An Emerging Pt. 05

She raised her leg, placing the sole against the refrigerator door. The movement cause the coat to fall to either side of her leg, now openly displaying the welt of her stocking. She imagined Sam, transfixed.

Patrick again played the part to perfection, even stammering slightly in his response

"Oh, err......I don't share. I'm m...m..my own here."

The scenario was now really working for Rachael.

"That's good. And you don't get lonely? Do you get many visitors – for example, are you expecting any tonight?"

"N..n..no...."

"Good, then we can have a nice long chat about things." She reached for the belt of the coat. It'd been casually knotted, and she slipped the knot loose. Even as the edges fell apart, she turned. Patrick caught the moment, the camera flashing. "Do you know one of the things I like about this flat?"

"Err...Err...no?"

"It's lovely and warm. I don't think I need this coat anymore. In fact, a gentleman would have offered to take it by now." She shrugged it from her shoulders. Once more, Patrick's timing was perfect. "In fact, that may be something we need a word about. I expect perfect manners from my young men, no matter how.....intimate the circumstances."

She was totally in character now. She WAS the predatory woman, seducing the nervous young man. The poses now came easily, the camera flashing repeatedly. The dialogue continued, even as she revealed her breasts and then the rest of the body, all the time becoming more explicit in what she planned to do to the innocent. Now she was completely naked except for stockings. Patrick hit a moment of inspiration.

"Hang on." Turning off the flash and darkening all the lights except the brilliant spotlights over the worktop, he said "Now, on here.". Rachael complied.

After yet more poses, Patrick called a halt.

"Right. Now, for the next idea...."

Chapter 10

Now, Rachael was certain; it she'd mentally tagged him as "The Watcher." He was hanging back, well into the shadows, but nonetheless positioned to observe her, as he'd been doing since soon after their arrival in the club... The knowledge spurred her on.

Patrick was lounging back on the banquette, watching the dance floor. He twisted on the velour next to her, and leant down to deliver a slow, sensuous kiss. His hand probed between her thighs. She moved to tongue Patrick's ear. His hand was exploring -and exposing - her pelvis, seeking her wetness. Her movements were becoming automatic and beyond conscious control. She cherished the idea that the Watcher would observe in her lascivious state. He's already been the beneficiary of several "accidental" exposures of parts of her anatomy.

She was now undoubtedly drunk and had been, she suspected, for some time. God knows the photo sessions had been well-lubricated enough. Things had only become worse after they'd left the Gatehouse. They'd eaten in a small Italian restaurant, where the reaction of the waiters to her dress has ensured exemplary service – and, of course, that'd been accompanied with yet more wine. Then, they'd arrived into the club and moved onto cocktails. Still, that didn't entirely explain her uninhibited state. That's been growing more extreme as the day had worn on, she realised. If she'd needed proof, it'd been her enthusiastic compliance with Patrick's suggestion for the final photoset. They'd debated several options before, slightly shamefacedly, he'd suggested going to the opposite end of the scale from the controlled, upmarket image they'd sought before.

That was how she'd ended up posing against the bare brick walls of the storeroom at the Gatehouse, dressed to act out Patrick's fantasy of a garrison-town hooker. She'd produced the sheer polo neck she'd thrown into her bag (Could it only be 48 hours earlier?). She'd taken the sober skirt in which she'd arrived, and with a combination of discretely placed pins and rolling the waist, she'd converted it into a startlingly short miniskirt. Combined with a pair of fishnet pantyhose, strategically cut for access and a pair of high heeled boots, she'd certainly looked the part. And, when she'd persuaded Patrick to put down the camera and set the self-timer on the camera, she'd acted it too. On her knees in front of him, his back against the brick wall, she'd appeared a remarkably credible facsimile of a tart blowing a customer in some back alley.

There were only two problems it's left her with. The first had been when, when she'd been posing for only a few moments, Patrick had groaned and filled her mouth with his hot-salt seed. And that, of course, had rendered him incapable of what she so desperately wanted at that moment – to be taken just like the hooker she was portraying. The second was, that the image hadn't faded – she couldn't shake the urge to do something squalid, just like that whore.

With that thought, even the sensations of the friction of Patrick's finger against her private parts wasn't enough for more than a few moments. She whispered a suggestion about getting drinks, and slipped back from him. Tugging the dress down, she stood, and on trembling legs, picked her way around the edge of the dance floor. She was once again feeling simultaneously on the edge of climax, but yet frustrated, needing stimulation. Glancing down, her eye was drawn by a flash of reflection from the clip holding the neck of the dress at least part closed. Without it, she remembered, even leaning forward slightly would cause it to gape, exhibiting her breasts to anyone who cared to look. She didn't even pause to consider. Her fingers found the clip, and yes, it was readily removed. She was imagining finding the watcher, leading him to some quiet part of the club, putting a condom on him and letting him have her from behind.

Within seconds of joining the crowd around the bar, three or four deep, she felt the first touch. Light at first, but unmistakably intentional, the pressure of the hand on her behind was too consistent to be casual contact. She decided to resist the urge to turn and see its owner. Instead, feeling wonderfully wicked, she pressed against it, gyrating her hips subtly, inviting further contact. She was anticipating the next development would be the hardness of an erect but constrained penis against her rear; anticipating it with relish, in fact. Instead, the hand continued to caress her globes, before sliding down the outer curve of her hip, onto the bare flesh of her thigh. It scarcely paused before passing around the back of her thigh and invading the space between her legs.

It explored her, tracing the length of her oozing slit. A fingertip passed back and forth three or four times, before insinuating itself into her. She felt light-headed. Gently, slowly, it twisted inside her, as its owner flexed their wrist. Then it began a crooking motion, as if beckoning. Thankfully, the person ahead of her cleared the way, and she was able to step forward, needing the support of the bar. Her sudden movement forward caused the finger to slip from her.

She rested her elbows on the bar top. The movement, she realised, came close to forcing her breasts from the cover of the loose neckline; as it was, her nipples were only just covered. For anyone who cared to look, in the dim light, the aureoles were clearly visible.

She was breathing heavily, waiting for the hand to find her again. The support of the bar allowed her hunch forwards slightly, presenting her rear for its easy access.

Rachael didn't have long to wait. First there was pressure of a body close behind her. Then she was invaded again. This time it was more forceful; even in her receptive state she was able to detect that it wasn't a single digit this time, more probably two or three. She was pushed forward, pressing her against the bar, forcing her upright. The fingers had adopted a steady rhythm, curling and uncurling within her, building her excitement. It was only by a supreme effort she stopped herself turning to see who was causing her these exquisite sensations. It had to be him. Her fantasy was on the verge of coming true.

The rhythm was interrupted. The fingers withdrew partially, causing her to give an involuntary whimper of complaint. Then, they were re-inserted, but now, one had snaked forward, and was exploring, seeking her clitoris. When it found its destination, she had to bite her lower lip to suppress a squeal of delight. Rachael was balanced on the very edge of coming.

She marvelled at her situation; what was she, of all people doing in this surreal situation; relishing being masturbated by an anonymous stranger in a crowded bar, dressed like a teenaged tart. Her blood was singing in her ears. She felt nothing but an enormous exhilaration.

Her ascent was interrupted as the barman turned his attention to her. Leaning towards her, he asked what she wanted. His eyes, she noted never left the naked flesh of her breasts. His attention thrilled her. As she ordered her drinks, the fingers caressing her quickened their pace. Their owner, she thought, was amused by the idea of her climaxing while trying to communicate with the barman.

They didn't quite succeed; she was close, so close she felt tension building in her belly, felt her inner walls constricting around the fingers that had brought her so near to her peak. Her head dropped, and she gave an extended sigh.

When she raised her head, she found the barman in front of her, looking at her curiously. His eyes dropped. Feeling oddly detached, she followed his gaze, and dimly comprehended what had caught his attention. Her left teat had escaped the dress, and was on full view. Languidly, she smiled at him, and tugged the cloth back over it. The immediate crisis had receded, leaving only an aching gulf; she desperately craved fulfilment. Without speaking, she reached into her purse to pay him. Inwardly, her walls of her vagina were trembling. The hand had removed itself, leaving a gulf... Grasping the drinks, she prepared to face the person who'd brought her such gratification.

Rachael turned; she was perplexed. She'd expected – no hoped - to see the bullet-bald head of the Watcher. Instead, the person standing so closely behind her bore no resemblance to the large, crop haired man she'd expected to see. It was Patrick. Perplexity gave way to outright astonishment; and then amusement. It took a moment for Rachael to confirm to herself that there was no-one else who could have been in a position to have been manipulating her so intimately, and so deliciously.

She moved her hand to his groin, feeling him harden under her touch. She stood, taking his hand, pulling him onto the dance floor. Rachael pressed against him, starting to sway with the music. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, Patrick responded, placing his hands on her backside, pulling her to him. He was rigid.

"I think we should leave soon. I've got plans for you"

""Does it involve what I can feel against my stomach?"

"Oh, yes"

"Well, I'm all in favour of that. We'll just finish this dance."

She could feel the buttons of his shirt against the bare flesh of her sternum. His hands were firm on her rear, and she suddenly apprehended that, as he pulled her against him, the pressure would draw the fabric tight over the curve of her buttocks. Given how short the dress was to start with, it'd take little for it to expose her plump lips. In her overheated state, the idea of a bit of exhibitionism was tempting. She worked her pelvis against him, attempting to work his hands upward. It seemed to work. The pressure of his hands was now on the upper curve of her backside.

"Come on. Let's go"

Patrick released her, and took her hand, leading her off the dance floor. Rachael felt eyes on her. She couldn't resist a last moment of exhibition. Deliberately, she dropped her purse. Instead of bending at the knee to collect it, she bent forward from the waist. No-one could miss tht display, surely.

As she rose, she glanced over her shoulder. The Watcher was there. Their eyes met, and he nodded, smiling. She felt magnificent.

Patrick had made his way to the cloakroom, and was holding her coat out for her. Much as she'd have liked to walk out into the night air wearing just the skimpy dress – she pictured her erect nipples outlined against the clingy fabric – she opted to slip into the coat, for protection against the chill. On the short walk to the taxi rank, they held hands, like any couple out for a normal evening's entertainment. At least their leaving early meant that, when they arrived, there was little competition for cabs. Patrick held open the door for her, before going to the far side. He gave the address of the cottage, and the car pulled away. As they drove through the town, the streetlights gave transient illumination. Patrick pulled her to him, and she sought his mouth. It was a long kiss, and Rachael could see the cab driver watching them in the rear view mirror.

She slid away from him, across the seat, pressing back into the corner formed by the door and seat. Pulling her coat open, she leant forward, her breasts falling clear of the constraints of the dress. She slipped her shoes off, and sitting back, she raised her leg and placed her foot in Patrick's crotch. There was no attempt to cover her teats, and her position exposed her slit to his gaze. By contrast, however, the seatback hid her from the driver's gaze. The idea of his frustration amused her.

"I'm very, very ready for you. See?"

She held herself open for him. In the intermittent yellow light, her inflamed inner lips looked dark; their wetness made them shiny. The clitoris was visibly bloated, poking clear of its hood. At her core, the hole pulsed, opening slightly every few seconds.

And yet, that wasn't the clearest evidence of her condition. That came from the visibly flowing fluid that oozing from its depths.

"In fact....."

She left the phrase hanging in the air as she hooked her middle fingers into the gap, pulling herself open to his gaze. She wanted him to see her interior, moistly waiting for him.

He got to see little of it, however. They'd left the town, and passed the last of the street lights.

In the gloom that replaced them, he was aware she was moving around on the seat. Her foot left his groin and, s his eyes adjusted, he saw that she'd slipped the coat from her shoulders. Protected from the driver's view, she was tugging the halter neck of the dress over her head. She wiggled it down over her hips and into the foot well. She again leant forward, and replaced her shoes. She was naked, but for the fishnet tights...

Her timing was immaculate. The car was swinging into the driveway of the Gatehouse. As it drew to a halt by the door, she was opening the door immediately, and stepping out. Apparently unconcerned by her near-nudity, she leant in and retrieved her clothing and purse just as the driver turned, starting to say:

"Right, mate....that'll be twel......"

He was dumbstruck.

Rachael smiled at him, and turned. Her pale buttocks were clear in the moonlight as she walked, hips swaying, to the door.

Patrick tried to regain control

"Here's fifteen, then. Keep the change."

Rachael had reached the door, twisting on her heel to face them. Patrick slammed the door, and headed to her. The car was still there, as he reached Rachael.

"You are insane...."

"No; just very horny. Now, let's get in. Haven't I got you turned on yet?

"What do you think?"