Interlude 16-77

Sixteen

The waves of pleasure continue to course through her body. She is lying on a soft, luxurious king sized bed, the slick white satin sheets cool beneath her naked body. A pair of oversized pillows prop her upper torso up, leaning against the headboard.

She looks down. Her sightline is just above her rock hard nipples. The mass of blonde hair between her legs belongs to her friend, Sara. With her right hand, she brushes Sara's hair back to one side, allowing her to watch her friend's tongue furiously attacking her clitoris. A slight feeling of guilt, of embarrassment lurks at the back of her mind. She is not a lesbian. Other than a few 'innocent' boob squeezes and a kiss or two, this is the first time she has actually had a woman go down on her. Those feelings, however, take a far back seat to the electric sensations radiating from her womanhood.

Sara has the forefinger and middle finger of her right hand sliding in and out of her pussy, the movements coordinated with the darting teases her tongue delivers to her friend's love button. Occasionally, the tongue slips down and traces up and down the outside of her lips. The labia are covered with lubrication, slick and smooth.

Above the wild mass of blonde she sees him. He is poised behind Sara, dick deep inside of her friend's pussy. A big smile is on his face, he is clearly enjoying the show as much as he is the tightness of Sara's tunnel. She can see the slight ripples across Sara's ass as his thrusts bottom out against her behind. The wet smacking sound as their flesh meets with each thrust is deliciously dirty.

She feels her orgasm building. Sara has been expertly bringing her to the edge and backing off for what seems like an eternity (actually about 15 minutes). However, this time there will be no backing off. She must have release this time, and if the blonde tries to pull off, two big handfuls of hair will keep her tongue in place.

Her hips pivot upward, jamming her mound up towards Sara's willing ...

BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP.

Motherfucking cocksucking sonuvabitch cocksucker assmunch alarm clock. "I'm fucking gonna kill you!!!!", she screams in her head. Her hand swings over, finds the alarm clock, and sweeps it off the nightstand. Leaning back against her pillows, she concentrates on the rapidly fading memories. Trying to hold on to the intense dream, her right hand slides down her belly, underneath the waistband of her panties. Finding her clit, she stimulates herself, trying to bring herself to the subconscious orgasm she was denied. It doesn't work.

Abandoning the effort, she rises and gets ready for another day at the salt mines. Maybe he'll be up for some mutual over the phone jerking off tonight, she muses to herself.

As she showers, she wonders how in the world she was going to look her friend Sara in the eye over lunch, without feeling guilt about the dreamy images she was enjoying so much. Sitting down at her desk, she sees an envelope there. It is addressed to her, in his handwriting. As she excitedly tears it open, she thinks to herself "Must have been reading my mind. Wonder what he's gonna do to me this time."

Inside are two tickets to New York, one in her name, one in Sara's name. OK, no big deal -- with as much traveling they do, picking up award tickets isn't that big a deal. The dates on the tickets are for a weekend she and he had tentatively set for another encounter. I guess he's got better stuff to do on those days, she thinks to herself.

Tucked in between the tickets is a reservation confirmation for a single room at the Ritz.

There is a small, handwritten note, obviously from him. It says simply "You'll have more info waiting in your room. Have Fun!"

Now, she's got to wait until lunch, then explain all of this to Sara and talk her into the trip (which shouldn't be difficult at all), while still trying not to think of her friend's blonde locks in her lap.

The big silver bird touches down a little after 8:00pm on Friday evening. After picking up their bags, they start to depart the LGA luggage claim area. Amongst the limo drivers lined up waiting for their appointments, one young man in a snappy suit is holding a card sign with their names on it. The two women look at each other, and start to laugh. As they enter the long black car, their back and forth chattering floats between wondering if there is anything he hasn't forgotten to line up and wondering about what else his devious little mind has in store for them.

About 20 minutes later, the limo pulls up in front of the hotel. Keys are already waiting for them at the front desk, one of the executive suites on the second to the top floor (she guess the penthouse was probably occupied!). The bellman takes the cart with their bags and escorts them to the room. It is luxurious, plush, over the top ... and it has s single king sized bed.

After tipping the young man and ushering him out the door, she finds the expected bottle of wine on a table and pulls the cork. She fills the two glasses, hands one to Sara, and picks up the note that was lying next to the bottle.

"Sit your pretty ass down and read it to me. No secrets, now -- we're in this together," the blonde fires at her with a smirk.

Sitting on the edge of the incredibly soft bed, she slides her finger under the envelope's flap and pops it open. Inside is a note, from him, and a business card. Curious, she examines the card. T is plain white, but a very expensive type of paper. The company name "Agente Voyeur" is embossed in gold leaf, along with an address on Madison Avenue. At the bottom is a single name, "Lucielle".

She then looks at his note, and reads it aloud. "Your limo will return at 10:00 to pick you up. The gentleman will take you anywhere you wish to go for a late dinner. I would suggest not making it a late night, you two have something to do on Saturday. At 2:00pm tomorrow, the limo will be there to take you to the shop on Madison Avenue. You can do a little shopping before hand, if you wish, or just sleep in. The room service in this joint is pretty good!. When you get to the shop, present the card to the receptionist. They will take care of everything from that point on. Plan on being there for about 3 hours. Then, you can go out on the town and do whatever you wish for the evening. The limo will be back at noon on Sunday to pick you up for the airport."

"I presume you know what kind of shop this is. And, you probably have a good idea what you're going there for. There's a catalog form them over on the dresser, you might want to take a look at their offerings ahead of getting there. So, I would suggest that both of you prep yourselves accordingly in the morning. Have Fun!"

Putting the note back down, she looks at Sara and asks "Do you know what this place is?" Her friend shakes her hear negatively. "Well, it's the most outrageously expensive, decadent, over the top lingerie shop in the world. You remember that news story about the rich bitch spending over 50 thousand on bras and panties a couple of months ago? This is the place."

Both women are hungry, and 10:00 is rapidly approaching, so they grab the catalog and head downstairs to the limo.

While waiting on their steaks, they thumb through the catalog, which is more like soft core porn. The large format, glossy document shows image after image of beautiful young women wearing a variety of sexy things -- all in provocative poses. At the bottom in very fine print are descriptions and prices. "Holy Shit!", she exclaims, as she notices the price on one particular item -- a short tied wrap called a Matinee Kimono, for $900.00. What in the world has he gotten them into, she wonders.

The ladies call it an early evening, at least early for Manhattan. Before turning off the lights at about 1:00am, they place a call to the concierge, and arrange for sessions at the spa and makeover center for the morning.

After stuffing themselves on eggs benedict and champagne strawberries, they spend an hour in the spa getting their nails done and a quick massage. Sara appears to have a footgasm while the young lady is working the warm oil into her feet, and dozes off.

Back to the room to dress for the afternoon, fairly conservative, comfortable fare. Downstairs to the makeover boutique, and they get their warpaint applied by a professional. The lady with the brushes asks them what style they wish to have applied. After thinking a little, Sara blurts out 'sophisticated slut'. Both ladies giggle, knowing it will probably look pretty good with what they will encounter later on.

They hop into the limo right at 2:00, and enjoy the sights on the short ride over to Madison Avenue. It is a sunny, warm spring day, and the post winter mood in the city appears to be festive. Even the limo driver has a big smile -- though that may be from the glimpse up the women's skirts as he helps them exit the rear of the limo. 'Wait till later, young man. You may have something a lot more interesting to look at up there when you pick us up," she thinks to herself as they waltz in the front door.

The lobby is impressive, but puzzling. This is supposed to be a lingerie store, right? However, there is just a professional lobby, sporting a desk with an immaculately dressed young lady. A couple of luxurious sofas off to each side, and a couple of doors behind the woman. No garments. No racks of frilly things. Nothing to indicate what is supposed to be sold here, other than "Agente Voyeur", which is tastefully displayed in gold leaf above and behind the receptionist.

The two friends look at each other, shrug, and walk up to the desk. She produces the business card.

"Ah. We are expecting you. Please have a seat, Lucielle will be out to gather you shortly," Denise (at least that's what her name tag reads) says with a smile.

Four or five minutes later, a woman comes out of one of the doors, and approaches them.

"Hi ladies. I'm Lucielle, and I will be your host for this afternoon. If you would, please, follow me."

She takes stock of their host as they follow her to the door. About 5 and a half feet tall. Very dark, almost black hair, hanging well below her shoulders, neatly tied in a professional looking ponytail. The hair is vibrant, almost glistening. She wonders whether to ask Lucielle about what she puts on it, it looks incredible. The young lady has a cream complexion, well built with what looks like C cups boobs and a womanly flair to her hips. The skin tight top and short skirt, combined with some 4 inch heels really set things off.

Lucielle holds the door open for them, which leads into a wide hallway. There are multiple doors spaced along each side. "Second door on the right, if you please," their host says, as she hurries to open it for them.

Inside is, well, strange. Not at all what the two friends had expected. It is a fairly small room. The centerpiece is a leather clad half circle sofa. A table behind it holds drinks. In front of the sofa is a concave half moon of floor to ceiling mirrors. This is clearly a 'try it on with an audience' set up.

"Ladies, please help yourself to drinks, and have a seat on the sofa. Please, be comfortable. My name is Lucielle. You are here because a gentleman asked us to set up a session for the two of you. He has chosen a series of outfits that he would like you to try on. If you wish, you may choose 3 ensembles to take home with each of you. Anything you see or wear is yours for the asking. This is all taken care of, there is no charge. The only requirement of you is to enjoy yourselves."

Pouring herself a glass of blackberry wine (he MUST have briefed them on everything!), she looks at the young lady and asks, "Lucielle, or is it Lucy?"

"Lucielle, please. Lucy is something I save for a special few intimate friends," the brunette answers.

"Lucielle it is. I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offence," she replies.

"Oh, none taken at all. Its just that Lucy is something that I allow very few people to ever experience," Lucielle says with a smile.

OK, she muses to herself. No problem on the name, but she thinks there is something else behind that story. Maybe the little brunette will leak some details later on.

"Ladies, here is what your gentleman friend has arranged for you this afternoon. Agente Voyeur, as you may know, specializes in very high end lingerie. Our lines are very limited in production, and hand made by our garment artists to very exacting specifications. Our lines range from mildly provocative to outrageously decadent."

"Your friend has selected several of our ensembles for each of you to try on and evaluate. From these, we ask each of you to choose your two favorites, and you will take them home."

"I am here to help guide you through the process, answer any questions, and help you in any way I can with the selection process."

"The first thing we will do is a careful sizing of each of you. We don't make 'one size fits all' garments. We will make sure that each and every piece is the correct size for your figures."

'Now, if you wouldn't mind, Sara, please step into the dressing space to our left, and please remove you outer clothes. You may leave your underwear on. My lady, if you would do likewise, the right side space is yours," Lucielle's introduction concludes.

The two friends look at each other, shrug, and move to their assigned changing areas. Each area has its own door, which seems a bit redundant. After all, they are about to be in front of each other and a stranger almost naked. In addition, considering the nature of what they presumably are going to try on, modesty seems a bit out of place to her. Oh well, it is what it is, she concludes. The side of the alcove opposite the door is a full length mirror. To the right is a small closet type area, where she can hang and set her current clothing items as they are removed. The other side has a set of thin drawers, four of them. Beneath them is a set of small open cubes, each appearing to hold a set of high heels.

She removes her shirt and skirt, and hangs them up. Off with her short heels, which find a home up on a shelf. Looking at herself in the mirror quickly to make sure nothing is out of place, she then grabs a soft white robe that was left hanging on the door hook. Nice of them to think about that detail, she considers. Exiting her changing area, the door silently pulls itself shut.

Sara has beaten her out of her area and settled onto the sofa. She also has chosen to wear the robe.

Lucielle begins "Well, since you are already up, let's begin with taking a look at you. Please take off your robe, and join me over here in front of the mirrors."

She does so, a bit shyly. There is no problem with Sara seeing her, they have shared something much more intimate than a glimpse of underwear before. However, having this young woman she met not 15 minutes ago staring at her (no matter how professionally) was a bit unnerving.

Grabbing her shoulders gently, Lucielle guides her to stand facing the mirrors. The young lady makes a show of looking at her from head to toe on both sides, and then moves behind her. With a start, she realizes Lucielle is unclasping her bra. The girl's fingers hook into the straps, and slide them down off her shoulders. Freed of the weight of her breasts, the undergarment falls to the floor.

"Please raise your arms away from your side a bit, and raise your breasts for me," the girl instructs.

Doing so, she cups her breasts and gently lifts them up a little. The girl slides a tape measure around her torso, and slides it up to meet the underside of her breasts. The tape falls away. "You may drop your arms, please."

Lucielle's arms reach around her with the tape again, and rests it directly across her nipples. OK, she thinks. This is a normal bra fitting. No problem.

After the tape drops, Lucielle's arms reach around her again. The girl's hands gently slide under her breasts and cup them. The hands lift the weight a little, and then retreat.

She turns to the girl, displaying a quizzical look on her face.

"Oh, sorry. I should have explained. A proper fitting relies not just on the actual measurements, but firsthand experience (pardon my pun) as to the weight and consistency of the breasts. You would be surprised at how important those factors are in properly fitting our types of lingerie," the young woman explains.

"Oh, all right then," she answers, not sure if she believes it or not.

Lucielle continues her examination, using the old fashioned measuring tape to map out her arms, her torso, her waist, her hips, her legs (inside and outside). Apparently finished, the young lady steps back, pulls a small pad out of her skirt pocket, and taps information into it. After a few moments, the pad disappears back into the pocket.

"Thank you, you may sit back down. Sara, if you would please," Lucielle asks.

Her blonde friend stands, drops her robe, and walks over to the mirrors. Their host unclasps the brassiere. Once it falls to the floor, Lucielle steps back a couple of paces and utters "Oh, my ...". Apparently the sight of the massive and wonderfully shaped pair of mammaries on Sara's chest has impressed even a 'professional'.

Lucielle repeats her measurement tasks with the blonde, letting her hands linger just a bit longer on the 'weight and feel' portion of the procedure. After completion, she once again taps out a bunch of instructions into her pad.

"Sara, we're done, please sit and be comfortable. While we've been finishing up with you, my associates have been putting garments of the appropriate sizes into your changing area. Even now, they are doing the same for Sara."

"There are three drawers in each of your areas. The gentleman who provided this little adventure for you has selected three of our lingerie styles for each of you. What you will find in the drawers are those style garments in your particular sizes. What we would like you to do is try on each of those ensembles, one at a time, and come out here for you and your friend to evaluate in front of the mirrors."

"You may have noticed that there are high heels of various styles and colors in each of your areas. Please choose a pair that you feel compliments each of the ensembles. It is critical for the look of the garments to be the best for your posture to be enhanced by the heels. The gentleman provided your sizes to us, so we were able to arrange those ahead of time."

"Once we are done looking at all six ensembles, you may choose whichever you wish to take home with you."

"Any questions? No? OK, ma'am, if you would please go put on the first ensemble your gentleman friend selected for you," Lucielle ends the instructional portion of the program.

Not knowing quite what to think, but anxious to see the high dollar threads he thinks she will look good in, she gets up, goes to her alcove, and shuts the door behind her. Opening the top of the three drawers, she looks at the garments, then picks them up.

"Oh, these feel great,' she thinks to herself.

She takes off the robe and hangs it up. She lays out the ensemble, then selects a pair of heels to match. After a few minutes of pulling, sliding, adjusting, and checking in the mirror, she opens the door and walks out to her audience of two. She walks over to the mirrors and faces them, and casts a discerning eye on the material that is not quite covering her privates.

Sara's mouth is agape. Lucielle walks up behind and slightly to her right, and comments, "Ah, here we have our Elsa collection. Note the shelf bra. Plenty of support for your breasts, while leaving the nipples exposed. The straps and trim look flimsy, but they really do keep the girls in place and ready for action. That is, unless you are standing on your head."

"The garter skirt/panty combination looks like it would be difficult to put on, but it wasn't, was it?" the girl asks her. She shakes her head no in response.