Presentation 3

The dark-haired girl couldn't help smiling when she saw that familiar look light up his intense blue eyes - the look that always made her smile - the unspoken thought: 'You're beautiful...you're mine'. It was a look that stirred her to her soul, as it did without fail, each single time she undressed for him, and took her seat at his ornate, highly-polished table. She warmed to feel the intensity of his male gaze - the man's obvious pleasure in having her sitting with such marvelous poise, half-naked, at his table.

By now she moved without thinking, instinctively taking up the pose he had specified: shoulders back, chin up, lithe body held perfectly erect. Her painted lips tightened into a single, unsmiling line, chin high, almost insolent. Dark eyes that looked out upon the world with superior disdain, capturing once more the regal bearing that had so struck him to find in one so young when he first spied her sitting alone, sampling the coffee at that little cafe on the rue d'Angles, while an overly solicitous waiter hovered nearby.

Now, the quiet thrill rippled through her, caused her to twitch, squirming in growing excitement. Straightening imperceptibly, Nathalie drew back her bare shoulders, deepening the curve of her arched spine, preening as if to offer the man her proudly naked breasts. She might have been some ancient Egyptian goddess - small, taut breasts brazenly exposed, left on open display; sitting at a rich man's elegantly set table with such a stately demeanor, aloof, with that air of supreme unconcern, that she alone, of all the women he knew, managed to carry off.

***

Their ritual was by now a familiar one. The double doors would close with a hushed click behind the retreating servants, leaving the two of them alone. He would smile; politely nod to her to undress. The first time, Nathalie was taken aback by the odd request. Was he serious? 'Perfectly so,' he assured her, studying her with those frank, searching blue eyes. So, with a shrug, she did it. Did she ever really have a choice? His request was, after all, a modest one: to show him privately no more than that which she so publicly exposed when prancing along the beach at St. Tropez. Nathalie often wondered about her wealthy patron; was this nothing more than some boyish whim on his part, one she was expected to indulge without comment? Perhaps some long repressed fantasy? By now, she no longer gave it much thought.

Nathalie moved as in a dream: the slow liquid movements of a lovely automaton doing her master's bidding. Getting up from the table, she stepped back a few paces so he could plainly see her as she began to unbutton the cuffs at her wrists. He watched as her hands worked their way down, undoing each pearl button of the fine white blouse. Pulling open the loose silk flaps, she let the slippery blouse slither down over her shoulders; head half-turned, eyes averted. The brassiere was next, a wispy piece of feminine finery - sheer, shiny cups and delicate ribbons of silvery silk. Avoiding his fascinated eyes, she reached up behind her, fingers feeling for the clasp.

He watched the bra pop free to dangle loosely from her shoulders. With lowered head tilted demurely, eyes downcast, she brushed the flimsy straps down her arms. Leaning forward, she let her freed breasts sway seductively as the useless lingerie fell away, to be gathered up in her cupping hands. Now this bare-breasted beauty took her chair once again, sat back and assumed the familiar pose he required of her.

Nathalie could feel the adoring gaze as it fell upon her gently rounded shoulders, settling to dwell on her bare chest; his eyes lingered there, obsessed, captivated by her delicate breasts. He would say nothing of course: eat very little, taking only an occasional sip of sherry. He was content to simply observe her: admiring the small breasted form of the young woman who sat still, bathed in candlelight, drinking in her lithe form with insatiable eyes: the sleek lines of her torso, the jaunty curves of those superb little titties, neatly globular and high-set; twin contoured slopes displayed, just for him. He studied those precisely-made nipples; tiny nubbins embedded in their russet-colored disks. Sensitive tips that even now were stirred into prominence by their exposure to the cool air of the elegant dining room, nipples that stiffened under his steady gaze as the girl sat perfectly still, presenting him with her nude chest. He fought the familiar urge to stroke the delicate contours which irresistibly drew his hand toward them. He knew that Nathalie's breasts were highly responsive; would instinctively arch into his cupped hands, to let him feel those firm and springy tits, so eager to be held, their delicate weights balanced on the tips of curved fingers, their taut resiliency sampled by gently squeezing fingertips. He found those perky little tits to be awe-inspiring.

But he held back. He did not stroke those proudly displayed breasts. Not just yet. That was a pleasure he would reserve for later. When he might hold those warm moist, softly-malleable mounds in his cupped hands. For now, he wanted one thing...just to have the pretty girl sit motionless, her beauty gracing his table. Of course, she was aware of the look of obvious approval, the raw desire in his shining eyes. She could feel the heat rise up in her, flushed her cheeks, knowing once again the quiet thrill, the shiver of lust that shot through her each time he had her pose naked for him.

And although Nathalie managed to carry it all off with all the aplomb of a professional model, that perfect poise he so admired, as if sitting with sublime indifference bare-breasted in an elegantly furnished dining room was the most natural thing in the world; still, she found the experience stirred her most profoundly. The man's frankly admiring gaze heated her, inflamed her passions, left a tingling in her groin. Exposing herself never failed to send a thrill through her, to make her increasingly wet, down there - between thighs that convulsed with instinctive urgency in the shadows under the table.