A Train of Events

It was a pleasant evening and I decided to take a quick stroll along the embankment to clear my head but I kept on coming back to the same question. To whom was she referring when she said "us"?

It was later than I thought when I eventually boarded a train and it was close to ten-thirty as it approached Bryony's station. I only had to stay on for three more stops and I was home but my body seemed to move of its own volition.

I told myself that I would not call in; I would take a look at where she lived simply out of curiosity. It turned out to be one of the up-market apartments that looked out over the new canal and its associated green space.

I was building up an altogether different picture of Bryony when, for the second time that evening, I was shocked out of my reverie.

"I knew you'd come."

Standing behind me was Bryony herself in company with the girl from the bar. They must have been on the same train that I had taken. The natural assumption was that they were in a relationship and living together but, if so, what was their interest in me?

I was almost in a daze as I followed them up to the top floor apartment and as they opened the front door I was struck by high ambient temperature. The overall décor had a Scandinavian feel with lots of beech wood and pastel colours and I expected it to feel cool.

I stepped across the threshold and Bryony took my jacket but I was taken aback when her companion stood in the entranceway and proceeded to completely undress as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Bryony laughed.

"I like her to be naked when we're at home."

Alarms were shrilling in my head but I did not resist as Bryony led me to an open plan living space with windows on three sides. Given a choice of a sofa and two chairs I took the safer option of a chair. The girl, meanwhile, had disappeared only to return with a bottle of wine and a tray of glasses.

She poured drinks for Bryony and me but not for herself. When she was done she sat on the floor and Bryony began to stoke her hair as if she were a favoured pet. I was still finding it hard to guess her age but strangely, without her clothes, she somehow seemed more empowered.

The next ten minutes were surreal as we discussed our respective jobs as though the girl was not even there but I noted that she was slowly moving closer until she was nuzzling Bryony's legs.

My innate sense of good manners made me want to ask her a direct question, to draw her into the conversation notwithstanding their strange juxtaposition, but she made no attempt to engage with me. Her whole attention was fixed on Bryony.

She looked the embodiment of innocence but, at the same time, there was an undeniable air of eroticism about her.

For a few seconds I was jarred back to a state of lucidity. I could not deny that I was intrigued by the possibilities of the scene being played out in front of me but I hated not being in control and I needed to get a grip on reality.

I put my glass down and stood up to make my excuses but, before I could speak, Bryony forestalled me.

"Leaving so soon? Please sit down, the fun is only just beginning."

Her smile issued a challenge. She had, after all, warned me but I had chosen to ignore it. I found myself rationalizing that we were both professional women and that this was nothing more than an innocent diversion. What harm could come of it?

I sat back down and, unbidden, the girl refilled my glass; as she did so Bryony slowly parted her legs and I quickly looked away as she flashed her panties.

She retained her immodest pose as the girl returned to her this time to settle between her legs. Without missing a beat she began to tell me how the staff in her Paediatric department were encouraged to dress less formally to make their young charges feel more comfortable but her words were lost on me as the girl began to rub her cheek against Bryony's inner thigh.

If she was seeking my attention it was undivided as she began to kiss her way slowly upwards. Bryony sat as though it was nothing more than her due, her flow of conversation uninterrupted.

I remained mute as the girl knelt low and completely turned her back to me. She was lost between those enticing thighs as Bryony enshrouded her with her skirt and gently held her in place.

Any lingering pretence at normality was dismissed. I could no longer ignore the growing ache between my legs and I shifted a little in my seat causing Bryony to give a quiet laugh.

"Go ahead, touch yourself."

Even now some last echoes of decorum tugged at me but my heart was racing and I could feel my heightened pulse throbbing at my temples. With my eyes fixed on the girl, and my imagination running wild, I slid my hand under my skirt and deep into my panties.

I was obscenely wet and my nose twitched at the liberated reek of my own arousal. How had I come to this so quickly?

Bryony relaxed into the embrace of the chair and sipped her wine nonchalantly whilst the girl continued her labour of love. From time to time she spoke to me but I was beyond cogent thought; my mind was a slave to my primal, physical, need.

"Why don't you make yourself more comfortable?"

She left the interpretation entirely up to me and I felt disembodied as I arose from the chair and began to shed my clothes. I wanted her to look at me, to find me attractive, and her appreciative smile suggested that I had achieved the desired effect.

I sat down once more and caressed myself openly and unrestrainedly. I had never known my nipples to feel so rigidly tumescent and I was pleased as she lowered her gaze to my breasts.

At some point the girl had divested Bryony of her panties and her contended whimpers as she reapplied herself to her task had me leaking jealously. I had no idea where this was headed but there was no little irony in the fact that I had now been cast in the role of voyeur and was being given a taste of my own medicine.

I could not believe the degree of self-control that she was exhibiting as the minutes ticked by and the girl showed no sign of tiring. My own fingers were moving ever more urgently and beads of moisture were forming in the valley of my breasts.

Bryony gave the slightest of smiles as she recognized my state of agitation. I wanted to reach the zenith together with her but she knew that it was a battle lost. As she stared me straight in the eyes I sought the final crescendo and I keened a muted, soulful, scream as my climax bore me up and wrung out every last ounce of pleasure from me.

I was left gasping for breath and incapable of movement. She, by contrast, looked serene as she somehow conveyed that the moment had come. The girl gave a greedy groan and then I heard her softly sucking.

It was clear that the girl was very practised but, even now, Bryony retained her composure. She melted into a prolonged orgasm with barely a sigh and it was obvious that she was saving herself for much more to come.

In evidence of this the girl did not move and I could hear her still gently lapping. That simple sound set off fresh sensations centred between my legs and I felt my own tongue moving in my mouth as I was almost overcome by an aberrant urge to take her place.

As the thought was formed I caught Bryony's eye and it was as if I had expressed my desire out loud. She stroked the girl's hair and tenderly eased her away to leave me looking at the majesty of her reddened sex.

That feeling of not being in command of my own body returned as I got up to cross the divide between us but, as I did so, Bryony rose from her chair and the girl eased in and took her place.

I looked to Bryony in confusion but she simply said.

"It's only fair, do you not think?"

The girl sat waiting with a sense of insouciance her legs casually parted. Whereas Bryony was perfectly depilated the girl retained a light growth of dark curls which were matted with moisture and her glistening inner thighs bore further witness to her arousal.

Was it possible that she had come without touching herself, simply by the act of ministration?

I badly wanted Bryony and if this was the price then I was prepared to pay it. Some part of me baulked at her elfin youthfulness but as I went to my knees before her I had the distinct impression that she was far more experienced than I.

Once I was settled between her coltish legs I was enveloped by her scent as it rose from her heated skin and I began to breathe more deeply. It acted on me at some subliminal level and I now craved the taste of her.

Looking up, I saw her smiling at me, her pupils dilated, and fully understanding exactly what I was going through. She ran a finger along the length of her sex parting the wet curls and revealing the lush inner pinkness.

I sealed myself to her like a drowning woman seeking air and the first taste was rich and full. There was no doubt that she had already climaxed but she was ready for more spurred on, no doubt, by my perceived inexperience.

Almost immediately she began to leak a warm, creamy, offering which flooded my mouth and sharpened my senses. I could feel my own sex distending and I wanted to touch myself again but I knew that, for now, she had to be the focus of my attention.

I began an exploration, mapping her intimate contours and seeing what she liked the most. Her deep set clitoris was sensitive but I did not want her to come too quickly. Instead, I set to squirming my tongue as deep within her as I possibly could and the resultant gushes of moisture told their own story.

I was becoming lost in her when I felt Bryony put her hand to the back of my head and pressing me tighter.

"Suck her..."

I did as I was told and I was having to swallow repeatedly in order to keep my mouth clear. Had I been told that a woman could be so wet I would not have believed it and I was even more shocked by the extent to which it aroused me.

Her body was being shaken by a series of irregular convulsions and I could no longer restrain myself. I pursed my lips at the apex of her sex and began to flick my tongue over her clitoris whilst simultaneously working my fingers over my own.

Once again it felt as if her impending climax was, somehow, feeding mine. It was a shared uplifting that guided the actions of my mouth and hand until her sex stifled my exultant cry as I took us both over the edge.

It took an age for us both to recover. I was too weak to move and remained between her legs, panting hard, as her body finally settled to stillness.

I was brought back to reality by an ironic round of applause from Bryony.

"Bravo!...but I think you might want to tidy yourself up."

I got to my feet unsteadily and she handed me my clothes as she ushered me towards the bathroom. Looking into the mirror felt like beholding a complete stranger. Perspiration had made my hair lank and my makeup was smeared. I worked my tongue around my mouth which was thick with the girl's taste and my face was still wet with her outpouring.

I washed quickly and put some toothpaste on to my finger to freshen my mouth. I decided not to reapply my makeup and I fixed my hair as best I could.

For some unfathomable reason I felt embarrassed about going back outside. In handing me my clothes Bryony had clearly signalled that the evening's proceedings were at an end but I desperately wanted to see her again and I had no idea how she felt about things.

When I emerged the girl was nowhere to be seen and Bryony gave the impression that we had done nothing more than share an innocent glass of wine. I was struck mute as she led me to the door and kissed me chastely on the cheek.

"We must do this again sometime."

Chapter Four

Fortunately, over the following few days, my work was so demanding I could hardly spare a thought for anything else. I had been as good as assured that if I could land the Etheridge account I would be made a partner. Everything had been going well but, as it transpired, too well.

The Etheridge board were so impressed by my initial pitch, and subsequent presentation, that they asked me to revise my dispositions and dividend forecasts to take into account an investment three times the amount originally postulated. I would have liked more time but they wanted to take up positions before the end of the tax year.

After a fourth late night the new presentation was ready and, for the first time in days, I got around to thinking about my personal life. At home, I checked my backed up messages many of which were from an ever more frustrated John who wanted to take me out again. I found myself wondering if I could get past his inherent dullness in return for an uncomplicated bout of sex.

The truth was I was hoping that there might be a message from Bryony but then remembered that my personal number was not included on the business card that I had given her.

Now that my mind was clear of investment strategies she came to occupy it more and more. I could not sleep without conjuring her image and, when I did, it was to wake stressed and clammy with my hand between my legs.

The temptation to take the later train in the hope of bumping into her was strong but I knew that she would see through it. In the end I did the civilised, uncomplicated, thing and gave her a call.

Just hearing her voice sent a thrill surging through my body and it took a moment to appreciate that she was delicately turning me down.

"...we all had a good time but we are travelling in different directions."

I was left confused; after all it was she that had intimated that we might do it again.

"Can we meet, just for coffee perhaps, there are things I think we need to discuss."

There was a pause at the end of the line and then what might have been an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, tomorrow lunchtime. There's a Costa Coffee shop here at the hospital. Can you make it for one-thirty?"

The timing was awkward, especially as it necessitated a trek across town, but I said yes and my heart was hammering as I put the phone down.

The next day I spent an age considering what to wear and the morning at work passed in a blur. The immediate pressure was off as Etheridge had still not given a commitment but they had undertaken to give their decision within seven days and so there was still time in hand.

I splashed out on a taxi at lunchtime and arrived a little early but Bryony was already there. She looked different, but no less beautiful, with her hair up and dressed in a white medical coat. She was engrossed in a set of notes and I stood for a second or two just starting at her.

She looked up, smiled sweetly, and beckoned me across. The coffee shop had imaginatively divided up some of the floor space into a series of separate conference areas and she was seated alone in one of the booths.

I kissed her on the cheek and, after a brief exchange, I placed the order for coffees.

It seemed impossible that we could be so formal in one another's company, given what had transpired, but the atmosphere was uncomfortably stilted. Finally she leant across and touched the back of my hand.

"Just ask me a question. Anything you want."

I had so many but I started with something blunt and obvious.

"What's your relationship with your flatmate?"

To my surprise she pondered a moment before replying.

"I suppose the answer is short term. Gwen is staying with me for the duration of her play's London run. Later this year it goes on tour and so I guess things will come to a natural conclusion."

I felt an irrational sense of relief that they seemed not to be engaged in anything long term but my question had been double edged and she smiled as she continued.

"A little while ago I was made aware of a group of women, professional for the most part, with little time or inclination to tie themselves down to any one partner. These women are, discrete, discerning and, in a word, demanding.

They in turn, opened my eyes to another caste of women who have a natural inclination to serve. They are affectionately referred to as "the sluts".

Once I was aware of this I found that I could pick out these women; perhaps it's a gift or perhaps something to do with my medical training, who knows. In your case you remain on the cusp. I have no doubt that your lesbian leanings will win out but, the question is, are you a slut?"

The frankness of her remarks shocked me. It all sounded preposterous but could I deny the evidence of my own recent experience? The suggestion that I would allow myself to be used in any way was, somehow, insulting; why, therefore, did her choice of words excite me?

I was still trying to order my confused thoughts when we were interrupted and Bryony smiled at the newcomer.

"May I introduce Grace De Moyes. Grace is a Consultant Paediatrician here at the hospital and she has been acting as my mentor."

Her name sounded vaguely familiar but, had I met her before, I certainly would have remembered her. She was tall and slim with deep brown eyes that seemed to bore into me. Her short dark hair was shot through with the odd silver strand and faint laughter lines softened her face which might otherwise have been considered stern. I found it hard to determine her age. She could have passed for late thirties but might easily be ten years older. Given her occupational status I guessed that the latter was closer to the truth.

"My pleasure. Bryony has been telling me about you."

I was not sure whether to be flattered or alarmed but her attention had already switched as she seemed to look disdainfully at her surroundings.

"I'm on my way back to my office. Why don't you both join me? I'm sure I can rustle up something a little more palatable to drink."

I was about to refuse, on the grounds that I needed to get back, but Bryony rose from her chair and took me by the hand. We followed Grace along a crowded corridor before cutting across the grounds to the original hospital building which, I was informed, was now a medical school.

Grace had "rooms" on the top floor. The outer area was bright, gaily lit, with lots of children's toys in evidence. Her inner sanctum formed a complete contrast. The original carved wood panelling had been preserved and, but for the phone and computer, it could still have been the 1920's.

Without asking she poured each of us a glass of sherry from a crystal decanter. It was not something I would normally drink but I could tell that this was a long way removed from the supermarket offering I was used to.

She took a seat behind her desk and Bryony and I occupied the guest chairs. Grace asked me about what I did for a living and I explained about ethical investments and how, in some areas, it had common links with the medical profession. As she listened I was intrigued to notice that she made a note on a jotter.

I was no fool. The meeting with Grace had clearly been engineered and I could make a reasonable guess as to why. The real question was why had I gone along with it?

Grace shifted a little in her seat as if she had followed my train of thought.

"Bryony tells me that you are an ingénue and I have to tell you that I find that attractive in a woman...so much so that I want you get down on your knees and crawl to me."

I looked at her in total disbelief but her face evinced no hint of amusement; rather, there was an expression of purest lust that lit her eyes and lent her a cruel beauty. I had only met this woman moments ago but I was almost overcome by a need to be kissed by her.

I had never felt this was way about a man. It was as if she had cast a veil over us and created a secret space free from the usual mores that might otherwise inhibit.

I could not tear my eyes from her and could not understand why I felt such an irrational need for her approval. I was not being forced, not even coerced, so why did I go to my knees?