Pleasure in Control Ch. 13

byjulie_julia©

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 full 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, pushed 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. I felt my professional objectivity ebbing away as my emotions began to take over. The warm sexy feeling of increasing arousal that I had successfully suppressed for the last few days filled my pussy and spread upwards through my body.

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. She looked so desirable; she knew it and I had to have her right there.

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 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, not for the first time. Falling on the floor, we one again indulged in her speciality, the Sisters' 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 many 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 alta-persona.

Back in London and after a well-earned early night, I was planning to call on Vikki who was covering for vacation leave at the Regent Street store on Thursday morning. As a treat for her, as well as for me, I dressed 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.

On the way out I became aware of someone behind me but thought nothing of it as I stepped into the crowded lift. As usual in England, 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, some 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 up 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 breasts?

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. The lift seemed crowded again as the waiting passengers joined us.

I turned to face the side wall of the lift and it started its slow 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 my panties and I contracted my muscles to allow her more room. She slid her whole hand inside and I closed my eyes tight.

Still 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.

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. It was Xara who smiled back at me, a regular Passionella client; I recognised her immediately from recent 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. She 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. My sole companion 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 straining 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 so one of the slits was at the front. 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. 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. I felt so wantonly whore-like, excited by the thrill of the illicit and so intoxicated by the sheer audacity of our daring encounter. A sense of empowering release as we broke the rules of restrictive, conservative British society. My mind raced and my body burned with desire. Sophisticated Julia had been transformed into a brazen slut.

Xara nuzzled her mouth against my pussy and I felt her tongue probing my thinly-veiled clit. My juices flowed and mingled with her saliva, soaking the thin fabric of my panties. Dropping off my brassy perch, I reached under my skirt and hooked my thumbs inside the waistband and by precariously lifting first one high-heeled shoe 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.

Sadly she couldn't, there simply wasn't time, 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 managed to crouch 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 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 polished brass dildo. Hundreds of Saturday shoppers were watching me and they cheered and applauded 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.

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