Scenario

"I really feel like a third wheel. You two should dance. I'll be fine." Deb is gratified when Emil stands, as it ends the contact Louise has been making, rubbing her instep along Emil's shin. Emil's dancing is as effortless and graceful as before, but now infused with sex. Each touch, every gesture, somehow reinforces the almost scary, carnal desire she sees in his eyes, feels in his motions. When the dance ends and a slow one follows, sparks fly from Deborah's nipples to her sex as they rub on his chest and his bulge pressing on her belly makes her soaked pussy throb. She has never felt so desired, so aroused, so ready for sex.

The music ends and Emil leads Deborah back to the booth. Louise has obviously withdrawn again, head lowered, shoulders slumped. "You should dance with Louise," Deb whispers, wanting time to think, to plan how she and Emil can gracefully leave, to go to his place. To fuck.

Emil's hand raises Louise's chin off her chest, directing her eyes to his. "Louise, beautiful Louise, come, dance with me." It is not a question. Her face flushes as she nods imperceptibly, takes Emil's proffered hand and smiles slyly at Deb as she is led to the floor. Deb is annoyed again, thinking it silly, childish, that Louise seems intent on competing for Emil's affections.

She shrugs and plans their escape as the couple reaches the floor. The hard-driving, raucous number the band has been laying into ends abruptly and they begin another slow song. Deb cannot take her eyes off them as Louise presses herself sensuously into Emil. Do we look like that? Emil seems so dominant, so assertive. It doesn't feel like that when we dance. Am I missing it?

When they return, Louise's face is flushed and her nipples are protruding through her silk dress. She's obviously aroused and clings to Emil's arm as they walk to the table. When they sit she resumes her game of footsie, her stiletto-clad foot hooking Emil's calf. Deb is annoyed yet again, but follows the getaway plan she's concocted. Glancing at her watch says, "Goodness, it's quite late. I really should be going."

Louise bursting into tears is not part of Deb's plan. Her anguish seems genuine, however, and Deb asks, "What's wrong, Louise? Tell us."

Through major snuffles Louise blurts out, "I'm just so afraid, afraid to go home. Vince has a key, and I'm scared that he'll be there, waiting. That he'll hit me again. Or maybe he'll come later in the night. He was so angry..."

Deb wants to bite off her traitorous tongue as soon as it blurts, "It's all right, Louise. Don't worry, you can stay with me tonight."

"Oh, can I? You're so wonderful, Deb! Thank you SO much."

Deb's consternation and dismay obliterate the ability to think. Her supportive, helpful nature has just ruined what was certain to be the best night of her life.

Emil intervenes. "Tell me, Deborah. Does Vince know you? Does he know that you are Louise's friend?"

Deb sees where he is going and says, "Yes, we've socialized often. He came with Louise to my Bastille Day party."

"And Louise, is it possible that Vince saw Deborah here at Martello's?"

"Yes, I think so. We fought just before I saw you both."

"If Vince is indeed bent on mischief, and discovers Louise is not home, it is possible that he may surmise that she is staying with Deborah. If he is angry to the point of being unreasonable he might show up there. He could even be there now. I think it best that you ride to Deborah's with her and I follow, just to make sure you both are safe."

"You are so kind, so wonderful, Emil. How can I ever thank you?" Louise's fluttering eyes, no longer leaking, and her breasts flouncing up as she pulls back her shoulders, hint at how she thinks she might express her gratitude.

"That does sound good," allows Deb. At least she'll get Emil to her house. Then find a way to keep him there. To have him there, in the Biblical sense. Perhaps all is not lost.

*****

Deb's peeve intensifies as Louise slinks out of her bathroom and arranges herself on Deb's couch. She has obviously pulled the neckline of her dress wider and lower, exposing thin slivers of her areolae. Hussy, floozy, strumpet, slut? Which is more appropriate?

Deb was already annoyed from their conversation in her car. About how handsome Emil was, how manly, how dashing. "And don't you love that accent? I just go all dreamy, even creamy," Louise had simpered in her best Mae West imitation, "when I hear it. Don't you? I'm so glad that you said you guys just became acquainted. Maybe I'm on the rebound but..." Deb had interrupted, finally expressing her designs on Emil, but Louise just shrugged and said, "We'll see. Since you've just met him today, nothing is settled." Deb had had to force herself to quit hoping that Vince was waiting for Louise at her place. With a gun.

Deb put on her Nora Jones recording and went to the kitchen to prepare the hors d'oeuvres Emil had brought. She recognized the items she had seen him purchase at Kroger's and the drugstore. Evidently he had an ice chest in his car, as the guacamole was cold. He was making a pitcher of stingers. A big pitcher. Perhaps the night was yet young.

When Emil hands Louise her drink she leans far further forward than necessary, breasts jutting, smile dazzling. In case Emil hasn't noticed her wardrobe adjustment she gives her shoulders a little shake. The orbs dance. Deb sees Emil's eyes widen. She sits on the other end of the couch and watches out of the corner of her eye as Louise slips off her stilettos, arranges her legs under her, hiking the inverted V of the wrap-around dress higher, exposing the beginnings of the lacy tops of her stockings. Nice.

Deb feels at a distinct disadvantage. Not only is Louise seven years younger, blonde, and a D cup, her dress is provocative, whereas Deb's suitable-for-work belted summer shift is plain. Emerald green, which does set off her eyes, it has a snowflake pattern in white around the hem and only a slightly lower neckline than a prude's idea of work appropriate. She likes the silky feel of the rayon fabric, but compared to Louise's "essential little black dress" with such a scooped back that no bra can be worn, her shift feels like a gunny sack.

Though she still remembers the fervor in Emil's voice when he'd whispered that it was her, Deborah, he was going to fuck tonight, Louise's shameless flirting, flaunting herself, hooks Deb. Perhaps because of the wine and stingers, she feels something, something primordial perhaps, deep inside her being drawn into the competition. For Emil. For a man, she ruefully thinks. How abominable.

Sitting in the armchair opposite the couch, Emil is gazing casually at Louise, her exhibited thighs, her ample breasts. Her nipples are erect, notes Deb. Acting the bimbo must be turning her on. When Emil's eyes keep scanning Louise's treasures Deb shifts on the couch and is gratified when his gaze drifts to her, and becomes intense as it undresses her breasts before casually descending. To her vulva. Can he know he's making it throb?

Louise's giggle draws their attention. "Oh Emil, I so want to thank you again for being my protector, my knight in shining armor, my prince. I just wish I could find a way to thank you sufficiently." Her coo becomes dismissive, "And, of course, thank you, too, Deb. It's nice of you to let me stay with you."

As Louise croons on, detailing how afraid she is of Vince, how she should have known better, etc., etc., Deb bitterly wonders if they really fought. Perhaps he just broke up with her. Is Louise's whole scenario (Is THIS in the book?) real or just some ploy. Watching Emil watch Louise - At least he's not drooling, but he seems mightily interested - Deb again shifts in her seat, letting her thighs part and her dress ride up. Two can play at this game. Her belly warms as Emil's eyes, drawn to her motion, move from her knees upwards, under her hem.

When Louise's soliloquy turns to praise for Emil's dancing, Deb excuses herself. She's thought it out thoroughly: a change of outfit would be obvious, and Deb is never obvious. However, as soon as the bathroom door is closed the shift quickly comes off and her plain cotton work bra finds a nook in the linen closet. Hidden behind the towels. Her nipples erect automatically when she imagines Emil's eyes on them. She has the dress almost back on before she decides. The wet crotch of her panties glistens, catching a ray of light, as it snuggles in next to her bra.

Deb feels positively wicked, wonderfully wanton, and quite damp - which she smilingly notes rhymes nicely with tramp - as she flushes the toilet for cover, exits, announces her presence by clearing her throat, and walks straight-postured back to the couch. She is acutely aware of how with each step the sheer fabric clings to her butt cheeks, outlining them, and pulls the bodice across her hard nipples, sending sparks into her womb. She flushes at Emil's sly smile as his eyes pierce the rayon, sweeping her body. He sees. Deb sits again on the couch, letting her hem ride up.

Louise, whose slight stammer tells Deb that she, too, is tipsy, pulls attention back to her when she brings up the latest scandal at the university where she works as assistant to the dean of the School of Fine Arts. Deb is puzzled by the non sequitur until her friend begins regaling them with lurid details - the tenured professor was found, flagrante delicto, naked, tied spread-eagled over his desk. Louise pauses for effect, and Deb understands that she is purposely infusing sex into the atmosphere. As if it hasn't been there.

Louise continues, saying that the graduate assistant, quite a dish reportedly, was wearing only one thing, something special. A strap-on. As Louise giggles her neckline jostles even lower, and the edge of one nipple peaks out. She doesn't notice.

To keep Emil's attention Louise begins to relate a scene from Bergman's Personna, a movie she has recently viewed as part of the Fine Arts Film Series. So sophisticated of her. She goes into detail about the orgy, where two women, just recent acquaintances, are sunning nude on a beach. The narrator, one of the sunbathers, sees two 18-year-old boys watching them, daring to come closer when the women do not cover up. When the other woman calls one boy over and they start screwing, the narrator tells him to come fuck her, too. She comes immediately, and when he ejaculates inside her she feels it. "I've never come that quickly, I have to confess," purrs Louise. "But maybe I've just never had the right partner." She eyes Emil as her top teeth lightly bite her pouty lower lip.

Deb avers that, though the Personna scene is sexy, she found Cathleen Turner's seduction of William Hurt in Body Heat much more erotic. She wins Emil's eyes when she speaks. Louise counters with her description of the bathroom sex scene from Unfaithful. She just loves Olivier Martinez's accent (she admits, bat, bat, that she is always aroused by an accent), how they dance at his place, and how he just takes Diane Lane in the restroom of the restaurant. The danger of possible discovery is SO delicious. Deb sees that Emil also notes that Louise's exposed nipple is very erect, poking out above the black silk. His smile, as his eyes flit from one of the women to the other, becomes increasingly roguish.

"Great song! We must dance!" Emil exclaims, jumping to his feet and pulling Louise to him. He instructs Deb to put her sound system on repeat, and that she should dance solo. When the song plays again she will dance with him. After adjusting the player Deb does dance by herself, but is disappointed, jealous, that Emil chose Louise first, and her movements are restrained, reserved, constricted. During the dance Louise's other nipple slips out from her dress. She is unaware of its misbehavior. When the song ends Emil grabs Deb.

Things are better. She feels the lump in Emil's pants - Is it for me? For Louise? For both of us? Hmm. - and caresses it with her belly. Take that, bitch. Of course Louise does a very seductive, writhing solo dance, constantly eyeing Emil. Deb rubs his bulge more obviously and is rewarded by Emil's hand caressing her butt as he whispers, "It is so hard for me to wait for us to fuck, dear Deborah." Her pussy throbs. The song ends and Deb moves away, heading to the sound system to end the repeat cycle.

"No! My solo!" Emil proclaims, clapping his hands over his head. He launches into a Toreador dance, replete with snapping fingers and stomping heels. The women are first amused, then entertained, as it's very good. Then they are further aroused - by the epitome of graceful, potent manhood displayed before them - and watch rapt, until he snaps his way to them and pushes them together, indicating they should dance. They shrug, then comply. When the song ends Emil sets the music to cycle the songs progressively again, declares that they need candlelight - can Deborah get the ones he brought with him? - and goes off to make more stingers, announcing that there is another very good song coming up in just four tracks.

After she lights the candles and douses the other lights Deb again sits on the couch. Louise tucks her nipples barely back into her dress, leaving each areola's edge just visible. Of course, as soon as she relaxes back on the couch the recalcitrant nips sneak out again. When Deb again suggests that Louise back off, that Deb saw Emil first and has dibs, Louise scoffs. It seems open season to her.

Emil returns, refreshes everyone's stingers, and the conversation returns to erotic scenes in movies.

Deb wins Emil's eyes when she tells how she loved The Graduate, how Mrs. Robinson beguiled and manipulated Dustin Hoffman. Louise coyly wonders if perhaps Debbie Does Dallas might be to Deb's taste. Has she ever gone by Debbie? Deb counters that if Louise just dyed her hair dark she would be a spitting, ha ha, image of Linda Lovelace, and wonders if Louise might already have the requisite skill set for Deep Throat. As she shifts on the couch Deb is intensely aware of the feel of the sheer rayon on her bare buttocks, and hopes that her wet pussy isn't leaving a mark.

Louise, again the sultry seductress, asks Emil what movie he finds most sexy. Deb, too, is intensely interested. She feels her heart and pudendum flutter in concert when he answers, "No question: Before Sunrise. Beautiful ladies, there is nothing, not one single thing in the Universe, that is more erotic than romance, the wooing between lovers-to-be."

Perfect.

Deb swoons, and when she notices Louise doing it, she realizes that she, too, is unconsciously clamping and relaxing her thighs, squeezing her engorged labia together, pressing on her clit. She tries to relax, wishing that Emil would simply whisk her off to bed and fuck her. Immediately.

Her intense arousal buttressing courage already bolstered by stingers, Deb brings up Basic Instinct, specifically the scene in which Sharon Stone flashes her vulva at the men interrogating her. As she dwells on the telling, she uncrosses her legs, aims them straight at Emil and spreads them briefly before crossing them in the other direction. Deb knows that her dark burgundy pubic hair will contrast markedly with her white inner thighs, much more so than Stones' blonde bush did with her legs. She wonders if the sheen of her arousal is evident. She hopes so. Emil's thin smile is interrupted when he licks his lips and Deb imagines she can feel his eyes caress her throbbing pussy as it is exposed.

Louise has watched Emil's eyes - they're first amused, then widen and brim with lust - and feeling challenged, mentions My Best Friend's Wedding and how Julia Roberts resorts to all manner of hijinks to win back her true love. She pointedly looks at Deb's crotch as she says "hijinks," aware of what Deb has done. Deb counters with, "Well, Julia never bared her nipples." Louise flushes crimson, but does not adjust her bodice.

Emil, gazing at Louise's buds, brings up the ménage a trois scene in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. When he pauses, the women wonder where he's headed. He ups the ante, "Ladies, you both are truly beautiful, alluring, and passionate. I have been enjoying this game we are playing. I feel deeply honored to be the prize for which you seem to be competing. In truth, you both have won. I am yours. But let us clarify what is really happening. Louise, Deborah is correct. You have been flaunting yourself. We all have been enjoying it. Me, Deborah, and yes, you. Please take the next step. Louise, pull down your bodice, let us see all of your beautiful breasts. Do it. Now."

Aghast, titillated, and intensely aroused, Deb can see that Louise, though also stunned by Emil's directness, wants to do it. Emil makes it easier. "Louise, we all want to see your lovely breasts. Tell her, Deborah." Deb is agog, breathless, suddenly uncertain about what is happening. All night she has felt in control, that she's been seducing, or being complicit in being seduced by Emil.

This is different. Something else entirely. Deb remains mute, befuddled, on edge, feeling very aroused, very daring, even sinful, having just flashed Emil. Who she knows liked it. The atmosphere is highly charged, intensely erotic, and the idea of Louise baring her breasts seems prurient, incredibly lewd, yet so highly appealing, that she realizes that she does want to see them, or perhaps more accurately, to see Louise exposed.

"Dear Deborah, go ahead, tell her." Emil's eyes bore into Deb's. In the end it's easy.

"Louise, I would like to see your breasts. Please uncover them."

Emil and Deb watch the blush from Louise's lowered face spread downward from her cheeks to her neck and chest as her hands tremble up. Her fingers close on the edges of the wrap-around cleavage, tug gently, and pull the silk down and open. The pink spreads from her chest to the tops of her large, pillowy breasts, then all around them.

Emil's silky voice oozes desire, "They are lovely, truly beautiful breasts, Louise. You are justly proud of them. It appears that you are aroused, too. Your areolae are swollen, darker than before, and your nipples are very erect. They excite me, also. I do love looking at them."

Deb's level of arousal surges ever higher. The tension, the uncertainty - where is this leading? Will Emil encourage Louise to strip completely? - are delicious, enticing. She feels her own nipples pushing out against the sheer, sumptuous rayon, the wetness between her legs, and has to consciously keep her thighs from clamping together. She is shaken out of her internal focus by Emil's voice.

"Deborah, your nipples are erect also. It is so much easier, and so much more delightful, to see them now that you have removed your brassiere. I imagine that the wonderful rayon fabric feels sensuous when it slides across your nipples. Please, pull the front of your shift across them. Pleasure yourself. It will give us all pleasure. Do it now."

Deb is mortified. Bolts of hot shame shoot through her when Emil, his voice so deep, so quietly fervid, divulges her wanton act, her partial exposure of herself. But she is also consumed by arousal, an excitement beyond any she has ever felt. Her breasts throb, wanting attention, needing stimulation.

"Tell her, Louise, tell Deborah to pull her shift across her nipples."

Deb keeps her head lowered and her gaze down as she hears Louise's small voice. "Deb, please do it. I want to see your nipples move as the fabric slides across them."

Deb's hands shake slightly as, independent of volition, they move to her stomach, gather handfuls of cloth, and begin stretching the fabric to and fro across her breasts, pulling her nipples side to side. At first she wins the struggle to suppress her moans, but gives up and lets them out when she hears the louder ones coming from Louise. Her breasts engorge further, begin to ache, and her nipples get even harder, larger as the fabric stimulates them. Her eyes finally rise and see Emil's, fixed on her breasts, delighted. She feels dizzy when she sees she has pleased him.