naughty girl. Instead she stayed captivated as, keeping my feet flat on the floor, I gently leaned back against the sofa cushions.

For my finale, I lifted my feet off the floor, hooked my hands behind my knees and pulled them as wide apart as they would go. I felt and heard the sticky moistness of my lubricant as my vulva spread open for Stevie to see every detail of my most precious possession. I felt fantastic and couldn't stop myself from shaking with excitement.

Stevie broke the erotically-charged silence. “Oh my.”

She paused.

“Oh shit.”

She shook her head slowly from side to side. “Oh, that's just brilliant,” and let out a long sigh.

“Julia,” she continued with a modicum of composure, “you fucking sexy teasing bitch. What are you trying to do to me? And what are you doing walking about at a Passionella party with no knickers on? We're supposed to sell lingerie and you prefer to wear nothing. What exactly are you wearing under that ‘tart's pulling dress'? Stand up so I can rip it off you, lady-killer.”

Me, I was just wallowing so deeply in the self-indulgent thrill of it all. I couldn't have got a better reaction from my American friend; I'd found a way to transform her hard, muscular body into a state of quivering subordination.

“Stevie, remember you said we have unfinished business?” I asked, provocatively.

“Yes, and we're sure as hell going to finish it here, right now,” Stevie replied, taking me by the hands and pulling me to my feet. She lifted my arms above my head roughly and reached for the side zip of my dress. Pulling it from bottom to top in one adroit movement, she all but tore the dress from me and I felt a thrilling rush of energy sear through me.

“Happy?” I asked, with hint of irony, as I stood before her in the navy basque I had grown to adore over the previous few days. I placed my feet a little apart and planted my hands on my bare hips. Below them there was nothing except suspender ribbons with their Lips clips, attached to matching stockings with deep lacy tops, and what nature had given me. No more and, since Monday, actually a little less, and my inner pussy lips were now peeping out to join in the excitement.

“Ecstatic. You look pretty as a picture, and you know what type of pictures I mean.”

I smiled and nodded as Stevie elaborated.

“Passionella has an arrangement with the photographer who takes our publicity shots. Clients can get a day's studio time complete with a stylist/dresser and access to a complete wardrobe of clothes, lingerie and accessories. You keep and pay for what you wear in the final shots, no other charges. As you'd expect, the clothes aren't cheap.”

“Just like buying them in the stores, with ‘free modelling time' included?”

“That's right.” Stevie confirmed. I said that I'd like to try it and promised to book a date before I left. Then I took charge again.

“Stevie, are you still wearing the bodystocking you modelled on stage?” She nodded.

“I'd like a closer look, please. Anyway, I'm feeling disadvantaged standing here almost naked.

“Help yourself, Julia,” offered Stevie, as she stood closer so I could reach her buttons. I undid the fastenings of her catsuit right down to her crotch and Stevie thrust back her shoulders to slip her arms out of the sleeves. Sitting low on her narrow ribcage, her D-cup breasts pushed against the bodystocking, once more allowing two large round shapes of her dark areolae to be seen through the fine nylon mesh.

I knelt in front of Stevie and pulled the catsuit down over her hips. She lifted one foot at a time and I eased the tight legs over her glossy-black spike-heeled shoes which she kept on. I was now kneeling with my eyes exactly level with the tops of her legs, which were of course still sheathed in fine black see-through mesh. And with her pussy, which wasn't. The edges of the small opening in her bodystocking had worked into the small creases where her outer labia meet the tops of her inner thighs so that her entire pussy was now visible.

“Stevie, was it your idea to parade your bare, shaven puss in front of us this evening?”

“Yes and no,” hesitated Stevie. “Charlotte – she's our marketing Manager - needed a volunteer for the ‘open' garments. Rachel our receptionist would only wear one if she could wear a thong underneath. I'm known as the one who's up for anything so I said I'd go naked. But it was a last-minute decision to shave my pubes. Even Emma, our personnel lady didn't know – apparently she's livid. See, I only shaved myself this afternoon. I've been ‘smooth' before but I'd let them grow back recently so it was a big surprise for everyone. Did you like it? Being so exposed in front of my customers made me feel really sexy, and it still hasn't worn off. Now, after seeing you so blatantly exposing yourself under your dress, I'm feeling so horny that I need to do something about it, and soon. What do you say?”

After my session with Fiona and now seeing and smelling Stevie's captivating body, I really had no choice. I just had to come, but I couldn't appear too eager. “Stevie, you're such a hot babe. I'd love to help you to come. What do you have in mind?” I asked, trying my best to still do the job I was paid for despite the urgent messages of abandonment rising up from my pussy.

“Have you ever rubbed your pussy against another woman's?”

“What, like embracing and pressing my mound against her pubic bone?”

“Well, no. I mean something much more intimate than that. More daring and altogether much more sexy. I call it Sisters In Scissors, but I think other girls use other names.”

“I don't know what you mean,” I protested, but I could guess. “You'll have to show me.” Stevie could have got fired for this so I couldn't leave myself open to accusations that I'd led her on. “But, are you sure that Passionella allows you do this sort of thing. Isn't this going to be outside the rules?” I ask.

“Sod the rules, Julia. They only apply if you get caught, and who will know?” retorted Stevie, brazenly.

What on earth was I going to tell Emma in my report?

“Come on, I'll show you a good time. Lie on your side, on the floor.” commanded Stevie.

I complied, propping myself on my right elbow. “Now, lift your left leg a bit so your pussy is open to me.” Stevie then crouched between my legs and sat her nylon-clad bum on my right inner thigh. She leaned back on her hands and took her weight on her feet. Then, she slowly moved her pelvis towards mine until her exposed pussy mound was just an inch or two away from mine. I closed my eyes and held my breath in anticipation of the first ever contact between my pussy and any bare flesh of any description belonging to another woman. Not even so much as a female fingertip had ever before touched my labia, my vagina, and especially not my clit and now they were all awaiting a positively electric contact with another woman's cunt. And not just any woman. A tall, confident, gorgeous, sexy American woman.

Nothing happened.

I opened my eyes and saw that Stevie was gazing at my gaping vagina; from where she was sitting on my leg she must have been able to see it throbbing and pulsating in eager expectation. I desperately wanted her to move closer and go in for the kill, but I couldn't say so as I couldn't risk accusations of rule-breaking.

“Julia?” she finally said in a quizzical tone, “you know this would be so, so much more enjoyable for both of us if your pussy was, well, like mine. You know: smooth, totally naked, and accessible.”

“You mean, shaved?” I prompted with difficulty, as my mouth was dry and my voice shaky.

“Yes, Julia. Shaved clean and tidy.” She paused. “Julia, will you let me shave your pussy. Right here and now?”

How's that for a direct request? I hesitated and said that I would have liked to have had time to think about it, pointing out that I'd only just trimmed and tidied my curlies that very afternoon and protesting that I hadn't had time to get used to my new shape, let alone lose it altogether!

I stalled and acted demure so I didn't appear too eager, but in reality I was excited and totally sold on the idea. Not only the horny thought of acquiring a totally smooth mound but also having Stevie of all people shave it for me. This evening was turning out to be erotic beyond my imagination. So many unexpected things had happened, why not one more?

“Stevie, OK, I'd love you to,” I announced, “but do be careful, and be quick, won't you?” I urged.

We untangled our legs and stood up. Stevie led me to the bathroom and suggested I sit on a padded stool in one corner. She opened a cupboard (gold of course) and took out a pair of scissors, a shiny ladies razor and an aerosol can of foam. Holding the scissors, she knelt between my legs and looked up at me. “Sure?” she asked.

I nodded and she started to snip my hairs. My pussy was already so aroused that the feelings tracked through me like burning threads. She asked me to lift my feet off the floor and to open my navy-stocking-clad legs wider; I needed no encouragement and I grasped the towel rack to steady myself. I looked down; I could see my inner labia lips protruding invitingly from my gaping slit and I knew Stevie had trimmed away all she could when she liberally squirted foam onto the palm of her hand. I closed my eyes and flinched as the cold foam contacted my vulva. Finally, I felt her skilful razor strokes: “First following the direction of growth of the hairs and lastly ‘against the grain' to remove any remaining stubble,” she explained, in arousing detail.

Stevie washed my pussy with loving care and dried it with a plush white towel.

“There, done. What do you think?” she asked, holding a mirror between my legs.

I gazed down in wonder at my bare cunt, which I hadn't seen since I was about 12 years old and even then it didn't look like this! “Oh, Stevie. Thanks, it looks great.” I couldn't resist the temptation to run my hand over its gleaming smooth outer surface and I shivered as I felt it's fantastically sexy texture.

“Do you want to test-drive it now?” asked Stevie in her characteristically forward manner.

I was feeling so excited I was like a small child running home to play with a new toy. I grabbed Stevie's hand and dragged her back into Gold Private Room. I stopped for a moment and stood astride the illuminated mirror set into the floor. I crouched and gazed down in awe; I never knew a pussy could look so inviting, not even mine. The contrast of my milky-white flesh against my stockings emphasised my newfound nudity. I saw a pulse of juice ooze from the hidden depths of my pouting vagina and watched as it fell on the mirror. Stevie smiled.

We soon took up our positions again and in moments we were frantically rubbing our pussies together. The feeling was terrific although my fleshy mound was a little sore from its recent shaving, and it didn't take me long to reach the threshold of my long-awaited orgasm. Sensing that Stevie was not far behind I changed down a gear and rotated my clit slowly against hers. We changed positions to maximise the sensation and gyrated, rocked and thrust our hips together. Our nylon-clad legs were entwined together and our cunts were slippery, coated with our intermingled juices. I pulled Stevie's left knee hard against my basque-encase chest and shuddered as I felt the spiked heel of one of Stevie's shoes press against my back between my shoulder-blades. Without thinking, I puller her other foot up to my mouth and licked my tongue along the long length of her high spiked heel.

Stevie panted and gasped, supporting her weight on one hand and grasping at her boobs with the other. She tore at her bodystocking and freed one firm breast, pinching and pulling its nipple until it was long and erect, gathering much of its surrounding large areole into a tight, dark, puckered peak. I felt rivers of perspiration running down my body inside my basque as its tightness constricted my waist and rib-cage making it hard for me to breath.

The feeling of the soft slippery flesh of Stevie's pussy on my own naked skin was too much for me and I fell over the edge into a deep satisfying orgasm. I thrashed my legs and pressed my cunt hard against Stevie's and she came just moments later with a shout.

We collapsed in a tangle of clenched thighs, hers still encased in her bodystocking and mine a sweaty tangle of bare flesh, suspenders and lace. I felt absolutely wonderful.

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

When we had composed ourselves I stood up and helped Stevie to her feet. She thanked me and I returned this and other compliments. I had lost track of time but was feeling more than a little shattered and told Stevie I planned to leave now and go home.

“But Julia, you haven't even bought anything yet!” she protested.

I realised that I needed to buy something so Stevie could charge me for ‘services rendered' so I agreed to choose from the new bodystocking range. Stevie found my size in a high-leg design similar to the one that Fiona wore earlier in the evening, but in an opaque dark-grey lycra/cotton fabric. I detached my suspender ribbons one by one and peeled myself out of my tight basque, which was becoming uncomfortable after all the evening's excitement and activity. I sighed with relief as my breasts broke free from their restraints; they hung down in enticing cones as I bent to remove my stockings and Stevie watched them admiringly. I declined her offer to join her under a hot shower and dressed. The bodystocking fitted me well and I took care to arrange the fabric over my bare pussy to protect it from the chill of the evening air. With my dress over the top, only its narrow shoulder straps were visible and did not look out of place.

I thanked Stevie again for everything she had done for me and to me and left the room to call a cab home.

The reception area was quiet now and most other clients had left. Yasmin & Zoë were still animatedly talking and making physical contact in ways that would intrigue the body language experts and several of the Dems were sitting in a group. But as soon as Vikki and Abigail saw me they stopped talking and waved me over. I explained that really I needed to leave but, fortunately, they were most insistent. I'd almost forgotten that one of my main aims of the evening had been to get some Private Room time with voluptuous Abigail.

“Julia, we've hardly had time to speak this evening.” commented the curvaceous Abigail.

Vikki continued: “It seems you have called in both of our stores during this week and we'd hoped to get to know you better, if you understand. Please stop a little longer and we can have a coffee.”

Abigail took up the role of chief persuader, seductively toying with her pigtails as she spoke. “I checked and Silver room is free now. We can sit quietly and relax; I'll bring in a tray of coffees and some launch-party cake. OK?”

Abigail gave me no option, so I agreed. I needed a rest and a coffee and the Silver room was very comfortably furnished. “OK, just a quick chat and I'll be getting away.” Inside I doubted this would be all they had in mind.

We did talk for a while and I got to like them both a lot. I'd not been able to speak with Abigail in the Sheffield store and I found her amusing and approachable. But I couldn't keep my eyes off her breasts and she knew it. She had her catsuit unbuttoned to her waist, exposing a deep inviting cleavage, and she apologised for her debauched state “It's hot work at these shows” she explained, in between sensuously sucking the buttercream cake filling off her fingers one at a time.

Vikki noticed the straps of my newly-purchased bodystocking and asked which design I had on although I'm sure she could have deduced this. She complimented me on my choice. Then in what I took to be a well-rehearsed move, she and Abigail stood up together and announced: “we thought you'd like to see one last show before you go. Abigail and I are wearing suits in two new colours you might not have seen before.”

Without waiting for my agreement, Vikki turned up the music volume and they walked together to the far and of the room. They then treated me to a polished, obviously well-rehearsed and very sensual display of synchronised pole-dancing during which they caressed each other's bodies and undressed each other down to their bodystockings and footwear.

Abigail was wearing a purple sleeveless style with a deep vee-front and high-cut legs. Vikki's was shimmering silver but was much more demurely styled with a high round neck, long sleeves and legs cut low on the tops of her thighs, reminiscent of tight French knickers. But whereas Abigail wore sexy high-heeled strappy shoes underneath her catsuit, Vikki was wearing very tight-fitting knee-length boots in supple black leather, pulled tight with laces down the outsides.

I sat on the sofa and applauded them but Abigail put her finger to her lips. “Julia, I've noticed you looking at my breasts. Do you like them?” I nodded. “Well, you'll love this,” and she immediately slipped her purple bodystocking off her shoulders and peeled it all the way down her ample body and over her feet. She was right – I loved it all!

Vikki handed her a small bottle and she poured some liquid into her hand. Abi then proceeded to rub slippery massage oil into the soft flesh of her large heavy but only slightly drooping breasts until they gleamed under the highly-focussed ceiling lights. She lifted each one to massage under it and she paid very special attention to her nipples that, though not large, pointed slightly downwards in intense buds. I continued to enjoy the show and Vikki whispered words of encouragement.

Abigail then stood behind her pole with her knees either side and cupped her lovely boobs in her hands. She wrapped them round the pole as if it was a long fat prick and she started to slide them up and down it. Then she poured more oil in her cupped hand and smoothed it up and down the pole between her thighs as if she was giving it a wrist job. Bending her legs at the knees she masturbated the oily pole in her ample cleavage with a look of ecstasy on her face and each time she squatted she also rubbed her pussy on its slippery surface, closing her eyes in concentration.

“Abigail, you know you should not behave that way in front of clients,” Vikki reminded her in a gentle voice. Abi pouted at her in dissent and replied: “I can't help myself, I'm feeling so fucking randy, OK? I'm going to fuck my cunt with my fingers and if she wants me to I'll fuck Julia's cunt too.” She looked at me with a smile. The show was a little contrived but I was enjoying myself too much to complain.

“But Abigail, you must stop yourself, ” repeated Vikki. “It's against the Passionella rules.”

“Well, Vikki, I just can't stop myself, so you're going to have to stop me.”

Vikki seemed to know exactly what to do but I could only look on in amazement at the tableau unfolding before me.

“Abigail, yes I will. I'm going to have to punish you for your disobedience and I'm going to have to stop you from fucking that pole, yourself and our guest. Hold out your hands,” commanded Vikki.

Abi reached out in front of her whilst Vikki opened a drawer, pulling out some white leather cuffs with chrome buckles. She strapped a cuff on each of Abi's wrists and then one around each of the poles, high up, above the level of the slippery oil.

“Stand between the poles, Abigail” she commanded and Abi obliged. Vikki clipped each wrist cuff to a pole cuff so her captive could only stand with her arms stretched upwards and outwards. She could not slide the tightened cuffs down the poles and she could not escape from them; she certainly could not touch herself with her hands. Nor me.

“Vikki, I'm sorry, don't restrain me any more. I won't do it again,” Abi pleaded.

“Abigail, I'll make sure you don't,” retorted Vikki.

Abi's ‘shoes' were little more than just narrow straps between her toes and around her heels but these were attached to wide leather bands buckled around her ankles. Conveniently and rather kinkily, these had large metal rings at the back and Vikki clipped these to cuffs that she had bound tightly to the bottom of the poles. Abi was a remarkably cooperative prisoner and did not resist.

She was now spread-eagled in a large ‘X' and could hardly move. Her prominent boobs, smooth and glossy with massage oil, were pulled up and apart, lifted by her chest muscles as she stood with her arms stretched above her head. Now they hardly drooped at all and they moved sensually as she struggled in vain. Her pubic hairs glistened with the oil that had rubbed onto them from her pole and I could see that her vulva was slightly parted. Her entire pussy seemed to be larger than any I'd seen before, in keeping with her voluptuous body.

“But Vikki, I feel so horny and now I can't even masturbate. But I know what I do want.”

Vikki asked her to explain. “I want Julia to make me come. I want her to suck my nipples and rub my tits. I want her to slap my arse and lick my pussy and I want her to suck my clit till I reach orgasm.” She looked straight at me and asked: “Julia, will you fuck me, like that? Will you?”

I was taken aback by her forthright manner, but I had to admit to myself that I found the idea not wholly unattractive. I blushed and I stalled for time: “But, I er, …”

Vikki saved me. “You know she can't do that, you depraved tart. Passionella will not allow it. In fact, I may have to punish you for even suggesting it and embarrassing our guest.”

Abigail spoke again. “Well, will you help me then, Vikki?” she pleaded, in a wavering voice.

“Do you really want me to help you to come? Do you, Abigail?” Vikki taunted.

“Yes, oh, yes, I do. Yes, please,” replied the restrained Abigail, twisting and pulling against her taught cuffs. This was no longer just a show, pretending to be real life; this was now real life only masquerading as a show

Vikki said nothing, but I watched in amazement as she walked over to the bank of drawers along one side wall of the Silver private room. She reached into one and produced a lined wooden box containing a huge shiny chromed dildo. It must have been about 13 inches long and 2 inches in diameter at one end and tapering down to, say, 1½ inches near to the other before thinning quickly almost to a point. The thick end featured several black raised rings that were probably designed to make it easier to grip. It had the proportions of a very large phallus but no attempt had been made in its manufacture to emulate the authentic shape and detail of a man's penis.

Without a word, and holding the large phallus firmly, Vikki stood in front of Abigail who again pleaded with her: “Fuck me, Vikki, I want you to fuck my cunt with that fat thing, bitch …” She sounded more serious now; yes, the game really was over and the action was about to begin. I was shocked by the explicitness of her language but was becoming increasingly turned on by the whole scenario.

Abigail continued: “… but it's too big for my hole, it will hurt me, unless it is very well lubricated before you push it in me. Can't you rub it on your pussy first, to make it slippery with your juices?”

I waited to see what Vikki would do, realising that I was squeezing my thighs together as I perched on the sofa, to amplify the pleasurable feelings welling up inside my own pussy. Well she did exactly what Abigail had asked her to do. First she peeled off her silver bodystocking revealing the petite, pert body I had seen briefly in the Manchester store, but she kept her boots on. Her small tight bum looked exquisite, really very small, with probably 33” hips.

Next she sat on the floor in front of Abi, facing me and with her back to her friend, and opened her own legs wide apart. Then she leaned back between Abigail's forcibly-parted feet so her face was right under the larger woman's arse. Her small breasts all but disappeared as gravity flattened them over her rib-cage, but this only accentuated her pink, erect and awesomely suckable nipples as they probed directly upwards, begging for attention.

Vikki took her weight on one hand and slowly guided the shining phallus down her belly towards her waiting, blossoming vulva. I could see her juices glisten under the focussed spotlights and I panted with her as she rubbed the rod up and down her slit. She rotated it a little with each stroke and soon it too was coated with her juices, sparkling under the bright lights.

“Ready now?” she asked.

“No. This is unfair,” protested the voluptuous, captive Abigail. “I need to come for Julia, but it's going to be so hard and it's going to take so long with my legs held apart so cruelly. I expect you'll rub your clit whilst you fuck me and you will come first. No, your legs should be spread wide apart too. That will make it just as difficult for you to come as it will be for me, because you won't be able to clench your thighs to intensify the feelings.”

Abigail's voice was plaintive and genuinely agitated; I understood her frustrations.

Now Vikki looked at me. “Will you help?” she asked.

My heart leapt.

Wondering what might be expected of me, the client for whose entertainment the two lovely girls were performing, I nodded. “What can I do?”

“Open that wardrobe,” instructed Vikki, gesturing to the side wall. “Inside are some spreader bars. Choose one. Then, I want you to attach cuffs to my ankles and attach them to the rings you will find on the ends of the bar.”

Following my instructions with a combination of trepidation and excitement, I selected a bar about 18 inches long. It was chrome-plated and rigid but light.

“No. Longer,” demanded Abigail.

I found one half as long again and held it up for approval.

“No, the longest,” Abigail protested, “So Vikki's feet are as wide apart as mine.”

Vikki did not object.

I took out a 3-foot-long bar and located more white cuffs in the drawer which I strapped around Vikki's leather-booted ankles. Vikki had to really stretch to get her feet to reach the ends of the bar so I could clip the cuffs onto the rings. She relaxed as best she could and strained against the bar, complaining: “Abigail, you bitch. This is so cruel .”

“Yes, and don't you love it!” replied Abi from her vulnerable position still secured to the poles. By the expression on Vikki's face, she was right.

“ Now you can fuck me!”

I propped Vikki on some cushions to make her more comfortable then sat on the floor to watch from my vantage position.

Once more Vikki slowly rubbed the dildo on her pussy, which was even juicier and certainly much wider open than before. Then and lay back half-reclined on the cushions with her face just below Abigail's pussy. She raised the lubricated phallus and very, very lightly touched the tip against Abigail's inner labia.

Abi cried out and jerked, tugging at her restraints. I felt a bolt of sexual stimulation hit me bang in the centre of my pussy, as though Vikki's huge phallus had just touched my clit. I shifted on the floor and adopted a position in sympathy with the two girls with my knees apart.

“Yes, Julia, spread your legs wide open. Let me see your sex,” encouraged Abigail. I did, and what she didn't see of course was pubic hair. What she did see though was the narrow crotch of my bodysuit bunched up and disappearing into my cunt between swollen, smooth and very bare outer pussy lips. She would have known that I was getting very, very excited and that I couldn't wait to see, close-up, what would happen next.

I didn't need to.

Vikki slowly ran the tip of the shiny dildo back and forth along the length of Abigail's open vulva. Then, placing the thumb of her other hand just above the top of her slit, she eased the tender flesh upwards, gently pulling back the soft moist skin of Abigail's delicate clit hood. Right before my eyes, Abigail's smooth pink clitoris emerged invitingly from under its shroud.

I had never seen another woman's pussy in such close-up, graphic detail before and Abigail's looked absolutely gorgeous. From my advantageous position I feasted my eyes on her open, engorged labia that hung down between her legs and watched intently as beads of moisture erupted from her exaggerated inner folds.

I was sure I could see the smooth, rounded bud of her clit pulsing and growing more erect before my very eyes, just as I could feel the same things happening to mine. But Abigail's clitoris looked much larger than mine appeared to be whenever I'd held a small mirror between my legs to see. Hers looked big, angry, hot, hard and eager. I could almost feel the heat as it drew attention to itself, anticipating the pleasure it craved, almost as though it had a personality of its own.

Vikki circled the tip of the dildo around the opening to Abigail's vagina, slowly counting out aloud from 1 to 5. Abigail shuddered with anticipation during the agonising wait, then she bucked and moaned a long sigh of satisfaction as Vikki slowly slid the dildo up her gash until it touched her huge, exposed, waiting clit.

Then Vikki repeated the cycle, counting: “1, 2, 3, 4 …” Each time, Abigail's pussy lips folded around its tip like a child sucking on an ice-lolly and she writhed and pulled against her cuffs each time that, on the tantalising count of 5, Vikki homed in on her sensitive clitoris.

Abi moaned loudly and started to lose coherence: “Oh, yes, rub it on my … yes, slowly just like … quickly, oh yes. Oh no, don't put it inside me. Just slide it, like that … shove it in me, bitch, push it … no, oh yes … please, don't … yes …”

Somehow Vikki knew exactly what Abigail wanted as she slid and rubbed and turned and slowed and quickened. I thought that these girls must know each other very, very well and enjoy an almost telepathic empathy.

Finally, when I was beginning to think it would never happen, Vikki pointed the dildo directly at the opening to Abigail's welcoming vagina, with the tip inserted just between those hugely swollen inner labial lips. She rotated it few more times and I could clearly see Abi's thick creamy cunt juices streaming out onto it, lubricating its length in readiness for the final assault.

Would Vikki tease Abigail by sliding it in a little at a time and backing off? Would she twist and turn the tool as she reamed her colleague's cunt, or would she simply push it all the way in, in one smooth powerful movement?

My pussy ached and I wished it were me she was going to screw. I yelled: “For fuck's sake push it in her, stop teasing, bitch,” and I was shocked at what I had said. I was struggling to keep my legs apart; I so wanted to squeeze my thighs together and I wanted to rub my clit so badly.

Finally Vikki thrust the tool into Abigail's gaping cunt in one long, slow, steady and controlled movement. It entered easily and filled her void as she cried out and bore down on it within the limited movement afforded her by her leather restraints. She ground her hips in circles and she moaned a deep, primeval moan. Rivulets of perspiration were running down her body, between her breasts and down over her rounded tummy.

Vikki slowly withdrew the phallus and I could see how wet Abigail had made it with her woman's lubricant before she slid it back in, a little quicker this time. Out again and in, out then in, she teased and she fucked and she rotated and she paused. She denied Abigail the promise of a predictable rhythm and her victim could only squirm and squat a very little as she tried to gain the satisfaction she so badly needed.

Imperceptibly, Vikki settled into a smoother tempo and was by now also rubbing her own clit with her free hand whilst rhythmically tensing and relaxing the muscles of her inner parted thighs. On every seventh stroke, Vikki withdrew the dildo from its hot wet sheath and brushed the tip over Abigail's clitoris, causing her to gasp and to buck her pelvis to magnify its movement, before retuned it to the clutching, engulfing depths of her massive vagina set central between her heavy, clenching thighs.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 …” she whispered and each time on the count of “7” Abigail shouted even louder.

Abi's body rippled as she strained harder against the cuffs and her glistening breasts swayed and bounced alluringly as she struggled. “Please, oh please finish me off, you cruel tormentor,” she pleaded as she tilted her head forward to look down between her breasts at Vikki beneath her and causing her damp pigtails to fall forward over her shoulders. “Fuck my cunt, bitch.”

I was still wearing my black dress but it had ridden up above my waist as I was now furiously frigging myself against the fabric of my bodystocking. I was sliding my bum back and forth on the floor in sync with Vikki's teasing rhythm, causing the crotch of the suit to rasp over the surface of my pulsating clit. I would have loved to have ripped it off or even just pushed it to one side to bare my pussy so I could rub myself to a climax with my fingers but I was determined to explore my ability to come without any direct skin contact.

I was thinking about Linda and about my appointment with Kirsten at the weekend where I was to attempt the impossible, to come with no physical stimulation at all. This evening I was pretty close to achieving this dream and it took only a few more rubs of the fabric along my pussy to bring me past the point of no return. My orgasm arrived excruciatingly slowly; the effect of keeping my legs apart seemed to be to delay the moment when I finally tipped over the edge. To help it along, I writhed on the carpet and yelled obscenities at the two horny girls who were performing for my benefit, and their own.

As soon as I let go they both cried out in release and came noisily. Abigail did what she could to increase her own pleasure as Vikki thrust the dildo deep and hard into her. The grip-rings around its shaft banged into her vaginal entrance and Vikki grazed her thumb over Abigail's clit at the end of every in-stroke. Vikki continued to rub her own clit to extract every last drop of enjoyment from her climax and tried in vain against the restriction of the spreader bar to close her leather-clad legs to squeeze her pussy.

When Abi's climax had subsided, Vikki slowly withdrew the tool and I gasped in awe when I realised how much of the thick, chromed phallus she had taken into her body; at least 9 inches I estimated, maybe more.

Abi slumped down, taking her full weight on her tethered arms, whilst Vikki lay back, her legs still bound to her spreader bar. I released the much larger and heavier girl from her poles, feet first then hands, before also freeing Vikki's much slimmer ankles. Both girls thanked me for indulging them in their fantasies and said that they hoped I had enjoyed myself too.

What did they think I'd been doing all the time? Faking it?

We were all feeling a little sore, and Abi in particular rubbed some cream into her wrists and ankles as Vikki finally took off her lovely long leather boots. Both girls looked so fantastically sexy now as they were totally naked. I stripped too and we showered together.

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

I was feeling totally drained so I said my goodbyes to the few remaining guests in reception. Yasmin and Zoë had just emerged from the Red private room with Charlotte and Rachel and I noticed Emma and Linda disappeared together into the Black room.

Kirsten was clearing away some plates. Remembering that I was still supposed to be playing my Client role, I discreetly offered to share a cab back to our apartments. She jumped at my suggestion, adding: “The caterers will be here first thing, they will clear up. I don't suppose anyone from the office staff will be in ‘til late morning!” No doubt she was speaking from experience.

We hardly spoke in the cab but agreed to meet at the health club at the weekend.

“Are you still game for our ‘experiment' on Saturday evening?” she asked as I climbed out of the vehicle.

“Can't wait” I replied with a smile. It was now nearly midnight.

Chapter 8 (Friday and the weekend)

I slept wonderfully through Thursday night and woke at 9:45 with dim but pleasurable memories filling my head. I found myself lying in bed completely naked. My legs ached and my pussy throbbed subtly. I slid my hand between my legs to give it a soothing stroke and realised my mound was totally bare. When I climbed out of bed I saw at the foot of my bed a dark grey body stocking that I had not owned the previous day, and in my living room a very crumpled black dress on the sofa.

I smiled and switched on the coffee maker.

During a long soak in a hot bath I sifted through the previous evening' events and tried to make sense of it all. Mostly, the Dems had adhered to the ‘Look Don't Touch' rule but Vikki & Abigail had been exceptionally imaginative. Stevie of course had completely overstepped the mark but I had enjoyed my time immensely.

I struggled some more with my dilemmas including ‘Just what do I tell Emma?' and ‘Am I a latent lesbian?' I convinced myself that I was not because I had not touched another woman's breasts nor her genitals and I had not kissed her. In my self-justification, rubbing my pussy on another woman's did not count; neither did caressing a woman between her legs with only the thinnest and most tightly stretched wisp of fabric separating my finger from her clitoris. So, I was in the clear.

I dressed and sat at my laptop, tapping intermittently as I composed my report. Satisfied that I had discharged my responsibilities as fairly as I could, I raided the fridge for an early lunch before visiting the Regent Street Passionella sales outlet. The new Bodystocking range was prominently displayed and very well presented. I was served politely but I did not try on anything as I found it hard to concentrate. My mind was already thinking about the weekend and my promised encounter with Kirsten. I stopped by the sports department to pick up some active-wear for the following morning and some food for a quiet evening in front of the TV.

I slept fitfully that night, excited by the prospects for the weekend ahead.

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

Clambering out of bed I threw back the curtains to let the bright, fresh morning light flood my room. I took a wonderfully refreshing shower in the middle of my lovely bathroom and I towelled myself dry, congratulating myself on a body that both looked and felt terrific. But there was more to come – this morning I was to meet Kirsten at the health club for some physical exercise and to plan the rest of our weekend together.

I arrived early and I slipped on my new blue bikini that covered what it needed to, but not much else. I dived into the water and felt a sensual rush as the refreshing water encased my body. The suit was quite thin and I could feel the coolness on my breasts and especially on my pussy, realising that this was the first time I had swum with a shaved peach. I enjoyed the feeling enormously as the water rushed between my legs with every stroke.

“Hi, sorry I'm late,” Kirsten called to me from the poolside.

“Come on in, get yourself wet!” I yelled and grabbed her ankle to pull her in. She saw it coming and dived in beside me where we splashed around like kids and laughed a lot.

As I climbed out, I noticed that my bikini had become virtually transparent so that the outlines of my cold, protruding nipples were clearly visible. But Kirsten was looking lower down, with a quizzical expression on her face. I could feel the cold fabric of my strappy bikini bottoms clinging to the curves of my smooth mound and forming a taught crease in the centre between my legs where it had gate-crashed my slit. I ignored her and returned to the changing room where I stripped and dried off. Kirsten joined me and I realised the reason for her puzzlement.

“Where have your pubes gone, sweetie?” she exclaimed, looking straight at my crotch.

“It's a long story,” I started, “Lets get a drink and I'll explain.”

I told Kirsten all about my experiences at the launch party, in frank and explicit detail. She was captivated and shifted constantly on her seat. I told her about Fiona and how she had come for the first time in ages and I told her all about my time with Stevie and how she had shaved me.

“You lucky, lucky girl,” drooled Kirsten. “I'd give almost anything to get that sort of attention from Stevie. She great. Go on, any more sleaze?”

I recounted Vikki & Abigail's erotic bondage show as best as I could remember and I was obviously arousing Kirsten with my increasingly explicit descriptions. I took advantage, speaking more slowly and sensually as I added more detail. By the end, when I described how I had very nearly come just from watching my two naked, tethered and cruelly-restricted Dems, and how I frigged the bodystocking on my pussy to bring myself to orgasm, Kirsten was breathing quickly.

“Sounds terrific. You're a pretty horny babe, Julie,” she observed, correctly.

“What about you then?” I asked. “Not serving canapés all evening, I imagine!”

Kirsten had demonstrated for a new customer who had recently started to shop in the Oxford Street store. “Her name is Xara and she is gorgeous. She's about 35 but looks younger. She's tall and quite slim, she's got a tight bum and lovely long, soft wavy blonde hair. And … ”

“Well?” I encouraged, in eager anticipation of what might come next.

“… her breasts are just fantastic. They are so large and so sexy and squeezable and, and, so, so … well, pendulous !” she exclaimed with obvious delight.

I had seen a woman fitting this description at the party but she was demurely clothed so I hadn't noticed her figure.

“Julie, we had a terrific time together in Bronze. She tried on virtually every bra in the Passionella range that comes in her size, 38DD. She wore lacy bras and satin uplifters. She tried heavily padded bras that made her look huge and low-cut designs that she nearly spilled out of. My favourite was a sheer bra that encased and enfolded her breasts perfectly. It didn't support them very much but that was the beauty of it – it didn't disguise their proud, rounded and pendulous shape, it merely emphasised them. Julie, she looked fantastic.”

“So, did she do anything else?” I enquired, eagerly, “other than just wear clothes and look fantastic.”

“Well, yes, of course. She tried the new chair.”

I looked at Kirsten questioningly.

“Didn't anyone show you the new relaxer chairs in Bronze, Silver & Gold?”

I shook my head, but I had remembered seeing a kind of reclining chair in some of the rooms.

“Oh, my. You do have a treat in store! They were specially made by a client's company that designs and manufactures specialist furniture and equipment for dentists, physiotherapists and clinics. Linda drew up the specification. They are covered in soft, supple calf leather to match each room and they tilt in all different ways. They have head, arm and leg rest that can be raised and tilted. And they have straps too.”

This sounded rather exciting. “Did you strap Xara to the chair?” I enquired.

“She stripped naked and we adjusted the leg-rests so her knees were lifted high and wide apart. But I only strapped her ankles to the chair. Oh, and her calves … and her thighs too. And, yes, I did strap some wide belts around her waist and her upper body, above and below her breasts. But only because she asked me to. Quite tightly actually, just so she couldn't wriggle free you understand.”

“Then?”

“Then she borrowed a ‘house' vibrator and basically just lay back and fucked herself all the way to oblivion and back again. I counted four orgasms but she may have had more. She ran the buzz over her breasts and spent ages on her nipples – I love watching a client do that – they grew very long and really hard. That's how she came the first time.”

“What, just by teasing her nipples?”

“Yes, I've never managed it myself but I'd heard it's possible. I thought it was most likely if you have small, tight boobs and big nipples. But no, Xara with her massive drooping boobs must have super-sensitive nips, or maybe it's all in the mind and she can think herself wild.”

I was fascinated and leant forward, encouraging Kirsten to continue.

“Anyway, then she rubbed the tip over her pussy slit and her clit for at least 15 minutes and came at twice more; she said the chair was great because she could relax and didn't get tired holding her legs up and wide apart. I gave her sips of drink as her mouth was so dry from panting and crying out. Finally she fucked herself to another orgasm with the vibrator thrust deep inside her and pronounced the new chair a great success.”

Kirsten's vivid description of Xara strapped in a tilting chair getting herself off had me squirming in my café seat and I had to change the subject to divert attention away from my pussy: “Come on, let's hit the gym.”

We worked out on the exercise machines for an hour or so. But every piece of equipment seemed to have leg rests or foot straps or adjustments of some kind and I kept thinking about Xara in that chair. My leotard felt wonderfully tight around my body and it rubbed my nipples into hard points. This, combined with the rhythmic movements of the exercise bike and the weight machines just made my pussy twitch even more.

After lunch at the gym, Kirsten and I went our separate ways, arranging to meet at our favourite Belgian restaurant at 7:00 pm.

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

Terri arrived at my apartment exactly on time at 2:30 and immediately busied herself cleaning and tidying. I'd been careful to put away all my clothes and my personal items to make it easier for her and she complimented me on my tidy lifestyle. And on my hairstyle. And my clothes, and my skin, and my figure, and my shoes.

Then she started to open up and tell me more about herself, how she came to be in England and about her life back ‘home'. She hadn't had a happy childhood; “My father never said that he loved me; he was always running me down. I grew to distrust men, not actually hating them, but I have always found it difficult to form relationships with men. So now I'm a practising lesbian”

I was totally shocked by her frankness and hid my embarrassment behind crass humour: “keep practicing and you'll become perfect” I blurted out. Terri began to cry and I put my arm around her to comfort her.

“Sorry,” I apologised, “I didn't mean to be flippant, you surprised me.” I took a tissue and wiped away her tears.

That's when she kissed me.

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

As I dressed to meet Kirsten I tried to put the afternoon out of my mind. I showered and paid special attention to my skin and hair. I shaved under my arms and my legs and I shaved the first light re-growth from my peach. I was very careful not to nick my soft skin and I enjoyed the attention I gave to my sensitive self, causing my pussy to swell and moisten again. This was becoming a regular occurrence.

We would be going back to Kirsten's apartment after our meal together so I packed a small bag with some very special items of clothing. Then I chose what to wear. First I selected the black, backless bodysuit that I had bought when I met Vikki the first time in Manchester. That should get Kirsten warmed up nicely, I thought. Then I poured myself into a pair of very tight trousers and slipped into a sleeveless top that showed off my cleavage nicely without giving away any secrets of what lay beneath. I grabbed my bag and strode confidently into the warm early-evening air.

The restaurant was about 10 minutes walk and I savoured the admiring looks from the men and women sitting outside the trendy bars along the way. But I had promised myself to another, my all-seeing but un-touching colleague, partner and friend.

When I arrived, Kirsten was already there, wearing a thin strappy top with obviously nothing underneath so the twin shapes of her unsupported 32B breasts were clear for all to see. Her nipples sat prominently on their swollen areolae and prodded forward aggressively. She wore a short denim skirt with bare legs and plain shoes. I'd hoped she would have dressed more the part of the sensual temptress but I enjoyed looking at her anyway. So did many of the other diners.

Kirsten and I talked animatedly but neither of us was very hungry. My reason, and I think Kirsten's was the same, was that I was just too excited and already far too aroused by the day so far and the thoughts of what lay ahead. We picked over our food as Kirsten explained her plan:

“Julie, we must walk back to my apartment on opposite sides of the street and pretend we are alone. We mustn't be seen going in together.

“Then?” I enquired …

I waited outside her door for a moment then knocked as agreed but there was no reply. I knocked again louder and Kirsten shouted ‘just a minute'. I was getting more excited as I waited and when she finally opened the door I gasped in surprise. Kirsten had changed her clothes and was now wearing a long, clinging gold satin dress with a wide patent leather belt around her slim waist. She looked so elegant, so different from the casual girl in the restaurant. She invited me in and had cocktails already poured, scented candles burning around the room and sophisticated music playing in the background. I started to speak but she put a finger to her full, glossy-red lips; she beckoned me in and passed me a glass. We drank a few sips and Kirsten started to dance, just small sensual movements, and she pouted at me.

My heart was already racing and my tight trousers were firmly wedged into my bum crack so they rubbed against my arse-hole and my pussy whenever I moved. I started to dance to Kirsten's rhythm and I felt tremendously excited, not knowing what she had in store for me next.

I didn't need to wait long to find out. She walked to the other end of the room and stood facing me and made direct eye contact with me for what seemed like ages. She slowly moved her hands to her breasts (which were obviously now supported by an undergarment) and very, very slowly closed them over her boobs, squeezing them and letting out a long, low sigh of pleasure. By now she had her legs crossed under her long dress and she pushed out her bum, a move guaranteed to put pressure on her pussy. She gave away her inner feelings by closing her eyes dreamily as she danced.

As she continued to twist, sway and squirm provocatively I tried to work out what she might be wearing under her dress but she was giving away nothing. I started to ask a question but again she touched her lips with a long elegantly manicured finger. Shit, I was feeling so frustrated by her slow, teasing, controlling performance.

Kirsten turned to face me and beckoned. I stood closer to her and she breathed her hot, sensual breath on me and looked at me so, so sexily with her beautifully clear blue eyes. Then she crouched slightly and pretended to suck my nipples and to teasingly nibble on them, pulling a wildcat expression on her face.

Kneeling still lower, she sat back on her haunches, moved her face right up close to my crotch and spoke for the first time since I'd entered the room. But not to me, to my clothed pussy.

“Oh, pretty baby. How are you feeling in there? I bet you're feeling so hot and horny! Are you wet?”

I/it was.

“Oh, I do hope so. Do you like what I'm doing to Julie? Do I turn you on with my body, my clothes, my movements? I'm sure I do. Are you opening up? Are your soft, smooth shaven lips parting, as if you want to speak to me?”

They were.

“What would you say if you could speak? Would you say: ‘Kirsten, you are a very sexy lady – I want you to touch me. I want you to press your fingers on my parted lips and open me wider. I want you to slide your fingers in and out of me and I want you to rub my clitoris with your thumb?' Pussy, oh sweet sexy pussy, do you want to come? Do you want to reach a thrilling, satisfying orgasm?”

Of course it/I did.

“Why don't you come out to play? Shall we ask Julie to take off her clothes?”

I needed no more prompting. Having Kirsten talk to my pussy like that was the most arousing thing I could imagine. I pulled my vee-necked top over my head in a single swift movement and hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my slinky trousers, pulling them down over my hips. Kirsten glided slowly around me, making sensual admiring noises. Standing behind me, she unclipped the fastener on the back of my bodysuit and allowed it to fall forward. My breasts spilled out and the rush of air caused my nipples to stiffen even more than they already had. I shuddered, sighed and whispered Kirsten's name.

Frantically I pulled the rest of the bodysuit down over my thighs and in a moment of delirium I almost touched myself between my legs but Kirsten commanded: “No!”

I remembered the rules, but my body ached to feel a hand on its naked flesh. Mine, Kirsten's anybody's. But not tonight.

Looking straight at my now-naked crotch, Kirsten spoke some more:

“Is it good to be free, to be released from captivity? Let me see how wet you are and how open your lips have parted.”

Immediately I placed my feet wide apart and Kirsten crouched between my legs. I felt so vulnerable, so naked yet totally unashamed. I trusted her and she smiled, looked up at me then she blew on my pussy. I cried out in pleasure and desperate, pleading frustration.

Kirsten stood up and pointed to the belt around her waist. I undid it just as instructed and cast it aside. She then shrugged the dress off her shoulders in what I suspected was a well-practised movement, leaving it in a luxuriant heap on the floor, and finally revealed what was underneath.

Kirsten was wearing a sheer bustière in the most extravagant silk, mesh and appliqué, with spaghetti-thin straps that tracked over her shoulders from the outer edges of the cups and two more straps that ran upwards from between her breasts and disappeared behind her neck, halter-style. Looking further down, my eyes were drawn to her skimpy, matching thong-style briefs with twin spaghetti-straps that reached around her waist on each side, high above her hips. Finally, her slim legs disappeared just below the knee into a pair of skin-tight, high-heeled black leather boots, which explained why she'd looked much taller than her normal 5' 3” frame. In fact, she looked devastating.

“Another new Passionella design?” I enquired, my mouth dry and parched. Kirsten just nodded with a self-satisfied smile and slowly turned around.

Her smooth, muscular body was almost totally naked but for a riot of narrow straps that all met centrally in the small of her back, without the slightest attempt to conceal her tight, rounded buttocks. I counted a total of 18, which collectively implied ‘bondage and control' but by their apparent weakness also spelt ‘vulnerability'.

At last Kirsten spoke: “Do you like it?”

“Oh, Kirsten, of course I do. You look sensational.” She knew it and once again she started to move around me in time to the music, all the time pouting, posing and wriggling her barely-covered body. As she moved, the thin straps only emphasised her gorgeous shape. Those attached to her thong rode even higher on her hips and her boobs seemed to be climbing out of their delicately constraining cups.

“Julie, shall I take it off? Shall I?” she asked, teasingly. I couldn't wait.

“Oh yes, please. Take it off so I can see your body, as naked as mine,” I pleaded submissively.

“No,” she replied, firmly. Shit! I was about to lose control.

“Fuck you, Kirsten, you teasing tart,” I exclaimed, “How can you …”

Kirsten stopped me abruptly.

“You take it off me.”

Kirsten turned her back to me as I figured out how I to release my securely-bound present. I unclipped each narrow strap in turn but Kirsten made it difficult for me by continually swaying and enticingly grating her hips. Finally, her silk bustière fell away from her luscious breasts and I needed every last drop of scarce self-control to stop myself from grabbing and squeezing them.

“Are they just as you remembered them?” she teased, “Are they proud and sensual? Do they make you want to rub your pussy, just like you do when you are alone in your bed thinking of me?”

How did she know?

“Yes, Kirsten, they are so sexy,” I confirmed, “but will I ever be able to touch and feel them?”

She avoided my question and continued to speak. “Julie, I have something else you might like to see. Julie, have you seen my pussy?”

I shook my head like a bashful child, standing naked before her, becoming desperately aroused by her commanding performance.

“Have you?” she asked again, adopting a more dominant tone. She knew perfectly well that I hadn't but still expected a response.

“No, Kirsten, I haven't.” I replied meekly, not daring to even anticipate what she might say next.

She said nothing. Instead she slipped two fingers under the sides of her thong and pulled it down over her hips. She wriggled her legs at the knees and the thong fell as far as her booted feet, which she then placed as far apart as the thong would allow stretching the thin straps tight between her black-leather-clad ankles. She stood upright, reaching upwards and stretching her arms high above her head. Her boobs rose high on her chest and her belly stretched taught and flat. I was mesmerised by her naked, tempting body.

“You may look now,” she announced.

I obeyed. I squatted down in front of her with my knees apart, acutely aware that in this position my own pussy was stretched wide open. My inner lips were grossly swollen and I felt like my clit was on fire.

I looked closely. Kirsten's pubic hair was neatly trimmed and the sides of her mound were shaved leaving just a narrow vee of dark curls pointing downwards to her vulva. I could see her labia glistening and protruding below her tidy bush and suddenly I smelt a rush of her heady, personal perfume. With my voice quivering and high-pitched, I dared to ask Kirsten to turn around.

Obligingly, she kicked off her thong and slowly turned her back to me. She wriggled her bum a couple of times and planted her booted feet squarely on the floor a full 3 feet apart. She was facing the mirror and I could see she had her eyes closed. She moistened her lips with her tongue, put her hands high on her hips and in her reflection I saw her breasts rise on her ribcage as she drew in a long, deep breath.

Kirsten then slowly leant forward, bending from her hips and keeping her back and her legs perfectly straight. She exhaled deeply and sank her torso down below horizontal. To keep her balance, she thrust her buttocks towards me so her pussy was so close to my face that I could have licked it, if I had wanted to. But that was against the rules.

Kirsten's pussy looked so hot, wet and inviting, so open and engorged, aroused, exited and very, very sexy. I feasted my eyes on its intricate folds and picked out the tiny, smooth bud of her clitoris. My nostrils filled with the erotic heavy scent of her sex as Kirsten rhythmically squeezed her pelvic floor muscles so that her soft, pink vulva pouted at me. A large droplet of her pussy juice oozed out of her vagina and trickled slowly down along the length of her labial lips. She moaned loudly as finally it settled under her hood, right on her clit.

That's when it happened.

I came. Spontaneously.

I let out a long wavering cry and my taught leg muscles went into spasm. My tummy tightened and beads of perspiration broke out on my forehead, my back and my chest. My pussy pulsed for what felt like forever as a long, powerful orgasm washed through me, reaching deep inside. I clasped my hands around my knees and squeezed my thighs together. I shuddered, gasped for air and struggled to keep my balance as wave after wave of sensual pleasure consumed me.

And I hadn't touched myself at all.

I opened my eyes to find I had slumped back onto the floor and Kirsten was offering me a cushion to support my head. I was shivering and she pulled the duvet off her bed to cover me. I smiled up at her as she wrapped a bathrobe around herself.

Eventually I broke the silence.

“Oh, Kirsten. I … did I … was that … what …”

Kirsten put her finger to her lips. “Well done, Julie. Yes, we did it. I knew we could.”

Kirsten made coffees for us both and we sat quietly for a while. Trying to make sense of what had happened, I explored Kirsten's depth of experience, asking her: “Do you have orgasms in your sleep, ever? And how do you know when you wake up?”

Kirsten frowned. “Well, I often have sexy dreams and I dream about having orgasms, but when I wake up I can't be sure that I actually came in my sleep. Sometimes I'll wake feeling relaxed but also wet between my legs.”

I questioned her further.

“Would anyone in the same room as you, even in your bed, know if you came?”

Kirsten thought momentarily.

“They might, but no-one has ever told me. Anyway, why all the questions?”

I paused to collect my thoughts then started to explain.

“I had a dream recently. A really, really sexy dream and in my dream I came, but I don't know if it was real.”

Kirsten raised her eyebrows and gestured for me to continue.

“It featured someone you know. Terri. She was cleaning around my apartment and we were talking and laughing about all kinds of things and the subject got around to sex. Terri told me she had no regular partner but that she had a lot of close friends. One of her friends had just sent her a belated 20 th birthday present and she asked if I'd mind if she opened it right there – she had it with her in her bag. I agreed immediately as I love surprises, but what a surprise! Terri took out a long slender parcel and ripped off the gold foil paper. The box inside was plain white and securely sealed. I lent her a pair of scissors and when soon she retrieved the contents she gasped and froze for what seemed like ages.

“Inside was the most beautifully formed dildo you could imagine, made of perfect crystal-clear glass. It was about 10 inches long and I estimated at least 1½ inches in diameter. One end was fashioned into a tulip-like shape, slightly larger in diameter than the main shaft. The other end had several grooves, I guessed to make it easier to grip.

‘Wow, this is fantastic,' she exclaimed ‘how did she know this was something I'd always wanted?' Terri held it up in a most provocative way, asking me: ‘have you ever seen something so beautiful, Julia?

“In my dream I shook my head. Then Terri asked me point blank: ‘Shall we try it out, right now?' Without hesitating I said yes and encouraged her, not sure what ‘we' meant. Terri took it to the kitchen and washed it in warm soapy water, running her hand provocatively along its length and massaging it with the slippery soap. ‘Mmm, this is so long and so, so smooooth' she drooled, closing her eyes.

‘Do you have some lube?' she asked me with a raised blonde eyebrow; I handed her a small tube of some wonderful stuff described on the pack as the Nearest Thing to a Woman's Own Lubricant, which she squirted onto the palm of one hand. ‘Now, let's get this ready' she said as she smeared the lube up and down the shaft as though she was masturbating the thing to a long slow climax. Her hands were expert in the way they followed its shape and she paid special attention to the tulip-head knob. I found this highly arousing and was feeling so hot that I spontaneously and shamelessly started to undress. Under my day clothes I was wearing a red bra and panties set, just like this:”

I confused Kirsten by mixing dream with reality as I pulled my racy ‘Hen Night In The Fountain' set from my bag. “To add authenticity, shall I put them on?” I asked. Kirsten looked highly perplexed but agreed that I should. I stood up and slipped my arms through the bra-straps and knotted the front tie-fastening between my boobs. Then I pulled on the briefs and secured the ties at both sides on top of my hips. “There,” I said, cupping my breasts in front of the mirror before continuing the story:

“Terri loved my red underwear and called me a sexy tart, which I liked to hear. But she upstaged me by taking off her working clothes to reveal the most exotic lacy matching bra and pants, totally unexpected under such ordinary day clothes. It fascinated me and aroused me even more to think she had been cleaning may apartment dressed like that under her every-day jumper and jeans.

“She rubbed the glass shaft some more and then asked me: ‘Do you think it will fit inside me, Julia?'

“I replied, anxiously. ‘Terri, you are so slim and I guess your pussy is small in proportion. You must be very careful not to hurt yourself. ‘That's why I need it to be so well lubricated – do you think it's ready?' She showed me the shaft and I could see thick smears of lube glistening all along its length. ‘Yes, I think so' I reassured her.

By now, Kirsten was enthralled by my story and was sitting right on the edge of her bed like a young child hearing a fairy tale read by her father. “Go on, then what happened!” she demanded.

“Terri leaned back on my sofa and pulled her lacy panties to one side so I could clearly see her pussy. It was already stating to spread open and her blonde pubic hair glistened moistly. But I was worried because it looked so small compared to the large tulip-head that she now offered up to it. She closed her eyes and moaned quietly as she pressed the tip against her labia, twisting it back and forth and prodding herself. Her small, exquisite pussy lips started to part around it and large drops of semi-liquid formed as her own juices mingled with the artificial lube. She twisted it and pushed it, she gyrated her narrow hips and she moaned and cried with frustration but she simply could not penetrate her vagina.

"Then she asked me to assist: ‘Julia, please help me to get this monster into my tight, aching pussy, you sexy tart.' she wailed in frustration. How could I refuse? I took hold of the slippery shaft with a quivering hand and guided it in the direction of her love-tunnel. But I feared pushing too hard, as I didn't want to hurt her. Even in real life, Kirsten, I've never pushed anything into a woman's cunt, not even into my own.”

Kirsten looked surprised. “Really?” she asked, with difficulty, as her mouth was so dry.

I confirmed what I had said and continued.

‘Wait, I have an idea' exclaimed Terri. She stood up to her full height, easily 2” taller than me, and walked over to where two of my minimalist storage cubes had been pushed together. She stood on them, planting her slender feet wide apart, and crouched down as if she was going to pee. ‘Here, bring that monster over here' she instructed.

“I guessed what she wanted so I held the dildo vertically with its grippy end resting on the cubes and its tulip-head pointing menacingly upwards like a spacecraft ready for launch. Terri positioned herself carefully over its slippery tip and again pulled aside her lace panties to expose her open, dripping pussy. I held my breath as I steadied the glass rocket.”

“Shit, Julie, what did she do?" Kirsten demanded to know, her voice quite weak and wavering now. "Tell me what she did, Julie, tell me!”

Before continuing, I pulled my red panties high on my hips and shivered as I felt the cool damp patch that had formed between my legs. I pulled in my tummy muscles and re-enacted the dream as best I could, mimicking Terri's movements and copying her contorted facial expressions.

“She slowly and very carefully sank down onto it. She gasped and then she cried out as it made contact with her lips. She controlled her slight body-weight, causing the muscles in her calves and thighs to spasm and her taught skin to break out in beads of perspiration. Then, very gradually she lowered herself onto it and, from my position kneeling on the floor in front of her, I saw the glass tulip-head start to disappear into her secret sanctuary. As she bore down, her lips parted and she was able, little by little, to slowly force the head of the dildo further into her cunt.

“Kirsten, she had her eyes closed and she was biting her bottom lip. She put her hands on my shoulders to steady herself and continued her inexorable journey downwards, stopping for a moment then easing herself down a little more as the huge tip of the glass sex-tool gradually disappeared inside her.”

Kirsten was panting hard by now and she threw off her bathrobe. “I'm getting so hot, Julie. Go on ...” she insisted.

“After what seemed like ages, the entire head eventually disappeared into her cunt. Terri seemed to relax momentarily as her slippery labial lips closed around it, as if to prevent its escape, and copious streams of her natural juices oozed down the long shaft. Some ran down onto my hand, collecting in a small pool and making it difficult for me to keep a firm grip on her intruder. Then, taking a deep breath, Terri cried ‘Yesssssss' and sank her body down in one continuous movement so that the long length of the slippery, clear glass dildo penetrated her, smoothly, until it was deep inside her tight vagina."

Kirsten visibly shook as she listened intently.

“Terri yelled and she screamed and she sobbed: ‘Oh, Julia, that's wonderful, that feels oh, so good inside me. I feel so full . Oh Julia, I wish this were your prick. I wish you could fuck my cunt with a long stiff prick just like this. Fuck me, Julia, fuck me hard,' she demanded, 'hold on tight!'

"Slowly she started to move her whole body up and down, continuing to steady herself with her hands on my shoulders as I struggled to hold the dildo still. Kirsten, you know, I desperately wanted to slide one hand inside my red panties and frig my own pulsing, swollen clit which, as you can imagine, was crying out for attention. The whole spectacle, the outrageously sexy and arousing situation, was making me feel like I had never felt before. But I needed both hands to grip Terri's crystal space-invader so I had to resort to rocking my hips back and forth so my clit rasped against the inside of the protective red fabric stretched taught and wet between my legs. I squeezed my knees together to heighten the intensity of the feelings now engulfing my smooth-shaven passion-fruit and turned my attention back to the job in hand.

"Terri leaned more of her weight onto me and increased the rhythm of her self-penetration. She slid her pussy up the dildo, then back down again at precisely-timed intervals so most of it disappeared inside. Occasionally she would stop with the tip just touching her wet cunt; she would hold it there for a moment then rock on the balls of her feet to cause her pussy lips to slide repeatedly across its tip. Then she would bear down again and swallow the entire length of the dildo deep inside her, brushing her blonde pubic hair against my hands and coating them with fresh cunt-juice. She repeated this cycle several times before shifting position again so now the tip rested against her small clit. She rotated her slim hips with minute, almost indiscernible movements as she became totally absorbed in the feelings of the smooth polished tip sliding inexorably from side to side and round and round over her bud, that highly-sensitive collection of nerve endings that must have been sending PLEASE!, NOW! messages to her brain."

"What happened?" pleaded Kirsten, "did she come? Did she?"

"No," I recounted.

"Just as I was sure she would let herself go, she changed position yet again. She lowered her torso and slid her pussy down over the length of the dildo once more and held herself motionless with easily 8 inches buried deep inside her and regained her composure."

"By now, Kirsten, I was wild with passion. I left the phallus firmly embedded in her cunt for a moment so my hands were free to pick up a bottle of mineral water. I took a long drink to moisten my throat and Terri tilted her head back so I could pour some of the cool, refreshing liquid into her dry, open mouth. She could speak now and begged me: 'Julia, get me out of this bra, quick!" But she had her hands still firmly gripping my shoulders to steady herself so I was unable to slip the straps off hers. Terri motioned to the table behind me. Picking up the pair of scissors she had used to open the present, I waited for Terri's nod of approval then I started to cut her bra straps. As I severed each one, her small firm breasts dropped only slightly. I could clearly see her erect nipples straining against the light lace that struggled to keep them in check. They formed prominent shadows in the centre of the dark circles of her areolae, easily visible through the delicate fabric. I reached behind her back to unfasten the clasp.

'No, with the scissors!' Terri instructed, looking downwards. I understood and, hands trembling, I then cut through the narrow piece of satin that held the two bra-cups together. To my delight, her small pert 32A breasts immediately broke cover as the lacy bra fell to the floor behind her. Her nipples stiffened some more and grew larger as the cool air hit them and they thrust forward from her taught, widely-spaced boobs. They pointed towards me only a few inches away from my face but I resisted a powerful urge to suck, lick and nibble them, much to the annoyance of my twitching pussy.

“The smell and the heat from Terri's engorged and very full cunt filled my nostrils. I looked on transfixed as beads of perspiration oozed from the pores of her young, smooth, tanned skin and trickled down her body. I poured more mineral water into her open mouth and some spilled over and traced in rivulets down her neck. Twin streams ran down her chest and over her lovely breasts, collecting at and dripping off her erect nipples. Teasingly I blew gently onto each one in turn and they grew even harder and stiffer from the cooling effect of the evaporation. Her areolae almost disappeared as their dark flesh puckered into two hard, fiery teats and the surrounding creamy flesh of her breasts pulled into tight, firm cones. The sight was exquisite but I had to tear away my gaze to concentrate again on the main source of Terri's pleasure, but not before I'd acceded to her request to cut off her pants too!

“I grasped the dildo firmly with both hands as Terri raised herself off it. She sat back on her heels, tightened her flat tummy muscles, arched her back and tilted her pelvis up to thrust her pussy forward. Then she raised and lowered her whole body so her clitoris slid up and down the entire length of that glass shaft. Her pussy lips enfolded around it and the glass acted as a slightly blurred magnifying glass. Through it I could see the swollen pink bud of her clit slithering up and down that magnificent smooth pole."

‘Shove it inside me, babe!' (I recounted Terri's exact words with theatrical drama, to Kirsten's great enjoyment).

"I obliged and drove the rod upwards, so deep inside so I barely had enough slippery glass left to hold on to. 'Twist it!' Terri demanded, so I rocked it from side to side and I rotated it every way I could. Terri was shaking all over. Her eyes were tight shut and her mouth was wide open. She dug her nails painfully into my shoulders and she gasped for air."

I looked across at Kirsten who was, by now, lying back on the bed, propped up on her elbows as she watched me. Her eyes were wide open as she unblinkingly hung avidly on my every tantalising word and watched intently as I acted out Terri's erotic body movements from my dream. Kirsten had her legs spread apart with her spiked boot-heels dug deep into the luxurious carpet. Her face was flushed pink and her naked body was tense and alive with the energy of her obvious heightened state of arousal. Her own pink pussy was spread wide open and it glistened in the room lights as her juices oozed over its surface. “Oh, Julie, I can't stand this anymore!” she protested. “How could you fuck the gorgeous Terri like that and not so much as touch yourself? I'd have frigged myself to Nirvana and back again if it had been me holding that fuck-rocket."

“Kirsten, I didn't need to. At that moment, Terri and I both came with massive cries of pleasure from the shared physical and emotional release that our simultaneous orgasms brought. Terri climaxed from the feelings in her cunt and me just from the feelings in my head. I had to hang on tight to the dildo for fear that it would be sucked right into Terri's vagina as her pelvic muscles continued to pulse and contract with the power of her intense orgasm …”

At that moment, as I explicitly recounted the intimate details of our crashing climaxes, Kirsten too let out a long real-life cry not dissimilar to Terri's. That's when I realised that she too had climaxed, just as I had hoped.

Kirsten threw her head back and moaned as her thigh muscles twitched and tightened, then she fell back onto her bed and began to laugh with pleasure. “Oh Julie, I've done it, it's happened. We've done it.”

Yes, that evening, Kirsten too had joined the no-hands club; she had reached the goal of a spontaneous climax, without and physical contact. And I was proud that I had successfully brought her to orgasm by words alone.

We dressed in our casual clothes and sat quietly, clutching coffee mugs and pondering the evening's events. Kirsten and I had developed a very close understanding, some would even have called it love, but neither of us was ready to enter into a full-blown physical-contact relationship. In any case, we would both lose our jobs if Linda found out and I certainly did not think of myself as a lesbian. We had both enjoyed the evening's activities immensely and quickly drew the same conclusion.

"Could you do the same for Linda?" Kirsten asked me, with her head tilted quizzically to one side. "It might be enough to enable her to overcome the aversion she has to masturbation that emanates from her terrible experiences at school."

Thinking long and hard, I finally spoke.

“I'll give it a try," I replied, torn between feelings of excitement and trepidation.

“Julie, you're a star, thanks so much for, well, just being who you are," Kirsten gushed, with a broad smile on her face. Then she stood up, put her arms around me and planted a long, passionate kiss on my mouth.

“I'll have to talk to Emma, she will be able to devise a plan that Linda won't suspect."

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

Monday mornings were usually fairly slow and uneventful at PROM but today Emma was surprised that Kirsten, one of her best Personal Shoppers, was waiting for her in reception when she arrived at 10:00 am.

"Emma, I need to talk something over with you, is now a good time?"

"Kirsten, you know my door is always open but can you give me a few minutes to get my feet under my desk? I'll order you a coffee, your usual?"

Kirsten nodded and took a seat. Rachel was sitting at her desk looking as gorgeous as ever even though she was a bit quiet, suggesting she had spent a very enjoyable if overly hedonistic weekend. She was dressed in yet another outrageously-provocative and very loose interpretation of corporate dress code, or rather un-dress code in her case. Her unbelievably firm 34Bs were fighting to escape from the sides of her high-neck but sleeveless stretch ribbed top, obviously unrestrained by a bra, and her long silky auburn hair caressed her bare shoulders. She smiled a coy smile and looked away from Kirsten's admiring stare.

Rachel's phone rang and Kirsten overheard Emma's voice inviting her up. Rachel looked directly into Kirsten's eyes then swivelled hers in the direction of the stairs, indicating without a word that she could go on up. Then she winked.

Kirsten breezed into Emma's office and sat down on her sumptuous leather sofa under the window. Emma made small talk then asked her directly why she was there, so early on a Monday.

"Emma, something incredibly significant happened to me over the weekend …"

Kirsten recounted in some detail the events in her apartment and the significance this had for Linda's 'problem'. "Julia is just so sensual and so provocative. Her imagination is so powerful and her sexuality is so intense that she was able to come spontaneously. OK, I put on a bit of a show for her but I doubt that I would have had such a stimulating effect on anyone else. It's all in her mind. Then, when she told me about her ‘dream' in such vivid detail, well I could have come much earlier but I had to hold myself back just so I could hear the ending!"

Emma listened intently and Kirsten could tell she was becoming aroused as the events of Saturday night unfolded. She unfastened another button of her white blouse and shifted awkwardly in her chair.

"Kirsten, I agree with you." Emma stood up and walked over to the window. "Julia represents Linda's best chance she might ever get of overcoming her sexual dysfunction. I suggest that none of us let on to Linda that Julia knows she can't come, and certainly that they even went to the same school. Look - I have an idea! You know that Linda always threatens to go 'back to the floor' and actually work in the stores and advise clients?" Kirsten nodded and tilted her head to one side to signal 'continue'.

"She believes she could improve the services we offer if she met some clients in real-life sales situations. I'll take her up on the idea and get her out into the stores. Then we can ensure Julia meets up with her on one of her mystery shopping sprees. They can interact as client and sales demonstrator even though they both know their true positions in the company. It wouldn't arouse - oops, sorry! - create suspicion in the store. Remember, the sales demonstrators mustn't discover Julia's true role."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Kirsten. "I'm sure the high-risk scenario of erotic role play with the president, right there in the privacy of a top store's changing room, would bring out the best in Julia. And the neutral ground and fictional enactment of their encounter would relieve Linda of the pressure to maintain her composure as head of the company. Let's go for it! Does anyone else need to know?"

"I'll have to involve C as marketing and training manager as she would need to know that Linda was going 'out and about'," explained Emma. "But she needn't know why - she'd be jealous as hell too!"

Kirsten took the responsibility of explaining this plan to me and I loved the idea so much that my pussy signalled approval by swelling and moistening slightly and I felt my nipples grow as Kirsten elaborated. Linda would spend a day at each of 5 London stores during the second week of May and I would 'mystery-shop' the Regent Street store the day she'd be there. That gave me a month to plan and practice my 'show'.

Emma broached the subject with Linda who, apparently, was luke-warm initially but Emma assured her that it was best for the company and convinced her that it had indeed been her idea in the first place.

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

Life continued as normal and I continued to enjoy my work as Mystery Shopper. I travelled extensively and spent as much time as possible at the new stores that Passionella had recently opened in Bath and York. At the weekends I widened my circle of friends but remained frustrated that I could not socialise more with the gorgeous store Dems for fear that I might blow my cover.

I spent hours in the gym, toning up my figure without building hard muscle and enjoying the effect the exercise had on the flatness of my tummy. I was also sure that my breasts were becoming firmer and maybe a little larger. I was having more difficulty fitting them into my usual 34B size but to my delight I found I could afford to wear very low-cut deep plunge bras. These exposed vast amounts of my firm, cream flesh pushed upwards and together in a deep, rounded and eye-catching cleavage to rival even Rachel's. I spent many happy hours admiring myself in front of the mirror, both at home and in the stores, and wearing thin, clingy tops and deep-plunge necklines as the weather became warmer. I enjoyed the surreptitious glances of both men and women who played the age-old game of ‘is-she-or-is-she-not-wearing-a-bra?' and I flaunted myself unashamedly as I strutted the streets of some of the country's most stylish and sophisticated cities.

I thought long and hard about how I might be able to fuck Linda with my body and my voice without actually touching her. I needed to understand just what might turn her on. OK, I knew that basically it was beautiful women semi-naked in sophisticated lingerie, that's the whole raison d'etre for Passionella UK. But I needed something more specific. So I used my Passionella credit card to good effect at the beauty salons, experimenting with different hairstyles and looks. I walked the streets and frequented the trendy bars of London, carefully gauging the reactions of women from the same age and socio-economic groups as Linda. I spent time practicing my erotic body language and role-playing various situations that might arise between us and I bought some sophisticated day clothes as well as a daring evening outfit for the next Passionella launch party.

Chapter 9

It was now the end of April and many of Passionella's best employees had gathered at PROM for another new product launch, this time of ‘Mesh' - a new range of sexy dance/party/late-nights-at-home wear intended to compete with the growth of more daring high-street underwear shops.

I had been invited, of course, to mingle with the clients as one of them and to check up on the Dems and personal shoppers who can sometimes treat these launches as a night out for their own benefit rather than for the benefit of their customers. On the way there, I ran through some saved messages on my cell-phone voicemail. One had been left by Helen from the Sheffield store.

She introduced herself nervously then started to speak falteringly to my voicemail service like it was a behaviour counsellor:

“Julia, I need your help (long pause) No, let me get straight to the point. You, er, you know we aren't supposed to touch each other, company rules and all that, but, well, … I have a fantasy about you and I and it's been keeping me awake at night. Julia, I've rubbed my pussy so sore just thinking of you and I ,,, doing, doing, well, something together. But I've saved myself for you for nearly a week now and my clit is throbbing for you and my juices are welling up inside me as I speak. Julia, can you come up to Sheffield really soon so we can get it on in the changing rooms? Or can we meet at PROM for the new product launch next week and enjoy each other in a Private Room? All the girls are talking about you and how much fun they have with you when you shop in their stores. Will you do something with me, Julia?” Click

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

All my favourite girls were at the show. Fiona was positively glowing - she'd lost some weight and gained loads of self-confidence since being promoted to Personal Shopper at the new outlet in York. Tall Stevie was as loud as ever and was chatting up Yasmin and Zöe who, as usual, seemed more interested in each other and were being embarrassingly touchy-feely over pre-show drinks. Vikki and Maria were circulating like true professionals, chatting to clients and floating effortlessly from group to group. Abigail was mostly standing still for fear of falling out of her low-cut dress and Helen was attracting admiring and jealous stares in equal measure as she displayed more taught, flat tummy than most of us could at half her age. We made eye contact only briefly across the floor before Linda appeared and announced that the show was about to start.

We filed downstairs to the catwalk and took our seats. To my delight, Helen immediately sat down next to me and the other two vacant seats are taken by Zöe and Yasmin; they wouldn't disturb us as they were still totally engrossed in each other. Helen leaned across and spoke quietly. "Did, did you get my, er …"

“Yes,” I assured her, “I got your message - it was very flattering. I whispered in her ear: “Listen, I'll see you after the show. Shhh!"

Mesh was well presented as a very raunchy product line, something of a departure for Passionella but not losing the air of exclusivity and sophistication we all associated with the brand. Every garment was made up from panels of see-through fine mesh stretched between a structure of straps and webs. As Fiona, Stevie, Maria and another girl I didn't recognise took their turns on the stage, the audience cheered and applauded as we were treated to bras & panties in various cuts & styles, nightwear and ‘special outfits' in black or white.

One garment in particular caught my eye. It was a basque and was modelled by lovely Maria; it barely covered her ample Antipodean breasts and stopped just above her hips. It had wide shoulder straps and removable suspenders attached by trademark Passionella logo catches. With it, she wore a Mesh thong with narrow side straps that also featured Passionella Kissing Lips logos. Cheekily, Maria showed that the side catches could be undone to make the thong even easier to remove in a hurry, although she fastened them again without completing the task. Shame.

I was in no doubt that the product range would be a great success when it hit the stores and the audience applauded warmly as Linda took the stage to make her closing remarks.

Immediately after the show, Helen grabbed my arm and positively dragged me up the stairs and into Gold Private Room before any of the other guests had even left their tables. She closed the door quickly and locked it behind her whereupon she let out a long sigh and smiled broadly at me. We flopped into opposite sofas and talked small talk, about the show, the products, the weather and life.

Then Helen looked more serious.

“I meant it. My message. I want to act out my fantasy, right here, right now, and I don't care if I get fired either. Julia, I'm hot for you and I want to show you what I bad girl I can be. Will you let me?"

How could I resist? Helen was not classically beautiful but she had a lean and slender body, long arms & legs and a particularly long, narrow midriff. She had masses of dark hair, to match her dark eyes. I was excited by her forward approach and realised that I could turn tonight to my advantage - I would use Helen as a practice run for my seduction of Linda. By the way, where was Linda tonight? I'd hardly seen her.

"Helen, yes, of course." I replied. She smiled again.

“I'd love you to model that set that Maria wearing, and I want to try out an idea. Are you game?" Helen nodded, and located her size amongst the garments on the hanging rail. "White OK?" she asked. A good choice to contrast with her hair. She disappeared into the en-suite dressing area and appeared moments later, still adjusting the straps to fit. She also had on a pair of white lace-top stockings that she attached to the suspenders and finally she threw a long white silk scarf casually around her neck.

Helen put on the show of my dreams. She moved so sensually and she talked dirty too. She described her garments in tantalising detail and used her long fingers to point out the features and the places where they made her feel good. She wriggled and showed me close up how the mesh had made her nipples hard and how the slightly stretchy material formed around them. She thrust out her chest and moaned, describing how the pressure on her breasts was making her feel horny and how the slightly coarse mesh rubbed over her nipples, making them hyper-sensitive. Looking down, I couldn't help but notice the dark shadow of her bush through the contrasting white mesh of her thong.

I encouraged her and matched the explicitness of her dialogue. I asked her questions about how the clothes made her feel and elicited moans of pleasure as I insisted she repeated and exaggerated those movements that increased her arousal. I had her acting to her own script and she was loving it.

“Helen, does that thong press against your pussy?” I teased, expecting no reply. “Does it feel tight between your legs, Helen? Does it rub you when you move?"

Helen confirmed my thoughts by making even more sensual moves and looking more and more dreamy. I asked more questions, the answers to which I could easily guess: “Helen, are you feeling really hot now? Is your pussy opening up and swelling against the pressure of that thong?" Helen could only nod and lick her lips. I continued to encourage her.

“Is your pussy engorged and wide open now (I could see that it was) and is the thong starting to slip between your lips? Is it, Helen?”

She nodded again.

“Is your clit touching the mesh fabric, now?” By the look on her face, I was sure it was.

“Yes it is, yes, yes, yes you bitch, you know it is. For fuck sake, stop just talking about it and frig me, won't you? I want you to pantie-frig me till I come. You promised. Just do it, now, please, please," Helen pleaded, standing with her hands on her hips, her legs wide apart and her pussy mound thrust towards me.

Now for my flash of inspiration. "Hold still," I demanded.

"I can't, Julia, I can't. I'm so turned on I'm just gong to have to do it myself if you won't - just watch me.

"No, don't," I insisted, and quickly grabbed the silk scarf from around her neck. I tied her wrists together behind her back and she cursed me some more.

“Now hold still, you'll thank me later," I retorted.

Helen was not convinced but I detached the suspenders from the bottom edge of her basque and tossed them aside (thankfully her stockings were hold-ups so they stayed high and smooth on her long, firm thighs).

I then unfastened the Logo clasp at one side of her thong and was delighted to find my hunch worked. Either by accident or by design, I could attach the two halves of the thong's side strap to the suspender attachment clasps at the front and back of the basque. I did the same at the other side and pulled the adjusters tight. This forced Helen's thong tight up against her pussy and she wriggled with a mixture of pleasure and frustration.

“Hey, that's not fair," she protested, pulling at the scarf around her wrists.

"There, how does that feel?"

"Even more frustrating than before. You're trying to humiliate me and take advantage of the state you've got me into. This was supposed to be as much for my enjoyment as yours wasn't it? And you just seem to be getting your pleasure from seeing my discomfort. You're, you're a bitch! I thought you were a …"

I interrupted her with a suggestion:

“Try rocking your pelvis and see what happens." I untied her wrists so she didn't loose her balance but Helen actually looked quite disappointed so I tied them together in front of her with the same scarf.

Helen thrust her hips forward and back a couple of times now that the thong was attached to her basque and not around her waist. As she moved her hips the mesh fabric between her legs rubbed back and forth over her pussy, just as I had hoped. "Oh, … that's goooooood, " she sighed, and moved some more, "but I really don't think I can come like this."

"Let me help …" I offered, and shortened the wide shoulder straps of her basque. This pushed her boobs closer together and lifted them higher on her chest, putting more pressure on her erect nipples as they pressed against the mesh bra-cups. But the design of the basque was such that the shoulder straps continued in long webs right down the front and back of the garment and terminated at the suspender attachment clasps. So, by shortening the shoulder strap adjusters I had also pulled her thong tighter up between her legs.

Helen moaned and thrust her hips purposefully. "Oh, that's even better. Mmmmmm …"

"Tighter?" I asked.

Helen nodded excitedly and I pulled the shoulder adjustments as tight as they would go. She spread her stocking-encased legs wide apart and the thong all but disappeared deep between her engorged pussy lips.

"Tighter! Tighter!" she demanded, “Please!!” But I'd run out of adjustment.

"Lift your hands above your head!" I commanded and Helen obeyed. The effect was devastating because, as she raised her arms the tension on the shoulder straps pulled the basque high, high on her rib cage and rammed her thong harder into her crack.

Helen was panting and shaking. I was afraid she would go weak at the knees and lose the pulling effect but I had another idea still to try. Holding Helen's arms high above her head by the scarf that bound them, I walked her the length of the room. Every small step sent a shudder through her body as the tight thong rasped against her clit and pussy-gash.

When we reached the far wall, I turned her to face me and, staring deep into her dark eyes, I reached up and attached the free end of the scarf to a ring fixed to the wall, presumably for just such a purpose. I tied the scarf so Helen's arms stretched high in the air and the thong pulled so hard I feared the pain might mask the pleasure.

No worries there; Helen took over and established a rhythm. She lifted herself onto her tip-toes to relieve some of the pressure and rotated her hips in alternate directions. Then she bent her knees so most of her weight was taken on her tethered arms causing the thong to dig deeper into her soft, tormented pussy.

Helen let out a long deep moan and repeated the sequence several more times.

"Uh, uh, uh, uh. Oh, oh, oh, ohhhhhh, no, no, yes, yes yessssss, no, … mmmMMMMMmmmmm"

Then she lifted herself onto her toes again and, keeping her upper body still, she used those tight tummy muscles to thrust her pelvis forward and backwards in long slow decisive movements. She'd managed to release just enough tension on the thong straps that she was then able to rub her swollen clit against the inside of the mesh fabric.

I could only imagine what the feelings must have been like as she gave herself the pantie-frig of a lifetime. I sensed she was getting close to orgasm and gestured to untie the scarf but she shook her head. Instead she slowed her rhythm almost to a standstill before gradually building back up again from those almost indiscernible movements.

As her speed increased she started to loose control. Her face became contorted and her whole body began to shake. Finally, she lifted her feet right off the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest so her whole weight was taken by her bound wrists and the thong cut deep, deep into her.

She screamed.

"Yaaaahhhhhhhhh. Mmmmmmmmm. Oh, oh, oh yessssssssssss!" she cried as her orgasm finally arrived.

Taking her weight on her feet again, she twisted and writhed in pleasure and release as she extracted the maximum enjoyment out of her climax. I certainly derived a great deal of pleasure just watching her although I didn't come myself.

I also noticed just how much Helen enjoyed having her wrists bound and wondered if I would like that too.

As she calmed down, I released Helen's arms from the wall ring and untied them. She rubbed her wrists as she sank to the floor and she loosened the shoulder straps of her basque. Unclipping the thong, she extracted it from the soft folds between her legs, rubbing her pussy for the first time.

I feared she would be angry with me, until she spoke:

"Wow, Julia, that was terrific. Thanks!" Her cheeks were rosy red and her face and neck were wet with perspiration.

"But Helen," I replied, "I didn't touch you, you did that all yourself."

"Well, yes, but you set me up for this, you scheming bitch."

"Complaining?"

"No"

"Happy?"

"Definitely"

“Sore?”

“A bit”

"Get dressed and we'll go back to enjoy the party.”

It was gone 11:00 pm when we wandered back into the PROM reception area. The few people still there smiled sweetly and knowingly. Zöe and Yasmin strolled out of Red, arm in arm and asked if we knew where Linda was. This confirmed my suspicions: that she is rarely to be seen at these events, preferring to keep a low profile in her office and trusting her staff to entertain her company's clients.

Kirsten blew a kiss to a client who was just leaving and waved to me across the room before departing.

I took a taxi home and showered before climbing into bed. I mulled over the evening's events and thought about my mission to 'satisfy' Linda. Unable to sleep, I masturbated myself slowly and tenderly to a quietly satisfying orgasm to relieve the pent-up tension and excitement of my 'session' with Helen, the images of her lean and tethered body still crystal clear in my mind.

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

Early May found me hard at work around the stores as well as performing my secondary role as company spy, searching out new styles and ideas introduced by Passionella's competitors and ensuring that other brands were not overshadowing our store displays. I also purchased competitors' products to test the store staff's knowledge of their various brands and products.

I was also spending time at home, supervising the decorators who were implementing my scheme to improve the decoration of my apt without changing its fundamentally Minimalist feel. Terri was complaining about the difficulty of keeping it clean and tidy whilst the work went on but I promised her a special treat when it was all over.

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

When the day finally arrived for me to ‘Mystery Shop' Linda I was very nervous, but any negative thoughts were more than cancelled out by the feelings of responsibility and trust placed in me by Emma and Kirsten. Anyway, I liked Linda and she was the owner of the company that employed me. If I could make her happy and at the same time, maybe, improve my employment chances, I'd give it my best shot. I'd dearly wanted to settle an old score with Mrs G too; revenge is sweet, as they say.

First decision: what to wear? Even though I'd had weeks to plan, I was still undecided. I was looking for a mix of my Recruitment Executive alter ego spiked with sensual temptress. It was the sensual temptress bit that I found difficult to carry off on a Thursday morning in central London. Finally I settled on the suit I'd bought with no particular situation in mind - a shimmering satin fabric in a French Mustard hue with a wrap-over double-breasted jacket (the irony made me smile too) and a calf-length skirt with mid-thigh-high splits up both sides. I'm sure the designer had his own idea of what should be worn underneath but I chose one of my new uplift-for-a-deep-cleavage bras in a strong blue with decorated edges to the cups and narrow twin shoulder straps. The panties consisted of a fairly large triangle of matching blue fabric with similar detailing along its top edge, identical narrow twin straps around the hips meeting at the back at a tiny triangle securing them to the thin web that would soon be nestling in the crack between my tight gym-honed bum cheeks. And nothing else. Except for a pair of dark hold-up lace-topped stockings.

I showered thoroughly, pampered myself to death, shaved my bikini line but left a light re-growth of pubic hair in a small neat shield-like shape. I painted my finger and toenails to match my underwear and applied a minimum of carefully-chosen make-up. I wondered aloud as I dusted and brushed, how many people at Passionella have actually noticed that normally I don't wear any make-up?

I finished my bowl of muesli and downed a second cup of herbal tea before dressing. I slipped my pants over my hips and wriggled them into position, enjoying the feel of quality materials next to my skin. I threaded my arms into the bra and fastened the clasp behind my back. Looking in the mirror, I almost gasped out loud as I hardly recognised my breasts. Thrust upwards and forwards by the combination of my arms being pushed right back and the clever design of the bra cups. More than half of the large rounded mounds of my breasts was exposed and they swelled firmly and provocatively towards the mirror. Then, when I dropped my arms to my sides, my twin perfectly-rounded hemispheres pressed together so aggressively that they almost touched. A cleavage of such magnificence and glossy-magazine perfection such as I'd never experienced before.

I pulled on my stockings and stepped into my flowing skirt before slipping my arms into the smooth-satin lined sleeves of my wrap-over jacket. I admired the effect in the long mirror, twisting and leaning to replicate the positions I might have reason to adopt later that morning. I thought I may have overdone the sensual seductress bit as all the world would be convinced I had no bra under my day clothes and yet no-one, not even Rachel, has breasts that shape without any support. I laughed out loud with self-satisfaction and leaned forward one last time to check that the most determined voyeur might see the teasing sculpted edges of my bra cups should they try hard enough. The tops of my stockings were visible if I stood with my legs apart, causing my skirt to ride up, but not when I walked.

The excitement was reaching my pussy and I feared that I would spoil my lovely briefs with my juices so early in the day. In a moment of madness, I decided to travel to Regent Street by tube rather than taxi, just to see the effect I would have on my fellow travellers. The outrageous risk to my personal safety did not enter my head as I slung a small bag over my shoulder and strode out into the street.

The journey was easily as amusing and entertaining as any confirmed observer of the lecherous side of human behaviour could have wished for.

The doorman at the Regent Street fashion and furnishings store opened the large ornate door wide for me and smiled discreetly. I slipped a small coin into his hand. I wondered what he might slip into his hand that night if he'd been able to witness what I had planned for Linda.

I browsed through the day and evening wear sections of the store and enjoyed the polite and helpful attentions of the staff who recognised me as an irregular but loyal customer. I sat at the counter of the espresso bar on a high stool, oblivious to the attention my stocking-clad legs attracted, whilst running over my plans for Linda's enjoyment and, hopefully, her release from the chains of her auto-celibacy.

I strolled discreetly into the Passionella sales display area, trying not to attract too much attention too soon and browsed through the beautiful items on show.

I noticed a slightly-built young woman sporting a Passionella badge standing near to the private changing rooms. She made brief eye-contact with me then looked away again. A less well-trained shop girl might have rushed up to me and asked if she could help. But no, this young lady gave me all the time I needed to browse but ensured she always stood where I could see her so I could invite her over with the smallest nod or gesture.

But where was Linda? I hoped she hadn't altered her itinerary at the last moment - I'd double-checked with Emma earlier that morning. Then to my relief I saw her emerge from the storeroom looking slightly flustered, arms laden with new stock. I was pleased to see she was experiencing one of the less enjoyable aspects of shop work. Linda had her long, wavy dark hair neatly piled high on her head and wore a smartly-cut high-necked sleeveless dress in corporate burgundy fabric of the very best quality. I strode across to the two women.

Linda made eye-contact for a couple of seconds, long enough to confirm that she recognised me but not long enough to suggest that she was expecting me nor that she resented my presence. I made some inconsequential conversation with the sales Dem who's name was Danielle then turned to Linda and spoke to her as though we had never met before, to avoid raising Danielle's suspicions.

"Could you help me to chose some lingerie please?"

"Of course, that's what I'm here for," replied Linda, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm. "Do you have anything particular in mind?" she enquired.

We exchanged pertinent questions and plausible replies. I wasn't being deliberately uncooperative but Linda became edgy when I wouldn't give her much to go on. I picked a few pieces off the rails and asked to try them on but was unable to find the Mesh range I needed to be able to re-enact my session with Helen

"Do you have anything new?" I enquired and Linda turned to the stock she had been carrying. She knew I'd been at the launch so she didn't try to oversell the line. She asked me if I'd like to try something and she helped me to locate the basque and thong I needed.

"We have black or white, the other colours are not yet available. Any preference?"

My perfect cue.

"I'd like to try both in order to decide."

Deep breath.

"If I try on the white, will you model the black for me please? Then I can compare them side by side."

Linda looked at me as though she could kill me but she stayed calm. What could she say in front of Danielle? She had promised her staff she would do everything they are expected to do in the course of her 'back to the floor' week.

Linda selected her size in black and we locked the changing room door behind us, but not before Linda had reassured Danielle: "We won't be long; look after the sales floor please."

As soon as the door was secure, Linda turned to face me. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "You're paid to mystery-shop my staff, not me. Who's checking up on who? What am I going to gain from this? I've been in this business for years and I doubt that you … "

As Linda ranted at me I put a finger to my lips. "Danielle will hear you. What will she think?"

Then I looked deep into Linda's clear blue eyes and held her gaze. This defused her annoyance and she turned away for a moment, then looked back. She took a deep breath and was about to speak when I started to slowly unbutton my jacket. I'm not sure if she'd really noticed my clothes but she took more interest now as even Linda the professional speculated on what I might or might not be wearing underneath.

I slipped the designer-label jacket off my shoulders, pushing my arms back just as I had when admiring my boobs in the mirror at home. Linda raised her dark, neatly-plucked eyebrows briefly in admiration, and correctly named the precise Passionella style, size and colour of my bra. I congratulated her with a purr and dropped my head forward, looking up at her seductively. I glanced down at my cleavage and back up to hold Linda's stare again.

"Nice?" I asked.

You're a lucky girl, Julia. You wear our products well but that bra makes you look, well, trashy. It's too overtly sexy for day wear."

"But Linda," I purred as I carefully hung my jacket on the rail. "I like to feel sexy and I like to be overt when I'm in the mood. I'm an individual. Do I shock you? Don't forget, the word 'overt' comes from the French for 'open' "

"I've seen it all before," Linda replied with a shrug.

"Not yet, you haven't" I countered, and leaned forward more than was necessary to slip my skirt down over my nylon-encased thighs. When I stood up again, I posed a little then turned through 360 degrees, stopping momentarily to show off each side profile and my back view. Linda seemed to be mellowing a little so I lessened my assertiveness and role-played some more, adopting an affected tone of voice.

"The black is my second choice at the moment," I mused, "but I could change my mind, if you'd kindly model for me."

Linda started to undress, making no attempt to hide her displeasure: "You've tricked me into this. I'll go through with this for the benefit of the company, but I'll see you in my office this afternoon."

She reached behind to the fastening of her modest dress but I motioned her hand away so I could do it for her. I slowly dragged down the zipper, pressing my hand into her back all the way down her spine to her coccyx.

Linda closed her eyes.

I slipped the dress off her shoulders and she wriggled out of it.

Underneath she was wearing a plain camisole over pretty but 'sensible' bra and pants, which she removed fairly unceremoniously. Her body looked good for her age which I'd previously guessed at 33 years. Her boobs were not exceptionally large and she had a full rib cage so I estimated her to be a 36B. Her nipples were small but with dark, round, perfectly formed areolae.

Linda stepped into the black Mesh thong and set the sides neatly on her hipbones. I picked up the basque and held it so she could put her arms through the straps. She smiled a little and thanked me so I offered to do up the back fastening hooks. She assented; she'd have struggled to do them up by herself; this was definitely a garment to share with a friend.

She was obviously enjoying having someone help her to dress. As far as I knew, she lived alone and although she seemed highly sociable, I didn't think she had many close friends so perhaps she appreciated the intimacy. Or maybe this just reinforced the superior/subordinate relationship between us, like I was her maid. But would she help me ?

I turned my back to her so she could unfasten my bra but she made to attempt to. I could see her in the mirror; she was looking down at my all-but-naked bum. "Could you … ?"

"Oh, sorry." She undid me and I peeled the bra off my boobs. I turned around and cupped my breasts tenderly. I massaged them and commented on the feeling of freedom upon being released from one of Passionella's most uplifting products. Linda watched as I squeezed and released them but I wished I could have seen her expression as I bent forward to remove my pants.

I slid into my white Mesh basque and turned my back to Linda so she could clip me into it but she just stood with her arms folded. I reached behind me and, as I struggled to fasten the hooks, I watched Linda in the mirror. She looked around the room and made disapproving noises. "Hurry up, Julia, " she sighed.

"But Linda, your company sells these products. You need to understand how your customers feel in the changing room situation when they try them on. They need the sales demonstrators to be helpful and make it easy for them, make them feel good about the products and themselves."

"Oh, OK, come here."

I stepped towards Linda but stood facing her so the only way she could fasten me up was to reach her arms around my sides. Our faces came very close together and Linda had to stand back a little to avoid pressing her breasts against mine. I looked straight at her and she tried to avert my gaze. To reach the lower fastenings she had to squat, which must have been hard for her as it put her in an inferior position. It also meant that my tummy was directly in front of her and her nose was barely 8 inches from my pussy. Would she notice my aroma? I was getting more than a little turned on by having the company president clipping me into a tight basque whilst crouched in front of my naked pussy in a locked room. I sensed that the atmosphere was becoming highly charged

I didn't want her to see how swollen my pussy lips were becoming so I stepped briskly into the white Mesh thong and stood next to Linda. We looked at each other in the wall-to wall mirrors.

Linda was the first to speak: "You look good in white, it complements your skin tone. Turn around, please."

I wished she would relax her formality, but I obliged without comment. I turned slowly and sensually, posing coyly at each turn and adopting my best 'photo-studio' glance-over-the-shoulder expression. I faced Linda and leaned forward a little with my shoulders pushed back so my boobs thrust forward prominently. Linda smiled sweetly and commented: "you know all your best features; I'm eternally grateful to Kirsten for recruiting you. You are very popular with the Dems, you know they look forward to your visits to their stores, don't you?"

I feigned a bashful expression whilst savouring her rare compliments. "Thanks, you are so kind. You look good yourself too. Have you ever modelled?"

Linda suddenly looked serious and I apologised.

"I'm sorry if I pried into your personal life; I have no idea what you did before you started Passionella UK"

"Julia," Linda replied in a slightly wavering voice, "no-one at Passionella knows that," then she changed the subject abruptly, asking: "What's it to be, black or white?"

This gave me an excuse to admire Linda's body in close detail before I returned to my role-play persona.

"The black basque is very seductive; the contrast between the mesh and your skin is very, what can I say, Cabaret, do you know what I mean? Whereas my white is more, how can I put it, Girls' School?"

Linda's face turned pale. I needed to defuse the situation quickly; I'd touched a raw nerve but there was something else of Linda's that I wanted to touch much more than that!

Struggling to keep to the plot, I planted my hands on my hips to signal a dilemma. "I have problem. I'm looking for something to wear under a new evening dress I recently purchased. It has a slit right up one side, (I ran my finger up the outside of my thigh), almost up to my waist and I'm worried that the sides of this thong will show (then I ran my finger along the inside of the waistband). Can I try something?" I suggested tentatively.

Linda said nothing and I approached her cautiously. Fingers trembling, I knelt down, unclipped one side of her thong and attached the straps to the vacant suspender clasps on the lower edge of her basque, just as I had with Helen at the product launch. Linda raised her arm slightly to make this task easier so I took that as a sign of approval and shuffled around to her other side and repeated my adjustment to her lingerie.

Linda turned side-on to the mirror and admired the effect. She seemed to like what she saw.

"Hmm, that's a clever idea, we'll have to transfer you to the design department," she quipped sarcastically and continued to move and pose. I sensed that she was warming up.

"Come on, you too, she encouraged, “we're comparing, don't forget." Linda unclipped my thong and expertly attached the Kissing Lips Logo clasps to the bottom edge of my basque in the same way.

Then she pulled my straps tight. "Like it?" she enquired. I was afraid I might lose the upper hand.

"Try it yourself, then you'll know" I countered, my mouth becoming dry as the sexual temperature rose in the room. I moved towards Linda but she completed the job herself, pulling her thong straps taught against her skin. "Oh, yes, that feels much better," she commented, half to me and half to herself as she stood square on to the mirror, straightened her long slender legs and moved her feet slightly apart on the carpeted floor. She rocked her hips a little, seemingly lost in her own thoughts now as though I wasn't there. I sensed she was letting go and allowing her feelings to build inside. She closed her eyes and let out a warm sigh.

When she opened them, she saw the reflection of me standing next to her. I led her on, hoping that she would pick up my rhythm and mimic my movements, like a sexually-charged game of Simon Says. It worked

I rotated my hips clockwise; Linda copied.

I rotated them the other way; Linda copied.

I held my left wrist with my right hand and pressed the back of my right hand against my forehead; Linda copied exactly. It was working; I had Linda eating out of my hand and I proceeded to put on my very best exhibitionist-model-meets-soft-porn-movie-star show and she followed faithfully. I was getting so horny, due in part to the effect of the tight thong between my legs and in part to the whole erotic situation that was unfolding.

But could I actually bring the reluctant, self-denying Linda to orgasm? Without either of us touching her?

We whispered meaningless words of encouragement to each other and I realised that now Linda was taking the lead and I was following. 'Maybe his will be the only way,' I thought to myself, 'maybe Linda needs to maintain her position of authority'.

As if to reinforce this, Linda moved her feet together and stood tall. She seemed to tower over me and she beckoned me to come closer. I knelt in mock submission and I could see her pubic hair parted either side of the thong that was now disappearing into the soft folds of her presidential pussy. Then Linda reached down and roughly pulled the shoulder straps of my basque tighter, transferring the tension down to my thong straps.

‘Hey,' I thought, ‘that's my plan!' My thong pressed hard against my pussy and I felt my inner lips ooze and slide out around its edges. I tried to keep still to prevent it from rubbing against my clit as I couldn't afford to loose self-control now and come too early.

Still kneeling, I focussed again on Linda. I reached to similarly tighten her basque straps but winced and had to pull back. The effect of stretching up had the same result as Helen experienced in the PROM private room. The extra pull on the basque as I raised my arms pulled my thong hard against my bud, so hard I couldn't bear it. I looked up at Linda in her superior position and batted my eyelashes seductively. Linda smiled a knowing smile.

"Huh, can't you take it? Too much for you? No staying power, my sweet Julia? Now do you realise what you put poor Helen through? What torment she suffered? Eh?"

I panicked. How did she know about Helen? Surely she wouldn't have told the president what we did? That breaks one of the company rules of complete discretion between Dem and client.

I couldn't think of anything to say. I opened my mouth but nothing came out except a long low moan. Linda did not speak but she tightened her own straps with confident, exaggerated movements. She tilted her head back and looked down at me with her lips slightly apart. She ran her tongue along her top lip then back along her bottom lip, leaving a moist trail of sticky saliva. I came out in goose-pimples and a shiver ran down my spine.

Then Linda totally stunned me. She held out her arms on front of her with her wrists crossed and spoke commandingly:

"Do the same to me, like you did to poor Helen. Come on, don't be shy."

She obviously knew what came next so I couldn't feign ignorance. I was now about to bind the wrists of the company president, at her insistence. If I misjudged the situation now I could get fired or arrested.

I stood up gingerly and selected a soft leather belt from the rack of accessories on the far wall. I passed the free end through the buckle to form a loop and slipped it over Linda's hands. Immediately she raised her arms above her head and looked up at the changing room ceiling.

The translucent ceiling was made from canvas stretched over a grid of interlocking metal bars. I hesitated and searched for confirmation. "You want me to … over the bar .. the belt …?"

"Just do it, Julia. You know what to do."

But the only way I could reach was to stand on a stool and stretch my arms up high. This caused my thong to tighten between my legs and send a bolt of ecstasy through my pussy, causing me to almost lose my balance. I'm sure Linda would have grabbed me in an embrace to steady me if her hands weren't tethered, and who knows where that might have led.

I tied the belt to the ceiling bars. "Tighter" instructed Linda. I obliged, pulling on the free end of the belt.

Stepping off the stool I stood and stared at Linda. She looked so helpless but so very sexy. Her breasts were lifted high on her ribs and her abdominal muscles pulled her tummy flat and taught like a teenager's. The black mesh thong had all but disappeared into the folds of her pussy and her ample dark pubic hair. She had her eyes half closed and she stood almost motionless.

"Strip!" she commanded me.

What could I say.

"Very slowly." she added.

I put on my very best show. I desperately wanted to take off my thong to remove the pressure on my swollen bud but I couldn't rush my performance. This was going to be a fine dividing line between my own pleasure and hers - could I bring Linda to orgasm before I came myself? Is this what Linda wanted, a challenge, a race to the finish?

As I moved and posed, Linda gyrated and wriggled her hips, which turned me on even more. I detached my thong from the clasps on the basque and eagerly anticipated the relief this would bring to my already horny pussy. But instead of relief, I was rewarded with a sudden rush of blood to my cunt lips and my clit as I peeled away the tight, constricting mesh fabric from between my legs. My knees went weak and Linda let out a long 'mmmmmm' at the sight.

"Take off your basque now and let me see your tits, Julia", she growled.

I had to reach behind me to unclip the numerous hooks, the effect of which was to press my hard, engorged nipples firmly against their captors. The other effect was to give Linda a treat as my firm breasts spilled over the top of the cups.

Finally I stood naked before my employer.

What next? I wondered.

"Cup your breasts," she instructed.

Obligingly I slipped my hands under my heavy, sweating boobs and lifted them, as if offering them to my master on a silver platter.

"Well done. Now squeeze your nipples."

Linda either hadn't realised just how close I was to coming or she was deliberately pushing me to my limits of endurance and self-denial. I found the whole situation fabulously arousing, far more so that I could possibly have imagined, and was unsure just how much of a show I'd be able to put on for her before tipping myself over the edge, but I decided to try my best.

I cupped my outspread hands over my breasts, allowing my swollen nipples to extrude between my second and third fingers. Then I closed my fingers, trapping my highly-sensitive buds. Slowly I moved my hands away from my soft fleshy mounds, pulling and stretching my dark nipples and areolae into long cones. The feelings were indescribable and my exposed pussy pulsed in appreciation. I opened my fingers again and my nipples quickly retracted back to their usual, albeit highly erect, shape. The rush of blood back into them as I released them sent a second wave of sexual messages through my nervous system and I let out a muted cry.

"No, squeeze them between your fingers and thumbs," demanded Linda.

I obeyed.

"And roll them, yes, good, and pull them too. Harder, squeeze them harder!" Linda's instructions came in a more urgent, breathless staccato. Feelings of pain merged with feelings of pleasure and my brain could not easily distinguish the two. I knew I was enjoying the sensations, but I was unsure if it was the pleasure or the pain that I enjoyed more. My nipples were more sensitive than I could ever remember and I wanted Linda to feel how hard they were. More than that, I wanted her to kiss them and lick them and suck them into her mouth. To roll her tongue around them and along their distended length and to cool them by blowing softly on their wetness with the breath from her pouting, luscious lips. I wanted her to bite them between her teeth, gently but firmly. I wanted my fingers to be her fingers, turning me on more than I could stand. My mind was swimming in an increasingly delirious sea of arousal.

Then came another instruction

“Dance!”

I danced and twisted. I gyrated and I swayed. I tried my best but my mind was on other things. Actually, on just one thing that was making its presence felt: my hot, twitching and desperately horny clit was sending shots of sexual electricity up my belly and via my erect nipples to my brain, than all the way back again.

I looked at Linda. She was repeatedly opening and closing her eyes and her body was covered in perspiration. Just like Helen had, she occasionally bent her knees to heighten the sensation between her legs then stiffened, crossing her ankles and clamping her thighs tight together. She was obviously highly aroused, but would she be able to reach that elusive climax? What more would she expect of me? I was ecstatic but determined to hold out, in the faint hope that Linda would come before me.

Linda's Mesh lingerie cut into her flesh on her shoulders and her pubic mound as she reached her arms high into the air. “Take this thong off me, Julia,” she pleaded, “my pussy's so hot. I need to feel the sensations in my clit, Julia.” That's what I wanted to hear; I was now sure that Linda felt able to come. She wanted to and believed she could.

I reached down and unclipped the tight straps of her thong from the bottom of her basque. Her Mesh thong fell to the floor and her top rode up higher on her torso, lifting her small breasts. The sweet aroma of her sex filled the air and I dared to look down to see her dark cunt lips between her parted thighs.

“Do you like to look at other women's pussies, Julia? She asked. I looked up at her face and nodded bashfully.

“So do I, Julia,” she replied. “Show me yours, Julia. Show me your pussy, please Julia," she insisted. "Open it up so I can see."

I hesitated but I'd have done anything for dear Linda. So I sat on the floor, leaning against the far wall and I pulled up my knees. Slowly I spread my feet wide apart on the floor and I opened my legs. My pussy was so wet that it squelched as my lips parted and sex-juice oozed from my vagina and ran down my perineum. The cool air on my open cunt brought just a little temporary relief from the intensity of stimulation so I dared to I run my fingers along my bare inner thighs above the lacy tops of my stockings and I looked up at Linda.

But she was still firmly bound to the ceiling supports so she could do none of these things. She couldn't touch herself even if she wanted to.

Then another command arrived: "Open your cunt wide. Pull your lips apart so I can really see you."

'Oh shit,' I thought, 'I can't stand this.' I was now convinced that actually she was just being sadistic. I stalled but compelled myself to move my hands slowly over my abdomen, as much for myself as for Linda's pleasure and to delay the moment when I would actually touch myself in front of my boss. Sliding my two index fingers over my neat shield of short pubic hair, I let them rest together, concealing my slit from her view. Then I looked up at Linda and slowly moved my fingers apart, peeling my inner lips apart to expose the inner pink wetness of my vagina.

Linda moaned and ground her hips in circles. Her cunt looked wild and horny and deliciously sexy as she thrust her pelvis towards me. I wanted to reach out and touch her but did not dare take such a risk.

"Rub your clit, Julia," came my next orders. I almost came just at the mere thought.

Submissively I dragged both fingers slowly up my pussy and moved them together when they reached what seemed like the centre of my universe. I pressed my clit and I shook uncontrollably. I couldn't remember ever being so turned on and so close to orgasm but still being able to hold back and prevent myself from coming. The feelings were of intense self-inflicted torture, as though I dare not even blink in case the movement should tip me over the brink. I felt very weak. I removed one hand to support myself and lay on my left side. I lifted my right stocking-clad leg high and I frigged myself. Yes, right there in front of Linda, company president, currently tethered but still very much in control, I brushed my finger over my clit. Round and round, up and down and from side to side, barely touching my pulsing pink bud, extracting the last few seconds of self-restraint from the depths of my consciousness.

Linda's cunt was fat and engorged. Her lips sparkled with her wetness and the muscles inside her thighs tensed spasmodically. I sensed that Linda's end was coming soon and I took a huge chance.

"It's OK, Linda, you can come now. It's all right, really. Mrs Grundleton is away today."

Linda froze.

"Relax, She's not here today. She won't find us. We can have some fun; I won't tell"

Linda faltered, her throat dry and her voice weak: "Are you … sure?"

"Yes," I reassured her, "I saw her leave."

"You mean, no-one will hear us?" she asked.

"Yes, we're alone. Totally alone. No-one will interrupt us. No-one will punish us," I confirmed.

"But, I've been naughty, I deserve to be punished." Linda continued.

"This is your punishment. You've been very bad, that's why you're tied up. So you can't masturbate. So you can't come."

"But I can. You can't stop me," Linda retorted, defiantly.

"You can't come because you can't touch yourself. You're not allowed to."

"But I can come. I know I can. Watch me."

Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. She rocked on her heels and she rolled her pelvis.

"Is this what they did?" I taunted. "The girls, on their beds, where you could see them? Did they show you their pussies? Did they masturbate in front of you when they knew you couldn't? Did they come, Linda? Did they?"

Linda nodded. "Yes, but they weren't like you,” she whispered. “They didn't turn me on the way you do. Since the day I first saw you, my pussy has ached for you. I've experienced feelings that I forgotten I'd ever known. You, you, you make me … I need to … I can… I'm going to …"

Linda had her eyes closed - she didn't need me now. She was lost in her own sensations and her movements became rapid and erratic. She was moaning and panting and her pubic hair glistened with her moisture.

Then suddenly she half-whispered and half-screamed: “Fuck you, Mrs Grundleton" and erupted in a powerful, shuddering orgasm.

It went on for ages. Linda lifted one foot off the floor and crossed her calf above her other knee. She let out a long, low, animal cry as she thrust her pelvis and curled her shoulders forward into the nearest she could get to the foetal position, considering the inconvenience of having her arms tied above her head. She contorted and squirmed and, sure that she'd fallen over the parapet of ecstasy into the long descent of gratification, I let myself go too and came with a muffled cry as I bit my bottom lip.

I lay on my back exhausted and stared at the ceiling.

When the sensations had subsided, Linda looked down at me lying on the floor, legs now stretched out straight and wide apart.

Considering the enormity and significance of what had just happened, I fully expected Linda to either cry or to offer some explanation of her behaviour. But no. Linda calmly asked me to release her wrists and she slipped out of her black Mesh basque. Her shoulders bore deep, red marks from the tightness of the straps and she rubbed her wrists a couple of times. We sat quietly to collect ourselves and get our breath back.

Neither of us spoke but I took Linda's lead and we dressed in our day clothes. I didn't dare to wear any pants as my pussy was far too sensitive. However, I slipped into my bra even though it tormented my swollen breasts, as the alternative of having my bare nipples rub against the fabric of my jacket would have been too unbearable to even contemplate.

"We'll take a cab to PROM," Linda announced in a matter-of-fact tone. "Wait on the pavement for 10 minutes after we arrive; I'll tell Rachel that I'm expecting you so she'll send you straight up."

We emerged from the changing room together and I avoided the Danielle's gaze and that of several curious clients queuing to use the room. They must have heard us; what will they think? And say?

Linda & I sat in silence for the whole cab ride. She strode purposefully into her company HQ and the door swung shut behind her. Feeling vulnerable and abandoned, I stood outside looking like a high-class hooker and received several unwelcome propositions whilst I counted to 599 under my breath.

"Hello Julia," greeted Rachel. For once I took no notice of her clothes. "Go straight up, Linda's expecting you." I walked up the stairs carefully so as not to expose my sore and naked pussy through the side splits of my skirt.

Linda's office door was open. "Come in," she called, "and close the door." I did.

Linda sat on one of her two plush sofas and motioned for me to sit opposite, where I pondered my fate.

"How did you know?" she demanded, sternly. "Who told you?"

"Told me what?" I asked, knowing full well, but buying time like a seasoned politician during a difficult TV interview.

"Not what, who."

"Who? Oh, her, Mrs er, Mrs, what was her name?"

"Yes, you know," retorted Linda in an agitated tone "You know her name, you said it. Yes, Mrs Grundleton of course. Who else?"

No sense in pretending. "Partly school gossip and partly my powers of deduction," I replied. (I didn't actually lie, I just left out the third part i.e. that Kirsten and Emma had told me the whole story).

"I picked up odd snippets about you from my colleagues and put them together with what I'd heard about an incident at my school years before. I formed a hypothesis and tested it, gradually realising that the legend fitted you perfectly."

I could have continued but decided that we might as well get to the dismissal bit as quickly and painlessly as possible, so I shut up. I'd blown my dream job through a mixture of well-meaning but misguided desire to help a woman with a sexual hang-up (which was really none of my business) and sheer self-indulgence at her expense. Shit, shit, shit.

"Well, Julia,” Linda continued, “I can't even start to tell you how grateful I am. Thank you.”

If I hadn't been encased in the deep folds of Linda's sofa, I would have fallen off my seat.

"We have a lot to talk about - can you do lunch tomorrow?" she asked.

I could hardly refuse.

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

We met at my favourite restaurant in St Christopher's Place and made some small-talk. Linda was dressed less formally than usual and had an easy, relaxed air about her that I hadn't seen before. She wore a skinny ribbed jumper and tight trousers with slits half way up her calves. She picked at her salad and passed on dessert, ordering a double espresso, which she nursed close to her at the edge of the table. Then she looked up at me and started to speak softly.

She proceeded to tell me all the key points in her life since her 30 days of torment at school right up to the present day, including the creation of Passionella UK, the whole idea of the Private Rooms, the role of the Sales Demonstrators and the importance of the in-store changing rooms. She recounted everything that Kirsten and Emma had told me, and a whole lot more besides. Her life since that boarding-school incident had had a single purpose i.e. to encounter as many attractive, sophisticated, sensual women as possible and to place them in varied erotic situations in the seemingly vain hope that one day she could find a woman who could turn her on so much that she could once more reach orgasm.

Feeling brave, I asked: "was that, actually, well, er, the first orgasm you've had for, what, 15 years?"

Linda nodded.

“16”

I sat back in my chair. "Oh, Linda, you poor thing. How could you …"

Linda interrupted: "It's not what I could , it's what I couldn't that meant I had to go without for so long. Oh, Julia, I'd have loved to come. Don't you think I tried? I've been through hell. I can't start to tell you some of the lengths I went to, to try to achieve what I did, sorry, we did, yesterday.”

“You see," she continued, "I feel sick if I try to touch my own genitals, many times I have actually been physically sick. You must understand that I couldn't possibly be intimate with anyone when I couldn't bear even the thought of them touching me."

"Why do you think you felt that way?" I enquired, fearing that I might pry too closely.

"Firstly, use the past tense with care. I don't suppose that one incident yesterday will have 'cured' me overnight; I haven't tried to masturbate yet. But, I know exactly why I find sex so repulsive."

I sat forward on the edge of my chair.

"At night, in the school, when I was handcuffed to my bed, some of the girls would parade in front of me, performing mock and real sex acts. I guess you knew that." I nodded.

"But it got worse until one night, someone gagged me and fondled me. First my body, then my breasts. Then she touched my pussy and tried to masturbate me. I struggled but couldn't stop her. My tightly-secured body was sending mixed messages; I was aroused from the tauntings and teasings of the other girls and in some ways the attention was welcome. Unable to fend her off, really I wanted to come, but I needed to know who's finger was on my trigger. I forced my eyes open to try to see who it was and in the faint moonlight, I realised it was her."

"Who, surely not, Mrs Grundleton?"

"Yes," Linda confirmed, "my captor, the same woman in whom my parents had entrusted my education, my well-being and my emotional development was now trying to have lesbian sex with me, the very thing for which I was being punished. The sheer hypocrisy as well as the physical abuse made me sick. Physically sick, right there in my bed. And she even punished me more the next day for soiling my bedclothes."

I didn't know what to say but I was awe-struck by Linda's openness, that she was willing to tell me all this in such intimate detail.

"Didn't you complain, or report her to the police, or tell your parents?"

Linda had tears in her eyes now. "Who'd have believed me?"

I could see her point.

"So that's why I can't bear genital stimulation, I find it quite repulsive.

But hopefully that's all history now" she continued. "Julia, I feel like today is the start of a new life for me. A fresh start - but only a start. I need to bury the past and try to build a sex life. At least I know I can still come, but I'm not sure if I can let someone touch me." Then she leant towards me. "Will you help me find out?"

I answered quickly and affirmatively without thinking, only wondering afterwards what I might have taken on. I was hardly a trained sexual psychotherapist but I wanted to help. I also grappled with the realisation that in recent months I had totally lost interest in men, preferring to derive my sexual arousal from women. By agreeing to 'help' Linda, I was in effect committing myself to a lesbian relationship. But I was not afraid. Linda had searched long and hard for a woman who could excite her to the point of orgasm, a special kind of orgasm, a Look-Don't-Touch orgasm. Obviously, I was her. Her quest was now over, I assumed, but the journey had only just begun.

"Take the rest of the day off, Julia. I'm going home and I need time to think. I'm not yet ready to try sex in any form, I need to work this through gradually. Oh, if you have any ideas …" Linda's sentence was left unfinished, but I knew the implications.

Linda paid the lunch bill and turned to leave. Then she came back and planted a big kiss full on my lips.

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

Kirsten, Emma and I met up in the new bar round the corner from the office as arranged. It was already busy with lively Saturday lunchtime customers. I explained what had happened but only after Kirsten and Emma had sworn secrecy.

"You can't just seduce her and expect to get your hands in her panties on your first night," Emma opined, "only a bloke would expect to be able to do that. And especially after what she has been through". We both nodded.

We brainstormed and skirted around the subject and discounted suggestions as quickly as they were made until Emma exclaimed 'Dildoes'. The people on the next table looked across and made sshhhh-ing noises. We continued to talk in whispers.

"If she won't let you touch her, use a sex toy. It's as close as you're likely to get without actually touching her. It's what the Dems do all the time in the changing rooms to get around Linda's LDT rule."

I protested: "But I've never used a dildo, not even on myself, let alone on anyone else."

Kirsten and Emma looked stunned. "But surely, sweetie, you must have." pressed Kirsten. "You found mine, didn't you? Surely, you tried them out?"

"No, never. I wouldn't dream of using something so personal."

"Oh, you needn't have worried. Why, Terri uses them all the time. And that 'dream', when you fucked her with my glass dildo, you didn't make that up, did you! You couldn't have; you even described perfectly the wrapping I used when I gave that glass dildo to her as a birthday present."

I could no longer be sure where reality finished and fantasy started.

"OK, no it wasn't a dream. But I made it all up, based loosely on a porn movie I watched in a hotel room and a letter I'd once read in a men's magazine about a woman who seduced her neighbour and got him to fuck her with a cucumber she'd just bought. She figured that she was still being unfaithful to her husband if her neighbour never actually touched her …"

I'd digressed, but we all realised the relevance of the story.

"There you are, Look Don't Touch! Perfect!" confirmed Kirsten.

"You'll need practice; let's call it Training," insisted Emma. I looked at Kirsten and she smiled a knowing smile. "Now?" she suggested.

"No, later. I need time.”

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

Hi, I hope you're enjoying my story! In my next chapter, I get to spend more time in private with Kirsten.

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

Chapter 10

I rang Kirsten's doorbell at exactly 8:00 pm as agreed, with mixed feelings of excitement and anticipation. I'd fallen asleep after lunch, a combination of mental tiredness and three large glasses of Shiraz, and had felt confused and disorientated when I woke at 6:30. I'd showered and washed my hair, towel-drying it and piling it roughly on top of my head. Then I'd carefully shaved my pussy, knowing it was to be the centre of attention that evening. I'd dressed in a matching set of pale blue satin front-fastening bra with light padding, and skimpy briefs with a tantalising cut-out, that I had bought in my early days at Passionella. I knew it was one of Kirsten's favourites and my newly-gym-firmed boobs swelled beautifully from between its plunge cups. I wore a crushed cotton blouse reminiscent of the 80's New Romantics and a wrap-over skirt; I fiddled with its waistband as I stood nervously outside Kirsten's door.

Kirsten opened the door wide with a flourish and waved me in. Her living room was lit by the late evening sun and the sweet smell of incense filled the air. She'd laid out a light meal with soft drinks and she invited me to choose some music. The atmosphere felt just like going round to a school-days boyfriend's house knowing his parents were out for the evening. But this was different. Kirsten had become my best friend if not my lover and we were very close. This was to be my initiation into a new area of sex. The anticipation was exhilarating and my pussy was already twitching. Kirsten was talking to me but I wasn't listening.

"Kirsten, I just can't wait, I'm so excited. Instead of 'beautiful seduction', can we do 'ready and willing'?"

Kirsten laughed and pushed me backwards onto the sofa. I squealed and put up token resistance but Kirsten pinned my arms back above my head. I struggled and my skirt fell open. Kirsten let go of my wrists and dragged the material off me, revealing my pants. "Oh, Julie, you remembered!" she purred. Then, to my shock and delight, she grabbed the lapels of my blouse and ripped it open, cascading buttons onto the sofa.

I'd have grabbed her around the waist and pulled her on top of me of she hadn't stood up to remove her own clothes. She pulled the hem of her short dress up over her head in one swift movement to reveal her small but beautiful body seductively encased in one of Passionella's finest bodystockings. Her swollen areolae pressed forward in two delightful rounded peaks and her pussy disappeared in a dark lycra-clad triangle at the top of her firm, silken thighs.

"Kirsten, you look stunning" I complimented. I just want to hold you against me and feel your warmth."

"Julie, you know we can't. I'm sorry, but we must adhere to the company rules. LDT. But remember why you're here. To break down barriers. If we can release Linda from her prison, perhaps she'll relax the rules. OK?"

It wasn't OK at all but I nodded in reluctant agreement.

Kirsten walked across the room and opened the drawer beside her bed. My pussy jumped as I remembered what I had found there several months before as Kirsten removed a familiar-looking box. She handed it to me saying: "It's your night tonight - you choose."

I took the box with trembling hands and opened the lid. Inside were some of the most beautifully crafted objects imaginable. Two I recognised; a long, shining gold phallus which was obviously a vibrator as it had a knurled adjusting ring at the blunt end, and a heavy translucent silicon-rubber dildo which tapered to a blunt, rounded point at one end. There was also a long clear glass dildo similar to the one I'd included in my Terri story, but with a curved end. I laid then out on the bed and lifted out a layer of tissue paper to reveal a bright shiny chrome sculpture. It appeared to be made from a succession of spheres, each joined to the next one and each slightly larger than the one before. The first was no larger than a small grape. I ran my hands over the full length of the object, counting each sphere and feeling its shape and size in my hands. Number ten, the last, was nearly the size of a tennis ball.

As I familiarised myself with its smooth texture, I realised that the connecting joints between successive balls had a degree of movement, allowing me to bend the toy at any point along its length, or to straighten it to its full length of around 12 inches.

I looked at Kirsten. "Surely you can't get this into …"

"I don't know, sweetie, I've not dared try it yet. I bought it over the internet from a specialist e-shop and I'm keeping it for a special occasion. But I think that's too advanced for you. I suggest you try the dildo. Trust me"

Kirsten placed the silicon dildo in a bowl or warm water whilst we nibbled at a few pastries she'd bought, but neither of us had any appetite. In contrast to the rough way in which she'd undressed me earlier, Kirsten tenderly unfastened my bra at the front and slipped it carefully back over my arms. She laid me back on cushions and pillows and I shamelessly lifted my legs so she could pull off my pants. Kirsten sighed with delight when she saw my naked, shaven mound and admired my exposed temple for a moment.

Holding the warm dildo with both hands, Kirsten looked down at me again. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?" she asked.

"Kirsten, I just can't wait. I'm so excited, it's like joining an exclusive club."

I watched as Kirsten smoothed some lubricating gel onto the glossy rod, taking her time to ensure all the surfaces were coated. She knelt on the floor at the foot of her bed and I pulled up my knees, spreading them wide apart. I felt the moistness of my vagina as it peeled open, and the cool air on my smooth mound. My heart was pounding as Kirsten leant forward and I felt her rest her elbows on the bed between my feet.

Kirsten touched the tip of the dildo against my pirenium, just an inch below my vagina, and all five of my senses were assaulted with an intense combination of feelings. The sight of the translucent object as it disappeared between my legs. The taste of my dry lips as I rasped my tongue over them, trying to replace the moisture evaporated by my heavy breathing. The smell of my intense natural sexual aroma and my perspiration breaking out on my torso, arms, legs and forehead. The glorious squelching sound of the freshly-applied lubricant mixing with my own oozing juices. And the touch . Oh, the TOUCH! The intense feeling of that small, rounded tip as Kirsten made delicate contact with my soft skin. The warmth of the rubber, slightly higher in temperature than my delicate, willing flesh. The smoothness of the dildo's surface and the slight, steady pressure that Kirsten applied. I cried out with pleasure and a kind of release that the first step had been taken, but in the certain knowledge that the fun had only just begun.

Kirsten pulled the tip away and looked up at me. "Nice?" she enquired.

"Again," I sighed by way of an answer.

I waited for what felt like an eternity (Kirsten was not going to rush this) and eagerly anticipated the imminent contact between my pussy and its invited guest. Kirsten touched its tip against me again and I flinched, pushing my mound towards the source of my pleasure, but Kirsten pulled away.

"Bitch!" I growled. Kirsten smiled, she knew the battle was already won.

She pressed its tip against my perineum for a third time and the feeling was so intense that I felt a fresh wave of lubricant well up in my tunnel and trickle down to the very point where the toy made contact.

Kirsten took advantage and spread the natural lube with the tip of the dildo, describing small circles, each one just a little closer to my open pussy. Next she ran its tip slowly up and down the length of one of my inner labial lips, then she did the same along the other one, up, pause then down. She repeated this a few times and the feelings were exquisite. I could tell that my vagina was wide open and ready to welcome in its first foreign body.

"Oh Kirsten, push it inside me now, please," I pleaded. "Don't tease me. How am I supposed to know what it feels like if you won't put it where it belongs!"

"But J, this is your training," Linda reminded me, continuing: "Remember, you won't be able to rush Linda. She has 16 years of pent-up anguish to overcome."

I knew full well, but I was in ecstasy. Kirsten continued her journey of discovery.

"How does this feel?" she asked. Stupid question. She stood the dildo vertically upwards and rested the side of it against my labia, but not allowing the tip to touch my clit. I rocked my hips to try to make contact with my pleasure-button but Kirsten matched my movements so I couldn't achieve my aim. "Greedy!" she teased, and pulled it away. I tensed my pelvic floor muscles to concentrate the feelings where they were most needed and I steeled myself for what might happen next.

Kirsten rested the dildo against my labia again and lowly slid it up and down repeatedly. She started to count the strokes. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - and on 7 she tipped it horizontally and pushed its narrow tip gently against the entrance to my vagina.

I gasped and spread my legs wider, waiting for her to push it inside me.

But no.

Instead, she started again, sliding its slippery length up and down between my labia. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - and on 7 she pushed it a little further into the entrance to my vagina, its tapered point gently opening the gateway to my inner sanctum.

Once again she counted and once again I felt its slippery length rub against my pussy. By now, my labial lips were so swollen and sensitive and Kirsten's teasing technique was so effective that she had me dangling on a thread.

Again, 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6. I was becoming delirious and I was rocking my pelvis to match Kirsten's rhythm to intensify the feelings.

Then she stopped.

I stopped.

I waited.

7

This time she slid the dildo smoothly and effortlessly over half way into my open, waiting vagina. I cried out in pleasure and also from the release, the joy that finally she had pushed that beautiful object right where I wanted it.

Clever Kirsten. By spinning out the foreplay, far from being nervous about having a sex toy inside me for the first time, I was actually crying out for it. So when it happened it wasn't threatening, or painful, or unwelcome. No, I wanted it. I needed it inside me, and I wasn't disappointed.

"Fuck me, Kirsten, fuck me," I demanded. "Fuck my cunt with that beauty, babe. Do it to me."

Kirsten withdrew its length and held it with the tip at my entrance. I took a deep breath and she pushed it back inside me, a little further this time.

"Oh yes, babe, yes," I cried out.

Kirsten developed a steady rhythm, each time pushing the dildo in slowly but smoothly, and withdrawing it slightly quicker. I locked onto the timing and savoured the feelings. But after the initial excitement, the feelings reached a plateau.

"Oh Kirsten, I want to come, but its not going to work."

"I know, J, our pussy walls are really not that sensitive. Most of the pleasure you're experiencing is in your mind - you want to feel good. Most women can't climax just from vaginal stimulation. Did you ever come just from a man thrusting his penis into you?"

I shook my head.

"No, me neither."

And I thought it was only me, all those years.

Kirsten knew exactly what I needed. She withdrew the dildo and placed the tip just below my navel; 'Why should she do that?' I wondered.

Then she started to draw a line of small circles down my belly. My abdominal muscles tightened involuntarily; I looked down and my tummy looked flatter and sexier that I could ever remember. And Kirsten's eyes looked sexy too as she looked up at me from under her eyebrows from her position between my feet.

It didn't take me long to realise where this vertical line would end and I closed my eyes in expectation. When Kirsten reached my shaven mound, an inch or so above my clit, she slowed down. The dildo was wet with my vaginal lube and Kirsten smeared my own juices over my smooth flesh making it slippery. Her movements became easier and more sensual and she held the dildo's narrow tip against me very lightly so I could hardly feel its touch. I had to concentrate hard to track its inexorable journey downwards until finally I felt it enter the top of my pussy slit, over the smooth, inner surface and up onto my clit hood. 'Oh no, here it comes', I thought to myself.

Kirsten touched the small tip of her dildo against my pink, swollen clit and I shouted an obscenity. My instincts told me to either pull away or to press my clit against it, but I maintained my self-control and allowed Kirsten to continue. She held the tip against my bud for a moment, then started to move it. Holding the dildo like an expensive fountain pen, she drew small rings around my clit. Every few seconds she changed direction, then she made tiny figures-of-eight. She moved it up and down and from side to side and she made quiet cooing noises of encouragement.

I needed no encouragement. In fact, I was holding back, savouring every moment, until I could hold on no longer and I let go.

When my orgasm arrived I was submerged in wonderful feelings, a warm glow of pleasure that spread from my pussy up to my nipples and back down again. I squeezed my thighs together, trapping Kirsten's hand, to extract every last drop of enjoyment form the experience. I flopped back on the cushions and relaxed.

"Kirsten," I mused, after I had recovered my composure, slipped my bra and pants back on and downed a large glass of orange juice that my lover had passed to me. "You may find this surprising, but that's the first time that someone else has brought me to orgasm, I mean by masturbating me."

"But J, you said that you'd never come from penetrative sex."

I nodded.

"But didn't your male partners bring you off in other ways, before or after sex if not during?"

I shook my head.

"Bastards!" she half-whispered, half-growled.

"Really," I confirmed, "I've masturbated myself so many, many times but no-one else has ever done it for me, till now. Not that I can compare myself to Linda, it's just that no-one else has ever really cared about me enough to do what you just did. Thanks, Babe." Kirsten smiled.

I walked over to the sofa to pick up my clothes when Kirsten surprised me. "No, sweetie. We haven't finished yet."

"But I've enjoyed myself so much already and now I want to …"

Kirsten stopped me short. "You didn't come here to enjoy yourself, you came to learn. Sit down where you are, on the sofa. You haven't tried the vibrator yet."

Half of me said I was tired and wanted to go home to sleep but the other half was eager to experience new sensations. How could I find the right way to break down Linda's barriers if I hadn't experienced the feelings myself? Kirsten was right, that's what I was there for.

I lay back on the sofa and tried to relax. Linda pushed a couple of cushions under my bum to raise me higher and picked up her toy-box; she removed the shiny gold vibrator and held it up for me to see. "This is a fairly common buzz that you can buy in the high-street of most cities these days," explained Kirsten in a matter-of-fact way. She passed it to me. "Here, switch it on. You just twist the base."

I took the golden rod in a trembling hand and felt its size and weight. I turned the switch with my free hand and it purred into life almost silently. I experimented with the variable-speed then switched it off, offering it back to Kirsten.

"No, you try it," instructed my teacher. "Hold it against your face first to get used to the feeling."

I did and it sent a pleasant feeling through my cheek. I ran it down the side of my face and onto my neck, which felt very relaxing. I settled my bum deeper into the cushions and enjoyed the sensations as I massaged my neck and shoulder muscles, trying different speeds and pressures.

"It does feel good, thanks," I remarked, handing it back to Kirsten.

Again, she declined to take it from me, instead making more suggestions. I ran it along my arms and upper chest then looked up at Kirsten.

"Go on," she said, "it will feel great on your boobs."

I was rather hoping that Kirsten would say that. I turned the vibrator to medium speed and placed it in my cleavage where my breasts swelled proudly between my bra-cups. I squeezed my boobs together with my hands to hold it in place and felt the lovely vibrations transmitted through my fingers and the palms of my hands, through the light padding of the bra to my nipples.

I removed the vibrator from its nest and turned down the speed. "Shall I?" I asked my mentor.

She knew exactly what I meant. "Yes, of course. It'll feel terrific."

It did. I unclipped the front fastening of my pale-blue satin bra and placed the tip of the vibrator first on one nipple then on the other. They grew and hardened quickly until they were engorged and wonderfully sensitive. I had to pull away but Kirsten understood and passed me her tube of slippery gel. I applied a generous amount to each fiery pink bud and massaged it over each areola with my fingertip for longer than I needed to.

"Oh, strawberry!" I exclaimed, smelling the lubricant but resisting the temptation to suck my finger.

I turned the switch again and ran the tip of the vibrator around and over and on each nipple in turn and became immersed in the glorious slippery, tingly feelings. I was becoming turned on again and my tiredness had gone. My pussy was waking up and starting to draw attention to itself.

Reluctantly, I abandoned my nipples and Kirsten took the humming toy from me, suggesting: "Let me give you a little tuition." She sat cross-legged in front of the sofa and, anticipating what was to come next, I spread my thighs wide apart. My delicate satin pants stretched tight across my pussy.

Kirsten placed the tip of the vibrator onto my bare flesh just above the top edge of my pants. She ran it back and forth across my tummy, tracing the neat stitching of the waistband (if you could call it that since it sat much, much lower than my waist).

She teasingly prodded me through the little cut-out design in my pants, just above my mound. It felt good, but not as good as what came next. Kirsten pointed the toy downwards and very delicately slid it over the blue satin that offered little protection against its vibrations. I pressed my hands down on the sofa to steady myself and lift my bum off the seat. I shuddered as Kirsten ran the length of the humming rod over my pussy; she held it there for a few seconds whilst it transmitted its tiny oscillations through the material into the full length of my widening slit then took it away.

"Good?" she asked.

I let out a long, wavering sigh.

"More?"

I nodded.

Kirsten placed the vibrator on my pussy again and I felt my labia opening wider. "Stop, please." I begged, fearing that my clit would peep out from its shroud and make contact, "I don't think I can take it".

I sat bolt upright with my knees together, like a prim maid.

Kirsten switched off the toy and passed it to me "Here, hold it up" she instructed, and smeared lube onto the end of the vibrator. Then she took hold of the two narrow side straps of my pants and pulled then down my legs. "Oh, no, please, … I don't want you to …" I moaned, putting up only token resistance. Kirsten lifted my feet straight out in front of me so she could pull them off.

Now I'd lost my final layer of defence; I couldn't back out now so I opened my legs and closed my eyes, wondering where Kirsten would start my tuition.

"First you need to understand the relationship between speed and intensity of sensation," Kirsten explained in a calm, almost schoolmistressy tone. "Since your vagina is less sensitive, it will respond better to the slower but stronger vibrations of a low speed - like this."

Without warning, Kirsten pushed the vibrator into my tunnel in a single firm but careful movement. I gasped, but it was so well lubed, and my pussy was still quite relaxed from having had its welcome visitor inside earlier, that the vibrator slipped in quite easily.

Then she turned it on.

The feeling was quite unlike having the dildo inside me. My pussy felt hot and tingly and I tensed my tummy and thigh muscles to better focus on the sensations.

"I see what you mean, Kirsten, that feels really good."

"But J, that's on a high speed, try this." She turned the switch a little and the muffled sound decreased. But my state of tension and arousal increased out of all proportion. "Oh, Kirsten, no, stop, it's too much, turn it off" I pleaded, and tried to pull back. But Kirsten followed my movements and kept the buzzing machine deep inside me.

"Soak up the feelings, J. Understand what Linda will feel when you do this to her."

I shut my eyes firmly and clenched my teeth. My body quivered as Kirsten started to move the toy in and out at a slow, deliberate tempo. "Now you try," she insisted. "Try different speeds and experience the sensations."

I was glad to take control. I held the switch with one hand and the small amount of the vibrator that was still visible with the other. I couldn't believe how much was inside me - it had seemed so long when I'd been holding it in my hands and now all but the last inch was buried inside my pussy.

I turned the knob to left and right and I did indeed understand how the different speeds affected my level of excitement. The pleasure of being able to ramp up my arousal level and hold it steady when I couldn't bear it was glorious. Then I turned the speed down very low and I felt a powerful climax building deep inside me, quite different from anything I'd experienced from stimulating my clit. Instinctively, I grasped the vibrator like a dagger and rammed it in and out of my pussy, fucking myself hard until I came . It didn't take long and the feelings subsided almost as quickly as they had arrived.

"Wow!" I exclaimed, opening my eyes again. Kirsten was looking at me and grinning

"Good, eh?" she asked.

"Great" was all I could think of to say as I slipped the cause of my pleasure from its natural habitat and turned it off.

"And another first, too," she continued.

I frowned and looked at her with my head on one side to signal 'what?'

"A non-clit climax, sweetie. You said that you'd never come from penetrative sex, right?"

"Right."

"You just did!"

I smiled, broadly, at the significance.

"Now, stimulating a girl's clit with a vibrator is totally different," my tutor continued, carefully cleaning the vibrator with vodka.

"Oh no, Kirsten," I pleaded, "Give me a break. I'm exhausted."

"Maybe you are, but I'm not. How do you think I'm feeling, after watching you fuck yourself, with my vibrator?" asked Kirsten, brandishing it like a weapon of combat.

I looked at Kirsten more closely. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks were flushed. Her nipples pushed proudly against her bodystocking as the fabric clung to her damp body.

"Oh Kirsten, I'm sorry. I've been so selfish," I apologised. "What can I do?"

"First you can help me out of this," she replied. I slipped the straps off her shoulders and she held her arms close to her sides so I could peel the lycra second skin from her torso, over her hips and down her thighs. She lifted each foot in turn and stepped out of it, tossing it across the room with her neatly pedicured toes. Then I led her by the hand to the nearest wall and motioned for her to stand with her back to it. She seemed to like me taking the lead and she stood with her feet slightly part, with her heels, buttocks, shoulders, her head and the palms of her hands pressed firmly against the wall.

"You know I've never done anything like this before," I declared, "so you'll have to tell me if I'm hurting you."

"Don't worry, sweetie," Kirsten reassured, "do what comes naturally."

Nervously, I picked up the vibrator and switched it on. I ran it over Kirsten's body, her face, her neck and her legs then I teased her nipples till they looked ready to explode.

Kirsten looked tense and unsteady standing flat against the wall so I asked her to turn around. She placed her feet wide apart and a little more than her arms' length back from the edge of the floor. She leant forward slightly, placing her hands on the wall just above shoulder level. Great! Perfect position for what I had in mind. I ran the vibrator from the hair-line on the back of her neck, down her spine, and over her coccyx. As I reached her parted bum cleft I slowed it right down and teased it between her cheeks. Kirsten wriggled her hips and pushed her bum out, opening up to me. I lingered on her anus for rather longer than I probably should have but Kirsten just sighed and her breathing quickened.

Soon, Kirsten was panting and making quiet noises signalling heightened arousal and anticipation so I sat down between her legs with my back against the wall. My face was close to her pussy so I could see exactly what I was doing and I could concentrate, putting all the physical and emotional energy I could summon into my vibrator 'driving test'. I coated the shiny rod with copious amounts of slippery strawberry gel and set to work.

I teased her perineum and I tormented her pussy lips. I fucked her cunt and I buzzed her clit every way I could. Kirsten made encouraging noises when I was doing the right thing and used gentle words of instruction and encouragement to guide me when I wasn't. Her body repeatedly tensed and shuddered in what I guessed were multiple small orgasms but she kept coming back for more.

I looked up at her from time to time and she mostly had her eyes closed. When she did open them they were filled with pleasure. Her breasts hung down slightly in perfect cones tipped with swollen areolae and fiery red nipples, which she occasionally squeezed and massaged with a free hand. Her tummy and thighs sparkled with beads of perspiration and her pussy looked fantastically inviting as it exuded copious amounts of sex-juice. I was enjoying myself more than I could have ever expected as I perfected my movements and became more confident in my love-giving.

Kirsten stood up straight, put her hand on mine and pulled the source of her pleasure away from her pussy, which I took as a signal that she was finally satisfied. But instead, without a word, she led me to the middle of the floor. She tenderly laid me on my back and crouched over me on all fours with her bum towards my face.

Then she placed her elbows either side of my thighs and clamped her knees either side of my waist. Her hot wet pussy was spread wide open directly above my face and I could smell her strong, arousing scent. She picked up the vibrator that I had left on the floor and reached between her legs, steadying herself on her other elbow. Her bum was thrust high in the air and she aimed the vibrator directly at the gaping entrance to her vagina. Slowly she slid it in and, captivated in more ways than one, I watched in graphic close-up as she swallowed its entire length into her hungry vagina so that even the switch was barely visible. She let go and put her other elbow on the floor; I was afraid the toy would either slip out or, worse still, completely disappear inside her, sucked in by her powerful desire to be totally ‘full-filled'. But she used her highly-trained pelvic muscles to hold it in place.

"Turn me on, Julie," she commanded, and I reached up and rotated the knurled ring.

"Too fast, love, slower!" she panted from between my knees, her mouth dry and her breathing shallow, "really slow."

I turned the ring back slowly, sensing that the speed was exactly right when Kirsten began to rock back and forth. She gyrated her hips and the vibrator started to slide out so I pushed it back in with one finger. It slipped out again so I took hold of it more firmly with one hand and I rotated it as though I was screwing it into her, which I was.

"Oh yes, yes, yes, just like that!" Kirsten cried, so I twisted it some more. Her breathing became faster and large quantities of her pussy juice oozed out of her vagina and trickled down over her clit. Some ran along the vibrator and some dripped onto my abdomen and collected in my navel. It seemed such a waste that all that lube should not be put to good use, so without thinking I placed the thumb of my free hand on her clit and spread the juice around.

"Aa" yelped Kirsten, so I rubbed her clit some more.

"Aa, Aa, Aa, Aa, Aa" she repeated in staccato bursts. I smeared her juices over her clit hood and her mound and it mingled with her dark pubic hair.

"More, more, more," she called out. "Yes, just like that. Do me more, yes, yes, do it to me, yes, ohhh, ohhh, yes. …………. No. Oh, no. Slower, slowerrrrrr," she growled as I tuned into her tiniest movements.

"Fuck my cunt with that monster." she pleaded. "Push it in more, push it in my cunt, Julie, right inside, in, in, in. Yes, like that. Yes, twist it, twist it, faster. Yes. Now out a bit. Stop! hold it right there!" came Kirsten's seemingly random instructions, precise and in quick succession. I obediently followed her every request and willed her on.

"Oh yes, just there. Rub my clit, Julie, rub it, yes, rub my clit faster, faster. ……. More, more, more. A bit faster, yes, faster, no, too fast, yes, like that, yes, yes, oh, oh, oh, oh, Yess, Yess, YESS, YESS, YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS."

Kirsten came once more, far more powerfully than before and far more vocally too. Her hips bucked and shook and she squeezed my body hard between her knees, apologising if she was hurting me whilst congratulating my technique.

I eased the vibrator out of her tunnel and expected Kirsten to clamber off me. But no, taking barely a moment to recover, she pushed her hands between my knees and eased them apart. Unsure what to expect, but highly aroused by Kirsten's dramatic climax, I surrendered, spreading my legs wide and putting my hands behind my head.

Kirsten's ran her fingers expertly up the insides of my thighs and over my pussy mound, sending shivers up my spine. When I had relaxed a little so my thigh muscles were less tense, she moved her hands between my legs. She parted my inner lips with the first and second fingers of one hand and she pushed one then two fingers of her other hand into the entrance to my vagina. It felt so good and so wonderfully natural as she slowly and tenderly slid them in and out that I barely noticed her place a fingertip on my clit. Softly and delicately at first she teased at it and rolled it. Then she rubbed her finger rapidly from side to side over my sensitive bud.

I couldn't see what she was doing to me but I could feel every tiny movement as she paid meticulous attention to my super-sensitive pussy. However, when I looked up I could see Kirsten's just a few centimetres above my face. It still glistened with her juices, her labial lips were swollen and red and her vagina still gaped open from having had the vibrator buried deep inside, the same vibrator as I had used to fuck myself to orgasm only minutes earlier. I could clearly see her small pink clit only partly hidden by its hood and if I could have reached I would have flicked it with my tongue and licked it like an ice-cream.

I arched my back, pushing my pussy towards her hands, and I rocked my pelvis back and forth. Kirsten matched my tempo perfectly and within moments I climaxed. All my energy seemed to drain from my body and I felt totally exhausted. My pussy hurt, but a nice sort of hurt, and my neck muscles ached. Kirsten clambered off me and lay beside me and I fell asleep.

Chapter 11

The Bath & York stores had been open for 2 months and the increase in business had demanded more staff. They were fully trained now so I needed to mystery shop them as well as keeping an eye on the established stores. I covered thousands of miles in 3 weeks, visiting both our own retail outlets as well as those of our competitors, working some weekends too to observe the differing clientele and staff.

The growth in 'raunchy' shops found in many high streets and out-of-town retail parks had caught Linda's attention and she asked me to call in whenever I saw a new one open, to monitor their merchandise, their sales methods and the type of customers they attract, which I did. Much of what they sold could best be described as trash but they usually carried some more stylish lingerie, albeit overpriced for what it was. Some of their fetish/fantasy wear was basically crap, but again they did have some lines that were very daring and probably a lot of fun behind closed doors. Mostly made of PVC and leatherette, it was rarely well made and usually purchased by young girls in pairs and groups buying for a laugh or for parties, the dance floor or simply under peer group pressure. However, I did see more mature, sophisticated customers buying highly selectively, seeking out the better quality goods including latex rubber and soft, supple leather.

The staff in these shops varied from mostly immature, poorly trained and uninterested, through to some skilled and highly attentive young women who took good care of me and seemed to genuinely want to understand my needs and expectations.

More out of personal curiosity than professional motivation, I stopped by the 'Adult' section of one such store. Here I found overpriced rubbish that I guessed would usually be bought as a gift and never used. Many of the toys were made from cheap, hard plastic in garish designs and colours that could only be found stimulating by the most unsophisticated and insecure of customers. However, again I found some treasures if I was prepared to look long and hard enough. From one women's toys section I purchased a sleek and attractive vibrator in 'soft-feel' dark blue and a device called a Butterfly, described as 'discreet yet powerful, delivering pleasure and relief at any time and in any place.' I looked forward to validating the manufacturer's claims.

Most nights away I stayed at good quality edge-of-town hotels belonging to the up-market chains, preferring these to city-centre establishments which usually have smaller rooms, smell of chips, are noisier and rarely have sports and leisure facilities.

Early one evening whilst enjoying a refreshing drink in the bar of one such hotel just outside York, I was approached by a young lady. This made a pleasant change from the unwelcome attention I often attracted from male guests.

It was Danielle, whom I'd met briefly in the Regent St. store when I spent rather too long in the changing room with Linda. She introduced herself and explained that she had now been transferred to the recently-opened York Passionella outlet and she'd recognised me from my shopping trip there the previous day. From her wonderful local accent I guessed this was much nearer home.

I hoped she hadn't remembered the Linda incident - she must have heard us. Remembering that I was still 'on duty' I had to role-play as customer not colleague, concocting a simple explanation of why I was in the area. Liars need good memories. Passionella had relocated her back to Yorkshire and she was staying in the hotel until she could find somewhere to live - Dems do not get their accommodation provided by the company.

We shared a drink and some jokes and I invited her to join me in the hotel pool. Fortunately she too had planned to visit the sports complex so she had some swimwear with her and ten minutes later we were standing in our underwear in the communal changing rooms.

Danielle pulled a rather serious-looking one-piece swimsuit from her sports bag and I immediately felt awkward - I only had my skimpy, strappy blue bikini with me and I didn't want to upstage her. But Danielle soon salvaged the situation, commenting: "Oh fantastic. If you're going into the pool in that, I'll join you. I bought this weeks ago but I haven't yet summoned up the courage to wear it," she bubbled, "I figured it was too revealing." Upon which she pulled a few scraps of dark bronze metallic-effect fabric, held together with the thinnest of 'string' straps, from the side pocket of her sports bag and held them up to her slender body.

Delighted, I explained to her the enjoyment I derived from teasing the obese middle-aged businessmen who often frequent these hotels by strutting around the pool edge in a revealing bikini, which would preferably be near-transparent when wet.

"I love the way they furtively stare at me and try to conceal their erections. That counts 5 points. The experienced pool voyeurs wear loose boxer-style swimwear and take a newspaper or magazine onto the poolside, peering over the top to watch me. Score: 10 points. If I'm feeling really brave, I pick on a young guy in tight trunks and really lead him on. If I can spot a full-grown stiffy in his pants I award myself double points. If he approaches me and attempts to chat me up, I simply make my excuses and head for the female changing rooms. Does that me a big tease?"

Danielle just giggled and couldn't wait to dive in. I followed her and we swam several lengths together before climbing out at the far end.

When Danielle emerged from the cool water, her nipples were already erect and they poked provocatively through the thin shiny fabric of her tiny bikini top. Her small breasts needed little support and were spaced wide on her chest so she didn't naturally display a cleavage but I particularly enjoyed watching the soft swellings of her 34A breasts peeping cheekily out of the sides of her bronze top.

Her waist was slim and her tummy was flat without being overly muscular and the back of her thong-style bikini bottoms had completely disappeared into the crack between her taught, rounded bum cheeks. Her thighs were slim but her pelvis was wide so, even when she stood with her knees together I could see daylight between the tops of her legs (I love that in a girl) as well as the beautiful curve of her bronze-lycra covered pussy. A small fabric triangle hid her mound but little else; her pubes were obviously shaved or waxed almost out of existence.

I could hardly keep my own eyes off her body. Neither could our audience. We spent nearly an hour in the pool area and Danielle won easily by 85 points to 40. She was so sexy, just the way she looked and moved. Her string bikini was so revealing we would have been ejected from any public pool but these hotel pools are often unattended; we could only guess how many staff were huddled around the CCTV monitor as we strutted and swayed and sat and reclined and plunged.

Having attracted more than our fair share of lascivious stares and pathetic chat-up lines, we made our escape to the changing rooms. Danielle undressed in the shower cubicle and emerged with a towel around her so, disappointingly, I didn't get to see her naked. We dressed and agreed to share a table for dinner. Preferring to eat almost anywhere except a hotel restaurant, we jumped into a taxi and headed into the city centre. We got on terrifically and enjoyed an Indian meal washed down with several bottles of strong lager. Danielle had worked as a Dem for Passionella for 18 months and had been married briefly to a beast of a man who totally failed to satisfy her sexually, now listing fast driving, clubbing and partying high on her list of favourite pastimes.

We staggered back to the hotel at midnight and I invited her up to my room but she declined, adding "Maybe another time." I certainly hoped that was sincere and not just a brush-off.

When I checked out of the hotel next morning, the desk boy handed me a message. 'Contact Linda at the office whenever convenient'

On my way to my next store visit I called the office. Linda was out but she had left detailed instructions with Rachel: On Thursday at 4:30 p.m. I was to go to a particular car dealership representing one of the premium German brands and ask for David Cousins, and then meet her at 7:30 in a bar round the corner from PROM

I busied myself until Thursday, calling into just about every lingerie retailer in York whilst constantly pondering over my appointments. I hoped that Linda hadn't changed her mind. I'd put a lot of thought and energy into finding ways to help her, with assistance and 'training' from Kirsten in particular as well as some valuable encouragement and suggestions from Emma. Wednesday night was slow to pass as I lay awake wondering if I'd done something wrong.

I drove onto the small forecourt of the German car dealer at exactly the prescribed time (I'd parked round the corner for nearly an hour, waiting impatiently) and Mr Cousins was waiting for me. "You must be Julia, Linda's friend. Hello, how are you?" he enquired, shaking me firmly by the hand. I could only guess why I was here, confirmed by his next remark.

"It's ready for you, and you've made an excellent choice, if you don't mind me saying." I played along. "We've fitted and tested all the extras you ordered. The mechanics commented that they've never prepared a car that's so comprehensively specified. It took them all lunchtime to work out that you really have got every possible option and extra in the price list." I already hated this man more than most. Patronising is not a strong enough word. "And the colour would have been my choice too." I felt sick.

Mr Cousins led me to the showroom and there in the doorway stood a work of art in steel and glass. The latest, most powerful version of a classic in its own time. A 2-door coupe in dark metallic blue, 4-wheel drive, with every safety, convenience and comfort accessory I could ever need, and more besides. He handed me they keys. "I'll help you transfer your belongings from your old car then you just need to sign a couple of forms and she's yours."

As I drove gingerly from the forecourt I felt on top of the world, but also a little puzzled. The car was fantastic; I'd seen similar models on the road and envied them enormously. Had I let slip this fact to Linda? The name on the registration document was mine but on the top of the invoice was not Passionella UK but Linda's name and private address. At first I'd assumed this was my new company car but it now appeared to be a personal gift from Linda. Was it a thank-you, or bribery? Or even 'immoral earnings? But I hadn't even touched her yet!

Linda was already sitting at a pavement table when I arrived, sipping a long soft drink. She kissed me warmly on both cheeks and moved my chair out for me like a well-practised waiter. "Hi, Julia, thanks for coming, how are you?" she enquired.

My drink arrived and I started to describe some aspects of my research during the previous two weeks but Linda's mind was obviously elsewhere. "Oh, yes, I remember," interrupted Linda, going on to remind me that she sees all my reports, which she reads avidly. Before I'd finished, Linda reached into her bag and pulled out neatly-folded document on Passionella headed paper.

"Julia," she commenced, "I have been giving a lot of thought recently to the product strategy for Passionella UK and your recent reports have confirmed and crystallise my plans. I've drafted a letter to all my employees and I'd like you to look over it. I'd value your comments. Take it home and let me know next week." She passed the crisp papers to me; I glanced over the pages and slipped them into my bag.

"Do you like the car?" she asked, rapidly changing the subject.

I said that I did like it enormously but that I'd only had time to drive a few miles, and I started to ask a question. From by the expression on my face she accurately guessed what it might be. "Let's just say it's a mark of my appreciation for all you have done for Passionella UK, and for me personally." I only managed to say "But ..." when she put a finger on my lips to stop me. "Just enjoy it, OK. You deserve it. Thanks."

She changed the subject once more and we spent a pleasant hour chatting over a meal, until I'd summoned up the courage to ask another question that had been bothering me.

"Linda," I started; she looked straight at me. "How did you know I'd tied Helen's wrists together in the Private Room after the Mesh launch? And what we did together?"

Linda stood up, paid the bill and took me by the hand. "I'll show you."

It took only a few minutes to walk to Passionella UK head office. When we arrived, the lights were still on. "I expect Emma's working late again, or maybe Charlotte," Linda commented nonchalantly. I followed her upstairs to her office and she beckoned me in, locking the door behind us. Surely Helen hadn't broken one of the main Passionella rules, of complete confidentiality? I guessed Linda was going to play me a sound recording of a conversation. But no, she'd said 'I'll show you.'

Linda switched on her computer and the large flat plasma screen on her office wall lit up. She pressed a few keyboard keys and an image appeared. I immediately recognised it as the Red Private Room. She clicked again and a picture of Yellow appeared, then Silver. I looked at her to elicit an explanation.

"Look carefully," she suggested. As I studied the picture I realised it was not a still photograph, but a moving image, even though there was nothing actually moving. "Video?" I asked. "No," she replied, "definitely not. Live."

"CCTV?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

So, Linda could watch what was happening in any of the rooms at any time, live in her office. So that explains why she's nowhere to be seen at the launch-night after-show parties - Linda's a voyeur.

"Does anyone else know?" I asked.

"Only Emma, " she replied in a faltering voice, "I'm sorry if I've betrayed your trust. But I found watching beautiful women getting off on my products to be the next best thing to actually getting off myself. You know how I've been deprived of all sexual fulfilment all these years - this is the nearest I could get. Until that day in the Regent St. store. And you wonder why I bought you a car? For fuck's sake, Julia, I'd have bought you a mansion if I'd known where you'd like to live!"

I was awe-struck. "Have you been watching me at all the launch parties?" I asked.

Linda looked down momentarily, indicating guilt and shame. Then she looked up at me coyly, seeking forgiveness. "Yes Julia. I can't keep my eyes off you. I'm sorry."

I didn't know what to think.

"Did you see me with Stevie when we 'scissored' together?" I asked. Linda nodded.

"And when Abigail & Vikki put on that bondage pole-show for me?" She confirmed that she had.

"But what about the Look, Don't Touch rule? If you're watching all this stuff going on, why don't you take some action?" I challenged.

"OK, so how do I explain to the dems that I know what goes on - admit that I'm spying on them? They'd never trust me again," came her swift reply.

I looked at her nonplussed. "But you are spying on them!"

"I'm not!" Linda retorted. "I'm watching them for my own gratification, not to check upon them. Anyway, the Dems are very clever. They stretch the rules close to breaking point but almost never overstep the mark, and only with very loyal and trusted clients. Think about what Abigail & Vikki did, did they actually touch each other's genitals? Or yours?"

I shook my head and confirmed: "Sadly not."

Linda was right. But she doesn't know about me and Kirsten. Does she?

As we had been talking, Linda had been idly flicking through the channels, flashing one empty room after another on the giant screen, but she stopped when the lights in Silver flicked on and the door opened. We both watched as Yasmin and Zöe walked in holding hands and locked the door behind them.

"What are they doing here this evening?" I enquired, "there's no show tonight"

Yasmin and Zöe started to kiss each other's cheeks and necks.

"We do allow some valued clients to use the rooms at other times," she continued, "for example, to change after work before going to the theatre. Or to try on some Passionella products in a more private atmosphere than the store outlets."

Yasmin was wearing a lace-up Gypsy-style top and suede skirt with a raw jagged hemline. Zöe was wearing a bomber jacket over a cropped tee-shirt with matching denim jeans. She undid the poppers on her jacket and shrugged it off, tossing it onto a nearby sofa; she obviously wore nothing under her top. It clung enticingly over, around and under the rounded muscular curves of her firm breasts and I could clearly see her nipples poking little peaks through the white stretch cotton fabric. And her jeans were definitely not chain-store own-brand.

"Shouldn't they be accompanied by a Passionella employee?" I quizzed further.

Linda confirmed that indeed they should and that no-one would have given them a key without ensuring that a staff member would be there too. "Someone will be joining them soon, I'm sure," she reassured me. "Here, sit down and watch, we'll make sure they do."

Yasmin and Zöe snogged passionately and pressed their clothed bodies together.

"I can't imagine how any Passionella employee could help them with what they seem to want to do," I observed, "these two are so tactile and so extrovert; they always draw a lot of attention at launch parties. I can't keep my eyes off them."

The two tall young women were obviously already hot for each other before they'd arrived and Yasmin's hands were soon all over Zöe, clawing at her breasts. Then she dropped to her knees, slowly dragged down the zipper on her friend's jeans and nuzzled her face in her crotch. Zöe dug her fingers into her hair and pressed her face harder into her most special place. Yasmin hooked her fingers into the waistband of Zöe's designer-denims and pulled them down around her ankles, preventing her from opening her legs very wide. But she still managed to nestle her chin between Zöe's thighs and looked to be nibbling her pussy, like it was a tasty piece of ripe fresh fruit, through the fabric of her leopard-print pants.

Linda and I continued to watch in silence as Zöe pulled her short crop-top over her head and cupped her own naked breasts. She tipped her head right back so her naturally wild and tousled hair fell down her back. She had her mouth open wide and her eyes tight shut so she did not see another door at the far side of the room swing open. I looked at Linda but she did not appear surprised or alarmed, simply asking me if I recognised the new entrant. I didn't, as she was wearing a highly-decorated mask and an all-in-one silver glossy cat-suit that accentuated her curvaceous body. Then the new participant turned her back to the camera and I realised it was Rachel; her long, voluminous hair hung down her back all but concealing the zipper of her high-neck, long-sleeved cat-suit.

"Rachel?" I suggested. Linda nodded.

Rachel was holding several white leather belts in one hand and in the other a short, thin stick not unlike a conductor's baton, with which she tapped Yasmin on the shoulder. Immediately she sat back on her haunches and Zöe opened her eyes in surprise, but smiled when she saw the totally-encased form of Rachel standing behind her amorous friend.

Rachel motioned Zöe towards the chrome and white leather recliner chair at the far end of the room; Linda hit a keyboard key and the camera angle changed so we could see her.

Zöe relaxed back in the chair and Yasmin stood facing her at her feet. Rachel picked up a small box not unlike a home-entertainment system remote control and stood at Zöe's head. Slowly the chair tipped back and the leg-rests raised Zöe's feet off the floor then swung aside, parting her legs slightly. Zöe lay with her head propped against the headrest and placed her hands on her thighs.

As if to signal 'ready', Rachel raised her baton and Yasmin started to dance. She moved slowly and deliberately, swishing her gypsy clothes and running her hands through her hair. As she danced, Rachel moved around to Zöe's side and passed a belt around one ankle and secured it to the leg-support of the recliner chair. Then she strapped Zöe's upper thigh to the chair and repeated her task on her other side. Yasmin continued to gyrate as Rachel secured a longer belt around Zöe's waist and behind the chair-back and another one around her chest above her pert breasts so only her head and her arms were now free

Rachel stood back as Yasmin started to untie the lace-up front-fastening of her top, deliberately unthreading each individual criss-cross one-by-one whilst constantly watching her restrained partner.

I was becoming impatient and Linda was shifting uneasily on her seat and we both sighed deeply when Yasmin finally pulled open her top and slipped it back off her shoulders. Underneath was revealed a classic Passionella deep-blue bra with black appliqué decoration. Linda whispered the exact style and stock number under her breath.

As Yasmin let her gypsy top drop to the floor, Zöe moved her hands from her thighs and placed them on her abdomen, with her fingers just on the top edge of her leopard-design pants. Yasmin unbuckled the belt around the waist of her suede skirt and passed it to Rachel who buckled it around her own waist, rather like a cricket umpire ties a player's jumper around his middle by its sleeves. But this was not a game of cricket - this was something more serious and much, much more exciting to watch. Yasmin's skirt dropped to the floor to expose matching blue-and-appliqué hipster pants and gorgeous legs that reached all the way down to her sparkle high-heeled shoes.

Zöe had her hands on her pussy mound as Yasmin danced some more and adopted ever more provocative poses, obviously to Zöe's great enjoyment. She touched the tips of her thumbs together on the top edge of her pants and rubbed the first two fingers of each hand up and down her crotch. Simultaneously, Rachel teased her nipples turn-by-turn with the end of her baton, making them point skywards from their puckered, taught areolae.

Rachel then walked around to stand behind Yasmin, from where she unclipped her bra. She slipped the straps off her shoulders with her stick and Yasmin allowed it to fall to the floor. Her large, wide and obviously surgically-enhanced breasts protruded proudly from her chest and barely moved as she danced. I commented to Linda how I failed to understand what men see in bulging, implanted breasts. Linda nodded in agreement but did not take her eyes off the screen for a moment.

Zöe wriggled and strained against her restraints as she rubbed her pussy mound more urgently whilst her accomplice performed a captivating topless show, then turned her back on Zöe. Bending forward and pushing her bum towards Zöe, Yasmin slowly edged her pants over her hips and down her thighs to her ankles where she left them, moving her high-heeled feet as far apart as the pants would allow. Her pussy lips peeped tentatively out from between her thighs and Zöe slipped her hands inside her own pants, making a little tent with her knuckles.

Rachel rapped the backs of her hands with her baton and Zöe immediately pulled them out of her pants, pouting at Rachel like a spoiled schoolgirl. But Yasmin continued to tease her, kicking off her pants and opening her legs wider. She gyrated her hips at Zöe, shuffling backwards so her knees were between Zöe's feet that were held apart, still securely fastened to the chair.

Rachel pressed a button on her control box. Zöe's feet spread wider and Yasmin moved further back so her bum was right above Zöe's pussy. Zöe she reached out her hands to touch it but again, Rachel rapped her knuckles and she pulled back.

Linda and I glanced at each other for a second then looked back at the screen to feast our eyes on the unfolding spectacle.

Next, Yasmin placed her hands on her bum cheeks with her fingers outstretched. Looking over her shoulder so she could watch Zöe's reaction, she pulled her cheeks apart so her pussy opened and pouted at her captive audience of one. Not surprisingly, Zöe thrust her fingers inside her pants and frigged herself frantically. But Rachel brought her baton down hard onto the backs of her wrists to signal 'stop', then took hold one of her forearms and secured it to the armrest of the recliner with a short belt. Walking to the other side of the chair, Rachel strapped Zöe's other arm to the chair, unquestionably now preventing her from stimulating herself.

Zöe's face was peppered with beads of perspiration which sparkled under the high-intensity recessed downlighters. Yasmin turned to face her victim and motioned to Rachel, who pressed another button and raised the whole chair so Zöe's pussy was level with Yasmin's waist, with her head slightly higher and tilted forward. Yasmin then teasingly caressed all over her own naked body with her hands, covering her abdomen, her thighs, her hips, her bum then back round to her breasts. She squeezed and cupped them, she rolled her nipples between her fingers and thumbs and pulled then into distended, fiery peaks. Zöe pulled against her straps but her struggles were futile whilst her still-covered pussy was obviously the focus of her attention.

Rachel pressed buttons which caused the leg-rests of the chair to open even wider apart and the whole chair to lift higher so Zöe's swollen, leopard-shrouded pussy-mound was presented to Yasmin like an gift-offering to a visiting tribal chief. Yasmin responded by running her fingers up and down the insides of Zöe's thighs, making her flinch and tense her leg muscles each time her friend's hands came close to her sensitive place. Then, at the end of one up-stroke, Yasmin continued onto Zöe's pussy, grazing her fingers over the fabric of her partner's animal pants. Zöe closed her eyes and opened her mouth wide. Linda and I could only guess what she might have said but it seemed to encourage Yasmin.

She placed her hands at the very top of Zöe's inner thighs and described small circles over the crotch of her pants with her thumbs, all the while staring into the eyes of her subject. Zöe rocked her hips as much as her restraints would allow, which was very little, to try to magnify the effect of Yasmin's teasing strokes. But just as her facial expression indicated that this was having the desired effect, Yasmin took away her hands.

Zöe looked totally distraught.

Rachel seemed to know what to do next and she lowered Zöe's head and upper body so she was horizontal but with her legs high in the air. Yasmin stood next to her and leaned forward, planting a huge kiss on her lips. Then she cupped one of her own breasts in both hands, bending forward and lowering her erect nipple within reach of Zöe's mouth. Immediately, Zöe wrapped her lips around it, drawing it into her mouth and sucking in her cheeks. Yasmin proffered her other nipple and soon this too re-emerged, wet with saliva and drawn into a long, protruding teat. Then, in an uncharacteristically tender move, Yasmin reciprocated and suckled on her friend's nipples, having a similar effect on them.

Yasmin made hand movements to signify 'down' and Rachel pressed buttons again. The chair tilted some more until its captive occupant's head was about two feet above the floor; Yasmin turned her back towards Zöe's head and placed her hands on Rachel's shoulders for support.

I was becoming highly aroused by the images on the screen and looked at Linda, puzzled as to what might happen next. Linda had her hands in her lap, but nodded towards the display to signal 'watch'. I moved my chair closer to the screen.

Yasmin squatted over Zöe's face and gently lowered herself until her pussy was right over her mouth. Because of the camera position, Linda and I could only guess exactly what was happening but Yasmin was enraptured by it. She dug her fingers into Rachel's shoulders and tilted her pelvis forward. She rocked her hips in short rapid movements and threw back her head. There was no mistaking her orgasm when it came and her knees barely had the strength to support her. She stood motionless for a few moments, her pussy now raised just a few inches above Zöe's mouth. Her sex-liquid oozed from her vagina and traced a sticky path down to her friend's face. Zöe licked and lapped her lips with long lashes of her tongue, consuming the come-juice from her satisfied sitter.

This was the first time I had watched a woman lick another woman's pussy. Even though I was not in the same room, I had witnessed a highly passionate and fulfilling lesbian sex act 'live'. I realised at that moment that my life would not be complete until I had performed this service on another woman and had experienced the same sexual act on my own craving pussy. This confirmed the feeling that I had recognised, but immediately suppressed, when Kirsten and I recently spent that memorable Saturday night together. I wanted to lick pussy. Badly.

When she dismounted from Zöe's face, Yasmin gestured to Rachel who raised the chair into a much more comfortable position. Zöe's moist face displayed an expression of pleasure mixed with anguish and pleading, and her friend did not ignore the message it sent. Yasmin pulled Zöe's pants down as far as her restraints would allow and inserted a hand between her legs. Slowly at first but building speed, Yasmin frigged and rubbed and circled and caressed and invaded, obviously inserting one or more of her fingers into Zöe's vaginal opening. Reaching up with her free hand, Yasmin wiped the perspiration from Zöe's brow and stroked her cheek, smoothing away some sticky liquid then a little later planted several tender kisses on her lips.

Still unable to move much, Zöe twitched and writhed until she too showed all the outward signs of a climax building then consuming her, visibly tensing and then relaxing virtually every muscle in her body.

Almost immediately, Rachel raised the chair into a conventional sitting position and released all of the leather belts. Rachel helped Zöe to her feet and Yasmin embraced her warmly. I felt immensely privileged to have watched such an explicit lesbian love act and even more thrilled that I'd been an unseen voyeur.

I looked around to see Linda's reaction, but she had disappeared.

I waited a few moments, feeling desperately horny. Had Linda deliberately left me alone so I could masturbate in privacy? I'd only need less than a minute. She must have noticed how excited I'd become from watching Yasmin & Zöe getting it on, and as I looked back at the screen, Rachel had already released Zöe from the chair and was readjusting it as the two friends embraced passionately.

I lifted my skirt and was about to slip a finger inside my panties when I heard a voice call: "No, don't. There's something else I want to show you."

Linda's unmistakable voice came from a small anteroom that opened off her main office. I pulled down my skirt feeling slightly sheepish and glanced in that direction.

In walked a woman I hardly recognised.

She was the exact same height and build as Linda, but it couldn't be her. This woman approached me in a slow, very sexy fashion-model style of walk. Her hair was the right colour but was pulled up in a tight ponytail high on the back of her head that swished as she walked. She wore very dark heavily-applied maroon-red lipstick that matched her dress, which was very tight and made from a stretchy, almost rubber-like material the same colour as her lips and with the same glossy shine. It was very short, exposing most of her smooth bare legs. Its top was cut halter-style, very low at the back and with a wide, deep plunging vee neckline at the front. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra and her breasts were squeezed together so they swelled out of their tight maroon cocoon.

She wore high black stiletto shoes, which she placed carefully on the floor exactly one in front of the other, and she wore a black choker around her long neck.

Linda looked stunningly sexy, like I'd never seen her before or could ever have imagined. She stood in front of me and drilled into me with her bright, clear blue eyes. They were filled with a confidence and an excitement that suggested that something special was about to happen.

It did.

"I've been practising," she announced. "Since our intimate rendezvous in the Regent Street changing rooms, I've been able to do things I haven't done for years. Watch me, Julia. Watch."

I did.

Linda ran her hands over her face, down her neck and over her covered breasts. She massaged them for a few moments then ran her fingertips down over her tummy; I noticed that her nipples were now clearly erect under her elastic dress. She moved her hands out to her hips and ran them up and down her thighs. She had her knees slightly bent and squeezed tightly together and she twisted from her waist, swivelling her hips provocatively. Her mouth was slightly open now but she continued to fix my gaze.

My eyes darted down to her body and back up to meet hers and she moistened her lips with her tongue, very slowly.

"Watch me, Julia," she purred again and reached her hands behind the back of her neck. Still gyrating her hips, she released the clasp of her halter-neck dress and peeled down the top, exposing her breasts. Her nipples, though small, were prominent and dark. I didn't remember them being so dark; had she rouged them? To draw attention to them, I wondered? She placed her hands over her boobs and massaged them some more then teased at her nipples, pulling them, rolling them and squeezing them, just as she'd asked me to do to mine in the changing rooms, until they jutted into long, lickable points.

Linda's cheeks were flushed and I was enjoying the show. I pressed my bum deep into the soft sofa and rubbed my pussy mound into the cushion. Right there, in the headquarters of the UK's most successful luxury lingerie retailer, I was watching its president do her stuff. Linda dropped her hands to her waist, hooked her thumbs inside her stretchy dress and wriggled out of it, kicking it into one corner of her office. Shame really, I rather liked her in that dress.

Linda stood in front of me virtually naked. All she was wearing was a very skimpy and tight-fitting G-string in smooth black satin fabric, with thin side straps that she pulled high on her hips. Then, holding those straps, she tugged the narrow strip of black fabric tight between her legs and ground her pussy hard against it. She had her eyes closed more than they were open by now and she moved in a very sensual way, walking away from me to the far side of the office whilst still pulling on her G-string. The single, narrow strap at the back had completely disappeared between her smooth arse cheeks and it must have felt terrific, pulled tight against her crotch as she walked.

With her back still to me, she placed her feet wide apart and bent down, showing just how small and tight her only remaining scrap of clothing actually was. Her rounded pussy bulged and pressed against the narrow triangle of satin, trying to escape around its sides. Linda grasped her ankles and looked at me around her left leg, with her ponytail trailing on the floor.

Then she stood up, turned and slowly, sensually, walked back to stand less than three feet in front of me. I was ecstatic and she was obviously enjoying the sensations in me that her movements caused.

Linda transferred her hands to the insides of her thighs and ran her fingers up and down her pale soft flesh, each time stopping closer to her crotch. Finally, looking deep into my eyes, she cupped her right hand over her pussy mound.

"Oh, Linda," I whispered, "Go on."

She did. She gently caressed her pussy with her fingers through the thin material of her G-string, all that lay between skin and soft, pink skin.

Linda then straightened one leg and lifted the other knee, placing a stiletto-encased foot on the arm of the sofa right next to where I was sitting. Her upper legs were now wide apart and the enticing curls of her pubic hair emerged from either side of its inadequate black concealment. Her G-string pulled into folds and had already worked its way into her slit. Linda rubbed her pussy harder and faster through its near-useless covering and she ran her fingers along the soft peaches of her outer labia that emerged beyond their modest protection.

"Do it, Linda, " I moaned in encouragement, glancing across to the plasma screen to see Rachel laying on the recliner with her legs strapped together and rubbing not one but two vibrators over her shiny cat-suited breasts.

Still with one foot high on the arm of my sofa, Linda hooked a finger inside the narrow piece of black satin material between her legs and pulled it to one side, exposing the hot, pink wetness of her inner pussy lips. Then she placed the fingers of her other hand over her gaping slit and moved them in small circles. Her sweet, heady aroma filled my nostrils signifying her high state of arousal, and my own pussy responded by sending a fresh wave of excitement through my nervous system.

On the screen, Zöe was standing behind Yasmin at the foot of the recliner. She had one hand cupped over Yasmin's left breast whilst the other hand reached around her waist and guided a vibrator into her vagina. Yasmin was grinding her bum into Zöe's crotch and Rachel was watching the girl-girl action whilst jabbing the other vibrator between the tops of her silver-sheathed legs.

Linda was having trouble keeping her balance now. Her breathing was fast and shallow, so was mine. From such close range, I clearly saw her slip a fingertip into the opening of her vagina and slide it out, coated with her juices. She slid that same finger up her gash, between her inner labial lips, which by now were swollen and spread wide apart, and onwards to her clit. Her body convulsed.

Still holding her G-string to one side with the other hand, she frigged herself with her moistened fingertip. Round and round she rubbed, faster and faster; I could hear the glorious squelchy sound of a well-juiced-up pussy receiving the kind of close physical attention it craved.

"This is for you, Julia. Watch me," she cried. "See what I'm doing. I can do it. This is what I wanted to show you. See it's for real, Julia! Watch me come, Julia!!"

And she did.

Linda placed one hand on my shoulder to steady herself as her body stiffened and shook. She threw her head back so her ponytail swished over her bare back and she pushed back her shoulders. Her breasts jutted out proudly from her chest and her dark nipples pointed upwards as though showing their appreciation to an applauding audience. The muscles of her inner thighs convulsed uncontrollably with each wave of her orgasm and she moaned in deep, satisfying pleasure.

Linda continued to rub her clit until the sensations had receded then she looked down at me. She pulled her G-string back over her dark, glistening pubic hair (which it struggled to conceal as her pussy was still so swollen) slipped off her shoes and lay back on the opposite sofa to get back her breath.

She smiled warmly across the coffee table and spoke softly. "I wanted to prove to you, and to myself, that I've overcome the first hurdle. I can now touch myself and can bring myself to orgasm."

I smiled back and she continued, in a weak and wavering voice: "I've never done that in front of anyone else, not even when I was at school. Take that as a compliment; an indication of just how sexy I find you and how much trust I place in you."

I didn't know quite what to say, so I just shrugged and said 'Thanks'. Pretty unimaginative really. I was confused but also feeling super-horny for Linda. But I didn't feel that I could just get my rocks off right there in her office although I didn't want to simply make my excuses and leave.

Linda salvaged the situation. Clambering back into her day clothes, she asked me to promise not to mention her performance to anyone as, at this stage in her rehab, she wasn't ready to handle any reaction from friends and colleagues.

"However," she concluded, "I've still got a long way to go. Are you willing to help me through the next stage?"

I thought what that might be. The list was short:

1) Make love to a man? Not much I could do to help with that one.

2) Make love with a woman? I was a mere novice myself but I'd give it a go if that were what she wanted.

3) Masturbate in front of colleagues or clients? Why would she need my help?

Looks like it's no. 2 then! "Yes, Linda, what ever you want, within what's legal and reasonable." I confirmed.

Linda changed the subject abruptly. "When can we talk about my New Strategy letter? Same restaurant, same time next week OK?"

I'd completely forgotten about Linda's letter but I was free that evening and looked forward to being involved in Passionella's future plans. I also suspected an ulterior motive. Why did Linda want to meet me alone in the evening when we could easily have e-mailed each other or met during the day? Actually, I was quite excited and surmised that the meeting may well lead to the removing some items of clothing, or more.

"Would you like me to bring anything, or maybe wear anything in particular?" I asked, hoping this might give some indication of what she had in mind.

"No, just dress 'smart casual', she replied. "And don't forget to give some serious thought to my strategy and come along prepared to discuss any input you have."

Maybe I'd misunderstood and this was to be a serious business meeting rather than a sex-therapy encounter.

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

Hi, I hope you're enjoying my story! In my next chapter, I get to spend some more time with Linda and put my training into practice.

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

Chapter 12

I had nothing planned for the weekend, but I had new toys to play with. I spent Friday evening alone, catching up on some domestic affairs, e-mail correspondence and my personal finances. Since starting at Passionella I'd had no money worries and I had become increasingly altruistic, giving to several charities and anonymously helping out old friends who were struggling to make ends meet. I'd been trying to masturbate less often, as I was finding that quantity is no substitute for quality. I had been masturbating at least once every day and the shine was wearing off, although my recently-purchased but as yet untried vibrators promised renewed interest. Also, I never knew when I might need to able to 'perform' in a Passionella store changing room in order to maintain credibility as a platinum-card-carrying prized Passionella client eager to try every product and service on offer. I treated myself to an early night and I slept in 'til Saturday lunchtime.

I woke feeling horny, having resisted the temptation to pleasure myself for a whole week despite some highly arousing encounters including poolside posing with the exquisitely sexy Danielle and watching Linda frig herself in her office, one of the most erotically-charged situations in which I'd ever found myself. Knowing that self-denial can be more enjoyable than quick & easy satisfaction, I suppressed my arousal and busied myself over a very late breakfast, planning to try out my new 'soft-feel' blue vibrator later in the day.

The late spring weather was fine and dry so I decided upon a drive in the country, to put my other new toy, my sports car, through its paces. I thought I might drop by a friend or just catch up on some sightseeing.

I showered and dressed for the occasion and weather in a very short skirt, a sleeveless top, skimpy silk bra and thong-back panties and little else. I headed west out of London and soon found some quiet backroads in Berkshire where I could enjoy the acceleration and handling of my transport of delight.

I'd never owned a car with leather seats before and I found the soft feel of the quality hide to be very comfortable, if a little slippery until the heat from my body warmed up the seat. As I swooped around tight corners, accelerated and braked I found myself enjoying the feel of the leather under my thighs. The hem of my skirt gradually rode up and my bare bum made contact with the seat, considerably increasing the pleasant sensations. This, combined with the adrenaline rush I got from the fantastic driving experience gave me such a thrill that I risked losing concentration. I wriggled the fabric of my skirt out from under me so the whole of my bum cheeks pressed against the leather and I started to understand why some people find leather to be such a turn-on. In fact, I was becoming quite aroused and had to slow down and concentrate hard on my driving.

I pulled into a small car-park in the centre of Windsor to find somewhere for lunch and had to pull down my skirt to avoid making an exhibition of myself. As it was, my slightly-erect nipples poked through my soft-cup bra and made small peaks in the front of my slinky top and I bared long expanses of smooth, muscular legs as I stepped out of my low car, attracting some admiring glances. I'd probably given a small group seated outside a bar on the opposite side of the road a flash of my panties, but I didn't care. I slung my bag over my shoulder and I felt like I was on top of the world as I strutted confidently along the riverbank, pretending not to notice the attention I received from both male and female passers-by.

I sat down at a prominent table outside a small restaurant and ordered a long cold drink. This did nothing to cool my passions and I began to feel very, very horny. My nipples tingled and my pussy had made my underwear uncomfortably damp. From where I sat I could watch some very attractive and well-dressed men and women walk by; I particularly enjoy following the predominantly (but not exclusively) male pastime know as 'Is she or isn't she' - wearing a bra, that is. Much easier in the warm weather, of course, and more often than not my conclusion was 'no'. I felt so very randy, a feeling accentuated by my voluntary abstinence that I was beginning to think was not such a good idea after all. I finished my main course and decided I'd have to do something about my elevated state of arousal. I could lock myself in the ladies room and rub myself off. I could drive to a quiet spot in the country and perhaps lie back in a field and take more time to pleasure myself, or …

I reached in my bag and was delighted to find that I still had it with me, unopened and untried. I'd simply forgotten to unpack it when I got home from my last trip to York. I ordered a large dessert and strolled to the ladies room, trying to look nonchalant and to conceal my excitement and impatience,

Locking the door, I ripped my ‘Butterfly' discreet vibrator from its packing and inserted the batteries into the variable-speed power pack. I pulled my damp silk panties down to my knees and slipped the main part of the toy between my legs, ensuring that the central 'body' sat deep between my pussy lips, just like in the picture. The 'wings' spread out over my labia and I tied the ribbons around the tops on my thighs and my waist as instructed. I pulled up my thong panties, which only just concealed my new accessory, and pulled down my skirt. Now I didn't dare to bend down, as unfortunately the manufacturer's idea of 'flesh-colour' did not match mine. I concealed the power pack as best I could and reached for the On switch.

A pulse of raw sexual stimulation rushed through my nervous system as the tiny vibrating body buzzed against my clit. I felt weak at the knees and had to switch it off at once.

Setting the speed lower did not help much, and on a higher speed I feared it might be overheard. Still, I was up for the challenge so I took my seat outside just as my gateau arrived. I pressed the switch and tried hard to concentrate on eating. Wave after wave of arousing, tingling vibrations filled my pussy and travelled up to my responsive nipples. I felt an orgasm start to build so I turned it off, taking a deep breath and suppressing the feelings as much as possible.

I wasn't going to rush this. I recognised the potential for some highly erotic experiences.

I called over the waiter and clicked the On switch just as he arrived at my table. My hands were shaking and my voice wavered as I thanked him and paid the bill. He asked if I was feeling unwell and offered me a glass of water but I told him I felt OK and left.

OK? I felt fantastic! I tried to walk along the riverside towpath but the sensations were so strong I had to stop every 20 yards or so to let the feelings subside. When I arrived back at the town centre, I sought out a doorway where I was not in anyone's way but where I knew I could be seen by the affluent Saturday afternoon shoppers. I took out a small map and pretended to me finding my way, and turned up the speed.

I had to hold onto the doorway with one hand and lock my knees to prevent myself from falling.

I needed to know that people were looking at me and I tried to keep my eyes open but found it impossible. I desperately wanted to squeeze my legs together and to cry out. Beads of perspiration trickled down my face, my neck and my back and I bit my bottom lip as a long-pent-up climax broke fee and raced through my aching, tormented body. I shuddered but tried to stand still on weak legs. My breathing was very shallow and fast and my pussy pulsed and throbbed as the feelings washed over me, and eventually subsided.

I flicked off the switch; when I opened my eyes, I saw a young woman standing next to me. "Are you ill?" she enquired. I collected my senses and thanked her for asking. She explained that she was a nurse and thought I might be having an epileptic fit. I pretended that I suffered from migraines but would be fine soon.

During that afternoon, I teased myself to another 3 orgasms. One sitting outside a town-centre café, one whilst walking through a shopping crowded arcade and one sitting cross-legged on a high bar-stool with my skirt having ridden very high up my legs. If anything, the more public the location, the more exciting I found the experience even if successive orgasms were slightly less powerful. In the bar I was fairly sure that the very sophisticated, smartly-dressed woman sitting across the room knew exactly what I was doing, or was having done to me. When my short-but-sweet orgasm had passed she caught my eye, smiled and winked knowingly.

As one last treat, I switched my pleasure-provider onto maximum whilst waiting at traffic lights on my way home. The guy behind tooted me when the lights changed to green at the exact moment I climaxed for a fifth time, the extra rush of adrenaline adding to the pleasure.

When I finally got home I removed my new-found fun-giver and carefully rubbed some cold, soothing lotion into my pussy and the tops of my legs where the device and its ribbons had begin to cut into me. I made two promises to myself before falling into a deep, satisfied sleep. To find new and ever more daring places in which to bring myself off, and to buy some leather clothes.

I'd set myself a busy schedule for the following week, spending time in London as well as the provinces, and meeting the company's contracted photographer for the first time. As Linda had promised during my early days at Passionella, I had been invited to model some products for a new short-form catalogue to be made available to clients in the stores and electronically. I was surprised (I don't know why) to find that the studio photographer that Charlotte regularly used was a woman. I met her on the Monday evening for a preliminary meeting so she could explain what I would be expected to do at the shoot. Diane was about 40 years old and very energetic and enthusiastic about her work. Not unattractive herself, she was quite short with a rounded, mature figure. She looked vaguely familiar, as though I had seen her somewhere before.

She put me totally at ease, complimenting the way I dressed, stood, walked and smiled. I made an appointment for the Wednesday of the following week; 8:00 am with the hairstylist, 9:30 with the manicurist, 10:00 in makeup, 12:30 test shots, lunch, stylists and dressers, etc, etc, etc, until we actually start shooting at 2:30! I was told to expect to be at the studio until at least 10:00 p.m. – it was going to be a long day with a lot of hanging around. I'd take loads of magazines and my laptop computer to pass the time.

Monday evening I sat down and thoroughly re-read Linda's letter:

“Dear friends,

Passionella has grown quickly to become one of the most respected and highly profitable lingerie brands in Britain. We are recognised as a leader not a follower, giving women of taste and sophistication exactly what they want, to please themselves and their closest friends and partners.

However, the world of fashion changes fast and this applies to lingerie as much as to day and eveningwear. I have given a great deal of thought to the forward direction of the company, its brand and its products, with much valued help from colleagues and valued clients. I then reinforced my thinking during an exciting and enjoyable week spent out on the sales floors.

To avoid any possibility of our company being left behind, I am planning a major repositioning of Passionella UK. I will focus on only 3 important market sectors, as I believe it is wrong for us to try to cater for every possible customer desire in a complex wide-ranging marketplace. Our offering has become confused and we risk losing our identity.

Therefore, I plan just 3 product line offerings. This will result in some popular Passionella lines being withdrawn from sale in the UK and we must expect some adverse reaction from clients but we must overcome these by promoting the new image and offering to win over our customers' hearts and minds.

1) A limited line of 'everyday basics', similar to the high-street chain-store offerings, but characterised by Passionella traditions of highest quality of fabrics and manufacture, restrained, simple but distinctive styling and the latest fashion colours. Products will be limited to bras, pants in only 2 or 3 cuts, and camisoles.

2) Luxury, exotic garments for which the word lingerie is inappropriate. These products will sacrifice comfort and practicality for overt sexual provocation, high degrees on body shaping and support, groundbreaking designs, colours, textures & detailing together with unrivalled Italian artistic flair. Product lines will include 'extreme' bras, sexy pants, corsets, bustière, basques and suspenders.

3) A new departure into what I can best describe as 'high-fashion-fetish'. Many of you will have noticed the increasing availability of underwear aimed at the woman who likes to take charge in the bedroom. Unfortunately, much of this is cheaply-made and overpriced. But many of our clients require the utmost discretion and expect the ultimate in quality and personal service that they receive at a Passionella outlet; they are unwilling to shop in seedy high-street and side-street shops. I intend to fulfil all their expectations with a range to be called 'Pleasure In Control'. The imagery is pure sexual assertion portrayed through the use of unconventional materials including polyurethane and soft supple leather fashioned into extreme designs incorporating, for example, restraints and points of attachment.

Some of your clients' favourite styles will disappear from the rails but will be replaced with some of the most desirable products available anywhere. You will all be fully trained and will be generously rewarded for successfully introducing the new lines over a managed period of time. Your supervisors will be in contact with you shortly; I know I can rely on your support.

Yours, Linda.”

Brilliant! And Linda had either judged the mood just as I had or had paid close attention to my field reports. I couldn't wait to see and try some of this new stuff.

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

"You're looking pretty hot, Julia," Linda observed correctly (I was unsure what meaning she attached to the word 'hot'), continuing: "Come and get a drink".

I'd arrived a few minutes early at the restaurant but Linda was there waiting for me. She was looking smart but relaxed in a tight white top, obviously with no bra underneath, and black jeans. I'd been looking forward to this evening immensely but could only guess how it might unfold. The weather was beautiful: hot, dry and sunny all day and just slightly cooler in the evening. I'd tried to catch the mood and dressed in a newly-acquired tight leather dress that reached halfway down my thighs and had elbow-length sleeves and a full-length front zipper that could be unzipped from both ends. This allowed me to split the front as high as I needed to in order to walk and as low as I cared or dared, to show a cleavage. Linda was right - it was hot inside, and I looked hot.

We discussed Linda's letter and we agreed on virtually everything. I suggested some minor changes to the wording then Linda showed me preliminary design sketches from the studios in Italy. They looked terrific but I sensed her mind was distracted by other priorities. She pushed her food around her plate and paid the bill without even asking if I wanted dessert.

"Do you mind if we continue our meeting in my office, where we can talk more privately" she asked, putting her hand on my arm.

This was becoming more exciting as I anticipated something more physical than just conversation. "Sure" I replied.

We walked briskly back to PROM, my leather dress flapping sensually around my bare legs.

The building was I darkness. Linda locked the front door behind us, but instead of taking the main staircase, she led me straight into Gold Private Room. My heart missed a beat and I presumed that the serious business meeting was now over.

"No problem this evening, we are totally alone." she reassured me, pouring me a long soft drink. "We can relax."

'Relax!' I thought. How could I relax when I'm in one of these rooms that holds so many connotations, and I'm with an attractive woman who, last time we were alone together in this building, frigged herself off in front of me in such a highly arousing and exhibitionistic way, … if that's a real word.

"Sit down," Linda insisted, "let me explain:

“Over the last few weeks since our time together in Regent Street, I've had to deal with a deep-seated and complex emotional web of shame, guilt, self-doubt, revulsion, bitterness, loneliness and frustration.

Wow.

“I've pondered long over whether I really did want to be 'cured' and whether my life might lose it's purpose if I overcame the single strongest motivator that has enabled me to construct the Passionella UK empire."

I was transfixed.

"Julia," she continued, in a quieter voice, "I couldn't have even started to make sense of it all if it wasn't for you. You've loosened my chains but I haven't shaken off all of them. It took over a week, and enormous willpower, to even bring myself to touch my pussy with my hands again. I lay in bed, in the bath, on the floor and even in the park trying to overcome years of aversion therapy. Finally, whilst thinking about you and possibly being able to meet you again in private and reliving our changing room experience, I did it. I put my fingers on my pussy. Oh, Julia, it felt so good after 16 years. I teased it open and I rubbed my button. Earlier last week, I actually came for the first time for years. That's when I asked you to call me. Last Thursday evening was the second time - I wanted to show you I could do it. And that was the first time I'd pushed a finger inside me since school."

I sat and listened attentively, the sense of responsibility weighed heavily on me.

"But now I need some special help" she declared, standing up. "Julia, the final hurdle is to allow someone else to arouse me and to make me come; it won't be easy. Will you try?"

Shit. I thought hard. How could I refuse? I realised that I may not even be allowed to touch her, as she had not even mentioned relaxing the LDT rule. I thought about my brainstorming session with Kirsten and Emma and the dildoes plan. I ran through my 'training' with Kirsten in her apartment, then answered her as unequivocally as I could.

"Yes, of course I will," I replied confidently, then taking a deep breath and adding: "but you'll have to do it my way.”

Linda looked apprehensive and stayed silent for a moment. "Depends what way that is," she responded. "What do you propose?"

"You don't get a choice," I replied. "Take me as I come."

Subconscious Freudian choice of words?

I gambled that Linda would accede to me adopting a dominant position, forcing her into a submissive role in order to distance her from her 'day job'.

She looked at me for a moment and I saw the expression on her face change from pensive to excited. Then she frowned. "What should I do, Julia. What are my instructions?"

Linda had subjugated herself to me and a rush of sexual energy hit my pussy. I became aroused by the idea of being in charge and it took me by surprise, awakening a latent desire in me. I provocatively pulled the zipper of my dress down nearly to my navel, exposing my rounded breasts rising out of their padded half-cup bra. I pulled back my shoulders to exaggerate the effect as I warmed to me new role.

"You must tell me what you would like me do to you." I demanded. “And you must be frank and explicit in your requests or I shall not even consider them. But only I will choose whether to carry out your requests and you must not question my decisions.”

"Julia, will you touch my body?" she asked, adding: “Please?” in a weak and wavering voice.

There goes the rule!

"Tell me where," I countered.

"Touch my breasts and my waist and my thighs, Julia."

"Please … " I prompted.

“Please, Julia,” she added.

It was working.

"Oh, Julia, please touch me and turn me on. And touch my pussy, please Julia. Rub my pussy and make me come. Please." Linda pleaded, obviously enjoying the game.

"No!" I replied. "Remember the rules!"

Linda fell on her knees. Shit, I was enjoying this too.

"But Julia, I need you to cure me with your touch. Will you?"

"No, not yet. We have to break you in slowly. Get undressed." I insisted, sternly.

Linda nodded submissively and I walked across to the hanging cupboards containing stocks of Passionella products.

Linda slipped quickly out of her day clothes and was now wearing just a dark purple Lycra thong. She started to pull it down but I chastised her. "No, keep that on. Here, put this on too." I threw her a corset just like the one that I 'bought' with Rachel in my first week with Passionella. I'll show her 'Pleasure In Control'!

"You'll have to lace me up, … please,” Linda requested, respectfully.

I wrapped the strapless, stiffened silver corset around Linda's waist and under her boobs. I took my time lacing all the hooks and I wondered who was enjoying this more as I pulled tighter. Linda breathed in and helped me by wriggling at the appropriate moments. I also tied her hair up in a ponytail, similar to how she looked last week. Stunning.

"Turn round" I commanded. Linda looked terrific and I allowed her to look in the mirror. She pulled her thong higher on her hips so the straps met the bottom edge of the metalised corset. Her small but attractive breasts swelled upwards from its supporting structure and bobbed slightly as she moved.

"Come here" I indicated, pointing to the twin poles at the end of the room.

"Do you remember the show that Abigail and Vikki put on for me after the Bodystockings launch?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "Did you watch us on TV?"

Linda nodded again, and guessed what I wanted her to do. She obligingly stood between the poles.

I took each hand and placed it as high as I could on its pole, which Linda gripped firmly. Then I took some cuffs from the drawer of accessories and anchored her wrists and ankles to the tops and bottoms of the poles. "Wider" I had to insist, and Linda spread her legs so and the cuffs would reach.

"Stay there and hold tight,” I demanded. She had no choice and did not object.

"Are you going to touch me now?" Linda enquired. I just shook my head. Cruelty had never come naturally to me but having a willing accomplice brought about a transformation in my personality that simultaneously both shocked and excited me.

I opened the next drawer down and Linda knew exactly what it contained. "Oh, yes" she breathed, softly. I'm not sure if I was supposed to hear.

I took out a long, sleek vibrator and held it up for her to see. "Oh, no" - she spoke louder this time - "please no."

I wiped its length with a sterile cleansing wipe provided just for this purpose, and also loaded a fresh set of batteries, reading aloud from the packet. 'Ultra-high power - long life' I quoted, looking at Linda with a wry smile as she pulled against her restraints.

"I don't think you're ready for me," I suggested, explaining: "I think I need to prepare the way before I can touch you with my bare hands, don't you?" Linda didn't answer.

I stood behind her and tilted her head forward so her ponytail fell over one shoulder. I switched on the vibe and it quietly hummed into life. "Mmmm, nice and quiet. Still, who cares, there's no-one here to hear us, or see us, is there," I remarked rhetorically, using the vibe as a pointer and motioning towards the small, discrete CCTV camera mounted on the ceiling a couple of metres in front of Linda's spread-eagled body. Then I ran the tool down the back of her neck and she tightened then relaxed the muscles in her arms and shoulders.

I ran the it down her vertebrae between her shoulder blades until I met the top of her corset. Walking around to face her, I then ran it along the edge, under her armpit and round to the front of her body.

Her breasts were forced up and outwards by the tight-laced corset and, since her arms were held high on the poles, they had nearly escaped from the silver metalised fabric that struggled to conceal them. That, after all, is not the purpose of a corset. It is to accentuate, lift and support a woman's breasts, to draw attention to them and to make them attractive to her partner. The tops of her areolae were just visible and I wondered if her nipples were erect.

I flicked Linda's ponytail back over her shoulder so it hung down her back. Reaching under her arm with my free hand, I pulled it down, forcing her head back and causing her to arch her spine. Her breasts crept further out of her corset and her (yes, erect) nipples escaped, resting on the top edge and growing larger with the effects of friction. My nostrils filled with her natural scent as her perspiration mingled with the expensive perfume she had liberally applied to her beautiful neck.

I ran the vibe across one nipple then the other in equal measure, trapping them against the top of their supporting corset. They grew fat and hard under my stimulation and protruded even further whilst their owner moaned and twisted, trying in vain to escape my teasing. "We don't want these beauties to run and hide, do we?" I quipped. Linda shook her head, relieved that I had momentarily taken away the source of their torment. I turned it off and shoved it down Linda's front and it nestled silently in her cleavage whilst I walked around behind her again, where she could not see me. I tightened the lacing of her corset further, pulling in her waist by another few centimetres and restricting her already-shallow breathing. Her full, flushed breasts swelled most satisfyingly over the edge of the stiffened material.

I retrieved the slender weapon from between her exposed breasts and caressed it with one hand in front of Linda's gaze, as through I was pleasuring a detached but responsive penis. I knelt in front of her and she looked down at me.

I switched the vibe onto a fast setting and started to run it lightly over her belly, then around the edges of her small thong, the last flimsy protection for her most erogenous of zones. I ran it down the insides of her thighs and back up between her legs to stimulate her bum crack where the tiny triangle of already-damp fabric nestled tightly.

Linda moaned and bucked, but I had only just started. I ran the vibrating wand over the edge of her thong and stimulated her pussy mound through the taught purple fabric. Her pubic hairs escaped around its edges and the moist material folded into her cunt-crack so I could see exactly where to focus my attentions. I slowed down the speed of vibrations and Linda writhed more violently as I teased and caressed the purple Lycra stretched over her labia, and finally her tender clit. I delighted in the effect I was having on her composure as I circled around, over and directly on her sexy bud. Linda strained against her bonds and moaned loudly as I teased her some more until I sensed that her climax was building to breaking point.

Then I stopped, and Linda cried out in frustration.

“Inside me, Julia, please, oh please.” Linda whispered to me. “Push it deep inside me.”

“In your mouth?” I asked, deliberately misunderstanding, just to torment her and to force her to be more explicit. To my delight, she was; I loved hearing her talk really dirty.

"No, in my cunt, Julia. Fuck my cunt with it. Please."

"But I can't. How can I? You're still wearing your thong," I protested weakly.

Linda cried out in frustration, "Fuck you, Julia. Take it off. Just get it off me, quickly."

"Sure?" I asked.

"Yes," came the firm reply. "Please!"

I turned off the vibe. Linda's ankles were still cuffed to the twin poles of passion so I couldn't pull the thong down her legs, so I grasped the sides and pulled sharply. Linda winced as I ripped the stitching and the delicate token-gesture of a garment came away in my hands. Her pussy was now totally unprotected and exposed to my eyes. It pouted invitingly from between her short, dark pubic hair as I tossed aside the scraps of damp purple material.

Desperately trying to recall the technique that Kirsten had demonstrated on me, I set to work on Linda's glistening pubic hair, her outer and inner lips, her perineum, her bum crack and her clit. She writhed and panted as I stroked and prodded the silent vibrator over her most sensitive concentration of nerve endings.

Then I remembered Kirsten's 1 2 3 4 5 6 - 7 technique, which I re-enacted faithfully. It had the desired effect and I had Linda dangling on a string. The vibe slid in so smoothly I'd swear it never touched the sides. I turned it on and constantly adjusted the speed to deliver a variety of sensations. I kept her guessing to prevent her mind from wandering, lest she should realise that she would previously have found even the thought of what we were doing to be utterly detestable.

Not this time! Linda clutched desperately at the poles and murmured all kinds of requests and obscenities in equal measure.

Then I was sure she was ready.

"Do you want me to touch you now, Linda?" I asked.

She managed a dry, husky "Yes," followed by: "Please touch my pussy, Julia."

Compassionately I picked up my unfinished drink, pulled back her head again, and poured some liquid into her open mouth. Linda gulped as fast as she could but inevitably some spilled over her face and ran down her neck, over her breasts and both onto and into her corset, causing her to squirm.

"You know what this means, don't you," I continued.

Linda spoke more clearly and decisively. "Yes, bitch, of course I do. I want you to touch me. Not with that cold, hard object, with your soft, warm fingers."

I didn't think I could go straight for the kill, straight to Linda's pussy, knowing that this would be the first time I had so much as even touched any woman intimately with my bare hands. So first I gently brushed my hands over the soft curve of her breasts, enjoying the feel of her smooth, warm flesh. Linda seemed to like the sensation as much as I did so I grew bolder as I kneaded and stoked her boobs then dragged the palms of my bare hands across the hard peaks of her nipples. Linda thrust out her chest in encouragement and I responded by first caressing her pink buds, then pulling, squeezing and twisting them. Their owner moaned and sighed words of approval and I savoured the new and wonderful feelings of another woman's aroused, erect nipples between my eager fingers. Linda too was breaking new ground as she allowed me to stimulate her in this way and she closed her eyes as she pulled back her shoulders as if to say, “They're all yours – do what you want.”

This was getting serious now, so I motioned to release Linda's wrists, but not her ankles. She did not object so I unbuckled the cuffs and she let go her grip on the poles. I helped her to lie down on the floor and put cushions under her head and hips. I was sweating profusely inside my long leather dress so I unzipped it all the way down the front and eased myself out of its constraining tightness. Linda opened her eyes long enough to see me standing over her in just my uplift half-cup bra and skimpy panties. The time for games was over and I took a deep breath.

Linda shuddered as I knelt between her knees, her legs held wide apart by the remaining ankle cuffs still attached to the bottom if the twin poles. She tensed up for a moment, then let out a long, almost animal moan as I ran my bare hands down her thighs then back up the smooth insides of her legs. She felt fabulous; why had I waited so long to experience the beautiful feel of naked female flesh?

I caressed her tummy then slowly moved downwards and placed my hand on her pussy. It felt warm, wet and inviting. Using all the knowledge I'd learned from Kirsten, combined with years of self-pleasuring, I frigged her the way only another woman knows how, running my fingertips along the fascinatingly intricate folds of her soft inner labia and comparing them to the similar but subtly different feel of my own. Why had I waited so long to stroke another woman's pussy?

I pushed one then two then three fingers into the moist depths of her welcoming vagina and I rubbed her protruding clit, tenderly first then firmly, with the middle finger of my other hand. I drew small circles over her pleasure-button, dragged my fingernail across it, pressed it, squeezed it and flicked it. Why had I waited so long to pleasure another woman's clitoris?

Linda clawed at the floor and lifted her head off the cushions. She grasped at her exposed breasts and squeezed her nipples. She lay back, her legs forcible held apart and her cunt lips and vagina spread wide open, hot, wet, pink and intriguing.

I was frantic with arousal and ready to come myself, excited beyond all self-control by the sight of her hot body cruelly restrained and crushed tight in that gorgeous, narrow corset. Plus her heady aroma, her desperate moans and cries and the cocktail of perspiration and sex-juice that coated my hand and her groin as I furiously masturbated her.

Linda shouted and screamed as she suddenly climaxed. She bucked her hips as the muscles inside her thighs contracted in rhythmic spasms. I pulled my hand away and immediately slid it inside my soaking-wet panties, rubbing my clit with fingers freshly lubricated with moisture accumulated from the vagina of a gorgeous, sexy, lesbian woman who also happened to be my employer. I came moments later and collapsed forward onto her, my shoulders falling between her parted, taught thighs and my head resting on her belly where I felt the dying pulses of her long-awaited orgasm slowly subside.

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

Linda and I sat talking quietly for some time, about our feelings, about the significance of what we had just done, about the future of Passionella UK and about the astounding stamina and ingenuity that Yasmin & Zöe had demonstrated in Silver. "I'll arrange for Charlotte to give you some training in the features and possibilities that the recliner chair offers," Linda promised me, continuing: "We call it the 'Chair of the Four Pleasures', Charlotte will demonstrate them to you."

Linda went on to explain how she had worked with a friend who designs dentist equipment to devise the ultimate chair that a woman can use alone or with friends. She was sounding just like one of those awful ab-exerciser ads on morning satellite TV! But the opportunity to get together with Charlotte again was too good to miss.

Linda kissed me and thanked me as I left the building and I stepped out into the cool night air, filled with a warm sense of achievement and a nursing a hot pussy that needed some more attention before I'd be able to sleep that night.

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

Pleasure in Control Ch. 15

This is part of a much longer story and to get the most enjoyment from this chapter you should really read the previous 14 chapters first. Now there are only two more to come!

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

Kirsten had been sitting on the edge of her seat as I recounted the whole story of the previous Friday evening's 'party' in the Passionella White Room.

"Shit, Julie!" she exclaimed, leaning back in her chair, "what a fucking amazing experience! You must have been exhausted."

I smiled contentedly as I recalled the intense cocktail of emotions and physical sensations I had experienced.

"It was both draining and, erm ... , stimulating," I replied. "I can't even remember how I got home that night but I slept solidly right through until Terri arrived at lunch time the next day. When I woke up my whole body ached and my pussy felt like it was on fire. My head was fuzzy and I couldn't sit up but I was feeling so horny I had to spread my legs wide apart as I lay in my bed and slide my hands down ..."

"Stop, stop, Julie, I can't take any more!" Kirsten interrupted, looking skywards and rolling her captivating eyes before calling over the waiter and ordering another two beers.

I apologised for talking too much and studied the intoxicatingly gorgeous woman sitting opposite me. Kirsten had been away for two weeks and I'd missed her desperately. I looked her up and down as she sipped her cold beer through pouting, glossy lips. She was wearing stiletto-heeled fashion shoes below a calf-length skirt. I could see the lines of her bra-straps through her tight-fitting fine knitted top as they traced their path over her taught, firm shoulders. But her nipples were obvious, seeming unrestrained by any bra-cups. Kirsten saw me admiring her breasts and caught my eye; she smiled and half-closed her eyes knowingly. How could any bra be so sheer and diaphanous as to permit her buds to protrude so visibly?

Tearing my eyes away from her pert mounds, I move up and focussed on the narrow choker around her slender neck. Right at the front swung a small gold padlock.

"Have you missed me, Julie?" Kirsten enquired. I only half heard the question, my mind being occupied feasting on her body. My dreamy response answered her question.

"Oh, er, huh? What did you...? Err, of course, Kirsten, love."

"Love?" she quizzed. She'd picked up on what might have been careless usage of the word, or maybe there was a deeper meaning in my term of endearment.

"Just an expression," I half-lied.

"So I'm not that important to you then," Kirsten countered.

I was digging myself into a hole. "Oh, I don't know," I rambled, as I tried to fit together the pieces of the last few months of my life. "I've made so many new girl-friends and many more girl-acquaintances recently I'm not sure how it all fits."

Kirsten's body language urged me to elaborate. I thought for a few moments ...

"I get along really well with most of the Passionella Dems," I explained. "Especially Vikki, she is very self-confident and puts me at ease. She's fun to be with and very mature. I like her a lot, both physically and personally. Abigail isn't my type really and Fiona is too intense; she carries too much emotional baggage. I've gone right off Stevie, she's arrogant and too assertive for me even though I adore her body. But Danielle; she and I get on fantastically. I must tell you about some of our exploits. We seem to have really hit it off and I'd like to get to know her better."

"What about the office staff?" Kirsten probed.

I continued: "Well, I'm infatuated with Rachel's breasts and behaviourally she's developing from a girl into a woman. I like her new hair-style. But I really don't know her well at all. But I think she fancies me."

Kirsten leaned closer. What about your contacts outside the organisation"

I thought for a moment, focussing only on the people Kirsten knew.

"Terri's my favourite plaything. She's so confident about her sexuality. And I think you know Xara?" Kirsten nodded. "She's high risk, high octane voluptuous-on-legs. She's challenging and fulfils my need for no-strings excitement."

"Linda?" Kirsten prompted.

I reddened. "Sorry, can't say." I couldn't know what Kirsten might or might not have heard about me and Linda and as she was our employer I didn't dare betray our confidentiality.

Kirsten then fell silent, looked me in the eye and finally asked: "What about me? Do you love me?"

I took a deep breath and tried to speak but I couldn't find the words. A simple 'yes' wouldn't have fully explained how I felt.

Kirsten let me off the hook and called over the waiter. She paid the bill on her Passionella card (so this evening is work, not play?) took me by the hand and led me back to her apartment. We chatted vacuously as we walked home. We both nervously anticipated our first opportunity to spend some intimate time together for several weeks and I wondered what Kirsten might have in mind.

When we arrived she almost pushed me through her front door and threw her jacket on the floor.

"I'll make the coffees ..." I offered, but Kirsten pulled me firmly towards her and cut short my sentence by planting a long, passionate kiss full on my lips. I weakened at the knees and felt a warm glow between my legs.

Kirsten stepped back and stood facing me with her hands on her hips, signalling 'I'm in charge' Then she reached into her bag and pulled out two long gold chains, to which were attached two tiny, dissimilar gold keys, one on each chain. She put them on the table in front of me

Kirsten folded her arms and threw her head to one side, flicking her hair out of her eyes. She looked straight at me, then down at the keys.

I picked them up. I guessed one was for the tiny padlock on the choker around her taut neck, but what was other one for?, I wondered.

Kirsten spoke in a hushed, intensely sensual and mysteriously poetic voice.

"Julie, you hold the key to my pleasure. You may find this hard to believe, but I've been saving myself for you and I've been looking forward to this evening more than I can describe. So ..." Kirsten's mouth was dry and her voice wavered as she continued " ... unlock me, and let the Genie out of the bottle."

I felt so excited. I'd been feeling aroused all evening but now I was overwhelmed with passion. Looking down at Kirsten's nipples as they poked aggressively through her top I was in no doubt that Kirsten was as turned on as I was. I reached out a trembling hand and confirmed that indeed, one of the keys released the lock under Kirsten's chin. The choker fell away as I symbolically released her and Kirsten breathed a long sigh. She rubbed her neck which was slightly reddened from the tight choker then ran her hands down her torso, hooking her fingers under the lower edge of her tight top. Kirsten's mood changed appreciably and she quickly pulled her top upwards over her breasts and over her head.

I gasped.

The mystery of Kirsten's ultra-sheer bra was revealed, and so were her breasts! Her 'bra' was not really a bra at all, but merely a web of narrow black straps that framed her pert boobs without covering them at all. Single strips of satin ran under them and around her back whilst twin bands ran upwards between them before dividing and meeting slender shoulder straps on either side. At every join sat a small Passionella logo clasp and the whole web of intrigue framed her small but engorged breasts beautifully. Her boobs needed little support, and it gave them none, only accentuating their shape as they sat high and proud on her small frame.

"Where did you get that from?" I asked.

Kirsten explained that it was from the new Pleasure In Control range, as she ran her fingers down the shoulder straps, under her breasts and up between them. She invited me to take it off her, pointing to the front-fastening clasp in the centre, but I declined: "No way. You look fantastic in that. I'm going to leave it on and enjoy the view. I'm sure it won't get in the way." Kirsten smiled and nodded, taking my hands and placing them over her protruding nipples. Shaking, I gently grazed my palms over her swollen buds and felt them grow harder against my touch. Kirsten closed her eyes and moaned: "Oh, Julie, I've missed you so much."

I allowed my hands to roam over her warm flesh, tracing the lines of her black satin web. 'Pleasure In Control' I thought to myself. I was deriving a huge amount of pleasure, but exhibiting very little self-control as I kneaded and cupped her boobs.

I realised that Kirsten had opened her eyes and was feasting them on my own twin mounds, straining against my sheer bra, my clingy dress having moulded itself to their rounded shape. Looking down, I could see why they had caught Kirsten's attention.

"It's true then," Kirsten whispered, half-way between a question and a statement.

"What is, Kirsten?" I replied, almost certain that I knew what she meant.

"You've had your nips done, haven't you," she purred, looking up at me with a knowing smile and receiving the answer she sought solely in my confirming expression.

Looking in the mirror, I put my hands on my hips and pushed back my shoulders to exaggerate the effect. Yes, the shape of my firm, aroused nipples was clearly visible through my thin clothing and, yes, Kirsten was able to see my nipple rings too.

I nodded.

"Let me see, please," Kirsten pleaded. I gave her permission.

Kirsten moved around behind me as I faced the mirror and unzipped the back of my dress. Slipping it off my shoulders, she encouraged it to fall to the floor and I stepped out of it, turning to face her. The cups of my silk bra were gossamer-thin but opaque (so Kirsten could still not see my nipples although she could now easily discern their outline shape) and my pussy was hot and moist so my pants were already damp. I adjusted their waist-band, pulling it high on my hips so the small triangle of silk pulled tight against my mound, then reached behind my back to unclip my bra. My nipples strained hard against their concealing cups in eager anticipation of their imminent release.

"No, let me," Kirsten offered.

I turned to face her with my back to the mirror and Kirsten pressed her bare boobs against me as she reached behind my rib-cage. Unfastening the Passionella logo clip she peeled off my sheer silk bra and stepped back, her eyes darting from one breast to the other, up to my eyes then back down to my adorned nipples.

"Oh, Julie, they're beautiful!" she exclaimed. "May I?"

I positively encouraged her to touch them and she reached out with shaking fingers. Tenderly she ran them over my breasts, around my areolae then she grazed her fingernails over my nipples. I moaned and had to steady myself by placing my hands on Kirsten's shoulders as wonderfully erotic sensations welled up in my boobs and spread down to my pussy.

Kirsten took my reaction as a positive signal and hooked her long, manicured nails under my nipple rings and lifted them, flicked them gently a few times. I moaned loudly and pressed my knees together, gyrating a little to concentrate the feelings inside my moist pants.

Communicating in the wordless language we used to express our wants and desires to each other, Kirsten hooked the long, slender nails of her little fingers under and through my rings and waited for my sign. I nodded almost imperceptibly and waited. Kirsten slowly raised her hands, gradually taking the weight of my swollen boobs and further extending my already-protruding nipples. The feelings were literally magnificent, magnified by the rings that speared my buds, and by my intense desire for Kirsten.

I pushed against Kirsten's shoulders pushing them back and increasing the tension in her fingers. Kirsten responded by pulling my rings harder and higher, lifting my nipples and stretching my breasts into cones tipped with taut, red points.

The pleasure I experienced mingled confusingly with a mild but exciting pain. I remember holding that position for what seemed like ages, my head swimming deliciously until Kirsten unhooked her nails and my nipples quickly retracted. I bit my bottom lip and let out a stifled moan as the blood and with it the sensation returned to my nipples. I was about to rebuke Kirsten when I realised that the sensation was actually pleasurable as the cocktail of chemicals in my bloodstream played tricks on my brain.

"Wow!" was all I could say.

"I think you enjoyed that," Kirsten under-stated.

"Yes, that was brilliant! I've had a lot of fun since I had my little beauties mutilated. You ought to get yours done, then I could show you."

Kirsten put her finger to my mouth, interrupting me: "I could show you a thing, or two, Julie. You'll see."

I was intrigued, but excused myself as I made my way to the kitchen to take an ice-cube from the freezer to sooth my sore nipples, the natural analgesic effect of sexual stimulation having temporarily worn off.

When I returned, Kirsten was rummaging in a drawer beside her bed and retrieved a small, decorated box. Opening it, she explained that she had purchased its contents in Covent Garden market from a stall selling period jewellery.

"Look," she exclaimed, holding up a pair of earrings. Each consisted of a large pearl from which dropped a chain about 2 inches long with a smaller pearl at its end. "See how they attach?" I looked closely and recognised the attachment method from my childhood when I used to borrow my grandmother's earrings. They were made for un-pierced ears and each had an open D-shaped loop with a knurled screw across its open jaw.

"Here, put them on me," Kirsten suggested, but as I took one and offered it to her ear, she pushed away my hand. Then I realised. She wanted me to attach them to her nipples!

Kirsten's buds had relaxed as we'd been talking and were too small to attach the screw clamps but she picked up my ice cube and rubbed it on first one then the other bud. They darted out to attention, long and hard, and I tightened the screws sufficiently to take the weight of the pearls.

Kirsten smiled. Then she swayed gently, causing the pearls to swing in unison. "Mmmm, that's good. I've been looking forward to trying these ever since I bought them" she sighed, but her voice trailed off and she frowned. I guessed that anaesthetic effect of the ice had subsided and I asked Kirsten if I should loosen them, but she declined. In fact, her nipples had become aroused and had swollen further, tightening the grip of the clamps.

Kirsten moved towards me and placed her hands on my shoulders, pressing me down. I bent my knees a little in response and realised what Kirsten intended. She rocked her upper body so her adornments swung back and forth and she leant forward so the pearls knocked against my own nipple rings.

The sensation was pleasurable for both of us and we squealed and giggled as we shared the experience. But soon the arousing sensations became more intense and urgent. My pussy was twitching and begged for some attention and I pressed my silk-encased mound against Kirsten's upper thigh, rubbing against her like a bitch on heat. Kirsten pulled me to her and we pressed our bodies together, trapping our nipple jewellery between our breasts. Tiny rivers of perspiration ran down Kirsten's breasts and tummy and mingled with mine where our bodies touched.

The feelings were sensational, but did not prepare me for what happened next. Kirsten's pearl-laden chains had become entangled with my nipple rings and as she pulled back from me, her boobs and mine strained with the tension. We experienced the most fantastic pleasure as we pulled tighter then relaxed a little, sending waves of excitement through our grossly-extended nipples. Time and again we repeated the sequence, bending backwards form our hips, pulling our breasts into long cone-shapes whilst pressing our thighs against each other and grinding our pubic mounds together.

Sensing that we might both be close to orgasm, Kirsten broke the rhythm and countered my obvious disappointment with promises of more and better things still to come. I descended from my fast approaching but unattained summit, feeling frustrated but horny as I could ever remember. I trusted Kirsten and knew that release would not be far away and tried to guess what she might do next. But as the fire in my nipples subsided a little Kirsten did not, as I expected, remove the clamps from hers but instead busied herself with the fastenings of her skirt.

I always enjoyed watching Kirsten undress and she knew that. I sat down on the edge of her bed, ready to enjoy the show. Kirsten slipped the garment down her hips and turned slowly through 360 degrees as she pulled down first one side then the other with her thumbs. Finally she let it fall to the ground and I allowed a broad grin to spread across my face. To my delight, Kirsten's panties matched her bra, more in what was absent than in what was present. Her panties were in fact just a miniscule thong, no more than a single narrow black satin strap around her waist and two that disappeared between her legs, leaving her minute triangle of neatly-trimmed pubic hair clearly visible.

Kirsten tottered the length of her apartment on her high stilettos and back again, as sexy and elegant as any catwalk model, before inviting comment.

"Absolutely gorgeous," I sighed with approval, "so that's what you meant when you said you could 'show me a thing or two, yes?"

"No," she countered, "but this is."

Kirsten pulled up a chair in front of me and sat on its front edge. She spread her knees, allowing the twin webs of her thong to part and nestle in the deep valleys at the tops of her inner thighs, either side of her pussy. Then she lifted first one then the other leg and placed her feet either side of me on the edge of her bed, and she leant back against the chair. This gave me a full view of her perfectly-formed pussy, and my jaw dropped.

"Kirsten," I squealed, "you sexy bitch! What's this all about?"

Swinging from her pussy was a tiny gold padlock suspended from, and securing together, two small gold rings. These were looped through piercings in her inner labial lips, either side of her vaginal opening.

"You're the only one who knows," Kirsten reassured me, "apart from the woman at the parlour of course."

"And presumably I hold the key, right?" I asked, holding up the other chain.

Kirsten nodded. "I'm impenetrable. I've kept myself locked away waiting for you. How many nights would I have loved to slip a long, fulfilling dildo deep inside me, or slide a living, energetic vibrator into my tunnel?" I took this to be a rhetorical question and said nothing. Taking the second key, I knelt between Kirsten's legs and slipped it into the glistening lock. Turning it, the lock snapped open and Kirsten jumped as the sensation was transmitted directly into her pussy lips. I unhooked the loop from her rings and her lips unfolded like blossoming flower-petals as her swollen, engorged cunt spread and moisture oozed from her pink opening.

Kirsten let out a long moan of release and pleasure. She tipped back her head and sighed as I placed the palms of my hands on her inner thighs. Leaning forward, I dipped my head and planted noisy kisses on her golden rings then ran my tongue along the full length of her gash, right up to her clit. I breathed in the heady aroma of her femininity and lingered there until Kirsten began to breathe quickly; I'd had an idea.

Pulling away, I motioned for Kirsten to lay back on the bed. I slipped off my dripping-wet panties and clambered over her as she lay on her back. I used the small padlock from Kirsten's choker to attach one of Kirsten's gold chains to one of my nipple rings. Then I threaded the chain through both of Kirsten's cunt-rings and attached the free end to my other nipple ring using the remaining padlock. Kirsten lifted her head to see what I was doing, but sank back into the soft bedding with a sigh as soon as I began to move. As I had hoped, by moving my upper body from side to side I could cause the chain to slide through Kirsten's pussy rings. She gasped and shook as I slowly dragged the links through her labial adornments, the vibrations travelling directly into her pussy and the varying tension in the chain tugging at her sensitive flesh. Of course, those same tensions and vibrations were also reproduced in my nipples which became hugely erect and sensitive.

Kirsten was busy at her end too, but I could not see what she was doing. I felt my climax building again between my legs as my pussy pouted close to Kirsten's face. I was desperate for Kirsten to frig me off and sure enough I soon felt her fingers on my pussy, and a feeling of something pinching me, just above my clit.

"Hold still, sweetie," Kirsten insisted, "there!"

To my immense frustration, Kirsten removed her hands, but I could still feel something against my clit, and an exciting sensation I could not explain.

Taking my weight on one hand, I slipped my other one between my legs and felt what Kirsten had done. She'd unscrewed an earring from one nipple and had clamped it on my clit hood. The large pearl was jammed against my erect clitoris and when I moved my hips I experienced delicious sensations that soon overwhelmed the slight unpleasantness of the clamping screw. Experimenting more, I arched my back and tilted my pelvis so the earring's delicate chain dragged across my slit and, if I rocked gently, I could make the smaller pendulous pearl bang against the opening to my gaping vagina. It felt fantastic!

"Oh, yes, Julie, that just great" Kirsten encouraged, her voice urgent and wavering. My rhythmical movements sent waves of pleasure through both our bodies and for at least 15 minutes I performed every combination of body gyrations I could conjure up. Kirsten was treated to a close-up view of my tormented pussy, which I could feel was becoming more and more engorged and dripping wet with my lubricant.

"Hey, Julie, you're drowning me!" she exclaimed, and I looked down through my cleavage to see Kirsten licking sticky trails of my pre-orgasmic juices from her face.

My nipples were becoming sore from the tension in the chain and I accepted that I/we were unlikely to reach orgasm like this so I unlocked one end of the chain from my right nipple. Unthreading it from Kirsten's lip rings I stood up and pulled her to her feet. She expressed disappointment but I elicited sympathy for my fiery-red, aching buds, the left one of which still had its padlock and chain attached. Kirsten leant forward and blew on them (the slight cooling effect was most welcome) before crouching slightly and parting her legs. She inserted the middle finger of first one hand and then the other into her pussy, pulling each one out slowly creating a deliciously sexy squelching sound. She held her fingers under my nose so I could smell her musk and she rubbed her moistened fingertips and thumbs together, spreading her ample lubricant. Then she smeared the slippery pussy-juice over my nipples and my areolae as a salve, moistening them and causing them to glisten provocatively in the subtle, focussed light of my apartment.

I shuddered and moaned as she slowly teased my tormented nipples, smearing her slippery fluid over them and pulling, squeezing and twisting them. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back as I savoured the intense feelings that ran down through my body and shot bolts of arousing sensation deep into my pussy.

Just as I was tuning into her rhythmical movements, she let go of my hot, aching buds and I sighed as I awaited her next move. I felt a tug and I opened my eyes to see Kirsten attaching the spare padlock and chain to my right nipple ring. She already had the other end of the chain trapped between her tongue and her top row of teeth. She then bit the chain hard and pulled. I could have moved towards her, but instinctively I leaned back to match her tension, pulling my right nipple and breast into an extended cone. I pulled harder as the pleasure mingled with pain and I tried to breathe deeply as I concentrated on the mixed sensations. Soon, my nipple became numb and the feelings subsided but as I moved towards Kirsten to slowly release the tension, she suddenly let the chain slip from between her teeth. My breast quickly returned to its natural shape and the blood rushed back into my contracting nipple, shooting fresh pleasure-pain sensations through my aching breast. I yelled and winced and Kirsten placed her hands on my upper arms to steady me.

I was desperately close to orgasm now and I looked at her pleadingly with half-closed eyes as I savoured the arousing feelings. Kirsten knew me well enough to know that I was enjoying her game and she took the other chain between her teeth.

"Oh, no!!!!!"," I moaned, when really I meant 'yes, please' and Kirsten subjected my neglected left nipple to the same exquisite treatment. My pussy was alive and I magnified my pleasure by rocking my pelvis so my pussy-pearls swung and banged against my tormented cunt.

Leaving the chains dangling down the front of my breasts, and my emotions dangling by an imaginary thread, Kirsten walked away from me.

"Oh, Kirsten, please won't you finish me off?" I pleaded, "where are you going?"

Kirsten pulled a familiar box from the drawer beside her bed and took out a small, purple vibrator. My mind swam deliriously as I imagined what she might be intending to do with it and Kirsten smiled. She motioned for me to stand with my back to the wall, which I did willingly, spreading my legs to welcome the new arrival. Kirsten switched on the toy and I closed my eyes, listening to its provocative hum. But instead of kneeling to administer that eagerly-anticipated 'buzz of excitement' on my clit, she took hold of the free end of one of my nipple-chains and pulled gently. With her other hand she ran the vibrator slowly back and forth along its length so that the vibrations transmitted right into the very core of my nipple. The sensations became more intense each time she moved the toy closer to my breast, and subsided frustratingly as she ran is tip away towards her fingertips

I yelled and shuddered with the shock and intensity of the feelings and I moaned and squeezed my legs hard together. Kirsten understood what I wanted and worked each nipple chain in turn, whispering encouraging noises in my ear. I felt my orgasm rising in my cunt and concentrated hard. It was as though my nipple rings were connected by fine electrically-charged wires embedded deep under my skin, running like hot threads down to my pussy and connected to the mass of nerve-endings in my pearl-clamped clit. Finally I climaxed as tears rolled down my cheeks. Kirsten pulled me to her and held me tenderly, her cool breasts soothing my own with their comforting softness. My pussy convulsed and my nipples burned as I soaked up the sensations of my nipple orgasm.

I sank back onto Kirsten's bed and she leaned over me. "I hope I didn't hurt you" she whispered.

"So what if you did? That was brilliant!" I replied as I came down slowly from my summit.

Kirsten turned away and walked over to the kitchen area where she took two ice-cold beers from the fridge. Walking back towards me, the combination of her high stiletto-heeled shoes and her experience in lap-dance clubs combined to ensure that I was treated to a gloriously arousing show. Kirsten carefully placed one elevated foot in front of the other, wiggling her supple hips and slightly twisting her upper body with each step. The weight of the bottles that she held in outstretched hands tightened her pectoral muscles and her strappy 'bra' further accentuated the shape of her breasts, drawing my attention to their shape and the way they bounced ever-so-slightly as she walked. Her matching open thong perfectly framed her pubes and when she turned around I could see how the twin straps that emerged from between her thighs held her bum cheeks slightly apart. Kirsten walked past me and back again to show off her body and treated me to a slow pirouette before bending forward right in front of me and ... placing the two cold bottles firmly on my boobs!

I winced and pulled back as the cold shock tightened my nipples and puckered my areolae. "Hey, teaser, that's cold!" I protested but Kirsten just smiled and, opening both bottles, passed one to me. We downed the thirst-quenching nectar and looked at each other. I wanted to satisfy Kirsten in return for the pleasure she had given me, but she had other ideas. She unlocked the chains from my nipple rings and motioned for me to lay back on her bed. Kneeling between my ankles, she licked and lapped my hard pierced buds and her saliva salved away their remaining soreness. She ran her cold tongue down my breasts, over my tummy and down to my pussy mound where she lingered, moistening my shaven skin. When I was ready I parted my legs wide and Kirsten carefully removed the screw clamp from my distended hood.

Intense feelings rushed through my clit as its protective hood retuned to shape and the blood rushed through its microscopic vessels, feeding the multitude if nerve-endings within. Kirsten dipped her head between my thighs and gave me the most expert licking-out I could have dared to dream of.

She ran her long, pointed tongue up and down my outer and inner lips, stabbing and flicking my clit each time she passed from one side of my pussy to the other. Next she poked her tongue deeper into my vaginal opening than I thought possible before locking her lips over my clit. She sucked and nibbled me and she rolled my engorged bud from side to side. I felt her hands on the insides of my thighs and soon she parted my lips with her thumbs before she inserted first one then two fingers of both hands into my gaping, dripping tunnel. I took my hands away from my breasts and placed them on the back of her head to signal approval and Kirsten increased her tempo. I began to lose control as I bucked my hips, crying out and mouthing unnecessary instructions and erratic staccato words of encouragement. My whole body was consumed with passion and shook violently as another climax, even more intense than the last, ripped me apart. Kirsten continued to lick and lap and suck until she had milked the last drops from me and felt all the tension release from my entire body.

My mind was swimming with my own pleasure, but I was intensely aware that I had enjoyed two magnificent orgasms but Kirsten had not (yet) come.

"Kirsten, that was brilliant," I breathed, smiling broadly. Kirsten looked down at me reassuringly. "I know, I could tell. I enjoyed it too."

"No doubt you did," I responded, "but not as much as you are going to enjoy this."

I looked up at Kirsten kneeling next to me on the bed. Her smooth skin was still traced by the narrow lines of black satin strands that constituted her almost non-existent 'bra' and 'pants'. She still had one earring clamped to her left nipple, its pearl-ended chain hanging down over the front of her high, firm breast. Her other, equally provocative breast, also outlined by the strapping webs of her Pleasure In Control top, protruded invitingly from her upper body. It was tipped by its own erect and exquisitely-suckable teat, unencumbered by any jewellery, and poked outwards and slightly upwards.

I sat up on the bed and pulled Kirsten towards me, snogging her wet and inviting mouth until I had to come up for air. Kirsten was obviously red hot and horny, unable to conceal her desire behind her confident and mature exterior. She looked me in the eye with an unmistakable 'fuck-me' look; I was not going to let her down.

Over the next two hours, I licked her face and her neck, her shoulders and her upper arms. I spent ages smothering her tits with kisses and Kirsten moaned swallowed hard when I unclamped the earring from her nipple. I sucked on her hard pink buds, fascinated by the way they grew so very long in my mouth and then, when I pulled my head away, they shrank back ever so slightly, throbbing with the beat of Kirsten's accelerated heartbeat.

Kirsten begged me to move lower. Obliging, I moved down her body, lapping up the beads of aromatic, sweet-but-salty perspiration on her belly. Arriving at her temple of worship, I buried my face between her thighs and Kirsten spread her legs wide, wide apart so I could reach the deepest corners of her hot, pungent pussy.

I hooked the tip of my tongue under the taught strips of black fabric that framed her pubic mound and moistened the narrow lines of tense flesh that they barely concealed. Kirsten encouraged and directed me and I performed every sexual act she asked for, and much more besides. First one, then the other, I took hold of a gold labia-ring between my front teeth and gently pulled whilst running my hands up and down the smooth, soft flesh of her inner thighs. Then I rolled each one with my tongue as I pushed both my index fingers deep into her vagina. Her hot, pouting tunnel smothered my fingers with her juices that flowed out in pulses and ran down over her perineum. I gathered some and smeared it over her clit before I ran my fingernails down her hood then up again, each time flicking the engorged and sensitive head that it tried hopelessly to protect.

Kirsten squealed and cried out loudly as I teased and tortured the depths of her cunt. Reaching up, I retrieved her vibrator from under the pillow and flicked it on. Kirsten heard and recognized the noise so she opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows to see what I was doing. I looked at her face and recognized an expression of pleasure and torment mixed with horny anticipation as she ran the tip of her tongue over her dry, parted lips. She looked so gorgeously fuckable and tonight she was mine.

Steadying myself with one hand and holding the vibrator like an expensive fountain-pen in the other, I gently touched its agitated tip against one of Kirsten's pussy rings, sending obvious shocks of pleasurable energy deep into her. Kirsten moaned and fell back on the bed; she liked what I was doing so I repeatedly targeted one ring then the other, causing them to dance and rattle against the trembling toy. Then I took hold of the rings between the thumbs and forefingers of each hand and used them to pull Kirsten's inner lips wide apart so I could probe her gaping cunt-hole with my tongue whilst tracing the tips of my smallest fingers around her anus.

"Suck my clit, Julie," Kirsten screamed, "suck it, suck it, suck it hard. Fuck it with your mouth, Julie, you hot, horny fuck-bitch!"

I drew Kirsten's exposed and vulnerable clitoris slowly into my mouth, then ran the tip of my tongue over it in a frenzy of rapid, darting flicks. I closed my mouth, bit my teeth together and nibbled at her aching bud. Finally, I grabbed the waistband of Kirsten's pants and pulled it upwards off her hips, over her waist and high, high to the start of her rib-cage, dragging the black strapping tight between her legs, pulling her ass-cheeks apart and stretching her arsehole.

Kirsten convulsed and writhed and I tried to maintain mouth contact with her pussy but my job was done. Kirsten climaxed and let out a long, low scream, entangling her fingers in my hair and pressing my face hard into her groin

After she had got her breath back, Kirsten described in graphic detail how much she had enjoyed the feeling of the vibrator against her lip rings and I promised to do it again sometime soon. I also promised to give serious thought to having my own pussy pierced too.

I asked Kirsten if I could borrow a towel so I could shower off, but Kirsten interrupted. "Wait, I've bought you a present"

She handed me an anonymous black glossy box, which I opened carefully. Inside, buried under countless layers of black tissue paper was a white leather dildo. It was not especially large, but had a narrow, thick triangle of creased, stitched leather attached to its base. At each corner of that were metal rings to which were secured wide satin ribbons. It was unlike any strap-on dildo I had seen before and the ribbons would not be strong enough to support vigorous thrusting penetration. I was puzzled.

"Shall I try it on?" I suggested.

Kirsten smiled. "You must try it in, not on," she explained, so I handed it to her, surmising that she was going to wear it and demonstrate on me.

"No, sweetie. Like this. You wear it inside yourself. The ribbons hold it in place." Kirsten knelt in front of me and smeared some of my oozing natural lube along its modest length, then carefully inserted it into my accommodating vagina.

It felt very comfortable inside me and Kirsten fixed the ribbons. One encircled my waist and to this she attached others that were secured to the triangular base of the dildo. These held it in me. Then she tied two more around my legs, at the tops of my thighs. The purpose of these was less obvious.

"There, how's that?" Kirsten enquired.

"Feels OK, thanks," I replied. I must have sounded unsure as Kirsten continued: "how do you know, you haven't tried it yet."

Tried what? I thought.

"Walking?"

"Yes, go on, try walking," Kirsten insisted.

I climbed off the bed in my naked and rather dishevelled state, and tried to walk.

I couldn't.

"Shit, Kirsten where did you get this?" I asked. Kirsten didn't answer, she just gestured for me to try harder. But every time I took a step, the movement of my legs pulled the ribbons. This caused the dildo to twist inside my tunnel and the coarse triangle of leather to rub across my clit. I tried taking smaller steps and the feelings were bearable, but still highly arousing. I stood up on my tiptoes and managed to totter across the room, collapsing into a chair.

"Like it now?" Kirsten asked. The look on my face told her what she needed to know.

"It's for you to wear at the Pleasure in Control launch party on Wednesday. Now everyone knows you are a Passionella employee, Linda wants you to model some of the products on the catwalk during the show. I thought you'd like to wear that dildo under your clothes to help you, well, get in the mood."

I tried walking again and gradually became used to the feelings as the clever design stimulated every part of my pussy. I found that poking out my bum and keeping my knees apart (I must have looked so tarty) I could make reasonable progress but would still almost certainly reach orgasm within 50 metres. I agreed to give it a try on the night.

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

I arrived at PROM at 9:30 am as requested and Rachel greeted me warmly, as a colleague as distinct from a valued but respected customer. She gave me a peck on the cheek and stood very close to me, invading my space. I did not move away.

"You may go straight up to Linda's office," Rachel purred with a knowing smile, "she's waiting for you".

Linda's door was open so I knocked and walked in. Linda was sitting at her desk and did not stand up. She motioned for me to sit down where I had sat the first time we met, when she interviewed me for my job. My first job. My old job.

"So, the Dems have sussed you out," Linda started, without even saying 'Hello'. I sensed that she was not pleased and wondered who had told her. I wouldn't have blamed Rachel, what else could she do?

"I'm sorry, Linda," I began, "I tried my best to keep up the charade, but the whole scenario became impossible to sustain. And your girls are bright. They're experienced in empathising with clients, understanding their motivations and needs, getting inside their personalities. In my opinion - Linda nodded for me to continue - it's a credit to them that they saw through me."

"Well, yes," Linda replied, pausing long enough for me to expect a belittling tirade of criticism and counter-argument. "But really it is you that deserves the credit and praise ..."

I was dumbfounded.

"... for managing to keep up the pretence for so long. You were so convincing you had everyone fooled for far longer than I could ever have hoped. You were brilliant, Julia, and I can't thank you enough. You've done a fantastic job. You've increased my insight into the relationships between Passionella and its clients enormously and I'm indebted to you. Someday soon I'll show you just how much I value you."

What could I say, except 'Thank You.' And 'Do I get to keep my job?' but Linda pre-empted me.

"You've done a terrific job in Black Room; I can't wait for the official inauguration after the PIC show on Wednesday. I want you to give me a private tour now it's finished. Also, have you seen this?"

Linda handed me a luxurious, glossy book. It was the new Passionella catalogue and there, on the front page was a picture of me modelling in Diane's studio.

"Flick though it."

Almost every page carried at least on shot of me and, I had to admit, I did look rather good.

"You're a natural. You're so photogenic and you obviously got on well with Diane and her assistant. It shows through in the results."

Could Linda know just how well we got on? What would Diane have told her and what pictures had she seen?

"The new lines are sure to succeed, and those who've seen the catalogue expect it to become a collector's item. I can't bear to lose you, so I have a special duty that I'd like you to take on."

I raised a quizzical eyebrow, to solicit more information, but Linda changed tack.

"But first we have a show and a party this week. I'd like you to model some of the new PIC range on the catwalk, and also to mix with the clients at the party. Publicly I'll tell them that you've just been engaged by Passionella as consultant so you can circulate freely as both client and employee without arousing suspicions. OK?"

And I thought I'd be fired.

"This afternoon, Charlotte will fit you with your costumes and explain what we need you to do on the night."

It wasn't suspicions that were becoming aroused, as Linda stood up and walked round behind me. She put her hands on my shoulders and leant forward. She whispered in my ear: "Julia, I need you. I have plans for us." Then she kissed my ear and, standing tall, pressed her pussy against my upper arm, rotating it and sighing. "See you later."

The rest of the morning just dragged. I whiled away my time in coffee bars, unwilling to show my face in any of the Passionella outlets after my 'outing' on Friday night.

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

I kept my appointment with Charlotte, but first I sneaked into one of the Private Rooms found just the special garment I was looking for. I changed into it and slipped my day clothes on over the top.

Charlotte welcomed me into her office, greeting me like an old friend. I was unsure what she knew but she instantly dispelled any confusion.

"I'm delighted that you are truly one of us now."

I relaxed and felt a load lifted by the removal of the pretence under which I had been working since I joined. We chatted warmly and I lapped up Charlotte's charms.

Standing up, Charlotte led the way down to Gold Private Room, explaining on the way that she needed me to try on my show garments and learn how best to display their individual features. I could hardly wait. She asked me to undress as she busied herself with a rail full of clothes.

She spun around when I turned up the music, but I put my finger to her lips and gestured for her to sit down.

"Charlotte," I purred, "you taught me a lot about undressing and I want to show you that I haven't forgotten."

Charlotte smiled a questioning half-smile and I began to unbutton my jacket. But her face broadened to a wide grin when I slipped it off my shoulders as she recognised what I had on underneath.

I stepped out of my skirt and tossed it onto the sofa then strutted the length of the room on my stilettos. Turning to face Charlotte I planted my hands firmly on my hips and Charlotte applauded me. "It suits you, Julia, but then you've got a lot more to put in it."

"What, like theeeeese?" I asked, drawing out the last word as I loosened the top ribbon of the tie-front body-suit identical to the one Charlotte wore when she teased me senseless at my Passionella audition.

I pulled apart the sheer fabric to expose my full, naked breasts and, to Charlotte's obvious delight, my pierced-and-ball-barred nipples.

"Wow, they're fantastic!" she exclaimed, but I wasn't finished. I put on the show of my life, turning and gyrating as I untied each successive bow as slowly and as provocatively as I could. I had Charlotte eating out of my hand and I felt so empowered and euphoric as I exposed my body to her eager gaze. Finally I stepped out of the skimpy suit, kicked it into the far corner of the room and stood naked in front of Passionella UK's Marketing Manager.

"You're going to steal the show on Wednesday, Julia darling," she enthused, "the clients will be captivated."

It wasn't the clients I was planning to impress.

Charlotte looked flustered and her brow glistened with tiny tell-tale beads of perspiration. I'd got her going.

"Here, we think you'd look good in these," Charlotte continued in a more business-like manner as she handed me some beautifully decorated feminine bras & panties. She helped me into each in turn and I was pleased to see that Passionella had not abandoned its roots. I practiced my cat-walk-walk in front of the huge mirrors and imagined the appreciating stares of the audience. One collection included an amazing new black satin balcony bra that pushed my boobs upwards and forwards prominently. The look was highly revealing and seductive; my firm rounded boobs were on show, thrusting forwards and charging me with an exhilarating air of confidence and power.

On to the new Pleasure In Control range. I loved the contrasts such as the soft silk camisole with aggressive leather cross-over shoulder straps complete with large buckles, and the satin jacket and matching trousers emblazoned with numerous large silver studs. Sort of 'biker meets party girl'. My imagination ran riot as I adopted the persona that each suggested. Then Charlotte handed my something quite different, altogether more seriously erotic.

I held up a full-length cerise latex cat-suit. "I won't get into that!" I exclaimed; it was tiny.

"You'll need help, from me, and this," Charlotte explained, holding a large pack of body talc.

It took ages to get on. Charlotte sprinkled powder inside the suit and patted more all over my naked body, arms and legs. Charlotte wouldn't countenance the thought of me wearing anything underneath in case the lines showed through the tight, clinging rubber. She pulled the zipper up my back and I started to become accustomed to the feeling of taut latex rubber against my skin. It became very hot inside, tight & sexy like a second skin. It moved with me as I walked and I looked at my new self in the mirrors.

Charlotte complimented me on my appearance and smoothed her hands over the outside of the suit then slid them up the insides of my legs. Playfully, I squeezed them together, trapping her hands. Charlotte looked up at me and my face flushed.

Happy with the fit and with my performance, she unzipped me. She must have noticed the effect the rubber suit had on me and in particular on my nipples, and would surely have notice the pungent smell of my aroused pussy as she crouched in front of me and peeled the deep pink latex off my legs.

"Last one, Julia. Try this," Charlotte instructed, handing me a dark brown leather corset and matching skirt. They were beautifully decorated with finely-detailed panels of interwoven leather and strips of silk & satin in deep, moody shades; the workmanship was indescribably fine. I wrapped the stiffened corset around my torso and Charlotte began to lace me into it. I breathed in and Charlotte murmured something.

Unlacing me again she explained. "I've misjudged you; I didn't realize you had such a slim waist when it's pulled in. I'll get a smaller size." Great, I thought. I love the feel of a really tight corset. As Charlotte disappeared into the stock room, I struggled into the skirt and matching knee-high laced boots with very high heels. At least 4 inches - I'd need to practice walking in those.

"Allow me," offered a different voice. It was Linda; I hadn't heard her enter the room. She looked me up and down, lingering over my bare breasts, then slid her fingers inside the front of the waistband of my skirt. With her other hand, she pulled the long zipper all the way down the front, encasing me tightly in the soft, supple leather like a mermaid. The skirt was very tight around my legs and I was afraid I might topple so I steadied my self on Linda's shoulder.

Charlotte returned, seemingly unsurprised to find our new companion. Linda helped her to lace me into the corset and remarked approvingly at the sight of my breasts swelling proudly above its top edge, my areolae barely concealed.

"Can you walk?" Charlotte asked.

I tried a few steps but could hardly even shuffle.

"Not very sexy," Linda observed. "I'll take you up on your suggestion, Charlotte"

"Do I get to know what that might be?" I asked.

"It depends," Charlotte replied, asking other question.

"How much do you weigh?"

"51 kilos, about 130 pounds."

"OK, it'll work"

"What will?"

"Plan B. Four of the dems will carry you onto the runway. If you can manage at least one pirouette (I obliged) then one of them will unzip you; then you can strut your stuff. We'll make that the finale; you can stay on stage until the applause subsides."

Linda nodded in approval and I smiled in agreement, realizing that this would be the perfect opportunity for me to wear my special gift from Kirsten.

"Has Julia seen the new toys?" Linda asked Charlotte.

Charlotte explained that we'd not had time so Linda left us alone again.

"Linda has brought in some exciting new equipment especially for the show" my companion explained. "Here, look at these, they'll be sold alongside the lingerie under the Passionella/Pleasure In Control brand ..."

Charlotte opened a drawer and inside were 'orifice invaders' of all kinds. "Take some out and look at them," she encouraged.

There were dildos in a multitude of shapes, sizes, textures and materials. One in particular took my fancy.

"Oh, yes, Linda particularly wanted that. Its tip is curved far enough to reach even the most hard-to-reach G-spot." I wondered whether Charlotte's, or indeed Linda's, G-spot might fall into the 'hard to reach' category.

There were also strap-ons of various designs, as well as gloves with dildos attached and a long golden vibrator fixed to a broad thigh strap. "So your penetrated partner can sit astride your leg." Charlotte elaborated. "Oh, actually there's a pair of those, for double the fun."

Charlotte then held up a wide waist belt that had dildos jutting menacingly from both front and back. I had difficulty imagining how that could be used, but didn't ask.

We chatted about the products, the show and the party planned for afterwards then drifted into girl-talk. But just when I thought it was time to leave and I began to extricate myself from my leather corset, Charlotte stood up quickly and grabbed my wrist.

"Here, have you seen this?" she asked animatedly ...

I simple had to make my apologies and leave as I couldn't take any more of Charlotte's animated enthusiasm. I found her both exciting and tiring, and I needed some rest and time to think about the launch. I could hardly wait.

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

I'd love to hear from you if you'd like to tell me what you enjoyed most about this episode.

Chapter 16

I arrived at Passionella HQ at 6 pm as agreed and the building was already buzzing with excitement. The company's senior management in the desirable form of Linda, Charlotte and Emma were organising caterers, furniture and each other in equal shares but each took the time to give me a peck on both cheeks. I was ushered into Yellow private room to change and be made up (I declined, as usual) before slipping on my first outfit: a black satin uplift balcony bra with matching panties. Slim & sexy Charlotte had fitted me out with my very first Passionella uniform consisting of a jacket with three-quarter-length sleeves and wide decorated lapels in corporate burgundy, with matching tight trousers. I squeezed my body inside, breathed in deeply and sighed as I finally felt like a true Passionella girl. My boobs swelled between the jacket lapels and rose proudly from my bra. I felt terrific, excited and nervous as well as sexy and somewhat aroused by what lay ahead.

I shared the luxurious changing room with company 'Dem' Helen and her Spanish colleague Maria who would also be modelling during the evening. Both were fully informed, congratulating me on my appointment as a consultant to Passionella UK and also commenting on my prominence in the new catalogue. We chatted freely and the girls were unashamed of their curvaceous, naked bodies in my presence, touching themselves and each other in relaxed and provocative ways. But through the open door I could hear that a very different atmosphere prevailed in at least one of the other Private Rooms. The air was filled with catty bitchiness that degenerated into a slagging-off contest that was eventually terminated by a stern but fair intervention by the voluptuous Emma.

In the corridor I bumped into big-bosomed Passionella client Xara and we exchanged knowing looks. Charlotte asked if we had met before (we smiled broadly) and went on to explain that Xara was a guest model for the evening and would be wearing some special lines available in larger cup sizes. Xara asked if I fancied a 'lift' after the show; Charlotte laughed awkwardly, assuming the joke related to the capacity of Xara's bra rather than a ride in her car, but I knew to what she really referred. I declined politely; I had other plans.

Dressed and prepared, we mingled with the invited guest clients in the foyer. A buzz of excitement filled the air and everywhere seemed to be festooned with helium balloons tethered to small floor weights (in the shape of the Passionella logo) by real silk ribbons in corporate burgundy - attention to detail and no expense spared!

The new Passionella catalogue was freely available and several of the photos, including some of me, had been blown up to larger-than-life-size and hung prominently on the walls. The room was filled with the heady aroma of fine Italian espresso coffee, good food and premium-brand women's fragrances.

Diane was hardly recognisable in a severe but very sophisticated S&M outfit, all the more effective in that it concealed rather than revealed yet projected eroticism from every angle. She kissed me on both cheeks (her leather outfit squeaked erotically with her every move) and brushed aside my compliments on her catalogue photography.

The reception cocktail party would have provided a professor of body language with more material than he or she could ever need as we gestured, touched, glanced, stood and moved in countless ways, communicating every unspoken mood and relationship signal know to womankind. Several pairs and groups of attractive woman seemed to have taken overt-flirting lessons from Yasmin and Zoë who then excelled themselves in the shameless and passionate way they kissed and caressed each other as well as some of their friends and acquaintances.

I was feeling fabulous as I soaked up the atmosphere as well as the compliments and genuine admiration of colleagues and customers alike. Despite the pretence of my new 'consultant' status, I felt far more relaxed than when I'd previously hidden awkwardly behind my false 'client' persona.

Rachel looked as sexy as ever but now had her hair cut very severely and dyed jet black. She ushered my small group and I into the showroom where Linda welcomed us all and introduced the show, eliciting polite applause from the crowded room.

On the catwalk there followed the most erotically charged display of scantily-clad gorgeous women one could ever hope to see, matched only by the rapturous enthusiasm of the receptive audience. Fiona, my favourite red-head, seemed to be in a dream world as she displayed her freckled and mature yet evocative body, squeezed into an impossibly skimpy black bra and panties decorated with metallic silver designs echoing Moroccan and Turkish influences, whilst Stevie continued the Near East theme as she belly-danced her way across the stage in a gold-tasselled maroon and deep ochre plunge-neck short top and a tiny matching skirt.

Vikki strutted her stuff in a lycra creation that left nothing to the imagination, the mass of buckles and rings unable to distract attention from the clearly-defined shape of her small-but-perfectly-formed 32A breasts, her narrow waist and the prominent mound at the top of her slim thighs. Her outfit included tight gloves that were laced all the way up her upper arms and opaque tight stockings that were secured to wide suspender straps attached to the bottom edge of her suit. She walked confidently despite being elevated on 2" platform soles and 6" stiletto heels.

A huge cheer rose up as Xara made her guest appearance, striding onto the catwalk and proudly displaying her enormous breasts as they swelled alluringly out of her supportive bra. The shoulder straps carried the considerable weight of her boobs and the skilfully shaped cups moulded them into rounded, swaying spheres of seductive womanly flesh. The shear depth and prominence of her cleavage had the audience on their feet, distracted only by her equally-arresting firm, muscular legs that carried her purposefully onto the raised dais.

Unfortunately, this was my cue so I made my excuses at the table and slipped into Yellow where I slipped out of my Passionella Burgundy wear. I glanced at myself once more in the mirror to reaffirm my self-confidence and felt a light touch on my shoulder. It was Danielle who was to be my catwalk partner; she whispered a series of instructions in my ear and finally "give it all you've got." She then kissed me lightly on the neck.

The mix of chemicals that coursed through my veins and flooded into my head (arousal alloyed with adrenalin and a dash of assertiveness verging on a power-trip) buoyed me along as I strode onto the catwalk in just my black balcony bra, diminutive panties and high spike-heeled leather boots. My head swam as I soaked up the applause from the clients in such close proximity, who focussed a hundred or more eyes on my near-naked body.

I became breathtakingly aroused by the whole experience, which led me to walk and pose in ever more provocative ways. This brought further whoops and cries of approval from the gathered spectators who became my voyeurs, feasting their eyes on my body as I craved even more of their adoration. I cupped my hands under my breasts to lift them and draw attention to their shape then ran my fingertips down the shoulder straps and around the edges of the bra cups in a feigned attempt to keep the audience's eyes on the product rather than on me. I similarly ran my fingers along the narrow waist-ties of my panties, then hooked them inside and pulled them higher on my hips. My pussy twitched and contracted, flooding my panties with warm fluid as the narrow triangle of satin between my legs struggled to contain my swelling flesh. I was sure those sitting in the front row would be able to smell my scent but I unashamedly spread my legs wide apart and thrust my mound towards them. Several women reached out to try to touch my thighs but I backed away just out of their reach, shocked yet excited by the resultant feelings of power and control I could exert over them.

I noticed the gaze of the multitude of wide eyes divert away from me when, as arranged, Danielle joined me on the stage. Appreciative gasps and a ripple of applause rose up as she slipped off her long, demure white gown to expose the striking contrast of a black leather outfit into which her slender form was tightly squeezed. Her waist was pulled in sharply by a wide laced and buckled clincher and her small bare breasts were pushed upwards by a quarter-cup sling bra attached by double straps to a wide choker. Her nipples were exposed and they jutted forwards, confirming her obvious state of sexual excitement. A wide suspender traversed her tummy and supported opaque stockings whilst a skimpy leather thong struggled to conceal her outer labia.

Danielle ran her hands lightly over my arms, legs and body in a convincing act of lesbian seduction, arousing me and filling my head with barely-controllable animal desire. I felt my erect nipples press hard against the edge of my bra-cups as I stood to my full height and looked down on Danielle. She cowered as I mocked stern assertiveness and fell to her knees.

Deviating from our pre-arranged but unrehearsed act, I lifted one leg and placed my spike-heeled foot on Danielle's shoulder. She bowed down submissively and willingly; the assembled audience fell quiet. Only hushed whispers could be heard as she then bent forward and kissed the toe of my other boot.

I could hardly control myself as feelings of passion and power of an intensity that I'd never before experienced washed through me. I knew at that moment that I had found a new dimension to my sexuality. Success had bolstered my self-esteem, giving me the confidence to assert authority over others, and the feelings of power and control excited me more than I could have imagined. But I knew my compassionate nature would ensure that this power would never be misdirected. All I needed now was a willing partner who would derive as much enjoyment as I surely would from such a relationship.

Danielle stood up and took my hand, snapping me back to reality and leading me off the stage. I quickly changed into my next outfit, a very short leather dress with four narrow shoulder straps and suspenders attached to its lower edge to which I attached lace-top stockings, creating a tantalising contrast between the pretty hosiery and the harsh yet supple leather.

The next 30 minutes were a whirl of costume changes as the girls paraded ever more erotic outfits in front of the enthralled audience.

Helen looked exquisite, her slim body crushed in a tight red latex bustière that pulled in her waist and squeezed her lovely B-cup breasts together. Matching red latex panties rose high on her hips, accentuating her bum and pussy mound, and her firm upper thighs disappeared into long latex self-supporting stockings. I was next on and appreciated the help that my colleagues offered as I struggled into my cerise latex cat-suit.

As I stepped deliberately along the length of the catwalk I tried to concentrate on the audience, making eye contact with as many as possible and showing off the suit to best advantage. The aim of the show was, of course, primarily to demonstrate the new products and therefore increase sales. But my hormones had other plans. The feel of the taught latex against my skin and the heat from the lights caused me to perspire profusely. My sweat mixed with the talc and formed a slippery film between my first and second skins. As I walked, the latex slid over me and the feelings were unbelievable. I took longer strides and I twisted and contorted my torso to accentuate the sensations. I squeezed my thighs together to try to relieve some of the horny sensations in my pussy but this only made things worse. So I tried parting my legs wide and this just stretched the latex even tighter across my pussy.

There was a welded seam in the latex that was slightly thicker and tighter than the rest of the suit and it ran centrally down my belly and up between my arse-cheeks. This join worked its way into my gash and I could feel my lips open and slide against the latex either side as I moved. Instinctively I leaned back and thrust my pelvis forward. My smooth, bare mound slipped and slid over the latex that concealed it from the gaze of my appreciative audience.

Then, my sensitised clit made contact with the taut rubber seam, sending a sexual thunderbolt through my body. I grasped uncontrollably at my breasts, squeezing them and rubbing my palms over my erect nipples. I could feel them, and their hard metal adornments, through the suit and they grew larger and firmer against the latex under my hands. I rocked back and forwards, immersed in the gorgeous sensations of rubber rubbing over my engorged, tormented clit. My body ached for release as my cunt pulsed and released copious floods of lube that added to the sensual slippery sensations inside my rubber sheath. The tightness of the suit around my ribs, waist and legs left me short of breath and light-headed and also seemed to accentuate the flow of hot blood between my legs. I could easily have climaxed right there on the stage but through the fuzzy haze of my self-centred involvement I heard the music change to cue the finale.

I regained my composure and made a dignified if shaky exit, remembering I had a quick change to make and ran back to Yellow. Kirsten was waiting for me, holding my next outfit, and my special present. She helped me out of my catsuit and smiled at me as the complex aromas of the latex, my sweaty body and my aroused pussy mingled and filled the air.

Kirsten slipped the strap-in dildo into my wet and swollen cunt. It glided easily into my lubricated hole and Kirsten helped to tie the ribbon straps around my waist and thighs. I gasped with every small movement as I struggled into my brown lace-up corset and mermaid-tight skirt. The straps dragged the leather triangle across my ultra-sensitive clit and the dildo twisted inside my tortured tunnel each time I moved, until the tightness of the fully-fastened constricting skirt brought some welcome relief.

Kirsten held my hand to stop me from falling as we waited for Linda's announcement. On cue, Abigail, Maria & Stevie rushed in and the four girls picked me up and carried me on stage. We were all wearing outfits from the most risqué pinnacle of the new Pleasure In Control range and the audience gave us a standing ovation.

Abigail supported one of my shoulders. She was wearing a shiny patent leather corset with wide, prominent bright red lacing criss-crossing the front, with a matching ultra-short tight leather skirt. The top of the corset was cut wide over her chest and then dived up and back around her neck in a supporting halter. The effect was to lift her rounded heavy breasts, thrusting them together and forwards forming a deep, alluring cleavage. The red lacing was pulled tight, narrowing Abigail's waist and exaggerating the curves of her soft, voluptuous body. I put my arm around her and savoured the feel of the smooth, glossy leather that squeaked as it rubbed against my clothes.

Kirsten held my other shoulder. She was wearing a fantastic mid-grey latex outfit of corset top with several contrasting buckled straps across the front. The bottom edge splayed into wide suspender straps that supported matching grey latex stockings that encased her legs and left a little pale soft flesh exposed at the top. Deep matching panties concealed her belly and pussy and her arms were encased from wrist to shoulder in laced latex sheaths, like long gloves without hands. Her small breasts rose from the sculpted under-wired cups and I managed a quick peck as she leaned over me to support the weight of my head.

Maria slipped her arm under my waist, surprising me with her strength. She looked brilliant in matching black leather high-leg panties and a tight corset top with under-slung quarter-cups that lifted and parted her firm breasts, thrusting her bare mounds and exposed nipples outwards and forwards. Wide side straps terminated at an equally wide choker around her slender neck. I rested a free hand on her curvaceous hip and surreptitiously slid it down to rest on the leather-clad bum cheek.

Stevie took hold of my legs, sweeping me off my feet. She had her back to me and seemed to be wearing an all-in-one latex cat-suit not unlike the one I'd sweated in earlier, only black. I was puzzled why the same outfit should be included in the finale, and why it attracted whoops of delight and loud applause as she led the way onto the dais. But as Stevie carefully lowered me and my compatriots helped me onto my feet I could see why.

Stevie turned to face me and I immediately saw that the whole of the front of her body, from her neck right down her chest, her boobs, tummy and her entire smooth-shaven pubic region were bare and exposed, except for a criss-cross pattern of impossibly narrow lacing. This pulled together the remainder of the latex suit that in reality only covered her arms and legs and the sides of her torso, her back and her bum.

Kirsten and Abigail held my arms so I could keep my balance on my high spike heels as Stevie and Maria paraded their outfits in front of a rapturous audience. Then they took their places either side of me so Abigail and Kirsten could receive a similarly tumultuous reception. Then, right on cue, Stevie & Maria unzipped my skirt and the five of us all paced hand in hand up and down the length of the catwalk.

My beautifully decorated corset was very laced tight around my body and I had to take shallow breaths. To help me to breathe, I pressed my shoulders back and pushed my chest forwards. My boobs rose and inadvertently caused my decorated nipples to escape over the top edge of the brown leather that sought to restrain and conceal them. As I walked, they rubbed on the leather and the sensation made them erect and sensitive.

But lower down my pussy too was vying for my attention. Balanced precariously on my high heels, I forced myself to place one foot deliberately in front of the other and with each movement my strap-in dildo stimulated every fold, every corner and every nerve-ending of my hot, full and pulsating pussy.

I began to lose control and my surroundings became but a muffled distant blur. I focussed on the leather triangle that grazed over my protruding, eager clitoris and the twisting, probing sensations of the intrusive dildo held securely in my vagina.

I began to walk faster. The feelings intensified and I perfected a steady swaying rhythm that stimulated both my pussy and my nipples and I closed my eyes as my crescendo approached, and arrived.

I bit my bottom lip as I came, desperate to conceal my climax from the watching throng. But here, sitting close to me, were Passionella's most valued, most sexually active and most experienced clients and I surmised that they knew a woman in the throes of orgasm when they saw one. This only heightened the intensity and I could hardly stand up let alone walk. The volume of the applause increased and the girls either side tightened their grip to steady me as a flood of pleasure washed through me. I gasped quietly, my thigh muscles spasmed rhythmically and my knees went weak. I felt myself shake uncontrollably, my face flushed red and I breathed out a long satisfied sigh as a warm rush of pleasure and satisfaction flowed through me like a river tumbling agitatedly over rocks, then coursing more easily through a broader valley and finally reaching the wide, calm ocean.

I regained my composure just in time to take a breathless final bow, barely managing to keep my swollen breasts from completely spilling out of the top of my corset. The five of us left the stage and hugged and kissed each other as the adrenaline subsided and we heard Linda make her closing remarks, thanking everyone who had been involved and encouraging her clients to stay behind to try on the new products or to make private appointments for a future date. Kirsten asked me if I was OK and mopped the perspiration from my brow, then sank a long, slow passionate kiss full on my mouth.

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

After showering and changing into something altogether more comfortable (a soft unstructured silk bra and loose-fitting French knickers under my Passionella corporate suit) I joined the animated throng in the reception area. Someone passed me a long cold cocktail which I swallowed without taking a breath and I mingled with the small discussion groups. Some clients were discussing the merits of the growing migrant work-force in Britain whilst others competed for accolades for the charity work they do. Several clients, some whom I recognised and some I did not, congratulated me on my stage show, often accompanied by a sexy wink or a knowing upturned corner of the mouth. The atmosphere was lively but I was feeling tired and drained. Small groups of Dems and clients disappeared into the various private rooms (at least 2, up to a maximum of 6 - house rules) for personal 'viewings' and as the numbers thinned I toyed with the idea of slipping away unnoticed and taking a cab home. My mind was fuzzy from the alcohol, the physical and mental exertion and the late hour and I sat quietly in an inconspicuous corner to reflect on the evening.

I dozed off for what was only a few minutes but snapped back to reality when a hand grabbed my upper arm. My 'power-nap' had cleared my head and I stood up quickly, wide-awake and attentive.

The hand belonged to Linda.

"Julia, come with me will you," she insisted, "we need you to explain some of the special features in the new Black room." I hurried behind as Linda led the way down the short corridor.

As we entered the room, Linda generously explained to the surprisingly large number of women who had congregated there that I had been instrumental in designing and executing the entire project. One young and very attractive client asked if I took private commissions as she wanted a play-room in her own home for herself and her frequent parties of invited house-guests. I promised to think over her suggestion and Linda murmured approval before thanking me publicly for my contribution to Passionella HQ's facilities then planting a long, slow and very sensual kiss full on my mouth. He tongue probed deeply under mine in the short time our lips were clamped hard together as I experienced the odd sensation of being publicly and passionately snogged by my boss.

Enthusiastically I described to the assembled group the numerous supports, restraints, machines and accessories in the room. The experience was quite strange, as though I was selling fitted kitchens or office equipment. Except instead of eye-level appliances and portable blenders I was presenting wall-mounted body restraints and hand-held sex toys. Instead of photo-copiers and binders I was demonstrating fuck-machines and blind-folds.

Almost unnoticed, two women in their thirties paired off and tried the sling-swing suspended from a ring on the ceiling. As I was talking I glanced across and saw that the smaller of the two, a dark-haired woman, had her ankles cuffed high in the air and her blonde partner had her head buried between her thighs. I could hear moans and moist lapping noises above the background music.

The young party-hostess asked if she could try the exercise-bike-cum-horse-saddle. I invited her to select a dildo from the rack beneath; she chose an exceptionally large ebony pole, with numerous protrusions along its length. I showed Linda how to fix it to the central rod and how to control the speed and movement. Linda smeared some clear lube over the upward-pointing tool and Party-Girl climbed on, cocking her leg and showing an almost non-existent sheer white thong that barely covered her pussy beneath her very short pleated skirt. I helped one of her friends to attach the wrist and ankle straps and Linda pressed a button.

Amid cheers and applause from the small, privileged audience, the dildo rose slowly and Party-Girl cheekily lifted herself up on the stirrups so it could not quite touch her mound. As the dildo retracted, she sank back onto the saddle, exhaled and awaited its next up-stroke. But this time the stirrups had dropped a little under her weight as they were designed to do and, even though she straightened her arms and legs fully, Party-Girl could not stop the tool from just making contact with her thong-sheathed pussy before it retracted. She smiled and, with a flourish, she unzipped and discarded her skirt and pulled her top off over her head to reveal high, firm and bra-less breasts.

With its next up-stroke she let out a little cry as the phallus pressed hard against her tiny triangle of damp fabric and forced the white material between her lips just a little. The stirrups fell further under her weight and the expression on her face changed to one of uncertain anticipation.

She met the dildo as it rose again and, as it made contact with her crotch, she wriggled her hips allowing her thong to be pushed aside by the advancing, frighteningly-large object. Its tip parted her labia and probed inside a fraction before retracting.

Party-Girl relaxed for a moment and Linda asked her if she was OK. She nodded, grasped the hand-holds tighter and bit her bottom lip. Once more the animated piece of explicitly-shaped ebony rose between her thighs and she let out an anxious cry when its tip probed further into her entrance.

Accepting the inevitable, she bent her knees and sank down.

The tool pushed upwards and her widely-parted labial lips engulfed it as the huge phallus plunged into her vagina. I feared that she would be unable to accommodate its enormous size but Party-Girl took a deep breath and about half of its considerable length disappeared from view. She shuddered and exhaled as it withdrew, only to push upwards once more, then again and again. She had no choice but to accept the inevitable invasions of her mechanical intruder as it plunged deeper and deeper inside her with every stroke.

"Faster, faster" she called to Linda, who turned the speed-control knob some more. Even the two 'thirty-somethings' had abandoned their swing to watch.

The stirrups were at their lowest position now and, to take her weight off the saddle and prevent the massive tool from mercilessly impaling her torso, Party-Girl had to stand with her legs so straight that the muscles bulged on her calves and thighs. Her breathing was short and shallow and her eyes were closed now. Her enticing breasts rose and fell with her laboured breathing, her nipples jutted forward and beads of perspiration broke out all over her upper body

Linda pressed the "vibrate" button and almost immediately the room filled with a long, low animal scream as the dildo once more plunged deep into her wet and widely-spread hole. Party-Girl bucked and thrust her pelvis as she rode out her climax and Linda remembered to hit the off-button as her orgasm ebbed away so she could sink down onto the seat and relax without being impaled.

We released her restraints and she climbed off, hooking a finger inside her wet thong to re-cover her recuperating pussy and wrapping her short skirt around her thighs. Still a little shaky, she managed a smile and quipped, "Yes, I'll take it". Her friends tittered politely as he pulled her top over her damp breasts and swallowed a long cold beer.

Linda and I then demonstrated the remaining appliances and features to an ever-growing appreciative group. Linda seemed particularly to enjoy demonstrating the various restraint systems. From her expression, her breathing and her flushed complexion I could tell she was completely involved and she shocked me with her frank and explicit descriptions of acts of submission and sexual domination.

As I looked around, the room seemed now to be full of gorgeous women of all ages, some alone and some in groups of two, three or more. Some were still fully clothed and one or two were totally naked although most were dressed in various sensual and evocative lingerie and outfits from the new Pleasure In Control range. Several of the Dems were there, experimenting with the new equipment and exploring its possibilities with, on, for and in their most favoured clients.

There were two women strapped to appliances on the wall, one whose arms were stretched impossibly high, anchored to the ceiling and one who I realised was Helen was tied spread-eagled to rings set into the floor. A very tall and very attractive middle-aged woman was running her toes all over Helen's bare breasts then down to her pussy whilst she steadied herself with one hand and used the other to fuck herself with the very high heel of a black leather ankle-boot.

Stevie was dressed in a head-to-toe leather cat-suit and was using here recently-acquired first-hand knowledge to put a 'Chair Of Four Pleasures' through its repertoire for the benefit of a large woman in her fifties. Her over-developed was squeezed into a latex corset outfit identical to the one Kirsten had modelled earlier that evening but several sizes larger. Its wearer had dispensed with the panties and was being speared by a long polished stainless-steel dildo that pummelled her big hairy pussy with relentless rapid strokes of the machine's powerful fuck-mechanism.

The couple of thirty-somethings had retuned to the ceiling swing and were putting it to uses I'd never envisaged. The blonde woman was naked and lying face-down in the slings, suspended less than a foot above the floor with her wrists and ankles lashed above her arched back. Lying on the floor just beneath her captive friend, the black-haired woman was wearing a very tight leather dress to match her hair colour. Although both her hands were free she seemed to be making no attempt whatsoever to physically stimulate herself. But she was obviously in a very heightened state of arousal as she constantly licked, sucked, bit and pulled on her friend's hugely-erect nipples that pointed downwards in pink fiery stubs immediately above her face. Their owner was begging to be brought to orgasm but her suckling partner just kept her hanging, literally, as she constantly - relentlessly - noisily - administered to her long, hard nipples and caused a steady trickle of juice to drip from her swollen pussy onto her leather clothes beneath. Occasionally she would collect some of the accumulated pussy-lube with her fingers and smear it over the other woman's swaying breasts, only then to lick it off in long wet strokes of her tongue.

Across the room, Linda was watching as Maria spoke animatedly in Spanish to a client whilst simultaneously strapping her to the large wooden X-shape on the wall. I could only imagine what she was saying, but Linda was holding a box containing an assortment of nipple clamps and chains which gave me a clue.

I left Linda to continue her enthusiastic presentation of the new facility and wandered back to the reception area where the helium-filled balloons still swayed on their silk ribbons. Many of the other clients had left, satisfied (in more ways than one, I expect) with the evening's entertainments. The more energetic and adventurous would still be in the other private rooms, exploring the intricacies of the Pleasure In Control range and their favourite Dems in equal measure. I chatted at some length with Diane who was pleased to hear how well Black had been received but was eventually interrupted by a hand on my shoulder.

It was Linda. I turned around and our eyes met.

"Thanks" was all she said, then she joined the few remaining clients and the depleted posse of loyal Dems who felt the call of duty was stronger than the call of a warm, soft bed in which to sleep off the rigours of, in everyone's opinion, the best Passionella product launch ever. During the course of the after-show party, every Dem would have come several times herself as well as having coaxed and fucked each of her most favoured clients to one or more climaxes of their own. All part of the service, and they would have been handsomely rewarded both by their (my) employer and directly or indirectly by their clients, either financially or by some payment in kind.

Emma and Charlotte were extremely pleased with the response, having booked record pre-orders for new products in addition to numerous appointments for private demonstrations within the retail outlets. They also seemed very pleased with themselves and each other, only confirming my suspicions that they were much more than just colleagues, and more than just good friends. The way they looked at each other as they talked told me there was a deep intimacy under the business-like exterior. I also knew there were two very different but equally attractive bodies under their designer clothing so I was not surprised that they were attracted to each other. Neither was I overly surprised when they locked together in a long passionate open-mouth-tongues-entwined kiss right in front of us. Jealous, me?

Kirsten put her arm around me and planted a warm, discrete kiss on my cheek, congratulating me on everything, and nothing in particular. As she walked to the door she asked if I was OK for transport home, then almost as an afterthought, mentioned that Linda had passed her a message; she wanted me to meet her in Black Private Room in 10 minutes. I hadn't even noticed she had gone and I pondered on what form our meeting might take.

Chapter 17

Slipping away un-noticed, I stepped quietly along the corridor and tapped on the Black Room door. It was now just before 2 am. Linda's voice sounded familiar, but lacked her usual air of confidence as she invited me in.

When I walked through the door, Linda was standing against the opposite wall with her hands behind her waist. She looked tense. She had changed her clothes and was hardly recognisable. She was wearing a long, black and very expensive sleeveless cocktail dress that concealed her entire body, from the high neckline right down to her ankles. Her face was heavily made up, with very dark red lips and thickly- yet expertly-applied black liner around her eyes, and her streaked auburn hair was pulled back tight in a severe pony-tail.

"Hi, come in, and close the door," she suggested.

I did.

Linda walked a few measured steps towards me. Her dress was split up both sides so that, as she stepped forward her legs were briefly visible and I could see she wore black glossy tights or stockings and stiletto-heeled open-toe shoes under her dress.

Linda invited me to sit and she sat down opposite me, crossing her legs carefully. Her dress fell aside and I couldn't help but see right to the tops of her opaque shiny stocking although I couldn't see what held them up.

Linda chatted about the evening in general terms, but it seemed she had something else on her mind. She nervously crossed and uncrossed her legs several times and, although she asked me for my opinions, she seemed uninterested in my replies.

I was interested in her legs.

Holding a champagne flute tightly in her hands, Linda paused for a few moments then began to speak quietly.

"Julia," she began, "tonight has been the culmination of the last 10 years of my life. Everything I've worked for has come together this evening, both in my business and personal life. And Julia," she continued, speaking even more slowly and softly, "you, yes only you, have finally made that possible."

Phew, the accolade was quite surprising and I was taken aback by Linda's openness. But not as much as I was by what happened next.

Linda continued to speak in deliberate, hushed tones. "Julia, you have made me very, very happy and the only way I can express my respect, my affection and my gratitude to you is to give you something very special. Something money cannot buy, something very, very personal."

I sat quietly for a moment as her words sank in and wondered exactly what she might be planning to give me. A family heirloom? A directorship of her company? Her treasured childhood teddy-bear?

But no, when it came, the offer was much, much more than that.

"Julia, I want to give myself to you."

I sat with my mouth open, stunned and confused, unable to speak. All I could do was stare.

Linda elaborated:

"I want to be your provider in every way. I want to satisfy your every desire and I want to serve you, to be your maid, your servant and your lover. I want to give myself over to you, totally. Place my trust in you and meet all of your needs. I want to be ... your ... ... ... slave"

Oh shit! Is all I could think, as I tried to assimilate all of the implications of Linda's offer, her promise, no, her demand.

As my mind raced I sensed an awesome, frightening and magnificent feeling of power and self-confidence well up in me, just like the time on stage several hours before, when Danielle had bowed down and kissed my boot, and long before that when Linda submitted to me in the Gold private room. But much stronger. I became intoxicated by the feelings of elation and boosted self-assurance that mingled with the sense of responsibility that Linda's role-reversal invested in me. Any tiredness I'd been feeling melted away.

I stood up.

Linda slid off the sofa and sank to her knees at my feet.

"In public I'm still your employer and hence your superior. But in our private lives I'm yours, to do with as you wish. I'm subservient to you and you are my mistress. Will you take me as your slave?" Linda pleaded, "Please!"

Instinctively, frighteningly and without hesitation I placed my hand on her head and bowed it down. "Linda," I replied, speaking clearly and commandingly, "you are mine."

I shuddered and let out a long wavering sigh as the gravity of what I had said sank in. Linda did not move, and I realised she was already waiting my first instruction.

"You can stand up now," I suggested, but Linda just looked up at me, eyes wide and appealing. I tried to re-tune into her vision of the relationship she craved, and changed my approach.

"Stand up," I instructed, assertively.

Linda obeyed at once. I was spellbound.

My pussy flushed from the powerful, undeniable excitement that I was experiencing. I was partly shocked and a little ashamed at the way I felt, but as long as I had Linda's permission to treat her this way I would derive maximum pleasure from my new-found superiority.

I needed to test the water, so I gave Linda several simple tasks to complete, including tidying the room and locking the door. I ensured that Linda knew she would ultimately be allowed to receive pleasure as well as to give it, but I did not want to undermine the dominant position Linda had conferred on me by her submission.

"Plump up the cushions on the sofas," I commanded, and Linda busied herself dutifully.

I was starting to get used to my new role and I took more control.

"You have finished your chores and you have done well; now, undress!" I insisted.

Linda looked very pleased.

She reached behind her neck and unfastened the high collar of her dress, allowing the front to fall away. She lowered her bare arms back down to her sides so I could look at her. Around her long neck she wore a wide purple leather choker with a metal ring at the front and metal studs around its upper and lower edges.

"Good," I affirmed, "now take off the dress."

Linda reached behind her back. Normally I would have offered to help with the zip, but things were different now. Linda struggled, but succeeded.

The dress dropped to her waist and my jaw dropped in surprise; I was totally unprepared for what she revealed beneath her respectable, sophisticated cocktail dress.

Her entire upper body was encased in smooth, shiny purple latex. Her normally rounded breasts were squeezed tight against her chest but her small, exquisite nipples jutted forwards invitingly, forced into pointed cones as they protruded through round holes cut in the front of the rubber bodice. Wide straps passed over her shoulders and as Linda pirouetted slowly, seeking my approval, my eyes fell on more than a dozen straps buckled tight across her back. Her lovely trim waist was pulled in by the taught latex and her neat navel was just visible.

Linda appeared pleased when I smiled and nodded silently in appreciation. She wriggled her feminine hips and hundreds of pounds worth of black designer fashion fell crumpled at her feet, exposing a deep garter belt in matching purple latex rubber with six wide suspender straps on each side. These supported her stockings, which I could now see were also made from latex rubber. Lastly, a small triangle or purple rubber barely concealed her pussy and, as Linda turned slowly once more to please me, I took pleasure in the view of her buttocks parted by the wide thong strap jammed tightly between them.

"Do you approve of me, mistress?" Linda enquired theatrically.

I insisted she turn another full 360 degrees then bend forward, keeping her knees straight. Linda obliged, and grasped her ankles with her hands, forcing her bum high in the air directly front of me. I reached out and kneaded her bare cheeks as though I was selecting tasty fruit in a French provincial market, then cupped my hand over her hot, latex-sheathed pussy that bulged from between her bare upper thighs. I ran my fingers along the outline of her cunt lips. I then pressed my middle finger over her cunt, pressing the latex into her widening slit.

"No, please, stop," Linda pleaded, "I don't deserve your attention." I pulled my hand away and told her to stand up.

"I hope you like this outfit," she continued, explaining: "It's not from the launch show, it's not even in the catalogue. In fact, it's a specially made one-off, for you."

Shit! I thought to myself, Linda is serious about this; she's been planning in advance. My head was spinning with confused thoughts and contradicting values but my hormones were in full control. 'This could be a whole lot of fun,' I thought to myself, and it was.

"Come here," I insisted.

Linda stood in front of me. I took hold of the ring at the front of her leather choker and pulled her face towards mine.

"Kiss me - on the lips!"

Linda pressed her dark red lips hard against mine and closed her eyes. She kissed me wetly, moistening my face with her saliva. Then she probed deep inside my mouth with her tongue. I sucked on it, allowed it to roam for a while, then I bit it gently.

Linda pulled back and looked sulky. I chastised her for insolence and informed her she must be punished. I instructed her to stand in a spread-eagle pose whilst I attached cuffs to her wrists and ankles. I clipped one spreader bar between her writs and attached a rope from the ceiling to its centre, pulling her arms high above her head. I attached another spreader bar, the longest I could find, across her ankles and Linda raised herself onto tip-toes. Her suspender straps pulled her stockings high up her thighs and her thong stretched taught over her pussy mound. Linda moaned quietly.

"Watch me," I commanded. And almost lost control of my senses.

I put on a most lascivious, provocative and dirty striptease show, beyond my wildest imagination. Knowing I had a captive audience of one brought out the most audacious exhibitionist streak in me. I felt safe, knowing that no-one could touch me. I felt so hot and sexy having seen and taken part in some of the most bizarre sex acts I'd ever encountered and I'd spent the evening, and half of the night, with some of the most wealthy, gorgeous and sensual lesbians in the country. I was on a high.

I very, very slowly unbuttoned my jacket, allowing the front to part only a fraction to allow Linda just a glimpse. She wouldn't have known that I too had changed before joining her and may have assumed I was still wearing demure silk underwear under my burgundy suit. But I wasn't. Opening the front of my jacket a little more, Linda could see just three buckled straps of black shiny patent leather running across my midriff, and a deep cleavage between my hot, swollen breasts, forced upwards and together by my new attire.

Linda rocked her pelvis as much as her restraints would allow and tried to twist her hips. Her thong had worked its way into her pussy crack and the edges of her outer labia were creeping out from the sides. I imagined how she must have been feeling.

Holding the lapels, I slipped my jacket off my shoulders and dropped it down my arms, allowing it to fall to the floor behind me. Linda sighed and swallowed hard as she took in the sight of my revealing glossy leather open-fronted bustiére. It concealed only the outer half of my breasts then ran down my sides to my waist. My back was covered, but at the front a strip of flesh at least 15 centimetres wide was left exposed, from my cleavage down to my navel, interrupted only by the three buckled straps that pulled the two sides of the garment together.

Just for fun, I pretended to unbuckle the top strap, but instead I tightened it even more, forcing my breasts further together and lifting them higher on my chest. My nipples pressed hard against the strong natural leather and I cupped my hands over them and squeezed.

My pleasure, Linda's punishment.

The punishment of deprivation, just like when she was at school. And she seemed to be loving every moment.

So was I.

I turned my back on Linda and placed one foot on the arm of the black sofa, hitching up my skirt to adjust my suspenders, tantalisingly out of her view. Then I did the same with the other leg. Then facing Linda, with my feet apart, I bent forward so my boobs spilled out of their restraining leather and I ran my hands over the front of my skirt as though I was smoothing and neatening the fabric. I deliberately lingered over my pussy and the tops of my thighs before moving them around to my bum cheeks. Turning my back on my captive colleague, I massaged my cheeks and pushed my bum towards her. Then I lowered the zipper and gradually slipped the burgundy tube down my legs. Looking up, I could see Linda's face in the mirror and I timed my movements to maximise her frustrated response.

My cheeks were bare and a narrow strip of black patent leather ran down between them; I could feel it taught against my arse-hole and I pulled my bum-crack wide apart so Linda could see.

Turning around, I stood tall and allowed my employer to feast on the shaped triangle of soft, shiny leather that covered my aching, eager pussy and the narrow leather suspender straps that attached my stockings to the lower edge of my bustiére. I paraded my leather-clad body in front of Linda. I taunted and teased her with my movements and I talked dirtier than I ever had before. The words flowed freely.

"Linda, my nipples are so fucking erect you would not believe. They are so big and so very hard and they are pressing against this sexy, sensual leather and making me feel so hot and randy. I want to get my heavy tits out and rub my huge, erect nipples against you. I feel like I want to pinch and squeeze my nipples so hard they hurt. I want to make my nipples bigger, longer and harder than they have ever been. Do you want to see them, Linda? Do you want to see my tits?"

Linda nodded.

"Soon, Linda, soon," I replied.

From the tell-tale, give-away size of her own erect nipples, Linda was as close to climax as I was. But she would have to wait.

"Linda, I'm just going to have to take off this stuff. Sorry you can't help," I mocked, and I began to remove my bustiére. After I had meticulously unclipped my stockings from their suspenders, I slowly released the three buckle straps one by one and peeled apart the soft leather that struggled to contain my breasts. I pushed my shoulders back and my boobs escaped, the cold air hit my aching, ring-adorned nipples. The shock was intense and they jutted out like reddened fingertips. I dropped the skimpy leather garment to the floor and cupped my breasts, proffering them towards my captive slave.

"Look what you've done!" I mocked, fingering my nipples and making them throb to attention. You'll have to make me come tonight. I can't go home like this!"

Linda nodded and thrust out her tongue. She bent her head down to try to reach my buds but I moved away.

"I'll tell you how. Later."

I needed to come sooner, not later, but I was on a power trip.

"And Linda, you can't imagine how wet my cunt is. I can feel my juices building up deep inside my cunt, just bursting to escape when I take off this fucking tight thong. My pussy lips are swollen and spread wide and my hole feels so big, so gaping wide open and so juiced up, just waiting for something interesting and satisfying to probe deep inside me. Shit, Linda, this leather thong rubs against my clit every time I move and it's driving me mad. My clit is so, so very sensitive; it's big and swollen it feels as though I've got a tiny prick between my legs, a woman's cunt-prick, ready to fuck you a woman's fuck."

I grasped the sides of the waist-strap and pulled the thong hard against my pussy, frigging myself against the inside and driving myself wild. I only just stopped in time before I came. I pulled the offending scrap of leather off my mound and down my thighs and I felt so totally naked, more aroused than I had ever been before and so self-confident I could have done absolutely anything.

My dirty-talk description of the area between my legs was pretty accurate. My juices ran down the inside of my legs and I had to stop myself from ramming several fingers deep inside my vagina.

Instead, I leant my shoulders against the wall, grasped my inner labial lips between my fingers and thumbs and pulled them wide apart.

"Look at my cunt, Linda." She did. "Look how wet and inviting it is. Is yours wet too Linda?" I asked, rhetorically.

Linda didn't answer.

"If you won't tell me, you must show me!" I insisted.

"Yes, Mistress" she replied.

I released Linda's wrists from the suspended bar. She sat back on the floor, obviously quite relieved. She should have asked permission first.

"Show me!" I repeated.

Linda couldn't take off her latex thong as her legs were still held wide apart by her ankle spreader so she stretched the purple rubber and pulled it across to one side. Her pussy gaped wide open and a mix of pussy lube and perspiration glistened on her pubic hair and her pink inner flesh.

"I thought so," I remarked, and took a closer look.

I had to stop myself from exclaiming in shear delight. Linda had a ring through a hole pierced in her clit hood.

The ring was quite large, it looked quite like stainless steel but was probably platinum and the small bud of her clitoris peeped out at me through its center.

"Especially for you, mistress," Linda remarked. I felt honoured, and even more horny. I couldn't wait to get my hands on it, later.

"Cover yourself, Linda," I continued, "That can wait. My cunt needs a fuck. Give me a G-spot orgasm."

I'd never found my own G-spot, but the Black room came equipped with a number of dildos and vibrators for just that purpose, so if I was going to have one, now was the time. And it was unlikely to take long.

"Yes, Mistress, but you'll have to release me. I can't walk," Linda explained.

I removed the spreader bar and Linda flexed her sore legs as she tottered across the room, unsteady on her high heels. She selected a carefully-chosen sex toy from the drawers and held up a very long, curved glass dildo, the end of which terminated in a small rounded knob. That looked promising.

But I was determined to maximize the thrill and take advantage of the unique equipment in the room I had created. I stepped a couple of paces to my left and reached up my arms.

"Strap me to this."

I instructed Linda to attach my arms and legs to the huge X shaped wooden cross on the wall. I moved my legs apart and she secured them firmly to the lower parts of the X with tight leather bands around my ankles, calves and thighs. Then She passed more leather straps around my wrists, lower arms, elbows and upper arms. Finally she buckled a wide leather clincher around my waist and strapped that tightly to the X. The effect was to tilt my pelvis back and thrust my Mound of Venus upwards and forwards. I was virtually immobilized, but I had put my complete trust in Linda. I knew she would obey me. I felt fantastic and my parted pussy ached as it craved Linda's attention.

Remembering some advice from Diane, I insisted we adopt a Safe Word.

"It needs to be a short, simple word that I can shout if I'm in serious danger and need to be released. 'No', 'Stop', 'Don't' or 'Help' are unsuitable; it must be a word that I would not expect to use in any context at any time during our sex."

"How about 'Man'", Linda suggested with a smile, "I can't imagine that would figure in anything between us." I saw the funny side and we agreed on 'Man'.

Taking charge again, I gave Linda more instructions. "Suck my nipples."

She did, expertly.

"Harder!"

Linda pulled my left nipple deep into her mouth and toyed with its ring using her tip of her tongue. I felt my teat grow long and swollen deep inside her hot, moist mouth. Then she released it suddenly and blew on it and the unexpected cooling effect added to my pleasure. On my instructions, she repeated the routine on my right bud and I savoured the feelings of simultaneously being totally helpless, yet totally in control.

Craving more tit-stimulation, I told Linda to rub herself against my boobs. She dragged purple latex across my breasts, then moved her chest expertly so her own exposed nipples rubbed against mine. If that made her feel the way it made me feel, she must have been very close to orgasm, but she continued to arouse me in this and other imaginative ways until reluctantly I told her to stop. I was ready now and told her to "Fuck my G-spot."

Without hesitation or further encouragement, Linda knelt between my feet. I looked down at her gorgeous streaked auburn-and-bronze hair and her intoxicating rubber-sheathed body; I longed to satisfy her, but this was my turn.

Linda smeared lube along the whole length of the curved glass tool she had chosen, and accurately positioned its tip against my pussy opening. I felt my eager lips part easily as my playmate slowly guided it into my slippery, accommodating hole. Linda gently twisted and probed me with the slender toy. It felt so long as she pushed more and more of its astounding length deeper and deeper into me and I wondered if I could take it all. Unable to see what she was doing I focused on the sensations, and waited.

Linda began to move the dildo in small circles as she searched for my legendary, most sensitive, inner place.

She found it.

She knew she had when I let out an urgent, uncontrollable cry. The feelings Linda was creating inside my vagina were fabulous, unlike anything I had experienced before. They reverberated deep inside me. They were powerful, accentuated by my inability to move more than just my hands, head and feet, and very, very arousing. I pulled against my restraining straps but to no avail. I cried and shouted even though, or maybe because, I knew only Linda would hear me.

My accomplice latched onto my slightest reaction, enabling her to focus her attentions on the exact, most sensitive spot hidden deep inside me, undiscovered until that night. She drew tiny circles, slow, then fast, then slow again. She suspended all movement for what seemed like forever then jabbed my spot with a staccato of short, rapid stabs.

Linda moved her other hand to my clit and I wished she hadn't as the intense sensations from my throbbing, aching bud detracted from the feelings from my G-spot. Then I reminded myself I was in charge.

"No, Linda, don't touch my clit," I ordered, and Linda obeyed at once. I wallowed in the glorious feelings of, of ... Pleasure In Control.

I felt my climax building to unexplored heights. I tried to rock and twist my pelvis to hasten its arrival but I was willingly immobilised. There was nothing I could do but entrust my total satisfaction to the attentive, enticing woman kneeling at my feet.

Linda looked up at me to seek permission, which I gave by a simple nod of my head, and gritted her teeth. She increased the speed of her probing and opened her mouth in tense anticipation.

I thought I would pass out. My whole body was on fire and screamed sex from every pore of my skin. Would my climax never come? How much longer could I survive the excruciatingly intense yet achingly-frustrating suspense of that indescribable moment just before Linda's attentions ... finally ... tipped me over the edge. I tilted my head back and looked upwards as I focused on the express train of pleasure that eventually, unstoppably, plunged deep into the hot tunnel of my cunt, raced through the center of my being and crashed in my head as my emotions let rip in a massive orgasmic explosion of pleasure and release. I screamed as wave after wave of intense climactic release washed over me. I pulled in vain against my strong, tight restraints and streams of perspiration poured down my skin. I was totally helpless and could do nothing to either accentuate or relieve the torment of my orgasm. I allowed the feelings to run their course as my muscles tensed and relaxed involuntarily. I was a passenger, strapped in on a roller-coaster ride, a driverless white-knuckle journey through my own body, and it was fantastic.

Gradually the feelings subsided and I instructed Linda to release me. She unbuckled the straps around my arms first and handed me a towel to mop my brow.

"You do it," I insisted and Linda tenderly dried my face, neck and then the rest of my weak and tingling body.

As she released the last bonds, she looked me intensely in the eye.

"Mistress," she began, "May I come now ... please?"

To my knowledge, Linda had not come once during the whole evening despite the veritable orgy of visual stimulation that had filled PROM. It was now 5:00 am and would be getting light outside. My mind raced as I explored the possibilities.

"Yes, Linda you may," I replied. "You have earned one orgasm. Come with me."

Linda smiled at the intentional double-entendre as I took her hand and led her to the reception area with its darkened windows looking out onto the street.

The building was in darkness and we were alone. Outside, late-night party-goers were making their way home, some walking and some in their stretch limos. They passed by the windows, often glancing towards us then looking away. The smoked glass in the full-height windows meant that we could see out but no-one should have been able to see us inside. Probably, but I couldn't be certain.

I stood in front of Linda, totally naked except for the wide leather clincher still fastened tightly around my waist. I felt so excited, so powerful and so desperate to touch Linda's gorgeous, slender body. I looked her up and down in the half-light; she was still wearing her purple latex top and her perfect nipples protruded enticingly through the apertures, hard and red, begging for attention.

Her long legs were tightly sheathed in shiny latex and the wide suspender straps traced provocatively over the pale flesh of her upper thighs. Only her long, narrow waist, her smooth arms and her finely sculpted shoulders were totally naked and visible to my roving, probing eyes and her exquisitely fine body was separated from her sophisticated business-woman's head by her wide purple leather choker. I wanted more.

"Turn around," I demanded.

Linda stood facing the window, feet slightly apart. One by one I unbuckled the straps across her back and slipped the supple rubber top off her shoulders and down her arms. Linda moaned as her gorgeous breasts returned to their perfect natural shape. I reached around to cup them in my hands and her firm, throbbing nipples pressed against my palms.

I slid my hands down her long, smooth midriff, over her rubber suspender belt and down its long straps to the Passionella logo clasps that attached them to her black glossy stockings. Unclipping them one by one I was soon able to unbuckle the wide purple belt around Linda's hips, letting it to fall in a squeaky heap on the floor at her feet. Instinctively Linda parted her feet a little more and, equally lacking self-control for a moment, I allowed my hands to roam over her hard, flat tummy, my fingertips only stopping when they reached the top edge of her tiny purple thong that dipped deeply at the center to scarcely conceal her pubic mound.

I motioned Linda to turn around and she stood with her back to the window, about six feet back from the large flat pane of darkened glass. Enough early morning light filtered through to illuminate the shape if not the detail of her long straight spine, her long, straight legs, and between them her tight, bare bum cheeks.

Squatting, I gently kicked the insides of her ankles. Linda responded correctly by parting her feet and I placed my hand on the back of her neck, bending her down until her shoulders touched her knees. Linda was very supple, almost double-jointed; she grasped the heels of her shoes and pushed her tight arse high into the air.

The tiny triangle of her thin latex thong stretched taught across her pussy mound. In the filtered daylight I could make out the crack of her cunt-gash and the shape of her clit-ring. I grasped the sides of her thong and pulled them up (which was really down) almost to the edge of her rib-cage, forcing the latex hard into her cunt and tight over the puckered rim of her arse-hole. Linda cried softly and rotated her hips whilst I adored the sight of the tiny purple triangle as it hopelessly struggled to contain the outer lips of her hot, swollen, perspiration-soaked pussy.

A small group of late-night revelers walked past and stopped briefly outside the Passionella building. Were they admiring the artistic, mildly-erotic decorations and logos engraved on the glass? Or were they admiring the sexy exhibition on display inside?Linda looked up at me from between her ankles, wondering what her mistress would do next. I kept her guessing for a moment whilst I positioned myself beside her. Then I sucked on the middle finger of my right hand until it was dripping wet with my saliva and ran it over Linda's latex barrier, from her anus right along her crack and up to her clit-hood ring.

Linda bucked and cried out and her body shook.

I did the same again, and Linda cried and moaned some more. "Oh, mistress, isn't it my turn to come yet?" she pleaded. I answered vaguely and she let out a sigh.

Linda relaxed a little as I peeled the hot, wet thong from her pussy and pulled it down just below her knees (as far as her parted legs would allow). The tight purple latex contrasted with the black of her rubber stockings as it cut into her soft flesh. A powerful aroma filled the air as her natural musky scent overcame the pungency of the rubber and copious amounts of natural, sticky pussy fluid welled up in her vagina. No longer constrained, her exposed labial lips parted as a long, quiet moan escaped from her facial lips.

"Pull your lips wider apart," I commanded, and Linda moved her hands from her ankles to the insides of her thighs. Reaching out her long fingers, she hooked a professionally-manicured nail under each inner pussy lip and dragged them apart. Her vagina opened wider and more slippery lube escaped and ran down onto her pierced clit hood.

"Shove them inside!" I demanded.

Linda obliged at once, sliding her two index fingers in as far as they would reach, deep into her gaping tunnel. Watching the spectacle over which I had complete control, I ran a finger down over my waist clincher, then slowly down my belly until it curled over my naked mound and landed on my aching clit. For a moment I closed my eyes and felt weak at the knees as an unbelievable sensation hit me. I hadn't realized just how aroused I had become and I nearly climaxed as my finger found home base.

When I reopened my eyes, Linda had her hands on her breasts and was trying to massage her nipples without me noticing.

"No, don't touch yourself!" I insisted, and she moved her hands back onto her ankles.

"You can put your hands on your knees now," I permitted, and Linda partly straightened up, her long spine forming a right-angle with her legs. Linda's firm breasts hung down in perfect hemispheres and her fiery nipples pointed down at the floor in long buds protruding from dark, raised areolae. Linda looked up at me as I moved around above her head. The ring on the front of her choker swung free and gave me an idea.

Taking one of the helium balloons left behind by the hospitality team, I tore off its silk ribbon complete with Passionella logo floor weight. Kneeling under Linda's torso, I reached between her legs and threaded the free end of the ribbon through her clit-hood-ring. Then, pulling it through and up between her breasts I knotted it onto the larger ring on her choker so the weight hung level with her knees, just above her tight-stretched latex panties.

I stood up and walked around behind her again and in the faint daylight, saw the calculated effect of Linda's new adornment. Her every smallest movement caused the weight to swing, transmitting its movements directly to her clit-hood. Linda let out a tiny cry, then picked up the rhythm to maximize her pleasure. She raised and lowered her shoulders a fraction so that the tension from her choker dragged the ribbon back and forth through her clit-ring. I watched mesmerized as her hood was pulled back, momentarily exposing her moist pink bud which then disappeared as her hood encased it again before the ribbon once more pulled it back and her bud peeped provocatively from under its shroud. In addition, the rough surface of the ribbon caused small vibrations to be transmitted to her clit as it slid through her ring.

Worried that Linda would bring herself to her desperately craved orgasm, I instructed her to stand up.

Linda's breasts ran with beads of perspiration and her cheeks were hot and flushed. Her eyes spoke volumes, crying 'how much longer?' Linda fixed my stare and stood facing me. Slowly she rocked her pelvis, rubbing her clit up and down the narrow strip of burgundy silk ribbon whilst moaning softly.

Taking the ribbon like a leash, I led Linda away from the illumination of the windows. With a single sweep of my forearm, I cleared the top of Rachel's desk and helped Linda to lie back on its leather surface.

I pulled Linda's thong the rest of the way down her glossy rubber stockings and off over her shoes. Linda obligingly pulled up her knees and dug her heels into the corners of Rachel's desk. The long silk strand draped down her pussy gash and over the edge of the desk, pulling the ribbon against Linda's clit. She rocked her hips to accentuate the sensations until I chastised her for her disobedience and prevented her from continuing by untying the ribbon from her choker.

Climbing onto the desk, I straddled Linda with my knees either side of her waist and my arse tantalizingly close to her face. Taking the free end of the ribbon I tied it in a loop through one of my nipple rings. Now I could control the movement of the ribbon, whilst sharing the sensations. As I rocked my body back, the ribbon pulled on my nipple whilst sliding through Linda's hood ring and dragging along the length of her slit and over her clit. I sank my bum onto Linda's face and instructed her to lick me.

She did.

She lashed my clit with her tongue, poked it in my cunt hole and ran it over the smooth-shaven soft flesh of my bulging mound. She was highly skilled and knew just how to turn me on. But in between strokes, she moaned and pleaded with me.

"Oh, mistress Julia, won't you make me come too? Please!!"

I dipped my shoulders and allowed the ribbon to slide back down through her gash, enjoying the tension on my nipple ring and the sensations of the friction that were transmitted through the ribbon.

But my orgasm was building deep inside me and I did owe Linda. I untied the ribbon and slipped it through its rings, dropping it to the floor.

Linda sensed what was to come next - it was her. She spread her knees wide apart and I sank my face deep into her pussy.

I licked and nibbled at her inner labia then I sucked her clit-ring into my mouth, biting it between my front teeth and pulling her hood away to expose her hot, pink clit. Repeatedly I let go, making Linda spasm as her hood quickly retracted. I ran my tongue up and along the insides of her thighs as far as the edge of her latex stockings, rubbing my face against the taught, smooth latex then back again to her pussy. The reveled in the feel of the rubber against my face and I reached around her arse cheeks with my hands. I pulled them apart, spreading her anus and her vagina as wide as I could.

Linda was working my cunt with her mouth too as we raced towards our orgasms. Linda's body was hot and alive beneath me and perspiration poured off us to form a deliciously slippery, sweaty layer of aromatic lubricant between our torsos.

Linda slipped her hands under my belly where I could feel them pulling and pinching her nipples, then she moved them onto my bum where she massaged and squeezed and slapped my cheeks. Her muffled groans sent vibrations deep into my cunt and I desperately needed to come but I also wanted to keep my promise - it was Linda's turn.

I took her clit-ring between my front teeth again and gently pulled her hood away from the sensitive bud it tried hopelessly to conceal, then released it and probed under it with my tongue. I moved my mouth down to her entrance and shoved my tongue as far into her open vagina as I could, lapping up copious amounts of delicious pussy juice.

I sensed she was right on the brink and I lifted my face from her pussy for a moment.

"Come bitch, come!" I shouted, half encouragement and half instruction as I gave her the permission she needed. "Fuck you, Linda, let go!" Then I took a deep breath and dived in again, frantically licking and sucking at Linda's gorgeous pouting, quivering cunt.

Finally her hot body tensed and convulsed under me. She turned her face away from my pussy and let out a long, awesomely powerful scream as her long-awaited climax ripped through her. She bucked and twisted and she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me harder down onto her. She moaned unintelligible obscenities and expressions of satisfaction and she squeezed her thighs together, trapping me head between them to ensure I did not pull away from her orgasmic cunt.

My own pussy was in need of some serious satisfaction by now and thankfully Linda stayed focused. Even as her own climax consumed her, Linda obediently returned her hot mouth to my gash and concentrated on my throbbing clit. It was incredibly sensitive and Linda rolled the tip of her tongue over, under and around my bud, teasing and tormenting me to an even higher state of desperation as I craved the release of another gorgeously self-satisfying orgasm.

It arrived like a clap of thunder, hitting me hard and consuming every corner of my mind and body. I shouted out, arched my back and pressed my cunt down hard against Linda's face as I came. I threw my head back, screamed and, taking my weight on one arm, clasped a breast with me free hand. I squeezed its nipple uncontrollably as I extracted every last ounce of pleasurable sensation from my climax, gyrating my hips and grinding my mound against Linda's sophisticated face.

People in the street must have heard us, but I didn't care. Linda panted and moaned between expressions of satisfaction including: "Oh shit, that was fucking fantastic" and "No-one's ever made me feel like that before." Her body continued to shudder and spasm beneath mine as the last drop of orgasmic energy subsided from her, then she relaxed.

I climbed off Linda and helped her down off Rachel's desk.

I thought she was about to kiss me again, but instead she leaned forward and whispered in my ear: "You are too kind to me, mistress ... " Then, kneeling at my feet, she wrapped her arms around my bum and squeezed, pressing the side of her face against my tummy. Looking up at me, she finished her sentence: " ... and it sure makes a change to allow someone else to be in charge."

"You mean, 'In Control', don't you?"

Linda smiled. "Yes, you've discovered that there really is 'Pleasure in Control'."

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

Over the next weeks and months, our lesbian Dominaitrix/Slave relationship strengthened and grew. I moved out of my company apartment and moved into Linda's country mansion home. She gave up her master bedroom (or as we chose to call it, the Mistress bedroom) and we lived together mostly as good friends, adopting our Superior/Subordinate roles by mutual consent. We dressed in ever more wildy exotic clothes that reflected our personae. We equipped the house with bondage and restraint equipment in several rooms and we made frequent use of the Private Rooms at PROM.

Linda confided in me in many ways, telling more about her past, her experiences and her vivid, imaginative fantasies, many of which we enacted during our sexually intense free weekends.

She also revealed that the Passionella parent company in Italy did not exist and never had. Passionella was a complete fabrication, created by Linda solely to satisfy her personal ambitions and desires. She had all the branded clothes made for her to her own designs by small, specialised and very discreet lingerie and exotica manufacturers in the UK. She used the legitimate and highly lucrative business to finance her opulent lifestyle. She attracted and enjoyed the company of many wealthy, beautiful and like-minded women amongst her clients and recruited colleagues and employees primarily to satisfy her own needs and desires as well as those of her customers.

I continued to work for Linda on a number of special projects designed to entice a wider and more varied all-female clientele (with their unusual and seemingly insatiable sexual desires) and to provide adventurous and imaginative ways to meet and exceed their expectations. I also had a lot of fun and learnt a lot about women, especially myself.

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

So, now it's finished. Thanks to everyone who's stayed with me and my stories, my fantasies, my fetishes and my recollections all the way though. I hope you've enjoyed the journey as much as I have. And special thanks to everyone who's sent feedback. I seem to have lost touch ;-) with a couple of my girlfriends along the way - please write again, I miss you. I'd love to hear from anyone who wants to share their thoughts with me - about my story and about themselves too.

I have some more stories under way, some connected with Passionella and some not. Keep looking out, keep reading and keep doing whatever it is that I make you feel like doing. And girls, keep wearing that sexy lingerie; what you wear says so much about you.

xxx Julia