by Chrissy Larkin ©
Sarah slowly reached below the desk, unlaced her sneakers and pulled them off her feet. Next came her socks, one by one, which she tucked into her shoes. With both feet bare, she lowered them on to the thick, plush carpet. Slowly, she brushed the bottom's of her feet back and forth. The rich, plush pile felt wonderful.
Sarah gazed back at the computer on the desk and, once again, set to work. But it wasn't long before her mind began to wonder. This was just the fourth time she had been to Kathryn's apartment, but the first time she had been left alone. The urge to explore was growing stronger.
It was one week ago when Sarah, in between jobs, saw an ad for a French translator, part-time work. When she called, a woman with a English accent answered and said she needed someone who could translate some business correspondence. "I'd do it myself, but I just don't have the time," she added.
The next day, Sarah rode into Manhattan on the subway from her home in Queens. She glanced at the address again and realized that it was located on the city's Gold Coast, near Park Avenue. Sure enough, the building was one of those elegant, prewar apartment towers, with an exterior of mixed stone and brick, a beautiful lobby trimmed with polished brass and glowing wood, and a uniformed doorman who signed her in.
When Kathryn opened the door to her apartment and introduced herself, Sarah was surprised to see her employer wasn't English at all, but in fact Middle Eastern. She was Sarah's height and seemed close to her age, but the similarities ended there. Kathryn had long, thick brown hair down to her shoulders. Her eyes were shaped like almonds and colored an exotic green. Her nose and cheeks were perfectly proportioned, while her mouth was wide and broke easily into a smile that revealed pretty, white teeth. The lips were sensual and gleamed with lustrous red lipstick.
She was wearing a beautifully embroidered, white peasant shirt and a simple, black hem skirt that stopped just above her knees. The rest of her legs were shapely, with thin ankles and small feet. She wore no shoes. Through the gauzy, translucent shirt, Sarah could make out the swell of her breasts and the dark aureoles of her nipples.
Sarah's heart began to flutter as she gazed for just a slight moment at this most extraordinary-looking woman. Afraid she was staring, she quickly looked around and realized she was in one of those fabulous New York apartments that show up on the pages of interior design magazines from time to time. The place was breathtaking: high ceilings, a beautiful wood floor that gleamed between the expensive Persian carpets that lay scattered about and furniture and artwork that spoke of money, lots of money.
Kathryn led Sarah to her study, explaining why she needed her services and what she wanted Sarah to do. The work looked easy. Straightforward French to English translations of business letters and documents, something Sarah was quite good at. The study was nothing like what Sarah had ever seen. The furniture seemed to be made out of beautiful walnut or mahogany -- she wasn't quite sure which -- but not done in that traditional, club-style men prefer. There was a lightness and elegance to their shape and features. Bookshelves rose to the ceiling in richly carved wood and were filled with books covering a wide range of subjects.
Sarah sat down at the desk and Kathryn handed her the first documents that needed translating. As she leaned over to explain what she wanted done, her breast, it's soft shape pressing against the gauze of the peasant shirt, brushed, then bumped against Sarah's arm. At the same time, Kathryn's long hair grazed Sarah's cheek. All of these little contacts set Sarah's heart beating at a fast clip. But best of all was Kathryn's scent. She had the most exotic, warm smell that seemed to seep out when she bent over to speak. Shy, yet enthralled by this woman, Sarah could only manage to nod in agreement to Kathryn's remarks, as the documents she clutched in her hands shook slightly.
She hardly spoke that first day, feeling as if she was in the presence of some female goddess. Kathryn was everything Sarah wished she could be, but wasn't. Her Middle Eastern background made her mysterious. Yet, at the same time, she was beautiful, witty, urbane, sophisticated and very rich. Where did the money come from, wondered Sarah. From the little scraps of information she gleaned during the translations, it appeared that Kathryn was involved in some kind of international marketing business, but it seemed somehow small, even petty. Not the kind of business that could support a huge apartment on Park Avenue. No, it must be family money, perhaps from oil, Sarah guessed.
The next day, Sarah opened up a little bit more and Kathryn chatted amiably before work got underway. She found out that Kathryn was originally from Lebanon. Her family wasn't in oil, but in real estate. She had gone to school in England and Switzerland and spoke several languages. Her father had recently died and now her brothers ran the family business. Kathryn never said, but Sarah guessed she must have inherited a sizable chunk of the estate.
By the third day, Sarah realized she was infatuated with Kathryn. Riding the subway home that evening after work, she couldn't stop thinking about this woman who seemed from another world. As the subway cars rumbled along, Sarah sat daydreaming, staring out the window into the black tunnel. Drifting in and out of her imagination were bits and pieces of Kathryn's beauty: the sheen in her thick, wavy hair, the almond-shaped eyes, the pear-shaped breasts, even the exquisitely manicured fingernails. But always, always that scent of her body lingered in her nostrils. Sarah closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to kiss Kathryn's thick lips and to slowly peel off her clothes, to be able to gaze at her wonderfully proportioned body with its light brown-colored skin and to smell up close that musky scent.
Now, on only her fourth day of work, Sarah was left alone, hunched over the desk, her bare feet dipping into the thick, soft pile rug in the study. At first, she was a bit upset, not to have Kathryn around so she could steal glimpses of her. But then she reckoned it was a good sign. She trusts me, thought Sarah, so maybe she likes me.
After an hour, Sarah was nearly done working. Kathryn hadn't given her enough work to do and she wasn't due back for at least another hour. Unable to resist, she decided to kill some time by exploring the rest of the apartment, none of which she had seen. She entered the living room first and found it incredible. It was richly furnished, with the chairs and couches covered in warm, colorful fabrics. On the walls hung numerous paintings, all of which looked to be original art. Some were still-lifes, others were abstract paintings that had a certain sensuousness that Sarah liked. The walls were covered with a an unusually textured paper, probably something imported from Europe. The windows went down nearly to the floor, and were sheathed in drapes of a light fabric that moved ever so slightly in the air blowing through the vent in the floor
Then Sarah headed down a hall, past the richly appointed dining room and opened a door. It was Kathryn's bedroom. The bed immediately grabbed her eye. It seemed enormous compared to hers. She walked over to it, pulled back the cover slightly and saw pastel-colored silk sheets. Then Sarah stepped over to the closet and opened the door. Out came a smell of clothes made from rich and expensive fabrics, mingling with that exotic scent of Kathryn's body.
Sarah stood there for a moment, breathing deeply. She could feel her hand, still gripping the closet door's handle, start to sweat. The clothes were beautiful with dresses, shirts, skirts and pants made from the finest cotton, wool, satin, and silks. Sarah knew where she had to look next.
She walked over to Kathryn's bureau and began opening drawers. Quickly she found what she was looking for: the most beautiful collection of bras, panties, slips and camisoles, all made in Europe, all made from the highest quality material. As her fingers glided over the luxurious underwear, Sarah began to shake. She couldn't control her thoughts anymore. She knew she had to do something, to fill her growing hunger, her gnawing desire.
Quickly, she began to take off her clothes. She looked with disdain at them, purchased from a local discount department store. When she placed them on the floor in a small pile the clothes looked like cheap rags. Sarah stood for a moment in the room, realizing she didn't know what she was doing. Never before had she acted so impulsively, poking her way through somebody else's home, and now she was stark naked. Why, she wondered. There was no rational answer. She was simply responding to her senses, her desires.
Sarah returned to Kathryn's drawer and pulled out some pale blue satin panties. She lifted the crotch to her nose and breathed in deeply. Sure enough, she detected a hint of a wondrous smell that only comes from a woman. As if to confirm, Sarah reached down between her legs and brushed her fingers across the lips of her already wet slit and then brought them up to her nostrils. She smiled.
Next, Sarah picked up a silk camisole. Never had she felt something so soft, smooth and delicate. She slowly drew the camisole across her breasts and closed her eyes, taking in the marvelous sensation of the silk on her skin. She stroked herself several more times with the camisole until her nipples were almost quivering from their rapid erection.
She decided to wear the camisole top and then picked out a pretty satin thong, edged in fine lace and put it on. She went over to Kathryn's dressing table to see how she looked in the mirror. She saw the same shy, timid girl she had always been, but the beautiful lingerie made her feel special. Glancing down at the dressing table, she touched the different bottles of creams, lotions and perfumes, smelling them to see if any resembled that musky smell of Kathryn's.
Sarah took off the camisole and thong, placed them back in the drawer, then sat down at Kathryn's dressing table. For the next several minutes, she played with Kathryn's toiletries, trying to come as close to her as possible: brushing her hair with Kathryn's brushes, applying her makeup, even painting her nails with Kathyrn's nail polish. At one point, she splashed some expensive perfume on her nipples and between her legs. She was tingling badly down there now, but wasn't quite ready to touch herself. Something was needed to make the moment complete and connected to Kathryn.
Then Sarah noticed the chair. It was a bean-bag chair, the color, an electric blue. It was an odd piece of furniture in an apartment filled with some of the most refined and expensive furniture Sarah had ever seen. She walked over and touched it. It gave slightly and felt warm from the morning sun that had been shining on it. Sarah got down and sat on it. It quickly conformed to her shape. The vinyl felt smooth against her skin. She turned over and the bag, with its loose beans, readjusted to her new position. She spread her legs and then slowly closed them. The beanbag filled in between her thighs like the part of another person's body, its warmth felt like a hand pressing up against her sex.
Sarah wrapped her arms around the chair, pulling it towards her in an embrace. A faintly familiar aroma touched her nostrils that made her sigh and brush her lips against the vinyl in a delicate kiss. In her mind, she saw Kathryn's beautiful face. Again she breathed in, and again, each time Kathryn's wonderful womanly scent seemed to waft up from the vinyl in stronger doses, making it seem as if Sarah were embracing the very woman herself.
She lay still for a moment, her pale skin standing out in stark contrast against the vibrant blue. Then, slowly, she began to rub her loins against the vinyl, flexing her thighs, squeezing the chair between her legs. She felt the vinyl become wet and slippery as the nectar from inside her began to drip out.
Soon, Sarah was sliding her hips back and forth across the soft, mushy chair. Her clit was inflamed by the friction and the wetness. Meanwhile she held part of the chair tightly in her arms, her lips and tongue kissing and licking the warm material. Sarah closed her eyes and soon she was making love to Kathryn, kissing her sensuous mouth, touching her hair, cupping her breasts in her hands, all the time grinding her sex against Kathryn's warm skin, with it's powerful scent of the Middle East.
Within several minutes, Sarah's hips were moving rapidly, rolling and humping against the soft, malleable beanbag with great intensity. She could feel herself losing control, as the image, smell and sensation of Kathryn became more and more real. Already breathing rapidly, Sarah began to moan with each breath.
As the excitement reached its crescendo, the moans turned into words: "Oh Kathryn, I love you. I love you, Kathy. I love you," Sarah cried out softly as her pelvis shook, her muscles contracted and liquid oozed out of her, trickling down the crevices of the chair. Finally Sarah's naked body stopped writhing and lay sprawled across the vinyl bag. As the orgasm slowly subsided, she breathed in hoarse moans and sweat poured off her hot, quaking body, matting her stringy hair to her back and shoulders.
Eventually, her breathing quieted and her heart rate dropped, Sarah began to hear the faint sound of car traffic outside the window and then the telltale creak of the floor. She realized she wasn't alone.
She turned her head and saw Kathryn leaning against the door with a seductive smile on her face. "Extraordinary chair, isn't it," she said. "Now you can probably guess why I haven't thrown the ugly thing out!"
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