Weekend Away

byBimboslutLeanne©

Chapter One

Tonight a man is taking me out, a real man, tall, broad, muscular and just what I need to give me that combination of feeling vulnerable and feeling safe that really sends me. At least, that's what I'm hoping, see, I haven't really met him yet, not properly. We're meeting later, at a party at the flat of a friend of his. He, Scott, that's his name, did offer to pick me up at my hotel but I told him that I would meet him there. Independent girl I am, on my own in a foreign country, a new city, if I can take a flight alone I can take a cab and find an address. And, if I change my mind I can leave independently too...

At least we speak the same language, well nearly... Our "date" - his word, he's American, is due to begin at 8pm, he tells me he'll be there early, to prepare the way for me and so I won't have to be alone in a stranger's "apartment'. Now it's 5pm and I need to begin to get ready. I run a bath and lounge on the bed in my peach-satin robe, flicking through 50million TV channels while I wait. I scent the bath with jasmine oil and light a few candles before settling in for a long soak. I went for a full body wax before I left the UK so I don't need to shave my legs, but I do trim my bikini line a little, you never know how things are going to go. I am two-thirds of the way through The Time-Traveller's Wife so two or three chapters should ensure my skin is as soft as I want it to be before I get dressed. I've shaken off the jet-lag, and the conference I'm meant to be here to attend isn't until after the holidays (I extended the stay so I could see a little life, not just power-points and figures) so I have the next three days to myself, footloose and fancy-free.

I had been talking to Scott online for a while and when I told him I would be in the US and in Colorado and he promised he would show me around if I wanted him to. I wanted him to. I wasn't sure what else I wanted but I was willing to find out. So, time to get ready.

What to wear? I know a little about what Scott likes and, since he was being so kind to me I figured there was no harm in giving him a little treat. I laid out my underwear, skirt and blouse on the bed before giving it and myself a liberal dose of Valentina, I love the freshness of this perfume, but it isn't too innocent as some lighter scents can be. As always when getting dressed I start with my corset, the shorter underbust one in black satin with the attached suspenders (Scott would call them garters I suppose). I draw my waist in and get a little thrill when I realise I can get myself down to twenty-six inches now. Cutting out white-bread has really done the job on my little belly.

Next, it's my favourite bit, as many times as I've done it I always have to catch my breath a little as I pull on my stockings. It's as I sheath my legs in the sleek black nylon that I begin to feel like myself, like Leanne, like a truly feminine and sexual creature, despite what I might have been born as. As a little treat for Scott I choose Johnathan Aston Vintage Legs, in midnight-noir, full-fashioned heel and back-seam. A bit over the top for a house party, but I suddenly feel like I want to make an impression. Knickers next, I pull the black lace thong up tight and feel the ribbon slip between my buttocks and I trap and tuck myself in front. The matching bra is close-fitting and pushes my breasts up and a little together, not too much though, I want to stay a little demure, ladylike and soft. I have the reputation of my nation to uphold in this wild corner of the US.

As much as I know of Colorado up to now is Mork and Mindy and skiing. I want to learn a lot more. The slit of my burnt-umber pencil skirt finishes just below the welt on my stocking. I tighten my suspenders, but I'll still have to be careful not to flash anything. Crisp white blouse, five-inch peeptoe courts, a light wrap and my cashmere winter coat and I'm ready for the cab, just.

Make-up is a place I like to get lost in and I get a slightly tetchy third call from reception "Miss Ashley, your driver is waiting..."

I dash down and draw my legs into the back seat. Catching the driver watching me in the rear-view mirror I smile a little and hand him the card Scott had left at the hotel reception for me. I don't really have time for any second thoughts, the place is almost no distance and before I know it, there I am. A smartly uniformed waiter takes my coat and gives me a glass of champagne and an appreciative look and tells me I am expected.

"Miss Ashley, Scott is over by the picture-window."

I look around me for the first time. It's an exquisite apartment and the decor is tasteful and looks expensive. God, I'm miles out of my league. I look around some more and the place is swarming with tall, tanned, willowy model-looking women and buff looking men. With all this to choose from, why would Scott be interested in one 5'3" English girl with a fat arse?

Too late, the waiter thinks I need assistance, he takes my elbow and points me across the room at a broad back in dark-blue. I nervously click across the wooden floor in my Karen Millen heels, hoping that I won't attract too much attention. Scott, it must be him, hears my heels and turns round and smiles so broadly that I forget all my fears. He stands up and - wow, he's tall - leans down and kisses me on the cheek. He smells clean and fresh, but he smells like a man and my knees go a little wobbly. Thinking I must be tired Scott slips a firm arm around my waist. So strong, I couldn't stop this man doing anything he wants to with me. Not sure I want to stop him...

We spend a lovely evening, talking, laughing and, I surprise myself, it doesn't usually happen this easily, kissing. Snogging, real snogging like teenagers. Something comes over me, I drag him off to the coat-room like at some teenage party... somethings are better left undescribed...

Then, at the end of the night, after as far as I can see I've pretty much given him the go ahead for pretty much anything and all he has to do is seize the opportunity... he's going to let me go back to the hotel on my own. I thought American men were meant to be no-nonsense know-what-they- want types and here's my Colorado outdoorsman being a bloody gentlemen. I've got to do something! More teenage ideas fill my head. I let him watch me leave. His eyes never leave my legs, I knew he'd go for the seams. I count slowly in my head - 1-2-3-4-5 - he goes to his pocket. The keys aren't there. I know where they are. He looks up at me waiting and I jingle his keys at him. He never even noticed. That's some sort of compliment I suppose. The old car-key trick - not really old, not really a trick, just a silly and seemingly desperate girl trying to get what she needs from a man. What was I thinking, bloody rude really, might as well have just stolen his wallet. What am I going to do when he comes over and asks what the hell I think I'm playing at...?

But, inexplicably, he gives me a smile like a little embarrassed boy who finally realised what the girl was trying to tell him. Oddly, this puts me in charge briefly, not a place I like to be but I point to the cloakroom. "Hurry up" I mouth, tapping my watch. I hope he won't need anymore big hints. But, I don't want to rush this either...

Chapter Two

As Scott spots me outside it looks like he's coming straight out to catch me up so I scamper off (as fast as five-inch-heels allow) round the side of the building and in through the side door. Then I creep (again, marble floors and stilettos don't exactly aid stealth) in amongst the coats hanging in the lobby. They are long, but they don't reach the floor and I can't hide for long. He makes a show of leaving, playing the game, then he sweeps the coats aside and kisses me again and again I go a bit wobbly in the legs. I know he won't drop me so I play the damsel a bit and swoon against him, I catch another whiff of man under his aftershave, goooo- ooood that's a smell I love! Don't get me wrong, I don't want a man to smell, but I like him to smell like a man, like strength and warmth and size and power and Scott has that smell. I'm going to have to be careful, or he'll get the wrong idea and I won't stop him...

So, we part lips and he says he knows a place we can go to talk and have a glass of wine and maybe a dance and I say,

"It's your town, show me around. There's still time for a good time..."

As we head out to Scott's car the breeze gets up and the snow starts to fall and I take the opportunity to snuggle in for some heat. That powerful arm goes around me, around my shoulders this time and I relish the safety I feel. It's only a short walk so my toes don't really have time to get cold. Then I'm sliding into a car for the second time that night with a man I hardly know...

Still, at least this time the ride is free. Now, I don't know the city but I know cities and I'm fairly sure there aren't going to be any restaurants or clubs in this posh residential area. I'm pretty sure the neighbourhood watch wouldn't stand for it. So, I look across at Scott and he just looks at the road. I'm kind of expecting him to tell me he's run out of petrol and we'll have to stop here for a while... That'd keep that teenage vibe we've had so far but I can't get him to look at me. Finally I poke him in the arm with a pointy nail (noticing the nice contrast of red nail and blue suit as I do) and when he glances across looking all innocent I give him a smile that I hope says:

"I know what you're up to Buster" and "I don't mind... really" all at once.

I flip down the sun-visor and check my face in the make-up mirror on the back of it. God, he's made a right mess of my lips. I look like I've been eating raspberries! I poke Scott again and point at my face.

"You, look what you've done!"

He shrugs like he's fourteen years old and smiles, he's not one bit sorry. I smile back and take out lipstick and liner. If we're out for the night I'm going to look the way I like to look, immaculate. Even if we're not out out...

I just get my face finished as Scott swings into the garage of a very posh looking house - I pretend to be surprised - so, he's borrowed the place, right? Turns out not, he has a key and everything, in we go and I ask if I have to take off my shoes...

"Don't you dare... at least not yet"

"I'm only thinking of your floors"

"I'm not thinking about the floors... "

And with that hanging in the air he takes me gently by the hand and leads me, click-click-clicking into an absolutely enormous kitchen! Soon, supplied with wine and a CD Scott has grabbed from somewhere, we go through to an even larger lounge. You could fit my entire flat in here. Scott puts the CD in the player and brings the remote across to the sofa where he sits down. He hold out an arm and I join him, I sit close, a bit too close? Scott doesn't seem to mind. Before he can start the music I lean into him and we kiss for a long time. Not snogging this time, it's slow and soft and while I melt Scott is firm and just a little bit forceful. Just as I like it. I'm the girl and he's the man and I want to feel like that's where things should be.

Scott starts kissing my neck and shoulders, I shiver and I know he feels it. He runs a finger up the back of my leg, tracing the seam of my stocking. I love it when men touch my legs, absolutely love it, I'm getting far to close to getting carried away. Almost without knowing it I've slipped off the heel I've been dangling and I rub my nyloned foot on his leg, up under the trouser-hem. The coarse hair of Scott's leg tickles even through my stocking...

"Are your feet sore?"

"Hmm?" I'm not really listening, lost in the moment.

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"Oooh, go on then..."

I slip off my other shoe and drop my sleek, black-sheathed feet into Scott's lap. I'm glad I paid extra for the pedi, I'm glad I redid my toes before I came out. Looks like Scott is glad too. Certainly feels that way as something shifts under the sole of my foot. Not wanting to embarrass Scott I shift my feet slightly, but our eyes meet and the idea is planted...

Not yet I think. Go slowly, savour it, make him wait, draw it out, make it all the more exquisite... Seems Scott has the same idea, which is good. He starts to rub my feet and legs. I am in utter ecstasy, I love this. It feelssss sssoooo gooood...

I lie back and close my eyes. I am careful to keep my knees together and luckily my skirt is long and tight enough to make sure there is no premature flashing. We chat as his fingers push into my soles (my soul?), I ask Scott if he has ever taken a course in reflexology because he is certainly doing something magical to my feet. Shivers and trembles run up and down my body and I feel so warm and relaxed... it's like I'm floating.

Somehow, without me noticing, in the last few minutes Scott has managed to start the CD. And they say men can't multi-task! As I drift in the sensuality of Scott's hands on my legs I finally notice the music he has put on...

Now, a lot of girls when asked what music they like say something along the lines of "Oooh I don't mind, you choose, I like a bit of everything really..." Not me. I'm the kind of girl with strong opinions on music and from the moment I saw Scott pick up that CD I've been wondering... What he plays could make or break the evening... Then I forgot to worry about it because there were better things to think about. Now, laying back, I notice - JAZZ, ahhhhhh JAZZ! I hate jazz!! I could handle some Billie Holliday perhaps but actual real no-singing JAZZZZZZZZ!!

Joni Mitchell I would have gone for, or Serge Gainsbourg, perhaps Jeff Buckley or Roxy Music. My favourite music isn't really romantic, I wouldn't expect The Stones or anything... but jazz... ... but I shan't say anything, I'm a well-brought-up and well-mannered girl and I'm in another person's house and I shan't be rude and at least there's an excuse to see Scott again as I can say he has to let me choose the music next time and maybe the company has made me warm to the bloody jazz because, as I feel my feet lowered to the leather sofa and, as I look up, I see a rather flushed looking Scott asking me if I'd like to dance...

And, for some inexplicable reason, I hear myself say that I'd love to. I'd love to dance to jazz. Something is very wrong. Or very right. I figure I'd better put my shoes back on or I'll be dancing with my head against Scott's solar-plexus. Even in my spikes I only just manage to get my head on his shoulder, but I manage it and somehow the rhythm that Scott feels in the music comes through to me and I find myself not only dancing to jazz, but loving it. Of course it doesn't hurt that Scott's skillful fingers are teasing and tickling at my neck, my back, my waist. Tracing the outline of my bra strap, catching the side of my throat softly, I turn my face up to his, eyes closed, knees weak and we kiss again...

Oooh, hang on. That's the zip on my skirt. I don't blame him, I've not exactly been backward in coming forward but it might be a teensy bit early for that. While I'm thinking this strong fingers slip down as far as where my knickers disappear between... I think I must have tensed a little, because at that moment Scott withdraws his hand and closes the zip and I open my eyes to find him looking into my face. He's worried he's overdone it, and that makes him all the more attractive, that gentleness and concern overriding his inner animal. The track ends and saves us from a slightly difficult moment. I don't want to stop, but I'm going to, I want to enjoy it at the right pace. I have three days and I don't want to waste them...

"Oooh I'm feeling that wine a little... Can you call me a cab?"

I watch Scott's face carefully and he hides his disappointment well. Another plus sign.

"I'll drive you back," he says.

"Not with the best part of a bottle of Pinot in you you won't" I say with a mock-stern wag of my red-tipped finger. "Anyway you need a good night's sleep."

I see Scott's brain saying "Oh Yeah, fat chance of that, state you've got me in..."

And I wonder if I'm a vain cow for thinking that. Scott doesn't say what he's thinking though, he asks why.

"We'll, you promised to show me around, and I've got three days to fill and I'm going to need a new dress aren't I?"

"For what?"

"For when we go on our second date, tomorrow, all day, shopping if you can bear it, I'll let you choose what I wrap myself up in so that when you take me out for dinner, dancing, cocktails and... so on... you can be proud of me, this short-arse limey on your arm."

Scott looks at me for a moment. He's going to suggest something else, I take the moment to slip out to where he left my coat in the hall and as I come back into the room he tells me that my cab will be ten minutes, and he has an account with the company and I'm not to even suggest for a moment that I pay anything. I agree, as long as he lets me pay for lunch tomorrow.

Waiting for cabs is never easy. I ask Scott to tell me about jazz and to suggest something for me to wear tomorrow. I want to go shopping but it will be chilly and so I ask where he is taking me and what sort of things the women there wear.

"Pants mostly..." Scott trails off.

"No chance of that," I say. "I don't own a single pair of trousers, not even jeans or tracky bs."

"Tracky Bs?" he asks as his smile from earlier returns.

"Track suit bottoms . . . uh . . . sweatpants . . . yuck what an ugly word . . . anyway . . . Strictly nylons on my legs and my legs on show. Any preferred colour for tomorrow?"

Scott looks a little unsure. I tell him to text me later with his suggestions. The cab arrives, one more kiss, almost formal, then I give him a last taste of my tongue before slipping out into the cold night, feeling very warm inside and looking forward to be collected from my hotel at 10.30am tomorrow. As the cab drives off I look back and see Scott watching me go from the enormous window of his lounge. He looks wonderful, strong and powerful and I get another tingle all over when I think about what we might get up to over the next few days... and I'm waiting for that text, so I can start planning my outfit.

The cab ride seems to take no time as I have plenty to think about: What am I doing? This is all taking a very odd turn. It's an exciting turn but I hardly know this guy, I'm about 5000 miles from home and I don't really know what might happen. I try to think rationally, which is hard when you're as excited as I am, but I'm usually a sensible girl and I need to weigh things up. Slowly and carefully. It takes about five seconds. It goes like this. I'm on holiday, I have no ties, I have time to spare and... the man is gorgeous. He's tall, strong, charming, buff... he really floats my boat. Appalling taste in music apart he's pretty much perfect and I can work on the music. I have a little plan for what we might do tonight after lunch and shops and once I get my wi-fi access sorted out and I can get internet access I'll be able to put it into action...

Anyway, I get back to my hotel room and kick off my shoes. However good a foot-rub might be it's always still a wonderful feeling to kick off your heels and spread your toes inside your stockings. I suppose I should strip and shower and make myself all fresh for bed, but I still have a whiff of Scott in my nose and I don't want to purge it yet. I remove my make-up of course, cleanse, tone and moisturise, strip off my skirt, blouse and corset and put them away. I decide to sleep in my knickers and stockings and I drift off feeling my silked legs sliding over the starched cotton sheets. My dreams are full of muscled arms and firm pectorals and charming smiles that make me want to do whatever he says. He must go to the gym, with a body that hard he must. I picture him in trackies, he'd call them "sweat-pants' and although I'd never ever wear them, on him they somehow don't seem so ugly, maybe with the legs cut short and looking all untidy and . . . and no top and his arms glistening with perspiration and his body giving off that sharp odour of working muscle...

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byBimboslutLeanne© 2 comments/ 6353 views/ 7 favorites

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