I Join the Lesbian Mile High ClubbyMarie Marshall©
Talk about the boot being on the other foot! Talk about the biter bitten!
I never thought that I would be head-hunted, tempted – no, seduced – into leaving our Florida office, where I was top bitch, and joining a rival company in a subordinate role. But here I was. Yes, Marie la Reine d'Ecosse, former butt-buster, was now Mary Queen of Sod-all, in an office up north. The salary was better by sixty percent, the status was good, the benefits were amazing, in fact I would have had to have been insane to turn the job down. There was only one problem: I had to be prepared to have my butt busted. I had burned all my bridges, sold my place in Florida, kicked loose a tearful (for tearful, read utterly distraught) Stepford Babe, and set off northwards to be head of nothing at all, under Lauren.
Lauren – that's her name. If I thought I knew how to control people, forget it. If I thought I knew how to break testicles and breasticles, no way did I. If I thought I could manipulate people and situations, get real. It seemed I hadn't been there five minutes before I took an initiative and nearly lost us a major client. Lauren had me in her office, and I stood there tongue tied while she gave me the most humungous dressing-down I have ever had. I felt as though I had turned the colour of beetroot, and I just took it. I didn't stand up for myself, I didn't defend my actions, I didn't state a case for why I thought I had been right to act. I just meekly stood there and let her shatter my self- confident behind. When she had finished, I allowed myself to be banished from her presence, and returned to my office, my face burning.
It was a wonder I could sit down, so thoroughly had she chewed my tush!
After that, she seemed to be all over me, for ever in my face, perpetually on my case. I felt like resigning. She never said much, she was just there – as if by coincidence – whenever I had an important decision to make. It felt oppressive.
One day we had been in a meeting. Despite her being there, I had been the one who had been putting the deal to our prospective clients. I had held their attention, I had kept them interested. There came a point when we decided to break for lunch – lunch being an excuse for private talk within each party – immediately before which I had hesitated, not made a particular decision about something extra they had wanted written into the contract. As we walked away from the conference room Lauren had said nothing to me, until we reached her office.
"Marie," she said. "Play your natural game." She went into her office, shutting the door behind her.
Eventually the meeting reconvened, and our potential clients raised the same matter. I looked at them.
"Ladies, gentlemen," I said. "No can do. It wouldn't work. In fact it might disadvantage both of us, and here's why..."
They listened. They nodded. Eventually they shook hands with me and signed the contract. Afterwards, Lauren and I walked back again through our office suite. This time, before she disappeared into her own office, she said one word to me.
Blow me down – I felt as though I had been kissed, as though I had just received a medal. I had a rosy glow that would have fuelled the US electricity grid for a week. I just stood there, looking through the internal window to where Lauren was standing by her desk, talking on the phone. I suddenly realised that she was beautiful – very, very beautiful. Such natural poise, emphasised by, and emphasising in turn, the cut of her tailor-made business suit (charcoal grey over an open-necked blouse and a simple string of pearls). I could see her clear complexion, her cheek bones, her whole face youthful for a woman in her early forties. Blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and if it was not a natural blonde it was nevertheless like the wind in a wheat-field. I noticed for the first time her wonderful figure, that perfect bust, that trim waist, those hips just nicely rounded and in proportion, and to judge from the view below her short skirt she also had very shapely legs. I simply stared, and began to feel something other than my usual mixture of awe and irritation – that's right, I began to feel aroused by her. Then she looked up, caught my eye, and smiled at me. The sun came out!
I blushed and high-tailed it to my own office. Ten minutes later she breezed in without knocking.
"Marie, can you make yourself available next weekend?" Sure it was phrased as a query, but it carried the authority of an order, and I damn near sprang to attention. I answered in the affirmative.
"Good. There's a conference in LA. The clients we just closed that deal with will be there, and I've decided to go, "she said. "I want you with me."
As she said all this, she leant her hands on my desk. I could smell her expensive perfume, I could faintly make out the line of her bra through her blouse, but above all I could see that gorgeous string of pearls around her neck. I was kicking myself to think how captivated I was, how smitten, and how (oh hell!) I would let her domme me out of sight if she wanted to. I was shaking by the time she left, and I hoped she hadn't noticed!
Our flight was on a 747, in the first-class seats, where we could stretch our legs a little, and talk with some semblance of privacy. After take-off, and the compulsory ballet of the safety announcement, and when out flight levelled off, she ordered two glasses of wine from one of the cabin staff. Then she began to talk to me. Small talk by her standards, but I felt as though she was opening up to me. Her eyes never left mine as we talked, and when our conversation paused she still held that gaze, her eyes and her lips smiling as I had never seen her smile before.
She put her wine down on her seat-tray, reached over and put one cool, manicured hand on mine. The she leaned close, closed her eyes, and kissed me. For a moment my own eyes swivelled this way and that, trying to see if we were overlooked or whether one of the cabin staff was on the way, but then I closed my eyes too and just gave in to that kiss. Her lips were soft, very soft, and oh so sweet! She pressed her tongue a little way into my mouth and met the tip of mine. It was a simply kiss, but both affectionate and erotic at the same time.
I thought, "I haven't got a great big sign on my head saying 'I am gay', have I? No. But then neither does she!"
When we broke off the kiss, she said, "I've been wanting to do that for quite a while." She took my hand – the one hers had rested on – and pulled it inside her suit-jacket. My initial reaction was one of shock. I am no stranger to sex, as you know, and no stranger to sex in strange places, but now I looked wildly around me as if appealing for one of the cabin staff to come and rescue me. But I didn't want to be rescued, so why was I panicking? Lauren's eyes never left mine; they were soft and friendly, but now with a hint of humour as she saw my reaction. But she didn't let my hand go, and I realised that she knew the rhythms of the plane, how often in their routine the cabin staff came past.
"How often has she done this?" I wondered to myself, and added the thought, "I don't want to know!" What mattered was that this beautiful, powerful, wonderful woman was doing it now, with me. I could feel the warmth of her breast as my hand cupped it, the line of her bra under the silk blouse, the hardening of her nipple as I stroked and gently squeezed. I pulled my hand free, but only to slide it across to her other breast and to bring that nipple to hardness too. Now I wanted so much her to reach across and do the same to me. My own nipples rasped against the inside of my bra, and I could feel my arousal building.
Lauren took hold of my hand again, pulled it away from her beasts, and drew it between her legs, parting them slightly. Still she kept her eyes fixed on mine, and nodded to encourage me. I slid my hand further up her skirt, very slowly, still a little apprehensive that we would be seen. I traced a path over her sheer stockings, to the bare, smooth skin and firm flesh above them, noticing a trace of perspiration on the surface (was it hot in the plane? I was certainly perspiring myself. Or was this barely perceptible coating of moisture a seepage of something else, something more delicious?), and on to her panties. Silk, with a tiny lace border, expensive to the touch – everything about Lauren spelt taste, class, and expense, oh yes and power. All the time she was looking straight at me with those hypnotic eyes of hers, full of lust and something more, something deeper, something she was generating and projecting only for my benefit.
My fingers followed the line of lace up and down a few times, not going anything further. The look in Lauren's eyes turned to one of pleading, but still I teased her, taking a delight in the slight shift of power between us at that moment. I let her arousal build until I could detect a wonderful, womanly scent in the air - one that I recognised as not being my own, overpowering my own – and then I slid my fingertips inside to find the source of that scent. My exploration was met by the complete smoothness of a Brazilian waxed surface, with a crisp edge to the neat patch of hair which reached a short way towards her waistband – a true bikini-line job, exquisite! I could only imagine how beautiful it must all have looked, as I ran my fingertips and nails all around her labia, teasing her, tickling her, stroking, probing. A little moan escaped from her, and I could see her bite her lip slightly. All worries about cabin staff banished, I thought, "Right, my fine and beautiful lady – to work!"
My thumb, pushing and probing bluntly around the top of her cleft, went searching for her clitoris; one finger delved lower, between those moist lips, to find a port of entry. Both found their goal, and my hand stretched between them. Lauren's face was flushed and her breathing shallow. Her lips – those on her face – were slightly parted, and she licked them. She still never took her eyes off me, and now the look in them seemed to be telling me that I was the most wonderful woman in the world! I determined to avoid her g-spot, and instead just to probe as deep as I could with two fingers whilst letting my thumb play on her clit. This had begun to throb and harden in response to my attention, in counter-rhythm to the pulse I could see in her elegant neck. I had never seen her looking so beautiful.
Simple clitoral stimulation! Nothing fancy, no acrobatics nor sleight of hand, but the gentle, controllable build-up to climax. I knew this for myself, and I concentrated on giving to her what I liked to receive myself, judging when she came close and holding back, then pressing on again each time she simmered down. Her lips pouted, as if to call me cruel, but there was appreciation in her eyes which never, never, never left mine!
Eventually I took her there, to the land where every woman wants to visit, to that sweet land of let-me-come! I vibrated my thumb hard and fast against her clit, feeling her body beginning to tense, as if for a crash. By accident her climax coincided with an announcement over the public address, so if she cried out at all as she suddenly shook in her seat I did not hear her; but I did see that she bit her knuckles hard, and for an instant took her gaze from mine as she shut her eyes tight. I continued, more gently now, to massage her with my thumb, and to stroke in and out with my two fingers, feeling her muscles contract and relax, until finally she reached down and took hold of my wrist, withdrawing my hand from under her panties and skirt.
Still looking at me, now with a lovely smile in those eyes of hers, she drew my hand up to her mouth, kissed the fingers that had been inside her, and gave them a long lick. I pulled my hand away and tasted those fingers too – my, it was good! Between us we licked them, and then she leaned over and kissed me again, lips sweet and soft reintroducing her special taste to me.
Breaking away, she mouthed the words "Be right back" and got up from her seat, taking her handbag – her purse she would have called it, I suppose – with her. I guessed she had gone to the WC, and again I laughed a little, supposing that even that little cubicle, way up over the USA, would be called a bathroom! I was back on form – sniggering at all things American, when that country was giving me a good living. Amongst other things!
When she returned to her seat, she had something crushed into the palm of her hand. She reached over and handed it to me – it was her panties.
"A souvenir," she said.
As I brought them to my lips to kiss as a gesture to her, savouring the wonderful scent of now-drying arousal, I thought to myself, "A souvenir? Is that it? Is that all there is going to be?"
She chatted to me for a few minutes, then leaned back in her seat and slept for the rest of the flight.
However, my disappointment at what I believed to be a one-off encounter was lifted by how she behaved towards me during the convention in California. She proved me wrong, time and time again she proved me dead wrong. OK there was business, but between times there were long hours of love-making in her hotel room (I hardly ever occupied my own bed), snatched moments of wicked lust in elevators, hands wandering under dinner tables, showers taken together, luxurious baths in which we tangled our legs by candle light. All in all a damned enjoyable, sinful time! More than once I cried out her name as I came, loving to frame its sounds in my mouth.
I was entirely smitten. To myself I confessed that I was her girl body and soul. But how did she feel about me? She didn't say. And I didn't dare ask her, or say what I was feeling.
On the flight home she had an amused smile on her face, and she kept looking at me. Oh those eyes – how I had come to adore them, and the way they could twinkle and sparkle, the way they smouldered when she was aroused, how I wanted to spend my whole life gazing into them! And now there they were, looking coquettishly up at me as she lowered her face to her wine-glass. Then, just as she had done on the outward flight, she put her glass down, leant over, and kissed me. I can't explain this, maybe it was the frisson of this too-public place, maybe it was the memory of the outward flight, maybe it was the softness of her lips, but suddenly it was like our first kiss all over again. Damn it, it was as though I was – don't laugh – and utter virgin!
I felt her hand steal into my jacket, two fingers snapped loose the top button of my blouse and explored my bra. She touched and tweaked each of my nipples, until they were erect and hard., holding the kiss all the time, and probing into my mouth with her tongue. I could feel – and she knew – that I was getting hot where it mattered; I rubbed my legs together and squirmed in my seat, longing to be touched. She left off her exploration of the inside of my bra, deftly refastened my blouse, and reached down to rest her palm on my inner thigh, holding the kiss all the while. I would not now have cared if the pilot himself had been standing watching us! Oh how Lauren teased me when she got to my panties – one fingernail lightly traced the V of my curls, then ran even more lightly, almost imperceptibly down the length of my pussy, right to my anus and back, causing all my muscles to jump. Backwards and forwards went this teasing fingernail across the ever-damper fabric of my panties, sometimes straight, sometimes zig-zagging, sometimes stopping right where my clitoris was and describing a little circle round it. By the time she finally slipped my panties to one side, I was wild with arousal.
Mirroring what I had done to her on the outward flight, Lauren positioned her thumb right on my clit, and pushed one, then two fingers inside me. Oh! No matter how many times I have sex, it always gets me – like I'm still a virgin, like I said before, and it's my first time – you will think that's laughable, you who know me so well. Really, really silly I know, but that is what it feels like to be entered, even a little way. As she began to apply a little pressure to my clit, she leaned over and murmured in my ear.
"Pray for turbulence, baby!"
I did. Oh I did. From that moment on I was lost. I tried to keep looking at her like she had looked at me, but my whole world was centred down there on my clitoris. I knew, from my experiences over the weekend, what a fantastic lover she was, but this time everything was somehow different. What was it? Cabin pressure? Hell I don't know. What I do know is that every little rub, every little massage, every little tweak, every little jiggle on my clit was like electricity going through my body. Every nerve in my body had a little bell on the end of it, and they were all jangling at once. I could feel that I was producing an unusually large amount of moisture – it must have been soaking through my skirt and into the seat – and I recognised my own scent of arousal on the air. The more this happened, the more it went on happening! Not caring whether anyone passed by, I pulled my skirt up round my waist and held my legs as wide apart as I could, bracing my feet against anything they could find (I couldn't see what), and moving my body against Lauren's finger-thrusts and in time to her massaging. My fingers were dug into the seat cushion, my eyes were closed, and I was biting my bottom lip to stop yelling.
Lauren brought me to the point of utter eruption – it must have been five times, maybe six – each time letting me relax again and simmer down, though in my mind I was begging to climax. Finally, when an announcement came over the PA for us to fasten out seat belts because of – yes – turbulence, she gave me the release I had been longing for. Her pressure increased on my clit, as did the speed of her rubbing. My body tensed, as I felt a series of pre-shocks run through me, each one a mini-orgasm in itself, each one blissful. Then I forced my muscles to relax, and the big one hit, just as we met a big air pocket. Vaguely I heard other passengers cry out in surprise, and I let out a moaning gasp at the same time, as the great orgasm winded me, shook me, broke me in two. Then, as my muscles clenched and unclenched, after-shock upon after-shock hit me, diminishing to little ripples of pleasure.
I opened my eyes, and saw Lauren looking at me, grinning with contentment, liking and kissing the fingers and thumb which had so recently been at work on me. She gave them to me to lick, and followed that with a firm kiss. I could taste my own salty-sweet, sweet-saltiness.
When my vision became less blurred, when my breathing had become normal and my heart-rate had calmed, when my body had stopped shivering, Lauren handed me some tissues. I needed them – I was soaking wet. No chance for me to go to the toilet and change my panties; there would have been, had I looked, a large wet patch on the back of my skirt. Instead I just had to sit there and let myself dry off. The last thing I remember before landing, was Lauren's smile, because now I knew why she had gone to sleep on the outward flight. This simple act of masturbation had exhausted me completely!
Then Monday morning came. We had parted late on Sunday night with a kiss and a wave. I had thought she would invite me home. I had considered inviting her to spend the night at my place. Nothing. Was that it?
I recalled a piece of conversation, some words she had slipped into a rambling dialogue about relationships when we were half asleep. She had said something to the effect that she couldn't make love with someone just to gratify a physical need. She also had a need to look into her partner's face and say those three words which curse all relationships. I had waited the whole weekend – the whole wonderful, magical, sexy weekend – to hear her say them. She had not. What was her game? Had that just been pillow talk?