A Conference Legacy Ch. 05

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I suppose so," Louise replied, "but you can still keep stroking my legs if you want to! They are still "at your disposal"."

I did not reply, but gently removed my hand from between her legs, curling my fingers round her near inner thigh. Her legs closed sufficiently to ensure that, when I ran my hand slowly and firmly up and down her legs, the back of my hand gently brushed against her far inner thigh. The blanket afforded ample protection from any unwelcome errant gaze, and we both fell into a very contented sexual reverie.

I don't know how long I sat there with my hand wondering freely up and down her long perfectly smooth bare legs. I was, however, brought sharply back into the real world by a gentle tap on my right shoulder.

"Excuse me sir, but would you like a drink with your meal?"

I couldn't tell whether it was my surprise at being disturbed or a genuine curiosity, but the hostess seemed to me definitely to be looking quizzically across towards Louise's blanket-covered legs. I managed not to panic, letting my hand rest, hopefully unseen, on her upper thigh beneath the all-concealing blanket.

"Yes thank you, some red wine would be wonderful!" I answered as coolly as I could manage.

"And for you, madam?"

"Oh, I'll have the same please," replied Louise, looking only slightly uncomfortable as she spoke, looking directly at the hostess, checking out the direction of her gaze.

When she had moved on down the isle, Louise reached under the blanket and removed my hand.

"Later, Charles! Much more, much later!" she whispered in a half teasing voice.

I removed the blanket from across her legs, and re-folded it, stowing it neatly beneath my seat again. I knew there would be no more of Louise's legs for me to stroke, at least until we started our descent, and even then, it might only be very fleeting contact, driven by her fear and panic, rather than by her sexual desire. The best was, I surmised, definitely yet to come.

The airline "meal" proved predictably uninteresting, even the business class variant, but we did manage another bottle of wine, and a rather acceptable brandy with our coffee. The debris was deftly cleared away and, as I looked at my watch to ascertain that we had just 23 minutes till our predicted touch-down time, the constant hum of the aircraft's engines changed, dropping significantly in pitch as the plane sank from out of its cruising altitude and attitude. Again, a slight feeling of temporary weightlessness caused our stomachs to flutter as the plane started its long smooth descent towards runway 33 right at Madrid Barajas international airport.

My prediction about my forthcoming contact with Louise's legs proved entirely accurate. As the plane started its descent, Louise grabbed my hand and pushed it firmly between her tightly closed legs. With each banking turn, and whenever the plane levelled or dropped back into its descent, she squeezed my hand ever more tightly between her warm bare legs, digging her long nails hard into the back of my hand.

After a long floating turn, there was a clunk as the landing gear went down, and an increase in the sound level as the flaps were fully deployed. We were at the beginning of our final approach. The next three minutes, during which our A320 followed its standard three degree glide slope on to the runway, were sheer hell for poor, normally supremely confident Louise. Her legs were tightly clamped around my hand, and her face began to turn visibly white and then slightly green.

The landing was perfect, but, just as she was beginning to relax in the knowledge that the plane was finally and safely back on the ground, the pilot applied reverse thrust to slow us down to a safe speed to turn off the runway and on to the taxiway, and thence on to the designated parking stand. Louise squealed, fearing that we were about to take off again, as the roar from the engines filled the cabin.

"What the hell's happening!" she yelled.

"Don't worry, it's quite normal. I'll explain later," I said, trying to reassure her.

As we turned off onto the taxiway, Louise loosened her grip on my hand, her legs falling apart sufficiently for me, somewhat reluctantly, to withdraw my hand.

Disembarkation went smoothly enough, and our baggage was waiting for us on the carraselle when we arrived at the baggage reclaim hall to collect it.

We were met, as arranged, by a representative from RightWay International, the conference hosts, who transported us in some style in an elegant white right-hand drive Jaguar XJ 6 straight to the Madrid Plaza Hotel, which turned out to be a very smart five-star establishment in the very heart of the city. We checked in, to find we had both been given very spacious well-appointed double rooms. It was already 10:00pm local time, but the prospects for finding an interesting local eating place still looked extremely promising. We agreed to give ourselves 15 minutes to freshen up. We met in the bar, ordered a voluminous Spanish brandy each, and consulted Monica's restaurant list. We decided to take a stroll around the immediate environs, and to take in a couple of Tapas bars into the bargain.

Louise had changed into an even more revealing skirt and top ensemble, and looked absolutely irresistible. Her top was a vibrant purple off-the-shoulder creation, set off by a crisp white miniskirt, which showed off her long evenly tanned bare legs to perfection. Her legs were so perfectly smooth, and her skirt so short, that, to the casual observer, (if such a thing were possible), they might easily have appeared to be encased in sheer nylon. She was quite right when she had boasted in the car to Heathrow airport that Angela, her beautician, had done a very good job with the leg wax!

"You look fantastic, Louise," I said, unashamedly staring at her legs as we sat opposite each other, sipping our generous measures of the smooth Royale brandy.

"Well," she replied, "I like to maximise my assets!"

She said this very flirtatiously, and with a broad engaging smile. "You never know, if you're a very good boy, you might get a much closer look at my gorgeous bare legs later!"

I wondered what I had to do to be' awarded the status of "very good boy", and decided that I probably had to do precisely nothing but be adequately good company for the next couple of hours. This was not difficult.

We wandered out into the square opposite the hotel, which was crowded with promenaders, browsing the tapas bars like ourselves before engaging in the Spanish practice of very late evening eating. A couple more Royales later, we found a small intimate restaurant where we ate a glorious meal comprising a sea-food platter, accompanied by a large carafe of very acceptable vino tinto de cassa. A final Royale with coffee rounded things off

perfectly, and we picked our way across the square, through the throng of late evening revellers, back to our hotel, feeling definitely warm with alcohol and, on my part at least, with sexual anticipation. All through the evening, men, and women too for t hat matter, everywhere we went, had been staring at Louise's stunning legs, and she had revelled in the attention. I simply basked in reflected glory.

"Shall we have a nightcap?" I asked.

"Why not. Those brandies are very moreish aren't they? We could take them up to our rooms. Oh, by the way, so you don't need to ask, why don't you come to mine for coffee?" she said, taking control.

"I'd love to," I said, perfectly politely, knowing that she would know why. It occurred to me that it was a very good thing for both of us that she had put herself firmly in control of the next phase of developments.

(Continued)

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