Eleanor

SEVEN

'But I suppose,' continued Soria, taking Eleanor by the hand, 'that you will be more interested in the gift that I have for you this afternoon.'

'I guess we all like prezzies,' replied the brunette somewhat equivocally, 'especially if they are surprises.'

'I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, my dear,' she said with not a little condescension. 'I have already tasted pussy today.'

As unexpected lines go, this was certainly up there with the best of them. Eleanor was stunned into silence. This clearly suited Soria, who needed little encouragement to tell another tale.

'God! It's like

The Thousand and One Nights

,' Eleanor thought, settling back in her chair and crossing her legs with exaggerated care.

'I was in the local department store before coming here, since I had twenty minutes to kill. While I was looking at items on the ground floor, I noticed a well-dressed woman in her forties, who was walking with decision towards the escalators. I followed her up three flights to the womenswear section. She browsed for a while before picking out a blouse. As she started to head towards the cashier's desk, I grabbed the nearest thing to hand - a dress - and followed her.

While we were waiting (they require you to check items in there for some reason before trying them on), I complimented her on her necklace and asked her if it was a gift. Of course her face registered surprise upon thus being asked such a personal question by a total stranger, but she recovered her composure sufficiently to tell me that it

was

a gift - from her husband. I took the opportunity to introduce myself and she told me her name was Pamela. Not a name one hears very often these days, I thought, but a name that suited her very well.

Anyway, perhaps a minute after she headed for the dressing room, I followed her with my dress. Sweeping back the curtain to the room (which was very large as these places go), I caught her eye in the mirror in front of which she was standing. She had taken off the top she was wearing and was dressed only in a bra, with a mid-length skirt and three-inch heels, I would suppose, completing the outfit. She said nothing, and seemed to freeze (as I had been hoping) while I drew the curtain, threw my dress to the floor and approached her. I put my hands on her waist and moved them up until they cupped her breasts.

Her response was even better than I had been hoping for. She turned round so she was facing me and offered herself to be kissed. It was an offer that I was unlikely to refuse. We kissed passionately - even fiercely - and then I did what I had been planning ever since I set eyes on her. Crouching down in front of her (not kneeling, you must understand), I put my hands up her skirt until they found the waistband of her panties. Without pausing I pulled the panties down and let them fall on top of her fashionable and expensive shoes. Only now, when she knew for certain what was coming next, did she say something.

"My god! I've never done this before."

It was of course music to my ears and made me even more turned on than I already was. I didn't change my plans at all, but I did execute them with more, not gentleness - no, that wouldn't be right - but with more passion, more feeling - yes, more feeling - than otherwise I might have done. When my tongue touched her pussy lips, I would swear that she was already wet. Had she been thinking about me and my intentions on her walk to the dressing room, and then while she was taking off her blouse? Had she perhaps been touching herself in there before I surprised her?

Whatever, she responded to me as if a woman's touch down there was something she had been wanting all her life. She didn't say much, she hardly made a sound in fact, but her arousal and the satisfaction of her deepest desire were obvious to me, and, I am sure, to her too. When she came, her knees buckled and I helped to keep her upright. I kissed her on the lips and she kissed me back, her tongue curling around mine as if it didn't want it to leave her so soon.

I turned and began to leave the room when she called me back. She had taken a Mont Blanc pen from her bag and was scribbling on a piece of paper - an old receipt, as I later found out. On it was written her mobile number together with her name 'Pamela.' I smiled to myself when I read that. As if I could have forgotten her name! I have that receipt in my bag now; I'm sure I will call her later. Perhaps you might like to meet her too?'

Eleanor took that intriguing quasi-invitation as her cue to leave. Robert would be out of his meeting soon and she sensed that her time with his wife had reached its natural end.

'Before you go,' said Soria, beckoning Eleanor back to where she was standing. 'Your gift!'

Eleanor leant in to receive her kiss, just a light touch on her lips - what she believed the Bible calls a 'holy kiss.'

'We will be in touch,' said the Persian woman, with just the right amount of mystery in her voice.

As Eleanor walked back to her office, she smiled broadly. Soria and 'holy kisses!' That just didn't sound right somehow!

EIGHT

Eleanor understood what Soria's cryptic closing comment meant when she received a formal invitation (by post, to her home) a couple of days later. 'The pleasure of her presence' was requested at an at-home that Mr and Mrs Jenkins were having on the following Saturday.

Eleanor was curious to know who else might have been invited, but, knowing Soria as she did now, she realised that an element of mystery was part of that woman's modus operandi. So she duly responded in the affirmative; not only that, she went off after work on the Thursday (when the shops in town opened until late) to shop for some new clothes.

Driven once more by almost feline levels of curiosity, she decided to go straight to the department store where Soria had had her tryst. She even kept a lookout for a female who might be up for a bit of fun in the changing room, but here she drew a blank. She went to the lingerie section and looked for something sexy.

'Heavens, what is becoming of me?' she asked herself, as she picked out a full set of black bra, panties, garter belt and stockings.

She left that at the cash desk where Soria had made her move on Pamela and went in search of a black cocktail dress. Amazingly, it was something she had never owned before. Just looking at the one she had picked out, she felt her libido soar. Taking it to the same room where Soria had seduced the married woman, she tried it on and found it fitted her like a glove. It clung to her body so closely that it felt more like a second skin than a mere dress.

She went back to the cashier's and rather breathlessly told the woman who was stationed there that she would like to add this to the 'stuff' she had already given her. The woman asked her who the lucky fellow was and Eleanor told her it was for a party. The woman gave her a knowing wink and put Eleanor's purchases into a smart canvas bag with the shop's logo.

'No extra charge for you, love,' she said with a grin, as if she were an accomplice in Eleanor's schemes.

'Gee!' she thought, as she walked to the escalator. 'Did I really look such a frump when I came in that she thought this look would somehow be transformative?'

She realised that she (and the shop assistant) were probably right.

At five o'clock on that Saturday, she dressed herself in her new outfit (minus the bra) and looked at herself in the mirror. At best, she thought, she looked like a Hollywood star at a premiere; at worst like someone attending a tramps and tarts party. She immediately changed into something less eye-catching and decided that would suit the 'at-home' better. And yet, there, at the back of her mind, the idea that she should go with her original choice ate away at her. Why not, just this once, throw caution to the wind and give free rein to the wild woman in her?

Changing back into her Mata Hari outfit, as she dubbed it, she put on a coat and waited for the cab that she had called to take her to Robert and Soria's place. She had never been there before.

When she arrived at their house, she walked through the manicured garden to the front door. The place was everything she thought it would be - and more. She rang the ornate bell in the porch and waited for perhaps 30 seconds before it was opened. Soria, wearing a calf-length dress which featured peacock patterns, ushered her in and offered to take her coat. When Eleanor's short black dress, with the stockings nestling in two-inch heels, was revealed, the lady of the house gave a low whistle of appreciation. Her smile seemed to say that, dressed to kill as she might be, she had made a choice that would be greatly appreciated not only by her but by Robert and the other guests, whose voices she could hear in the sitting room.

Her heart nearly missed a beat when she was introduced to Tony and Pamela Jamieson. The description matched the woman in the cubicle to a T. She was in her early forties and wore a beautiful necklace: a classic piece of jewellery, very possibly a family heirloom - a Jamieson family heirloom.

She soon became the centre of attention, with Robert and Tony paying court upon her, as if she were the star attraction in a French salon. Robert was dressed casually in a black long-sleeved polo shirt with matching tailored trousers. Tony, a few years younger than Robert, Eleanor reckoned, had gone for a more formal look, in a grey suit that suggested Armani to Eleanor's admittedly untrained eye, a white shirt, black tie and black suede shoes that tipped the scales on just the right side of vulgar.

Eleanor accepted the fruit punch that Soria served her. She noticed that everyone was drinking this cocktail, which had hints of cinnamon and seemed as if it might carry quite a, well, punch. At this point everyone was standing, and Soria had introduced Eleanor to Pamela. Eleanor could see why Soria had seduced her: she oozed sex appeal without any apparent effort. Eleanor caught Robert looking their way more than once, and she couldn't be sure if it was she herself or the older woman that he was most interested in.

Pamela was wearing a beige dress which reached just below the knee and had more the look of a coat, with large buttons descending its entire length. As might be expected with a woman of her class, the buttons weren't gaudy or flashy: the same colour as her dress, with a thin gold band around their circumference. The image of Pamela being feasted upon by their hostess for the evening flashed through Eleanor's mind. It was a short step to wondering who would have the honour of undoing those buttons later in the evening.

Dinner was served around nine o'clock. Soria had made a Persian classic, saffron chicken, which was served with couscous and vegetables from the garden. For dessert, Soria had prepared another classic from her homeland, Persian love cake, made with almonds, cinnamon, rose and saffron, served deliciously moist. Eyebrows were raised and glances exchanged when she told them the name of the cake, and Eleanor was not half way through hers when she felt Soria's bare foot rubbing her ankle - in the process knocking off her shoe.

She couldn't be sure, but she felt that Robert's left hand, which had disappeared under the table, had found its way to Pamela's leg. There was no overt indication from the woman of such a move, but, if Eleanor's hunch was right, that meant only Tony - seated to Eleanor's left - was not taking part in the foreplay. No sooner had she thought this than Tony remedied the situation by placing his hand on her knee. Eleanor felt like a Christmas turkey - ripe for the plucking. She riffed on the idea and soon another word that rhymes with 'plucking' was dominating her thoughts, which were now racing hither and thither under the twin effects of the excellent wine and the atmosphere in the dining room, where the only sound to be heard was the clinking of dessert forks against bone china.

'In lieu of coffee,' said Soria after several minutes of silence punctuated by subtle movements beneath the table, 'I suggest we try an elixir that I have prepared.'

Eleanor, who was feeling distinctly light-headed, listened as Soria listed the ingredients: amaretto, chocolate liqueur, white rum and other things that she didn't register. It tasted very good, but she only managed a sip before Soria suggested they withdraw to the sitting room. Robert led the way, his arm around Pamela's shoulder, which meant that Tony (an old friend of Robert's, so Eleanor had learned at dinner) was available to shepherd Eleanor the few steps to the adjacent room. They lagged behind the others, as Eleanor had to deal with her shoes, deciding to carry one in each hand.

Tony offered to carry them for her, but she knew men and their foot fetishes and insisted on carrying them herself. She stood up and immediately lurched to one side. Happily, it was the side where Tony was standing waiting for her, and he expertly steadied her, bringing one strong arm around her waist. She turned to thank him and thought he was going to kiss her, but he merely kept his arm round her slim waist as he led her to a place on the cream-coloured leather sofa, taking a seat beside her by the armrest.

Close

beside her, because Pamela and Robert were already occupying the other places, the two women next to each other in the middle, so near that they were touching.

NINE

Soria had come through from the dining room and stood in the middle of the room. She regarded the four people sitting on the sofa as a schoolmistress might look at her pupils to make sure that she had their attention. She seemed to take it as a matter of course that all eyes would be fixed on her, and they were. Silently, they waited for her instructions. The first one came after a short interval.

'Eleanor, kiss Pamela.'

Pamela immediately began to demur, stuttering out a few words about not being sure that would be appropriate, losing her customary poise, as a deep flush rose from her neck, adorned by that precious necklace, and quickly suffused her cheeks.

'Eleanor!' Soria spoke simply, in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

The brunette turned towards Pamela, who had started to tremble.

'Just a kiss,' Eleanor said, very softly.

The two men leant forward as one, Tony shifting himself as unobtrusively as possible in order to free his penis, which had snagged itself in his briefs.

Soria had her eyes focused on Tony's wife, who looked as if she wanted to make a run for the door. She tried to get up, but found that she was unable to move. It was as if someone had bolted her to the sofa.

'Pamela,' Eleanor cooed.

At the mention of her name, she instinctively turned towards Eleanor and that was enough for her to make her move. Placing one hand on Pamela's waist she moved her face slowly and inexorably towards the older woman's. As if drawn by a magnetic force, Pamela (her eyes closed) bridged the small gap that separated her from Eleanor, her mouth falling slightly open. Eleanor, eyes wide open, placed her lips over Pamela's upper lip and held it gently but securely in an embrace. Sensing no meaningful opposition, she let her mouth open and close over the soft lip, moving her hand up Pamela's body till it was adjacent to her breast.

Pamela let out a soft murmuring sound. If she had been a cat, it would have indicated that she was starting to purr. The room was so quiet that everyone in the room could hear it. Tony stifled a cough, his eyes (like those of everyone else in the room) transfixed by the slow seduction of his wife. Eleanor moved to Pamela's lower lip and went through the same routine she had followed with her upper one. This time Pamela remained silent, but it was clear to everyone that this was not because she had become less engaged in what was happening to her but because she was becoming more engaged. Much more engaged.

Eleanor moved her hand to Pamela's breast and withdrew from the kiss to assess the impact this might have on the married woman. The effect surprised everyone in the room, except for Soria, who had experienced for herself the passion that lay only just beneath the surface in this woman. For Pamela moved back in towards Eleanor and kissed her hard, mouth on mouth. It was a matter of when not if she would engage her tongue. Eleanor felt a delicious shock as Pamela's tongue drove a passage into her mouth. Soon they were kissing as if their very lives depended on it.

Now that the shackles were off, Pamela began to assume control, placing her hand on Eleanor's barely concealed breast, causing the younger woman to cry out. Not content with this, she lowered first one, then the other of the thin straps on Eleanor's dress and eased the flimsy fabric down to reveal her breasts. This time, Tony made no attempt to conceal his cough and Soria looked on with pride as her pupil took Eleanor's firm breast in her mouth.

'Fuck!' groaned Eleanor, her own hand automatically kneading Pamela's larger orb through the thick material of her dress.

Her mouth clamped over Eleanor's tit, Pamela's hand pushed Eleanor's legs apart and made a beeline for her pussy. The transformation in her demeanour had a devastating effect on her husband, who undid his trousers and placed his hand on his swollen cock - still concealed under his briefs. At the other end of the sofa, Robert smiled at his wife, marvelling at her skills in orchestrating this metamorphosis. But Soria neither saw nor acknowledged her husband's action, her only interest being in the events that were unfolding before her, events which exceeded even her own expectations for the evening.

No one in the room needed telling when Pamela had made contact with Eleanor's sex; Eleanor's own guttural groan told them all that they needed to know. Dropping to the carpet, Pamela lifted Eleanor's dress, then pushed her legs together so she could remove the black panties. Falling back upon Tony, Eleanor opened her legs wide to give Pamela access to her molten vagina. Pamela needed no second invitation, placing her chin on the soft leather and breathing in Eleanor's special fragrance.

Impatient to be brought to a climax, Eleanor brought her hands to Pamela's head and pushed her forward. Unhappy with being treated in this way, Pamela removed herself from the line of fire and told the men to get off the sofa. They obeyed instantly - Tony fumbling with his trousers to keep them up, as he made the short journey to an armchair across the room. Moving the chair closer to the action, he settled down to watch the show. In the meantime, Robert had joined Soria, but he was given short shrift by her and told to sit down out of the way.

Now that the sofa was empty, Pamela told Eleanor to take off the cocktail dress that remained bunched up around her waist and lie down on the sofa. Using a cushion to raise her head, Eleanor did as she was told and waited for Pamela to go down on her. But Pamela wasn't one to be hurried. Instead, she went to Soria and asked her to 'disrobe' her. Eleanor looked on impatiently as the Persian woman unbuttoned Pamela's dress. She appeared to take forever, pausing to kiss the woman she had introduced to lesbian love after what seemed to Eleanor like every single button.

Eleanor became anxious that these two would abandon her, as they made long, lingering love to each other. Maybe they would even take it upstairs, leaving her with the two men, both of whom were now so horny that they would fuck anything in a skirt. And certainly someone without a stich of clothing on her, apart from a suspender belt and stockings. She tried to maintain her composure, even as she watched the women's every move.

Finally, Soria had removed Pamela's dress, leaving Tony's wife in just her apricot bra and panty set. Eleanor held her breath as Soria contemplated the next movement in the symphony she was conducting. Eleanor's sense of relief when Soria sent Pamela back to her washed over her like a cool shower on a hot day.