"May I buy you dinner..."
Simple words, but enough to make Sandra's breathing stop, just for an instant. The ringing phone revived her, breaking the spell. She knew it was Spencer. She knew she agreed to dinner. But do not ask her what else was said. The entire time, she was too busy wondering whether Spencer knew of his magical effect upon her, whether he knew that she had masturbated thinking of being in his thrall, climaxing only upon his command.
The rest of the day was also a blur. Sandra was tempted to touch her aching clit and tease her erect nipples while she showered, but resisted, sensing that Spencer would prefer the denial, that he would want her sexually on edge at dinner. Not that she thought the date would be more than dinner. Surely he would be a perfect gentleman - if only because that slight cruelty would make her want him more.
Because they had agreed to meet at his hotel and walk to dinner at a nice fish restaurant nearby, she would not have time to go home after work. All day, she wore her shelf bra, which allowed her nipples to rub directly against the inside of her favourite red dress.
Sandra knew that the red dress was a bit dressy for the office, but pleasing Spencer suddenly seemed like the most important thing. Besides which, her clients might pay more attention if they noticed her lush curvy body.
"Great, but not so hot that it's distracting." she assessed herself in the mirror before heading downtown that morning. "Little will my clients know that I'm wearing a matching thong and that these aren't hose, but instead are stockings, held up by garters."
She chuckled as she applied her lipstick, deep red, which perfectly matched the dress. "I wonder whether Spencer will get to find out. I hope he doesn't think that I'm a tramp if I succumb on the first date, but if things unfold that way, I won't be able to resist."
Sandra winked at her reflection and giggled girlishly, feeling younger than she had in a decade. She slipped on her sensible shoes, carrying her heels in her oversized "magic carpet bag" and headed out.
She worked, advising clients, but retained none of it. She did have a sense of great success, and if that day was a movie montage, it would have shown her sparkling, tossing her reddish hair flirtatiously, taking command of each situation, and bending mere mortals to her will. A client satisfaction survey would have been off the charts. And not one noticed the effect that the anticipation and friction was having on Sandra's nipples. She did though, and the electricity flowed from her breasts through her belly, warming her loins, until, by late in the day, the current was gushing out of her labia, wetness soaking her thong. She just hoped that her perfume masked the scent.
Finally, her last appointment ended, and she gathered her possessions to head to Spencer's hotel. Fortunately, the stuffy British clinic manager did not glance inside her bag of tricks as she stuffed her laptop inside, because, she was shocked to notice, her nipple clamps and handcuffs were floating loosely on top of the other contents.
'Note to self -- if I do this again, book only female clients the days I see Spencer,' Sandra thought, chuckling, but then she realized that this whole situation had evolved so quickly that planning was impossible, and that expectations about the future were ridiculous.
"Is something funny?" her pompous client asked. "I thought this was a rather serious subject."
'If only you knew,' Sandra thought, suddenly wondering if he liked to be tied up, but instead she said "I'm just pleased by how easy you are to work with."
Her ear to ear grin made the Brit blush, and she guessed that perhaps his willy was becoming chubby, him thinking that she found him attractive but actually, it was of course thoughts of Spencer.
Butterflies danced in her tummy as she smiled and thought about how sexuality could be a powerful business tool.
'I'll need to think about how I can use that,' she pondered while waiting for the elevator.
As she descended, she turned her mind back to her idea that a female client to end a Spencer day would be better. She felt her nipples stiffening again at the thought.
'Why?' she wondered, ' would a gal seeing my excitement be better? Would it be any less embarrassing?'
The feeling of dampness running down her bare thighs, coating the tops of her stockings, shouted "Yes."
This time the shiver ran up her spine, starting in her clit, spreading through her groin, and then up through her body until she felt her brain tingle and her face flush. Sandra was glad then that she had not worn a conventional bra, because not only were her nipples rock hard, but she felt her areolae puffing out from the flesh of her tits, as if begging to be sucked, or clamped. She had experimented with nipple clamps with previous lovers, but none had really shared her interest. They had done it haphazardly, locking the teeth in place and then forgetting about them.
"Nothing but vanilla fucking," she muttered out loud in disgust, suddenly glad that she was alone in the elevator. She gazed anxiously at the big red button marked STOP as if it might be a warning, and then wondering if it was a beacon. She felt her arm start to raise of its own volition, as her other hand touched her thigh and began slowly to rise up and caress her belly, that warm seat of her sensuality. Her finger even brushed against the button, the temptation to masturbate to climax was so compelling. Sandra had never been in such thrall.
Only at the last instant did common sense prevail. Sandra managed to remind herself that it was rush hour, that hundreds, if not thousands, of people were still streaming out of the building, and that even in off hours, stopping the elevator would likely set off an alarm somewhere, and a repair person or rescue team would be dispatched. She snickered at the mental image of them prying the car doors open to find her huddled in a corner, dress up around her waist, tits spilling out, sobbing, not from fear but the aftermath of her greatest orgasm ever, leaving a puddle of her essence on the floor.
So she didn't press the button. She contented herself with leaning back against the rear wall, her eyes shifting out of focus, her feet instinctively spreading into a more open stance. Before she reached the lobby, she had just enough time to give her left nipple a good tweak, and rub her clit briefly through the fabric of dress and thong, restraining herself from rubbing harder, fearing she would cause a stain on the front of her dress.
Sandra was surprised to find that she was not solely focused on Spencer during this activity. Her earlier thoughts about women clients kept interrupting her efforts. Initially, this was based on the assumption that women would be less distracted by Sandra being sexually excited by plans with Spencer. But then Sandra realized women might be just as likely to notice Sandra's arousal, which forced Sandra to consider how they might react.
The most surprising part of this thought process was that Sandra noticed that she got even wetter thinking about female clients -- particularly the younger, prettier ones - noticing her lingerie, appreciating how her nipples might press hard against her dress through a sheer bra. Sandra had always considered herself straight, but as she walked the underground pathway from the office building toward Spencer's hotel, she had to ask herself 'does this make me bi-curious or hetroflexible?'
She chuckled and muttered out loud, "Does it really matter?"
When some old businessman with exceptionally hairy ears turned in response and stared, she stuck her tongue out at him like a teenager, and skipped away with a spring in her step. Suddenly, Sandra felt sixteen again, with a whole world of possibilities -- sexual possibilities - open to her. This rejuvenation, she realized, was just the ticket. She floated towards Spencer's hotel in a daze, the fever gripping her. This wasn't Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, or Mary Tyler Moore conquering Minneapolis, this was a strong, mature woman who had climbed her own mountains, ready to give over control to a man.
'Imagine if Mary had shut up long enough for Lou Grant to bend her over his desk and spank her, and then take her from behind on his couch,' she chuckled to herself reassuring, covering up for her remaining fear that whatever Spencer had in mind would be far more extreme than even Sandra could picture at this early stage in her awakening.
When she reached the hotel, Sandra realized that in her excitement, she had arrived early. She spotted a ladies room just off the lobby, and ducked inside, telling herself that she was going to check her lipstick. Instead, she found herself leaning against the cool marble panelling of the classic old hostelry, the scent of her sex wafting around her in a cloud.
She carefully raised the hem of her skirt with one hand while her other fingers gently caressed her belly before sliding down her thigh and then up again to push her thong aside. Sandra was not totally in a trance. She remembered to pause and glance again to confirm that she was alone - no feet under any stall door.
Still, she had to admit that the possibility of someone entering at any moment added to the thrill. Finally, her chest heaving with excitement, she touched her labia, triggering an instant flood. Her fingers pushed deeper, first one, then two, finally three, curling inside her slit, reaching up to caress her clit.
With her dress safely hiked up by the forearm attached to the hand exploring her quim, Sandra was able to use her other hand -- the one that had first lifted the hem - to pop her left tit out of the top of her dress. She proceeded to caress that mound, rubbing the underside in her palm, her fingers slowly moving up and around the curve which supported her erect nipple. Her thumb and forefinger flicked her clit with a matching tempo. If she had paused to realize, it was the beating of her heart which provided the music.
Before long, her pulse was pounding in her ears like a big bass drum. She began tugging her exposed nipple, and grasped her clit, gently pulling it away from its nest, her eyes closed, imagining that it was Spencer's teeth toying with her womanhood. Somehow Sandra knew that he would nibble her most tender flesh, but that he would remain in control, building her pain as pleasure, but never cross the boundary so that the shock startled her out of the dream. He would hold her right on the edge, like touching her with a knife, building pressure, but never quite cutting her.
"Unless he wants to taste my blood," Sandra snickered, not meaning to say it out loud.
"What's gotten into you?" she asked her reflection in a nearby mirror.
