Estelle: an Opera in Three Acts

Act One

I am sitting on a chair in my office, while Estelle sits on my lap. We are kissing passionately, our tongues exploring boldly and with energy, while our hands seek to pull our bodies closer together. Although she's my PA and I've known her for months, this is the first time we have made any physical contact.

It was the firm's Christmas party, we had a few drinks. I asked her to dance. I thought I was being polite. I have always liked Estelle; she's professional, and we get on great. We have never been friends so much as colleagues, but as my arms went around her to dance something snapped, and I could sense it was mutual. As we moved together so effortlessly I became intoxicated by her, and inexorably we moved closer together. There was a deepening tension between us that could only be relieved by passionate, intense, and urgent sex.

We left the party in the foyer, and sneaked into my office. I locked the door, so nobody could disturb us, then we began kissing. For the time being there is the simple adolescent joy in our mouth to mouth contact, kissing a beautiful woman is always a pleasure, and there is no rush to complete what we know is inevitable. Her lips are soft, she tastes of fruit punch, and she smells of jasmine and lemons.

Estelle's a few years older than my thirty-four, and attractive in a subtle, understated way. She wears her collar length blonde hair in a bob, and had the clearest cornflower blue eyes, which showed a kind of wisdom I could now appreciate as deeply sexual. She is confident and experienced, and I know that when the kissing stops her sexual promise will be more than fulfilled.

I had never before contemplated making a move on her, since our relationship has always been professional. That was the only barrier, since I was single, and she was divorced. That barrier is now completely forgotten, as I caress her body through her blouse, and feel the braless curve of her firm breasts through the smooth silky material. There are no words between us, because to speak we would have to release each other's mouths.

I reach for her leg, and glide my hand up her thigh. I discover she is wearing stockings, and a garter belt, exciting me more, as my hand continues to explore, and sense the warmth of her body through the fragile gauze of her nylons.

Momentarily she releases my mouth, to gasp as she enjoys my touches. I think she is ready for me. I want to make love to her, but in my own way. I want to worship her. With difficulty I lift her out of my lap, and lay her down on my desk, with her long legs dangling over the side. I ease her skirt up around her waist, and fall to my knees. I don't think she realizes that this is a gesture of submission on my part, as reverentially I start kissing her sex like I have just kissed her mouth.

I love to pleasure a woman this way. I love the way her soft labia yield to my lips. I love the taste of her, as my tongue eases its way through to her pleasure button. I begin to move the tumulus gently. I will increase the intensity, but for the moment I savour the sensations. Her gentle moans arouse me, and although my excitement is such that I will need the satisfaction of penetration, I relish and share the pleasure I can tell Estelle is feeling.

She seems so completely beguiled by what I am doing that, encouraged, I continue past the limits of foreplay, and take her into the realms of repeated orgasms. As she comes she forgets herself completely, and gives in to her instincts. I feel the harsh nylon of her stockings rubbing the soft flesh of my ears, as her legs enfold about my neck, as if they were arms pulling me closer in. I feel the pain as her spike heel scrapes down the back of my jacket, before it falls off her dainty foot and onto the floor. She is unaware of the pain she is causing me, as she concentrates on her own physical enjoyment. Secretly I enjoy the hurt, relishing the burns from the nylon, and scratches from her heels.

I wonder if she would understand my delight in sexual pain? Would she be a long term lover, or is this just a one night stand? I want to know, but for now I concentrate on these beautiful moments. I am only sorry we have never done this before, and I regret the months we have known each other without discovering each other's bodies.

Act Two

It is now a summer morning, and I hear the sound of the running water in the shower come to a sudden stop. She will leave the bathroom in a moment, and I will discover what is in store for me today.

Estelle now lives in my apartment, she more or less moved in on the night of the Christmas party, and stayed ever since. We spent the whole of Christmas in bed, feasting on each other and sending out for Pizza. We experienced the fireworks of New Year in my bed. Just about every part of my body became intimately acquainted with every part of hers. We seldom spoke; words would have just interrupted the other pleasures afforded by our mouths.

Working together became difficult for a while. We used to make love in my office, sometimes all day if we could get away with it. We did eventually manage to confine our activities to lunchtimes, and to get on with the work we are paid to do.

I think we would have found that level of intensity difficult to maintain, but then I confessed my desire to be dominated, and controlled sexually by her. It added a wonderful new dimension to our lovemaking, as she gradually became more comfortable with the idea. At first she was unsure of herself in the role of dominatrix, but became more interested until dominating me became an obsession with her, as much as her domination became my own obsession. Now we start every day the same way; she ties me to the bed, and makes me watch her get dressed.

She dresses like some women undress; a kind of inverted striptease. She loves lingerie, and I watch her everyday, putting on teddies, corsets, garter belts and stockings, my penis swelling, and my breathing becoming more uneven. She poses in front of me, allowing me to savor every detail of what she is going to be wearing under her suit.

I have to work every day knowing, and trying not to think about, what my PA wears underneath her sober, stiff corporate clothes. She teases me at work, letting me see the tops of her stockings, or casually undoing a button on her blouse when we're in meetings. Since she has become my Mistress I am no longer guaranteed the lunchtime sex we used to enjoy before. She will enter my office, strip to her underwear, and make me beg for her. I must prostrate myself, and worship her feet. I kiss them lovingly, and caress her ankles. I feel the harshness of her nylon stockings against my lips, and taste the bitterness of her shoe leather. Only sometimes will she let me make love to her in the office, and then only with my mouth.

When we are at home I am permitted to penetrate her, but then I have to promise to make her orgasm, or I am punished (or should that be indulged) with the pain I crave. I am torn between my delight her pleasure, and delight in my own pain. I try so hard to make her come, and she tries not to. It becomes a wicked game, which is a sublime pleasure to lose for both of us. I love her. I want to marry her.

Act Three

It is our wedding day, nearly a year after that first time in my office. We had a conventional wedding this morning, and in addition to the vows we made before the judge, I vowed to love, honor, and obey her the night before. We had wild sex last night, better than it has ever been. Marriage is a means of expressing my complete devotion to her, and that gave my feelings even more intensity than usual. It was now time to leave the party, and to go on our honeymoon. We are flying to Paris tonight, and I want to find her to take her away.

Unfortunately after a few dances we got separated. We had to talk to our respective sets of friends and relations. We have been apart for barely an hour, and already I miss her. I find the absence of the contact of her warm body painful. I look through the hotel rooms trying to find her. Walking past a ladies room I hear voices, one of which I am sure is Estelle. Boldly I enter the room. I hear ecstatic gasps from a cubicle, and open the door.

I see Estelle leaning against a wall, with the skirts of her beautiful cream coloured wedding dress around her waist and a young waiter on his knees before her, tonguing her sex like I love to do. Estelle turns to face me, her expression a defiant challenge. Her hands keep the waiter's face from turning towards me, and grind his face deeper into her sex.

I don't know what to feel. Part of me feels betrayed, part of me feels angry, and strangely part of me feels aroused. I am so pleased that another, younger man finds her attractive. Indeed as I survey Estelle, whose face is now displaying the physical pleasure she is experiencing with an ostentatious theatricality, I am very turned on. I am her slave, and she is reminding me that she is in charge, and is free to do what she wants. I realise how much she has learned about domination, and how much I have yet to learn about submission.

I think she senses what I am feeling, and smiles. It is as if I have passed some test. She pulls the waiter's hair, making him disengage from her. Confused he backs away. Guiltily he wipes my wife's secretions from his lips with his sleeve. He watches while I penetrate Estelle, while she smiles lasciviously. Her sex is so moist and inviting, it is like floating. The waiter leaves us as I tell Estelle I love her.

"I know," she replies.