Ms. G Ch. 02

There must be an event going on, I thought as I sat in traffic. Or perhaps an accident, but that didn't seem likely; summer was over and the tourists were long gone. It'd been about 2 months since my vacation to California, and the fall season was feeling great. The colors of nature were vibrant and students seemed to be everywhere, but the traffic was quickly depleting my mood.

I tapped my red painted nails on the steering wheel, adjusted my shades, and, through the rearview mirror, stared daggers at the asshole honking his horn behind me. I glanced at my watch; 7:22am. As soon as I had the chance, I popped my Jeep Wrangler into 3rd gear and swerved down a tiny side street. There was no way that I was going to be late. It was Monday, our busiest day at the office, and I was in no mood to hear neither Swanson's loud mouth nor the heckling of the patients.

Using my shortcuts, I was at work within 5 minutes. I wore an off the shoulder sweater in midnight blue, tucked into high-waisted white slacks with black pinstripes and paired with simple black platform pumps. I'd decided not to wear a bra that day. My hair was straightened and tied up, away from my face in a neat bun. My lips were painted red and eye makeup was light.

I quickly took my parking space, walked up the porch stairs and unlocked the doors. The office was a beautiful Southern home, placed on the outskirts of the Garden District. It had been recently renovated and was decorated in tasteful pastels and modern steel furniture. Floral paintings adorned the walls and were accentuated by carefully placed moderate lighting. I switched across the waiting room, setting my work bag on my desk, before proceeding to unlock the rest of the office; all except Dr. Swanson's door. The rooms were relatively small, compared to the overall size of the home. There were 7 would-be bedrooms, now patients examination rooms, and 4 bathrooms.

After opening the place up, I went over the appointments for the day; Mrs. Bordeaux at 8:30am, Mrs. Jackson and her obese twin daughters at 9:30am, Mr. Hong at 11am, and the list went on. I prepared the necessary forms and placed them in the bin outside Swanson's office. I did so as quickly as possible; I wanted to get some personal time on the computer before the doctor arrived.

I settled into the office chair and logged into my email. "Bills, Ma checking on me, funny picture from Kayla, mm what's this?" The subject read 'Hello Genevieve'. My brain began to work. No one called me by my full name except my mother, and I didn't recognize the sender's email address. I opened the email, "I can't stop thinking of you. I just hope that you remember me." There was a file attached. After downloading it, I let it open over the entirety of the computer screen.

The first thing I noticed were those baby-blue eyes staring right at me; they were so innocent, smiling and I immediately knew who they belonged to. Her rusty hair was pulled back in a high bun, silky tresses escaping to lie over her cheek. That round face was turned upwards, her arms held daintily above her head, fingers almost touching. She was wearing a pale pink bodice that hugged her oversized breasts. They almost looked like they would spill over. Her body was turned slightly to the left; a white tutu sitting about her hips was at an angle due to one long leg that was held backwards straight in the air. She was balancing on one ballet-slipper adorned foot; the pink ribbons making Xs up her slim calves. She was wearing thigh high stockings in white; a thick band of lace at the tops.

I spent 10 minutes just looking at the photo; tracing the extravagant length of her legs, the roundness of her breasts, and staring back into those beautiful eyes. My pussy began to throb as I wondered when she'd taken this. I wondered where she'd gone to get those deliciously inappropriate stockings. I missed the smell of her sweet pussy and her incessant moaning. I wished to enter that picture and devour her where she stood. I was still admiring when my boss slammed through the front doors promptly at 8:00am. I fumbled with the mouse before exiting both the photo and my email.

"GeGe would you pass a broom over the veranda, I've just made a mess out there." She switched her brown leather briefcase to the opposite hand and pushed her hair behind her shoulder.

"Goodmornin' Dr. Swanson," I stated dryly; I despised an order before a greeting.

"Well hello GeGe. If you could get to that before anyone arrives..." She trailed off as she marched down the long hallway to her office at the end. She did look fabulous today. She wore a cream colored sweater dress along with low heeled shoes with sharply pointed tips. Her hair was loose; gold jewelry around her neck and wrists.

I slowly rose from my seat, still aroused from the photo, my fingers itching to touch myself. But instead they closed around the broom handle. She'd dropped some breakfast that she'd picked up from a fast food restaurant. I finished the task and every other task that was asked of me and at 5:05pm I was locking the front door and leaving work.

I was beside myself; terribly excited I would say. I almost ran to my car and reached my apartment on Rampart with haste. I stripped articles of clothing off as I walked, making sure to grab a glass of wine and ice. By the time I reached my bathroom, I was only in my black lace panties and thigh-high silk stockings. I turned on my shower, stripped, and stepped inside. I washed thoroughly, finding it hard to restrain from prematurely starting my masturbating session. After my shower, I toweled off, oiled and lotioned my body. Rising from my bed, I crossed the dark wood floor to open the double glass doors to my balcony. A cool breeze swept inside, fluttering the sheer yellow curtains, and hardening my little nipples.

I strode barefoot across the room to the nightstand, opened the drawer and removed my favorite sex toy, the butterfly. It was equipped with a stringy elastic waistband and a thong piece, allowing me to wear it. The vibrator was in the shape of a butterfly, the tail slightly curved to sit just inside my slit. I fixed it about my wide, brown hips, the butterfly settled directly against my clit. I turned off my lamps; the only light reaching inside was coming from the courtyard that sat as a barrier between my neighbors. I didn't bother getting under the covers; I would be sweating in a few moments.

I flicked the remote of the toy to the lowest power and immediately let out a small moan; I doubted that I could last very long this time. I brought my hands up to my breasts, gently squeezing them, flicking my nipples lightly. I turned the intensity of the vibrator up and grabbed an ice cube from my wine glass. I couldn't help but shudder as I ran the ice in circles around my nipples, up and down my abdomen and across my thighs, before letting in melt in my navel. My fat little nub was engorged and completely defenseless against the clever butterfly. The vibrator was driving my body to incredible heights. My hips were lifting from the bed and I was whining like an animal.

My juices were running down the crack of my ass. Beads of sweat had formed across my forehead and chest. I turned the vibrator up again and grabbed another ice cube. My hips bucked as I slid the ice under the shaking butterfly and over my pulsing sensitivity. I bit my lip too hard and squealed at the pain. Before I could react, a deep and blindingly fast stampede of sensations radiated from my slick center, tearing screams of pure pleasure from my throat.

My pussy was still spamming, and I was dozing off, when I remembered why I'd needed to cum so badly in the first place. I sat up and grabbed my glass; my throat was dry. Setting it down, I removed my favorite toy and slipped into the black silk robe that was hanging by my door. My hair was an absolute mess, so I removed the pins and placed them in my pocket. I padded to the living room, took my laptop from the desk, and plopped down with it on the chaise.

Logging into my email, I quickly found the address from which that intoxicating photo had been sent. I read those words aloud, and composed a simple response for the older woman: "I have missed you cher. We did have such a nice time. I hope to keep hearing from you. P.S. Absolutely beautiful photo. I should have you hold that pose for me, while I have a taste." I left it at that and closed the laptop. I ate a salad before going back to bed. Masturbating had taken all of my energy and I fell asleep without any tossing or turning.

The next day, I dressed in a short and longsleeved dark plum dress that hugged every plump curve I had. My thigh-high stocking were black and pattered, and my heels were black and velvet. I wore my hair curly and in a high ponytail, pearls, and my lips a light pink. I'd decided to take my lunch away from the office, and took a taxi to Ralph & Kacoo's on Toulouse Street.

Sitting and enjoying my crawfish ettouffe, I watched the various couples and families dining around me. I noticed 2 women sitting at a table in the corner, behind the guitarist, who was currently playing a sad, Blues melody. They were sitting awfully close, they're faces almost touching. One of the women was Hispanic, beautiful and tanned all over. Her company was white, blonde, and looked to be relatively young, possibly around my age. I couldn't tell if they were locals or tourists, but they were definitely involved. Before leaving, I noticed that the blonde's hand had crept up the other woman's brown thigh. It disappeared under her skirt, causing the woman to smile; leaving no doubt in my mind that she was not just scratching an itch.

I snickered to myself, paid my bill, and went to snatch a cab. I strolled to the end of the block and looked down as far as I could. I wanted to know if my favorite old bookstore, 'Once Upon', was still nestled tight between the surrounding attractions. I hailed a cab, and instructed the driver to pass by, before dropping me at the office. The store was there, just barely, closed, with a For Rent sign in the window; I took down the number. Leaning my head back, I twirled the tips of my hair and reminisced about that old store and its keeper.

She was an Asian woman named Veronique; in her early 40's at the time, with dark almost black eyes, a small red mouth, sharp cheekbones, and a body to die for. She'd owned the small bookstore in the French Quarter for some time, but got little business; it was on the second story and easily overlooked. I had frequented the store, initially, for its wide selection and calm atmosphere, but after spotting the raven haired beauty, I found any reason to return. I would watch her from between the aisles, organizing the literature and servicing the minimal customers. She always dressed in long skirts that touched the ground and the tiniest t-shirts I've ever seen. She smiled easily and looked to be gliding when she walked.

One day while searching for a new copy of my terribly worn "Brave New World", she slid into the aisle behind me, "Psst. Ms. G."

I turned and bit my lip, "Yes."

"I'm closing the store in a little bit for lunch." Her eyes traveled over my golden face and unruly curls.

"Oh alright...I'll come back later to look." My breathing was quickening under her gaze.

"No GeGe, would you like to meet me at Café Du Monde?" She gave a warm smile and I thought I would faint.

"Of course Veronique," I said in a soft drawl.

I was at the bottom of the stairs when she called from the door, "Actually, how about we have coffee and treats at my place?"

I turned my head up to her and stated, "Even better."

"Do you remember where I live darling?"

"I do, over on Charles right?" I couldn't believe that she'd called me darling. Or that she'd invited me to her home...alone, no book club no nothing.

She nodded, "See you there."

When I reached the quaint apartment, I felt like my heart was beating so fast that you could see it through my flimsy yellow sun dress. I was wearing tan and wooden wedge sandals, no makeup and no jewelry. I knocked softly and listened as she unlocked what sounded like 3 separate bolted locks.

She'd showered, her hair was wet, and she was wearing a very thin slip dress. She was a tall slender woman, and the dress did nothing to hide the extravagant length of her legs that were covered with gray tights. She stepped aside and welcomed me into her dreadfully warm space.

"I figured that we could have some lemonade instead of coffee, but I did stop and grab some beignets," she sang as she poured our glasses. I was sitting on the sofa, trying to cool off, and figure out why she'd even invited me over. I was quite young at the time with minimal experience, aside from fingering a few girls and making them lick my little pussy. She sat rather close to me and held her glass with both hands. We drank in silence and tasted our beignets. Her eyes were tracing my body; from my pretty painted toes, thick honey-brown thighs, up to my pouty little lips and almond eyes.

"G, if you don't mind me asking, what is your ethnicity?" She was staring at me, waiting for the answer.

"I'm Creole, all the way on my mother's side. My father was from Ghana though. And you?"

"I'm Chinese, can't you tell?" She said with a bright smile. "But really, I was born here, as well as my parents." She placed a soft hand on my thigh, "You're a very pretty girl. I enjoy your company in my store."

"Umm thanks Veronique. You're a beautiful woman. You keep me coming back to the store." I kept my eyes on hers; I've never been the type to play any games.

She lifted the hand on my thigh and placed it behind my shoulder, urging me towards her, "Come here." She locked her lips with mine before I could prepare; she was forceful and stronger than I'd imagined. Her slender white fingers gripped my hips and she leaned until her body was completely on top of mine. Her mouth parted, prompting mine to do the same and she slipped her tongue inside. Her tongue tangled with mine, slipped and slid over my lips. Her hands were tearing at me, groping my thighs, hips and the sides of my breasts. They cupped my face, and made fists at the roots of my hair; it felt to me as if she had more than 2 hands.

Then she stopped, rose suddenly and took a drink from her lemonade. I lay back bewildered, my hair was draped over the arm of the couch, dangling to the floor; my lips were swollen, and my pretty summer dress was bunched up and wrinkled all over.

"GeGe, come with me into my room...or you may leave." She shot me a serious look, removed her gray tights, and strode into the bedroom. I was dumbfounded. That sweet book store owner had just dominated me, and all that I could think was how I wanted more. I stood, removed my heels, and followed. Everything in the bedroom was black; the sheets were black satin, the carpet was black, and paintings were full of dark colors. Veronique was nude, her pale skin shining in great contrast to the darkness, her straight raven hair melted into the sheets.

"Take off your clothes and stand over there," she pointed towards the vanity area.

I pulled the dress up and over my head took tender steps to the corner.

"My stars Genevieve, you are so amazing." She stood and walked to her closet, from which she took something that I couldn't see. She held the object behind her back and instructed me to turn around. "Do you trust me?"

I thought for several moments; yes I did have what I considered an intense crush, yes I was more than ready to play with her and have her play with me, but did I trust her? Either way I was young, eager, and absolutely sopping between my thighs. "I trust you," I said slowly.

I heard her giggle, "Very good, my sweet baby," then she turned me to face her. She kissed me hard on my lips and began binding my wrists with some sort of rope. After tying a tight knot, she grabbed my hands and led me to the bed. Once she had me in the position she'd desired, she straddled my hips and fastened the knot to the bars of her headboard.

My eyes were glued to her breasts; they were incredibly pale, and a healthy C cup, the nipples were a rosy pink and only inches from my face. I wondered if I flicked the tip of my pink tongue out and over one of them, what she would do. Before I could decide, I did exactly that. She hissed and leaned back until we were eye to eye. "You're such a bad little girl. I knew it the first time I saw you peeking at me, pretending to read those old books." She pinched my left nipple and twisted until I yelled. Then she lapped at it and cooed, whispering sweet apologies, "My sweet, sweet baby." I was trembling and I wanted so badly to let my head rest on silky pillow behind me, but I could not keep myself from watching her every move; I was not frightened, only terribly anxious.

She was running her hands over my body; caressing my puffy areolas, gripping my narrow waist, running her fingertips up and down the expanse of my hips. She slithered down the bed, her hair tickling me as she went. "GeGe you are such a curvy girl, I love your body," she whispered against the muscle of my calf. She held up my foot and kissed behind my knee, first one then the other. "You speak French, don't you?"

"Oui Veronique," I said. My voice was husky, my accent had thickened.

"Oooh that's so good my sweet baby." Then she left the bed and returned with a small bottle of oil. She poured some into her hands, and then rubbed them together. Her eyes were piercing through mine, deeply concentrated, but somehow loving. She started at my shoulders, rubbing upwards over my arms, then my breasts, but avoiding the nipples. She oiled my tummy, hips, the fronts and backs of my legs, all the way to my toes. My pussy was absolutely drenched. My clit was throbbing and had abandoned its little hood. I could smell my sex, hot and musky, and I knew that she could too.

"Tourner maintenant," she ordered after my front had been thoroughly massaged. I did exactly as I was told and turned until my breasts were pressed against the mattress; at first, I thought the rope might stop me, but I slid over with ease. She spread the oil over my back, and spent a nice amount of time massaging my plump ass cheeks, completely relaxing me.

She was whispering in French in my ear, and kneading my thighs; her long white fingers slipped in between, teasing my already pulsing slit. "Putain vous êtes si humide mmm," she murmured. My cheek was against the pillows, and my bound arms kept me watching her; I could only close my eyes and feel. She slid down the bed, hooked her arms around my legs, and fitted the crooks of her elbows around my hips, prompting my lower body to rise from the black sheets. She spread her hands over the large globes and spread them, before bringing her face close; "Ta chatte est si grosse. Il ressemble à une pêche coupée, qui me rend si très faim."

I could feel her breathing, "S'il vous plaît le faire," I begged. She buried her face into my pussy; her tongue snaking around my swollen clit, teasing my wet hole. I groaned into the pillow and flexed my fingers. She was dragging her tongue from the swollen lips of my pussy up to the tiny puckered hole that sat between the juicy globes she was gripping. I was twisting and jerking like a madwoman, struggling with the rope that held me still. My thighs were trembling and I couldn't focus my vision. Her fingertips were digging into my hips, her tongue was fucking my virgin hole with a fury, and I was lost in the pleasure.

Veronique was moaning so loud I could tell she was close; I imagined her grinding her clit onto the sheets, moving her hips trying to get more contact. Her mouth had closed over me, leaving my clit nowhere to hide from the onslaught of her teeth and tongue. She nibbled and sucked, and my body began to convulse. I was whining into the pillows, and my hands balled into fists as I came, bucking like a stallion, with her name on my lips.