Our First Brew

For my beloved Helen, I hope she likes it...

*

All I could do was breathe when Michael said Simon had texted asking if I would go to tea with his Helen. Michael accepted instantly, knowing my dream of an authentic British high tea. Simon laughed and said that high tea was far more enjoyable in American movies than in his experience. 'Better start with just a brew first.'

So here I was, going through every piece of clothing I had brought, hating every stitch, wondering what demon of fashion faux pas had possessed me to buy any of it. Giving up, I went shopping.

Hour's long travel, nervous dread, anticipation from foot to the top of my blonde head. Outside Betty's in Harrogate, shivering in the summer heat. My new light gray skirt hung below my knocking knees, my silk blouse felt like chainmail over matching sexy sheer foundations, silk thigh-highs adorned with sensible heels.

Sweat should be streaming, but for a generous slathering of tangerine Lumi, still, my pits were soaked.

The room was much cooler, I dutifully followed the hostess, and suddenly there was she. The definition of ladylike poise at a secluded table, her back to a wall, with a street view. I noticed only her — all perfect and refined — sitting behind the table, all linen and finery. She moved to stand.

"Please don't," I said.

"You look lovely," she replied. I sat where she patted, it could have been the floor, and I would have happily complied, "thank you for coming."

I nearly did; I was a wash.

"Of course," I took her hand; it was warm, so warm, shaking hands, she did not release, gently pulling it beneath the linen. I gasped when I realized her skirt was pulled high; I felt her heat. Her lower lip bit: the napkin hid what the table linen didn't.

Her hands returned to the table, the teacup shaking in a tight grip.

My fervent fingers found folds of her molten core. A burning ember hid in her sodden silk shielding. My mission was well devised and played many times, virtual lovers, desperate for release, hungry for mutual pleasure.

My nails slid under hem, searching for silky soft sweetness for liquid ladened labia to stroke the purring kitty hoping to make her yowl.

Quiet sigh, soft gasp, tensed legs, set jaw, parted lips, eyes lolling, table grasped.

Fingers worked over velvet tissues, tender lips parted and stroked from end to end, slowly, then faster and faster.

A server smirked with a knowing smile, whispered questions, and offered sweet treats, but not half as sweet as the treat I stroked, and my fingers tasted.

Two older women, seeing the look upon my Helen's face, smiling understanding, I gesture a one-handed teacup, saluting, meaningful glances exchanged.

My fingers worked along swelled and sodden labia; finally, fingers found her clit, hood retracted, exposing the needy nub. My finger slides over that turgid tip; she shudders as I pay that sensitive nub special attention.

Our server, the lovely young thing, blonde with sweet firm young breasts, filling her uniform just right, narrow waist, overbroad hips, with a beautiful bottom making a complete package. She stands there politely chatting, and her body blocks the view as Helen approaches the edge.

Helen gasps as my nails capture her clit, one on each side, sliding, holding tight, pulling away, then back to grind against the bone beneath. My fingers are soaking; the essence of womanly passion is a perfect perfume permeating our little space. I am watching the server, her breathing in short pants; she is glancing here and there, trying to keep from being discovered of our discovery. Unbuttoned blouse, cleavage comes more into view. I suspect she is just a uni student working to supplement her income, but not on her back, as I once had.

My eyes locked on Helen's, hers filled with love and lust; she spoke not a word as I chatted with the young server; I knew it would not be long before my lovely companion would reach her conclusion, then her fingers grasped to hold something, anything, grabbing the table top her back arches, breasts pressed seeking attention, tongue sliding over teeth to wet parched and parted lips, her eyes rolled back as she mouth wide in wordless scream shuddering shaking shivering. Then, fingertip at clitoris base, little circles firmly pressed, Helen's eyes fly open then tightly closed, knuckles as white as tablecloth orgasm wracked.

Bill quickly paid; leaving, I noticed the name and number, smiling server waving.