The Seduction of Lisa Marnier

As agreed, we met at a small open-air coffeeshop in the more relaxed area of downtown. It was the sort of commercial neighborhood that was designed to make patrons look professional but hip. I'm sure that if I were looking I'd see a Starbucks or a Bruegger's somewhere nearby. I found her seated at a corner table under a large, and potentially real, potted ficus. Everything said "business casual." Her eyes flitted between the New York Times open to the Living section in front of her and the second cup of coffee set out for her anticipated companion. Me.

I paused at the sandwich-board style specials menu set by the entrance, pretending to idly look it over. This time was used to get a sense of her.

She matched the scenery quite well in her semi-feminine ash-colored business suit with lavender blouse muffling the swell of her breasts. Her shoes were black; half-way between flats and heels. I let my eyes quietly settle on her face, admiring the soft set to her well-formed jaw, the glasses with dark rectangular frames that neatly straddled the line between too professional and too emo. Her dark hair was shoulder-length, one side tucked behind her ear. On the other side hung a lock of hair that she doubtless fiddled with absentmindedly when she wasn't paying attention. This was just such a moment.

I like to call these moments my "Sherlock Holmes" moments. This is when I make a verdict on what sort of person she is, what her state of mind is. What she's looking for here. This is when that psychology degree of mine proves its usefulness. I pegged her as a woman who grew up with the "girl power" image that became popularized in the media in recent decades. A woman who fought to keep that image as she climbed a medium-sized corporate ladder. A woman who probably couldn't decide if she was completely surrounded by assholes and frat boys, or if she made the mistake of intimidating the good ones into silence.

This, my dear reader, is foreplay. If you're patient with me, you'll be enlightened as well as entertained.

My Sherlock moment passed, and I approached the table. About two seconds before I sat down, she took stock of my demeanor and folded up the paper, leaving it on the table between the coffee cups.

"Ms. Marnier, yes?" I arched an eyebrow, pronouncing the name like the liquor.

"I am, yes," she responded cordially. "Which would make you Mr. Mason. But please, call me Lisa." A pleasant smile, accented by just a bit of apprehension, settled into her expression. Her lips were colored a tastefully pale hue of lavender, no doubt to match the blouse. It was, put simply, a very pretty smile.

I urged her to relax. "I suggested we meet like this so we can establish a level of comfort between us. At this point, there's no obligation or agreement; just two people feeling each other out. Like an interview, but with less riding on it. The first step, of course, is to call me James. I've never much liked the formal address."

Our afternoon proceeded in this pleasant enough manner, though I got the sense that she never lost that tickle of apprehension. This is, of course, understandable. She was having a conversation with an escort.

I'd like to take a moment to explain my business philosophy to you. If you just can't take the pressure, then go right ahead and skip this paragraph as well as the next; I'm human, I know how the itch works. Still with me? Excellent. Several years ago I discovered that there were few things I liked better than giving a woman an orgasm. Then, it was several orgasms in a row. After that, my girlfriend at the time helped me understand the difference between a clitoral orgasm and a vaginal orgasm. Then came the extended orgasm. Someone with a psych degree (someone not myself) could probably hypothesize about why I have this particular interest, but why spoil it? I love the female orgasm with every fiber of my being.

After that, my interest adhered to the philosophy of "take pride in your work." I got better with my hands and with my mouth. Luckily, there were a couple of very nice young women who were more than happy to let me practice. For me, it became an art form, halfway between poetry and science. Any schmuck can rub the clit for a few minutes to decent effect, but to be a true connoisseur one must intuitively understand the intricacies of the female orgasm. More to the point, one must love the female orgasm. That's me.

Back to our story. (my thanks to those who indulged me)

The following Friday night I had laid out a nice bottle of wine in the loft I rent for my business purposes. For those paying attention to detail, it was a Yellowtail Chiraz and anyone who wants to say that Australian wine is sub par has my sympathies. I had dimmed the ambient lighting in the loft to a comfortable level without forcing any strain on the eyes. The loft consisted of a kitchen-cum-sitting room, an ample bathroom, and a suitably adorned bedroom. As per Lisa's request, the stereo in the sitting room was quietly playing Sufjan Steven's "Illinoise" album. A little too indy for my tastes, but I am in the service industry.

A knock at the door heralded her arrival. I let her in.

She murmured a few sentiments about being pleased to see me again, about being grateful to me for taking her coat, and the like. I returned pleasantries in kind, and offered her a spot on a tastefully plush loveseat.

"Can I offer you some wine?"

"That'd be nice, thank you." She sipped at the Chiraz, clearly uncertain of what she was supposed to do in the situation. Despite her quasi-passivity, she looked both comfortable and sultry in the slim black dress. The flats had been replaced by heels that matched the dress both in color and tone, with dark sheer stockings that accentuated her beautifully shaped calves and thighs. Her gentle hips and abdomen were silhouetted by the dress in a film noir way, smoothly flowing into a robust C-cup chest, firmly displayed by the upper hem of the dress diving between the breasts to show off her cleavage. Two small silky straps ascended her collarbone and disappeared behind the softly curving nape of her neck. Gone were the glasses, allowing two very green eyes to smolder hauntingly, framed by beautiful eyelashes and finely arching eyebrows. The dark hair stayed down, sensually offset by medium-sized silver hoops on her ears.

"So uh, " she started, laughing nervously "how does this work?"

"Well, Lisa... when you start feeling comfortable, we'll very discreetly make our way into that room" I gestured at the doorway across from her, "at which point, all you have to worry about is enjoying yourself."

"You don't happen to have any suggestions for getting to that comfort level, do you?" Her hand strayed to a lock of hair that had fallen from behind her ear, tucking it neatly away.

"Nothing so specific, though I must say that I'm curious about this music. Tell me something..." You will remember that I have a psychology degree. Part of my independent research in college involved looking at what factors in a situation caused tension or relaxation. My liberal education has yet to fail me.

Five minutes later, I was sitting next to her on the loveseat as she pointed out some minutiae of interest on the album cover. Fifteen minutes later, I kissed Lisa Marnier. Half a breath later, Lisa Marnier kissed back.

Never one to rush the inevitable, I took my time massaging her lips with mine, teasing them with my tongue at intervals. I slid my hand around to the back of her neck in one slow motion, encouraging her to open up to me. Releasing a breath that she had apparently been holding, she parted her lips and took my tongue into her mouth. I quickly discovered that caressing her tongue with mine had a powerful effect on her, and her upper body melted against mine. My other hand slid up across her thigh and around to the small of her back, pressing her into me. She accepted this with a faint moan and a half-frantic nibble on my lower lip. Breaking the kiss, I stood up and took her hand. Looking calmly into my eyes, she got to her feet and wordlessly followed me into the bedroom.

Turning to face her, I saw a faint but resilient vestige of uncertainty taint her expression briefly. I kissed her softly on the lips, then on the cheek. As I moved my lips to just under her jaw line, I circled around to stand close behind her. My kisses now fell on her neck, and my hands roamed from her hips to her thighs to her calves, up her abdomen and softly caressing her breasts through the thin black material before sliding around to ease the zipper down the back of her dress.

Lisa moaned quietly as I softly nibbled at her earlobe, resigning herself to my ministrations. She kept her arms at her sides as I slipped the thin straps off her shoulders, the dress now held in place only by friction. I came around to face her again with a slightly deferential expression in my eyes. She understood, and let the dress drop from her graceful form.

The lights in the bedroom were low, but there was enough to truly appreciate how beautiful Lisa was in this state: a black strapless bra held her softly rising and falling chest in place. Her matching silk panties defined the swell of her mons clasped delicately between her thighs. And the intricate lace of the garter belt suspended the tops of her stockings just inches below her panty line. Her build was soft in a graceful feminine way: lean, but not thin. The subtle hourglass of her figure prompted a stirring in my own crotch.

She noticed this, and decided to do something about it. Pulling off the dress shirt I wore over my tank top, her hands then set about undoing my belt and fly. With a kind of practiced zeal, she tugged my pants to my ankles and began to feel me through my cotton boxers. I murmured appreciatively as her lips caressed me through the material, then I remembered myself.

I took her by her elbow and brought her back to her feet. Paying no attention to the inquisitive look in her eyes, I eased her onto the bed. Wordlessly, I flicked open her bra, pulled it away, and brought my mouth to a nipple. Her head arched back as I teased the small nib into erectness with warm breath and gently flicking the tip of my tongue across her dark aureole. After pausing to let her tension accumulate, I took the nipple into my mouth, tonguing and sucking it first gently, then aggressively. Reassured by her increasingly insistent moans, I flicked open the four garters holding her stockings in place and tugged her panties away from her.

After some repositioning, I found myself face to face with a clean-shaven vagina both beautiful and petite, with wine-colored lips pushing out at me, glistening with moisture. Repeating the performance on her nipple, I began by teasing and caressing the supple flesh around her slit, allowing my warm breath to tantalize her engorged labia. Pushing her legs further apart, I brought my mouth to her lips and drew the tip of my tongue from end to end around the opening. Pulling her outer lips apart, I slowly placed my mouth above her clit in a powerfully fragrant kiss. Lisa's hips rose to meet me, and her head flopped from side to side. I extended my tongue, and found her clit pushing urgently against the hood.

She tasted incredible. My nose and taste buds were overpowered by a heady fragrance that emanated unrestrained from her pussy, reminiscent of the wine we had drank earlier mixed with something powerful, something animal. I lost myself in there for a few seconds.

I began to steadily rub my tongue around her clit, forcing it in tight little circles, and Lisa started to moan steadily. I felt the sheets tighten from her hands gripping them in sexual tension. Without changing pace, I pushed her clit farther and more insistently with each turn, fighting to keep her hips from bucking me off my mark. Without warning, Lisa cried out as every muscle went taut with orgasm. It was beautiful. We were far from done.

Settling into my task, I changed the motion of my tongue to side-to-side across her clit, pressing it against her pelvis at every pass. An expression of contentment on her face quickly turned to amazement, then her eyes shut tight with sensation as her clit pulsed in tempo with my tongue. Little waves of ecstasy grew to big waves of ecstasy as her hips began to buck again, her thighs clamping down on my head. without warning, I quickened the rhythm, causing another wave of pent-up tension to come crashing down in a very audible orgasm.

I drew my face away from her pussy as she lay slack and panting. She tilted her head up just enough to look at me and say, breathlessly, "That. Was. Incredible." I chuckled softly, and drew her hands up to the bar at the head of the bed, wordlessly encouraging her to grip it. Still panting, she did so.

I took two fingers and slid them inside her pussy, causing her to groan with momentary pleasure. After some probing, I found the rough patch of tender flesh that was her g-spot, and kept my fingers there. With my thumb I pushed her clitoral hood aside to rest it directly on that most sensitive nib. My free hand stroked her hair, and I told her to hang on tight.

I started by massaging her clit up and down, gently flicking it with my thumbnail. This in itself was enough to start her moaning again, but there was so much more. At the same tempo, I began to massage her g-spot, making sure to stroke the entire length of it. I looked up to see her clench the bar very tightly in her hands and I felt her legs go rigid from excitement. When I was sure she was close to climax, I let my upper arm go limp and caused it to shiver wildly. The effect this has is to turn the hand into the most powerful vibrator you could imagine.

Lisa began to scream. It started as a thin, high-pitched sound, and it grew into a full, open mouthed primal "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!" Her entire body went into massive convulsions as the orgasm cascaded from one end of her body to the other. The scream turned to a whisper of air as she ran out of breath, but the orgasm continued relentlessly. I focused all my attention on keeping the motion steady, and Lisa's face became beet red as she was racked over and over by sexual surges of energy coursing through her every fiber.

Finally, the lack of air was too much, and the orgasm came to a shuddering halt. Lisa breathed for the first time in about half a minute, and immediately lost consciousness. I pulled the sheets up to her chest and gathered my clothes. Once dressed, I left a note on the bedside table along with a glass of water. I turned off the lights and the stereo in the sitting room, and locked the door behind me on my way out.