Karen's Night Out

It was the morning of Karen's next meeting. She had been phoned a week earlier by Erika, an EVP with a well known bank, who said she had heard Karen might be prepared to accompany her to a concert the following Thursday evening (the day now in question) and they could have a light supper afterwards. Karen said she would be delighted and was even more so when she learned she was seeing the Emerson Quartet play, and play one her favourite pieces, Schubert's Death and the Maiden. They agreed to meet at a nearby bar from the chamber hall at 7 pm.

Karen found it hard to tell how old Erika was from the tone of her voice, and what a voice it was, she loved it. She spoke perfect refined English with the hint of an accent, possible Italian. If she sang, Erika would be a contralto, Karen thought. She wanted to look special for this woman and, as she surveyed her wardrobe, nothing really caught her eye. She wanted something classical and something she could look elegant and sexy in, but not common. After hours of research and telephoning she decided on a Prada sheath dress in black gabardine. It zipped on the side (helpful for access, she thought) and around the shoulders.

The other thing she needed to do but dreaded, was a full waxing, 'down there', as she put it. To that end Poppy was turning up this morning. She'd do legs and privates. Karen hoped she'd recover from the ordeal so she could be of service in the evening. She had a shower, dried herself and slipped on a cotton gown.

The doorbell rang and it was Poppy. She was 5'8'', blond--she had her hair in a ponytail--athletic figure and in the late 20s, Karen reckoned.

"Aren't you a lovely thing?" Karen said as she ushered Poppy in.

Poppy was lugging a portable table, the sort masseurs' use, and Karen indicated she erect it in her living room.

"There's more space there," she said. "You are a strong girl, though, lugging that things around with you."

"It's not really a problem and it's good for my muscles,' she said smiling "and I need those when I'm ripping off your hair."

Karen winced, Poppy laughed.

"It won't be that bad," she said. Now becoming more business like: "So, it's legs and vag?"

Karen blushed and stammered out "Yes."

"Ok, well on the table with you and you'll need to loose the gown."

Karen let the gown fall on the floor. She saw herself in the mirror and was pleased. Her tummy was flatter and her boobs sat prouder. Dex's regime was working, she thought. Poppy turned to look at her.

"Looking good, Karen." Her eyes took in all of Karen, her pendulous but not floppy tits, her stomach and pudendum, good legs and well manicured feet. Karen could feel her searching gaze and felt her nipples harden. Poppy smiled.

"Ok on the bench, laying on your tummy. I'll do the backs of your legs first, then flip you and do the rest. I try to do this pretty quickly...allows more time for recovery...no, I'm messing with you, it's just good to get these things over quickly. No point drawing it out."

She had already set up a portable electric pot in which the wax had melted, in her box of tricks she retrieved a handful of tongue depressors, and quantity of cloth strips.

"I could do your ass as well, if you want," said Poppy.

"I wasn't aware it was hairy."

"It's not but there's a fuzz that can be removed. Look good especially if you're after the allover smooth feel."

Karen thought about it and gave her approval.

Poppy worked methodically: wax, cloth, rip; wax, cloth, rip. Karen prepared herself for pain, but there was very little from the waxing of her ass, or the backs of her legs. As Poppy finished she applied some almond oil to Karen's ass and legs. Karen liked that.

"Ok, you can turnover, now," Poppy commanded.

She worked from the feet up, not leaving any part of Karen's anatomy that wasn't subjected to the 'wax, cloth, rip' method. She even did her toes and instep, shins and thighs. So far, so gradually more painful.

"Now we come to your inner temple, your seat of power, your pussy!" Poppy said, smiling. "There's no getting away from this but it is going to hurt. What I do for here is use a little more powder and after, a lot more oil. So, Karen, before we get started place this cushion under your ass, and after that could you open those lovely legs of yours and I'll get started."

Karen didn't have a particularly hairy bush, indeed she wasn't that hairy at all. Poppy dusted the left side of her vulva with power, then a liberal coating of wax, then the strip of cloth, and then rip...

"Oh, fucking hell!," Karen exclaimed. The burning sensation, the stinging, the tears, the so totally 'Oh fucking hell' of it overwhelmed her.

"Stay with me, Karen, we're doing well."

She could feel Poppy gently tug her labia major and apply the wax, cloth, rip--she gasped, tears flowed.

"The things I do for my art!" she thought.

Then Poppy repeated the procedure on the right side of her.

"We've done the most of it, Karen. You okay?" she didn't wait for a response as applied her wax and cloth to Karen's mons. Working quickly she completed her task with Karen's underarms.

"Now, for some oil. You'll like this," Poppy said to the whimpering wreck on her table.

Poppy used Le Blanc almond oil. Made in a small village in central France it was the best and it was very good for the recuperation of skin that had been so violently assaulted as Karen's had just been. Poppy poured a drizzle on Karen's temple, and began to massage it into her folds of skin with the practiced art of a true seductress. By slow degrees the burning sensation between her legs gave way to pleasure.

"It's not my job to get you off, Karen, but this is the best way treat the skin."

"I don't mind, dear, do your worst."

Poppy stopped for a moment and considering fingering Karen bit she had other client in other places. An oiling of the sensitive parts was all she had time for.

"That's a shame, dear," said Karen dreamily.

"It will take a couple of hours for things, here, to cool down completely but by the afternoon this will be a rapidly retreating memory," said Poppy.

Karen lifted herself off the portable massage table. She went over to Poppy and gave her a big kiss on her mouth.

"You taste good, Poppy."

"Now, Karen, I've got to go. Maybe we can schedule some play for next time."

Karen, still naked, saw her to the door. She could do with some vigorous finger abuse but she restrained herself.

"I want to be in peak condition for tonight." she though.

So, instead, she had a chaste shower after which she re-oiled her pussy and ass, feet and underarms. She then lay down on the bed and closed her eyes.

It was well after 2 pm when she awoke. Poppy was right. She felt barely sore at all and the almond oil and been completely absorbed; she was as smooth as the finish on the new MacBook pro she was using to write this story. She spent 40 minutes on her Pilates exercises, especially those for strengthening her core. She planned to take her strapless strap-on tonight and didn't want any mishaps. Karen wanted to be deliver what she promised. She found that her regime of exercises just tightened up every thing.

She had a light lunch--a slice of smoked salmon on rye with sour cream--and a double shot of coffee which she made on her new La Pavoni espresso machine. It was time to get ready. She set our her underwear from La Perla. She loved the 'Spell on You" line and had bought the Balconette bra and matching lace thong in black onyx. She looked in the mirror of her in this underwear and wearing her Ferragamo heals and thought "No woman could resist this." In make up she followed the 'less is more' school. Some subtle accentuation of the cheekbones, mascara for the eyes and lashes--she wanted Erika to notice them--with the faintest of blue eye shadow. That's all. Next the Prada dress. It fitted her and it flattered her figure. It might be a sheath dress but it wasn't a tight sheath dress. She had room to move.

As was her practice Karen arrived five minutes before the appointed hour of 7 pm. She sat at the bar with her customary Scotch on the rocks--a luscious 15-year single malt from Glenfarclas. At the appointed hour Erika arrived. Karen spotted her immediately. She entered the bar wearing a simple black dress and a haughty confidence, eyes darting around the room judging its details, while making it clear she was looking for someone. She looked to be about 5'10", was slim, indeed almost thinly so, with a small bust. She was pretty, Karen thought, with large dark eyes, good bones and a generous mouth, that looked natural. But her crowning feature, literally, was her hair--strawberry blonde and piled high in a seemingly random but totally authentic way. The strand the fell over her right eye, which Karen would learn, enable Erika to tilt her head to one side, push it back (temporarily) in place, and fix her interlocutor with her seductive gaze.

They caught each other's eye and gave a nod or recognition. Erika walked over to Karen and said definitively,

"You are Karen."

"Indeed I am. Can I get you drink. I'm having a delicious single malt."

"I'm not really a whisky drinker. I think I'd prefer a martini."

"A martini it is," said Karen and motioned to the bartender. "Any particular way you like it?"

"As it comes," said Erika.

"So tell me," said Karen "what brings you here."

"I've got sone business meetings I have to attend; there are some issue that need sorting out," she replied in a friendly but elliptical manner.

"It's also possible," she said, leaning in and flicking an errant curl, "that I might be moving here. All very preliminary, nothing settled, realm of possibility. That sort of thing."

Karen looked at her and wondered if Erika was considering a career in politics. She might be a hard nut to crack.

"We're always looking for attractive cultured women in this city."

Erika held Karen's gaze. "I suppose culture beckons." And off to the Emerson's they went.

At a light supper in a restaurant near Erika's hotel an observant, or nosey, neighbour would have heard the following.

"It's a sublime piece of music," Erika said of Death and the Maiden. "That second movement where the first violin holds the theme and the other instruments converse with it sent shivers down my spine."

"Transcendent," said Karen. "The music interpenetrates one's whole being. I was vibrating; it was almost erotic."

"Almost?" said Erika. "I nearly came."

Karen laughed. Not a mocking laugh but a warm come hither one. She looked at Erika. Erika looked at her and cocked her head and removed that fallen curl.

"So, would you like to come back to my room?"

Karen reached for her hand, caressed it, and said: "I think that would be delightful."

The two brushed against each other as they walked out the door, registering a shared frisson of excitement. Karen tried to slow the determined Erica down but to little avail.

"I have to say, Karen," said Erika, "you are looking lovely tonight. Where did you get that dress?"

"It is nice, isn't it? It's Prada. An extravagance, I know, but I fell in love with it when I saw it. And, I wanted to wear something appropriate to this evening. That simple black dress suits you well, too."

Erika smiled. She was a contained woman who had that slightly haunted look that one sees in successful women. Permanently on edge, Karen thought, she needs to relax.

"And you, Karen, how would you describe your business?"

Karen's heart and stomach sank. She hated questions like this mainly because she wasn't convinced of the answers she gave.

"Gosh, that's a question to ask a girl," she parried. "I'm in the companionship business. Someone like you has tickets to see a concert, whatever, and would like a sympathetic companion. That's what I do."

"It's more than that, surely. Your target market is lesbians, you have sex with them for money."

Karen wasn't entirely happy with the direction of the conversation. Indeed, she wanted to run...anywhere.

"What are you?, The moral police? I don't 'target' anyone. I'd be quite happy to have seen and heard tonight's concert with a straight woman, had supper with her and gone home. I have done that" (a familiar lie) "and we could part now and whatever regrets I might have personally as I find you quite attractive I would leave, no hard feelings. And I don't do anything for money. You took me to a concert and bought me dinner--that's the only cost of my company but I'd be happy to reimburse you if you want."

Erika as taken aback by the force of Karen's response. By this stage they were standing outside Erika's hotel (the one at which Karen met Loren). Erika walked up to within a foot of Karen, took her by the hand and, in an attempt to mollify her, said, "would you like to share my bed, gorgeous?"

Karen, momentarily unsure steadied herself and released Erika's hand.

"Maybe some other time."

She walked away as briskly as her Ferragamo heels would allow. Karen had never felt like this--a mix of shout-out-loud-anger, and humiliation. The thoughts in her head drowned out all other sounds around her, including Erika's plaintive calls for her not to go.

"How dare that woman talk to me like that," she said over and over again to herself and she stormed down the street to where she knew not.

Meanwhile Erika was taking stock. She'd not gone back to her room; she'd parked herself in the ground floor bar and was sipping a martini turning over in her mind the night's events.

Erika had expected the evening to end with some steamy sex in her bed. Indeed, she had been looking forward to it all day, fantasising about what she might get Karen to do to her and vice versa. Music had connected them in a way shed rarely found in her adventures before. She had to admit she had blown it. Time was not on her side, it was getting on for 11pm. So, Erika texted Karen.

"So sorry I offended you. I'd really like to make it up to you. Let me try. xx Erika"

In Karen's Ferragamo handbag the sound of a 'ping' could be heard. Karen, who had found her own bar, carefully opened the handbag and took out her phone. She hesitated when she saw from whom the message came but tapped to read the message.

Karen felt exhausted, wrung out. "What to do?" Karen who days before was singing the praises of professionalism now wondered if she had not reacted too emotionally. Was Erika's description of her modus operandi entirely wrong? "It's perhaps because it wasn't that I'd reacted so," she thought. "Oh, god, I've really fucked up."

"Thank you. I really appreciate you words, although I should perhaps also be apologising to you. Where are you?"

"Sitting in the downstairs bar nursing a martini."

"Order me a single malt. I'll be there in 10 minutes. xxx"

As she entered the hotel Karen saw Erika at the bar on a stool; she was talking to (chatting up?) the woman making the drinks. Erika turned to Karen as she approached.

"Cindy here was telling me that the scotch in this glass is 18 years old.

Karen looked et her and smiled. "The perfect age."

Was that a blush on Erika's usually controlled face? Karen laughed and leaned into Erika and kissed her on the cheek.

The barmaid smiled a knowing smile and walked off to serve another customer.

"Hedging your bets?" Karen inquired as she gestured towards the girl.

"Afraid of the competition?"

Karen fixed Erika in the eye and said "Not in the slightest. Cheers."

"Look," said Erika changing the pace, " I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what said earlier. It was rude of me especially after what we had shared at the concert."

"That concert was special. I gave myself to the music and you brought me down with a bump. I probably needed that. I've been in denial about what I do for some time."

"Tell me. I really want to know", said Erica, who moved a little closer.

"It is true that I seek out lesbians. I'm new to scene and my way into it means I get to meet mostly interesting women. I'm not on the usual sites, actually I'm not on any. And it's not about money. I'm not doing this, whatever it is, for money to pay for an unhealthy addiction, or done thing like that. Am I sounding incoherent?"

"No, go on." Said Erica who had placed her hand on Karen's thigh.

"Well...oh fuck...I've been in denial. Your comment brought me up sharp because it contained a kernel of truth. I am a peculiar version of a whore...does that shock you?"

Erika's smiled. "Not in the slightest, my dear." She squeezed Karen's thigh. Erika raised her glass, the glasses kissed, and they both downed their drinks.

"Can I interest you in a nightcap in my room?"

The doors of the elevator had barely closed before they were in a clinch. Their mouths locked together, they explored teeth, lips and tongue. Erika reached for the zip on the side of Karen's sheath dress and pulled it down. Her hand was massaging Karen's breast in an instant.

Karen moaned as Erika punched her nipple. She drew away.

"How did you know about the zip?"

"I googled the dress when you were coming back to the hotel."

Karen took Erika's face in her hands and kissed her, thrusting her tongue into the other woman's mouth. Only the elevator arriving at Erika's floor stopped their passionate embraces. As the door opened they stopped, arranged themselves and assumed the role of two women walking down a corridor.

Erika's room was similar to Loren's. Big picture windows overlooking a park one way and skyscrapers the other.

Erica went to bar to get them a drink. Karen followed song as Erica bent over to access the refrigerator Karen ran her hand over her ass.

"Mmm, you know a girls weakest spot,"

Karen logged that and gave her a playful slap.

Still bent over, Erica turned her head.

"You have good instincts, lover."

Here's your drink.

Karen threw it back and said to Erica: "I want to wash you."

"Not before I undress you. I've already opened one zipper. Turn around."

The shoulder zipper released the Prada dress fell to the floor. Karen stepped out of it.

"Oh my," exclaimed Erika, "your are a knockout. Where did you get the bra and thong? They are soooo sexy on you."

"La Perla, my favourite," said Karen.

"Of course," said Erika who approached Karen with undisguised lust in her eyes. She ran her hand over Karen's breasts, down her stomach to her pudendum.

"Mmm, that's mine," she whispered in Karen's ear and then licked it.

Karen turned to Erika.

"My turn."

Erika had a tailored jacket, white shirt with top three buttons undone, and a matching pair of slacks. Karen faced her as she pushed the jacket over Erika's shoulders. It fell to the ground. Next she unbuttoned the shirt and repeated the procedure. That revealed a beautiful pair of 34"C breasts in a lace bra.

"Mmmm, they look like they would repay attention," said Karen.

"Don't let me stop you, " said Erika smiling.

"All in good time, my dear."

Next the slacks. The belt was ornamental the clasp easy to release. They fell to the ground. Karen knelt to help Erika's feet from getting entangled. This gave Karen a perfect view of the woman's pussy which she could see faintly through the lace.

"Max Mara," Karen observed when putting the slacks over a chair. "Classic designer."

So there they stood looking at each other. Karen took the initiative and drew Erika to her. Their breasts against each others she hugged her tightly. And she unclipped her bra. Erika leaned back to lean forward to kiss her.

"Shower," Karen commanded. "I want to wash you, your tits, your ass, your pussy and your feet."

Karen was nothing if not methodical. But there was method to her manœuvre. "If I'm going to put my lips and tongue there I want to make sure I've inspected it," she would say.

She started with Erika's feet, soaping each foot and its toes individually and vigorously rubbing. She then took Erika's left foot and sucked her big toe and then all the others.